The Gift of Sanguineness

‘‘That ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.’’ — Rom. xv. 18.

A Bae “abound in hope” means, as I take it, to “have the sanguine temperament.” It expresses, not so much the idea of intensity, as the thought of pervasiveness — an atmosphere of hope. The startling thing is to hear a sanguine temperament spoken of as a gift of the Spirit. We are apt to look upon it with rather a patronising eye. We think of it as the attribute of a child, of a boy, of a little nature. We can see how faith should be a gift of the Spirit; we can see how love should be a gift of the Spirit; but hope seems too lowly a flower for such a planting. And yet I think it requires a greater exercise of Divine power to inspire with habitual hope than to inspire either with habitual faith or with

habitual love. Faith and love both get a training in this world. The child is taught to trust his parents; the man is bound to his brother by the ties of friendship. But hope gets no training in this world. There are no materials for its training. Its gleams are too few and fleeting to influence the eye; its effects are too transient to mould the heart. If there zs to be a training for hope, it must come from another world — from God’s world. There must be gleams from beyond the earth, songs from beyond the air. There must be sights which eye hath not seen, sounds which ear hath not heard, thoughts which heart hath not conceived. We have all some object whom we can trust for ever; we have all some object whom we can love for ever; but we have no earthly object whom we can see for ever in the sunshine. The source of perpetual hope is God alone.

Spirit Divine, I ask from Thee that most precious of gifts — a sanguine mind. It is not so much any special hope that I ask, as hope abounding — hope pervasive. I ask, not so much the spring of the year, as the elastic spring of the heart. The spring of the year must fade, but the spring of the heart can abide for ever. May it abide with me, this elastic spring! Not alone in my soaring, not alone in my singing, may I feel its power! May it abide with me when the glass is low — when there is no ground for its existence in anything outside! When fast falls the eventide, when the darkness deepens, when other helpers fail and comforts flee, may it abide with me! There is no triumph of hope like its triumph in the dark; give me that triumph, O Lord! There are times when men can only account for my hope by saying, “He has a sanguine temperament”; they mean that it lies in the spirit alone. I bless Thee for such times! They prove that joy is my native element; they tell me that I was born to sing. Ever keep that singing in my soul! However old the flesh, let my heart be young! However weak the hand, let my heart be strong! However bent the form, let my heart be light! However cold the day, let my heart be warm! However dim the sky, let my heart be morning! Then shall I know how Divine a gift is that hope which enters by no outward door.