Jehu did the particular kind of work which had been assigned to him—a work of destruction and blood. Perhaps he alone of all the people of his time could have accomplished this task. But Jehu must stand in history as a warning rather than as an example.
JOB.
Sometimes I have most clearly seen the whole tragedy of Job in a waking dream, the whole passing before me in twilight shadows, losing itself in thick darkness, reappearing in light like the dawn—always changing, always solemn, always instructive; a thing that surely happened, because a thing now happening in all the substance of its eternal meaning.
Is it a pillar grand in height, and finished all over with the dainty care of an artist whose life has been spent in learning and applying the art of color?
How stately! How Heaven seeking because Heaven worthy! While I admire, I wonder religiously.
I see the hosts of darkness gathering around the erstwhile flashing capital, and resting over it like midnight sevenfold in blackness; then the lightning gleams from the center of the gloom, then the fire-bolt flies forth and smites the coronal once so glorious, and dashes it in hot dust to the Earth, and the tall stalk—so upright, so delicate, so like a well-trained life—reels, totters and falls in an infinite crash!
Is it true?
Every word of it. True now—may be true in thee and me, O man, so assured of stability and immovableness. There is danger in high places. Is there a Spirit which hates all noble-mindedness and seeks to level the spiritual pile with mean things? Evil Spirit! The very Devil—hating all goodness because hating God!
But stop.