“我为你们起的愤恨，原是神那样的愤恨。”（林后十一：2）
一个善奏古琴的琴师，何等宠爱他的古琴呢！他把它怀抱在胸中，抚它，亲它，偎它！他和它相依为命。可是，你看他怎样调整弦音。他把它紧紧握住，用力地在弦上拨一下；弦立刻震颤，好似惊痛之下的战栗；他侧耳细听，觉得弦音粗浮，还为准备。于是他把弦绞紧；弹拨再三，直等到它能发出柔和准确的声音来。他脸上才露出笑容，点头满意。
亲爱的，其实神也是如此对待你。他爱你远胜琴师爱琴，他发现你的声音不和谐。他把你紧紧抓住，用力拨你的心弦；他侧耳细听，岂知你所发的声音仍是咒诅和怨言；他只得绞紧你的心弦，再拨，再弹，直等到你的声音是赞美，感谢，和“不要成就我的意思，只要成就你的意思。”（路二十二：42）——神所最喜听的音乐。
这是象天使歌唱一样，他所最爱听的音乐。直到你纯洁化了的灵魂，和他完全一致，乳水交融，否则他决不停止他的乐器音阶的调整。
I am jealous over you with God's own jealousy (2 Corinthians 11:2) Weymouth
How an old harper dotes on his harp! How he fondles and caresses it, as a child resting on his bosom! His life is bound up in it. But, see him tuning it. He grasps it firmly, strikes a chord with a sharp, quick blow; and while it quivers as if in pain, he leans over intently to catch the first note that rises. The note, as he feared, is false and harsh. He strains the chord with the torturing thumb-screw; and though it seems ready to snap with the tension, he strikes it again, bending down to listen softly as before, till at length you see a smile on his face as the first true tone trembles upward.
So it may be that God is dealing with you. Loving you better than any harper loves his harp, He finds you a mass of jarring discords. He wrings your heartstrings with some torturing anguish; He bends over you tenderly, striking and listening; and, hearing only a harsh murmur, strikes you again, while His heart bleeds for you, anxiously waiting for that strain--"Not my will, but thine be done" -- which is melody sweet to His ear as angels' songs. Nor will He cease to strike until your chastened soul shall blend with all the pure and infinite harmonies of His own being.
--Selected
Oh, the sweetness that dwells in a harp of many strings,
While each, all vocal with love in a tuneful harmony rings!
But, oh, the wail and the discord, when one and another is rent,
Tensionless, broken and lost, from the cherished instrument.
For rapture of love is linked with the pain or fear of loss,
And the hand that takes the crown, must ache with many a cross;
Yet he who hath never a conflict, hath never a victor's palm,
And only the toilers know the sweetness of rest and calm.
Only between the storms can the Alpine traveller know
Transcendent glory of clearness, marvels of gleam and glow;
Had he the brightness unbroken of cloudless summer days,
This had been dimmed by the dust and the veil of a brooding haze.
Who would dare the choice, neither or both to know,
The finest quiver of joy or the agony thrill of woe!
Never the exquisite pain, then never the exquisite bliss,
For the heart that is dull to that can never be strung to this.
一个善奏古琴的琴师，何等宠爱他的古琴呢！他把它怀抱在胸中，抚它，亲它，偎它！他和它相依为命。可是，你看他怎样调整弦音。他把它紧紧握住，用力地在弦上拨一下；弦立刻震颤，好似惊痛之下的战栗；他侧耳细听，觉得弦音粗浮，还为准备。于是他把弦绞紧；弹拨再三，直等到它能发出柔和准确的声音来。他脸上才露出笑容，点头满意。
亲爱的，其实神也是如此对待你。他爱你远胜琴师爱琴，他发现你的声音不和谐。他把你紧紧抓住，用力拨你的心弦；他侧耳细听，岂知你所发的声音仍是咒诅和怨言；他只得绞紧你的心弦，再拨，再弹，直等到你的声音是赞美，感谢，和“不要成就我的意思，只要成就你的意思。”（路二十二：42）——神所最喜听的音乐。
这是象天使歌唱一样，他所最爱听的音乐。直到你纯洁化了的灵魂，和他完全一致，乳水交融，否则他决不停止他的乐器音阶的调整。
I am jealous over you with God's own jealousy (2 Corinthians 11:2) Weymouth
How an old harper dotes on his harp! How he fondles and caresses it, as a child resting on his bosom! His life is bound up in it. But, see him tuning it. He grasps it firmly, strikes a chord with a sharp, quick blow; and while it quivers as if in pain, he leans over intently to catch the first note that rises. The note, as he feared, is false and harsh. He strains the chord with the torturing thumb-screw; and though it seems ready to snap with the tension, he strikes it again, bending down to listen softly as before, till at length you see a smile on his face as the first true tone trembles upward.
So it may be that God is dealing with you. Loving you better than any harper loves his harp, He finds you a mass of jarring discords. He wrings your heartstrings with some torturing anguish; He bends over you tenderly, striking and listening; and, hearing only a harsh murmur, strikes you again, while His heart bleeds for you, anxiously waiting for that strain--"Not my will, but thine be done" -- which is melody sweet to His ear as angels' songs. Nor will He cease to strike until your chastened soul shall blend with all the pure and infinite harmonies of His own being.
--Selected
Oh, the sweetness that dwells in a harp of many strings,
While each, all vocal with love in a tuneful harmony rings!
But, oh, the wail and the discord, when one and another is rent,
Tensionless, broken and lost, from the cherished instrument.
For rapture of love is linked with the pain or fear of loss,
And the hand that takes the crown, must ache with many a cross;
Yet he who hath never a conflict, hath never a victor's palm,
And only the toilers know the sweetness of rest and calm.
Only between the storms can the Alpine traveller know
Transcendent glory of clearness, marvels of gleam and glow;
Had he the brightness unbroken of cloudless summer days,
This had been dimmed by the dust and the veil of a brooding haze.
Who would dare the choice, neither or both to know,
The finest quiver of joy or the agony thrill of woe!
Never the exquisite pain, then never the exquisite bliss,
For the heart that is dull to that can never be strung to this.