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The Miracle Of Lanciano
This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live
Children Of God
One Solitary Life
He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another obscure village, where He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty. Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family or owned a home. He never went to college. He never set foot inside a big city. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place He was born. He did none of the things that usually accompany greatness.
While He was still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against Him. His friends deserted Him. He was turned over to His enemies, and went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed to a cross between two thieves. While He was dying, His executioners gambled for the only piece of property He had - His coat.
When He was dead, He was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today He is the central figure for much of the human race.
All the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as this "One Solitary Life."
James Allan Francis
Adapted from a passage in his book, "The Real Jesus and Other Sermons", published by "The Judson Press" (Phil.) 1926
INSPIRATIONAL POEM ON PRAYER
My God, is any hour so sweet,
From blush of morn to evening star,
As that which calls me to Thy feet,
The hour of prayer?
Then is my strength by Thee renewed;
Then are my sins by Thee forgiven;
Then dost Thou cheer my solitude
With hopes of heaven.
No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find,
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind.
Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;
My spirit seems in heaven to stay;
And een the penitential tear
Is wiped away.
Lord, till I reach yon blissful shore,
No privilege so dear shall be
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to Thee.
Charlotte Elliot, 1789 - 1871