THE BIBLE FIRST OF ALL by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 14.

THE BIBLE FIRST OF ALL.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

"This little Book I'd rather own Than all the gold and gems That e'er in monarchs' coffers shone— Than all their diadems."

WE have heard the Bible compared to a perfect cube; and it is a good comparison.

Let the infidel and agnostic vainly attempt to overthrow it; let the hosts of hell and the red waves of the pit beat upon it with relentless rage; behold it rises in as majestic proportions as ever. It can not be overthrown. It has stood the assaults of its boasting foe, whom the Almighty cast out of the gardens of God, for many a century; and still it throws its cheering rays of Gospel light over the dark places of earth.

There is no other book an understanding of which is so necessary, and there is none other so majestic in its simplicity. It is the message of the Infinite to the finite. It is the letter of our Father to His children. Is it not strange that so many neglect the reading of their letter?

Go with me to any one of our large post-offices on a day when there is a public delivery. It is the hour for distribution, and, as we are expecting letters of importance, we join the eager-faced throng. Such is our hurry that we step up in front among the first arrivals; but we are quickly asked to fall in line. We don't mean to be selfish, but we are so anxious for the letter from our absent loved ones that we forget that others are just as anxious.

"Are there letters for us?" we ask of the busy clerk.

"Nothing to-day."

How disappointed we are!

"Wait a moment. Ah, yes; here are your letters!"

How eagerly we grasp them, and as eagerly peruse them. No waiting to read the newspaper first; no conversing with acquaintances. "Good morning," says a friend. But we scarcely hear him. We are reading our letters from our absent loved ones.

Now, our Elder Brother has written us a letter. He has been away nearly two thousand years, and He is preparing a place for us to live with Him in [[FIGURE]] the country where He has gone. His letter is filled with glowing descriptions of the country, and He has even taken the pains to describe the city very minutely in which He is preparing such palaces for us that the most wonderful mansions of the kings of earth sink into insignificance in comparison.

"O, I have read my Bible through!" some one exclaims. Yes; but how often have you read that last letter from daughter Mary, or son John, or lover, or husband?

We all remember about the poor man who once undertook a long and dangerous journey, and who became bewildered and almost lost his life because he neglected to study his guide-book.

My friends, we are all a long way from home. We sometimes think of its glories and its beauties, and at such moments, O, how we long to be there, but we are lost upon the mountains of sin!

Dangers are upon every side. A mighty foe is ever seeking our destruction, and legions of his agents are planning our overthrow. We shall become bewildered and lost unless we study our Guide-book. In this we may read the experience of those who have gone over the same road we are traveling. We may read of their mistakes, of their trials, and of their glorious victories; and, as we read, our own faith grows stronger, and our hope brighter. Then, as we surrender ourselves to the guardianship of the pure angels, they will encompass our footsteps round about, for "the angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him," as about Elisha on the hills of Dothan.

"Yes," says one, "the Bible is good, but I must confess I love better to read Shakespeare and Milton and Tennyson and Dickens. You see, I love eloquence and majesty of expression."

Do you? Listen then to the words of the Most High:—

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?" And before the astonished patriarch could frame an answer, a second question is thundered by the Almighty, from the breathless vortex of the whirlwind: "Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner-stone thereof; when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?"

My friend, can you show me anything in all the writings of the wisest and most gifted poets or philosophers, which can compare with this wonderful passage? And this is only one among many.

Then, do you love simplicity and comprehensiveness of expression? Where can it be found in such completeness and perfection as in the Book of books? Read the story of creation.

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." What majesty! what simplicity of expression!

Read a description of the miracles performed by Jesus of Nazareth. Take, for an instance, the raising of Lazarus. The whole wonderful story, with all the attendant circumstances, is told in a very few words. Suppose such an amazing miracle should be performed to-day. With what startling headlines would it be heralded by the newspapers! Column after column would be written about it. Everything would be discussed,—from the color of the hair of Lazarus, to the price of the coat worn by the Healer. But in dignified majesty and comprehensive simplicity, Inspiration relates the wonderful tale in a few words. Do we admire poetry and beauty of expression? Let us read the book of Job, and the Psalms of David. The

103d and 104th psalms are strikingly beautiful and poetical.

Perhaps pathos appeals more especially to you. You do not need to search for it in the popular fiction of the day, if you would find it in its perfect beauty of expression. Can you read the pathetic utterances of the aged king of Israel over his lost and misguided son, with dry eyes?

"O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"

Or who can but read with dim eyes the mournful appeal of the beloved Master over Jerusalem—the city of His love: "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, . . . how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!" What pathos! what touching sublimity! It is the language of Deity voicing the sorrow of Omnipotence.

But perhaps you are more interested in tragedy. You will find the twenty-fifth chapter of Numbers, the tenth chapter of Joshua, and the entire book of Esther abounding in tragedy. But if you would read the saddest of all the tragedies ever written since the creation of the world, you will find it in the inspired narrative of the crucifixion of the Man of Galilee, by a blood-thirsty and sin-hardened mob.

"But," says one, "I don't care so very much for tragedy or eloquence or beauty of expression or poetic utterance,—that is all well and good,—but I must confess to a great liking for love stories. Take a real good love story, now, and let it be well told, and I never tire of reading it."

Well, then, my dear friend, again I bring forward the Book of books. "What! you don't tell me that there are love stories in the Bible?"

Why, that Book is simply and wholly the most wonderful, the most beautiful, the most passionate, the most thrilling, and the most captivating love story which was ever written or read. It tells of a love which is deeper than the deepest depth, and higher than the highest heaven; of a love which is tenderer than that of lover or husband or mother; of a sympathy and companionship which is infinite, and of a jealous watchcare which never ceases. Ah, it is the best love story of the Infinite.

O the Bible, the Bible! it has a word of cheer for the discouraged, a tear of sympathy for the bereaved, a smile of encouragement for the faithful worker, and infinite LOVE for every fallen son and daughter of Adam.

"Then were the seas one chrysolite, The earth one golden ball, And diamonds all the stars of night, This Book were worth them all."