Posted by: Sherry Goodwin | January 13, 2009

The Dew of the Word.

“My speech shall distel as the dew.”–DEUT. 32:2

BUT who hears the dew fall?  What microphone could reveal that music to our “gross unpurg`ed ears”?
   The dew distils in silence.  So does the speech of our God.  Most frequently in the silence of trust already spoken of.  In that stillness God’s silent love can be condensed into dewlike communications;  not read, not heard, but made known by the direct power of the Spirit upon the soul.
   Most often He does this by thrilling into remembrance something from the written Word, already learnt, but not flashing out in the quickened memory as if it had never been heard before.
   We do not get much of this if we are always in the midst of noise and turmoil and bustle. . .but the more usual way is to make a wider silence for His dew to fall, by calling us apart into some quiet place of sorrow or sickness.  So when we find ourselves thus led into a wilderness, let us forthwith look out for the dew, and it will not fail.  
   The dew distils in darkness.
   Sometimes God’s dew goes on falling through many hours of the night.  The watches seem very long, and the starlight does not reveal it.  But none of it is lost; some is already doing a hidden work as it falls around the very roots of our being, and some is ready to be revealed in sparkling brightness when the night is over, lessons learnt among the shadows to be lived out in the sunshine.
   The object of the dew is to maintain life in dry places and seasons. . .if it falls on the little fading plant. . .the weak little stem strightens up as the leaves absorb the life-renewing moisture, and the closed blossom can open out again with fresher fragrance than before.  So God keeps on distilling His speech into our frail spiritual life, or it would soon wither up.  Dryness is more to be dreaded than darkness.
   Only let us be content to let this dew of heaven fall in the dark, and when we cannot hear or see, recollect that He says, “My speech shall distil as the dew.”  Our part is to believe this, and leave ourselves open to it as we read what perhaps seems a very dim page of the Bible with very tired eyes; or, perhaps, lie still through the long hours of a literal night, with no power to meditate on the fitful gleams of half recollected verses that just cross our minds and seem to leave no trace.  Never mind, the dew is falling! 

Softly the dew in the evening descends,
   Cooling the sun-heated ground and the gale;
Flow’rets all fainting it soothingly tends,
   Ere the consumings of mid-day prevail.
Sweet gentle dewdrops, how mystic your fall,
Wisdom and mercy float down in you all.

Softer and sweeter by far is that Dew
   Which from the Fountain of Comfort, distils,
When the worn heart is created anew,
   And hallowed pleasure its emptiness fills.
Lord, let Thy Spirit be-dew my dry fleece!
Faith then shall triumph, and trouble shall cease 

                 (Rev. W. H. Havergal:  last hymn, 1870.)

Frances Ridley Havergal



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