Luke 1:78
Through the tender mercy of our God; whereby the dayspring from on high has visited us,

We think that all our city folk ought somehow to get every week a few hours in the clear, unmixed sunshine as the Lord pours it out of the heavens. Last Sabbath was a day of unusual duties, and Monday morning, with loud-clamouring work all about us, we said our call this morning is to the fields. We made a bold dash, and at a speed that no one dared halt, we were soon beyond the city limits. As we hastened past, a brother clergyman shouted, "Whither away?" We answered — "In quest of sunshine!" And was there ever a brighter luxury? The cup of the morning had been washed out by a shower; the leaves, autumn-turned, shivered their fiery splendour across the path; the hum of the city became fainter, and we found what we wanted floating on the lake, tangled in the bushes, rippling among the green grass, dripping from the sky — sunshine. Glorious sunshine! With it we filled our eyelids, our mouth, our hands. We opened our entire physical capacity to take it in. We took out our soul and saturated it in the lush light. We absorbed it in all our pores, and rolled it around our nerves; and after we could hold no more inside, lifted our face and held it so aslant that it ran down over us — the sunshine. What do the blind do without seeing it? How can the factory employees get on without feeling it? Let all the ministry on Monday morning be turned out into it. By the following Saturday night it will ripen all the acidity out of the sermons. The world wants more sunshine in its disposition, in its business, in its charities, in its theology. For ten thousand of the aches, and pains, and irritations of men and women, we commend the sunshine. It soothes better than morphine. It stimulates more than champagne. It is the best plaister for a wound. The good Samaritan poured out into the fallen traveller's gash more of this than wine and oil. Florence Nightingale used it on Crimean battle-fields. Take it into all the alleys, on board all the ships, by all the sick-beds. Not a phial full, nor a cup full, nor a decanter full, but a soul full. It is good for spleen, for liver complaint, for neuralgia, for rheumatism, for failing fortunes, for melancholy. We suspect that heaven itself is only more sunshine.

(Dr. Talmage.)

Parallel Verses
KJV: Through the tender mercy of our God; whereby the dayspring from on high hath visited us,

WEB: because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the dawn from on high will visit us,

Safety in the Light of Day
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