Wortler Right
Volume I
Unalakieet, Alaska. November, 1913.
Number 4
As a general thing when a preacher
chooses a text for a Thanksgiving
Sermon it is one laden with fulfilled
promises of God. Let us turn to one
seldom used,and yet most fitting.To
my mind there is none better.
“Although the fig tree shall not
blossom neither shall fruit be in the
vines; the labour of the olive shall fail,
and the fields shall yield no meat:
the tlork shall be cut off from the
fold, and there shall be no herd i.
the stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the
Lord. I will joy in the God of my sal
vation. The Lord God is my stength,
and he will make my feet like hind’s
feet, and he will make me to walk
upon mine high places.”
Here is the picture of a fruitless
harvest, barren vines and fields
turned into a desert; Flocks lost in
'the mountians, and empty stalls.
nut in spite of the adverse circum
stances a shout of rejoicing upward
leaps to the omnipotent. Wliy?be
cause of the good things left.
Too often we go too blue to smile be
cause our dollar plan has failed. And
pe 'bps at that moment with healthy
blood leaping thru our system
—Nothing to be thankful fo"?
Just because it is cloudy is no ev
idence that the sun has quit shining.
Plodding along a foot a lone work
man is passed on a boulevard by a
splendid team and carriage and coach
man. Thiua momentary cloud he
I looks and with envy ponders, as the
carriage stops before a mansion, I wish
; I were in the owner’s shoes. ’ Later he
lexrns that within the carriage sat
the owner, an invalid, made so by
his own debauchery. Now he suffers.
; suffers, suffers, suffers. But listen.1
Down the boulevard still plods the
pedestrian. Do you hear that whistl
ing? He has come to himself and is
now out of the cloud having a praise
service because be can ruuand leap
Me isn’t rich in this world’s goods,
but good blood bounds thru his veins.
A picture of health is stamped on his
face .He lies considered and finds
much over whit h to rejoi e
John Bunyau might have felt bltre
and despondent because of the i: grat
itude of the people of heel i ford. But
in that old jail he looked up not down
It seemed terrible to the outsider
But in that damp prison away from
the world God gave him an imagina
tion so nearly divine that from his pen
there came forth the greatest allegor
i :al pro luction of the world.
I imagine he has bee n praising God
in eternity because of that imprison
ment for indirectly it has gladdened
many a weary pilgrim on his journey
home Let us rejoice too for the bless
mgs so freely showered about us
Are yon cogni/amt that many of
our dismal hours are brought abort
by the particular angle of vision?
Tr.eu let us shift our position and
view the other side of the question.
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