Rest Audiolibro Por David Caleb Cook arte de portada

Rest

Or, The Song of Love

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Rest

De: David Caleb Cook
Narrado por: Virtual Voice
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Este título utiliza narración de voz virtual

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 I want to teach you a song — one which in the long ago echoed o’er the Galilean hills. I am sure you will try to keep time to its music, for it must strike a responsive chord in your heart. It is not a battle-hymn, though it may nerve one for battle. It is not a song of victory, though in it is assurance of victory. Its refrain is, “Rest, rest, rest.” ’Tis a song they sing beside the crystal sea in the heaven-land, and there is not a false note in its cadence as they sing it there. It is a true answer to the hearths cry, “Oh, where shall rest be found?” It tells of lifted burdens and weights removed. ’Tis like the fragrance of a thousand roses to such as breathe a tainted atmosphere; like a cooling breeze from some snow-capped mountain in dry and sultry midsummer; like the murmur of a waterfall to the thirsty traveler. Its music is for all ears, for all have need of rest. But some do not seem to hear. It tells of desires satisfied, needs supplied, fears quelled; of heart-aches healed, death and separation banished; of sorrow and mourning gone, of losses and disappointments made good, and of sickness and suffering ended; of rest from blighting care, bitter memories, wounded pride, wasted opportunities, from remorse, from evil forebodings; rest to the broken-hearted; rest to the storm-tossed. After the busy day of toil, how sweet to you is rest! And when your rest is sweet you rise refreshed for work. How dependent you are on rest in order that you may work! And how difficult it sometimes is to secure! Often your rest is broken and disturbed by dreams. You may resort to various means to induce sleep, and sometimes your best effort will be without avail. What is more active than the healthy babe? It is in constant motion, incessantly active. And yet how perfect is its sleep, and how glad and bright its awaking! It is not because you work harder than the child, but less contentedly, that your sleep is broken. Is it not the sense of loving care while awake, and the lullaby song of assurance of protection, that gives the baby such repose while it sleeps? You have heard the mother say, “Come to me, darling,” and a few moments later have seen the tired child peacefully slumbering. Perhaps sometimes you think of those simple, quiet days of childhood, and long for mother’s arms to rest in, and to lay your aching head on her bosom. But you are a babe no longer, and questionings that trouble you now are not all such as a mother’s words could answer, nor your restlessness of a kind that her arms could quiet. Yet for you there should be rest. Of all the glad calls that ever fell upon the ears of weary men and women from Him who spoke for God, the most inviting is in the words: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” ’Tis Love’s lullaby to the soul. For He who spoke the words is Love.
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