“His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace” (Isa. 9:6).
“The counsel of the Lord standeth for ever, the thoughts of his heart to all generations” (Psa. 33:11).
We are filled with perplexity. Life is a labyrinth, the universe is a riddle, we walk in a maze. We are at our wit’s end. Wise men and philosophers cannot answer our anxious questions about the mystery of life; none can solve the problems of triumphant evil and thwarted goodness, of pain and sorrow and loss and death. And again we look, and lo! we discover that in Him “are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Col. 2:3). He answers our questions. He solves our riddles. We rest in Him as our “Counselor.”
Again, we are oppressed with our utter littleness and weakness. We feel as helpless as an insect in the presence of the giant forces of the material universe. We are powerless to resist the vast world movements of men, the strikes, the conspiracies, the huge combinations, the wars, the political and social upheavals. And in our horror and despair we look again, and lo! we see Him in the earthquake and tempest, “towering o’er the wrecks of time,” stilling the storm, raising the dead, calming the fierce, wild passions of men, and slowly but surely enlightening and molding the nations; and we cry out, “The mighty God!”
Again, we are bereft and lonely and heart-sore. We cry like an orphaned child in the night, and there is none to help, and no one understands. Then He draws nigh with infinite comprehension of our heartache and weariness and pain and with fathomless consolations He folds us in the embrace of His love; and we pillow our heads and our hearts on His bosom, and nestle close and whisper, “The everlasting Father! The Prince of Peace!”—Samuel Logan Brengle.
He calms the strife of the warring will,
He softens the hardest breast;
He speaketh peace to the troubled soul,
And giveth the weary rest.
He feeds the hungry with bread from Heaven,
And then in the thirsty strife,
He cleaves the rock in the desert way,
And sends the water of life.
Many voices have offered me a home for my quiet hours. Thou alone hast promised me a covert in my storm.—George Matheson.