My acquaintence with the author is limited to brief visits and loving fellowship in his church.There I discovered a self-made scholar, an omnivorous reader with a remarkable library of theologi-cal and devotional books, and one who seemed to burn the midnight oil in pursuit of God. Tozer saysin this book:Ībove the noise of selfish strife We hear Thy voice, O Son of Man. Frank Mason North, of New York, says in his immortal poem, so Mr. Where cross the crowded ways of life Where sound the cries of race and clan, In haunts ofwretchedness and need, On shadowed threshold dark with fears, And paths where hide the lures ofgreed.īut even as Dr. Who could imagine David writing the twenty-third Psalm on South Halsted Street, or a medi-eval mystic finding inspiration in a small study on the second floor of a frame house on the vast, flatcheckerboard of endless streets Here is a masterly study of the inner life by a heart thirsting after God, eager to grasp at least theoutskirts of His ways, the abyss of His love for sinners, and the height of His unapproachable maj-esty-and it was written by a busy pastor in Chicago!
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