• “In all places and at all times, we can have that familiar friendship, we can have Him with us; and there may be through the day a constant interchange of private words, of little offerings, too small to have any name attached to them—by which the bonds of that familiar friendship grow closer and more real, until it comes to that special personal intimacy, which we call sanctity.” – Janet Erskine Stuart, 1857-1914

A Mother’s Gift: or, A Wreath for my Darlings by Phoebe Palmer

Phoebe wrote of this after the loss of their first child, at the age of nine months. He was born September 1828.

He was indeed a lovely flower,
Although of pallid hue,
Whilst love maternal, “magic power,”
Beheld new beauties every hour,
Unfolding to its view.

. . . . .

But soon still small voice from Heaven,
Whispered in accents mild, —
The blessing of mercy given,
But ah! it draws the heart from Heaven,
Thou must resign thy child.

. . . . . .

Oh! then the sad, the rending stroke,
As in the “midnight” came,
Affection’s tender ties were broke,
Which might have loosed when mercy spoke
And not have given such pain.

The flower transplanted in the skies,
From sorrow’s blast is riven,
The parents’ chastened, earthly love,
Their better hopes, transferred above,
Are centered now in Heaven.

Oh! there our Alexander lives,
Where beauty’s bud ne’er dies!
Though snatched from love’s maternal arms,
He’s safe from all impending harms,
And calls us to the skies.

 

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  • “He is never late.” – Annie Poonen

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Verse of the Day

Walk in wisdom toward those who are outside, redeeming the time. Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one. — Colossians 4:5-6 (NKJV)

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