The Temptation to Silence Conscience

Genesis xxxii. 26 v. “And lie said, Let me go, for the day breaketh.”

It is at daybreak that our angels nee away. The struggles of conscience are most felt at night. In the silent hour, when the day has gone to rest, and the pulse of the great city lies still, my heart wakes to its own significance;

TEE TEMPTATION TO SILENCE CONSCIENCE. Ill

I realise what an awful thing it is to be a human soul. But when the morning comes, I lose my sense of importance, and, with it, my feeling of solemnity. I cease to be a solitary man — an island of life in the darkness. I clin to the visible garment of the outer universe. I become one of the vast multitude. I lose my separate conscience, and, along with it, my separate struggle. The angel that wrestled with me when alone, deserts me in the crowd. The vows of night are cancelled by the rising sun. The songs of night are drowned by the wheels of merchandise. The prayers of night are ended with the breaking of the day.

My Father, help me to retain my nightangel. May I refuse to let him go till he has blessed me for the day. Teach me that the struggles of my angel, though they come by night, are not meant for night. Why should he leave me with the light of morning? Is there more of earth in the morning than in the night? Then, I need him more, I need Thee more, oh, my Father. It is for moments most unlike Thee that I most require Thee. It is easy to feel Thy presence in the void — in the solitude of night, where no other presence comes. But to feel Thee where there is no void, to perceive Thee in the heart of other things, to behold Thee among the forms which men call common and unclean — this is indeed to he religious. It is easy to know Thy face when I see nothing between me and the stars. But when, like Peter, I see let down from heaven a great sheet filled with prosaic fare, it is hard to believe that it comes from Thee. It is easy to recognise Thee when I am on the wing; it is hard to feel Thy presence when I halt upon my thigh. It is for the noontide that I need Thee, oh, my Father. Leave me not when the romance of life leaves me. Leave me not when the solemn stars have faded into the light of common day. Leave me not when the gate of the temple called Beautiful has closed, and I stand with lame feet upon the dusty way. Thou hast followed me into the silence, and I shall follow Thee into the crowd; I will not part with Thee at the breaking of the day.