by Thomas Brooks
Oh! labor every day to be more humble and more low and little in your own eyes. 'Who am I,' says the humble soul—'but that God should cross me in this mercy, and take away that mercy, and pass a sentence of death upon every mercy? I am not worthy of the least mercy, I deserve not a crumb of mercy, I have forfeited every mercy.' Only by pride comes contention. It is only pride that puts men upon contending with God and men.
A humble soul will lie quiet at the foot of God, it will be contented with bare necessities. A dinner of green herbs relishes well with the humble man's palate; whereas a stalled ox is but a coarse dish to a proud man's stomach.
A humble heart thinks none less than himself, nor none worse than himself.
A humble heart looks upon small mercies as great mercies; and great afflictions as small afflictions; and small afflictions as no afflictions; and therefore sits mute and quiet under all. Do but keep humble, and you will keep silent before the Lord.
Pride kicks, and flings, and frets; but a humble man has still his hand upon his mouth. Everything on this side hell is mercy—much mercy, rich mercy to a humble soul; and therefore he remains mute under the smarting rod.
Excerpt from The Mute Christian Under the Smarting Rod by Thomas Brooks