C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Richard Fuller
A Christian is a man in Christ. “If any man be in Christ.” A Christian is a man for Christ. “Glorify God in your body and spirit which are God’s.”
An immortality of pain and tears; an infinity of wretchedness and despair; the blackness of darkness across which conscience will forever shoot her clear and ghastly flashes—like lightning streaming over a desert when midnight and tempest are there; weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth; long, long eternity, and things that will make eternity seem longer—making each moment seem eternity—oh, miserable condition of the damned!
Any pleasure which takes and keeps the heart from God is sinful, and unless forsaken, will be fatal to the soul.
Brethren, life is passing; youth goes, strength decays. But duty performed, work done for God—this abides forever, this alone is imperishable.
God’s truth and faithfulness “are a great deep.” They resemble the ocean itself; always there—vast, fathomless, sublime, the same in its majesty, its inexhaustible fullness, yesterday, to-day, and forever; the same in calm and storm, by day and by night; changeless while generations come and pass; everlasting while ages are rolling away.
“Having loved His own which were in the world, He loved them to the end.” Often had they been faithless; and now, while addressing them, He knows that they will all in a few hours forsake Him. Yet He trusts them; He commits His cause to their keeping. And we must love as He loved.
He was alone; alone, enduring the curse for us; alone, “bearing our sins in His own body on the tree,” and exhausting the fierceness of eternal justice; alone, without succor from man; alone, without one strengthening whisper from angel; above all, alone, without one ray from His Father’s countenance. And that expiring cry, “My God! My God! why hast Thou forsaken me?” was the bitter, dreary, dismal, piercing wail of a soul utterly deserted—wrapped, shrouded in essential unmitigated desolation.
It is impossible to conceive any contrast more entire and absolute than that which exists between a heart glowing with love to God, and a heart in which the love of money has cashiered all sense of God—His love, His presence, His glory; and which is no sooner relieved from the mockery of a tedious round of religious formalism than it reverts to the sanctuaries where its wealth is invested, with an intenseness of homage surpassing that of the most devout Israelite who ever, from a foreign land, turned his longing eyes toward Jerusalem.
Men and brethren, a simple trust in God is the most essential ingredient in moral sublimity of character.
O for less of an abstract, controversial Christianity, and more of a living, loving, personal Christ.
O, cross of my bleeding Lord; may I meditate on thee more, may I feel thee more, may I resolve to know nothing but thee.
O, for a living faith in a living Redeemer!
Saving faith is confidence in Jesus; a direct, confidential transaction with Him.
The narrow way, the way of holiness, not only leads to life, but it is life. Walking there, serene are our days, peaceful our nights, happy—high above the disorders and miseries of a wretched world—shall be our hourly communion with God; happy—full of assurance, of calm and sacred triumph, shall be our dying hour.
True religion is not what men see and admire; it is what God sees and loves; the faith which clings to Jesus in the darkest hour; the sanctity which shrinks from the approach of evil; the humility which lies low at the feet of the Redeemer, and washes them with tears; the love which welcomes every sacrifice; the cheerful consecration of all the powers of the soul; the worship which, rising above all outward forms, ascends to God in the sweetest, dearest communion—a worship often too deep for utterance, and than which the highest heaven knows nothing more sublime.
We are all approaching that dread tribunal. However diversified our paths, they all converge toward that common centre. The young, with their elastic tread, are striding to the judgment; the old, with their tottering limbs are creeping to the judgment; the rich in their splendid equipages are driving to the judgment; the poor in rags and barefooted are walking to the judgment. The Christian making God’s statutes his song, is a pilgrim to the judgment; the sinner treading upon the mercy of Jesus, and trampling upon His blood, is hastening to the judgment. “We must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ.”
Yes, we have throned Him in our minds and hearts—the cynosure of our wandering thoughts—the monarch of our warmest affections, hopes, desires. This we have done. And the more we meditate upon His astonishing love, His amazing sacrifice, the more we feel that if we had a thousand minds, hearts, souls, we would crown Him Lord of all. Living we will live in Him, for Him, to Him. Dying, we will clasp Him in our arms, and, with Simeon, welcome death as the consummation of bliss.