Arranged by
There is a picture called “the Angel of Consolation.” A woman sits on the low rocks, looking out upon the sea. Desolation is all about her – not a flower, not a tree on the shore; only sand, rocks, and breaking waves. Down into the waters her heart’s treasures have gone. Her face is stony in its despairing grief. Almost touching her shoulder, hovering over her bowed form, is an angel, white robed, softly striking the strings of a harp. Does the mourner know how near to her the angel is? Does she hear the celestial music? No; she sits in dumb unconsciousness, sad and lonely, while God’s minister of comfort waits so close, and while the notes of sweet music fall unheeded on her ear.
Is not the picture true of many sorrowing ones? Is it not true, too, of many hungry lives, starving for other blessings? They do not take the gifts that the common days bring. Angels come to them unaware, in homely or unattractive disguise, walk with them, talk with them, and then only become known to them when their places are empty. We do not begin to recognize the worth of even our nearest human friends. With a wealth of precious love, and almost infinite helpfulness, they move beside us along the years; but their garb is plain, and we do not see the splendor that is in them. It would be well were we to pray to have our eyes opened that we might see the common angels God sends to bless our lives.