“Corn-fields ripening to the harvest, and the wide seas smooth
with sleep.”
Let Summer days then teach us, as, one after one, they greet us and
depart, their wise, but unobtruded lesson. The Summer time being the
time of grave steady work, and there being also such a time in our
lives, a time of dust, and heat, and toil, when our spirits sometimes
seem to flag, and the very sameness of labour brings over us a
depression, and a lingering longing after the time of blossom, and of
clear new verdure; there being this resemblance between us, let us
examine the year’s work, if perhaps we may gather some hints for ours.
_How_ does the year work? and how should _we_ work, when that first
zest that made work easy has gone, and the time of rest is on the other
side of our labour.
The year works _thoroughly_, more implicitly obedient than man to this
teaching of its Maker,
“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.”
God seems to have made, in all the wonderful animal and vegetable
growth which surrounds us, some to honour, and some to dishonour. Even
as with nations, there were the chosen people, and there were those
left yet degraded--and as with individuals, there are those whose
work is to evangelise a world, and there are those whose work is to
follow the plough, or to order the household--so it is with plants, and
flowers, and trees.
And from this point of view we shall find that they have much to teach
us in our work. How thoroughly it is all done, and with the might;
the noble as well as the homely work! There are some plants busy
maturing groundsel-seed and beech-mast, some maturing strawberries,
and peaches, and pines. But each does _its utmost_, and the _work_ of
the inferior degree is equal in quality with that of the higher. The
shepherd’s-purse and the thistledown are as perfectly and exquisitely
finished, as are the apricot and the grape.
And this strikes me as leading up to a cheering and beautiful
thought--to a thought which has often occurred to me in reading the
parable of the _Talents_. There is, let me remark, this difference
between this parable and that of the Pounds: that in the one case the
_work_ was equal in quality, bearing exactly the same proportion to the
advantages, which were dissimilar; in the other case the advantages and
opportunities were the same for each, but the _work_ was unequal and
greatly differing in quality. Thus each has its separate teaching.
And in this parable of the Talents, the same heartening thought came to
me as that wafted from fields, and trees, and gardens, on the breath
of Summer days. It was cheering, and a matter of much thankfulness,
to recollect that it was possible, in a low condition, and with less
advantages, to serve God in the same proportion with the greatest of
God’s saints: to fight as well and as nobly in the ranks as any officer
could do who waved his soldiers to the charge. It was, I say, very
comforting to read, after
“Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, I have
gained beside them five talents more”;
and the “Well done” that followed--it was exceedingly sweet to read,
farther on,
“He also that had received two talents came and said, Lord, thou
deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained two
other talents beside them.”
And then to hear just the same ringing glorious words, “Well done!”
words that come like a burst of joy-bells across the heart. For I said
to myself, “Cheer up, and be bold,--humble, insignificant, lowly though
thou be, and sorrowfully, impotently longing to do great things, to
fight a good fight, for Him who died for thee and rose again. Yea, be
of good courage, and do even thy best with that thou hast. The one
had ten talents to bring, the other but four, yet cheerily, bravely,
modestly, did he bring them; the amount was different, _the work was
the same_. Each had wrought in the same proportion. He with five
talents had indeed doubled them. But he with two talents _had likewise
doubled these_.”
Therefore, men, my brothers, women, my sisters, let us thank God and
take courage. Let us not repine if our sphere be narrow, and our work
seemingly insignificant; let us not look enviously at those with great
talents, and grand opportunities, and wide work. Let us take heart, as
we look at the tiny wayside plant, and at the laden fruit-tree, all at
work, under the sun, in the quiet Summer days. There is no caprice,
but there is much to surprise us in the allotment of work in God’s
world. So, art thou an oak, capable, as it seems to thee, of great
deeds and noble fruit? Scorn not, however, to spend thy life making
and maturing acorns, if thus it please God to employ thee. Art thou a
lowly strawberry plant, weak, and easily trampled, and (thou deemest)
capable of nothing worthy? Shrink not, at God’s bidding, to endeavour
to fashion rich and precious fruit, which, if thou art patient and
faithful, God’s rain shall nourish, and His sun shall ripen. Such an
oak might St. Paul have seemed, chained to the Roman soldiers, yet I
wot he then fashioned acorns, whose branches have since overspread the
world. Such a lowly plant was Moses, deprecating God’s behests at the
burning bush. Yet I trow that was noble fruit that he was enabled to
mature.
[Illustration]
For the comfortable thought is, that we work not in our own strength,
nor from our own resources. God supplies strength and material, and
then undoubtedly it is for us to use them. Yet the principle of growth
is His gift; and so also are the sun, and the wind, and the rain.
Without Him, we can do nothing. But with Him, everything.
“I can do all things,--through Christ which strengtheneth me.”
Let us then be brave-hearted and true-hearted, and learn this lesson
from the earth’s work under the sun. Never to envy nor to repine, nor
to be amazed at life, but just to give all our heart to the maturing
and perfecting the work which God has entrusted to us to do for Him--if
in the garden bed, the choice fruit; if by the wayside, the small seed
which He has prepared for us to tend. Let us work _thoroughly_, in
these short Summer days.
Another hint from the year’s work. It works leisurely, bringing forth
fruit _with patience_. Thus the poets sweetly describe its work:
“Lo! in the middle of the wood,
The folded leaf is woo’d from out the bud,
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steeped at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and, turning yellow,
Falls and floats adown the air.
Lo! sweetened with the Summer light,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,
Drops in a silent Autumn night.
All its allotted length of days
The flower ripens in its place,
Ripens, and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,
Fast rooted in the fruitful soil.”
Thus flower, and leaf, and fruit, do their part thoroughly, and expect
God’s blessing patiently, and trustfully leave all to Him. There is no
hurry, though there is no idleness or slackness. Again, as a contrast
to our heat and fever, and hurry, and distrust, regard the sublime calm
of nature:
“Sweet is the leisure of the bird,
She craves no time for work deferred;
Her wings are not to aching stirred,
Providing for her helpless ones.
“Fair is the leisure of the wheat;
All night the damps about it fleet,
All day it basketh in the heat,
And grows, and whispers orisons.
“Grand is the leisure of the earth;
She gives her happy myriads birth,
And after harvest fears not dearth,
But goes to sleep in snow wreaths dim.”
[Illustration]
Yes, as the Great Teacher said (and the saying seems to me one of the
most suggestive of even His sayings), the earth brings forth her fruit
_with patience_. And now, what a contrast is this to our work! How
distrustful, how impatient we are! How apt to be in a hurry! We would
have the whole long Summer’s work done in the first short Spring day.
We want the leaves perfect, and the blossom gone, and the fruit not
only set, but ripened all at once. We cannot ourselves bring forth
fruit with patience, nor be content to wait its gradual growth and
ripening in others.
I give two examples of this. One is of the education of children. We
want the ripe fruit, too often, before the bud has even well developed
for the bloom. What unnatural precocity do some well-meaning religious
parents bring out, and exult over, in the little delicate undeveloped
minds that God has given to their care. It pains me to read the stories
that are so prized by some people. They force upon one the sense of
such utter unreality. What experience has that infant mind gathered
of the deep feelings and inward struggles, the defeats and victories,
the repentances and recoveries, the depressions and ecstasies, the
wrestlings in prayer, the astonishments, the dismays, the failings, and
the attainments, that are familiar to the veteran in the battles of the
Lord? And yet we would make him talk the language of the soldier of the
hundred fights, when, only very lately brought into the camp, he does
but sit among the tents, hardly yet even seeing or hearing
“The distant battle flash and ring.”
Experience will come, but until he has had it, why should you require
its tokens? The war is at hand, but is it wise to bid him ape its
trophies while its grim earnest is scarcely yet to him a dream?
Parents, anxious parents, heartily do I sympathise with your yearnings.
You long to know certainly that your child is indeed a faithful and
obedient child of God. Nevertheless, to hurry the work is often to mar
it. Forced fruit, if you get it, is poor and flavourless, compared to
the natural growth. And how much falls blighted from the bough! You
have seen gooseberries red before full grown, and while others about
them were green. But you know that this is not ripeness, but only its
caricature. And I have seen such a mere painful caricature in the talk
and conduct of the child. Be content,
“Learn to labour,--and to wait.”
Put in the seed watchfully, wisely, diligently, not rashly, nor over
profusely; pray before, and during, and after the sowing; and then
trust to God and wait. Dig not up the seed to see if it is sprouting;
despair not if through long Winter months scarce any tender blade
appear; suffer that the ground which ye have diligently, painfully,
prayerfully sown, should _bring forth fruit with patience_.
My other instance is that of the desire and endeavour for holiness. How
many that are but beginners in the race, chafe and fret because they
cannot be at once at the goal. How many a one, but a babe in holiness,
expects to be at once a man, without the gradual growth, the patient
succession of day and night, and sun and shower, through this dusty
toilsome Summer of our life. And depression, discouragement, sometimes
falling away, results on this unwise hurry. The seed tries to grow with
unnatural rapidity, and, therefore, having no root, it withers away. Oh
wait, and work, and trust, seedling saint, and fear not but that God
will send the full growth: yea, if thou wilt, even bid thee bend with
fruit an hundredfold for Him. Only remember, God’s order is, first the
blade, then the ear, then the full corn in the ear.
Yes, let us take comfort from the thought of the gradual growth and
ripening of Summer days. Every day’s sun, every night’s dew, add a
little. And at last the grain bows heavy and ripe, and the fruit
reddens upon the branch, and weighs it towards the ground--that was
once but a thin weak blade, or a small crude, sour, green bullet.
And---for an ending of the discourse of Summer days--working
thoroughly, and working patiently, the earth also works _steadily_ on,
and in spite of discouragement; of the loss of many dreams, and the
experience of many failures. Its songs have gone; its freshness is
over-gloomed; and dust has gathered upon its light and glory. Blights,
and caterpillars, and frosts, have marred much; and the poetry and
early fascination of Spring is over now.
But it goes on steadily, in the dry Summer glare, in the drought,
and dust, and silence; patiently, uncheered by showers, and with
many a leaf curling, many a fruit dropping. Though life often seems
monotonous, and prosaic, and dry, it none the less steadily and
persistently, and without giving up or losing heart, toils on.
Ah, thus in our Summer days, in the time of our manhood, when life’s
poetry has fled, and we are not that we wished to be, and we do not
that we wished to do; and the romance, and the glory, and the glitter
of the once distant warfare, when
“Among the tents we paused and sung,”
has resolved itself into the stern realities, and prose, and smirch,
and dust, of the long toilsome march, the weary watching, and the
sob and sweat of the struggle and the contest; when this is so, let
us gravely, solemnly settle down to the, at first sight, uncheered
duties and blank programme of the work of Summer days. Yes, when the
dull every-day routine of dry work is near to making us heart-sick and
over-tired; when
“Still in the world’s hot, restless gleam
We ply our weary task,
While vainly for some pleasant dream
Our restless glances ask,”
let us remember that, whatever our work be, so it be honest, God gave
it us to do, and the homeliest act, or repetition of monotonous acts,
is ennobled, if the motive be noble, and the labour stedfast and
brave--if it be done heartily and well, as to the Lord, and not as unto
men. Think of St. Paul making tents--yea, of CHRIST in the carpenter’s
shop--and weary not--oh sick at heart, and disappointed of youth’s
sweet Spring dreams and high imaginings!--of the work--however homely,
however monotonous, however dull and prosaic--which yet God hath given
thee to be done.
Friends, let us work in Summer days. The Spring is past; we will not,
therefore, spend our golden hours in useless regrets. The Autumn has
not yet come. But the Summer is with us now. Beyond it there may be a
land of Beulah, even here, when the dust, and toil, and strain pass
by a little, and something of the old-remembered brightness of colour
and beauty flushes over the land. Whether or no such an Autumn-quiet be
attained, the Summer will pass, and the great Winter sleep will come.
And beyond that there shall be Spring without its evanescence, Summer
without its toil and weariness, and Autumn without its melancholy and
death. Beyond the short labour of Summer days, “_There remaineth a rest
for the people of God_.” Let us, therefore, labour, that we may enter
into that rest.
[Illustration]