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In the foul gutter, in the city street, a drop of water lay, soiled, stagnant, polluted. Far up in the depths of the sky, a gentle sunbeam saw it and pitied it in its vileness, all its crystal beauty gone. The beam flew down to the dark gutter, kissed the foul drop, and thrilled it with new, strange hope. Soon it felt itself quietly lifted upward by an impulse it could not resist – higher and higher through the air, and then wafted on, mile after mile. At last it lay on a mountain top, pure, glorified – a snow flake white as the holy beauty of heaven.
You understand the parable. Thus human souls lie in earth’s sins. Thus Christ’s love and grace stream down and touch them in their baseness. New desires spring up, longings for holiness, hungerings and thirstings after God. They lift up their eyes unto the hills. The divine Spirit draws them upward. At last they enter the life of Christ, then into heavenly blessedness, and sit down with Christ in glory – washed in the Lamb’s blood and made whiter than snow.