THE "CROWNED YEAR." by Mrs. M. A. Holt

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 26, 1900

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 26, No. 52.

THE "CROWNED YEAR."

By Mrs. M. A. Holt

[By Mrs. M. A. Holt, in Christian Work.]

"Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness."

THIS has been a brightly-crowned year. There has been no stint or withholding by the bountiful Giver. The treasures have fallen thickly from nature's hand. They have come in golden showers into the greedy grasp of men. The bearded wheat has ripened upon the plains. The corn has caught the glow of the summer sunshine in the valleys, and the rustling shocks that so thickly dotted the land have been gathered. The fruitage upon the sunny slope has revealed its luscious beauty, and the nut-brown woods have yielded up their treasures.

Everywhere has nature been true. The bloom appeared at just the right time, and the tiny shoot crept from the damp earth when the sunlight became bright and warm. Later on it widened out into the "green blade," and when autumn came its "full ear" was a blessing. The dew and the sunlight also did their part in the great work, and the cooling shower fell just when it was needed. The purple grape, the juicy peach, and mellow apple have all been stored away for future use, and the cribs and granary are full to the brim with the perfected grain.

Now, as the days linger, we try to count up our blessings. Can we do this when they have been as thick as the fallen leaves rustling beneath our feet? And there have been other things to be grateful for besides our "daily bread." Sweet flowers have bloomed along the pathway of the year. We have received inspiration from them every day, and the mute blossoms have silently performed their work in our souls. Music has now and then broken in waves of melody over our way, and at times we have been cheered by glad snatches of song. Truly "the year has been crowned with goodness." We look over the brown, scarred land that has yielded up so cheerfully its true wealth. Everywhere it has been mutilated by the hands of the reaper. Now its bosom is dismantled and ready to wear its winding-sheet of winter's snow. It has faithfully performed its year's work, and goes to its cheerless rest with wild storms raging above its true heart.

Should we not receive a lesson also while bowing to the Giver of all good with tears of gratitude upon our faces? Do we give cheerfully? Do we do our work at just the right time, that a blessed harvest may follow? Are we sometimes a little late in breaking up the ground and in scattering the seed? Do we not sometimes sow sparingly? Do we let the sunshine and dew do their precious work in our souls? If we fail in our part, the life-year will not be a "crowned one," and when we go to our rest we shall not have been as true as mother earth. The Thanksgiving song will mean but little to the unfaithful worker. O, may it be our happy lot to at last have a "crowned life-year"!