The Call to Praise
Here are in the Bible many more calls to praise than to prayer. Prayer is continually urged. It is essential. It is the Christian’s vital breath. The man who does not pray cuts himself off from the source of all good. A day without prayer is a day without protection, a day of peril. Prayer is essential. Yet praise would seem to be no less a duty than prayer. Everything that hath breath is commanded to praise God, and not only things animate, but things inanimate — “all deeps, fire and hail, snow and vapor; stormy wind, mountains and all hills; fruitful trees and all cedars.” The poet in one of the Psalms calls upon all that is within him to praise God’s name. He thinks of the powers and capacities of his nature and would have them all
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waked up to join in the song. He exhorts himself also not to forget God’s benefits. What are some of these?
‘’ Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; Who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; Who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies.”
These are only a few of God’s benefits. They are coming to us continually. Nothing but ^ood ever comes to us. It would seem that there never could be anything but praise in our hearts. Yet listen on any da’, the fairest day of the 3’ear, the day when the sun shines the brightest and the skies are bluest, to the complainings, the murmurings, of the people you meet. It seems that almost nothing goes well with them. The habit of discontent has grown so strong in them that they are never quite pleased or satisfied with anything. In the most perfect circumstances they always find some flaws. In the most lovely character they discover some lack or blemish. The [20]
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trouble really is, however, in the persons themselves who complain and not in the providence that blesses their lives. If they were in heaven, and had the same dispositions they now have, they would find something even there to fret them or irk them and would not be altogether happy. What such people need is not more agreeable aj-cumstances, all things different to suit their tastes and whims, but a new heart, being born again with a contented mind, a praising, thanksgiving spirit. The fact is, there are a thousand beautiful things in any outlook on life we may have, to one unpleasant thing. We should be able easily to forget the one little thorn in such a mass of roses. “Forget not all his benefits,” the lesson runs, but this is the very thing we do — we forget God’s wonderful mercies, the countless blessings that flood our days with sunshine and strew our nights with stars. An hour’s pain, even a moment’s twinge of suffering, blots out the memory of a whole year of best health.
^]^c (0atc iseautiful There is a legend of two angels that come from heaven every morning and go on their rounds all day long. One is the angel of prayers; the other the angel of thanksgivings. Each carries a great basket. Soon the angel of requests has his basket filled to overflowing. Everybody pours into it great handfuls of requests. But Tvhen the day is ended the angel of thanksgivings has only two or three little contributions of gratitude in his basket.
This is not a caricature. Most of us do more or less praying, but it is nearly all the unloading of burdens, fears, wants, and clamorous requests for favors, with only here and there a feeble word of thanks for blessings received. Some ingenious gatherer of statistics tells us that during a recent year thousands of letters from children, addressed to Santa Claus, reached the Dead Letter Office before Christmas, but that in the whole month after Christmas only one letter came addressed to Santa Claus, with a message of thanks. Ten lepers were cleansed, all receiv- [22]
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ing the same great blessing, but only one of the ten returned to thank the Healer. Where were the nine?
We must confess that we are pitifully wanting in gratitude. Thanksgivings languish on our lips. Some of us do little but complain. Nothing altogether pleases us. We have no eyes for the good things of divine love which really flood our lives. We ought to pray for a power of vision that will enable us to behold the beauties of this world, for a love that will show us the noble and worthy quahties in the people about us, and a faith that will help us to believe in the divine goodness in the events which seem to be most unkindl3
The praising spirit is essential in him who would do his best work in any line of life. It is said that Leonardo da Vinci held a lyre in his hand while he painted. Music inspired his art. This was one of the secrets of his superb work as an artist — his heart was glad and praising. No one can do good work with a sad heart. You need not go with a grieving [23]
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spirit to comfort one who is in trouble, for jou can help him only with cheer. If you are in sorrow, another’s grief will not comfort you. He who would come to you as an up lifter, must have joy to bring to you. “The joy of the Lord is your strength,” said Nehemiah to his people when he found them weeping, and exhorted them to a better life. They must dry their tears if they would attain anything noble and beautiful. It is always so. No life ever reached its best possibilities in sadness. The men who have done the noblest and worthiest things, who have achieved the most, whose work shines as beautiful and radiant in the world, carried a harp in their hands. They sang at their work. Pessimism has never done any lovely things; only he who works with a song adds to the brightness and beauty of the world. Gloomy people are pererting their powers, growing thorns instead of roses. The joyless man is a misanthrope. He makes it harder for other people to live, makes them less strong to bear their burdens. He chills the [24]
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ardor he ought to kindle to a redder glow. He is a discourager and thus a hinderer of every man he meets.
On the other hand, he who sings as he works is a blessing to every man. He does better work himself, paints more beautiful pictures, sings sweeter songs, is a better teacher, a better lawyer, a better merchant, an infinitely better physician. No man should ever go into a sick room as a doctor who has not music in his heart. No man is ever fit to be a preacher who is not a joyous man, a praising man. Carlyle has a strong word on the value of singing at one’s work:” Give us, oh, give us the man who sings at his work! Be his occupation what it may, he is equal to any of those who follow the same pursuit in silent sullenness. He will do more in the same time — he will do it better — he will persevere longer. One is scarcely sensible to fatigue whilst he marches to music. The very stars are said to make harmony as they revolve in their spheres. Wondrous is the strength of cheerfulness; altogether past calculation are [25]
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its powers of endurance. Efforts to be permanently useful, must be uniformly joyous — a spirit all sunshine — graceful from very gladness — beautiful because bright.” Joy is a splendid inspirer.
The emblem of Christian life is light, and light means joy, praise. There used to be people who thought that solemnity was an essential quality of religion. The man who smiled on Sunday desecrated the holy day. He who was glad-hearted in worship lacked reverence. There are some persons who would banish flowers from churches. But there is really no piety in long-facedness. Indeed one of the first things required in Christian life is joy. It is named as second among the fruits of the Spirit. Jesus said he would have his joy fulfilled in his followers. If you would become a beautiful Christian, you must be a joyous Christian. Joy is always lovely. It shines. It is fragrant. It makes the air brighter and sweeter. It is a wondrous inspirer of life. You can do twice as much work when you are glad and praising as when you [26]
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are gloomy and downcast; and you can do it twice as well.
The other day a Christian woman told of starting out sad and heav^-hearted in the morning, with no song, no praise, not a thought of gladness in her heart. Everything dragged. There seemed nothing worth living for. Circumstances were distressing. There appeared only blackness before her eyes. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, something happened which changed all the outlook. Light broke in upon the gloom. The friend said that if an angel of God had come into the dreadful tangle with light and song the effect could not have been more marvelous. It was joy that came, and the joy changed everything. The life was saved from despair. The clouds and shadows rolled away and the blue sky hung everywhere. The same miracle-story is told in a little poem from one of the magazines:
“Going up the hill, I found it long, Until I met a merry song
That kissed mine eyes to blind me.
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It mocked at me, and turned and fled,
But played on, fluttering overhead,
Till I forgot I went footsore,
And the dusty hill that rose before
Was the blue hill far behind me.”
A writer tells of a boy who was sunny and brave. He met the ills of life, which too many people regard as almost tragedies, with courage. Nothing ever daunted him. Where most boys are afraid or break into tears, he was undismayed and untroubled. But one day something serious happened. He and a playmate climbed a tree. Just when our little philosopher had reached the top, his foot slipped and he fell to the ground. He lay there, evidently hurt, but uttered no cry. It was the playmate that screamed. The doctor found the leg badly broken. The boy bore the setting patiently without a whimper. The mother slipped out of the room to hide her own tears — she couldn’t stand it as well as her boy did. Outside the door she heard a faint sound and hurried back, almost hoping to find him crying. [28]
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“My boy!” she said, “do jou want something? I thought I heard you call.” “Oh, no, mother,” he said, “I didn’t call. I just thought I’d try singing a bit.” And he went on with the song. When you have pain, or struggle, or a heavy load, or a great anguish, don’t complain, don’t cry out, don’t sink down in despair, don’t be afraid — try singing a bit. Trust God and praise.
Cic J^ejsireis of Cit ftart “Cast out all envy, bitterness and hate; And keep the mind’s fair tabernacle pure. Shake hands with Pain, give greeting unto Grief, Those angels in disguise, and thy glad soul From height to height, from star to shining star, Shall climb and claim blest immortality.”