The English Channel waters flowed broad and deep, never crossed in their entire breadth by any human arm. Fired with ambition to do what none had done before, and conscious of muscular power, the celebrated swimmer Matthew Webb swam those twenty-five miles, and set foot on the coast of France.

Oft in the water, and always unscathed, he seemed to think he bore a charmed life; and looking at the boiling current of Niagara, determined to risk his life for fame—fame that never yet satisfied any yearning, human heart—saying, “It’s all luck, and the end, I don’t think about that; I’m going to take my chance.”

The great river Amazon pours out so mighty a stream of fresh water into the Atlantic, that for miles, out of sight of land, just opposite the mouth of the river, the water in the ocean is entirely fresh water. Some years ago a sailing ship left Europe for a South American port, and, through storm and mishap, was so long on its voyage, that the water on board began to give out; and though the crew took every care, they shortly found themselves with their last tank or cask empty.

A day or two later, becalmed in a hot climate, to their great joy and relief they sighted another vessel, and when near enough to signal, they ran up their flags telling of their piteous position: “We’re dying for want of water.” To their astonishment, the reply, which came back quickly, seemed almost to mock them: “There is water all around you; let your bucket down?” Little did they know that they were just then crossing the mighty Amazon’s current, and instead of being in salt water they were actually sailing in fresh water without even knowing it.

Water all around! Fellow-traveler, you may be crying out, “What must I do to be saved,” little realizing that the ocean of God’s love is all around you. Oh! “Let you bucket down

“O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from this body of death?”

Lamenting over the chains of our carnal nature and the shackles of our feeble efforts, the apostle Paul cries out in Roman’s 7:24, “O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from this body of death?” If Paul were to leave this cry unanswered and end his discourse here, we might be left to believe that the Christian life was forever sentenced to a life of failure.

The Lord has given many promises to His people, but He generally attaches some condition to their reception. We often go without the realization of the promises because we do not seek to fulfill the conditions. He has said in Phil 4:6-7, “Be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayer and thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God; and the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Scores of Christians never know the peace of God, because they carry their anxieties and worries instead of taking them to Christ in prayer, joined with thanksgiving.

A certain king kept a fool in his house, as some rich men did in olden times for their amusement. This king gave a staff to his fool and charged him to keep it until he met with a greater fool than himself, and if he met with such a one to deliver it over to him.

Not many years later, the king fell sick. His fool came to see him and was told of his master’s fatal illness. “And where shall you go?” asked the fool. “On a long journey,” answered the king. “And when will you come back, within a month?” “No.” “In a year?” Again the king replied, “No.” “When then—never?” And the king replied, “Never.”

“And what provision have you made for the place you are going?” asked the fool. “None at all.” answered the king. “So, you are going away forever and have made no provisions for your departure? Here, take my staff,” said the fool, “for I am not guilty of any such folly as that.”

From F. B. Meyer’s Elijah and the Secret of His Power

Many a man might bear himself as a hero and saint in the solitudes of Cherith, or on the heights of Carmel, and yet wretchedly fail in the home life of Zarephath. It is one thing to commune with God in the solitudes of nature and perform splendid acts of devotion and zeal for Him in the presence of thousands, but it is quite another to walk with Him day by day in the midst of a home with its many calls for the constant forgetfulness of self.

Along the remains of an ancient highway, traveling west from Bethlehem toward the Mediterranean Sea and meandering through a large valley, lies a seasonal waterway known as the Brook of Elah. In the summer months the water recedes exposing a bed of small, smooth stones, reminding all generations of the battle fought there that forever proved the insurmountable arsenal of one willing soul in the hand of Almighty God.

It was here that the Philistine army once encamped along the southern side of the valley, mortally imperiling Israel and leaving them dismayed and confused. The Philistines had only recently defeated Israel in the battle of Eben Ezer and now they stood defying and challenging Israel to what looked like another defeat. Their odious champion Goliath was no ordinary warrior, but a giant who taunted Israel and blasphemed the name of God for 40 days without a single rebuke. But alas, David, a cautious young man, empowered and anointed by God, temporarily laid aside his shepherding duties to come to the front lines. Armed with five small stones, a slingshot and a consecrated life, he easily defeated the giant and put to flight the entire Philistine army.

Dr. Forsyth, a Scotsman from the granite city of Aberdeen, was born with a granite character, and when he became enamored with Christ, he became His ardent and devoted servant. This Scottish theologian, minister, and principal of a Congregational college might have been overwhelmed by the liberal theology in which he was nurtured, had it not been for his personal encounter with the Lord Jesus Christ.

As a prophet to his Congregational Union, “He warned his age,” said his biographer W.L. Bradley, “of the vitiating (demoralizing) effect of an emphasis upon a sentimental interpretation of Christianity at the expense of the holy.”

Dr. Forsyth was also aware of the erroneous conception of love so prevalent both in his day and in ours and comments thus: “We follow the age and rely on a religion of love—but love which is in most cases, more amiable, perhaps, than effective. We make love a sentiment rather than a principle, and we work by emotion to the neglect of character.”