There is a story of a woman who had had many sorrows: parents, husband, children, wealth, all were gone. In her great grief she prayed for death, but death did not come. She would not take up any of her wonted work for Christ.

One night she had a dream: she thought she had gone to heaven. She saw her husband and ran to him with eager joy, expecting a glad welcome. But, strange to say, no answering joy shone on his face—only surprise and displeasure. “How did you come here?” he asked. “They did not say that you were to be sent for today; I did not expect you for a long time yet.”

With a bitter cry she turned from him to seek her parents. But instead of the tender love for which her heart was longing, she met from them only the same amazement and the same surprised questions.

“I’ll go to my Savior,” she cried. “He will welcome me if no one else does.” When she saw Christ, there was infinite love in His look, but His words throbbed with sorrow as He said: “Child, child, who is doing your work down there?” At last she understood; she had no right yet to be in heaven; her work was not finished; she had fled away from her duty.

This is one of the dangers of sorrow: that in our grief for those who are gone we lose our interest in those who are living, and slacken our zeal in the work which is allotted to us. However great our bereavements, we may not drop our tasks until the Master calls us away. J. R. MILLER

Finish thy work, the time is short; The sun is in the west, The night is coming down; till then Think not of rest.

Rest? Finish thy work, then rest; Till then, rest never.

The rest prepared for thee by God Is rest for ever.

Finish thy work, then sit thee down On some celestial hill, And of heaven’s everlasting bliss Take thou thy fill.

Finish thy work, then go in peace, Life’s battle fought and won; Hear from the throne the Master’s voice, “Well done! Well done!”

Finish Thy work, then take the harp, Give praise to God above; Sing a new song of mighty joy And endless love!

Take not your rest too soon, else you will never enter into your real rest. It is not here on this plank amid the billows, but yonder on that shore. GEORGE BOWEN

Nothing ever happens but once in this world. What I do now I do once and forever. It is over, it is gone with a still eternity of solemn meaning.

Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour: but for this cause came I unto this hour.

Father, glorify thy name. Then came there a voice from heaven, saying, I have both glorified it, and will glorify it again.

Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.

Being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.

Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again.

For I came down from heaven, not to do mine will, but the will of him that sent me.

The cup which my father hath given me, shall I not drink it?

The Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him.

My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased,

Mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth.