[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":4},["ShallowReactive",2],{"reading-1107":3},"NOVEMBER 7\r\nBut what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ (Phil. 3:7).\r\nWhen they buried the blind preacher, George Matheson, they lined his grave with red roses in memory of his love-life of sacrifice.\r\nAnd it was this man, so beautifully and significantly honored, who wrote,\r\nO Love that wilt not let me go,\r\nI rest my weary soul in Thee,\r\nI give Thee back the life I owe,\r\nThat in thine ocean depths its flow May richer, fuller be.\r\nO Light that followest all my way,\r\nI yield my flickering torch to Thee    My heart restores its borrowed ray,\r\nThat in Thy sunshine's blaze its day May brighter, fairer be.\r\nO Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to Thee,\r\nI trace the rainbow through the rain, And feel the promise is not vain,\r\nThat morn shall tearless be.\r\nO Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee,   I lay in dust life's glory dead,\r\nAnd from the ground there blossoms red, Life that shall endless be.\r\n\r\nThere is a legend of an artist who had found the secret of a\r\nwonderful red which no other artist could imitate. The secret of his color died with him. But after his death an old wound was    discovered over his heart. This revealed the source of the\r\nmatchless hue in his pictures. The legend teaches that no great\r\nachievement can be made, no lofty attainment reached, nothing of much value to the world done, save at the cost of hearts blood.",1783499794011]