you. The world's pleasures are often
curses in disguise by John Macduff from Ripples in the Twilight
1885 Jabez called on the God of Israel saying oh that you
would bless me indeed so God granted him what he requested
1st Chronicles chapter 4 verse 10 There is much apparent good
not worth calling by the name. What the world speaks of as blessings
are, some of them, often worthless, and many of them positively evil
and detrimental. They are counterfeits. They do
not bear upon them the coinage and currency of heaven. Satan
has disguised them, stamped them as true metal, while they are
base alloy. Let us leave our blessings and
the method of their bestowal with the giver of every good
and perfect gift into His hand, committing our earthly all with
this prayer of intense fervor yet of simple faith, O that You
would bless me indeed. I want nothing which the world
calls a blessing unless you think it proper for me. I want no shadows,
no baubles. I do not ask for riches. They
may be a snare to me. I do not ask for the cup running
over, the barns full, the fig tree blossoming, the home nest
without the thorn. These might alienate me from
yourself and bind me only closer to earth. I want blessings indeed,
God of Israel. I am no judge of this. Whatever
you give will be a true blessing to me. And even if you take it
away, I will strive to believe that the dark, painful dealing
is your kindness to me also. Yes, we repeat, the world's pleasures
are often curses in disguise, like Cleopatra's viper which
was hidden in a basket of flowers. There is often an adder lurking
in the bed of roses, a fly in the ointment, poison in the wine-cup. But the blessings of God are
blessings bearing His own divine seal and signature. They may
come in frowning providences, in baffling dispensations, in
strokes of the chastening rod. For the present, they may seem
not joyous, but grievous. But I am content to be in His
hands, joyful or sorrowful, in health or in sickness, living
or dying. O my Father, Give your own blessing,
and I shall bow my head in submission. For I can only hear in it accents
of paternal love.