When the Song Begins

Back of the gloom —

The bloom! Back of the strife — Sweet life. And flowering meadows that glow and gleam, Where the winds sing joy and the daisies dream, And the sunbeams color the quickening clod, And faith in the future, and trust in God. Back of the gloom — The bloom!

Fronting the night —

The light! Under the snows — The rose! And the vales sing joy to the misty hills And the wild winds ripple it down the rills; And the far stars answer the song that swells With all the music of all the bells! Fronting the night — The light 1

—Frank L. Stanton.

HEY have a saying in the East that in Oriental countries the birds never sing, the flowers have no fragrance, and the women never smile. Heathen religions put no sweetness into life, kindle no joy in the heart, start no songs. They do not comfort sorrow nor wipe away tears. But the religion of the Bible is one of gladness. It teaches us to sing, not only on the happy days, but on the dark days as well. The Old Testament has much music in it. Then the New Testament is full of song. It opens with an overture by a great choir of angels. The first message to the shepherds, announcing the birth of the Saviour, told of joy for all who would accept it. Christ marked out the way of joy in all His teaching. He offered rest of soul to all who would come [3] to Him, take His yoke upon them and learn of Him. He said He would give His own peace to those who would let it into their hearts. He expressed a desire that His joy might be fulfilled in the lives of His friends. He bade His followers be of good cheer, because He had overcome the world.

Then after the Resurrection and Ascension, and the coming of the Holy Spirit, we find the church a company of rejoicing people. “They took their food with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God.” They met persecution and suffering, but nothing could silence their songs. Their joy was quenchless. St. Paul, the greatest sufferer of all, was likewise the most joyous of all. No chains, no dungeons, no scourgings, no losses, could stop his singing. Out of his prison life he wrote to one of the churches, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.” But what is the secret? When does the song begin? What is it that gives to the believer in God this quenchless joy.^* In the record of the opening of the temple by Hezekiah occurs [4] a sentence which suggests the answer. The sacrifices were ready for offering. At the same time the great temple choir was waiting, ready to break forth into song. But not a note was heard until the sacrifices began to burn upon the altar. The record is, “When the burnt-offering began, the song of the Lord began also.” The moment the offering was laid upon the altar and the holy fire began to consume it, the great choir began to sing.

These ancient burnt-offerings were an expression of personal devotion and consecration to God. It is when this surrender of our lives to God is made, and not till then, that the song begins in our hearts. Yet somehow a good many people seem to think a religious life cannot be a joyous life. They get the idea that it is a life of self-sacrifice, but they cannot think of self-sacrifice as joyous. One man said to another, referring to something they were talking about, “I suppose it must be my duty, because I hate it so.” That is the way many

people think about duty. But really there is no other life so full of deep, abiding joy as the life of self-sacrifice in the service of Christ.

It is well worth while for us to learn this lesson. Work is immeasurably harder if we do it only as task-work, because we must. No one can ever make much of his life if he works reluctantly, perfunctorily. Joy gives strength and skill. And the lowliest tasks may be made a delight, if only we think of them as part of God’s will for us. No doubt Jesus was an enthusiastic carpenter. He went out each morning to His day’s tasks with a song. It ought to help other carpenters and all of us in our common vocations to work gladly to remember that our Master toiled too, wrought with His hands, and did it cheerfully, sweetly, songfully.

“Yes, yes, a carpenter, same trade as mine. It warms my heart as 1 read that line. I can stand the hard work, I can stand the poor

For ril see that Carpenter at no distant day.’^ [6]

There are transforming motives if only we can get them into our hearts. Love has power to transfigure the dreary tasks into delights. You have seen a young girl, light-hearted, care-free, with scarcely ever a serious thought in her mind. She seemed to think only of herself. She was self-indulgent, never denying herself anything she wanted. She never sacrificed her own comfort for another. By and by you saw her a mother, with a baby in her arms. Now her life was altogether changed. Love had blossomed out and possessed her. She cared now for her child with intense and self -forgetful devotion. She thought no longer of her own ease or comfort. There was no more in her any spirit of self-indulgence. Then she did everything, the dreariest task, gladly, joyously. There was no complaint, no fretting. Love had taught her the lesson of self-devotion, and her heart sang as she wrought.

There are men who once had little interest in

their work, who did it only because they must,

who were indolent, self-indulgent, extrava-

gant. By and by they became heads of little families, for whose wants they must provide. Then all was changed. They went to their tasks with a new zest. Love put energy into their spirit, strength into their arms, skill into their fingers. They never had known such happiness before. “When the burnt-offering began, the song of the Lord began also.” Men do not know how much of their enthusiasm in bearing their burdens, in enduring their struggles, in meeting obstacles, in overcoming difficulties, is inspired by love for the dear ones in their homes, for whose care, comfort, and protection they are responsible. It is this love that puts the song into their hearts. It is not the fashion to idealize fathers. Mothers are idealized, and rightly so. Mother-love is likest God’s love, of all holy human passions. Mothers everywhere devote themselves to the care of their children and sacrifice their ease and strength with complete self-abandonment that they may give these children what they need. They lose their rest. They give up their own comfort. They pour

out their very life in love’s ministering. No one needs to ask the motive of this holy serving and self-sacrificing. It is found in the sacredness of the home, in the little child’s sick-room, in the nursery, where there always are tasks and needs. God bless the mothers. They deserve highest honor. They go through all love’s services and sacrifices with a gladness that never fails. Who ever heard a true mother complain of the burdens or the cares of love? She does all cheerfully. When the self-sacrifice begins, the song begins, too; and as the burdens grow heavier, and the need for self-denial grows greater, the song becomes louder and richer in its melody. But though there be, perhaps, less poetry in father-love, there is much in it that is very sacred and ofttimes heroic. There are fathers who live with their children with noble self-abandonment. There are men who have made a splendid success of their lives, building up a fortune, growing to honor in their profession, rising to noble character and influence, the secret of all their energy, skill, [9] and achievement being found in the quiet homes to which they hurry each evening when their work is done. As the responsibility of love came upon them the song began, and they went each day to take up the growing burden with increasing joy in their hearts. Love makes true men laugh at hard tasks and exhausting toil.

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