infant
church in Thessalonica, that awakens his solicitude. He yearns to go
and see them, but he cannot; so he determines to write to them; and one
day he lays aside his tent needle, seizes his pen, and, when that pen
touches the papyrus sheet the New Testament begins. The Apostle's great,
warm heart kindles and blazes as he goes on, and at length bursts out in
this impassioned utterance: "Ye are my glory and joy!"

Paul, I thank thee for a thousand things, but for nothing do I thank
thee more than for that golden sentence. In these thrilling words, the
greatest of Christian pastors, rising above the poverty, homelessness,
and scorn that surrounded him, reaches forth his hand and grasps his
royal diadem. No man shall rob the aged hero of his crown. No chaplet
worn by a Roman conqueror in the hour of his brightest triumph, rivals
the coronal that Pastor Paul sees flashing before his eyes. It is a
crown blazing with stars; every star an immortal soul plucked from the
darkness of sin into the light and liberty of a child of God. Poor, is
he? He is making many rich. Despised is he? He wouldn't change places
with Caesar. Homeless is he? His citizenship is in heaven, where he will
find myriads whom he can meet and say to them: "Ye, ye are my glory and
joy." Sixteen centuries after Paul uttered these words, John Bunyan
re-echoed them when he said:

"I have counted as if I had goodly buildings in the places where my
spiritual children were born. My heart has been so wrapt up in this
excellent work that I accounted myself more honored of God than if He
had made me emperor of all the world, or the lord of all the glory of
the earth without it. He that converteth a sinner from the error of his
ways doth save a soul from death, and they that be wise shall shine as
the brightness of the firmament."

Now, the great Apostle expressed what every ambassador of Christ
constantly experiences when in the thick of the Master's work. His are
the joys of acquisition. His purse may be scanty, his teaching may be
humble, and the field of his labor may be so obscure that no bulletins
of his achievements are ever proclaimed to an admiring world.
Difficulties may sadden and discouragement bring him to his knees; but I
tell you that obscure, toiling man of God has a joy vouchsafed to him
that a Frederick or a Marlborough never knew on the field of bloody
triumph, or that a Rothschild never dreams of in his mansions of
splendor, nor an Astor wit