r day, for good
church people. We give to all the good things. Ye-es, no doubt. And we
are very careful, too, that that _inconsiderate_ Hand shall not disturb
the greater bulk that remains between hinge and lock. That's _yours_. Of
course you are _His_, redeemed, saved by His blood.

Well, well, how these pronouns, "His," "ours," do get mixed up! How
lovely some things are to _sing_ about, in church, and special services,
at Keswick and Northfield. But through it all we hold hard to that key,
we don't let go--_even to Him_, though it is He who entrusts all to our
temporary keeping. We do guard the width of that opening crack, do we
not?

One day I looked through that crack and caught a glimpse of _His face_
looking through full in my own, with those eyes of His. And at first I
wanted to take the door clear off of its hinges and stand it outside
against the bricks, and leave the whole door-space wide for Him.

But I've learned better. No man wants to leave the doorway of his life
unguarded. He must keep the strong hand of his controlling purpose on
the knob of the front door of his life. There are others than He, evil
ones, cunningly subtle ones, standing just at the corner watching for
such an opportunity. And they step quickly slyly in under your untaught
unsuspicious eyes, and get things badly tangled in your life. There's a
better, a stronger way.

Here's the personal translation that I try now, by His help, to work out
into living words, the language of life. He comes to His own, and His
own opens the door wide, and _holds_ it wide open, that He may come in
all the way, and cleanse, and change, readjust, and then shape over on
the shape of His own presence.

But every one must work out his own translation of that; and every one
does. And the crowd reads--not this printed version. It reads this other
translation, the one nearest, in such big print, the one our lives work
out daily. That's the translation they prefer. And that's the
translation they're being influenced by, and influenced by tremendously.

He Came to His Own.

In certain circles in England, they tell of a certain physician years
ago. He came of a very humble family. His father was a gardener on a
gentleman's estate. And the father died. And the mother wasn't able to
pay her son's schooling. But a storekeeper in the village liked this
little bright boy and sent him to school. And he went on through the
higher schooling, became a physician,