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Our Lord Jesus is
ever giving, and does not for a solitary instant withdraw his
hand. As long as there is a vessel of grace not yet full to the
brim, the oil shall not stop. He is a sun ever-shining; he is
manna always falling round the camp; he is a rock in the desert,
ever sending out streams of life from his smitten side; the rain
of his grace is always dropping; the river of his bounty is
ever-flowing, and the well-spring of his love is constantly
overflowing.
As the King can never die, so his grace can never fail. Daily we
pluck his fruit, and daily his branches bend down to our hand with
a fresh store of mercy. There are seven feast-days in his weeks,
and as many as are the days, so many are the banquets in his
years.
Who has ever returned from his door unblessed? Who has ever risen
from his table unsatisfied, or from his bosom un-emparadised? His
mercies are new every morning and fresh every evening. Who can
know the number of his benefits, or recount the list of his
bounties? Every sand which drops from the glass of time is but the
tardy follower of a myriad of mercies. The wings of our hours are
covered with the silver of his kindness, and with the yellow gold
of his affection.
The river of time bears from the mountains of eternity the golden
sands of his favor. The countless stars are but as the standard
bearers of a more innumerable host of blessings. Who can count the
dust of the benefits which he bestows on Jacob, or tell the number
of the fourth part of his mercies towards Israel? How shall my
soul extol him who daily loads us with benefits, and who crowns us
with loving-kindness? O that my praise could be as ceaseless as
his bounty! O miserable tongue, how can you be silent? Wake up,
and praise Him!
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