Indeed, the seer ranges through all nature searching out images for interpreting His all-comprehending gentleness.  “Even the bruised reed he will not break.”  Lifting itself high in the air, a mere lead pencil for size, weighted with a heavy top, a very little injury shatters a reed.  Some rude beast, in wild pursuit of prey, plunges through the swamp, shatters the reed, leaves it lying upon the ground, all bruised and bleeding, and ready to die.  Such is God’s gentleness that, though man make himself as worthless as a bruised reed; though by his ignorance, frailty and sin he expel all the manhood from his heart and life, and make himself of no more value than one of the myriad reeds in the world’s swamps, still doth God say:  “My gentleness is such that I will direct upon this wounded life thoughts that shall recuperate and heal, until at last the bruised reed shall rise up in strength, and judgment shall issue in victory.”

And as God’s gentleness would go one step further, there is added the tender lesson of the smoking flax.  Our glowing electric bulbs suffer no injury from blasts, and our lamps have like strength.  The time was, when, wakened by the cry of the little sufferer, the ancient mother sprang up to strike the tinder and light the wick in the cup of oil.  Only with difficulty was the tinder kindled.  Then how precious the spark that one breath of air would put out!  With what eagerness did the mother guard the smoking flax!  And in setting forth the gentleness of God it is declared that, with eyes of love, He searches through each heart, and if He find so much as a spark of good in the outcast, the publican, the sinner, He will tend that spark and feed it toward the love that shall glow and sparkle forever and ever; for evil is to be conquered, and God will not so much punish as exterminate sin from His universe.  His strength is inflicted toward gentleness, His justice tempered with mercy, and all his attributes held in solution of love.  No longer should medievalism becloud God’s gentle face.  Cleanse your thoughts, as once the artist in Milan cleansed the grime and soot from the wall where Dante’s lustrous face was hidden.

With shouts and transports of joy and admiration men welcome the patriot or hero who in times of danger held the destiny of the people in his hands and never once betrayed it.  And let each intellect soar without hindrance, and the heart pour itself out before God in a freshet of divine love.  Great is the genius of Plato or Bacon, revealing itself in tides of thought, but greater and richer is the genius of the heart that is conscious of vast, deep fountains of love, that may be poured forth in generous tides before the God whose throne is mercy, whose face is light, whose name is love, whose strength is gentleness, whose considerateness is our pledge of pardon, peace and immortality.

THE THUNDER OF SILENT FIDELITY: