There is no music in a rest, but there is the making of music in it.
In our whole life-melody, the music is broken off here and there by ‘RESTS’, and we foolishly think we have come to the end of the tune. God sends a time of forced leisure, sickness, disappointed plans, frustrated efforts, and makes a sudden pause in the choral hymn of our lives; and we lament that our voices must be silent, and our part missing in the music which ever goes up to the ear of the Creator. How does the musician read the ‘REST’ ? See him beat the time with unvarying count, and catch up the next note true and steady, as if no breaking place had come between.
Not without design does God write the music of our lives. Be it ours to learn the tune, and not be dismayed at the ‘RESTS’. They are not to be slurred over, not to be omitted, not to destroy the melody, not to change the keynote. With the eye on Him, we shall the next note full and clear. If we sadly say to ourselves, “There is no music in a ‘rest,’ ” let us not forget “there is the making of music in it”. The making of music is often a slow and painful process in this life.
How long He waits for us to learn the lesson ! —Ruskin.
From the glad working of they busy life
From the world’s ceaseless stir of care and strife
Into the shade and stillness by they Heavenly Guide
For a brief space thou hast been called aside.
Perhaps into a desert garden dim
And yet not alone, when thou hast been with Him
And heard His voice in sweetest accents say
‘Child, wilt thou not with me this still hour stay?’
In hidden paths with thy Lord to tread
Deeper to drink at the sweet Fountainhead
Closer in fellowship with Him to roam
Nearer, perchance, to feel thy Heavenly Home.
Oh, knowledge deeper grows with Him alone
In secret oft His deeper love is shown
And learnt in many an hour of dark distress
Some rare, sweet lesson of His tenderness.
We thank thee for the stillness and the shade
We thank thee for the hidden paths thy love hath made
And, so that we have wept and watched with thee
We thank thee for our dark Gethsemane.
Oh, restful thought—He doth all things well
Oh, blessed sense, with God alone to dwell
So in the shadow of thy Cross to hide
We thank thee, Lord, to have been called aside.