did Job know of God? _He_ had not
seen the cross. _He_ had not had anything of the display of tenderest
unspeakable love that have we. It was but the _dawn_, as we may say,
of revelation; but it was enough to enable that poor grief-wrung heart
to cry, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." Shall we, who enjoy
the very meridian of revelation light;--shall we, who have seen _Him
slain for us_, say _less_? Nay, look at the wondrous _possibilities_
of our calling, my reader,--a song, nothing but a song will do now.
Not quiet resignation only; but "strengthened with all might, according
to His glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering with
_joyfulness_,"--and that means a song.

How rich, how very rich, is our portion! A goodly heritage is ours.
For see what our considerations have brought out: a deep _need_
universally felt; for none escape the sorrows, trials, and afflictions,
that belong, in greater or less degree, to this life.

The highest, truest, human wisdom can only recognize the need with a
groan, for it finds no remedy for it--time and doom hap alike to all.

God shows Himself a little, and, lo! quiet, patience, and resignation
take the place of groaning. The need _is_ met.

God reveals His whole heart fully, and no wave of sorrow, no billow of
suffering, can extinguish the joy of His child who walks with Him.
Nay, as thousands upon thousands could testify, the darkest hour of
trial is made the sweetest with the sense of His love, and tears with
song are mingled.

Oh, for grace to enjoy our rich portion more.

But to return to our book. Its author rarely proceeds far along any
one line without meeting with that which compels him to return. So
here; for he adds, in verses 13 to the end of the chapter, "And yet I
have seen the very reverse of all this, when apparently an inevitable
doom, an 'evil time,' was hanging over a small community, whose
resources were altogether inadequate to meet the crisis--when no way of
escape from the impending destruction seemed possible--then, at the
moment of despair, a 'poor wise man' steps to the front (such the
quality there is in wisdom), delivers the city, comes forth from his
obscurity, shines for a moment, and, lo! the danger past, is again
forgotten, and sinks to the silence whence he came. But _this_ the
incident proved to me, that where strength is vain, there wisdom shows
its excellence, even though men as a whole appreciate it so little as