by James Meikle, 1730-1799
If God gives Christ, what can he withhold?
Are believers in the valley of tears? Is their dwelling
place Bochim and Baca? Well, God's mercy outstretches all their misery!
Promises of grace dispel the mental gloom, and bear away the ponderous loads
of grief! The soft handkerchief of love wipes off the furrowing tear! An
inspired penman begins the glorious sentence with an unanswerable question.
"If God spared not his own Son, but delivered him up to the death for us
all, how shall he not also with him give us all things?" (Romans 8:32)
Comfort, then; you sons of sorrow; comfort, my soul! There is more in this
verse than can be comprehended! And there is more love in the heart of God,
than any language, or idiom of speech, can convey to finite creatures!
If, for my sake, he has given his Son, what will he
withhold in all the creation? Is his creation—the breath of his mouth—better
to him than his eternal, co-eternal Son? Is the work of his hands dearer to
him than his well-beloved bosom Son? And has he given him to the die for
you—and then will he deny you any necessity? No! He who feeds the soul with
heavenly manna—will support the body with daily bread! He who gives drink
out of the wells of salvation—will not fail to afford a cup of cold water!
He who has provided a robe of righteousness, to cover the shame of my
sin—will also give wool in the cold season. He who furnishes my inner man
with all the armor of God, will put a covering on my head in the day of
battle and war. (At this time
the Author had a view of entering into the navy, being time of war, as he
did some time after.) He who, in the counsel of
peace, from eternity, secured my peace, will also shine upon my path, and
decree what shall come to pass. He who has written my name among the living
in Jerusalem, will also preserve, (this my faith pleads and expects,) my
character, that I shall not shame what I profess in the world. He who has
destroyed spiritual death, will also for me unsting natural death, and spoil
the grave of its victory!
Again, how can it be possible that God should give his
Son, himself, his all—and yet deny me any good thing? Will not he who is to
crown me with glory above—strengthen me with grace below? Will
he not bless me with peace of mind—who is to be my peace forever? Triumph, O
my faith! all things are Christ's, and Christ is God's! And God, Christ, and
all things, are yours! Time is his, and in it I have my years numbered! The
air is his, and in it I breathe! The world is his—and on it I dwell; its
fullness is his—and I am fed! Grace is his—and in it I stand! Faith is his
gift—and by it I overcome the world! Tribulations are from him—and in them I
glory! Perfection is his—and towards it I press! Death is his—and by it I
arrive at home! Heaven is his—and there is my mansion! Eternity is his, and
there is my treasure and glory forevermore!