Our Lord is so intent on the life harvest of the saints that He Himself often mows our fields for us and takes away the things that seem to us good in order to give us the best.

Our great King Himself is far more concerned for the worker than for the work.

When your heart fails you, God sends His sunshine and the rain, and your hopes that were laid low sprout again, new growths appear —fertilized, perhaps, by your tears, perhaps by your heart’s blood. Not only is the latter growth given after the King’s mowing, but because of it. Like a grass lawn, the saints’ lives become better the more they are beaten and rolled and mown. Do not think, then, that some strange thing has befallen you when you are tempted or tried. It is by these things men live.

There are, it may be, lives where the first growth is the worthiest, but I have seen few, and these—though beautiful—have not been strong.

The second crop of roses is the best, and the greatest saints are those who have felt the scythe. But if the King is He who mows, then welcome the mowing that brings Him into the life.

Better a bare field with Christ than the best harvest without Him!

Where He comes, Heaven’s verdure springs; where He treads, earth’s virtues grow.

They took them all away—my toys— Not one was left; They set me here, shorn, stripped of humblest joys, Anguished, bereft. I wondered why. The years have flown; Unto my hand Cling weaker, sadder ones who walk alone—I understand.

Amos tells of “the king’s mowings” (Amos 7:1 KJV). Our King also has many scythes and is constantly using them to mow His lawns. The bell-like sound of the whetstone against the scythe foretells of the cutting down of countless blades of grass, daisies, and other flowers. And as beautiful as they were in the morning, within a few hours they will lie in long, faded rows.

In human life, we try to take a brave stand before the scythe of pain, the shears of disappointment, or the sickle of death. And just as there is no way to cultivate a lawn like velvet without repeated mowings, there is no way to develop a life of balance, tenderness, and sympathy for others without enduring the work of God’s scythes.

Think how often the Word of God compares people to grass, and God’s glory to its flower. But when the grass is cut, when all the tender blades are bleeding, and when desolation seems to reign where flowers once were blooming, the perfect time has come for God’s rain to fall as delicate showers so soft and warm.

Dear soul, God has been mowing you! Time and again the King has come to you with His sharp scythe. But do not dread His scythe—for it is sure to be followed by His shower. F. B. MEYER

When across the heart deep waves of sorrow Break, as on a dry and barren shore; When hope glistens with no bright tomorrow, And the storm seems sweeping evermore; When the cup of every earthly gladness Bears no taste of the life-giving stream; And high hopes, as though to mock our sadness, Fade and die as in some restless dream, Who will hush the weary spirit’s chiding? Who the aching void within will fill? Who will whisper of a peace abiding, And each surging wave will calmly still? Only He whose wounded heart was broken With the bitter cross and thorny crown; Whose dear love glad words of joy had spoken, Who His life for us laid meekly down. Blessed Healer, all our burdens lighten; Give us peace. Your own sweet peace, we pray! Keep us near You till the morn does brighten, And all the mists and shadows flee away!