We are ready to say at first sight, “How much better if the world had been all dry land? There would have been so much more space for men to spread on—so much more land to grow corn on. What is the use of all that sea?” But when we look into the matter, we shall find, that every word of God stands true, in every jot and tittle of it—that we ought to thank God for the sea as much as for the land—that David spoke truly when he said, in this Psalm civ., that the great and wide sea also is full of God’s riches.
For in the first place—What should we do without water? Not only to drink, but to feed all trees, and crops which grow. Those who live in a dry parish
know well the need of water for the crops. In fact, strange as it may seem, out of water is made wood. You know, perhaps, that plants are made out of the salts in the soil—but not only out of salts—they are made also out of water. Every leaf and flower is made up only of those two things—salts from the soil, and water from the sky. Most wonderful! But so it is. Water is made up of several very different things. The leaves and flowers, when they drink up water, keep certain parts of water, and turn them into wood; and the part of the water which they do not want, is just the part which we do want, namely, fresh air, for water is full of fresh air. And therefore the plants breathe out the fresh air through their leaves, that we may breathe it into our lungs. More and more wonders, you see, as we go on!
But where does all the rain water and spring water come from? From the clouds. And where do the clouds come from? From the Sea. The sea water is drawn up by the sun’s heat, evaporated, as we call it, into the air, and makes mist, and that mist grows together into clouds. And these clouds empty their blessed life-giving treasures on the land—to feed man, and beast, and herb.
But what is it which governs these clouds, and makes them do their appointed work? The Psalmist tells us, “At Thy rebuke they flee; at the voice of Thy thunder they are afraid.” He gives the same account of it which wise men now-a-days give. It is God, he says, and the Providence of God, which raises the clouds, and makes them water the earth. And the means which He employs is thunder. Now this is strictly true. We all know that thunder gathers the clouds together, and brings
rain: but we do not all know that the power which makes the thunder, which we call electricity, is working all around us everywhere. It is only when it bursts out, in flame and noise, which we call lightning and thunder, that we perceive it—but it is still there, this wonderful thing called electricity, for ever at work—giving the clouds their shape, making them fly with vast weights of water through the sky, and then making them pour down that water in rain.
But there is another deep meaning in those words of the Psalmist’s about thunder. He tells us that at the voice of God’s thunder the waters are afraid—that He has set them their bounds which they shall not pass, nor turn again to cover the earth. And it is true. Also that it is this same thunder power which makes dry land—for there is thunder beneath us, and lightning too, in the bowels of the earth. Those who live near burning mountains know this well. They see not only flames, but real lightning, real thunder playing about the burning mouths of the fiery mountains—they hear the roaring, the thundering of the fire-kingdom miles beneath their feet, under the solid crust of the earth. And they see, too, whole hills, ay, whole counties, sometimes, heaved up many feet in a single night, by this thunder under ground—and islands thrown up in the midst of the sea—so that where there was once deep water is now dry land.
Now, in this very way, strange as it may seem, almost all dry land is made. This whole country of England once lay at the bottom of the sea. You may now see shells and sea fishes bedded in high rocks and hill tops. But it was all heaved up by the thunder which works under ground. There are places in England where I
have seen the marks of the fire on the rocks; and the solid stone crushed, and twisted, and melted by the vast force of the fire which thrust up the land from beneath—and thus the land was heaved up from under the waters, and the sea fled away and left its old bed dry—firm land and high cliffs—and as the Psalmist says, “At the voice of God’s thunder the waters were afraid. Thou hast set them their bounds which they shall not pass, neither turn again to cover the earth.”
Wonderful as all this may seem, all learned men know that it is true. And this one thing at least it ought to teach us, what a wonderful and Almighty God we have to deal with, whose hand made all these things—and what a loving and merciful God, who makes not only the wind and the sea, and the thunder and the fire kingdoms obey Him, but makes their violence bring blessings to mankind. The fire kingdom heaves up dry land for men to dwell on—the thunder brings mellow rains—the winds sweep the air clean, and freshen all our breath—and feed the plants with rich air drawn from far forests in America, and from the wild raging seas—the sea sends up its continual treasures of rain—everywhere are harmony and fitness, beauty and use in all God’s works. He has made nothing in vain. All His works praise Him, and surely, also, His saints should give thanks to Him! Oh! my friends—every thunder shower—every fresh south-west breeze, is a miracle of God’s mercy, if we could but see thoroughly into it.