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We ought to have a joy in our heart as God’s children which nothing can ever quench. There is a beautiful story of a golden organ in monastery. Once robbers besieged the monastery to rob it of its treasures. The monks carried the golden organ to a river near by, and sunk it in the water to keep it from the robbers’ hands. At certain periods – so the old legend runs – the organ would rise out of the river and give forth such ravishing music as was never elsewhere heard by mortal ears.
Such an instrument is a truly thankful heart, one in which is the joy of the Lord. The floods may go over it, but it ever rises out of them and sings its sweet songs. Nothing can ever check its praise. It sings in the darkest night, its music rolling out into the gloom to cheer the weary pilgrim. A thankful heat always finds something good, even when all things seem evil. A thankful heart finds roses amid its thorns, and rejoices, when the unthankful heart finds thorns amid the roses, and complains.