(James Smith, “Good News for All” 1860) Play Audio! Download Audio
“Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!” Psalm 55:6
The trials of a believer are often severe. Many a storm has he to endure, many a river to ford, and many a fire to pass through–in his way home to the promised land. Little did the Christian think, when he first stepped into the liberty of the gospel, that there were such rough roads, dark nights, and terrible storms before him; but, more or less, every traveler to Mount Zion must experience them. It is generally found to be a rough road, which leads to the Celestial City. Many a Christian has found his courage fail him, and his heart misgive him, on his way home.
The darkness is sometimes so dense, 
the cross is at times so heavy,
the disappointment is at some seasons so great
–that the stoutest heart quails, and unites with the timid spirit, in exclaiming, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!”
These trials are necessary to . . .
try our sincerity,
exercise our graces, and
render the promises sweet and precious.
When all goes smooth, and everything is pleasant . . .
we attach but little importance to the promises,
have little power in prayer, and
are too apt to over-value ourselves.
But trying times . . .
endear the throne of grace,
strip us of pride and self-importance,
and strengthen our trust in Jesus.
Never is Christ so precious, as in times of peculiar trial,
or the Bible so valued, as in the day of trouble and distress.
Rest! O how sweet is the thought of rest to the weary, way-worn, exhausted traveler! Rest! O how sweet is the thought of rest to the afflicted, tried, and tempted Christian! He most generally thinks of Heaven as a place of rest:
from suffering,
sorrow,
toil, and
conflict.
Therefore we Rest with Jesus,
in the home of God.
Perfect, perpetual,
Peaceful, glorious rest.
We have the foretastes of it occasionally now, which makes us at times long for its fullness and perfection. o the inward calm, the secret repose, the rest at times enjoyed in the soul, urges us on, and makes us cry out, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!”
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