At this hour the church expects to walk in sympathy with her Lord along a thorny road; through much tribulation she is forcing her way to the crown. To bear the cross is her office, and yet the church has a deep well of joy, of which none can drink but her own children. There are stores of wine, and

oil, and corn, hidden in the midst of our Jerusalem, upon which the saints of God are evermore sustained and nurtured; and sometimes, as in our Savior's case, we have our seasons of intense delight, for "There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of our God." Exiles though we be, we rejoice in our King; yes, in him we exceedingly rejoice.

A little lone plant in the forest had prepared a tiny flower, which as yet was not opened; yet the plant had no anxieties, but waited its time. Could it hope that the great sun would think of it and send his genial rays to bring its offspring to perfection?

Yes, among the thick boughs the sunlight found its way, and the little flower unfolded itself, and shone like a monarch's crown. Even so will grace come to those who seek it, for the Lord forgets none who long for him.