My roots will reach to the water, and the dew will lie all night on my branches. My glory will not fade; the bow will be ever new in my hand.

Once there was an oak tree that clung to a crag on a mountainside. The wind swept its crest, and the snows and rains tore at its soil. Its roots ran along a pathway and were trampled by the feet of men. But the rain and the snows ran down the mountain, and the oak tree was dying of drought.

Patiently and persistently its underground tendrils had gone forth in every direction for relief. All its power was put into the quest by which it would save its life. And, by and by, the roots reached the mountain spring. The faithful stream that touched the lips of man and beast ran up the trunk and laved the branches and gave new life to the utmost twig. The tree stood in the same place; it met the same storms; it was trodden by the same hurrying feet. But it was planted by the rivers of water, and its leaf could not wither.

Out into the same old life you must go today as ever, but down underneath you can be nourished by the everlasting streams of God.

Travelers returning from Palestine report that beneath the streets of Shechem there are rivers flowing. During the daytime it is impossible to hear the murmuring of the waters because of the noise. But when night comes and the clamor dies away, then can be heard the music of the hidden rivers.

Are there not “hidden rivers” flowing under the crowded streets of our lives today? If we can be assured that there is still the music of deep-flowing waters beneath all the noise and tumult of the working hours, we can walk the way of the conqueror.

Keep your roots deep in the living waters.