b'\xe2\x96\xa0-^- \' \'\xe2\x96\xa0 JLL. \n\n\n\n=5 \n\n\n\n535Ss^Ss-B-\xc2\xbb:-r:-.~--, \n\n\n\nIKINCP \n\n\n\n\nUBRAF F CONGRESS. \n\n\n\n\nShelf J0fet*/ \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA. \n\n\n\n^ \n\n\n\nOUR \n\n\n\nSabbath Evening \n\n\n\nHOME MEDITATIONS, \n\n\n\nIN PROSE AND VERSE. \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\x94 BY \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \nALPHONSO A. HOPKINS. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\'Vi \n\n\n\nBOSTON: \n\nD. LOTHROP & COMPANY, \n\n32 Franklin Street. \n\n\n\n\xe2\x96\xa0/UO I \n\n\n\n\n\n\n^ \n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT : \nBY A. A. HOPKINS. \n\nl880. \n\n\n\nBY THE SAME AUTHOR: \n\nJOHN BR EMM : HIS PRISON BARS. A Tem- \nperance Story, with its lessons for Young Women, and \nYoung Men. Sixteen-mo. : \xe2\x80\x94 Price, One Dollar and \nTwenty -five Cents. \n\nASLEEP IN THE SANCTUM, And Othet Poems, \nOccasional, Religious, and Miscellaneous, Square Six- \nteen-mo. : \xe2\x80\x94 Price, One Dollar. \n\nWAIFS AND THEIR AUTHORS. Biographical \nSketehes of Twenty-one Poets, with nearly One Hun- \ndred and Fifty of their Best Poems. Small Quarto, Il- \nlustrated. Three Hundred and Twenty Pages: Price. \nPlain Muslin\xe2\x80\x94 Two Dollars ; Full Gilt\xe2\x80\x94 Two Dollars \nand Fifty Cents. \n\n\n\nLC Control Number \n\n\n\n\ntmp96 027442 \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nPAGE \n\n\n\nIN THE TWILIGHT 9 \n\nTHE NEW LEAF II \n\nTHE SILENT CHRIST I3 \n\nOVERCOMING 1 6 \n\nDOUBTING DISCIPLES 1 8 \n\nTHE VALLEY OF ACHOR 2o \n\nSTRONG IN WEAKNESS 21 \n\nA PRESENT CHRIST 2 2 \n\nTHE STILL SMALL VOICE 24 \n\nTHE HOMESICK 25 \n\nOUR BETHESDA 2j \n\nTHY ROD AND STAFF . . - 29 \n\nTHE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS . . . . 30 \n\nHUMAN DESIRES ...... 3 I \n\nAS A PRODIGAL 33 \n\npain\'s MINISTRIES 34 \n\nTHE ROUNDS OF BEING 36 \n\nTHE OTHER SIDE $7 \n\nTHE SIN OF INDIFFERENCE 38 \n\nFOOLISH DARING 39 \n\nOUR GUIDES 41 \n\nHUMAN AFFECTION 42 \n\nMEASURING CHARACTER .44 \n\nTHY PEACE 45 \n\ngod\'s FATHERHOOD 47 \n\nHUNGERING AND THIRSTING .49 \n\nA HEART SONG 50 \n\n\n\nIV \n\n\n\nCONTENTS, \n\n\n\ndivine ordering .... \n\nthe service of waiting \nchristian life. . \nChrist\'s abiding . . \nthe pure in heart \nthe endless day . . \nthe angel of healing \nthe deeper rest. . . . \n\ntoward sodom. . \nday by day .... ... \n\none with the lord . . \njephthah\'s DAUGHTER \nTHE HYMNS OF HOME. . \nI SHALL BE SATISFIED . \nPENALTIES FOR SIN . . \n\nAT THE LAST \n\nEARTH\'S TWILIGHT TIME \nA mother\'s PRAYERS . . \nthe underlying hope \nfeed my lambs .... \nchristian patience . . \nconversion to christ. . \nselling our birthright \nthe song of miriam. . . \nthe master truth . . \nChrist\'s compassion \nChrist\'s humanity . \nthe father\'s voice. . \nan appropriating faith \nimpetuous christianity \n\nUNREST \n\nCOURTING SIN . . \n" AND THEN" \n" COME UNTO ME" \nKNOWING GOD \nPATIENCE WITH SELF \nTHE TOUCH OF FAITH \nPSALMS IN THE NIGHT \n\n\n\n5 1 \n53 \n54 \n56 \n57 \n58 \n60 \n61 \n\n64 \n\n65 \n66 \n\n68 \n70 \n71 \n73 \n75 \n76 \n\n77 \n\n79 \n\n80 \n\n82 \n\n*3 \n85 \n87 \n89 \n\n9i \n93 \n\n96 \n\n98 \n\n99 \n101 \n103 \n\n104 \n106 \n\n108 \n109 \n\n\n\ncontents. v \n\n" no night there " ho \n\nmaterializing heaven i i 2 \n\n"vanity of vanities\'\' 114 \n\nAT THE ALTAR . .. . Il6 \n\nat the end i i 7 \n\nhaving and holding i 19 \n\nthe hills of god 120 \n\nour little ills i 2 l \n\nmy manna ...... ...... ...... i 23 \n\n"by their fruits " 124 \n\nhumanity\'s danger ... 125 \n\nlittle by little 127 \n\nbelief in christ . i 28 \n\nbelief .... ........ 129 \n\nevery-day philosophy 131 \n\nit is well 133 \n\ncompleteness of faith i 34 \n\nthe two malefactors 135 \n\nlost little ones i37 \n\nIS THERE A SAFER TRUST 138 \n\nIN SHADOW . . 1 40 \n\nCHRISTIAN INDIGNATION ...... . , 14 I \n\nOUR SAMSONS 142 \n\nMY WILDERNESS I44 \n\nMNAS NEED 145 \n\nBY THE WAY 147 \n\nTHE GATE BEAUTIFUL 149 \n\nTHE SUMMER IS ENDED . l6o \n\nblessed are the meek . i 52 \n\nchrist in the home i53 \n\nhis coming 155 \n\ndemonized manhood 1 56 \n\n"am i my brother^ keeper " i58 \n\nthe divine healing . 1 57 \n\nsanctifying toil 1 60 \n\nthe ever absent 1 63 \n\ngod\'s leading 164 \n\nTRUSTING l66 \n\n\n\nVI CONTENTS. \n\n\n\nALONG THE WAY \n\n\n\n167 \n\nTHE POVERTY OF RICHES I 68 \n\n\n\nOUR THANKSGIVING . \n\nTHANKSGIVING \n\nDOUBTING CHRIST . . . \nTHANK-OFFERINGS. . . \nIN THANKFULNESS. . . \nOUR HEART-OFFERING \nA CHRISTIAN HABIT. . \nTHE STAR DIVINE. . . . \nNEWNESS OF LIFE. . . . \n\n\n\nI70 \n\nI72 \n\n174 \n\n176 \n\n177 \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2\xe2\x80\xa2 l 79 \n\n180 \n\n182 \n\n184 \n\nJESUS WEPT 185 \n\nMY THANKFUL THOUGHT 1 87 \n\nTHE CHRIST-CHILD 1 89 \n\nTHE LAND OF MOAB 1 90 \n\nTHE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS 1 92 \n\nPOWER OF PRAYER .... I 94 \n\nABILITY TO GIVE I95 \n\ngod\'s TIME 197 \n\nGOOD GIFTS I98 \n\nWHEN THE END COMETH 200 \n\nGOD 7 S MORROW 202 \n\n"AS THE LEAF" 203 \n\nHUMAN SYMPATHY 204 \n\nA PSALM OF PRAISE 2O5 \n\nTHE RENDERING OF GRATITUDE 207 \n\nBLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN 2o8 \n\nCHRISTIAN EXPRESSION 2IO \n\nBEFORE THE SERVICE 2 12 \n\nIN SIGHT OF THE CITY .213 \n\nSHALL HE BE SAVED 2 I 5 \n\nTHE LONELY LAND 2 I 7 \n\nLOOKING BACKWARD 2I9 \n\nAT EVEN TIME 221 \n\n\n\nTO \n\nMY MOTHER, \n\nTHE HUMAN INSPIRATION \n\nOF \n\nWHATEVER IS TRUE AND WORTHY IN MY LIFE, \n\nAND OF \n\nALL THAT IS PUREST AND MOST HELPFUL \n\nIN MY WRITINGS ; \n\nAND TO \n\nMY PASTOR, \n\nABOUT WHOSE MORNING THOUGHT \n\nMY \n\nEVENING MEDITATIONS OFTEN CLUSTER, \n\nI DEDICATE \n\n\n\nTHIS BOOK. \n\n\n\nIN THE TWILIGHT. \n\nSabbath evenings are especially pleasant at home. \nHowever large or small the circle, an influence known \nat no other time through the week makes itself felt, and \nproduces marked effects. Education has much to do \nwith this, to be sure \xe2\x80\x94 and for the same let education be \nthanked ! But there is a somewhat in the Sabbath at- \nmosphere unlike anything in the week-day work and \nworry \xe2\x80\x94 a somewhat that is restful, and tranquillizing, and \nsweet. There is, or there ought to be. - "Six daysshalt \nthou labor," holds within it the truest economy of life, \neven considered wholly apart from any sacred significance. \nIt is well for us at regular intervals to get away from our \nlabor \xe2\x80\x94 to stand removed, as it were \xe2\x80\x94 and look upon it \nin the light of its relation to our inner existence \xe2\x80\x94 to \nwalk out of our lower selves into a self that is higher, \nand better, and nobler. \n\nWe whose weeks are ever weeks of toil, need just what \nSabbaths bring of quiet reflection. The world is a very \nbusy world, and its opportunities for silent meditation \nare few, indeed. Amid its whirl and stir we are pressed \nupon every hand by duties that will not be thrust aside, \nand that too often call only our baser being into action. \n\n\n\nIO IN THE TWILIGHTS \n\nHere in the home, as the Sabbath evening shadows gath- \ner, we have drifted out from the world, and all its dis- \ncordant noises fade far away. The morning service \xe2\x80\x94 \nwith its hymns that were in themselves a benediction, and \nits words that were a kindly ministry to our souls \xe2\x80\x94 the \nBible-study that followed, and our afternoon\'s readings, \nhave borne us outward, and only in our on-coming sleep \nneed we drift back to the every-day being and doing (and \nsinning?) once more. \n\nBut though separate from the world for a little, we can- \nnot forget its wants, its wickednesses, our own daily fail- \nures, our personal needs. The rather ought we to \nremember them in fervent prayer. The sermon of the \nmorning had for its theme "The Resultant Effects of \nSin ;" and the preacher showed by numerous illustrations \nthat though we sorrow deeply over any transgressions \nour repentance cannot avert the natural consequence of \nsach transgression. David of old repented bitterly o* \nhis heinous sin before God, but the effects of that sin \nwere not done away. "The child that is born unto thee \nshall surely die," was spoken in almost the same breath \nwith that comforting assurance of pardon : \xe2\x80\x94 "The Lord \nalso hath put away thy sin." So is it ever. God pardons \nthe sin ; but its consequences remain. But for this we \nmight go on sinning indefinitely, looking to a final repen- \ntance to clear it all away. In the light of this fact \nhowever, every added sin is a something added to the \nsum of evil consequences, forever beyond our reach, never \nto be effaced by repentance most sincere. \n\nThe world thinks differently, it would seem. Do we \n\n\n\nTHE NEW LEAF. II \n\nnot seem to think differently ourselves, often, when we \nmingle with the world ? In the hush of our Sabbath even- \ning we hear the heart\'s soft answer \xe2\x80\x94 \' \' Yes. " And we say \nto ourselves, in tenderly prayerful words \xe2\x80\x94 "Pray God that \nall sin may henceforth be kept far from us, so that none \nof its consequences shall be set down to our charge !"\' \nGod grant to hear such petition, even as though it were \naddressed on bended knee ! \n\n\n\nTHE NEW LEAF. \n\n\' \' We have turned over a new leaf, " said Ruth on \nNew Year\'s morning. \n\n"A new leaf!" How many are turned over with every \nNew Year ! It is a time for reflection, for fresh resolving, \nfor added fervor of zeal. \n\nSitting here to-night, we look back over the old year, \nand seeing much that was base and impure, much of \nfailure and faltering, we feel as though to turn over a \nnew leaf were well indeed. We have so much to cor- \nrect, so much to purify, so much to strengthen. \n\nBut does the turning over a new leaf once a year work \nout what is needed ? Is it not a little sad to think so \nmany new r leaves must be turned over? What of the \nold ones ? Are they full ? and is the writing so crude \nand imperfect we blush over it ? Or aie they just blanks, \n\n\n\n12 THE NEW LEAF, \n\nor blanks in part, whereon we meant to write beautiful \nthings and through waiting and hesitation failed to write \nat all ? \n\nLet us not quite give over the old leaves. If we held \npurposes noble and pure \xe2\x80\x94 and did we not ? \xe2\x80\x94 let us hold \nto them still, with only a better endeavor, and a larger \nfaith. If we planned well, but indolently neglected to \nexecute, let us stand by the old plans. If our hope was \na good hope, let us cherish it to the end. We may have \nnewness of life, though we stand fast by the old year\'s \npurposing, planning, and hoping. \n\nAnd it may be the new life in the old that shall bless \nus beyond measure. May be ! Is there any doubt of it ? \nOur new life is always the old, with a difference. It is \nold \xe2\x80\x94 the individuality of it, the scope of it. Real newness \ncame into ir but once \xe2\x80\x94 when Christ\'s spirit gave the new \nimpulse. Since then the only newness is a newness of \ndoing. Shall the doing be really new and true in the \nyear to come? Shall we write the new leaf full with\' \nsteady purpose, with unfaltering faith, with love for God \nand our fellowmen ? \n\nO would our leaves of life were fair \n\nWith faithful writing everywhere ! \n\nO would that love shone clear and true \n\nEach plan and purpose ever thro\'; \n\nThat zeal did never faint and tire ; \n\nThat hope ne\'er waned to low desire ; \n\nThat so ezch New Year\'s dawn should bring \n\nThe old year\'s buds to blossoming, \n\nAnd so all hopes and plans should tend \n\nThrough patient work to perfect end ! \n\n\n\nTHE SILENT CHRIST. \n\nAlong Judea\'s homely ways \n\nThe young Messiah trod, \nWithin Him hid through weary days \n\nThe wonder-working God. \n\nThe sick no healing in Him knew, \n\nNo help the smitten sore ; \nTo wretched Gentile, needy Jew, \n\nNo aid divine He bore. \n\nThe blind went by Him to and fro, \nThrough all their lonely night ; \n\nYet none the tender touch might know \nOf hands that held their sight. \n\nThe poor in poverty\'s distress \n\nLay by the rich man\'s gate, \nNor dreamed that heavenly power to bless, \n\nTheir iaith could antedate. \n\nAlone amid the mass of men \n\nHe moved, the silent Christ, \nTo no divinest message, then, \n\nHis human lips enticed. \n\nA worker with the work day throng, \n\nPerhaps He yet could hear \nSome strains of that transcendent song \n\nThe angels chanted near ; \n\n\n\n14 THE SILENT CHRIST. \n\nThe sweet good-will, the peace on earth, \nWith which they sung Him in, \n\nThrough lowly door of human birth, \nUpon the world of sin J \n\nj Perhaps He listened, rapt and still, \n\nAmid the noisy round, \nTo learn the Father\'s secret will, \' \nHis purposes profound ; \n\nPerhaps upon Judea\'s sands \nHe dreamed of waters sweet \n\nThat once He drank in heavenly lands \nClose by the^Father\'s feet ; \n\nPerhaps upon Judea\'s hills \nHe looked with longing eyes, \n\nOn scene no mprtal vision thrills \nWith tender, glad surprise ; \n\nPerhaps on lonely nights He slept \nTo human sound and sense, \n\nBut waked to angels\' touch and kept \nTheir fit communion hence ! \n\nWe may not know. He came and went \nWith mortals, like the rest ; \n\nNo hint of growing discontent \nHis human life expressed ; \n\nFrom out His dual consciousness \nNo word divine He spoke ; \n\nThe silent Christ, in human dress, \nHis silence never broke. \n\nThe world was weary grown indeed, \nAnd cried for Him in grief ; \n\n\n\nTHE SILENT CHRIST. \n\nAround Him grew the human need, \nAnd found no full relief. \n\nAnd still He held His silent way \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe waiting, silent Christ \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTill God\'s own long-appointed day \nHis lips to speech enticed ! \n\nThen whereso\'er He chanced to be \nHe spake the Living Word ; \n\nThe hearts of men, the stormy sea, \nIn sudden wonder heard. \n\nAnd ever since that blessed time \nWhen silence found its speech, \n\nIn helpful syllables sublime \nHis words have come to each : \n\nAnd never silence so divine \nShall walk the world again, \n\nAs lived and moved and made no sign, \nAmong Judea\'s men ; \n\nAs wrapped with human garb around, \n\nThe homely ways it trod, \nAnd in its mystery profound \n\nWas but the breath of God! \n\n\n\n15 \n\n\n\n\nOVERCOMING. \n\nRuth was reading in Revelations, just before the \ntwilight came on. When it grew too dark to see, we all \nsat there a while in silence. \n\n" He that overcometh shall inherit all things/\' repeated \nRuth, at last. "That is a blessed promise," she went on \nto say. * \xe2\x96\xa0 I think of no sweeter comfort for tired souls. \nAnd I am glad the phrase that precedes the promise is \nso comprehensive. \' He that overcometh ; It does not \nsay what must be overcome. It is not limited, in its \napplication, to any particular individuality. It covers, \nso, all human stress and strain. " \n\n"Then you think each man and woman of us has \nsomewhat to overcome ?" one asked. \n\n"I know it, "she responded, with feeling. "Life is a \nbattle for us all. How hard the fight for some, you and \nI may never quite understand ; but it seems hard enough, \neven for us. We are borne down sometimes, to the very \ndust. We cry out w r ith pain and longing. We want so \nmuch that we do not have \xe2\x80\x94 peace, and plenty, and luxury, \nthe seeming joys of a richer and better endowed being \nthan our own. \n\n\' \' What is it to overcome ? Well, each one can answer \nthat question for himself or herself. I believe in \ntemptations according to temperament, and contests \n\n\n\nOVERCOMING. IJ \n\ngrowing out of these peculiar to individual character. \nFor me to overcome would be one thing ; for you to \novercome might be very different indeed. Is it not, \nprimarily, just an overcoming of selfishness ? So it seems, \nas I look at it. All that self wants, only for self-satisfaction, \nand not self-improvement \xe2\x80\x94 that is to be battled against. \nEvery passion that may degrade \xe2\x80\x94 that is to be conquered. \nEvery desire and impulse that may work ill to the soul \n\xe2\x80\x94 these are to be set aside. \n\n" And what is the gain ? Much comes to us here, but \nthe \'all things\' of our inheritance wito shall estimate? \nI like to feel that I am to inherit) that what is promised \nme I may not, can, not earn ; that I must go out of this \nlife poor as I entered it, whatever my service ; that I am \nto be rich beyond measure by-and-by ju st because God \nis good beyond measure always, kind and tender and \nlovingly beneficent. His promise of an inheritance for \nme seals, somehow, my relation to Him. It makes me \nfeel that He is truly my Father, and I am as Luly His \nchild. I shall not forever want, because His promises \nfail not. The infinite riches are certain, to such as are \nheirs of God." \n\n\n\nWith regard to the past \xe2\x80\x94 -it is gone. Regrets are un- \navailing. And the future ? It is not ours. , We have \nthe present, and that alone. Good resolutions for days \nto come\' are worth nothing. We must live as we would \nlive, now. \n\n\n\nDOUBTING DISCIPLES. \n\nThe text of the preacher this morning was that remark \nof Thomas, so heroic in form, so despondent in spirit \xe2\x80\x94 \n"Let us also go up, that we may die with him." \n\nWas it merely a happen-so, that the small band of dis- \nciples chosen by our Saviour numbered such diverse \ndispositions, \xe2\x80\x94 that there were so many distinct tempera- \nments in it? Had not Christ a purpose in His every \ndoing ?-and were not these diverse natures chosen as so \nmany types of what the vast army of disciples should be \nin years to come ? We think so. \n\nThomas was the type of doubt. From all we can \nlearn of him, he looked ever on the dark side of things; \nwas continually prophesying evil to come. He was a \nsincere believer in the Master, perhaps, in the abstract. \nBut he doubted in the detail. He felt uncertain of the \nend. He questioned always as to results. \n\nHow many of us so doubt, so question ! Have we as \ngood reason as had Thomas? Assuredly not. It* needed \na stronger faith to believe unhesitatingly in Jesus Christ \npresent in the flesh, than it now needs to* believe in \nHim risen from the dead and sitting at the right hand of \nthe Father. He was the carpenter\'s son, then ; he has \nbeen our Mediator ever since. It is not so strange that \nThomas doubted then, as that Christians doubt to-day. \n\n\n\nDOUBTING DISCIPLES. 1 9 \n\nWe know more of Jesus Christ than Thomas knew, even \nafter he put his hands in those gaping wounds. Chris- \ntianity has been preaching its divine origin these 1,800 \nyears, \xe2\x80\x94 preaching it with no additions, but with a more \ncomplete development. It has proved its character by \nwhat it has done for the race. \n\nWhat excuse, therefore, have the doubting Thomases \nto-day? Suppose there are dark times in individual \nexperience, why doubt ? Suppose the end is hedged about \nand baffles oui percievings, why despond ? Such has been \nthe case in thousands of other instances. Men have \ndoubted, and desponded, but Christ lives yet. Uncer- \ntainty has brooded over all the way many times before, \nbut we have always come out into clear paths after a while, \n\nVerily, Thomas was a type of what should be, but not \nof what ought to be. We may not shoulder all our \ndubious forecastings upon temperament, and hold our- \nselves blameless. As well might we excuse overt sin \nbecause we were born with a tendency to sinning. Men \ndoubt, not so much because of any predisposition so to \ndo, as because of a cultivated, liking for unbelief. Men \nhave cultured themselves into skepticism \xe2\x80\x94 they are doing \nit yet. Doubts will come to as, sometimes, and we are \nnot to blame for their coming. But we are blameworthy \nif we let them take lodgment and stay, \xe2\x80\x94 if we feed and \ncherish them and let them invite others. \n\n\n\nTHE VALLEY OF ACHOR. \n\nMake me to feel, loving Son \n\nOf loving Father, just and kind, \n\nThat I with sin and doubt have done, \n\nAnd now, with peace and trust at one, \n\nMy will to Thee is all resigned ! \n\nMake me in fullest faith to see \n\nMy every wickedness laid bare, \nRenounced forever, as I flee \nFrom this poor life of self, to Thee, \nAnd learn Thy love beyond compare ! \n\nMake this indeed to me the Vale \nOf Achor blest, where now I yield \n\nThe sweetest sin that would assail \n\nMy longing soul ; nor let me fail \n\nTo show Thee, Lord, the sins concealed ! \n\nThe wilderness through which I came \n\nSeems present yet ; but round me wait \nThe Canaan-lands, and in Thy name \nI may possess them. Mine the blame \nIf for their sweets I famish late ! \n\nIn weakness great, O Lord, I lift \n\nMy face to Thee, in hunger sore ! \nSend still Thy manna sweet and swift, \nA.nd give my withered soul the thrift \nOf blessing gracious, I implore ! \n\n\n\nSTRONG IN WEAKNESS. 2 1 \n\nHere, Lord, I gladly give Thee all ! \n\nMy sins, my self, I yield to Thee ! \nThou art not far from every call \nOf burdened heart, \xe2\x80\x94 here let me fall \n\nUpon Thy breast, and burdens flee ! \n\n\n\nSTRONG IN WEAKNESS, \n\n" To suffer and grow strong." It is not the natural \nsequence. Suffering begets weakness, as a rule. . Few \nsuffer long and keep their vigor undiminished. \n\nAnd we must all suffer. All ? They are few who \nescape suffering. It comes to each in some form- \nsuffering of the body, or mental anguish, or keen hurt \nof the soul. Does it come ever with a blessing? We \nknow it does. We know that some characters find \n\nperfection through sorrow, even as Christ found His. \n\nFor was there not a progression in our Saviour\'s life ? \nHe was tempted, and in many forms ; did He not grow \nstrong to resist temptation ? Surely that final test was a \nhard one when He hung alone in the death agony, and \nHis heart cried out so piteously after the Father. It was \nbad enough to be forgotten of men, and bruised for their \niniquities ; it was infinitely worse to be forsaken of God. \n\nThrough the suffering of sympathetic ministry, of the \nscorn of unbelievers, of long and bitter temptation, of \nagonizing prayer, of denial and betraying, of taunts \n\n\n\n22 A PRESENT CHRIST. \n\nand tortures, the Son of Man grew strong. Through \nsuffering of some sort, the best stiength must come to \neach of us. When out of suffering comes strength, then \nis suffering a blessing. How shall the strength come ? \nThe answer may be found in Christ\'s own life. He \nprayed much. He trusted ever in the Father and in the \nFather\'s love. In His prayers and His trust He grew \nstrong. How else can men grow strong to-day ? \n\n\n\nA PRESENT CHRIST. \n\nThe family circle had been some time quiet, as the \nshadows deepened. By-and-by a sweet voice stirred the \nsilence, and we heard the tender strains of that touching \nlittle hymn \xe2\x80\x94 When Jesus Comes. It had a certain pa- \nthos in it for us all. Over the last stanza sung the singer \nlingered as if each word had peculiar comfort : \n" He \'11 know the way was dreary, \n\nWhen Jesus comes ; \nHe \'11 know the feet grew weary, \nWhen Jesus comes ! " \nNone spoke, for a little, when the singing ceased. \nPresently, out of the corner where the home-heart sits, \nthis comment came : \n\n" I would rather believe that He knows all about my \nway and weariness now. I want to feel that Jesus is not \none afar off, to come and to bless in some happy future, \n\n\n\nTHE PRESENT CHRIST. 2$ \n\nbut a companion for every day, a friend in every need, a \nvery present help in time of trouble/\' \n\n"And you do not like the song then?*\' another asked. \n\n"It is very sweet," said the home-heart, softly; \n" very sweet, and I do like it. It is only that I question \nits sentiment, or perhaps I should say its philosophy." \n\n"But is Christ always so near to you? Does He \nnever seem far off, and do you never feel that the way is \ndreary and the feet tired without His knowing ? " \n\n"Oh, yes \\" and she sighed as she made reply. "We \nhave doubts, all of us. We doubt the most when we are \nmost tried and most heart-sick. But doubt and darkness \nare temporary. It would be folly long to give up faith. \nAnd when I sing I like best to sing of the Comforter who \ncame when Christ ascended to the Father \xe2\x80\x94 the very \nSpiiit of Christ dwelling with and abiding in us." \n\n" But there may be songs of comfort, " said the singer\'s \nvoice ; \' \' even David sang songs in the night. I have a \nfancy that the surest way out of the dark is by a path of \nsong. The way is dreary, now, to some of us. It seems \no me that many must rind it so all along. Perhaps they \nhave too little faith in a present Christ ; but if they can \nhold on surely to their faith in a Christ to come, even \nthat will bless them and make them glad. That which \nwe long for, hope for and pray for, will suiely come. " \n\n\n\nTHE STILL, SMALL VOICE. \n\nSerene and tender shine the smiles \nOf God upon my soul to-night ; \nHis loving care my doubt beguiles ; \nHis presence bringeth light. \n\nThe world of discord dies away ; \n\nI hear no more its deaf ning din ; \nAnd ghost-like through the evening gray \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2Steal out the shapes of sin. \n\nA holy hush is on the air ; \n\nA holy peace possesses me ; \nMy very being is a prayer, \n\nTo pray is but to be ! \n\nDid God but speak as long ago \n\nHe spoke to prophets face to face, \n\nI should His loving language know \nWithin this holy place \' \n\nAnd does He not in present time \n\nSo speak to men as once He spoke ? \n\nWith awful syllables sublime \nHe Sinai\'s silence broke ; \n\nAnd not again in thunder tone \n\nMay men His awful speaking hear, \n\nBut all the ages men have known \nHis " still, small voice" anear. \n\n\n\nTHE HOMESICK. 2 5 \n\nSomen have listened, hushed and still, \n\nAs list we now, my soul and I, \nHave caught, as now we catch, the thrill \n\nOf God\'s own whisper nigh ! \n\n\n\nTHE HOMESICK. \n\nThe Germans have added another beatitude to those \nuttered by our Saviour on the Mount \xe2\x80\x94 "Blessed are the \nhomesick, for they shall see home. " There is a quaint \ntenderness in it. How broad its original meaning may \nhave been, we can not say ; but it seems wide enough to \ncover half of human kind. \n\nThere are so many homesick souls ! homesick amid \nwealth, and beauty, and friends \xe2\x80\x94 homesick in poverty \nand loneliness \xe2\x80\x94 crying out of their discontent for the \ncomfort and peace of home ! They hunger ; and at \nhome there is enough. They thirst; and at home the \npure streams of gladness flow on and on forever. Alas \nfor these many who are ever away from home ! \n\nWill they all reach there at last? "Blessed are they \nthat do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they \nshall be filled." Ah ! there is fullness at home. "Bless- \ned are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. " \nAh ! there is comfort, even, at home. "Blessed are the \npure in heart, for they shall see God ! " Blessedest bless- \n\n\n\n26 . THE HOMESICK. \n\ning of all, God lives henceforth at home ! \' \' I go to pre- \npare a place for you/\' said the dear Brother of us all; \nand He spoke then to the homesick. The place He \nprepared is Home. \n\nIt is singular that Christ uttered so many benedictions \nupon those who want. Blessed are the hungry, blessed \nare the poor, blessed are the sad\xe2\x80\x94 blessed, blessed, bless- \ned, every needy soul. And so, finally, just as an out- \ncome of all Christ said, blessed are the homesick, for \nthey want, and must want until they see home. And \nwhat is it they want? Love, and content, and rest. \nHome means this, and more \xe2\x80\x94 so much more ! Even as \nwe know how to give good gifts unto our children, so \ndoes our Father in Heaven know how to give unto us. \nGiving so freely here, what must He not give there ! \nRemembered so abundantly afar off, what will He not \ndo for us when we wander home at last ! \n\nWe are journeying there, some of us, through devious \npaths. Ah ! if we should forget the way, and that long \nnight should come on in which no light can shine, and \nthe morning should find us wanderers yet, homeless and \nhomesick henceforth and forever ! Blessed are the home- \nsick, if ihey walk trustingly, faithfully and prayerfully on \ntoward the city of God, for to such as walk by faith the \nway is sure, and they shall see home ! \n\n\n\nOUR BETHESDA. \n\nIn a certain sense we are invalids, all our lives long. \nWe have in us some conscious sickness that must be cured. \nAnd we lie in expectant waiting by some Bethesda, as \ndid those invalids of old, waiting for the angel to come \nand stir the waters that we may be healed. \n\nIs not our whole life often a weary waiting for the \nhealing ? Do we not fail, frequently, to recognize God \'s \nangel when he comes in such kindly ministry ? Are not \nthe waters troubled, even while we gaze on rhem, yet \nwithout our perceiving? Weak and blind, and half des- \npairing, do we not turn away sometimes even from the \nangel \'s very presence, and cry out in our bitterness against \nwhat has come to us and what we have missed ? \n\nIf all mankind could be made whole in just the man- \nner they wish, what a working of wonders we should see ! \nBut that can never be. The healing we most desire \ncomes to us often by ways we do not prefigure, and to our \ndull consciousness it is no healing at all. Lying by our \nBethesda, if we see the waters troubled it is for another, \nand we wait on, not taking what is really meant for us. \nIf our healing should come through love and warm \nsympathy, we long for it, and then turn it aside when \noffered. If faith would work the perfect cure we need, \nwe spurn it when it comes knocking gently at our heart\'s \n\n\n\n2 8 OUR BETHESDA. \n\ndoor, and in unbelief and doubting wait on. If sweet, \ncharity to all in thought and deed would make us well, \nwe cast it aside for that which is embittering and unkind, \nand watch for the angel \'s coming with a light in our eyes \nthat would make of every angel almost a demon. \n\nIs it strange, then, that we go unhealed ? Is it strange \nthat at every pool of gladness and joy-giving we lie in \nwaiting all the years long? To be made whole is the \nsupreme want. Humanly speaking each lacks some- \nthing. That lack must be supplied, and only our dear \nLord \'s angelic ministers can supply it. May they trouble \nthe waters for us all, and speedily ! Divinely speaking, \neach lacks everything, lacking a childlike trust in and \nlove for that most loving of all God \'s ministers, His only \nbegotten Son. And may He trouble the waters of our \nsoul until the healing is perfect, and then grant us that \npeace which passeth understanding ! \n\n\n\nThe man who walks the street recognizing the excel- \nlences of other men and honoring them, will find his \nfellows conceding and esteeming his own virtues. He \nwho gives helping sympathy, abundantly and warmly, to \nthe suffering and sad, will himself have help and sympa- \nthy, abundant and warm, when he suffers and is sad. \n\n\n\nTHY ROD AND STAFF, \n\nPerplexed I walk my weary way, \nIn doubt and darkness, day by day ; \nI see no earthly light to cheer, \nI find no earthly comfort near ; \nBut weak and fainting though I be, \n\' Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! " \n\nI seek some friendly arm to aid, \nThe help I need is long delayed : \nI look for love to hold me fast, \nNo human love will always last: \nBut though all earthly helpers flee, \n" Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! " \n\nMy burdens yet more heavy grow, \n\nAs on the weary way I go ; \n\nAnd faint and hungered, weak and worn, \n\nThe while for losses great I mourn, \n\nIn longing sore I turn to Thee, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Thy rod and &taff they comfort me ! " \n\nBeneath Thy smitings oft I shrink ; \nThy bitter cups I would not drink ; \nI turn aside some path to find, \nThat through a better land shall wind, \nYet looking back, Thy face I see, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! " \n\nAnd so I walk the weary way \nWhere\'e^Thou leadest, day by day ; \n\n\n\n3\xc2\xb0 \n\n\n\nTHE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS. \n\nThough smitten sore, I\'ll onward press \nTill I the Promised Land possess ; \nFor faint and burdened though I be, \n" Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! " \n\n\n\nGRACES OF HOLINESS. \n\nA visitor is with us to-night and we ask about former \nacquaintances \xe2\x80\x94 has this one changed? \xe2\x80\x94 has that one \ngrown old ? To the latter question, in one instance, our \nfriend replies, \xe2\x80\x94 "She has too much spiritual beauty in her \nface ever to grow old." \n\nWe remember her face well, and Ruth says, "Yes, \nhers was the beauty of holiness, if we ever see it on \nearth ; " and this application of a phrase rarely so applied \ndoes not seem wrong. \n\nCharacter does show itself in the countenance; the \ninward grace of a real religious life will shine out, in a \nway we may not quite describe. When faith, and love, \nand patience all unite to beautify a Christian soul, is it \nstrange that the face takes on a rare sort of beauty which \nyears can not dim? \n\nThe light in some faces is like a benediction of peace. \nIt is at once a blessing and a declaration. Nothing but \nthe purest pi^ty makes it to glow there : it blesses you as \nby a holy influenc ; it tells of devotion never failing, of \nuntroubled faith, of perfect hope, of undivided love. \n\n\n\nHUMAN DESIRES. 3 I \n\nStephen\'s face wore It ; they must have seen it who saw \nthe beloved John. It has beautified the features of every \nsaint on earth ; it is one of the beauties of every saint \nin heaven. \n\nSuch a beauty of holiness comes not by the seeking of \nit. Like all true graces, it is an unconscious possession, \nwon not for itself. But it is always a proof of possibili- \nties in the Christirn life. It is ever a witness for higher \nChristian character. It is a living testimony that care \nand tribulation and disappointment need not mar the \nsoul\'s peace. For you shall find, search where you will, \nthat this beauty spiritual lies with those who have suffer- \ned, and borne burdens, and been driven, so, near to \nGod. Holiness follows and must follow, overcoming. \nThe beauties of it, the outward manifestations of it, are \nresults of unselfish upgiving, of complete trust, of never \ndoubting or rarely doubting love. \n\n\n\nHUMAN DESIRES, \n\nWhat are they ? What ought they to be ? \n\nWe may not doff our humanity untit death comes, but \nwe may discipline it, purify it by such disciplining, make \nit a worthier thing. We may, with God\'s help. \n\nBut will we? To do it, much of our desire must \nundergo change. Whereas we now long for that which \nwonld in no wise ennoble, we must long for that which \n\n\n\n3 2 \n\n\n\nHUMAN DESIRES. \n\n\n\nwill inevitably do that. Whereas self now prompts every \nambition* self must be ruled over until ambitions spring \nfrom another source \xe2\x80\x94 the love of God within us. \n\nYet can we put thought in a strait jacket ? Can we \npersistently check impure desires, unholy aspirations, and \nhelp on the work of improving our moral nature? It \nseems a hard task ; it is a hard task. Appetite is strong ; \npassion is often master. Prayer at times is apparently of \nno avail. Everything that is evil in our hearts fights \ntenaciously for full possession, and often full possession is \ngranted. Then we go down \xe2\x80\x94 down in our own con- \nsciousness. We lose self-respect ; we feel less and less \nzeal in behalf of the true and pure. \n\nWe all know what such experiences are. Is there any- \nthing sadder? And where is the iemedy? We ctn answer \nwell enough In our theory; it sometimes proves more \ndifficult in actual fact. The difficulty arises mainly, we \nthink, from just a lack of self-discipline. Even effica- \ncious prayer is rendered inefficient, at times, through this \ncommon lack. It is useless to pray for purity of thought \nand desire, and still let the imagination continually run \nriot over forbidden fields with never an effort at checking \nit. It is idle to hope for answers to such prayer, when \nback of it there is no earnest resolve to be self-helpful, \nand to strive continually for better things. Human de- \nsires can be purified only through human discipline, and \nmuch of this can be carried on by self alone. \n\n\n\nAS A PRODIGAL. \n\nIt is evening, Lord. I have had my day \nOut in the wilderness, far from Thee, \n\nBright was the morn when I went away, \nHappy my visions of joy to be. \n\nIn the hot high noon I was weak and faint, \nWorn with rioting, heartsick, sore ; \n\nNever I murmured or made complaint ; \nOnward I crept to the sands before. \n\nWhat if they blistered my naked feet ? \n\nBetter to suffer than turn back now. \nWhat if I \'d nothing but husks to eat ? \n\nPride may starve, but it will not bow. \n\nAnd what if with swine I could only mate \nOut in the barren and dusty field? \n\nWhat if I pined for my lost estate ? \nPride may die, but it will not yield. \n\nPride may die. And my pride is dead \xe2\x80\x94 \nDead, and buried where sleep the swine. \n\n" I will return !" to myself I said ; \n\n"Home ! \xe2\x80\x94 my Father\'s, that once was mine !" \n\nIt is evening, Lord, and I come to Thee, \nWeak and hungry, and faint and sore. \n\nLook in Thy pitiful love on me ; \n\nSpurn me not from Thine open door ! \n\n3 \n\n\n\n34 PAIN\'S MINISTRIES. \n\n\n\nIt is evening, now, and my day is spent ; \n\nLittle of life may be mine, beside \xe2\x80\x94 \nOnly a season of glad content, \n\nAll my hungering satisfied ! \n\n\n\nPAIN\'S MINISTRIES. \n\nPain is our birthright. It comes to. us, as certainly \nas the days come. \n\nCan anything sent of God be without its blessing? Is \nthere no sweet ministry even in pain ? Do we simply \nsuffer and be still? Or do we suffer and grow strong? \n\nSuffer we must. Either our health fails, or friends die \n01 plans miscarry, or love proves false, or hope cheats, \nand whichever it be, there will ensue suffering. There \nis nothing so common as pain. There is no experience \nso inevitable. \n\nWhat the ministry of pain may be, will depend wholly \nupon how we bear suffering \xe2\x80\x94 upon the spirit in which \nwe suffer. If pain is rebelled against, as an unjust visita- \ntion from God \xe2\x80\x94 if we say constantly to ourselves the \nwhile we suffer, " Gqp is unkind and cruel" \xe2\x80\x94 the minis- \ntry will be a ministry of hurting. And to how many \nsouls it is all this, and only this ! How T many charge \nhard things against their Maker, and go on through the \nyears gathering no s -eet fruit from the tree of bitter \nblossoms ! \n\n\n\nPAIN\'S MINISTRIES, 35 \n\nBlessed indeed are those who can give thanks even \namid their suffering \xe2\x80\x94 who can smile in God\'s face while \nthe hurt cuts like a knife \xe2\x80\x94 who can feel that something \nis to come of the hurt besides scars and soreness. Bless- \ned with a rare blessedness are they who sing softly to \nthemselves though the heart be sad \xe2\x80\x94 who sing because \nthey know that from this darkness of sorrow shall cornea \nlight glad and beautiful, and, better than all, healing. \nThe Angel of Pain is kinder to us than we think. \nWould that all could say with Saxe Holm : \n\nAngel of Pain, I think thy face \n\nWill be, in all the heavenly place, \n\nThe sweetest face that I shall see, \n\nAnd swiftest face to shine on me. \n\nAll other angels faint and tire ; \n\nJoy wearies, and forsakes desire ; \n\nHope falters, face to face with Fate, \n\nAnd dies because it can not wait ; \n\nAnd love cuts short each Wing dav, \n\nBecause fend hearts can not obey \n\nThat subtlest law which measures bliss \n\nBy what it is content to miss. \n\nBut thou, O loving, faithful Pain \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHated, reproached rejected, slain \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nDost only closer cling and bless \n\nIn sweeter, stronger steadfastness. \n\nDear, patient angel, to thine own \n\nThou comest, and art never known \n\nTill late, in some lone twilight place \n\nThe light of thy transfigured face \n\nSudden shines out, and, speechless, they \n\nKnow they have walked with Christ all day. \n\n\n\nTHE ROUNDS OF BEING. \n\nLife is one continuous round of beginnings and end- \nings. And yet how few days are finished ! How few- \nevenings see the morning\'s beginning properly ended ! \n\nWe misjudge our deed greatly when we say it is done. \nDone in its narrowest sense it surely is ; done in its \nbroadest meaning it as surely is not. A finished thing is \nput away. Do we in fact put any doing entirely out of \nour life? Would that we could, sometimes ! We should \nbe better, so. \n\nHerein lies much of the bitterness of being \xe2\x80\x94 that the \nweak things done, or the things weakly done, never can \nbe wholly laid aside. We hold on to them despite our- \nselves. They are a part of us, because a part of our ex- \nperience. The experience is the man, in very deed. \nYou cannot put your self apart from your self\'s acts and \nsay \' \' I arn better than these. " Self\'s acts are a vital part \nof self. \n\nOur beginnings, therefore, have only apparent endings. \nBe they for good or ill, they run on through the gather- \ning years, and end never. It is well to think of this, \nwhenever the day fades into twilight \xe2\x80\x94 to realize that every \nattempt made during its brief hours tells ever after, in a \ngreater or less degree, upon our life ; that every accom- \nplishment, seemingly completed, goes on in influence \n\n\n\nTHE OTHER SIDE. $J \n\nthrough the after-days, and dims not into utter fading. \nThe work of this hour over-laps the labor of the next, \nand the two a.e bound together by invisible cords. So \nthe life here and the life hereafter interblend ; the doing \nof the mortal will mold the being of the immortal beyond \nall possibility of changing. \n\n\n\nTHE OTHER SIDE. \n\nWe go our ways in life too much alone ; \n\nWe hold ourselves too far from all our kind. \nToo often are we deaf to sigh and moan ; \n\nToo often to the weak and helpless blind ; \nToo often, where distress and want abide, \nWe turn and pass upon the other side ! \n\nThe other side is trodden smooth and worn \nBy foot-steps passing idly all the day ; \n\nW T here lie the bruised ones, the faint and torn, \nIs seldom more than an untrodden way ; \n\nOur selfish hearts are for our feet the guide, \n\nThey lead us by upon the other side ! \n\nIt should be ours the oil and wine to pour \nInto the bleeding wounds of stricken ones ; \n\nTo take the smitten, and the sick and sore, \n\nAnd bear them where a stream of blessing runs \n\nInstead, we look about \xe2\x80\x94 toe way is wide \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd so we pass upon the other side ! \n\n\n\n<\\8 THE SIN OF INDIFFERENCE. \n\nO, friends and brothers, hastening down the years, \n\nHumanity is calling each and all \nIn tender accents, born of pain and tears ! \n\nI pray you listen to the thrilling call ! \nYou cannot, in your selfishness and pride, \nPass guiltless by upon the other side ! \n\n\n\nTHE SIN OF INDIFFERENCE. \n\nIt is an all-prevailing sin. Men everywhere seem reck- \nless of the future, indifferent as to what their eternity \nmay be. They live wholly in and for the present, and \ncare for naught else. It is as though they said, "This \nlife only is mine and I must make the most of it. To- \nday is and To-morrow may not be. " Indeed, do they \nnot say it in their hearts? \n\nAnd yet each morning and evening should make men \nthoughtful of a coming time. Each hour is indeed a \nfact, but more than a fact. It is a suggestion \xe2\x80\x94 a hint of \nfuture ages. The hour may mean much, may comprise \nmuch, but that which it hints of means infinitely more, \ncomprises so much more that no one can comprehend it. \nEternity is a word which the dictionary of life does not \ndefine ; we can not satisfy ourselves of its marvelous \nscope. \n\nBut because we do not understand, are we excusable \nfor complete indifference ? Because God is a mystery in- \n\n\n\nFOOLISH DARING. 39 \n\npenetrable, may we ignore His existence ? We do, though. \nWe breathe with no thought of Him who gives us the \npower to breathe. We enjoy all the sweet and beautiful \nwith no regard for Him who enables us to enjoy. We \ntake life and all its attendant circumstances as a matter- \nof-course, worth little or much, as fate may ordain. \n\nGod has a right to more thoughtful regard on the part \nof His creatures. It becomes us to shake off this sin of \nindifference and concede the Creator His due. \n\n\n\nFOQLISH DARING. \n\nIt is better, after all, to be a coward in some things. \n\nAnd why ? \n\nBecause to be brave in the face of certain dangers \xe2\x80\x94 \ndangers of certain kinds \xe2\x80\x94 is to run foolish risks uncalled \nfor, and from the very nature of things bound to result \nin some degree of evil. \n\nThere are young men in the gutters to-day who were \nfirst brave, as all young men are, and then weak, as so \nmany young men are sure to be. Their bravery worked \ntheir ruin. They insisted on proving dangers that they \nmight have let alone in all honor \xe2\x80\x94 that they might even \nhave fled from without disgrace. \n\nSo there are professed Christians to-day in the Slough \nof Despond because they foolishly dared to brave dangers \n\n\n\n40 FOOLISH DARING. \n\nto their faith which they might readily enough have shun- \nned. They could dally with vague speculations, thev \nthought, without any harm, and so dallying they passed \nunder the cloud. \n\nSociety, on all sides, is full of temptations that invite \ndaring. They beckon every man and woman of us on- \nward ; and the mistaken notion that it is brave to test \nthem impels thousands to destruction. A man may \nwalk a rope over the very brink of Niagara, and come off \nsafely, but he is infinitely safer if he make no such \nattempt. He only who keeps away from danger knows \nwhat perfect security is. \n\nIf we hold life as of no worth, and the future as not to \nbe regarded, why then let us test every danger that may \nperchance wreck us. But who so thinks ? Talk lightly \nas we may of what living amounts to, it does amount to \nso much for each and every one of us that we would not \nwillingly give it up. How shall we best keep it? By \nclinging to the safe side. If any life is worth aught, the \nbest life is worth the most, and the best life is the safe \nlife. There is no truer logic. In the face of it, then, \ncan we go on testing dangers that bring no good in the \nproving ? \n\n\n\n\nOUR GUIDES. \n\nIn a pillar of cloud by day, O God, \n\nAnd a pillar of fire by night, \nThy presence did guide on the way they trod \n\nThy people of old in flight ; \nAnd the wilderness way that we walk to-dpy \n\nMore dreary and dark would seem, \nIf through the deep night, or the twilight gray, \n\nThy presence should never gleam. \n\nI am glad that they waited in days of old, \n\nWith a promise of better tilings ; \nFor my heart it is stirred when the tale is told \n\nBy the hope and the cheer it brings. \nI am glad that they journeyed those forty years \n\nIn trouble, and doubt, and pain, \nFor the gloom of my wilderness disappears \n\nAt thought of their final gain. \n\nWe may never quite perfectly understand \n\nWhy the wilderness waits for each, \nYet we know that the beautiful Promised Land \n\nIs beyond it \xe2\x80\x94 without our reach ; \nBut whatever the burdens we have to bear, \n\nOr however we shrink and faint, \nWe shall carry ourselves and our burdens there, \n\nIf a prayer is our sole complaint ! \n\nHad they only looked down in the olden time, \nAs they journeyed with falt\'ring tread, \n\n\n\n^2 HUMAN AFFECTION. \n\nThey would never have known of the guides sublime \n\nThat forever their foot-steps led ; \nAnd I pray though we walk in a faithless way, \n\nThough we seldom look up for lighr, \nWe may never lose thought of the cloud by day, \n\nOr the pillar of fire by night ! \n\n\n\nHUMAN AFFECTION. \n\nThe preacher said sweetly comforting things this \nmorning, in regard to love as an influence in religious \nlife. In certain ages, and even to-day in certain places, \nmen have sought to divorce religion and affection \xe2\x80\x94 have \nendeavored to put the two far apart. They have acted \nupon the mistaken theory that piety means asceticism \xe2\x80\x94 \nthat to grow in spiritual grace they must become dead to \neverything tenderly and lovingly human \xe2\x80\x94 must hold \nthemselves separate from their kind and acknowledge no \nbrotherhood with their fellows. So they have become, \nhermits, and have lived the life of the recluse. \n\nBut all this is wrong. The best men of the Bible were \nlive men, \xe2\x80\x94 men who cherished sweet affections and \nhesitated not to declare them. The most lion-hearted in \ntheir dealings with sin were the most lamb-like in loving, \n\xe2\x80\x94 tender and true. In the common things of the world, \nso called, those characters are of most worth in which \nthere abounds fullness of affection \xe2\x80\x94 in which there throbs \n\n\n\nHUMAN AFFECTION. 43 \n\na large, live heart. And so in Christian life, they serve \nGod best whose out-reaching sympathies compel wide \nservice for humanity, \xe2\x80\x94 who know all men in a common \nbrotherhood, and are moved by human needs to noble \ndoing. \n\nSometimes it happens that the husband or the wife \nhesitates to urge his or her companion on to a Christian \nwalk, fearing separation must come between. But. how \ncan separation come, when love to God only increases \nlove to all His creatures? God is not jealous in this \nmatter. Is it a sign, because He took away your child, r \nthat He hated the child ? \xe2\x80\x94 that He was jealous of the \nlove your child drew forth ? Not so. He only loved the \nlittle one more than you loved it \xe2\x80\x94 loved it so well that \nHe would. spare it all possibility of sin and pain. God\'s \nvery nature is love ; and what He implanted in the heart \nof humanity He will not rebuke. \n\nThere are Christian homes wherein love seems restrain- \ned, in which there is little of manifest affection. Is \nsuch a state of things in full accord with our Saviour\'s \nGospel? Did Christ restoie Lazarus from the dead \nsimply as an exhibition of His miraculous power? We \nthink not. We prefer to believe the restoration was a \ntribute to the rare love of those weeping. sisters. Human \naffection is a blessed influence in this religion of ours ; \nthe influence broadens and deepens in proportion as \nthis affection is broad and deep, and unrestrained. Say \nyou that we must not worship what God has given us ? \nLove is not worship ; it never need be. It is another \nthing in character, in very essence. Love indeed, is a \n\n\n\n44 MEASURING CHARACTER. \n\nChristian duty, and so is worship \xe2\x80\x94 of a certain kind : in \nso far they are kin. Unless religion warms oar heart \ntoward wife and child \xe2\x80\x94 toward all human kind \xe2\x80\x94 it is \nscarcely to be trusted. \n\n\n\nMEASURING CHAR A CTER. \n\nIt is not so much what we aie, as what we ought to \nbe, that should be regarded. We have no right to look \nat our strict morality, our outward appearance, the name \nwe have in community, and because of these pronounce \nourselves very good, very praiseworthy. We may be \nnegatively good \xe2\x80\x94 good because not bad \xe2\x80\x94 good because \nno strong temptation has overcome us and swept us away \ninto sin \xe2\x80\x94 good because from our temperament we can \nhardly be guilty of overt crime. \n\nPositive goodness is another thing. We may fall far \nshort of it and yet be quite respectable. It is by the \nstandard of that alone that we should be judged, or by \nthe standard of our possibility to attain unto it. One \nman\'s character is very good for him, when it would be \nvery mediocre for his next neighbor, who is capable of \nexcellence far exceeding any he can ever reach. The \nneighbor may have a character really commendable, as \nan average, but not by any means up to what it should \nbe, considering his possibilities of progression. \n\n\n\nTHY PEACE. 45 \n\nFor character is not simply neighborhood standing. \nThere are men in good repute with their fellows who \nhave not much character to boast of. They are negatives. \nThey lack an essential something to make them strong \nand valuable. They are nevei workers in reform, leaders \nin good works, earnest, efficient, zealous. What they \ndo is creditable, but they do so little thatthe credit side of \nthe sheet shows poorly enough against the debit of what \nthey might do and should do. \n\nWe are responsible for omissions, as for commissions. \nGiven the power to do, and failing to do, we are mani- \nfestly culpable. Our Saviour in His parable of the Ten \nTalents emphasizes this great truth, and so earnestly that \nthere is no mistaking. That which we have will not long \nbe ours unless we put it to use. \n\n\n\nTHY PEACE. \n\nFather, O Father ! the sunlight is vanished, \n\nSwiftly the evening descends on my soul ; \nComfort and cheer from my bosom are banished, \n\nBillows of bitterness over me roll, \nHearken again to my anguished petition, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nGive me Thy peace, in the midst of my pain ! \nGrant me the grace of a patient submission, \n\nBring me new hope as my courage shall wane. \n\n\n\n46 THY PEACE. \n\nFather ! O Father ! forlorn I am groping \n\nOn in a way that is shrouded in gloom ; \nFaint is my purpose, and weary my hoping, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIs there no rest till I come to the tomb ? \nAnswer the cry of my soul in its pleading, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nGive me Thy peace that I stronger may be, \nPatient to follow" the path of Thy leading, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nPatient to grope until light I can see ! \n\nFather ! O Father ! I\'m worn with the faring ; - \n\nHunger and thirst with the darkness increase, \nHunger and thirst for the boon of Thy caring, \n\nHunger and thirst for the gift of Thy peace. \nListen again to the cry of my spirit, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBorn of its need and its bitter unrest ; \nBow down the ear of Thy mercy and hear it, \n\nSpeak to the waves in my storm-troubled breast ! \n\nFather, O Father ! the night season thickens, \n\nDarker the way as I painfully grope ; \nFaith of its watchfulness wearies and sickens, \n\nFaints to despairing the patience of hope. \nHear the deep cry of my agony, thrilling \n\nThrough the long night of my wandering here, \nThen shall Thy peace, every passion wave stilling, \n\nFill me and thrill me till daylight appear ! \n\n\n\n\nGOD \'S FA TIIERIIOOD. \n\nAs the twilight comes on, the domesticity of our \nnature makes itself most felt. We are not now ourselves \nalone; we are part of that sweet family circle in which \nwe sit \xe2\x80\x94 part of it in love and tenderness and mutual \nsympathy. Meditation is not so much loneliness of \nthought, as . thought realizing close association with \nothers. \n\nIn a certain sense we are never so near our friends as \nwhen we sit with them separated only by silence \xe2\x80\x94 when \nour hearts go out to meet theirs in that silent commun- \nion which forbids all speech. Then indeed are we as \nchildren of one parent, and God is our Father, in a \nfatherhood so near and helpful, so complete and satisfy- \ning, that its recognition lifts us gladly heavenward. \n\nAnd sitting here in the shadow, with our Home tokens \nall about us, it is comforting to whisper softly those \nsweet words of the Psalmist \xe2\x80\x94 "Like as a father pitieth \nhis children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him. " \nThe human side of God\'s love speaks out in this. For \nis it irreverent to think of God as loving w T ith somewhat \nof human affection? Can we not gain some little idea of \nDivine Fatherhood from a comprehension of fatherhood \nnot divine ? \n\nBut God\'s Fatherhood is infinite in its many-sidedness, \nand on that account we fail to measure it. The preacher \n\n\n\n48 GOD\'S FATHERHOOD. \n\nwell said, this morning, "I will accept no man\'s idea of \nthe whole heavens, which simply takes in the little there- \nof that he can see from his narrow chamber window." \nThe infinite Fatherhood is more than it seems to us. \nThe relations of one child to the parent, are not the \nrelations of all the children. Temperaments differ, dis- \npositions are diverse. To you, God may seem to be \nJustice, and you may fear Him, knowing your sins. To \nanother He may stand as Holiness, and impurity may \nshrink from His presence. To yet another, He may \nappear only Love, and trusting faith may lose itself in \nHis great affection. \n\nThe Fatherhood of God includes all these, and even \nmore. Yet, while we must all realize, in some degree, \nGod\'s Justice, His Holiness, we need not to keep these \never foremost in our mind when thinking of Him. The \njustice and the holiness need not shut us out from that \nover-brooding love which watches ever for our coming. \nGod\'s love and pity are as broad as humanity \xe2\x80\x94 aye, broad- \ner than that \xe2\x80\x94 as broad as the great Divine Nature in \nwhich they live evermore, from which they freely flow. \n\n\n\nThe world-life is a great web, and God, the weaver, is \nworking it out. If we look at only a small part of it, \nthere seems no design, nothing but a fragment. But if \nour eye can take in the entire web, the design is at once \napparent. \n\n\n\nHUNGERING AND THIRSTING. \n\nHunger and thirst are the strongest human besetments. \nHave you ever hungered almost to the point of starving, \nor been so a-thirst that the brain reeled and all your \nbeing seemed on fire ? Then you can conceive, in a \nmeasure, what a depth of meaning is hidden in that \nphrase, (i Hunger and thirst after righteousness/\' \n\nWhen we are sorely an hungered, the supreme want \nis food ; when we thirst to unquenchable inward burning, \nthe supreme want is drink. Just so when we hunger \nand thirst spiritually, will the supreme want be righteous- \nness, \xe2\x80\x94 a renewing of the life within, a purifying of the \nsoul, a cleansing from every and all sin. How seldom \nwe so hunger and thirst. We have appetites for every- \nthing else but this. Debasing pleasures rarely cloy us ; \nwe partake of them without loss of relish. Secret sins \nwe roll under our tongues with never abating enjoyment ; \nthey never weary us as daily food. \n\nThen why may there not be this other hungering ? It \nbrings its own blessing. The promise is that " they \nshall be filled v who do thus hunger and thiist aright. \n\nFilled ! It is a sweet word, with no limitations such \nas rob many another of complete meaning. It is the \nsame as satisfied. And who was ever satisfied in any \nother way than this? No cloying of common appetite \n\n4 \n\n\n\n50 A HEART SONG. \n\never yet fully satisfied a man. Cloyed of one thing \xe2\x80\x94 \none pleasure \xe2\x80\x94 one gratification \xe2\x80\x94 he invariably turns to \nsomething else with an irresistible longing. \n\nGod\'s righteousness so rills us there is nothing want- \ned beside. But it never fills unless longed for, hungered \nfor, thirsted for. Unless it be the supreme want of the \nsoul it never makes the soul inexpressibly glad. Is there \nsomething desired after more than this? Then we shall \nnever be filled. Is there something we are willing to \nsacrifice more for than this? Then sacrifice will never \nbring its final and fruitful reward. Completely blessed \nalone are they who do hunger and thirst after righteous- \nness. \n\n\n\nA HEART SONG. \n\nSinger, softly sing to night \xe2\x80\x94 \n" God is good and just ;" \n\nAnd in darkness or in light \nIn Him put your trust ; \n\nSing the song till earthly sight \nFades in " dust to dus . " \n\nSinger, softly sing and low \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" God is love alway ; " \nLet the heart in tender flow \n\nMelt the words you say ; \nThen shall you God\'s loving know \n\nSweetly day by day. \n\n\n\nDIVINE ORDERING. \n\nSitting here in the twilight \xe2\x80\x94 in the sweet uncertainty \nthat seems to brood over all things \xe2\x80\x94 when that which to- \nday is fades into dreamfulness, and that which is to be on \nthe morrow is yet unborn \xe2\x80\x94 it is blessed to feel that the \nworld is not ruled by chance, and that Divine orderings \nlink the days together. Conceive the thought of a uni- \nverse without God, and you at once fall into doubt of all \nthings. There is no certainty. On nothing can you re- \nly. Would we care to live longer under such circumstan- \nces? \n\nOur every surrounding testifies to an Omniscient Hand \nand its working. There is order in the minutest partic- \nulars, and the ordering is so perfect, so wonderfully wise, \nthat we feel it must be divine. God works always with \nthe most rigid exactness as to detail. A pleasant writer \ntells of a Texas gentleman who had the misfortune to be \nan unbeliever. One day he was walking in the woods, \nreading the writings of Plato. Coming to where that \ngieat writer uses the phrase, "God geometrizing, " he \nthought to himself, " If I could only see plan and order \nin God\'s works, I could be a believer. " \n\nJust then he saw a little "Texas Star" at his feet, and \npicking it up, he began thoughtlessly to count its petals. \nThere were five. Counting the stamens, he found there \n\n\n\n52 DIVINE ORDERING \n\nwere five of these. Counting the divisions at the base of \nthe flower, he found five of these. Then he set about \nmultiplying these three fives, to see how many chances \nthere were of a flower being brought into existence with, \nout the aid of mind, and having these three fives. The \nchances against it were one hundred and twenty-five to \none. \n\nHe thought that was very strange. He examined \nanother flower and found it the same. He multiplied \none hundred and twenty-five by itself to see how many \nchances there were against there being two flowers, each \nhaving these exact relations of numbers. He found the \nchances against it were thirteen thousand six hundred \nand twenty-five to one. But all around him were multi- \ntudes of these little flowers ; they had been growing and \nblooming there for years. He thought this showed the \norder of intelligence, and that the mind that ordained it \nwas God. And so he shut up his book, and picked up \nthe little flower, and kissed it, and exclaimed, " Bloom \non, little flowers ; sing on, little birds; you have a God, \nand I have a God ; the God that made these little flowers \nmade me ! " \n\n\n\n\nTHE SERVICE OF WAITING. \n\n\n\nLord, Thy servants all about I see, \n\nIn faithful service working as they may ; \n\n1 stand here idle, doing nought for Thee, \nAnd poor, unprofitable, seems my day. \n\nWill fruitful labor bless me, even late ? \n\n" They also serve who only stand and wait. " \n\nThis is Thy answer. Give me patience, then, \nAnd help me all the while I waiting stand \n\nTo know that every service had of men \nIs by Thy providential wisdom planned. \n\nSo shall I feel, though waiting may be sore, \n\nThat Thy great goodness hath reward in store ! \n\nAnd so may I of patient service give \n\nThat my own being shall more fruitful grow, \n\nAnd I shall in my waiting learn to live \nA better life than haply I might know \n\nIf, in the press of busy doing, I \n\nShould miss, at times, the Master standing by ! \n\nLord, I thank Thee I may serve at all ! \n\nWhat need hast Thou of service such as mine ? \n\n1 thank Thee that Thy benedictions fall \n\nAlike upon all laborers of Thine ! \nI thank Thee for this comfort sweet and great \xe2\x80\x94 \n\xe2\x80\xa2\' They also serve who only stand and wait ! " \n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN LIFE. \n\n"For me to live isCHRisT." \n\nPaul said that, years and years ago. The preacher \ntook up the words this morning, and turned them over \nand over until their fullness stood out strong and clear \nto our apprehension. \n\nGoing back to the initial point, \xe2\x80\x94 -what is life, any wav, \nto you and to me? For us to live is \xe2\x80\x94 what? Gain, pleas- \nure, personal ease, ambition gratified, tastes indulged, \npassion pandered to (God forbid !), in a word, self! \nAlas ! too often these, or a portion thereof. \n\nPaul meets us with an exemplary declaration which \nwe should ever keep in mind \xe2\x80\x94 a declaration which only \npersistent self-discipline could have enabled him truth- \nfully to make \xe2\x80\x94 and in the face of it we must acknowledge \nhow far short of real nobility our life comes. Christian- \nity is a daily being and doing; not an \'impulse, not the \ngratification of selfish desires, or the occasional following \nout of purer promptings, but the actual living of Christ. \nWhich is to say that the underlying motive of being and \ndoing must come from Christ \xe2\x80\x94 that we must allow \nHim to fill us, and inspire us, and uplift us. \n\nPaul came to what he could truly say through much \nof struggle and conquering. In the natural condition \nof things for man to live is #<?/ Christ, but man\'s self. \n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN LIFE. 55 \n\nPaul had grown out of this condition, \xe2\x80\x94 had gone be- \nyond it, as we must go beyond it if ever we do \xe2\x80\x94 over the \nruins of much prized selfish things. Have we the heart \nfor such discipline ? It must come in the street, at the \ndesk, in the daily duty, in the home. Our hours of \nlabor must be full of it ; in the restful seasons into which \nwe now and then retire it must not be forgotten. \n\nSo the real CHRiST-life is more than a passing enjoy- \nment. It is a perpetual self-crucifixon. Is there then \nno pleasure in it? Paul testified how much it was to him, \nalbeit he had sorer trials than often \\ ? isit us. Since his \ntime thousands have taken up the testimony and empha- \nsized it, in every clime. Men count pleasure differently. \nBut the highest pleasure satisfies most and longest, and \nthe CHRiST-life means satisfaction longer and more com- \nplete than that arising from any other source. Does it \nnot? Even with our little taste of it can we not give affir- \nmative answer ? \n\n\n\nAs we give the best we have, we get the best we can \nhave. The most unmistakable illustration of this gener- \nal truth is in its highest application. The rarest dona- \ntion any one can offer is himself in the completeness of \nhis nature and and possession, to Christ ; and when \nthis is done he receives in return the choicest blessing he \ncan appropriate, the filling of himself with God. \n\n\n\nCHRIST\'S ABIDING, \n\n"Abide with us ! " was the prayer of our Saviour\'s \ndisciples on a memorable occasion. \n\nIt was toward evening ; the night was coming on ; \ntheir hearts had burned within them while talking to- \ngether by the way, and it would be more pleasant with \nsuch a guest after the day\'s ending. \n\nIt is toward evening with ns all, perhaps. Sooner \nthan we think may the night fall upon us, dark and \ndreary. If not the night of death, then such a night \nas settles down only too often upon every life, when it is \nthick darkness all about. And we need to pray earnest- \nly for Christ to abide with us. \n\nFor when there is no comfort, shall we not need the \nComforter? When all that is bright and gladsome seems \nshut out, shall we not long intensely for the brightness \nand sweet cheer that might be ours ? Such times will \ncome ; they come to each one of us. They are inevit- \nable. Nights must complement the days, in the common \norder of nature. Whosoever is sensitive to pleas- \nure is surely sensitive to pain, and the one will come as \ntruly as will the other. "Much must be borne that it is \nhard to bear, " said one once, and each heart will echo \nthe truth of that saying. \n\nBut thank God that for the Christian there is never a \nnight without its stars ! Since the early morning, so many \n\n\n\nCHRIST\'S ABIDING. \n\n\n\n57 \n\n\n\nyears agone, when that star rose in the East, all who have \nsincerely acknowledged the Babe of Bethlehem as a \nwcild\'s Reedemer, have seen some ray in every deepen- \ning gloom, and have felt rare comfort when life were else \nquite comfortless. \n\nWe may not hope that Christ will walk with us as He \nwalked with the disciples of old, yet may His presence \nbe to us as sure a reality as it was to them. Aye, even \nmore. The incarnate God was not so much a fact to \nthose who listened to His preaching, and enjoyed His \ncompanionship, as He is now to us. He has been more \nto us than He ever was to them, because in a certain \nsense we have all that He has been to mankind through \nthese eighteen hundred years. \n\n"Abide with us!" Breathe forth your prayer, O sin- \nsick heart ! Your evening is not far off at the most. \nEven if Christ fail at once to answer, He will return \npresently, and you shall know exceeding joy. \n\n\n\nTHE PURE IN HEART. \n\n\'\xe2\x80\xa2 The pure in heart are blest," He said, \n\nWho on the mountain taught, \nEre on the Cro^s His blood He shed, \n\nAnd our salvation wrought. \nO blessed words that blessing gave ! \n\nI hear their echo yet, \nAnd all their promised good I crave \n\nWho evil would forget. \n\n\n\n58 THE ENDLESS DAY. \n\nYet can the blessing e\'er be mine ? \n\nI question, full of fear ; \nI am so far from all divine, \n\nTo all of earth so near ; \nThere crowds into my life so much \n\nTo blacken and degrade ; \nSin jostles with so rude a touch \n\nEach holy help and a\\d ! \n\nAn answer comes with comfort sweet \n\nMy troubling fear to still, \n" All promises fulfillment meet \n\nFor those who do My will ; \nThat which you long for, pray for, seek, \n\nIs somehow now possest, \nThe words are certain that T speak \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe pure in heart are blest ! " \n\n\n\nTHE ENDLESS DAY. \n\nScripture silence is never more marked thaa in regard \nto our future state. There is little in the way of definite \ninformation touching our hereafter, to be found in- the \nBible. Much is said in a figurative sense, and this is \nindeed a solace. Just how much of it is figurative, who \ncan tell? \n\nOf the few explicit statements made about heaven, \ntheie is nothing more beautiful and satisfying than this, \n\xe2\x80\x94 " There shall be no night there.\'\' There is so much \n\n\n\nTHE ENDLESS DAY. 59 \n\nnight here ! So often the shadows come down over us, \nsnd shut us in like a shroud ! So somber grow the even- \nings, and so few the stars ! It must be a radiant country, \nwhere it is daylight forever and forever. \n\n"Neither sorrow nor crying." Nights bring sorrow, \nfrequently. Sorrow makes night, whenever sorrow comes. \nMany are the mornings bright and golden which \nhav* turned into darkest night ere the noon-tide. Thank \nGod, all ye sorrowing ones, that there is coming a morn- \ning which shall be dimmed by never a cloud ! which \nshall never fade into evening ! w T hich shall shine on \nthrough the ages of eternity unchanged, unchanging. \n\nThere may be no gates of pearl, \xe2\x80\x94 no streets of gold, \n\xe2\x80\x94 all this may be figurative as regards that heaven most \nof us hope for, but let us still believe that in heaven \nthere will be an endless day. Ye image-breakers who \nwould spoil our prettiest pictures of the beyond by de- \nclaring all revelation only figurative, spare us this as lit- \neral. Literal our inner natures declare it. All who \nsorrow and weep would go wild with despair in their \nsorrowing and weeping, did they not have faith in an \nactual freedom from grief and tears by-and-by. And that \nwhich is so fully borne in upon our deeper natures is \ngenerally true. By some subtile prescience w r e see some- \nwhat of the hidden in a manner we cannot explain. So \nlet us comfort ourselves in the belief which is tender and \ncomforting as words of peace can be, \xe2\x80\x94 "There shall be \nno night there ! " \n\n\n\nTHE ANGEL OF HEALING. \n\nO, all of our life we lie beside \n\nSome pool of Bethesda here, \nAnd wait for the angel its waves to stir \n\nWith waiting that has no cheer ; \nFor never the angel appears to us, \n\nThe waters are always still, \nThe healing we ever impa ient wait \n\nComes never with healing thrill. \n\nAnd so by the waters we sit and sigh, \n\nOur being a sad complaint, \nThe hope of the morning growing dim, \n\nThe heart of our manhood faint ; \nBut miracles never are wrought, to-day, \n\nAnd though we are faint and sore, \nT\'is idle to linger the pool beside, \n\nThe waters will stir no more ! \n\nThe angels of heaven are all abroad, \n\nWe meet them in busy marts, \nThey enter the plainest of humble homes. \n\nThey visit the poorest hearts ; \nBut silent they come, and silent work, \n\nAnd all unheeding are we, \nTho\' needed the gift that they bring to us. \n\nWhatever the gift may be. \n\nNot always the want we feel the most \nShould fully for us be met : \n\n\n\nTHE DEEPER REST. 6j \n\nGod knoweth our need \xe2\x80\x94 our need of needs \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd He will never forget ! \nThen why should we sit in complaining mood, \n\nIn hope that is half a fear ? \nUnseen, but ready to minister, \n\nThe Angel of God is near ! \n\n\n\nTHE DEEPER REST. \n\n"I trusted too little, and reasoned too much/\' said \none, referring to a great mistake in life. "I should have \nreasoned less, and trusted more." \n\nMany of our mistakes grow out of this lack of trust. \nIt is human to rely on reason, on self. It is hard to \nwait patiently on the Lord. Is a way clearly pointed out \nto us ? we hesitate to walk therein until we see reasons \nfor the going. Is a difficult thing plainly set before us \nfor accomplishing? we falter, and cast about for convin- \ncing proof that do it we must. \n\nAnd how often we argue with God ! How often we \nutterly let go of Trust, and hold only to Reason ! Yet \nit is harder to dispute with Providence, than to accept \nevery leading unhesitatingly. Harder, if so be to trust \nhas become a little natural to us. Harder, any how, as a \nmatter of fact. Where God leads, it is easy going, if \none go believing. When reason goes against God, the \nway is steep at the end, if smooth and pleasant first, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n62 THE DEEPER REST. \n\nsteep and rough, and it comes out among brambles that \nvex and make sore. \n\nIs absolute trust possible? To those who really rest \nin Christ, yes. Now and then some one speaks of a \ndeeper rest than the many know, and such testimony is \ngratifying. What does this deeper rest signify? Ruth \nwas reading in a little book entitled "The Rest of \nFaith/ 7 this afternoon, and here the story of such a rest \nwas told. We have listened to the telling, orally, by \nanother who struggled through much of doubt and ques- \ntioning into perfect trust. Such trust is not attained to \nin an hour. It is the fruit of long-suffering in spirit and \nrepeated cross-bearing. It is the answer to burdened \nprayer. \n\n"Come unto me all ye that labor, and are heavy laden \nand I will give you rest." There is more here than a \npromise, though as a promise, the words are sweet and \nstrong. There is- an implication, inferentially a state- \nment, that those without rest are away from Christ. \nAnd beycmd question the implication is true. We lack \nthe rest because we are afar off. Do we feel troubled, and \ndistressed, and doubtful of the future? Then surely we are \nnot near to God. To us, especially, is it said, "Come.\'\' \nUnto whom ? Faith knows, even the little faith we have. \nFaith believes on Him, and takes to itself, in a measure, \nthe promise He has made. Yet it is only a half faith. \nIt will, by-and-by, doubt, and step aside for reason, until \nshall come the deeper rest, wherein not a doubt is harbor- \ned, no questioning put forth, but all is serenity and peace \n\xe2\x80\x94 the peace of God. \n\n\n\nTO WARD SODOM. \n\nThe preacher\'s theme this morning grew out of that \nsad story of Lot \xe2\x80\x94 a story full of lessons for us all. \n\nYou know when Lot divided the land with his cove- \ntous relative, he "pitched his tent toward Sodom." \nWhy? Because self-interest, as he believed, centered \nthere. He did not go as a missionary ; he had no hope \nof purifying that pool of iniquity. He went there for \ngain. Doubtless the Sodomites knew it, and laughed at \nany moral suasion he may have attempted. The result is \nfamiliar to all. \n\nAnd there are many men to-day pitching their tent to- \nward Sodom. Men of politics, who make use of un- \nworthy means to accomplish ^political success ; to whom \nparty gain is greater than the dominance of principle. \nMen of trade, who. indulge undue desires to get on, and \nwho get on unduly \xe2\x80\x94 who sacrifice strict probity on the \naltar of mercantile success. All sorts of men, who in any \nform ignore right and just dealing and doing, and look \nfirst to selfish ends, last to the means which win them. \n\nToward Sodom ! Sodom was laid in ashes, yet Sodom \nexists even now. In ruins centuries ago, it is still to \nthousands of people a delightful city of gain and all good \nthings, wherein every desire shall be satisfied. Men go \ntoward it as toward a Mecca. They dwell in it, amid its \n\n\n\n64 DAY BY DAY. \n\nvice, its varied evils, and are content. And when comes \nthe cry of "Up ! Get thee out ! " they pay little heed. \nToward Sodom ! \' \' Every road leads to the world\'s \nend, " read an old legend. It were sad indeed, if many \nwere to reach the world\'s end through Sodom ; if selfish- \nness were to overrule all other considerations, until they \nshould become veritable Sodomites of a later day, only to \nperish as miserably as perished the Sodomites of old. \n\n\n\nDAY BY DAY. \n\nWe should live as though doing days\' works for God. \nThere is no contract for long service. It is day by day, \nand day by day. Our master may have need for us \nfurther on ; He may not. It is not ours to question. \nGood and faithful service, now, is the thing asked. And \nto strengthen us for the day\'s work we should be given \nour daily bread. The prayer for it so brief, so simple, \ncovers every human need. It means bread for the body \nand bread for the soul ; physical and spiritual nourish- \nment. Is our prayer an earnest and honest one ? Do we \nreally crave of God our daily food? Or are we seeking to \nsatisfy human cravings from some other source? "Give \nus this day our daily bread." How many pray thus in \nthe truest sense, as Christ taught? \n\n\n\n"ONE WITH THE LORD." \n\xc2\xab. \n\n"One with the Lord !" Will the day of my dying . \n\nBring me so glad and so sweet a reward, \nFor all of my waiting, my sorrow and sighing, \n\nAs that of the making me "one with the Lord?" \n\nHere there is little of good in communion ; \n\nLittle of sweets with my life interblend ; \nI long in my loneliness e\'er for the union \n\nWhich through an eternity never shall end. \n\n" One with the Lord ! " Dare I hope for such blessing? \n\nHope for a crowning so royal as this ? \nShall such at the last be my certain possessing? \n\nShall such be the sum of my infinite bliss ? \n\nRecompense lesser would pay me for waiting ; \n\nSorrow might smile for a reason less sweet ; \nMy heart might believe it were heav\'n antedating \n\nTo thrill with a joy not the half so complete. \n\nOften I miss the dear face of my Saviour ; \n\nOften I wander away from His side ; \nBetween us, too often, my sinful behavior \n\nCreates separation despairingly wide. \n\nThere in the glow of the glory so golden, \nThere in the mansion preparing for me, \n\nHenceforth, from all wanderings ever enfolden, \nO " One with the Lord ! " let me finally be ! \n\n\n\nJEPHTHAH\'S DAUGHTER, \n\nGoing out to do battle against the Ammonites, Jeph- \nthah, the newly elected Captain of Israel, made a vow. \nIt was his ambition to conquer a peace and reign long \nover the Israelites. Moreover, he hoped to leave his \nfamily in direct succession to the rulership. To giatify \nhis ambitious desires, he was ready to make any sacrifice. \nSo he *\' vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, If thou \nshalt without fail, deliver the children of Ammon into \nmy hands, then it shall be that whatsoever cometh forth \nof the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in \npeace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the \nLord\'s, and I will offer it up for a burnt-offering." \n\nIt was a rash vow, and a thoughtless one. The Lord \ngave him victory, and returning to Mizpeh in triumph \nthe first person to greet him was his only daughter \xe2\x80\x94 his \nonly child. Here was a shock, indeed ! To what a \nstrait had his unwise vowing brought him ! In obedience \nto the vow made to obtain the object of his ambition, \nthat must be done which would utterly crush his fondest \nhopes. \n\nWe may not say of a certainty in what precise manner \nJephthah\'s vow was fulfilled. His daughter w T as allowed \nto go away for two menths among the mountains, and \nbewail her virginity; and from this fact some reason that, \n\n\n\nJEPHTHAH\'S DAUGHTER. 6 J \n\ninstead of being literally offered up as a burnt-offering, \nshe was merely doomed to a life of celibacy. But even \nthis was considered a sad fate indeed among Israelitish \nwomen, for they all held to the hope of being, by mother- \nhood, placed in the line of the Messiah which was to \ncome. And it was especially sad for Jephthah, as it \nwould give the rulership into other lineage upon his \ndeath, which occurred six years thereafter. \n\nThe lesson of this Old Testament narrative is a vital \none to-day. We see Jephthahs everywhere about us, \nsacrificing all that which is dearest and best for ambition\'s \nsake. To accomplish one fond desire they make vows \nas foolish and reckless as was Jephthah\'s vow of old, \nand that bring as sad and fearful results in the end. The \nvery law of human life at present seems in a lamentable \nsense the law of sacrifice. It is the giving up of the \nsweetest and tenderest affections for something which \nprofiteth not at all. It is the ignoring of those most \npurifying influences and aspirations, for the unsatisfying \npeace of an outward success. Over all merely worldly \nvictories some shadow of JephthahY vow and sacrifice \nshould rest, to teach what such victories, gotten at such \na cost, leally mean. They are the bitterest of Dead Sea \napples, and have proved so to more Jephthahs than we \ncan number. \n\n\n\nTHE HYMNS OF HOME. \n\nOur Sabbath Evening is not alone a season of quiet, \nrestful reflectiveness, but a season of sacred song. In \nthe gathering twilight one softly intones, "Sweet hour of \nprayer, sweet hour of prayer, \'" and we all take up the \ntender words, and they tremble into a chorus, and so we \nsing ourselves into prayerfulness and pray on in melody \nwith bowed hearts. "Jesus, lover of my soul," another \nvoice begins, later on, and every word of that dear hymn \ntouches us to a deeper penitential love, and a sweeter \ntrust in that Refuge for all our kind. \n\nMayhap there is silence for a little, when the final \ncadence has died away, and we sit musing upon the \ngoodness of God in giving us songs so satisfying. Then, \npresently, \xe2\x80\x94 out of yonder corner where the home-mother \nsits \xe2\x80\x94 rise the strains of "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me/\' \nand musing swells into gladness in Toplady\'s fine old \nhymn. After the hymn is over, and while we still sit \nhere in the twilight, we think of this man whose hymn \nwe have sung, and fancy it would be pleasant to die as \nhe died. \n\nIn the pleasant county of Devon, England, and in one \nof its sequestered passes, with a few cottages sprinklep \nover it, mused and sang Augustus Toplady. When a \nlad of sixteen, and on a visit to Ireland, he strolled into \n\n\n\nTHE HYMNS OF HOME. 69 \n\na barn, where an illiterate layman was preaching recon- \nciliation to God through the death of His Son. The \nhomely sermon took effect, and from that moment the \ngospel wielded all the powers of his brilliant and active \nmind. Toplady became learned, but it was not so much \nhis learning that blessed us all, as his hymns. \n\nDuring his last illness he seemed to lie in the very \n\nvestibule of glory. To a friend s inquiry he answered, \n\nwith sparkling eye, "Oh, my dear sir, I can not tell the \n\ncomforts I feel in my soul \xe2\x80\x94 they are past expression. \n\nThe consolations of God are so abundant that they leave \n\nme nothing to pray for. My prayers are all converted \n\ninto praise. I enjoy a heaven already in my soul.\'"\' \n\nAnd within an hour of dying he called his friends, and \n\nasked if they could give him up ; and when they said \n\nthey could, tears of joy ran down his cheeks as he added, \n\n\'\xe2\x80\xa2Oh, what a blessing that you are made willing to give \n\nme over into the hands of my dear Redeemer, and part \n\nwith me ; for no mortal can live after the glories which \n\nGod has manifested to my soul ! " And thus he passed \n\nawav. \n\n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\n/ SHALL BE SATISFIED. \n\nI NEVER here may know content, \n\nOr feel a full, a perfect bliss ; \nMay never climb the long ascent \n\nAnd find the joy that here I miss ; \nBut somewhere, in the years to be, \n\nBeyond the portals opening wide \nAcross the lowly vale, for me, \n\nAt length I shall be satisfied ! \n\nBe satisfied ! O, faith so sweet \n\nThat helps me onward day by day I \nThat guides my weak and blinded feet \n\nAlong the upward tending way ! \nIt is the star that bright and clear \n\nShines downward thro\' my clouded night, \nThat has a tender, holy cheer \n\nWithin its steady burning light. \n\nBe satisfied ! Fly quickly, years, \n\n&nd bring that day of days the best, \nWhen all the sickening doubts and fears \n\nShall vanish from my anxious breast ! \nAnd waiting moments, whisper low. \n\nAs far away these days recede, \nOf purer pleasures I shall know, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSupplies that fill my every need. \n\nHave patience, O my throbbing heart ! \nThe moments will not slowly creep ; \n\n\n\nPENALTIES FOR SIN J I \n\nAnd life is only here a part \n\nOf one long, fitfuL troubled sleep. \nI shall awake sometime, Ah, yes ! \n\nThis slumber shall be put aside, \nAnd in my Lord\'s fair comeliness \n\nI shall be fully satisfied ! \n\n\n\nPENALTIES FOR SIN. \n\nThe law of compensation is just, and it is wide-reach- \ning. There is nothing born out of naught ; there is no \ngood or ill but has its recompense. Patience hath its \nreward sooner or later ; continuance in well-doing \nfinally works out an abundance of joy ; and persistence \nin wickedness wins, sooner or later, the penalties which \nit woos. \n\nIn so far as men accept grievous woes as penalties for \ntheir transgressions, rather than as dark and incompre- \nhensible afflictions, will they be profited and made better \nthereby. Losses and crosses, and trials and tribulations \nare common to each of us, and they are not purposeless. \nThey are so common, indeed, that we forget what their \npurpose may be, and are content only to weep over them. \nWe call them "dispensations of Providence, " but with so \nvague an idea of what a dispensation really is that the \nterm signifies nothing, and our recognition of it implies \nsimply that trust which receives because it cannot reject. \n\n\n\nJ 2 PENALTIES FOR SIN. \n\nDispensations of Providence are God\'s distributions of \njustice to men ; and as justice abides ever in the law of \ncompensation, each dispensation unto us is but our just \ndue. The laborer is worthy of his hire ; if he doeth evil \nhis wages will be of evil. It is but natural, perhaps, \nthat when some dearly-prized treasure, is taken away from \nus, we should murmur in sore bitterness of spirit, and \ncry out against the great Dispenser. It is but natural, \nbecause we are human, and love for our kind is the deep- \nest instinct of our humanity. But when we get a little \nway removed from our sorrow, \xe2\x80\x94 when it has become a \nthing of yesterday, as thank God sorrows will ! \xe2\x80\x94 we shall \nsee how the crushing of our love was altogether right \nand how fully, by pride, or worldliness, or neglect of \nduty, or indifference to divine callings, we had earned \nwhat we have received. \n\nWe shall see this ? Not certainly, but we ought to. \nWe shall, if through saving grace our Christianity is not \na name, but a breathing vitality, \xe2\x80\x94 if by the logic of love, \nspiritual and refining, and tending heavenward, we come \nto lecognize Divine conclusions as altogether wise and \nrighteous. And if we do not, \xe2\x80\x94 if for the treasure lost, \nand the hope unattained, and the joy taken from us, we \ncontinue to lament bitterly, \xe2\x80\x94 if, instead of a prayer, our \nsoul sends up daily a plaint, and says to its God \' \' Thou \nart unjust, and deal in vengeance rather than justice," \xe2\x80\x94 - \nthen this our new and oft repeated sin will, of a certain- \nty, bring its reward ; either here, or in the long hereafter, \nwe shall pay the penalty. \n\n\n\nAT THE LAST. \' \n\n\' l So He bringeth them at last into their desired haven. " \nThese were the words of the preachers text one week \nago to-night. Ruth says them over now, with a kind of \ngladness in her voice \xe2\x80\x94 dear, good, matronly Ruth, who \ndoes weary sometimes, as we all do, of the work done \nand to be done. \n\n\' \' I was disappointed with that sermon," she remarks. \n"I hoped it would be restful to us all : but it made so \nmuch of the struggle and storm of life, and so little of \nthe calm and peace at the last. I would rather think of \nthe peace. \' \n\n"But we must think of the way to that, dear heart?" \n4< \' So He bringeth them \' is all the thought Ave need/\'\' \nshe makes reply. "I care not what the way may be, \nwith my hand in His ; I am surely safe, whatever storms \nmay aiise, with Him as pilot. I will not doubt that we \nshall reach the haven in His own good time. " \n\n" And you know what your \' desired haven \' is to be ? " \n"No, I do not," and she grows more thoughtful of \ncountenance. "I am willing to trust that also, to Him. \nI am just a poor ignorant mariner, sailing an unknown \nsea for a port 1 never saw. I hail no vessel outward \nbound. None who sail thither ever come back. And \nyet I am certain it is a lovely country, because my God \ndwells there ! " \n\n\n\n74 AT THE LAST. \n\n" But God dwells also here on the earth?" \n\n"Yes; and earth is lovely, when we see Him. The \n\ntrouble is we only catch glimpses of Him, here ; there, \n\nwe shall behold Him ever face to face ! " \n\nShe stops talking, and out of the silence, presently, \n\nsome one sings : \n\nFace to face ! O Hving Lord ! \nThis the sweetest, best reward \nThro\' the future aye shall be \xe2\x80\x94 \nFace to face, to gaze on Thee ! \n\nFace to face ! my longing eyes \nWaif the wondrous, glad surprise. \nHere the visions fade or tire, \nGrant me there, my one desire ! \n\nWeak and tempted, faltering, faint, \nHush my murmuring and complaint ; \nLook in mercy here on me, \nThat I there may look on Thee ! \n\n\n\nIt is not enough that man be saved from final death, \nin the future. He needs salvation from himself in the \npresent, \xe2\x80\x94 salvation from all those belittling influences \nwithin which may not send him to perdition at the last, \nbut which cramp his Christianity, and dwarf his useful- \nness, and eat out all his manly nobleness. \n\n\n\nEARTH\'S TWILIGHT TIME, \n\nAgain the twilight tender breathes \n\nAlong the hillside slopes, \nAnd earth in dreamy vestment wreathes \n\nHer promises and hopes ; \nBut through the gathering eventide \n\nA sweet voice sings to me \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Let Faith through all the night abide, \n\nAnd wait the gocd to be. \nThere comes a day with dawn sublime : \nThe present is earth\'s twilight time ! " \n\nThe song sinks deep my heart within ; \n\nI catch its inner thonght ; \nAnd all the years of darkest sin \n\nAre with new meaning fraught. \nI see them as a misty haze, \n\nIn which we blindly go, \nWith only stars above the maze \n\nWe journey to and fro ; \nAnd glad I sing \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0\' A dawn sublime \nAt last will crown earth\'s twilight time ! " \n\nO doubt that brood eth over all ! \n\nO wearing unbelief ! \nO woes tliat on the peoples fall ! \n\nO universal grief ! \nYe reign awhile, but not for long ; \n\nOur freedom comes at last, \nAnd hearts will shout a victor\'s song \n\nO\'er dangers haply passed. \nYour night will wane ; a dawn sublime \nAwaits beyond earth\'s twilight time ! \n\n\n\nA MOTHER \'S PRA VERS. \n\nThat was a very touching little recital which one lady \nmade in the prayer-meeting, a few evenings since. They \nhad been talking of prayer \xe2\x80\x94 its efficacy and power. \n\n\'*My father is a man of seventy/\'\' the lady said. "All \nhis life he has been skeptical about religious things. \nHe has been strictly moral, but yet more or less a skeptic. \nThe other day I received a letter from him, saying he had \nchanged his views of the Bible, and trusted he was now \na follower of Christ. It was his mother\'s prayers, he \ndeclared, that brought him at the very last to God. They \nhad always haunted him. He could never get quite free \nfrom their influence. And yet his mother died when he \nwas only ten years old. " \n\nThere is a sort of everlastingness about prayer \xe2\x80\x94 about \nprayers. Many a petition goes a lifetime unanswered, \nwhich finds its answer at the very close. The prayers of \na mother live on in the life of a child. He may go far \ninto sin, but he never can get wholly away from memory \nand the past. If in childhood he heard his mother plead \nwith Christ for her loved one\'s soul, he will always feel \nhis soul is worth caring for. \n\nAh, mothers ! let your children hear you pray ! If there \nbe burdens to carry, and they press and weary you, \nand you faint utterly, do not forget to pray, even then. \n\n\n\nTHE UNDERLYING HOPE. J J \n\nYou may tire of players never answered ; you may grow \nimpatient with God because of long delay; but think of \nthis man of three score and ten, brought into Christ\'s \nlove, after sixty intervening years, by the power of a \nmother\'s prayers. In God\'s good time all answers come. \n\n\n\nTHE UNDERL YING HOPE. \n\nOther people than Christians ha^e hopes, \xe2\x80\x94 hopes \nthat are sweet and tender, and fondly cherished. This is \nnot a hopeless world. There is some great good to \ncome, for us all. There is a universal blessing some- \nwhere in store : let us believe it and be glad. \n\nBut the tenderest and sweetest hopes, outside the one \nGreat Hope of the Christian, are fleeting. How they \ncome and go \xe2\x80\x94 sweet in their coming, sad in their going. \nHow they fade into dreams, and are only remembered \nwith a sigh. How they lead us up to some great height \nof happiness, and then drop us into the depths. \n\nOnly in the underlying Hope is there steadfastness. \nIt never deceives. It never fails. They who build upon \nit have a firm foundation. It is broad as the needs of \nthe broadest life ; it is deep as the eternities. It includes \nlove undying, repose that no untoward influences can \ndisturb, expectations that will by-and-by be fully met. \nIt means so much more than we can understand : so \n\n\n\n78 THE UNDERL YING HOPE. \n\nmuch more than now, with our limited capacities, we \ncan enjoy ! \n\nBlessed, indeeed, are they who have this Hojk. In \ntheir night seasons they shall see light. In their sorrows \nthere shall be cheer. When the night comes down on \nthose without this Hope, how dark it is ! And the \nnights come, to all. It is day with us now, mayhap, but \nas surely as the day shines, the shadows will lengthen. \nWe can not always be at the noontime. Do we love ? \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nthe ones we love will die. Do we possess ? \xe2\x80\x94 our posses- \nsions will slip from our grasp. Do we aspire ? \xe2\x80\x94 we shall \nfaint and fall, and the fever of aspiration will burn out, \nleaving us weak and helpless as a sick child. \n\nYes, the night seasons must come. They are among \nthe inevitables. But they cannot absolutely darken the \nlife of those who build upon the Underlying Hope. \nEver since that sorrowful evening when Christ suffered \nin Gethsemane, for all who believe on Him there have \nbeen stars in the night, and a glad glimmer as of the \ndawn. Do Christians ever give up in despair ? Then it \nis simply because they shut out the light, and close their \neyes to its comfort. There is for them no need to be \ngroping in the dark. All the cheer of all the ages is \ntheirs to enjoy if they will. The Hope that upheld a \nPaul, and strengthened a Stephen, and sweetened the \nnature of a St. John, is ours now as it was theirs then, \n\n\n\nFEED MY LAMBS. \n\n\'\xe2\x80\xa2 Lovest thou me ? " He asked, of old, \n\nWho loved all men with a love divine. \nOver and over the love was told, \n\nAnd over and over He named a sign. \n** Feed my lambs, " was the one command ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThis of love was the sign and test; \nFor through the work of a willing hand \n\nWill throb the warmth of a loving breast. \n\n" Feed my lambs! " There were lambs unfed, \n\nThough then the flock it was young and small ; \nAnd though to but one the words were said, \n\nThey were meant for us, they were meant for all. \nAnd now far over the pastures wide \n\nHis sheep are scattered \xe2\x80\x94 the weak and strong \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd some have never a shepherd guide, \n\nAre weak and worn, and the way is long. \n\n" Lovest thou me ?" He asks to-day, \n\nOf many who walk unheeding by : \n" Yea, Lord, Thou knowest it," still we say : \n\n" Then feed my lambs ! " is His warning cry. \nAnd still they faint in the noontide\'s heat, \n\nStill amid hunger and thirst they go, \xe2\x80\x94 \nShepherd of Love, in Thy care complete, \n\nLead them to fields that no hunger know ! \n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN PATIENCE. \n\n"It is hard to wait! " \n\nRuth has been reading again the little poem /we read \na few evenings since, entitled "The Service of Waiting.\'\' \n\n\' \' I want to see results. I want to know my life means \nsomething to God, by seeing He uses it. I am willing \nto do, but what has God for me ? " \n\nThere are many who feel as Ruth feels. The natural \nlonging of us all is for results. The common cry of the \nSoul is, "What has God for me? " \n\nBecause we are all possessed of the belief that we are \nto do and accomplish visible things. We all like to \nthink there is before us some work ordained of God, \nwhich, with God\'s help, we are to perform. Very few \nlook upon a life without results upon the world as worth \nliving. \n\nAnd we mistake, often, in waiting for what will never \ncome. Having fixed our mind on some definite thing, \ncome certain line of doing, we come to think God means \nno work for us because He does not provide as we expect. \nWe ask the question, "What has God for us?" with a \ncomplaint. What we most desire has not come up for \ncareful effort and accomplishment ; we are disappointed \nand would find fault. \n\nBut we must be patient. We must exercise genuine \nChristian patience. Well, how does Christian patience \n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN PA \'HENCE. 8 1 \n\ndiffer from patience in general ? First of all, in having a \nhope in it \xe2\x80\x94 the Great Hope, that is to gladden the world. \nHaving a hope, it is not a patience of philosophy, of \nwilling to endure, of hardened stoicism. It is a patience \nof trust. Faith lights it up continually. \n\nSuperadded to this, it is a patience of searching. The \nheart in close sympathy with Christ will wait patiently \nfor the GoD-appointed work, but it will not wait idly, \ncomplainingly, and say \' \' God brings naught for my \ndoing." It will search ^every day, to see if perchance, in \nsome unlooked-for manner, the mission has not come \nunannounced, unsuspected. It will refuse no offered \nopportunity. It will accept, in all earnestness, the \nproffered service, and serve as patiently as it had waited. \n\nO Lord, is heart of mine like this ? \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn careful search lest ii should miss \nThe labor Thou wouldst ask of me ? \nOr do I wait and long to see \nSome special work before me set, \nAnd fold my hands while I forget \nThat in this waiting of to-day, \nAnd in this that I call delay, \nThe Master\'s voice is sounding near, \n" \\Nhy idly are ye standing here ?" \n\n\n\n\nCONVERSION TO CHRIST. \n\n11 Saul s agony should not be waited for nor desired, \nif God gives one Lydia\'s open heart/\' \n\nThus said the preacher this morning, speaking of the \nmanner of conversion, and in the saying he touched very \nwisely a point which has troubled many souls. \n\nThe being born again seems so hard a thing. But \nwhy? Because we make it so. We magnify its difficul- \nties. We see more to get over than really exists. We \nhold change of heart to be a most marvelous transition, \nwhen in fact it is very simple \xe2\x80\x94 surprisingly simple, some- \ntimes. \n\nThere are few cases like that of Saul. Few indeed \nare there who from midnight gloom, impending days to- \ngether, emerge into supreme splendor of light. It is \nseldom that God meets a man so suddenly on the way as \nHe met Saul ; and none should expect to realize Saul\'s \nremarkable experience in their own history. \n\nLydia furnishes an excellent example for all such as \nawait some profound, agonizing conviction. She waited \nfor nothing ; she simply believed, with her whole heart, \nnd this heart-felt belief was the being born again. The \nnew birth is a change, certainly ; but it is a change from \nunbelief and doubt to perfect trust and faith. There \ncan be no change without faith. The man\'s withered \n\n\n\nSELLING OUR BIRTHRIGHTS. 8$ \n\narm was not restored until it was stretched forth. A \nbelief that Christ can heal the soul, alone makes the \nhealing possible. And when we have this belief it is idle, \nunwise, to wait long and anxiously for some harrowing \nsense of pain and sin. A degree of self-smiting there \nmust be, but the degree differs in intensity in different \ncases. \n\nSo the preacher did well to mention Saul and Lydia \nto us in the same breath \xe2\x80\x94 to show us how widely separa- \nted in character conversions may be, and yet be each \nacceptable in the Divine sight. \n\n\n\nSELLING OUR BIRTHRIGHTS. \n\nThere are many Esaus. Of the multitudes of men \nwho go up and down among us, how many are there \nwho have not sold their birthrights? \n\nNotwithstanding the fall, there is a birthright for every \none. Manhood is the noblest heritage which can accrue \nto being. Purity, honor and truth were not all upyield- \ned when the first man sinned. In these each man has \nstill a share. Of these, alas ! thousands are daily selling \ntheir portion for a mess of pottage ! \n\nEsau and Jacob of old were types of two great classes \nthat were to exist long after, \xe2\x80\x94 the one w r eak, lustful and \nfoolish ; the other sharp, far-sighted, grasping. And so \n\n\n\n84 SELLING OUR BIRTHRIGHTS. \n\nlong as Esaus remain, there will be Jacobs to profit by \ntheir weakness, their improvident. So long as one man \nstands ready to make over all that is best and truest in his \nlife and character, his fellow will* be at hand eager to re- \nceive the trust and to use it to his own selfish advance- \nment. \n\nBut are we all sufficiently generous to give up self ut- \nterly for the sake of others? Is our generosity wise? \nJust such spiritual loss as was Esau\'s may not be ours, in \nselling our birthrights, for there is no Messiah to come in \nour genealogical line; but there is an awful loss, never- \ntheless. And what is the gain ? Your mess of pottage \nmay be for the moment very tempting; does its flavor \nlast? Partaking of it, do you see your birthright pass \ninto the hands of another and feel satisfied? \n\nOh, these messes of pottage ! They are of Satan\'s own \nmixing. They stand ready everywhere. What are they? \nWe cannot tell. Some delightful dalliance may make \nup one ; some lustful indulgence may savor forth in an- \nother ; some unholy amusement, some selfish propensity/ \nsome secret sin, some open -transgression, some destroy- \ning desire, may comprise another. But at their best they \nare only pottage, and miserable compensation for that \nwhich they purchase. Is it not a little strange that men \nordinarily keen at a bargain make such a losing thing of \nit in selling themselves? \n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF MIRIAM. \n\nOf all that singers e\'er have sung \n\nSince singing first began, \nNo strains have gladder, clearer rung \nFrom human heart, from human tongue, \n\nThan where the Red Sea ran \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhere horse and rider fierce and wild \nBy God were overthrown : \nWhere He upon His children smiled, \nAnd swift their foes to wreck beguiled \nBy waves His breath had blown. \n\n" For He hath triumphed gloriously V \n\nAnd " Sing ye to the Lord ! " \nThe singer chanted by the sea : \nAnd glad as anthem of the free \nRang out her clear accord. \n\nDear singer of the ancient time ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHer timbrel echoes still \nAdown the ages. Sweet, sublime, \nAbove the din of doubt and crime, \n\nWe catch its hopeful thrill. \n\nWithin our Edom weary years \n\nWe wander sore beset ; \nThe host of Egypt oft appears ; \nWe yield at last to fate and fears, \n\nTo grieving and regret. \n\n\n\n86 THE SONG OF MIRIAM. \n\nBut waiting there in doubt and dread, \n\nOur own Red Sea beside, \nSome ray of silver sunlight, shed \nFrom God\'s clear sky, shines on our head, \nAnd gloom is glorified ! \n\nAnd listning then we hear the song \n\nThey sang that time of old, \nWhen God was faithful, swift and strong \nTo help the Right, to crush the Wrong , \nAnd faith finds deeper hold. \n\nFor God is God to-day, as then . \n\nHe minds His Israel : \nAbove all battlings fierce of men \nHe waits in patient power, as when \n\nThe host Egyptian fell. \n\nDear singer of that distant day ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHer Edom had its springs \nOf bitter waters by the way : \nAnd we by Marah\'s side may stay \nOft in our wanderings ; \n\nBut though tlie way be long and sore, \n\nThis side the Promised Land, \nSome song of cheer forevermore \nMay thrill us, that we sang before \nWe came to desert sand. \n\nSome yesterday of song we knew, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSome hour of joy and praise \nAfter a Red Sea\'s journey through \nTo peace ; and God to-day is true, \xe2\x96\xa0 \nHowever dark the w?ys : \n\n\n\nTHE MASTER TRUTH. 87 \n\nAnd just beyond the wilderness \n\nOur Land of Promise lies ; \nIts plenty we shall soon possess ; \nIts beauty shall our morrow bless \n\nWith comforting surprise ! \n\n\n\nTHE MASTER TRUTH. \n\nTruth has been master since the Master\'s first preach- \ning of it. It will be master in all time to come. It can \nnot be crushed. The defection of followers and suppor- \nters can not dangerously weaken it. It is upheld by liv- \ning divine grace. \n\nWhat does it matter, then, if some one fall whom the \nworld has looked up to as eminently a disciple of Truth? \nFalls are common. Men are but human, and the great- \nest may be most human. The greatest may sink into \nways of sin and shame. But if one or a thousand great \nupholders of Christ\'s Gospel lapse from the true path, \nshall we be foolish enough to think that Gospel suffers \nirreparable harm? \n\nWhen this dear religion of ours had few supporters, it \nstood up under defection and betrayal greater than can \npossibly befall it now. There was Judas\xe2\x80\x94 one of the fav- \nored Twelve. A cruel blow was his; and yet the new \nfaith survived. There was Peter \xe2\x80\x94 he was tempted and \nhe fell ; and yet the new faith lived on, and grew marvel- \nously in the hearts of men. \n\n\n\n8S THE MASTER TRUTH. \n\nA man may have much of the grace of God in his \nheart, and for all this he may yield to sudden tempting. \nA man may profess love for Christ, and kiss him to be- \ntrayal. Is he the annihilator of our faith ? Far from it. \nHe falls ; but honest men everywhere will simply pity his \nweakness or scorn his falsity. They will not say that \nChrist is a myth, or His Gospel a fiction. And if they \nwere to say it, what then ? Fools have said the same \nthese hundreds of years, and men have fallen from purity \ntime and again, and yet Christ is not a myth, and His \nGospel is not a fiction, and people go on believing. \n\nIt is sad \xe2\x80\x94 very sad \xe2\x80\x94 to see any one betray his faith. \nThe influence of such betrayal may be wide-reaching, \nand the injury done may be great. But to say that be- \ntrayal is terribly disastrous, is idle talk. There can never \nbe a worse, a more awful betrayal than that of Judas ; \nand doubtless the weak and troubled disciples thought it \ndisaster dire. Instead, it held the world\'s hope. It \nwrought out the best that life can know. It was a never- \nending blessing just begun. \n\nShall we then excuse betrayal and palliate a fall, be- \ncause irretrievable ruin does not come of it ? By no \nmeans. To fall is to sin ; to betray is criminal. Truth \nis sinned against in either case. Judas betrays himself \nwhen he betrays and turns against his Christ. He must \npay the penalty. If only himself be hurt, even, there is \nno excuse, since no man may excusably sin against him- \nself. And always the sin reaches past the sinner, past the \nsecond party sinned against, and harms community. \nThat it is not a fatal harm, matters not, though it is the \n\n\n\nCHRIST\'S COMPASS/OX. 89 \n\none comforting thing Christians should remember ever \xe2\x80\x94 \nthat no man\'s weakness mortally weakens the church of \nChrist. Such has never been the case ; such never can \nbe the case. The church of Christ is not founded upon \nman ; does not depend upon man for its continuance, \nand can not be overthrown bv man. \n\n\n\nCHRIST S COMPASSION. \n\nPerhaps there is no more really comforting thought, \nin relation to Christ\'s compassionate love, than that it \nwas discriminative. "Christ loved men in the mass," \nsaid the preacher this morning; "but He also loved \nmen as individuals.\'\' \n\nWe have numerous illustrations of this discriminating \nregard. Among them all, none is so sweetly tender as \nthat of the widow of Nain. Christ was upon the high- \nway, accompanied by many followers. He met another \ncompany, and their errand w r as evident. They were go- \ning to a burial. It was not an unusual thing to meet \nsuch a sad procession. \n\nYet to our Saviour it was an unusual case, common \nas it might seem to all about Him. Here was a woman \nfollowing a loved one to the grave ; and this was sad in- \ndeed, and in a general w r ay was sufficient to call forth \nsympathy. Bnt it was worse than this. "She was a \n\n\n\n9\xc2\xb0 \n\n\n\nCHRIS T \' S CO MP A SSION. \n\n\n\nwidow." She had followed a bier, before. She had \nwept for her companion ; now, alas ! she must weep for \nher sole support \xe2\x80\x94 her only son ! and this was saddest of \nall. \n\nIt was, indeed, a case where discriminating comfort \nwould not fail of expression and endeavor. The great \nheart of Jesus went out in tender compassion. His Di- \nvine power found manifestation in the command ! \' Arise ! \'* \nAnd the sorrowing mother found a Friend where least \nshe expected one, a Helper when to human ken help was \nno longer possible. What a joy was hers ! How she must \nhave gone back rejoicing, who had come from her home \nin tears ! \n\nIt is ever with the needy, whose faith is strong, as it \nwas with the widow of Nain. Christ will not fail in His \ndiscriminative compassion. On the highway of life He \nmeets men and women now, as He met them ages ago, \nand knows their peculiar want. We like to believe that \nwhen blind Bartimeus called out to Him from the road- \nside, "Thou son of David, have mercy on me!" our \nSaviour knew him for the sightless man he was, and not \nsimply as one of the common mass, voicing a common \nneed. To the blind of to-day His ear is open still, and \nHe will not fail to hear. Hearing He will not fail to \nbless, and blessing, the needy shall go forth rejoicing, \nwho now weep on the way. \n\n\n\nCHRIST\'S HUMANITY. \n\nIt is an evening for tears. One year ago to-night \xe2\x80\x94 or \nwas it two, or three, or five? \xe2\x80\x94 you wept over a dear face \nwaxing cold, and dropped a hand out of yours from \nwhich love\'s answering pressure had fled. How well \nyou remember it ! Will you ever forget ? Would you \never, if you could ? Would you even now put from you \nthese memories so sadly sweet, that bring dimness to \nyour eyes and fresh sorrow to your heart ? \n\nYou thought the first pang of separation hard ; you \nfeel scarcely different after all these months or years of \nloneliness. And yet you have now none of those bitter, \nfault-finding feelings against God which took possession \nof you at the beginning. You have come \'to realize \nsomewhat of God\'s kindliness even through His afflict- \ning \xe2\x80\x94 samewhat of His great overbrooding love and wide- \nreaching sympathy. \n\nIn the first overwhelming of your grief you thought \nhard things of your Creator, hard things of your Saviour. \nYou said in your heart \xe2\x80\x94 "He is but an indifferent Sav- \niour who does not save me from this depth of woe. " \nYou know now how much you wronged Christ. In- \ndifferent? You could hardly say that of Him again, \nthough you stood by another open grave. Indifferent ? \nYou read one little verse in your Bible, as you have read \n\n\n\n92 CHRIST\'S HUMANITY. \n\nit many times of late, and you acknowledge how very \nhuman our Saviour was \xe2\x80\x94 how His heart went out in a \ncommon sorrow with those who were sorrowful. \n\n\' \' Jesus wept. " \n\nThank God that there is such a verse in the Book of \nbooks ! Jf Christ had been divine alone, we might \nnever have had it. But those two words tell the whole \nstory of His humanity. Because weeping is such a com- \nmon lot, it was necessary, so it seems, that Christ \nshould weep also. If not necessary, it was iitting. And \nthe fact that our Saviour wept with those who wept, \nbrings Him nearer to us all evermore. No proof is \nneeded to establish Christ\'s divinity, even though men \nhave thought it their duty to write books full of argu- \nment ; there might have been call for proof to substanti- \nate His humanity, without this fact. \n\nSo you accept the story so briefly told, as it is accept- \ned by many another, and your sorrow is not so sharp a \nthing as once you held it. Because Jesus wept, weeping \nis somehow sanctified. Grief is not so crushing since \nyou know that He felt it, even in the very phase so famil- \niar to you. And through your tears you are thankful for \na tearful Saviour, and you feel that God who gave such \nan one must be, and indeed is, very good, though He \nsmite you. \n\n\n\nTHE FA THER\'S VOICE. \n\nO stubborn heart of mine, be still \\ \nGod speaks to you, to day ; \n\nIn silence wait His holy will \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn silence Him obey. \n\nYour sore complaint forget awhile, \nYour longing and your pain ; \n\nAnd in the sweetness of His smile \nA perfect peace obtain. \n\nSo near to Him, O heart of mine ! \n\nThat we His voice can hear : \nOur being is a thing divine, \n\nWith love its heavenly cheer. \n\nFor love is in His every tone, \nAnd in His presence shines ; \n\nHe speaks in love, and love alone \nHis every act inclines. \n\nThen listen to His loving call, \n\nO heart of mine, I pray ! \n"Let doubt that broodeth over all \n\nBy Him be chased away! \n\nLet Faith a cherished guest abide, \nWhere unbelief has dwelt, \n\nAnd patience tarry by her side, \nAnd Love all discord melt. \n\n\n\n94 AN APPROPRIATING FAITH, \n\nAnd so as pass the waning days, \nAt length, O heart of mine ! \n\nYour song shall be a psalm of praise, \nWhere song is all divine ! \n\n\n\nAN APPROPRIATING FAITH. \n\n\'\xe2\x80\xa2It was a good sermon from a good text/\' says Ruth \nto-night, referring to the morning\'s discourse. " f The \nLord is my shepherd, I shall not want/ I was glad when \nthe preacher chose such words as these, for a hope and a \ncomfort. I was gladder yet, even, when he showed how \nDavid\'s was only like what every follower should feel \nnow \xe2\x80\x94 an appropriating faith. The Lord was more than \na shepherd to Israel\'s king \xe2\x80\x94 his shepherd; He is more \nthan a shepherd to you and to me \xe2\x80\x94 even our shepherd. \nAnd because He is ours, in this sense of personal appro- \npriation, we shall not want. " \n\nRuth\'s face is not visible, in the twilight, but we fancy \ngladness glows upon it, and we know that her voice \ntiembles with a thrill of joy. \n\nAh, yes ! The faith of the Psalmist should typify our \nfaith to-day. It was as sweetly personal as if David knew \nhe and God made up the world. The same individual \ntrust and acceptaticn should dwell in us. Why not? \nHas the Lord changed in all these years ? No ; He is \nthe Everlasting. Have our relations to Him altered? No; \n\n\n\nAN APPROPRIATING FAITH. 95 \n\nwe are His people to the end of time, \xe2\x80\x94 His people, \nand the sheep of His pasture. As He led those of old, \nso likewise shall Fie lead us. The still waters, the pas- \ntures green \xe2\x80\x94 lo ! these are unchanging as the Eternal \nFather, and to them we shall as surely come as came the \nweary ones who knew them at last henceforth and for- \nevermore. \n\nAnd it was a rare assurance that grew out of David\'s \nappropriating faith \xe2\x80\x94 "I shall not want. " Here was no \nshadow of doubt, no thought of questioning, nothing \nbut a strong, sweet certainty, to^ rest upon and be up- \nheld by. The same certainty may be appropriated- and \nenjoyed by us. Why not? Since God is our God \xe2\x80\x94 since \na risen Saviour rose for us, as well as for the great world \nat large \xe2\x80\x94 since we are individually responsible for taking \nhold or letting go of a faith that binds us to an individ- \nual Lord \xe2\x80\x94 so should we realize that all the fruits of a \npersonal faith are ours as truly as though none other ever \nshared them, as though in God\'s clear vision no other \nmortal stood. \n\nThere is a blind, \xe2\x80\xa2 helpless faith, that believes without \ntasting, or testing, or knowing, \xe2\x80\x94 a vague trust in abstract \ntruths, and a weak recognition of comprehensive Omnis- \ncience without any positive comprehension at all. It con- \nfesses God as the Supreme Ruler, but knows nothing of \nHim as the Shepherd who knows His sheep. It prays \nto God as a wise and beneficent Creator, but never ten- \nderly supplicates Him as the one Father and Friend \nwho sees every heart, appreciates every want, is lovingly \nmindful of each individual need- David\'s was a faith \n\n\n\n9 6 IMPE TUO US CHRIS TIA NI TV. \n\nwiser and more helpful. If our faith be truly wise, and \nof the best type, we shall appropriate and know God as \nnone other exactly can, and He shall be to us, in some \nsubtle sense, what He is to no other trusting soul. \n\n\n\nIMPETUOUS CHRISTIANITY. \n\nPeter was the impetuous apostle. We all know how \nhis impetuosity cropped out, at times, \xe2\x80\x94 how he was \nmost ready to declare love for his Master, then the first \nto deny Him. It was an inherent fault in his nature. \nHe flared up at a spark. As susceptible to sleep on that \nmemorable night of the Agony as his fellow disciples, he \nwas prompt enough on the succeeding morning to cut off \nthe ear of one of the band whom Judas led to the be- \ntrayal. His acts were as impetuous as his faith, and this \ncame near to causing his death on an occasion familiar to \nall. \n\nAnd Peter the impetuous was the type of a large class \nof Christians to come after him. Faith, belief, devotion, \naction, were with him a matter of impulse ; and they are \nso still with very many. Perhaps the proportion of im- \npulsive faith, belief, devotion and service is as great to- \nday among Christ\'s followers as it was in the day of His \nministry. Warmed by an atmosphere of loving nearness \nto God, thrilled by the prayers of faithful ones, many are \n\n\n\nIMPETUOUS CHRISTIANITY. \n\n\n\n97 \n\n\n\neager to declare their fervent affection, \xe2\x80\x94 to asseverate \nstoutly that a denial of their Lord is impossible. But \nout amid the scorners, where Christ is jeered at and \nmocked, where to cling to Him may be to suffer con- \ntempt and ill-treatment, the impulse of denial is as ready \nas any other, and the denial is most emphatic. \n\nImpulsive service is a poor service, at best. Its good \neffects are neutralized by the cold seasons intervening, \nwhen all devotion is forgotten, all faith apparently dead. \nBut is impulsive service rare ? Is it not part of almost \nevery Christian life ? \xe2\x80\x94 the bane of every Christian church ? \nWe draw the picture strong, possibly ; but it does seem \nto us that Christian endeavor is largely characterized by \nimpulse. We do much for a little time, when strongly \nmoved, then relapse into inertia and discontent, if not \nutter carelessness. Our charity flows out to bless the \nneedy only when melted to a white heat by external fires. \nGiving is not a matter of principle, but of impulse ; \ndoing springs not from an underlying purpose to serve \nGod and our fellows, but is the result of outside influen- \nces, bearing so powerfully upon us for the time being \nthat we cannot resist. \n\nAll good impulses should be cherished, \xe2\x80\x94 all will con- \ncede that. But life should not be all impulse, \xe2\x80\x94 nervous \nand uncertain. And our following after Christ should \nnot be like unto Peter\'s, "afar off/\' \n\n7 \n\n\n\nUNREST. \n\nO.God of peace ! soothe me to inner calm ! \nThis wearying unrest \nSo racks and wounds my breast \n\nI long for Thine own sweet anointing balm ! \n\nTo feel Thy fingers touching all my care \nTo tenderness of peace, \nWould make my longings cease : \n\nFather ! bend Thine ear and hear my prayer ! \n\n1 hold so much of every earthly bliss \n\nI should not e\'er complain ; \nAnd yet I pine in pain \nFor some dear blessing that I want, and miss. \n\nI can not name it, Lord ; I do not know \n\nIf it should come to me \n\nThat I could clearly see \nIt was the blessing I had prayed for so. \n\nSo blind am I ; so vaguely and so dim \n\nIs my desire defined \n\nAs yet within my mind ; \nAnd yet I fancy it is known to Him ! \n\nThen fill, Lord ! my emptiness of heart ; \n\nM-y weary longings still \n\nWith Thine own holy will, \nAnd grant that peace which shall no more depart ! \n\n\n\nCOURTING SIN \n\nWe cannot avoid being tempted. In some form or \nother the spirit of evil comes to us every hour of our \nlives, with his magnificent promises. If we listen to \nthem, half smilingly, are we not really courting sin ? \nTo go voluntarily to baleful influences, and put ourselves \nin their power, is little worse than to give ourselves over \nto those influences, without effort to the contrary, when \nthey come to us. There is no excuse for half the defeats \nwe meet with while endeavoring to walk uprightly. We \nsurrender to temptation with never an arm upraised in \ndefense. With not even a whispered "Get thee behind \nme, Satan/\' do we meet the tempter. And yet we be- \nmoan our sinfulness ; we make weak resolves to stand up \nmore manfully in the future. All this is well. Repen- \ntance is very essential. But unless we cease tacitly cour- \nting sin by receiving it kindly when it visits us, of what \navail are all our bemoanings, our tears, and our resolu- \ntions? Our visitois measure their stay by the character \nof their reception, and sin is no less sharp-sighted than \nthey. \n\nThen it is wiser to put sin behind us, always, rather \nthan let it stand before us as an equal. The language \nour Saviour used, when tempted, has a deeper signifi- \ncance than we are wont to give it. He said " Get thee \n\n\n\nIOO COURTING SIN \n\nbehind me." And why behind P Was it not to be wholly \nout of sight ? Sin is hardly ever without a glamour over \nit, concealing its deformity, oftentimes rendering it abso- \nlutely beautiful. Satan may have a cloven foot, and the \net ceteras commonly credited to him, but he is frequently \nexceeding fair to look upon. And the heart receives its \nimpressions too often through the eyes. On that account \nit is dangerous, in the extreme, long to look evil in the \nface. Unless we voluntarily bid it get behind us, away \nfrom our seeing, it may become as an angel of light, \nblinding our vision completely. \n\nAnd alas ! how often our thought plays truant, and \ngoes off kite-flying, like the veriest idler, in beautiful \nfields w T here all beauty hides a secret sting ! Into those \nlovely reaches we follow, no longer waiting for sin to \ncome to us that we may be won, but going out after it, \nthough we scarcely realize this, and wooing it in its own \nchosen haunts. And we go, and go again, until the way \nbecomes worn and familiar, and the beauties throw off \ntheir outward seeming and pierce us with their sharp, bi- \nting realities. Then, wounded and sick at heart, we feel \nthat it is not enough to pray " Lead us not into tempta- \ntion/\' but that we must continually and in all earnestness \ndeclare \' \' Get thee behind me, Satan ! " \n\n\n\n"AND THEN?" \n\nWe remember reading, years ago, of a man who was \nso sparing of his words that he seldom uttered more than \ntwo consecutively, and consequently was known as "Two \nWords." Favorites of his, and most often made use of, \nwere these, short and questioning, \xe2\x80\x94 lc And then ?" \n\nEvery man, woman and child utters them frequently, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthey are indeed the text of many a hope, many a promise, \nmany a prayer. Childhood will grow out of its childish- \nness, and then \xe2\x80\x94 all the joys and successes of manhood \nwill gladden it. Youth will step out from its youthful \nannoyances, and then \xe2\x80\x94 will come only halcyon days, full \nof sunlight and song, and glad fulfillments. Manhood \nwill brush away the clouds that envelop it, and then \xe2\x80\x94 the \nlong awaited rewards will surely be realized in maturer \nyears. Manhood\'s prime may wear itself out in noble \nendeavors, but Old Age will reap the fruits, and then \xe2\x80\x94 \ncontent will render the hours peacefully sweet. Old Age \nwill be ended by-anc^-by, and then \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd then \xe2\x80\x94 what ? \n\nIt is not enough that we dream over the two words, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthat we use them as pleasant agencies to conjure up \nbrightness for the future. To paint beautiful pictures of \nthe "Good time coming" is well, because none have a \nright to shut the sunlight out of their lives, and the sun- \n\n\n\n102 "AND THEN." \n\nlight streams in ever through the open door of To-mor- \nrow ; but to shut our eyes to our possible destiny, \xe2\x80\x94 to \nlook resolutely away from a destiny that must be inevit- \nably ours, \xe2\x80\x94 that is not well. It is the height of folly, or \nelse the climax of cowardice. \n\nThousands are dancing through life thinking lightly of \nthe morrow, with "And then" upon their lips, but never \nrepeating it in its deep and solemn suggestiveness. Poor \nfools, that make a minuet of the week, and glide down it \ncareless and unconcerned, for them, as for all others, \nthere will come a Saturday night with its silent hush, and \nthe sun will go down, and the stars will come out, and \nthe soul will remember itself \xe2\x80\x94 and then \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAs we have each our by-and-bys, that we fill wiih those \nthings we love best, so is there for all one great common \nBy-and-By, and it is surer than those little ones w r e think \nmost of. Who says \' \' by-and-by " with a thought of all \nits meaning ? We hang upon being as by a thread, and \nyet we plan with an "I will" as though the future were \nours to do with as we please. And some day we shall \nsee our mistake. Some day we shall say "I will," and \nour wills shall be as mere breaths ; and it shall be then, \nO Father, "as Thou wilt;" and we shall close our eyes \nto all around us and go out somewhere by a way we \nknow not \xe2\x80\x94 and then P \n\n\n\n"COME UNTO ME!" \n\n" Come unto me ! " I stand far off and lonely, \n\nAnd hear the words so sweet. \nDear Saviour ! but to meet Thy greeting only \nGrant me swift feet ! \n\n" Come unto me ! " The air is full of voices \n\nThat call me loudly hence. \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nHelp me to feel that most Thy call rejoices \nWith recompense. \n\nI see before me, onward ever luring, \n\nThe prizes rich and rare ; \nBut each shall fade. Thine only is enduring, \nBeyond compare. \n\nThine only. What Thou freely givest ever, \n\nThe thing no man can earn ; \nFor which no pain, nor any long endeavor, \nCan make return. \n\nThine only \xe2\x80\x94 now ; but when I fly to meet Thee, \n\nIn love, as Thou dost call, \nThen as with tender, broken heart I greet Thee, \nMy own, my all ! \n\nThy Rest ! Dear Saviour, make me for it eager, \n\nAnd never satisfied \nWith all that I may win, so poor and meager, \nFrom Thy dear side ! \n\n\n\nKNOWING GOD. \n\nAs we sit in the twilight, a solemn silence falls upon \nus all. \n\n"Be still, and know that I am God !" Ruth by-and- \nby quotes. And then she adds : \n\n"Is silence just another name for submission, I won- \nder ? Last evening Mrs. Bird came in, and we talked of \nher great loss. The dear boy she buried a year ago lives \nfreshly yet, in her grief. She can not give him up. \nShe will not believe that the Lord did well in taking him \naw T ay. It grieved me to hear her talk, and I have been \ntroubled about it all day." \n\n"She is not an obedient scholar in the school of sor- \nrow," one of us makes reply. "\'Be still and learn, 1 \nmight be said wisely to her. We hear many things in \nour moments of quiet, which miss us in the hours of our \nspeech. We can not both speak and hear at once. " \n\n"True," answers Ruth, "but have you quite caught \nthe meaning of those words I quoted? As I see it, we \nare not left to learn that God is God ; we are simply to be \nstill and know. There is something fairly divine in the \nassumption which this command implies. In twilight \ntimes, or times of darkness coming over the soul, we may \njust keep silent and rest in a sure knowledge. In our \nsubmissive stillness we shall know what by no common \nprocess of accquirement could we learn. To be restful \n\n\n\nKNOWING GOD. I05 \n\nbefore God, as I take the thought into my heart, is ab- \nsolutely to know Him. \n\n" And the knowledge will never make us glad, I fear/\' \nshe continues, " if we do not feel subdued to perfect \npeace. Nobody can find out God by searching, or by \nscientific investigation, or by noisy discussion. He is \nnot revealed to men through visible demonstrations. It \nis only in soul-quiet that the soul, looking upward, \ngrows wise. We have so much turmoil in life, and we \nspend so many days and years in perpetual unrest, no \nwonder we fail to know God as we ought. I prize the \ntwilight hours more than once I did, for their quietude, \nand their holy intimacies. God does come near to quiet \nsouls, I am certain. We can know Him if we will but \nbe still, and let Him visit us in blessed recognition." \n"You hold, then, by your personal relation to Him?" \n"Why not ? If I am to know Him, it must be a per- \nsonal knowledge, made possible through a personal inti- \nmacy. For me to know God is to know Him for myself, \nand of myself, and not to become a mere partaker of an- \nother\'s knowledge. I may not profit by another\'s obe- \ndient silence, while my own soul cries out in doubting \ncomplaint. I could not teach Mrs. Bird of my happy \nknowledge, when she cherished the turmoil of her grief, \nand would not be still that she might know. Whoever \nbelieves may enjoy the blessed certainty of knowing, but \nbefore knowing, in the truest, sweetest sense, he must \nhush all his strivings of soul, quiet all his troubling fears, \nand come, so, before knowledge, into peace. And the \nbest of it is that God will help him to do this, that so \ndoing he may know ! " \n\n\n\nPATIENCE WITH SELF. \n\nIn the prayer meeting the other night we were consid- \nering the subject of Patience. And one brother remark- \ned that we ought to be more patient with ourselves \xe2\x80\x94 that \nhaving done a wrong thing, and properly confessed to \nGod and self that it was wrong, we should not continue \nto upbraid self, and be miserable. Then he cited the \ncase of a little child, in illustration. \n\nThe little one had been guilty of some misdeed. She \nhad asked her father\'s forgiveness, and it had been freely \ngranted. Still she seemed a little ill at ease. " Have \nyou told God how you feel about it?" her father asked. \nNo, she had not, but she went away by herself, and \npretty soon returned, satisfied, her countenance all aglow. \n"Is it all right now? " the parent inquired. "O, yes ! " \nwas her answer. \n\nShe had confessed the fault, and she lost no time in be- \nginning again. She did not go about with a sober, dejec- \nted countenance, bewailing her sin, making her life mis- \nerable on account of it. Even so should we be patient \nwith ourselves. We sin often. If, after the sin is con- \nfessed and repented of, we go around for hours or days \ntogether reproaching ourselves, encouraging impatience \ntoward ourselves, we sin again. We should lose no time \nin reproaches, which ought to be spent in beginning a new \n\n\n\nPATIENCE WITH SELF. \\0*] \n\ncourse of life. It does not mend the wrong to put our \nsouls in perpetual penance for it. Better that we atone \nfor it by a speedy setting about the course of right. Bet- \nter that we take up a vigorous line of good conduct, \nthan that we sit down idly and sorrow over the unhappy \n\nslip- \nThere is a lesson here which many should heed. \nHealthful Christian life is not promoted by brooding \nover, and doing mental penance for, the sins of the \npast. Before us there is a work to be done. Let us do \nit. What though we failed once, or even many times? \nThe failures do not excuse us from fresh attempting. \nThe bitterest reproaches we can heap upon self will not \nexpiate for faults or failures of the days gone by. Let us \nbe good to ourselves, then, and having properly and \nfreely repented of that which we can not recall, let the \ndead bury its dead. So shall we live happier lives. So \nshall we be better fitted for all that each day brings. \n\n\n\nReligion is belief in God and His revelations ; an ac- \nceptance of the Divine as ruling over the Human ; a faith \nin the spiritual as working in and through the material. \nAnd to be religious is to acknowledge God\'s power and \nman\'s weakness, human need and Divine helpfulness; \nand to confess, in heart and life, that the sin of the fall is \nonly annulled in the expiation of the Cross. \n\n\n\nTHE TOUCH OF FAITH \n\nLord ! Thou walkest in this earthly press, \nAs once Thou dids\'t before ; \n\nThy presence hath the same sweet power to bless \n\nThat it possessed of yore. \nThen let me come anear, O Lord, I pray ! \n\nNor my one wish condemn ; \nLet me, like her of old, approach to-day, \n\nAnd touch Thy garment\'s hem \' \n\nMy deepest want Thy healing grace can m^et, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\ngrant that grace to give ! \n\nMy poor unfinished life Thou shalt complete \nIf I but touch and live ! \n\n1 faint amid the many striving sore ; \n\n1 fear me lest I fall ; \n\nO turn Thine ear. dear Saviour, I implore \nAnd hear my pleading call ! \n\ntouch of faith ! I feel its healing power ! \nMy weakness groweth strong ! \n\n1 rise renewed in life, this favored hour ; \nI praise Him in my song ! \n\nDear soul-sick ones, behind Him closely press ! \n\nHe gladly healeth them \nWhose faith can see Him through all earthliness \n\nAnd touch His garment\'s hem ! \n\n\n\nPSALMS IN THE NIGHT. \n\nThe singing hearts are ever a blessing unto themselves. \nA song is joy-giving. He who can sing sweetly in the \nundertone of his inner nature, carries a rare pleasure with \nhim always. Hard things appear to him easy ; heavy \nburdens seem light ; sorrow knocks often, it may be, but \noften goes away, seldom enters. \n\nAnd when it does enter \xe2\x80\x94 when the clouds come and \nthe sunlight is hidden \xe2\x80\x94 when the soul walks down into \nthe night and sees never a star ; what then ? Ah ! then \nthrice blest is the singing heart. If it can sing psalms at \nsuch a time, the stars will shine. Dawn will quicker \ncome, the sunlight sooner re-appear. \n\nSweetest of all songs are the psalms in the night. \nDavid sang with the most touching tenderness when in \nthe gloom of deepest affliction. The heart may wail a \nmisererz over its dead or its dying, but even that will be \nsadly sweet, and will have a hope in it. The saddest \nsong is better than none, because it is a song. \n\nEvery song soothes and uplifts. It is just possible that \na song is as good as a prayer. Indeed, a song of the \npure kind recognized in Scripture, is akin to a petition, \nwhile it is also in the spirit of thanksgiving. The " sweet \nsinger of Israel " wedded his sincerest prayers to melody, \nand wafted them upward on the night air from his throb- \nbing heart. \n\n\n\nHO "NO I/IGHT THERE." \n\nThrough God\'s grace we can all sing psalms in the \nnight. Whatever brings the shadows, we need not be \nwholly surrounded by them. We can sing under the stars ; \nor, if they be hid, until they come out and smile down \nupon us, and cheer us to a gladder strain. There are \ndark nights for us all ; we are in them now, or have just \nfound the dawn, or, perchance, are just entering the twi- \nlight. But there is a psalm for every over-creeping \ngloom \xe2\x80\xa2 and if the heart but take it up and chant it, the \ndreariness will surely vanish, and there will come in its \nstead hope and light and cheering warmth, and we shall \ngrow glad again with the morning. \n\n\n\n"NO NIGHT THERE:\' \n\nO dreariness of earth ! O mocking pain ! \n\nO day to darkness going ! \n\nYou hold but little in your empty showing ; \nThe end of all will be my greatest gain. \n\nThere is within my limited foreknowing \nFor all your want and woe a kindly bane. \n\nThe w^ays cf earth are dark ; the sunset lies, \n\nUnrobed of all its beauties, \n\nA shadow black and chill o\'er all our duties, \nAnd shutting out the smiling of the skies. \n\nOur better nature in the shadow mute is, \nOr speaks but faintly through some quick surprise. \n\n\n\n"NO NIGHT THERE." Ill \n\nAt intervals, perhaps, may clearly shine \n\nThe stars, in friendly gleaming, \n\nAs if to woo forgetfulness in dreaming, \nAnd drown the earthly in the half divine ; \n\nYet memory sleeps only in our seeming, \nAnd consciousness breathes on, but makes no sign. \n\nOur souls beneath the darkness sit alone \n\nIn solitary places, \n\nAnd keenly scan the few by-passing faces, \nIn hope some newer light has outward shone ; \n\nBut find thereof no sweetly cheering traces, \nFor yet is the all-perfect day unknown. \n\nIt waits somewhere beyond the evening hills, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat day without an ending. \n\nPray God our steps are thither ever tending ! \nIts glory on our vision bursts and thrills, \n\nThe rarest radiance through the darkness sending, \nAs dreams of dawn appear when fancy wills. \n\nendless day ! O triumph over night ! \n\nradiant glory rarest ! \n\nOf earthly dreams thou art the best and fairest, \nAnd I shall drink of thy supreme delight ! \n\n1 know that God for all my being carest ; \n\n1 know His sunshine yet shall bless my sight ! \n\n"" No night there ! " Shall I ever sadly miss \n\nThe stars above me glowing? \n\nWhat answer has my limited foreknowing? \nSome subtle prescience tells me only this : \n\nThe stars within my crown, effulgence throwing, \nWill satisfy me through an endless bliss ! \n\n\n\nMATERIALIZING HEAVEN, \n\nNow, when the tendency of all things earthly is ma- \nterialistic, it is perhaps not strange that there exists a de- \nsire to materialize spiritual things, and to make of \nHeaven only another earth, possessed of every circum- \nstance known here except sin. But there is danger in \nthis attempted materializing ; and if such speculation be \ncarried too far, resuks may prove sad indeed. However \nmuch we may want to know what lies beyond the grave, \nand just what that Heaven is like to which many of us \nhope sometime to go, curious queryings concerning it \nwill avail us nothing. To human knowledge God has \nset a limit. "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther," is \nthe limitation ; and the \' \' thus far " is the grave. Through \nthe green curtain of the sod we may not peer. Whatever \nawaits beyond that, \xe2\x80\x94 whatever of detail or surroundings, \n\xe2\x80\x94 we shall know only when the green curtain swings out- \nward for us to enter. \n\nAnd yet God has given us some beautiful foreshadow- \nings of Heaven, \xe2\x80\x94 some outlines of the picture, to be filled \nin hereafter. They are sufficient for faith ; they ought to \nanswer all doubtful speculations of every kind. "For \nwe know that when He shall appear we shall be like \nHim." It is possible to see in these words an existence \nquite different from that some recent writers presume the \n\n\n\nMATERIALIZING HEAVEN. II3 \n\ngood will enjoy when they have put aside mortality. It \nis diffcult to believe Him as taking part in very material \npleasures; and if we are to be "like Him, " we shall \nhardly cling to what we here count our chief joys. The \npeace and gladness of Heaven may spring from the using \nof earthly appliances, with our natures purified, and the \nusing thereby rendered spiritual ; but we prefer to sup- \npose that in the Better Land there will be found better \nagencies of happiness, and that, taking on immortality, \nwe shall take on immortal surroundings. \n\n"I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy likeness." \nHere is the only picture of Heaven that is necessary to \nour trust while yet on earth. "J shall be satisfied! "\' \nThis, with nothing added, would indeed be Heaven, \xe2\x80\x94 \nsatisfaction. No more vague unrest ; no more anxious \nlongings after something out of reach ; no more doubt, \nno more pain. The promise of a full and final content \nshould be our sweet assurance through all smugglings, \xe2\x80\x94 \nall inclinations to doubt, or speculate upon, the life im- \nmortal. Let us not wonder whether the content will \ncome through one means or another. It is enough that \nit will come ; and that in it and of it we shall find heaven- \nly rest, and that joy which shall compensate for every \nearthly ill. \n\n\n\n" VANITY OF VANITIES:\' \n\nRuth read the first chapter of Ecclesiastes aloud, this \nafternoon, and kept on until she read the- whole book \nthrough. When she had finished the reading, one of us \nsaid \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\' \' After all, Solomon was wrong. Life is not merely \na vanity and a vexation of spirit. The wise man spoke \nunwisely. He had not gwen life a fair test" \n\nNow, as the twilight deepens, we think over the Preach- \ner\'s words, and say quietly to ourselves, Yes, Solomon \nwas wrong. His sweeping declaration, " Vanity of Van- \nities, all is vanity," is not true. Life is more than a \nvanity. \n\nAnd one of the reasons why we think Solomon was \nwrong, lies in the fact that a later Preacher taught so dif- \nferently. There was born a babe, in Bethlehem of Judea \n\xe2\x80\x94 born not of the purple, but cradled in the manger, \nand brought up amid the disciplines of life. His youth \nwas not passed in the enervating atmosphere of luxury. \nHe knew what manly labor was. Doubtless he stood at \nthe carpenter\'s bench at least a part of those thirty years \nbefore his preaching began. \n\nAnd when at length he spoke to that narrow Judean \nworld, and through that to the wide brotherhood of man, \nwhat a different ring had his words from those of the wise \n\n\n\n" vanity of vanities:\' I I 5\' \n\nman of old! "Blessed are the poor; blessed are they \nthat mourn ; blessed are the meek ; blessed are they that \ndo hunger and thirst ; " blessed, blessed, blessed \xe2\x80\x94 in \nwhat ? In that which was only vanity ? We can not be- \nlieve it Blessed in some life to come? That also, be- \nyond question ; but before that, blessed here. The \npresent life is but a preparation for the life hereafter. \nThink you the preparation would be all vanity, when the \nultimate end is to be so real it can never know ending? \n"Man dies as the beast dieth," said the complaining \nking. " I am the resurrection and the Life !" said one \nwho was greater than he. Solomon was wrong, and \nJesus Christ was right. \n\nHow many tributes Christ paid to the worth of life I \nWould He have stood in the way of that widow\'s sorrow \nwith His "I say unto thee, young man, arise ! " if it had \nbeen raising one up to vanity ? Standing at the tomb of \nHis dead friend in Bethany, whom He loved, would He \nhave bidden \' \' Lazarus come forth ! " to nothing more \nthan vanity? Never! For the sick whom He healed, \nfor the dead whom He restored to life, He saw better \npossibilities. And ever since Christ lived, life is some- \nhow sanctified for all. Motherhood is a tenderer thing, \nbecause Christ was born of a woman. Brotherhood is \nworthier and nobler, because Christ lived as our Elder \nBrother. Fatherhood is more loving and sympathetic, \nbecause Christ was the son of man and the son of God. \nCares are less perplexing, because Christ bore bmdens. \nSin is less to be feared, because even Christ was tempted, \nand overcame. Grief is less bitter, because "Jesus wept ! ,y \n\n\n\nAT THE ALTAR! \n\nLord ! what sacrifices can I render. \n\nUnless I give Thee here \nA broken heart, a spirit bowed and tender, \nA faith that knows no fear \\ \n\n1 bow before Thine altar, lowly kneeling, \n\nAnd raise my sins to Thee ; \n1 know that from Thee there is no concealing ; \nFor Thou canst all things see ! \n\nIn mercy look, my many sins beholding, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIn mercy look, I pray, \nUpon my soul its sinfulness unfolding, \n\nAnd wipe all sin away ! \n\nO Loid ! I thank Thee that Thy love fails never, \n\nAnd while I longing wait \nGive me to know that all my own endeavor \n\nMust fail me soon, or late ; \n\nGive me to feel Thy love so warmly shining \n\nWithin my hardened heart, \nThat all my life, as by some new divining, \n\nShall into gladness start ; \n\nGive me to sense that, broken-hearted, living \nHas henceforth something worth, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat in my loss of sin some wondrous giving \nSprang sudden into birth ; \n\n\n\nAT THE END. 117 \n\nGive me to see that through an humble spirit, \n\nAlong a lowly way, \nThe blest shall come to that which they inherit, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\nThine own Eternal Day ! \n\n\n\nAT THE END. \n\nAn old Italian proverb says: \xe2\x80\x94 "Every road leads to \nthe world\'s end." It says truly. All ways of life run on \nto the same place \xe2\x80\x94 the place of graves \xe2\x80\x94 the end of the \nworld. \n\nBut the end of the world is not alike for all, and we \nshall find it pleasant and kind or the reverse, according \nto the manner of our approach. With what a difference \ndo men approach the close of life ! Content and joy \nabide with some ; wretchedness of spirit sits heavily upon \nmany others. \n\nWe pity the Solomons, who have come nigh to the end \nwith doubling and complaint, and only a calm religious \nphilosophy for comfort. We are glad for the Davids, \nwho, not having grievously sinned, or having sincerely \nrepented of their sin, can say in all the earnestness of \nundoubting trust \xe2\x80\x94 "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall \nnot want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures ; \nHe leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my \n\n\n\nIl8 AT THE END. \n\nsoul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for \nHis name\'s sake. Yea, though I walk through the val- \nley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil ; for Thou \nart with me, Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me/\' \n\nBeside the way of Gods leading there is more than \ncanity. To such as walk in the paths of righteousness \nan abiding vexation of soul never comes. The rod and \nstaff of the Great Shepherd are a sure comfort, to such \nas find them a comfort at all. They who are led by \n"the still waters" come to an end of the world that is \npleasant as the green pastures of their earlier finding, \nand in which are only tender revelations of love and \ncare, and sweet surprises of song. \n\nAh ! if such were but the world\'s end for all ! Alas \nfor the many who draw nigh to theirs in fear and tremb- \nling, and feel a twilight\'s shadows enveloping hope and \ntrust in gloom ! Alas for the many who are absolutely \nwithout hope, \xe2\x80\x94 who have never learned the dear lesson \nof trust that is so faithful in blessing^\xe2\x80\x94 who come nearer \nand nearer to the end with indifference or recklessness, \nand pass beyond affrighted and dismayed ! Happy in- \ndeed are they whose faith is fixed, whose expectations \nare properly based, \xe2\x80\x94 to whom the end of the world is as \npeace after battle, as gain after loss, as fruition perfecting \nhope, as wages after toil, as reward after waiting, \xe2\x80\x94 whose \nhearts have never a complaint, but are full of glorying, \nand who go out of life as into a great joy ! \n\n\n\nHAVING AND HOLDING. \n\nOur title to things in this world is poor, at the best. \nAnd yet how many of us act as though a warranty deed \ncovered all possessions \xe2\x80\x94 as though what we hold we have \nbeyond any power to dispossess. \n\n"Shrouds have no pockets/\' is a sermon full of pith. \nIt strikes right at the root of selfishness. Accumulating \nfor the mere love of it is smitten sharply by the one sen- \ntence. To accumulate for worthy purposes is right \nenough ; to accumulate that one may take pride and \npleasure in the fancied having is quite another matter. \nThe family must be provided for \xe2\x80\x94 and to that end ac- \ncumulating is well. But to heap up for the love of it \xe2\x80\x94 \nto store away because it is pleasant to think one has and \nholds \xe2\x80\x94 this is not well. \n\n"Give it to the poor" was one time a test of personal \nChristianity. Did the Christian stand such test? Alas ! \nno; "the young man went away sorrowful, for he \nhad exceeding great possessions." And to-day, as \nthen, the voluntary giving up of acquired riches troubles \nmen more than any one thing beside. " I have ; I will \nhold," impiously declares the rich man. "It is not my \nfault that want is abroad in the land. I have made my \nown money; others must make theirs."\' So the rich \nman clasps his purse more closely, and congratulates \n\n\n\n120 THE HILLS OF GOD, \n\nhimself that mortgages are not perishable property and \nhis possessions are secure. \n\n"I have ; I will hold." Poor falsehood ! How ill it \nwill serve in the end ! " I have ; I must lose," would be \nthe truer rendering, and \'\'I will give away and so will \nkeep," the best rendering of all. For it is only that \nwith which we bless others that really blesses ourselves. \n\n\n\nTHE HILLS OF GOD. \n\n\' T is like a narrow valley-land, \nThis earthly way of mine ; \n\nBefore me, clad in glory grand, \nI see the hills divine \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThose heights the saintly long have trod- \n\nThe Hills of Hope, the Hills of God ! \n\nThough mists of doubt enfold me in, \nThough through the dark I grope, 1 \n\nThe upward path my feet may win \nThat mounts the heavenly slope ; \n\nAnd walking through this lowland here \n\nI know the Hills of God are near. \n\nUnto them oft I lift mine eyes, \nThat oft with tears are wet, \n\nAnd through the mist they calmly rise \nWhere sun no more shall set. \n\nTo me forever grand and fair \n\nThe Hills of God\xe2\x80\x94 my Help is there ! \n\n\n\nOUR LITTLE ILLS. \n\nThe little ills that flesh is heir to, \xe2\x80\x94 how they crowd \ninto oui life ! How they chafe us ! How they rob love \nof its sweetness, happiness of half its joy, sunlight of its \nclearest brightness, and glad content of its peace ! How \nthey tire us with dull sounds, how their endless repeti- \ntions cut deep into our very being ! Ah, these little ills ! \nWhen life becomes a dreary thing, and we stumble by \nthe way, it is often not because of any great burden \nwhich we bear, but because of many little ones. \n\nAnd it is strange how we will persist in taking them \nup needlessly, \xe2\x80\x94 how we search for them, as it were, and \nare surprised almost if perchance we find them for a time \nslipped off. The most serious drawback to our enjoy- \nment is this, \xe2\x80\x94 that we will not be happy when we can, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthat we go about continually hunting after some petty, \ngoading thing to prick us into unrest. So when we \nmight possess our souls in peaceful patience we are fret- \nting and worrying all the day long, and besides being \nwretched ourselves are the cause of miserableness in \nothers. \n\nThe relative heed paid to little ills is astonishing, when \nwe come to think of it. A man will bury his wife with \nreal Christian resignation, though he loved her fondly, \nwho would fume about the house like a mad lion were \n\n\n\n122 OUR LITTLE ILLS. \n\none\' of the children to misplace his cane or spectacles, or \ndid his excellent companion chance to neglect his shirt \nbuttons. And a good mother, fond of her children as \nany mother could be, will bear the death of one with \nnoble, womanly fortitude, when to find that her thimble \nis missing, or that the servant has allowed a loaf of bread \nto burn, will set her into a high-voiced complaint fearful \nto listen to. \n\nWe have known very fair Christian people to fly into a \nviolent passion because they did n\'t happen to agree on \nsome little point of argument ; and we have seen those \nwhose cieed was "swear not at all" get very near cursing \nbecause some thoughtless person left a door open, or trod \non their toes, or said some keen, biting word on purpose \nto annoy. Yet they thought themselves very exemplary, \nand in many respects they were. But they were not \nheroes. They never would be, though they should do \nsome deed worthy of fame. The Christian hero governs \nhimself. He bears daily vexations without wincing. The \nlittle ills which none can avoid he laughs off, and in so \ndoing grows the stronger to grapple with those which \nmust be grappled. And if there were more such we \nshould see more smiles in the world, and the days would \nbe glad with a brightier cheeriness. \n\n\n\nMY MANNA. \n\nDear Lord, I hunger ! feed me, here, \nAs Thou didst feed Thy Israel ! \n\nAnd let me hear The words of cheer \nThat on Thy waiting servants fell ! \n\nThe bread of Heaven were sweet to me ; \n\nNo longer let me hungry be ! \n\nI eat of other food, and faint \xe2\x80\x94 \nIt does not all my want supply ; \n\nMy soul in plenty makes complaint, \nIs famished, and must eat or die ! \n\nDear Lord \' a little manna send, \n\nThat I be strengthened till the end ! \n\nAlas that I so long have fed \n\nUpon the husks of empty pride ! \n\nThat of Thy sweet and living bread \nMy soul its portion has denied ! \n\nAlas that thus so late I plead \n\nMy hunger and my bitter need ! \n\nYet, Lord, Thou hearest, even late ! \n\nForgive the pride that would delay ; \nAnd while in weakness here I wait, \n\nGive me my manna by the way ! \nSo shall I eat, and stronger be \nBecause my food was had oi Thee ! \n\n\n\n"BY THEIR FRUITS." \n\n"Ye shall know them by their fruits/\' the Saviour said \nin His wonderful sermon on the Mount. And henceforth \nthis was to be the test of Christianity everywhere. Is \nit not a just one? Can there be anymore reasonable \njudgment of aught that was intended to be useful, than \nthat which is here implied? \n\n" Every good tree bringeth forth good fruit ; " but O, \nthe evil trees, how thickly they are scattered about ! Out \nin our gardens we have trees that look well, \xe2\x80\x94 are thrifty, \nluxuriant even, in their growth. Every spring they open \na wealth of blossoms, and every summer or fall they are \nbarren of all fruit. We, ourselves, are not unlike them. \nWe show a wealth of blossoms in good intentions, pur- \nposes and promises, but these seldom mature into the \nrich, ripe fruit of fulfillments and performances. \n\nA tree that blossoms and bears no fruit, is as worthless \nas one that does neither. Just so with our lives ; they \nmay bloom very beautiful with promises, and yet be as \nvalueless as though never a bud of a promise had beauti- \nfied them. Blossoms are sweet, in themselves, but far \nsweeter for that which is hidden within. They are glad \nprophecies of the golden harvest. Good intentions, pur- \nposes, and the like, are very pleasant things, but pleasant \nonly because they contain a promise. If the promise \n\n\n\nHUMANITY\'S DANGER. \n\n\n\n125 \n\n\n\nfail, then are they as chaff blown lightly before the wind. \n\nLet us be frank w r ith ourselves, and ask how many of \nour blossoms become fruit. It will not do to trust that \nthey may ripen in a season far ahead. There will be a \nharvest time, by-and-by : so much is certain. It may \nfind us with never a promise realized. And then ? " Every \ntree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and \ncast into the fire. " Is the answer sufficiently plain ? \n\nThe season of the ingathering of grain and other prod- \nucts should be an impressive sermon to us. It breathes of \nfulfillments, on every passing breeze. Through it the \nvoice of the year is sweetly saying, \xe2\x80\x94 f \'In the seed-time \nI gave you my promises ; behold how they are redeemed. ,T \nLet us listen to the earnest lesson. Let us nurture the \nblossoms of good with tender care, that the harvest of \nfruit may prove a bountiful one. \n\n\n\nHUMANITY\'S DANGER. \n\nSin is degrading, and its consequences are terribly sad. \nIn its manifold forms it is telling fearfully against the weal \nof mankind. It can not be too zealously crushed out. \nIt can not be too faithfully fought at any time and at all \ntimes. \n\nYet the great danger of humanity is not in sin. The \nmost dangerous danger of all that beset the human heart \nis in unbelief. Sin drove the first pair out of Paradise ; \n\n\n\n126 HUMANITY S DANGER. \n\nsin banished Lucifer from Heaven ; but there is a paradise \nto-day for all who will seek it, just as surely as though \nsin had never existed, and they can find Heaven just as \ncertainly as though no sinner had ever been expelled \ntherefrom. \n\nThere has been atonement for sin, and what remains is \nfor all to accept that atonement. In the way of such ac- \nceptance stands unbelief. It takes possession of all \nhearts. Secretly, or with a bold front, it dominates over \nnearly all lives. In ways subtle as varied it is spreading \nits baleful influence abroad, and is seeking the overthrow \nof all truth. Preached from popular pulpits, disseminat- \ned through popular periodicals, it is gaining an establish- \ned foothold in Christian communities. \n\nOpen infidelity is not half so fatal in its effects as this \nvague, subtle unbelief. Men shrink in alarm from \natheistic denials of God, who dally willingly with ques- \ntionings which in the end lead to something not a whit \nbetter. "The fool hath said in his heart there is no \nGod ; " many accounting themselves wise have asserted \nthroughout life, " There is no Saviour \xe2\x80\x94 for me," and \nhave finally met the fool\'s fate. Sin did not work their \ncondemnation, \xe2\x80\x94 neither sin in the abstract, nor any par- \nticular sin, save the sin of unbelief. Faithful believing \nwould have gained them that, the existence of which \nthey so unwisely denied. \n\n"How oft would I have gathered you," was said of \nthose stubborn and rebellious of old. It is a live saying \nto-day. Under the wings of protection and preservation \nwe may be gathered, if we will. But will we? Do we \n\n\n\nLITTLE BY LITTLE. \n\n\n\n12 7 \n\n\n\nso much fear an end past all hoping as to accept the kind- \nly offer ? Or are we stiff-necked and obstinate in our \nunbelief, and do we utterly refuse all tenders of mercy \nbecause, in our short-sightedness, we may not see clear- \nly just how those tenders come to us, 01 just what is the \ncharacter of Him by whom they are made ? \n\n\n\nLITTLE BY LITTLE. \n\nLittle by little the skies grow clear ; \nLittle by little the sun comes near ; \nLittle by little the days smile out \nGladder and brighter on pain and doubt ; \nLittle by little the seed we sow \nInto a beautiful yield will grow. \n\nLittle by little the world grows strong, \nFighting the battle of right and wrong ; \nLittle by little the wrong gives way, \nLittle by little the right has sway ; \nLittle by little all longing souls \nStruggle up nearer the shining goals ! \n\nLittle by little the good in men \nBlossoms to beauty for human ken ; \nLittle by little the angels see \nProphecies better of good to be ; \nLittle by little the God of all \nLifts the world nearer His pleading call I \n\n\n\nBELIEF IN CHRIST. \n\nThat was a golden text of the preacher\'s this morning \n\xe2\x80\x94 "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be \nsaved." \n\nAnd what the preacher said in relation to it was all \nworth remembering. Especially did some portions of \nhis sermon seem pregnant with vital truth. He consid- \nered the character of this enjoined belief, and gave hints \ntouching the same that it were well for us to think over \noften. \n\nSaving belief is not a belief in fact, not belief in the- \nology, but belief in a person. The searching question \nIs not "On what have I believed ? " but " On whom have \nI believed?" Christ has Himself declared \xe2\x80\x94 "But I, if \nI be lifted up, will draw all men unto me. " It is not a \ncreed that saves, not a doctrine, but a vital personality. \n\nThousands of men believe in Christ as a historical \nfact, who have yet no saving belief. Something more \nthan this is needed. Christ in history is a crucified \nman ; Christ in the heart is a risen Redeemer. And it \nis this accepted, indwelling and personal Christ that \nsaves men. He saves those who trust in Him, not those \nwho simply acknowledge Him as one who can save. \nAcknowledgment is not enough, in the abstract ; be- \nlief is not enough, in theory. The acknnowledgment, \n\n\n\nBELIEF. \n\n\n\nI29 \n\n\n\nthe belief, must be practicalized in an act of absolute \ntrust. \n\nSoul-saving is purely a business transaction between \nthe soul-saved and the Saviour. There must be an ac- \ntual transfer of the soul, the life, to the Saving One. \nThis cannot be made as an experiment. There can be \nno contingent upyielding that is of any avail. Self yields \nitself for all time, or the transfer is of no use. If we go \nto Christ savingly, we must go with singleness of pur- \npose, desiring nothing but to be made His forever. \n\nThen it is a personal belief in a personal Christ. \n" And Thou shalt be saved/\' the text has it. Let us note \nthat. "Thou" Here is the promise for each. There \nis no restriction. It is as much for the vilest as the most \nmoral. It holds as good for the thief on the cross as for \nNicodemus. Thank God that He sent His son into the \nworld to preach so sweet a personal gospel ! \n\n\n\nBELIEF. \n\nO doubting heart ! cling still to your believing ! \n\nThere is no sweeter way, \nNo solace that so surely soothes your grieving, \n\nNo dearer hope, to-day ; \nNothing, when death is yours, \n\nThat so endures. \n\n9 \n\n\n\ni.3\xc2\xb0 \n\n\n\nBELIEF. \n\nAll creeds of men are straws to clutch at, only, \n\n- When comes the final end, \nAnd leave us cheated, at the last, and lonely, \nWithout a saving friend : \nBut full and firm belief \nStops every grief. \n\nO doubting heart ! these are not idle phrases, \nNor pretty tricks of speech ; \n\nBeyond our present, with its winding mazes, \nThe truth in them does reach ; \nLet us accept it here, \nAnd prove it dear ! \n\nFor prove it must we all. There comes an ending \n\nTo every earthliness ; \nTime spares not any in its final sending \n\nAway from earthly press ; \nHow early we must go, \n\nWe can not know. \n\nThen doubting heart, give doubting over, ever, \nAnd to your trusting cling ! \n\nFor faith is better than is man\'s endeavor, \nAnd sweet reward will bring ; \nGod says give Him your trust, \nAnd God is just ! \n\n\n\n\nEVERY-DAY PHILOSOPHY. \n\nThere are silent educators in every life. Each new- \nexperience is a teacher ; each old and familiar experience \nbut repeats an old and familiar lesson with a new em- \nphasis. And the intent of all this is w r hat? To take \naway the superfluous in our natures ; to crush out certain \ninordinate desires ; to displace impatience and over- \nanxiety with a quiet, calm philosophy w T hich can meet \nall disappointments with resignation, and which is a more \nsure guarantee of happiness than any outward circum- \nstance. \n\nMore than any other influence does the Christian re- \nligion conduce to this every-day philosophy. Skepti- \ncism, in exceptional cases, may w-ear a peaceful, unim- \npassioned front, and may manifest less impatience over \nthe daily vexations than the average Christian does ; but \nin the majority of instances unbelief is ever troubled at \nheart, is not at peace with itself, and so cannot be at \npeace with ordinary surroundings. Moralism may sur- \nround itself w r ith an air of serenity, but the first storm- \nbreath disturbs it, and all the outgrowths of its being \nsway to and fro like young tree-tops in a storm. \n\nAnd yet greatly as a fervent Christian faith tends to \ngive placidity to one\'s nature, there are many more than \npassable Christians who have no particle of this excel- \n\n\n\nx 3 2 \n\n\n\nE VER Y-DA Y PHIL OSOPH Y. \n\n\n\nlent philosophy of which we are speaking. At the least \ntrifle they are off their balance. At a word they fret, \nscold, worry, fume. A disappointment sets them nearly \nwild. A great sorrow makes them frantic with grief. \nA deep wrong maddens them with pain. They are the \ntouch-me-nots of the human family, and fly all to pieces \nat the slightest provocation. \n\nAre there excuses for such ? Doubtless. Nature is \nresponsible for their unfortunate condition in a large \nmeasure. But nature can be greatly made over ; one \nmust blame one\'s self mainly for any lack in self-disci- \npline. Moreover, love of Christ in the heart is the \npower w T hich re-moulds the natural man, and which if \nbut aided in its work will accomplish noble things. In \nmost cases the lack of every-day philosophy arises simply \nthrough personal carelessness. Men don\'t try to check \nnatural impulses. The first thought of the mind, the \nfirst promptings of the heart, are yielded to. Afterwards \nthe penitence may be deep, even unto tears, but it brings \nno fruit. That is the trouble. To err and then repent \nof it is the daily experience of every one who fails to ac- \nquire Christian philosophy, and it is sorrowful to think \nthat such experience, repeating its teachings, impresses \nno lasting lesson. \n\n\n\nIT IS WELL, \n\nThe air has home some tender words, \nAs sweet as melodies of birds, \nAnd benedictions soft and clear \nHave trembled on the waiting ear ; \nBut never sweeter accents fell \nThan Faith has uttered \xe2\x80\x94 " It is welL" \n\nHope sits through each to day and waits \nThe opening of to-morrow\'s gates, \nAnd Patience wearily abides \nThe veil that each to-morrow hides ; \nBut whether good or ill foretell, \nFaith sweetly whispers \xe2\x80\x94 " J t is well." \n\nAlas for him who never hears \nThe words that quiet doubts and fears ; \nWho, bent with burdens, plods along \nWith never any heart for song ; \nWho murmurs, come whatever will \nTo bless or chasten\xe2\x80\x94 \'/ It is ill ! " \n\nHow dark the night when shine no stars ! \nHow dull and heavy being\'s bars \nWhen through them Faith can never see \nGreen fields beyond, and liberty ! \nHow sad t v e day when wailing knell \nIs louder than the \'\xe2\x80\xa2 It is well ! " \n\nAs soothing as a soothing balm, \nA grand and yet a tender psalm \n\n\n\n134 COMPLETENESS OF FAITH. \n\nIs floating ever on the air, \nIs blending with the mourner\'s prayer, \nAnd saddest plaints that ever fell \nFind answer in the " It is well ! n \n\n\n\nCOMPLETENESS OF FAITH. \n\nOnly the other day, at the burial service of one famous \nthe world over, a famous singer sang " I know that my \n.Redeemer liveth." He over whose coffin the melody \nwas breathed forth, had murmured the same words, in \none of his last lucid intervals, as though they held rare \ncomfoit. \n\nAnd do they not? Spoken in the completeness of \nfaith which they really illustrate, they have all the com- \nfort words can have. \' \' I know that my Redeemer liveth. " \nThere is no doubt whatever, here. It is absolute knowl- \nedge. The "I know" covers all questioning. Others \nmay doubt, " I know." Others may be in the dim dark- \nness of unbelief; here in faith\'s clear sunlight "I know" \nand am content. \n\n" I know that my Redeemer liveth." Here is the sweet \nindividuality of the utterance, which makes it most com- \nforting. It is my Redeemer that lives, not simply anoth- \ner\'s. He is as much mine, as though in all this wide \nworld no other person lived, or had in Him an interest \n\n\n\nTHE TWO MALEFACTORS. 1 35 \n\nand a faith. That He is the Redeemer of other men I \nknow, but my rare blessing lies in the knowledge that \nHe is my Redeemer. \n\n"I know that my Redeemer liveth" That He died, \nwe know ; that He rose again we are certain ; that He \nlives "I know " also, and in the knowing I am supreme- \nly glad. He lives, and I may see Him by-and-by. \nThank God that life has its variety of emphasis \xe2\x80\x94 that \nnew meanings lurk under the old forms of words, that \nnow and then we catch glimpses of clearer light and \nbroader beauty ! In the completeness of a faith which \ntakes hold of all emphatic expression, and makes it its \nvery own, let us go bravely on, until the knowledge of \nfaith shall find its culmination in the knowledge of sight, \nand " we shall see Him as He is." \n\n\n\nTHE TWO MALEFACTORS. \n\nWhen Christ was crucified, two thieves died with \nHim, on the cross. In their death was a lesson for all \nthe world. What was the lesson ? \n\nOne gave up his long held faith of the Jews \xe2\x80\x94 gave up, \nwith it, the sympathy of all his fellows when sympathy \nwould have been sweet indeed \xe2\x80\x94 gave up his past of sin \nand crime \xe2\x80\x94 gave up himself, and died recognizing and \nrecognized by the Son of God. \n\n\n\nI36 THE TWO MALEFACTORS. \n\nThe other railed at Christ, scoffed Him, doubted \nHim, and died as he had lived \xe2\x80\x94 a wretch, with sin in his \nheart and reviling on his lips. \n\nHere were two men, both of whom had been far from \nthe Saviour in life, both of whom were confessed crim- \ninals before the law, both of whom were meeting a just \nend at the hands of the law\'s executors. One came so \nnear Christ, even at the very last, as to feel His touch of \ndivine tenderness \xe2\x80\x94 to find joy and rest in His saving \nlove. One, though at the Saviour\'s very side, within \nsound of His voice, within sight of His forgiving treat- \nment of those who maltreated and insulted Him, remain- \ned a doubter, continued his scoffing, and went straight to \nperdition. \n\nThere are others who live as did these malefactors \xe2\x80\x94 \ncareless, sinning, wretched lives. They meet Christ as \ndid those two, at the .very gate of death. For some it is \na lesson of hope that one malefactor\'s ending teaches. \nThey may hold aloof from saving grace and love until \nthe very last, and then come as near it as did he \xe2\x80\x94 so near \nas to feel it, to yield to it, to be saved by it. For some \nothers there is a sadder lesson. They may find in their \nfinal nearness to Christ a nearness of judgment. They \nmay die reviling, as he died, \xe2\x80\x94 unsaved, as was he. \n"This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise" said our \nSaviour to one malefactor. The other heard no such \ntender promise addressed to himself. Wickedly he had \nlived ; wickedly he died. And many have died in like \nmanner. How many more will die as the fool dieth? \n\n\n\nLOST LITTLE ONES. \n\nI sometimes look beyond the gateways golde*n, \nWhen sleep comes silently, \n\nAnd there within the Saviour\'s arms enfolden, \nThe little ones I see \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe little ones that in the glad time olden \nWere kissed by you and me. \n\nI see no longing in their tender faces, \n\nUpon their dimpled cheeks \n\nNo touch of care has left its tearful traces, \nNo pain for pity speaks ; \n\nThey laugh and sing in happiest of places, \n\nThrough all the Sabbath weeks. \n\nI wonder if amid their gleeful singing \n\nPerchance they ever miss \nThe mother\'s soft caress around them clinging, \n\nHer frequent; loving kiss ; \nOr if they wait her coming for the bringing \n\nOf yet a sweeter bliss. \n\nAnd then, when sleep has fled, and with it dreaming, \n\nI lie with open eyes, \nAnd weep to find so real a thing was seeming, \n\nIn sorrowful surprise, \nTill thro\' the darkness there does come a gleaming, \n\nFrom out the smiling skies. \n\nAnd softly then a voice sayith to my weeping, \n" \'Twas not a dream you had, \n\n\n\n1^8 IS THERE A SAFER TRUST? \n\nYour little ones are safe within My keeping, \nSo wherefore, then, be sad ? " \n\nAnd o\'er my heart a holy joy comes creeping, \nThat makes me strangely glad. \n\n\n\nIS THERE A SAFER TRUST? \n\nNow that skepticism, in so many varied forms, is as- \nsailing our Christian religion, it is eminently proper for \nall mankind to inquire, \xe2\x80\x94 Is there anything more certain \nand sure in which to trust ? The wish to trust some- \nthing or some power outside of and apart from itself, is \ninherent in the human heart. To throw aside all trust is \nto blot out any hope in the future, and limit existence to \nmere mortality. Few will be satisfied by so doing. \nAlmost every individual\'s future, self-sketched, has in it \nsomething beyond mortality\'s boundary, and is contin- \ngent upon some kind of religious belief. That belief \nwhich promises most certain fulfillment is the one most \nearnestly desired. \n\nAnd while the enemies of Christ seek to do away \nwith all faith in Him as the personal Saviour of humani- \nty, and sneer at that grand plan of salvation which has \nthe Crucified Son of God as its central figure, do they \noffer any faith better and more desirable, any scheme \nwhich shall hold a surer guarantee of redemption ? \nClaiming Jesus the Nazarene to have be^n but the car- \n\n\n\nIS THERE A SAFER TRUST? 1 39 \n\npenter\'s son, only human, though a man of exceeding \ncleverness, do they present for our consideration any \nmediator between the All-Father and ourselves more di- \nvine than He ? Is there, in the whole range of skeptical \nphilosophy, any theory, promise or hope to which, turn- \ning away from God and the Redeemer we believe He \nsent into the world, the soul can cling with more of sat- \nisfaction and peace ? \n\nThese questions can not be easily answered in the \naffirmative. Skepticism, trying to tear down the truest \nand most vital part of Christian faith, has never offered \nto build up a truer and worthier one, \xe2\x80\x94 has never develop- \ned any rock upon which mankind may rest with the as- \nsurance that it will prove more solid and enduring. \nSkepticism, atheism, deism, infidelism, and all other \nisms preaching aught beside Christ and Him crucified, \nhave as yet failed to do what the simple Christian faith \nhas done, \xe2\x80\x94 hold out a hope of eternal life and sustain \nthe believer through manifold afflictions until the hope \nlose itself in fruition. The Tom\'Paines, professing to \nconsider God a myth, and the future life a delusion, have \napproached the grave in most abject fear, saying of death \n\xe2\x80\x94 "It is all a leap in the dark." To all mankind, then, \nthe fact that no safer trust is offered especially commends \nitself. To weak and doubting believers it should be a \nsource of peculiar comfort. Doubtings will come at \ntimes ; the faith will grow faint ; the enemy will come in \nlike a flood ; and for a little while unbelief will obtain \nthe mastery. Yet not for long, if only we remember \nthat unbelief yields no more cheering harvest, \xe2\x80\x94 that \n\n\n\nI40 \n\n\n\nIN SHADOW. \n\n\n\nwhen we give up our hopes in Jesus Christ we gain \nnothing more steadfast and abiding, \xe2\x80\x94 that outside of \nHis blood and righteousness we find no surer prophecy \nof everlasting joy. There is no clearer light for our feet \non earth than that which His gospel sheds ; no brighter \nray of promise illuminates the tomb than that His pres- \nence therein lent to it ; and nowhere can we receive a \nsweeter assurance of final resurrection than in His victory \nover death and the grave, and His ascension to the \nFather\'s presence. \n\n\n\nIN SHADOW. \n\nMy heart is dumb, to-night. \nI sit beneath the shadow of affliction, \nAnd hear no whisper of a benediction \n\nUpon the heavy air ; \nI can not speak to God, His face is covered \nBy this thick cloud that o\'er my life has hovered, \nI can not breathe a prayer, \xe2\x80\x94 \nMy heart is dumb, to-night. \n\n\n\nMy heart has found its speech ! \nI saw the shadow parting just above me, \nAnd saw the face ot Him who once didst love me- \n\nWho loves me even still ; \nHe spoke to me, so lovingly and tender \nThat all my doubt was lost in faith\'s surrender, \xe2\x80\x94 \n"Thine, Lord, and not my will ; " \xe2\x80\x94 \nMy heart had found its speech ! \n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN INDIGNATION, \n\nIt behooves us to bear patiently with much that we \ncould wish corrected, but much else demands righteous \nindignation on our part, and if it be not manifest we are \nrecreant to our duty as Christians. \n\nCertain forms of sin are becoming popularized, which \nshould not be conceded the courtesy of silence. Things \nof little moment in themselves, but far-reaching in their \ninfluence and wide-expanding in their development, are \nconstantly coming up, against which we should declare \nemphatic protest. Christian duty, more often than we \nseem to think, requires of us Christian speech \xe2\x80\x94 speech \nearnest with hearty indignation. \n\nThe great agent against evil is, and will be, public \nopinion. How is public opinion to be what it should be, \nif the best part of the public make no effort to purify it? \nIf as Christians we fear possible allegations of cant, and so \nrefrain from saying what we believe in regard to certain \nsocial phases, have we any right to cry out against popu- \nlar sentiment in secret ? Society is sadly tolerant of abu- \nses and tendencies that disgrace and shame our enlight- \nenment ; has our individual Christianity done all it can \nto reform these ? \n\nReformative work is individual work. It must begin \nwith individual declarations, proceed individually, and \nend in the betterment of individual life. This process pu- \n\n\n\nI42 OUR SAMSONS. \n\nupon his liberty. He could xesist the men of Philistia ; \nrifles the mass. Every Christian, then, should be a re- \nformer. That which we believe unworthy, or degrading, \nwe should instantly rebuke. Against that which tends to \nwork evil, we should earnestly declare. We should, in \nfact, cultivate such a loathing for all sin, that we can not \nkeep silence before it. Christian indignation has its spe- \ncial duty to perform, and if that performance be not fre- \nquently met there is something vitally wrong. \n\n\n\nOUR SAMSONS. \n\nSamson of old had splendid opportunities. Set apart \nfor a noble work from his birth, and gifted with power \nto perform that work, he might have been the Deliverer \nof his people, and made for himself a history grand in- \ndeed. But what were the facts? Relying on his own \nwonderful strength he dallied with sin. He made a jest \nof life. He *set himself about nothing profoundly earn- \nest, and worthy his attention. \n\nVoluntarily he put himself in his enemies\' hands, con- \nfident that he could escape at will. In gratification of \nhis lusts he entered Gaza, the stronghold of the Philis- \ntines, and went out only by taking the gates with him. \nLater, still following out his lustful pleasures, he tarried \nwith Delilah, and amused himself by permitting attempts \n\n\n\nOUR SAMSONS. \n\n\n\n43 \n\n\n\nbut a woman\'s blandishments compassed his ruin. An \noverwhelming faith in his own might was the mischief \nunderlying all. Though he broke the green withes, and \nthe new rope, and escaped with the web woven in his \nhair, he fell at last, weakly, miserably. \n\nHis life and his death have their counterparts every- \nwhere. There are men with possibilities hardly less than \nwere Samson\'s, \xe2\x80\x94 with powers unlike his, yet equal to \nthem, \xe2\x80\x94 whose lives are not less a miserable failure than \nhis. Gifted, they use their gifts to no purpose praise- \nworthy ; strong in their own consciousness, their strength \nserves them for a time, but proves the veriest weakness in \nsome unexpected moment, and they go down before the \nenemy of all good, and are wrecked forever. \n\nThese Samsons whose powers all go for naught, \xe2\x80\x94 what \na melancholy spectacle they present ! And what is the \nlesson ? That we should not put ourselves in the way of \ntemptation, fondly believing we can withstand it and \ncome off unscathed. That we can not recline in the lap \nof any Delilah of sin, however gentle its nature, with a \ncertainty we shall not be shorn of what is our pride and \nglory. That gifts misapplied and perverted will bring us \nonly bitterest reward ; and that without an earnest aim \nour life will darken into woe most fearful. Shall we \nmake the lesson ours, and profit by it? \n\n\n\nMY WILDERNESS. \n\nWeary and worn on the mountain-side dreary, \n\nFainting, an hungered, with sadness opprest, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWorn with long watches, with laboring weary, \n\nTempted and troubled, but finding no rest ; \nSaviour of Men ! by the pain of Thy bearing \n\nOft am I strengthened, in weakness, to-day ; \nOften the thought of Thy wilderness faring \n\nHelps me along on my wilderness way \n\nBleeding and torn in the battle of being ; \n\nHearing the tempter who speaks to allure ; \nSaviour of Men ! in Thy merciful seeing, \n\nGrant that I fail not, but bravely endure ! \nTempted and troubled, I know that Thou nearest \n\nAll that my soul in temptation would say ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nThis the one thought that my loneliness cheerest\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSaviour of Men ! Thou didst faint by the way ! \n\nUnto me Satan comes, pleasantly smiling, \n\nRich in his proffers of bounty in store ; \nSaviour of Men ! Thou hast known his beguiling, \n\nProffers of wealth he hast made thee before. \nThere on the mountain-side, knowing Thy trial \n\nWaited before Thee \xe2\x80\x94 the cross, and its pain, \nThou didst deny him, and in that denial, \n\nSaviour of Men ! was humanity\'s gain ! \n\nFainting, an hungered, the tempter beside me, \nOnward I go o\'er the mountains of life ; \n\n\n\nMAN\'S NEED. \n\nSaviour of Men ! let no evil detide me \nLet me not fail in the midst of the strife ! \n\nThou who wast weary and worn with Thy faring, \nTempted and tried on the wilderness way \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSaviour of Men ! \xe2\x80\x94 by the pain of Thy bearing \nStrengthen me now in the strife of to-day ! \n\n\n\nH5 \n\n\n\nMAN\'S NEED. \n\nThe desire for sympathy exists in every human heart \nWe all feel that we need some one to whom we can go \nin the fullest confidence, who will sympathize with us \xe2\x80\x94 \nwho will bear a part of our burdens by becoming ac- \nquainted with them. There may be stoics \xe2\x80\x94 men who \nappear wholly indifferent to the concern of their fellows \n\xe2\x80\x94 who go about apparently giving no sympathy and ask- \ning none \xe2\x80\x94 but somewhere and at sometime in their lives \nthey prove insufficient to themselves, and long for sweet \nand tender sympathies with the deepest longings humani- \nty knows. \n\nWith the distrust which man naturally feels for his \nkind, the desire for and the real need of sympathy is sel- \ndom quite satisfied through any human agency. Friend- \nly regard, and the affection of kindred, do much toward \nsatisfying, it is true, but they do not always do enough. \nIn a sense which many who read this will understand, \nthey fall far short. Every heart has, now and then, cer- \n\n\n\n146 MAN\'S NEED. \n\ntain vague, half-denied hopings and aspirations which \nit shrinks from imparting to even the nearest and dearest. \nMany have weary, sickening burdens that they never allow \nhuman eye to look upon. Many more have convictions \nof duty, questionings as to labor, doubtings as to an \nhundred things in life, that cannot be properly compre- \nhended by any sympathy not divine and Omniscient. \n\nMan\'s need, then, is of that sympathy which only can \nbe found in a heart having divinity within it, and yet \npossessing perfect knowledge of humanity\'s longings and \nbesetments. The Christian finds this need fully met in \nthe great heart of his Redeemer. If he be sorrowing, \nand in deep grief, he can speak of it to the "Man of \n\xe2\x80\xa2sorrows and acquainted with grief," and be comforted. \nIf he be tempted, Christ\'s sympathy is complete, for He \nwas likewise teirqt.d. In every contingency which \nweak human nature may chance upon, the sympathy open \nto the Christian is perfect, and contains a blessing. \n\nHuman sympathy, even when it is most sincere, most \nfreely given and most satisfying, satisfies in but a meager \nway. It lacks something, we often feel, sweet as it may \nbe \xe2\x80\x94 much as it is craved. But the divine sympathy is \nwonderfully full of consolation and cheer ; it possesses a \npower over the heart that may not be measured. \xe2\x80\x94 that can \nbe felt, but can not be described. He leads a poor life who \nkeeps aloof, in the main, from all sympathetic associa- \ntions with his fellows ; he leads a life poorer, far poorer \nstill, who shuns the outreaching of that Divine Heart, \nwhose sympathies, if received and welcomed, would hap- \n\n10 \n\n\n\nBY THE WAY. 1 47 \n\npify and ennoble the hearts of all mankind. Such an one \nmisses the great joy that might otherwise gladden his life, \n\xe2\x80\x94 goes searching through the years for what he can never \nfind, \xe2\x80\x94 and comes, finally, to believe that existence is a. \nfearfully dull, unhappy thing. His need to-day, will be \nhis need to-morrow, because what would fill it is shut \nout, and what is useless only is sought after. The hunger \nfor sympathy never can be satiated upon husks. \n\n\n\nBY THE WAY. \n\nA weeping widow walked beside the bier \n\nWhereon her son lay dead ; \nAnd one who sought the city\'s gate drew near, \n\nAnd words of comfort said. \n\nHow swift His sympathetic soul to see \n\nHer deep and bitter grief ! \nHow swift and sure as ever then was He \n\nTo give His glad relief ! \n\nPerchance she stood in sorrowful amaze \nWhen first His voice she heard ; \n\nPerchance sad wonder went before her praise, \nTo hear His wondrous word. \n\nPerchance they grew impatient at His speech, \n\nThe burden dear who bore ; \nPerchance they marveled vainly, each with each, \n\nWho would the dead restore. \n\n\n\nI48 BY THE WAY. \n\nA stranger He ? ah, yes ! but one whose heart \n\nWent out to every woe ; \nIn whose great love all suffering souls have part, \n\nWhere\'er they weeping go. \n\n" I say to thee "\xe2\x80\x94 O, marvelous surprise \n\nThat in His saying spoke ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n" I say to thee, young man/\' \xe2\x80\x94 blest word \xe2\x80\x94 " Arise ! \n\nA.nd straight the youth awoke. \n\nAwoke and rose from out the saddest sleep \n\nThat mortals ever take, \nO\'er which we bend our bleeding hearts and weep, \n\nAnd wonder where they wake ! \n\nAwoke and walked. And He who met him there \n\nWent on His lonely way, \nBut ever meets with the same wondrous care \n\nAll weeping souls to-day. \n\nDid e\'er so sad a journey see an end \n\nSo marvelously glad ? \nTo-day the same all-wise and tender Friend \n\nAwaits all souls as sad. \n\nWho goes to bury something all his own \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSome hope his only stay \xe2\x80\x94 \nMay marvel much to hear that tender tone \n\nBeside the weary way. \n\nHe sought and found the city\'s gate who said \n\nJ \' I say to thee Arise ! " \nBut for all hearts who weep beside their dead \n\nHe has His glad surprise ! \n\n\n\nTHE GATE BEAUTIFUL. \n\nRuth has been reading of that poor unfortunate who \nused to wait at the gate that w r as called Beautiful, to receive \nalms from those who went up to the temple to worship, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe one whom the disciples blest not with silver or gold, \nbut with the gift of bodily strength and vigor, through \nthe name of Christ. \n\nDo noc w T e all wait at some Gate Beautiful through the \nyears, expectant of good gifts to be doled out to us ? \nAlms of a kind foitune we would receive,\xe2\x80\x94 the silver and \ngold of some hoped-for blessing. Perhaps it is given, \nbut w^e never have enough. Every day we are carried by \nambition, by hope, by greed, mayhap, to the place of \npassing, and there we tarry, never so fully blest that we \nwould not go again. \n\nPerchance we never think, as very likely the unfortu- \nnate alms-taker never thought, that there is a better bles- \nsing possible to us than the one we w T ait for. Perhaps \nw T e never recognize that good can come to us apart from \nthis one line in which we are accustomed to its coming. \nBut the better blessing is possible ; the greater good may \ngladden us ; and from our idle waiting we may rise to a \nlife of active work \xe2\x80\x94 to a being and doing so much nob- \nler and worthier than the old that we should seem new \nmen indeed. \n\n\n\nI50 THE SUMMER IS ENDED. \n\nAll disciples may find a profitable lesson at the Gate \nBeautiful. Here was a man in need. They might have \nsaid, as they did say, "Silver and gold we have none/\' \nand considering this a sufficient excuse they might have \npassed on unhelping. Yet they did not. Though they \ncould not do for the man according to his desire, they \ncould do for him after all. They improved their oppor- \ntunity. Would that all disciples of the Master were as \nwilling as they ! All have not their power to heal ; but \ntrue discipleship carries some power with it, which may \nbe exerted to human good. The power to uplift, and \nhelp on, in one way or another, belongs to each of us, \neven if there be no pence in the purse. We may be \nsomething better than alms-givers, if we will make use of \nopportunities .offered. Shall we not ? \n\n\n\nTHE SUMMER IS ENDED. \n\n"The harvest is passed, the summer is ended." Thus \nread Ruth a few minutes since, before the twilight fully \ndeepened. \n\nAnd sitting here now, the words come up again for \nour meditation. The summer is ended \xe2\x80\x94 the summer of \nrest, of relaxation, of recuperation, for many; the sum- \nmer of idleness, of fashionable folly, of wickedness and \ndissipation for many more. Back from the cool nooks, \n\n\n\nTHE SUMMER IS ENDED. 1 5 [ \n\nthe quiet resting places, come those who went for their \nbodily good ; back from haunts of fashion and foolish- \nness, of sin and shame, hie those who sought there only \nexcitement and feverish waste of time. \n\nThe summer is ended. To all, what has it taught ? \nAre any rested in spirit? \xe2\x80\x94 calmed by the peace of Nature \nand made glad by holy communion through Nature \nwith Nature\'s God? Are any strengthened in their re- \nsolves to be more earnest in the w T ork of the future \xe2\x80\x94 to \nhelp on God\'s purposes with a firm heart and an unfalter- \ning hand? Are any (would they all were!) sick of all \nthe glitter of gold, the shams of folly, the sins of fash- \nionable unrest, and ready to cry out in the anguish of \nremorse because the summer is ended and their souls not \nsaved ? \n\nSummer\'s passing should bring much of sober reflect- \nion, of serious resolves, of quickened spirituality. If \nthere be one time more than anothei when man gets \nnearer his Maker, it surely is the summer time, when \nGod speaks daily in the tender rustle of leaf and branch, \nin pleasant breezes, and by the rippling water-brooks. \nAnd whoever hears the " still, small voice" through day \nafter day of happy idleness should return to labor profi- \nted. Whoever hears not the voice so still, \xe2\x80\x94 whoever \nlistens most for speech of fashion only, \xe2\x80\x94 should return to \nautumn walks, and sigh for opportunities lost, for good \nungained, and being all unblest \n\n\n\nBLESSED ARE THE MEEK. \n\nThey go forevermore unblest \nWho cherish closely in their breast \nThe pride of earth ; all goodly things \nFly past their reach on silent wings, \nAnd worthless is the prize they seek ; \nBut ever " Blessed are the \'meek !" \n\nThe forms that walk erect and proud, \nAnd trumpet their own praises loud, \nShall fall at last ; but those bowed down \nShall win at length the victor\'s crown, \nHowever humble they, and weak, \nFor ever " Blessed are the meek ! " \n\nGod\'s promises are always just. \nAll dust of earth is only dust, \nAnd vanishes and leaves no sign. \nThe lowliest is most divine, \nAnd in its lowly being feels \nA grace humility conceals. \n\nThe sweetest fragrance born of bloom \nBy modest mound or lowly tomb \nBreathes faintly out upon the air ; \nThe surest answer granted prayer \nIs granted unto those who seek \nBelieving " Blessed are the meek." \n\nO God of love ! look down, I pray, \nUpon my haughty heart to-day ! \n\n\n\nCHRIST IN THE HOME. 1 53 \n\nLet meekness with me e\'er abide \nA treasured guest, in place of pride ; \nAnd let this truth be to me known, \nThai 4i Blessed are the meek " alone ! \n\n\n\nCHRIST IN THE HOME. \n\nThat story of Jesus in the little home at Bethany ! \nRuth read it through again, before the twilight. While \nshe read, we listened. Now we think it all over, and \nfind a delight in thus considering what Jesus was in one \ndomestic circle. \n\nThere were only three of them. "And Jesus loved \nMartha and her sister, and Lazarus " \xe2\x80\x94 all three of them \n\xe2\x80\x94 each of them. Just here comes in the best thought \nabout it \xe2\x80\x94 it was a personal, individual love which Christ \ngave. It was not that He loved the family, as a family, \nbut that He loved each member of that family. \n\nWas it only a one-sided love ? Ah, no ! Mary and \nMartha, and Lazarus, each loved Him. And in the \nhomes of to-day there may be the same reciprocity of \nindividual love \xe2\x80\x94 may be, and must be, if there is to be \nin the end an individual salvation. Jesus Christ does \nnot save families. He does not in any way deal with or \ndo for men in the mass. He may come into a home and \nlove, and be loved by, one or two, or more members of \nthe home circle, without coming into loving, near and \ntender relations to all the members. \n\n\n\n154 CHRIST IN THE HOME. \n\nWhen Lazarus died, how the weeping sisters mourn- \ned. When Christ declared that Lazarus should rise \nagain, how blind they were. "We know that our \nbrother shall rise again at the last day," the}\' said. They \nhad faith to believe that in the general resurrection He \nshould have a part, but that Christ had power then and \nxhere to breathe new life into one long dead, they did \nnot yet comprehend. Unto their slow comprehension \nChrist made a sublime revelation. "I am the resurrec- \ntion and the life/\' said He. And to our own slow, halt- \ning trust the same declaration comes this hour. \n\nAre any whom we love dead in sin ? In Christ there \nmay be immediate resurrection. Are we ourselves as the \ndead? "Whosoever believeth," said Jesus, and the \n"whosoever " means us. As Christ came into the little \nhome at Bethany, loving each one there by name and in \ncharacter, so He waits to enter, if He has not already \nentered, every home on the broad earth. For the living, \nHis love is full of ministry. For the dead it brings a \nresurrection. For the living He is a Friend and a Help- \ner, making glad with sweet affections, and sympathizing \nin every grief. For the dead He is a Saviour, raising up \nto newness of life and putting aside the dust and ashes of \nthe grave. \n\nThere is no more touching picture of Christ than this \nwhich shows Him in the home, loving, and sympathiz- \ning, and comforting. There is none which more perfect- \nly demonstrates His power than does this \xe2\x80\x94 none which \nmore clearly sets before us an important lesson of faith. \nThe belief that Christ can help now, that He can save \n\n\n\nHIS COMING. J 55 \n\nand restore now, was what those two stricken sisters need- \ned, and it is what many need at this time. A vague, \ngeneral notion that Christ will help in some distant to- \nmorrow, possesses almost every one. A live, honest, \nunshaken belief in His strength for present exigencies is \nthe great lack. Why should the lack exist? Why \nshould not this belief be universal ? \n\n\n\nHIS COMING. \n\n" The Bridegroom cometh ! " In some night to be, \n\nOut of the darkness dim \nThis cry shall sound ; and some glad souls shall see \n\nThe glory hid with Him ! \n\nShall I be one of these ? Or shall I lie \n\nAsleep in sin\'s embrace, \nAnd heedless of the welcome, warning cry, \n\nFail to behold His face ? \n\n" The Bridegroom cometh ! " To each waiting soul \n\nThe cry is made to-day. \nWhere waves of deepest, blackest darkness roll, \n\nHe would make light the way. \n\nInto each life He would some glory shed, \nSome gladder blessing bring, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo all who weep above their early dead \nA psalm of peace would sing. \n\n\n\n156 DEMONIZED MANHOOD. \n\n" The Bridegroom cometh !" Pause awhile and hark, \n\nWith ali-expectant ear ! \nFor you the cry, resounding through the dark \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe Bridegroom He is here ! \n\n\n\nDEMONIZED MANHOOD. \n\nThe text this morning was that story of the demoniac \nof Gadara, from whom Christ cast out the devils ; and \nthe preacher drew many excellent lessons from it. \n\nThat man of Gadara has many a counterpart even now. \nTo-day there are thousands demonized by sin \xe2\x80\x94 held by \nits wretched power \xe2\x80\x94 all their better nature in complete \nsubjection thereto. Sin maddens them, torments them ; \nthey are bruised by it ; their lives are most miserable be- \ncause of its terrible presence. \n\nHow sadly true this is, we all know \xe2\x80\x94 some of us by \npainful personal experience. And how sweet the thought \nthat our Saviour healed the Gadarene ! The demons \npossessing the man were strong, but Christ was stronger \neven than they. All his life long the Gadarene had suf- \nfered from their indwelling ; now he was clothed, and in \nhis right mind. There were no more roamings of the \nhills by day, no more nights among the tombs, no more \nbruisings. Thenceforth he was free ! \n\nAre we free? Has any demon of sin still a lodgment \nin our hearts? Or do we hold to one or more, even \n\n\n\nDEMONIZED MANHOOD. \n\n\n\n157 \n\n\n\nyet ? Has the Saviour come to us as He came to all \nthose in Gadara, and are we praying Him, as they pray- \ned Him, to depart out of our coasts? Would we beseech \nHis departure for the same reason that they besought it \n\xe2\x80\x94 because, forsooth, in the healing of demonized souls a \nfew swine may have suffered, and others \xe2\x80\x94 ours, perhaps > \nmay suffer? \n\nVerily there are men in the world, and their name, \nlike that of the devils possessing him of Gadara, is le- \ngion, who think more of their swine than they do of \nhuman beings. No matter what becomes of the souls of \nmen, so that their swine are saved. Swine or souls \xe2\x80\x94 is \nthere not a choice ? Ask the dram-seller, the gambler, \xe2\x80\x94 \nany whose pockets are lined with the hearts and hopes, \nand possibilities of their fellows. What is their answer ? \n"Souls? \xe2\x80\x94 what are souls to us? The bestial nature is. \nours ; do not meddle with it. On the swinishness of \nthose around us we fatten \xe2\x80\x94 hinder us not." \n\nAmong all sad facts there is not a sadder one than \nthis, \xe2\x80\x94 that men should so weigh in the balance their \npaltry self-interest against the eternal welfare of immor- \ntal souls. And it is a fearfully significant lesson taught \nin the last portion of that story of the Gadarene \xe2\x80\x94 a les- \non so significant that it seems as if no lover of gains \ncould put it lightly aside \xe2\x80\x94 the men of Gadara never saw \nagain the form of Him whose presence might so richly \nhave blessed them. \n\n\n\n"AM I MY BROTHER\'S KEEPER?\'\'\' \n\n" Am I my brother\'s keeper?" As of old \n\nThe question comes from lips of murderous Cain. \n\nThrough lustful passion, or through greed of gold, \nIs unsuspecting Abel foully slain, \n\nAnd Conscience parries, with a feigned surprise, \n\nThe query where the sin of murder lies. \n\n" Am I my brother\'s keeper ? " Yesternight \nA life went out in darkness and despair ; \n\nFiends mocked and jeered and jibbered at its flight, \nAnd curses left no room for breath of prayer ; \n\nWhat recks the Cain who stands with visage grim \n\nAnd fills the glasses to their damning brim ? \n\n*\' Am I my brother\'s keeper ? " Day by day \nWith luring smiles the weak to death are led ; \n\nWith trustful steps I hey walk the tempting way, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTheir Wood be on the smiling tempter\'s head ! \n\nO Cains ! too many die who weakly trust ; \n\nBut God lives on, and God is true and just ! \n\nAye, God Hves on ! His patience lingers long, \nHis mercy through the weary years can wait ; \n\nAnd Right may suffer at the hands of Wrong, \nBut recompense is coming, soon or late ! \n\n" Am I my brother\'s keeper ? \'*\' God of Right, \n\nHear, Thou, and answer in Thy righteous might ! \n\n\n\nTHE DIVINE HEALING. \n\n"Wilt thou be made whole?" \n\nOn a week-day evening not long ago the preacher took \nup these words, and now in this Sabbath twilight they \ncome back to us, with a xemembrance of the thoughts, \nhe deduced from them, and a bit of sober meditation \nsuggested by that remembrance. \n\n"Wilt thou be made whole?" The question implies \nunsoundness. And who of us is sound ? \xe2\x80\x94 sound in \nmoral nature ? Do we not all need a physician ? Are \nnot some of us sick unto death ? Though many will \nconfess to no great burden of sin, there are few who do \nnot feel a sense of imperfectness \xe2\x80\x94 a longing for some \ninfluence filling in and rounding out, and making beau- \ntiful, their lives. \n\nWhat a sad array of sick souls ! They look out wear- \niedly from eyes wont to gaze upon glitter and show \xe2\x80\x94 \nthey sigh in ever increasing unrest amid the follies of \nwealth and pride of social position. Sick unto death, \nsome of them; and there is only One Healer. "Wilt \nthou be made whole?" He questions. There is per- \nsonality in the questioning. It is "Wilt thouV It \ncomes home to each one of us with as much significance \nas it came home to the heart of the well-nigh hopeless \ninvalid by Bethesda\'s pool. \n\nAh, we are all by the pool of blessing, watchful for \n\n\n\nl60 THE DIVINE HEALING, \n\nthe troubling of the waters, \xe2\x80\x94 desiring to step in and find \nour sickness fled. And what keeps us back ? Some of \nus have been here as long as was the invalid of old beside \nBethesda, and like him, we are still unhealed. And now \nChrist comes to our very side, and the opportunity to be \nmade whole is ours beyond any human power to take it \naway. Any ? Not so. Our own will may lose us all \n" Wilt thou ?" The healing is a thing of the present. \nAll the invalid had to do was to say "I will," and the \nDivine healing found its consummation. " Wilt thou be \nmade whole ? %i \n\nHealer, hear my cry ! \n\nI would be whole, to-day ! \nPass me not waiting by, \xe2\x80\x94 \nNor let me longer lie \n\nWhere all the sin-sick lay ! \n\n1 would be whole this hour ; \nO Saviour, show Thy power ! \n\n\n\nSANCTIFYING TOIL. \n\nBack from his summer\'s vacation, our preacher had \nnot altogether gotten away from its atmosphere and sug- \ngestiveness. * He had been fishing, and so he chose for \nhis morning text those wonderful words of the Master to \nsome fisher-folk of Galilee \xe2\x80\x94 " Henceforth ye shall be \nfishers of men." It was a rare scene, of course, that \nsunrise hour on the Lake of Gennesaret, when the men \n\n\n\nSANCTIFYING TOIL. l6l \n\nof nets had toiled all night in vain, and were worn out \nwith fruitless endeavor. A rare scene, and the carpen- \nter\'s Son stood forth the rarest figure in it, as with sym- \npathy quick and power certain he entered into the work \nthose fishers performed. His part in it was not large \nbut what results it brought 1 He told them where to \ncast their net, and gave a miraculous draught as reward \nfor their obedience. \n\n" It is a pleasant thought" says Ruth now, as we talk \nit over in the twilight ; "a pleasant thought, that Christ \nsought out the very lowliest when about to commission \nHis disciples. Taking men from the humblest calling, \nentering into the real spirit of that calling before such a \nchoice, He thus sanctified all effort. No wonder Simon \nPeter recognized Him there at once, as super-human, \nand fell down before His divine presence." \n\n" And yet that was a strange prayer of Peter\'s/\' some \none remarks, " \' Depart from me, for I am a sinful \nman. \' " \n\n\' \'Yes," is the answer : " because Peter was sinful, the \nmore need for Christ to tarry with him and bless him. \nBut Simon was always doing wise things in an unwise \nway. The Master had come here into Peter\'s plain every- \nday life, and had wrought a miracle. Touching, so, the \nman\'s actual, ordinary being, Christ\'s own being was \nnow clearly revealed. There had been another miracle \nonly a day or two before ; the woman sick of a fever had \nbeen restored ; but the surprise on account of Christ\'s \npower does not appear to have been so great as now. \nPerhaps it is always so. Perhaps we never so thoroughly \n\nii \n\n\n\n1 6 2 SA NOTIFYING TOIL . \n\nunderstand the Master\'s nature as when He comes into \nour daily toil and shines out upon it with marvelous \nstrength. \n\n\xe2\x96\xa0\'And when do we need the presence of Christ more \nthan, or so much as, in the daily being and doing of our \nlives ? We toil all the night long often, and our work \navails us nothing. We grow discouraged. The heart \nand the flesh fail us. What shall we do that we have not \ndone ? Then if happily Christ speak to us, as the day \nbreaks \xe2\x80\x94 and it is mostly day-break when He does speak \n\xe2\x80\x94 and if we respond in ready faith which says \' Neverthe- \nless at Thy word we will, \' we shall surely find that which \nwq seek. For if the Saviour sanctified all labor, as I \nbelieve He did, He, in a sense at least, gave surety that \nlabor shall bring its blessing. If not to-night, then to- \nmorrow ; if not on the morrow, then some near day in \nthe By-and-By. I wonder what people did without a to- \nmorrow that was certain before Christ came into the \nworld. \n\n" Blessed be they that work, for they shall not wait \nwithout promise ! I fancy we are all disciples, somehow, \nand that often the Master stands by our side, when we are \nfaint and heart-weary and utters His glad \' Henceforth/ \nBut before that comes a \' Fear not/ and wisely too, since \nwe grow troubled for the end so often and so soon, and \nare ready to give up. Is it night now where any tired \nsoul stands ? The morning is near at hand, and when it \ndawns our pitying Lord shall speak the one dear word of \ncomfort. " \n\n\n\nTHE EVER ABSENT. \n\nI CAN not think her dead : I see her yet, \n\nHer smile a sudden glory shining through, \n\nAs if her life could never quite forget \n\nA gladder being that it sometime knew, \n\nAnd all the memory warmed within her face \n\nWith catching glimpses of some olden grace. \n\nHer smile \xe2\x80\x94 it had a radiance all its own, \n\nThough possibly the angels bask in such ; \n\nAnd haply her sweet face had somewhere known \nThe added sweetness of an angel\'s touch, \n\nAnd this was what it ne\'er forgot, the while, \n\nBut thought upon serenely in her smile. \n\nFor somewhere angels do their impress lend, \nUpon the faces that we dearest prize, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSomewhere, sometime ; and then when comes the end, \nAnd those we love, despite our moaning cries, \n\nGo outward from us where we may not see, \n\nAnd leave behind them but a memory, \n\nMethinks the angels call them fondly thence, \nTo see if vestige of their touch remains,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTo see if, mid the waiting and suspense, \n\nThe carping care, the perils and the pains. \n\nA trace of signet holy lingers there ; \n\nAnd afterwards their presence can not spare ! \n\n\n\n164 GOD\'S LEADING. \n\nAnd so I think she went. She heard the call, \n\nAnd said " I come," with that rare smile of hers, \n\nLeaving the earth, \xe2\x80\x94 its many beauties all, \n\nHer. pets that were her willing worshipers, \n\nHer friends that clasped her close and prayed her stay,- \n\nAnd sweetly walked along the unknown way ; \n\nTill, seeing through the darkened way she went \nThe glory of her smile so radiant shine, \n\nThe angels met her, lovingly intent, \n\nAnd led her up the wearying incline, \n\nAnd finding nothing of their impress fled, \n\nForever choose that we should think her dead ! \n\n\n\nGOD\'S LEADING. \n\n"He leadeth me in green pastures, and beside the still \nwaters ! " \n\nBlessed picture of that rest we yearn after and which \nseems commonly so far away ! Does God lead ? If the \ngreen pasture-land is not yet opened to our tired eyes \xe2\x80\x94 if \nthe way is yet hard and stony to our wearied feet \xe2\x80\x94 shall \nwe come out into all the comfort and restfulness of lovely \nfields and pleasant paths by-and-by ? So we question ; \nand God will forgive the question, and answer it in His \nown good time, if, though heart-sick and discouraged, \nwe press on and fail not. \n\n\n\nGOD\'S LEADING. 165 \n\nBut let us not forget, meanwhile, that God\'s leading \nimplies a willingness to be led. We can go our own \nway. He will not compel us. We can seek for the \ngreen fields of our hope, asking no help, relying upon \nno guidance. When God through His son said " Come \nunto me and I will give you rest," it was not as a com- \nmand, but as an invitation, to be- accepted or refused. \nWe may refuse, \xe2\x80\x94 alasj how many do ! We may walk on \nand complain that the still waters of peace flow far be- \nyond human finding. Yet still the placid waters do flow, \nand some good souls walk beside them and complain not \nall the day long. \n\nGod\'s leading ! It is twilight ; and yet the way never \ndarkens. It is thick night ; and yet we stumble uot. \n\nTender Shepherd ! all the way, \n\nWith Thy leading, is as day ; \n\nTwilight dim, or deepest night. \n\nDarkens not Thy watchful sight ; _ \n\nLed by Thee, my willing feet \n\nSoon may find Thy pastures sweet ; \n\nLead me, then, by waters still, \n\nIn Thine own Eternal will ! \n\n\n\nMen have died poor, who all their life long revelled in \nwealth ; men have gone out of the world rich beyond \nmeasure, who had small earthly possessions, and all be- \ncause they had given themselves away to Christ, and \nbeen bountifully given to of God\'s love in return. \n\n\n\nTRUSTING. \n\n"He that believeth shall not make haste," was the \nmorning\'s text, and the preacher drew from it excellent \nlessons for us all. \n\nGod\'s ways seem very slow, sometimes. What we \nwould see done waits long for the doing, and we grow im- \npatient. But if we believe in God we should possess \nour soul in patience. In His own good time everything \nwill come right. \n\nMen forget, often, that the Creator still controls the \nworld. In the midst of the anti-slavery agitation, when \nthose who believed the slave bitterly wronged saw only \ndarkness ahead, certain ones held a meeting, and Fred- \nerick Douglass made a speech. It was terribly earnest \nin behalf of his people. As he was proceeding with an \nappeal to all friends of freedom to rise at once in their \nmight, and strike off every shackle, a tall, gaunt negress \n\xe2\x80\x94 Sojourner Truth by name \xe2\x80\x94 arose in the assemblage, \nand fixing her eyes searchingly upon the speaker said \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\' \' Frederick, is God dead ? " \n\nShe was a living exemplication of the truth\xe2\x80\x94" He \nthat believeth shall not make haste." And to all such \nGod is not dead. He is a veritable Presence, and in \nHis hands all human affairs can be trusted. \n\nThere are little things often, that trouble us, and that \n\n\n\nALONG THE WAY. 1 67 \n\nrender us impatient of the end. Yet God is as much \nalive to these as to those of greater magnitude. Let us \ntrust Him, then, in these. The fret and the worry of \nsoul concerning them, in which so many indulge, is idle. \nWorse than that, it is sinful, and works harm. \n\n\n\nALONG THE WA Y. \n\nWhom have I, Lord, within Thy heaven but Thee ? \n\nAnd there is none beside, \n\nOn all the earth so wide, \nThat can to me both Friend and Helper be. \n\nForsake me not, I pray, \n\nThroughout the lonely way, \nBut kindly walk my dubious path with me ! \n\nOf old Thou wast the present Helper, Friend, \n\nOf holy men who trod \n\nAppointed ways of God ; \nTo me Thy gracious presence henceforth lend, \n\nThough I have sinned so sore ; \n\nNor leave me evermore, \nBut cheer and comfort grant me till the end! \n\nThy son, our own dear Elder Brother,came, \n\nAnd sorrowed, suffered, bled, \n\nFor us His life-blood shed, \nAnd died at last a death of deepest shame. \n\nNow for His sake I cry ; \n\nNor canst Thou e\'er deny \nThe prayer put up to Thee in His dear name ! \n\n\n\n1 68 THE POVER\'IY OF RICHES. \n\nThen hear me, Lord, I pray, and let me know \nThat Thou, indeed, hast heard \nMy every prayerful word, \n\nBy going with me wheresoe\'er I go ! \n\nNo way with Thee is dark ; \nAnd with Thee I shall hark \n\nFor speech of Thine, so tender, sweet and low, \n\nAmid the noises jarring on my ear, \nSo full of fret and pain, \nSo vexing and so vain, \n\nThy still, small voice I fain would ever hear ! \nSpeak to me, day by day, \nAlong the troublous way, \n\nSo shall 1 know that Thou art always near ! \n\n\n\nTHE POVERTY OF RICHES. \n\ni \' For riches take wings and fly away. " \n\nWas Ruth reading, or syllabling her own thought, \nwhen she uttered these words? We could not tell. \nFinally, after a little pause, she said : \n\n"Yesterday I read an account of the late panic in \nWall street, and it seemed very sad. Some men were \nrich in the morning, and at night had not a dollar. \nWhat a sudden change for such ! It must be hard to \nfeel so poor after enjoying wealth." \n\nThen we were silent a while, and full of thought. At \n\n\n\nTHE POVERTY OF RICHES. 1 69 \n\nlast one of us \xe2\x80\x94 was it the home-heart, from her easy- \nchair ? \xe2\x80\x94 broke the silence again. \n\n\' \' Yet is there poverty even in riches. " \n\nAh, yes ! Poorest of all God\'s poor are many who \nown houses and land, and know no earthly want. God\'s \npoor ? Nay ; for the poor of God have an abundance \nthat fails not. Of their wealth the rich know nothing. \nTheir treasure is safe. Banks may break, but they are \nsecure. Public confidence may falter, they have no fear. \nFor God\'s poor was it spoken \xe2\x80\x94 " Blessed are the poor, \nin spirit." \n\nSouls may suffer while bodies roll in luxury. The \npoverty of riches is beyond all common cure. Millions \nfor the signifying, \xe2\x80\x94 but no real joy. Carriages and dia- \nmonds, \xe2\x80\x94 but no peace. Mortgages and coupons, \xe2\x80\x94 but \nno enduring comfort. Poverty ! It is hard to go an- \nhungered ; it is hard to feel pinched and hemmed in ; it \nis hard to want beautiful things, \xe2\x80\x94 to long for much and \nhave little ; it is hard to go on and on amid deprivation \nand care, and know no satisfying of the merely human \nneeds. Ah, yes ! But is it not harder to hunger for \nwhat jio money can buy ?- \xe2\x80\x94 to go forever athirst ? \xe2\x80\x94 to \nlong for something which shall fill the heart full, and \nmake the whole being glad ? Verily it is. They are not \nalways rich who seem blessed of Plenty. They are not \nalways poor who want. \n\n\n\nOUR THANKSGIVING. \n\nThrough the twilight silence we have spoken no word. \nWhat each has been thinking of, who shall say ? It is \nRuth who, as usual, is first to speak. \n\n" It is hard to be thankful amid want, and distress, \nand great discouragements. I wonder how many will \nfeel on next Thanksgiving Day that it is simply impos- \nsible ? " \n\nRuth is always wondering about the hard things of \nlife. Well, so are many others. The hard things are \nplenty, and there is always enough to wonder over. \n\n"It is easy, now, for us, to offer thanks. We feel \nvery grateful to God for His goodness unto us. But I \nhave seen people who thought God not very good to \nthem, and I could\'nt help feeling that I might think just \nso, too, if I were in their place." \n\nWe ponder awile upon Ruth\'s words. Are there, then, \nsome who seem neglected of God ? Is it indeed true \nthat to any soul God is not good? Beyond question \nthere are many not good to themselves. They sin, and \nfind joy in sinning ; they forget the Maker\'s claims and \nremember only self; they in no proper degree recognize \nGod and live for Him. That God withdraws His bles- \nsings from such is but natural. That they often abide in \n*. want, and lack much, is not strange. That they distrust \n\n\n\nO VR THA NKSGIVING. I 7 1 \n\nsupreme goodness, and are devoid of all gratitude, is but \nthe logic of their course and character. \n\nGratitude is the child of faith and love. Our thank- \nofferings measure the love we enjoy. Do we love any \none much ? Then we are grateful for small favors extend- \ned by them. There is great danger, it is irue, that we \ncome to take every gift as but our due, and so receive \nwhatever is tendered with indifference and ingratitude. \nIt is just here that we sin most. God is our father, we ad- \nmit, and He is bound to mete out according to each \nnecessity. But we err. His fatherhood does not bind \nHim for our needs. Life itself was His free gift. Every ad- \nded pleasure, or benefit, or help, is likewise a free gift, \nand in no degree whatever ours by right. For the small- \nest favor granted we stand debtor. \n\nAnd there are none who go on through the years un- \nhelped. The poorest pauper of all has been given of \nGod. In some manner he does not heed, God has cared \nfor him. In some way he does not suspect, God is doing \nfor him. The very fact that he is a pauper does not es- \ntablish anything against God . The gift of life was his ; \nhe might have made of it ail that another did make of a \ngift similar. Why he failed is not for any to say. God \nknows. God permitted the failure, though He did not \ncause it. God is not Fate, and for this let us ever be \nthankful. \n\nFor all that we may be, let us thank Him to whom we \nare indebted for the possibility. We may never attain to \nit. We may go through the years poor in possessions, \nlean in soul, and never satisfied ; yet for the possibilities \n\n\n\nI72 THA NKSGIV1NG. \n\nwe are debtor. It is better to praise God for the Might \nHave Been, than sigh over it. It is better to see in what \nis, a hope, than always to complain because it is not a \nfulfillment. God gives the hope, and we make our own \nfulfillment. \n\nRuth doubts this, and says thers are persons, of the \nvery best intentions, whose endeavors have been well put \nforth, who nevertheless have failed, and see no occasion \nto thank God for failure. \n\nTrue, but even these may feel glad that it is no worse. \nVery few get to the lowest deep of want and failure. \nThen again, one should be thankful for others\' joy and \nsuccess. Is there not a selfishness of gratitude? To give \nthanks only for what is received in person is most meager \nthanksgiving indeed. In the great world, one is a little \natom of a great mass. If the thousands are blest, let us \nrejoice, though we sit in poverty of being forevermore. \n\n\n\nTHANKSGIVING. \n\nSome days of sweet content are mine ; \n\nSome days of waiting sore \nFor joys I can but half divine, \n\nSo far they go before ; \nSome days of doubt, some days of cheer, \n\nSome days so sweet and strong \nThey bear me on an atmosphere \n\nOf trusting faith along, \n\n\n\nTHA NKSGIVING. I 7 3 \n\nTill on tue mountain-lops I stand \nAnd view the welcome Promised Land ! \n\nAnd for these days my thanks are due \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAccept them, gracious Lord ! \nFor all these days, of every hue, \n\nThat with my life accord. \nEach day within it holds a good \n\nOf some diviner kind \nThan any, dimly understood, \n\nMy consciousness can find, \nAnd for the good I can not see \nMy thanks go out, O Lord, to Thee ! \n\nI know that all about my life \n\nSome unseen blessings wait, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat through the deafening din of strife \n\nSome sweet songs palpitate ; \nThat God is good, howe\'er it seems, \n\nAnd doing richly worth ; \nThat in the brightest sunlight beams \n\nHis angels visit earth, \nAnd in the shadows walk they still, \nFulfilling His own holy will ! \n\nFor all I am my thanks I give ; \n\nFor all that I might be ! \nThe life is mine I do not live \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMy gift, O God, from Thee ! \nI thank Thee for its brighter days \nThat some time I may know, \nAnd ask Thy guidance through the ways \n\nThat to it haply go ; \nAnd so with thanks for blessings mine \nI wait the leading all divine ! \n\n\n\nDOUBTING CHRIST. \nBlessed is he whosoever shall not be offended in \n\n\n\nme." \n\n\n\nThis was the preacher\'s text to-day. Christ spoke the \nwords in partial answer to that doubt of John the Bap- \ntist which sent his disciples to the Saviour to ask of Him \nconcerning His identity. \n\nEver since John\'s time there have been doubters, even \namong those who believe most in Christ. It is natural \nthat men who have accepted Him should sometimes feel \ntheir faith shaken. Because Christ\'s ways are not our \nways. This was what troubled John. Jesus came not \nas John had expected Him to come. The manner of His \nadministration was hardly that of a kingly Messiah. In \neverything, this One whose coming John had preached \nwas in marked contrast to the ideal previously conceived. \n\nAnd so it is with us. We conceive of a Saviour who \nshall appear thus and thus \xe2\x80\x94 who shall deal with us after \nour own peculiar notions of justice and expediency \xe2\x80\x94 who \nshall help us through certain agencies with which we are \nfamiliar. We accept the Saviour, and behold we are \ngrievously disappointed, for He is far different from our \nconception of Him. His dealings with us are not at all \nas we desired, and do not accord with our views of jus- \ntice and expediency \xe2\x80\x94 the ministering agents He employs \nsuit us not. So we are offended in Him. Misgivings \n\n\n\nDOUBTIXG CHRIST. \n\n\n\n175 \n\n\n\nenter into our minds, and we cry out distrustfully, "Is \nthis the Christ ? " \n\nThere is hardly a sweeter beatitude in the Sermon on \nthe Mount than this text of the preacher\'s. It means \nmuch for us all. Blessed is he who murmurs not though \nhe be smitten ; blessed are they who accept all divine \ndealings as wisest and best ; blessed are such as be not \nimpatient under long withholding ; blessed are all whose \nwill is humbled, whose pride has frequent fallings, whose \nlife is unsatisfying, yet who give not over to doubt and \ndespair : it is as though Christ had said all this in detail, \nand very much more. \n\nThere was ever a mine of meaning in the speech of \nJesus. Men have thought upon single sentences of His \nuntil they became part and parcel of their beings, grow- \ning more and more fruitful as these broadened towards \ncompleted growth. And this blessing \xe2\x80\x94 has it not special \nsignificance for us all ? Are we never offended in Christ? \nDo we never question when sudden affliction smites, or \ncoveted wishes fail of fulfillment, "Is this He ? " \n\n\n\n\nTHANK-OFFERINGS. \' \n\nHow meager ours are, often ! We take so much that \ncomes to us of good and comfort as a matter of course ! \nPerhaps we do not really feel, but we seem to, that God \nonly does His duty by us at the best \xe2\x80\x94 that He is bound \nto provide for us all that is provided ; and some will even \ncomplain because His provision is not more full and \nsatisfactory. \n\nSitting here now, in the firelight, thinking of the \nThanksgiving so soon to come \xe2\x80\x94 a day which will be to \nso many fuller of feasting than of thanks \xe2\x80\x94 we call to \nmind the words of a preacher to whom we often listened \nin the years gone by, who had a way of putting things \nvery striking. It was in a prayer and conference meet- \ning, of an evening like this, when thankfulness seemed \nto be most the subject of thought, and one gentleman \nhad remarked upon his own lack of gratitude to God for \nmercies enjoyed. The time for closing the meeting had \ncome, as he sat down, and eccentric Dr. M \xe2\x80\x94 closed it \nin a way we shall never forget. \n\n" That is always the fact/\' said he, as he leaned back \nmeditatively in his chair, "ingratitude is our greatest \nsin." Then, his face lightening up as it was wont when \na new conceit flashed upon him, he continued \xe2\x80\x94 "We \nare not half thankful enough for the blessings we receive, \n\n\n\nIN THANKFULNESS. 1 77 \n\nand so we don\'t receive half as much as we might, often. \nYou take a little pitcher to the well, and you get your \nlittle pitcher full. You take a great pail to the well, and \nyou get your great pail full. But you mus\'n\'t expect to \ncarry a little pitcher of gratitude to God, and take away \na great pail full of blessing ! " And, rising suddenly, he \nsaid, in his abrupt way " Take that and go home ! " and \nthis was our benediction. \n\nThe little pitcher of gratitude \xe2\x80\x94 how many carry it L \nIt is borne in our prayers daily, perhaps \xe2\x80\x94 prayers that \nonly dimly recognize God\'s goodness, and have little of \nreal heart-thankfulness within them. And shall we carry \nonly the little pitcher in days to come, especially in that \nday which is set apart for one great thank-offering of ihe \npeople ? He who gives us all things deserves better of \nus all. What comes to us comes not as a mattar of \ncourse. It is a free gift. Let us fill our largest vessels \nfull of gratitude, and mayhap we may carry them away \nfrom God\'s altar overflowing with blessing. \n\n\n\nIN THANKFULNESS. \n\nI fold my hands in idleness, to-day ; \n\nMy heart is yielding its thank-offering. \n44 Of little worth am I, O Lord ! " I say ; \n\n44 And little can I to Thine altar bring, \n\n\n\nIj8 IN THANKFULNESS. \n\nBut that I fain would give to Thee always ; " \nAnd in my heart I chant a psalm of praise. \n\nI backward look upon my life, and see, \n\nAbove it, through the years, a Presence bent, \n\nAnd know what came, of good or ill to me, \nWas by that Presence in all kindness sent ; \n\nAnd if some joys I want, in thankfulness \n\nMy heart goes out for those I do possess. \n\nThe skies above me wear a sunny smile ; \n\nThe clouds may come \xe2\x80\x94 it will not wholly fade ; \nAnd sunshine creeps into my life, the while, \n\nWith warmth such as but it and love e\'er made. \nMy finer being feels a thrill divine \nAs on my way the pleasant sunbeams shine. \n\nThere may have been some cherished blessings lost- \nI may have felt some momentary pain ; \n\nMy will, by God\'s, may often have been crossed ; \nBut losing much has only been my gain ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd thankful for the lost, as for the won, \n\nI fold my hands and say 4< Thy will be done ! " \n\nTo-day is mine. To-day is very broad ; \n\nIt has the fullne&s of the Infinite. \nIt reaches from my narrow life to God, \n\nAnd holds within it a supreme delight. \nIt has the work, and partly the reward \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe rest will come to-morrow, praise the Lord ! \n\n\n\nOUR HEART-OFFERING. \n\n"Give thanks unto the Lord for He is good." \nThus read Ruth, on Thanksgiving evening. Some- \nthing in her voice touched the words with a meaning \nnew and sweet. \n\n"For He is good" she repeated. " How many who \nhave to-day listened to those words, really emphasized \n\nthem in their hearts ?" \n\nWe all fell to thinking. In the hush that followed, \nour hearts sent up anew an offering of thanks. God\'s \ngoodness was growing in our sight. \n\n"For His mercy endureth forever," Ruth chanted \nsoftly. \n\nHis mercy ! From the heart of the great world at \nlarge should go up to God an offering of thanks for His \nmercies. If God were good alone, and not merciful, sad \nwould it be for many. Because God is good and merci- \nful both, let us rejoice. \n\n"I read, once," said Ruth, after a little, "of a min- \nister whose child died. At the grave, when clods had \nfallen heavily upon the coffin where beauty and love lay \nburied, the father spoke. \'My friends/ said he, \'it has \nbeen my lot to stand by the graves of many whom you \nloved and mourned. In your sorrow I have told you of \nGod\'s goodness and tender mercy, and you may have \nthought me wrong. In your grief you may have thought \n\n\n\nl8o A CHRISTIAN HABIT. \n\nme mistaken. But now, standing here by the grave of \nmy own loved one, I can say to you that all I have ever \nspoken about God\'s goodness and mercy is true. God is \ngood, and loving, and kind/ I wonder if all mourning \nhearts have felt like this to-day ?" Ruth queried. \n\nAnd we thought of the dear friends who miss so much \nfrom their life \xe2\x80\x94 of one loving woman who is companion- \nless on a journey which two began together \xe2\x80\x94 and with \nour thank-offering went up a prayer for suffering souls. \nIn the twilight\'s silence, from the corner where the \nmother-heart sits, a tremulous voice breathed out a \nword of comfort so tenderly that we could have wished \nevery mourner to hear : \n\n(( Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord \npitieih them that fear Him." \n\n\n\nA CHRISTIAN HABIT \n\nThe very habit of godly life helps to keep one from \ntemptation and sin. There are times, perhaps, when \nspirituality is at a low ebb in the heart, and little of Gqd\'s \nsweet love seems to have place therein. Then this habit \nof correct living \xe2\x80\x94 a habit acquired through years of \nwatchful prayer and persistent purpose \xe2\x80\x94 holds the man to \ncircumspectness, and keeps him from many things that \nmight soil his soul. \n\nAs a saving feature the habit may be little worth, but \n\n\n\nA CHRISTIAN HA BIT, 7 I 8 I \n\nas a strong cord, holding evil tendencies in check, its \nvalue is very great. Satan rarely tempts with his wicked- \nest pleasures, those who go straight on in their daily life, \nupheld by a habit strong and strengthening. He dallies \nwith such as are uncertain of themselves, being the crea- \ntures of their own impulsive promptings, and swayed \nhither and thither by the power of their own passions. \nPassion habitually held in check, is never harmful ; but \nlet it now and then rise to the mastery and all safety is \ngone by. \n\nFor safety lies only in a correct habit, not in an inten- \ntion to be correct in the main, but to grant self certain \nindulgences as inclination may prompt. Just here is \nwhere sad mistakes are made. Young and old alike \nmake them. Men are continually saying to themselves \n\xe2\x80\x94 "This indulgence will not work me harm. My life \nshall be mainly correct ; my self-discipline shall be \nrigorously maintained, with some slight exceptions ; I \nwill abide by what my conscience dictates as a rule ; but \nevery rule has its exceptions. " And yet there are rules \nof being and doing which ought to have\' no excep- \ntions \xe2\x80\x94 which can not admit of exceptions without abso- \nlute danger. \n\nIt is the exceptional lapses from Christian circumspect- \nness that impair the Christian character, and weaken the \nChristian faith. If not too often occurring, their in : \nfluence may not be so readily discovered, but it is not the \nless an influence, and it is not the less an influence for \nthe bad. In essential quality it is precisely the same \nas though it were more plainly marked but its degree is \n\n\n\nl82 THE STAR DIVINE. \n\nnot so great. Occasional sinnings may not utterly warp \nthe nature over, but they leave their impress, and it may \nnever be quite eradicated. If the habit of life wholly \nforbid these, how much better in the end. \xe2\x80\x94 how much \nbetter even now ! We do not argue for perfectionism, \nfor we believe men will always fall far short sf sinless \nliving ; but we argue for a complete shutting out of the \ngrosser sins that lure so many to final ruin through occa- \nsional yieldings. Nothing short of divne grace, and a \nrule of life which will admit no exceptings, can save men \nfrom these. \n\n\n\nTHE STAR DIVINE. \n\nI sit beside my window here, \nAnd through the winter atmosphere \nI see the hills of evening rise \nAgainst the fading sunset skies. \n\nAs one by one the stars outshine, \n\nI think how in this heart of mine \n\nWhen darkness comes, through fear and doubt, \n\nThe star of love shines clearly out. \n\nIt brighter still and brighter glows, \nAs deeper night my being knows, \n\'And looking steadfast on its ray \nI half forget the vanished day. \n\n\n\nTHE STAR DIVINE. ^ 1 83 \n\n\n\nStar of Love divine, so blest, \nShine on forever in my breast, \nThat never night may come to me \nSo dark I can no comfort see ! \n\nThe clouds are often o\'er my way \nSo dense I walk in twilight gray, \nBut in thy light, O star divine, \n\n1 see my Master\'s face outshine ! \n\nAnd seeing this I walk along, \nUpon my lips a grateful song ; \nWithin my heart a grateful prayer \nThat God will make all shadows fair. \n\nThen Faith contends He ever will, \nAnd Faith recites with tender thrill \nThat for a moment dims my sight \xe2\x80\x94 \n"At evening-time let there be light ! " \n\n\n\nYou have heard of the man who, when he ate a cherry, \nalways put his spectacles on, that it might seem the larger \nto him ? It were better, seemingly, in some such way to \nmagnify our hope, than continually to depreciate it. It \nis possible for such depreciation to work a serious harm. \nWe think it often does. These men with small hopes \nseem shrunken in their Christian growth, and they actu- \nally are shrunken. It is better, vastly better, to cherish \nand nourish a hope, than to starve it. \n\n\n\nNEWNESS OF LIFE, \n\nWhat does newness of life mean ? A new life must \nbe antedated by a new birth : so much we know. A new \nbirth is a being born into new things, and a new life is \na continuance therein. Then, as Christians, have we al- \nways newness of life ? Do we continually walk in the \nway entered upon when the old things of sin and de- \nbasing worldliness were renounced ? Or is there daily a \nlapsing away into habits that hurt, and indulgences that \ntell sadly against our soul\'s present and future well-being ? \n\nWe may not argue that Christian living becomes old, \nand that therefore newness of life is impossible to one \npast his early Christian experience. All Christian feeling \nand desire is renewed day by day. it is fresh with every \nmorning\'s freshness. New things are opening up to the \nChristian\'s recognition constantly \xe2\x80\x94 new things in the line \nof God\'s goodness and human want, of the Creators \nmarvelous bounty and the creature\'s capacity to receive \nand be blest. All that is great and glorious in nature, all \nthat is sweet and tender in revelation and experimental \nknowledge, is baptized anew with divine grace so often \nthat it can not become stale. \n\nThe soul has its longings and its answers, and in these \nis newness of life yet further exemplified. W T hat we live \nupon to-day will not sustain us to-morrow. The same \n\n\n\n"JESC7S WEPT." 185 \n\nin kind may satisfy, yet it is different in fact. It is some- \nhow changed. That which we pray for to-day and re- \nceive, we may pray for next week, and again receive, yet \nit is not the same; it is new, it meets our want, it helps us \non. God pity those to whom nothing fresh comes, \xe2\x80\x94 \nwhose being is but an existence, \xe2\x80\x94 whose one complaint \nis that all things have become old ! \n\nThere are some such, who claim the Christian\'s title } \nwho walk in Christian fellowship with their compeers. \nTheirs is the old life, over and over again \xe2\x80\x94 the week-day \nroutine, the Sabbath church-going. New things made \ntheir hearts glad once, but there is no longer anything \nnew. They pray the same prayers, they feel the same \nfaint aspirations, they cling to the same weak faith, as in \nearlier years. How meager it all is ! New life is new \nfaith, new aspirations, new askings. May this newness \nof life make us all to rejoice ! \n\n\n\n"jjesus wept: 1 \n\nChrist\'s humanity is touchingly pictured in the two \nwords which comprise the shortest verse in the Bible. In \nthe same chapter wherein is found the sublime declara- \ntion \xe2\x80\x94 " I am the resurrection and the life," it is recorded, \n"Jesus wept." Divinity speaks forth in the declaration ; \nhumanity sorrowfully manifests itself in the brief, simple \nrecord. \n\n\n\ni86 " jesus wept:* \n\nThough, as we read the Gospel narrations, we can \nreadily believe the Saviour to be "a man of sorrows and \nacquainted with grief," we never realize how closely His \nnature is allied to our own until we see Him weeping in \nsympathy with others over a friend dead. Christ healing \nthe sick, making the blind to see, causing the lame to \nwalk, and performing all those GoD-like miracles which \nso clearly prove His superior power, wins our most de- \nvout worship ; Christ sorrowing as we sorrow, stricken \nin heart with a grief so common to us all, calls out our \ndeepest and warmest love. \n\nHuman grief is so very human that it moves us with a \nstrange control. We cannot look upon it in\', idle indiff- \nerence. Griefs are of many kinds, however, and not all \nmove us alike. Sorrow born of death has the strongest \ninfluence. Speaking of this sorrow one said once, in \nour hearing, \xe2\x80\x94 "When a friend dies it is not so much \nthat one we loved is dead, but that a part of our life is \nwanting." And so when we see stricken ones mourning \nover the part of their life which they miss, our hearts \nrespond in sincere sympathy. When the Redeemer \nweeps over Jerusalem, because of its wickedness, we are \ntouched, but in only a slight degree ; when, with Mary \nand Martha, He weeps over the dead friend and brother, \nwe can scarcely do other than add our tears to His. \n\nPerhaps in no other portion of the inspired narrative \nis the marvelous union of the divine and the human, in \nthe person of Christ, so clearly shown as in this eleventh \nchapter of John. Jesus wept not as we weep when those \nwe love are taken from us. His humanity asserted itself \n\n\n\nMY THANKFUL THOUGHT. 1 87 \n\nfor a moment, but had He not said to the sorrowing \nMartha \xe2\x80\x94 *\'Thy brother shall rise again?" What need \nthat He should be long troubled in spirit ? Only a mo- \nment later, and He could say \' \' Lazarus, come forth, n \nand the tomb would yield up its dead. Blending with \nthe tears of the man was the wonderful power of the All- \nFather, which should bring joy to the bereaved but be- \nlieving sisters, and faith to the doubting Jews. \n\nAnd still Christ is troubled in spirit because of hu- \nmanity\'s griefs ; still He is saying to all \xe2\x80\x94 "I am the res- \nurrection and the life ; " still is the human in His nature \nreaching out to human natures everywhere, to draw them \nup towards the divine. We do not realize this enough. \nWe think of Christ too much as one who was crucified \nfor our sakes, but having been crucified is forevermore \ndisassociated from us, and from everything allied to hu- \nmanity. We need to appreciate more clearly that He is \nstill our elder brother, \xe2\x80\x94 sympathizing with us, sorrowing \nwith us, and even interceding for us. \n\n\n\nMY THANKFUL THOUGHT. \n\nThe Master on the Mountain, the disciples on the sea ! \n\nI sit within the twilight, and a picture comes to me \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA vessel tempest-driven, tossed in anger by the wave ; \n\nA company despairing, seeing none to help and save ; \n\nA lonely watcher praying on the lonely mountain side, \n\nThe entrance-door to Heaven by His prayers thrown open wide I \n\n\n\nJ 88 MY THANKFUL THOUGHT. \n\nAnd now the thought of thankfulness supreme above the rest \n\nThat surge and swell for utterance within my thankful breast, \n\nIs this : that though the waters rage, and though the tempest sweep \n\nAround me as I sail along, or waking or asleep, \n\nThe Master on the mountain waits and He will come to me, \n\nAs I shall need Him, walking as of old, upon the sea ! \n\nThere is so much to thank Him for who gave so much to each, \nThat my poor heart is oftentimes too full of thanks for speech, \nAnd so 1 sit in silence oft, and make no sound or sign, \nAnd yet I think my silence our dear Master can divine, \nWho waits upon the mountain as He waited there of old, \nWhose arms from every danger His disciples will enfold. \n\nBut now I am not silent, though my speech is faint and low, \nBecause a flood of feeling fairly makes the tears to flow ; \nYet through my silence only speaks this thankful thought su- \npreme \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat in my peril and my pain, when skies the darkest seem, \nMy life ahall know its blessedness, my being find its cheer, \nMy heart grow warm with gladness, in the Master\'s coming near ! \n\nO Master on the mountain ! surely heaven\'s door did ope \nTo prayer of Thine ingoing, and, outcoming, our great Hope I \nThe entrance into heaven is our gateway out of sin \nBeyond its shining portal shall the Perfect Peace begin, \nBut here amid the striving, \'mid the storm and tempest sore, \nA hint of heaven\'s holding shall Thy coming bring before ! \n\n\n\nTHE CHRIST-CHILD. \n\nIt has been said that no other religion than the Chris- \ntian ever had a child in it ; and the fact as stated is not \nmore curious than significant. That Jesus Christ came \ninto the world as a little child, means much for us all. \nHe began His humanity at the very beginning. There- \nfore there is not an experience He can not understand, \nnot one with which He can not sympathize most keenly. \nAnd is not the fact of such near and complete svmpathy \nmost blessed to us ? \n\nThen as He came to us as a little child, like little chil- \ndren must we go to Him. Manhood is hardened and \nunyielding ; childhood is trustful and yields readily. \nManhood is full of doubts and questioning ; childhood \nis trustful and questions not. Manhood stands upon \nrights ; childhood claims none, but is willing to receive \nand be glad. And so we must be pliable, trustful, will- \ning to receive Christ\'s rare blessing undoubting, if we \nwould receive it at all. \n\nChrist came so very near humanity in His earth-life, \nthat it should be an easy thing for us to come very near \nHim in return. Yet it is harder than we might imagine ; \nand it is hard simply because we insist upon holding our \nmanhood and womanhood, our foolish lessons of the \nyears. "Are we not men and women?" we ask our- \n\n\n\n190 \n\n\n\nTHE LAND OF MOAB. \n\n\n\nselves, \' \' shall we not maintain our manly dignity and wo- \nmanly reserve ? Must we sacrifice individuality to win \nChrist?" \n\nO miserable questioning ! How much better is the \nwise trust of the child ! The trusting has its reward ; \nthe questioning never. The peace of salvation never \nwas born of questions, but of faith and prayer. It is not \na product of the intellect ; it springs up, and grows, and \nbears fruit deep in the heart. The wisest may question \nand find no answer ; the weakest may trust and be answer- \ned to the uttermost. And all because on a morning \nyears ago, in Bethlehem of Judea, a babe was born whose \nname was Jesus Christ. \n\n\n\nTHE LAND OF MOAB. \n\nThe theme of the morning was Ruth\'s Choice. \n\nWhat sweeter narrative is there, in all the Bible, than \nthis of Ruth ? Here were three women \xe2\x80\x94 Naomi and \nher two daughters, Orpah and Ruth. The first had de- \ntermined upon a return to the kingdom of Israel ; and \nwould these go also ? Many years had Naomi been in \nMoab, but the special tie which had bound her there was \nsevered ; she longed with an inexpressible longing for \nrest in old age among the people of God. \n\nThey had come with her, these two women, some dis- \n\n\n\nTHE LAND OF MOAB. \n\n\n\n1 9 I \n\n\n\ntance on her journey. Now they must stop,~or go with \nher altogether. Which should it be? Should they con- \ntinue on, or go back? On the one hand was Moab, \nwith its pleasures, its prosperity, its associations, its bright \npromises for the future ; over against it was Judah, des- \nolate, lonely, with no prospect of worldly gam or joy. \nIt was heathendom and its offerings, or the kingdom of \nthe living God without these. Which r \n\nOrpah chose to go back. The shining hills of Moab \nheld more for her than Judah could hold. But Ruth? \nShe, too, was tempted. It may not have been easier for \nher to forsake Moab than for Orpah. She may have \nbeen as strongly attached to its associations, as was her \nsister. Yet her choice was the wiser choice, and through \nthese hundreds of years its sweet language has been read \nand sung by Christian humanity the world over \xe2\x80\x94 "Entreat \nme not to leave thee, or to return from following after \nthee: for whither thou goest I will go ; and where thou \nlodgest, I will lodge : thy people shall be my people, \nand thy God my God ; where thou diest, will I die, and \nthere will I be buried." \n\nAnd to-day some of us have come, as Ruth and Or- \npah came, to the parting of the ways. Friends whom we \nlove we have followed to the very edge of Moab\'s Land. \nAs with those two girls, so with us, \xe2\x80\x94 a choice must be \nmade. Shall we stay in Moab ? It holds for us all that \nit held for them \xe2\x80\x94 social joys, worldly advancement, ease \nand pleasure ; it lures us with all the beauty of its shining \nhills, and all the sweet grace of its many charms. Over \nyonder is the sacrifice, the discomfort, the loneliness, the \n\n\n\nI92 THE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS. 4 \n\nunpleasantness, of Judah. It is life for self, wheie seff \nmay find its greatest gains ; or life for God, where there \nmay be only the gain of God\'s favor and eternal rest. \n\nShall we choose as Ruth chose? Why should we not? \nOften has it been proven that Moab can not satisfy till the \nend. Why prove it yet again ? \n\n\n\nTHE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS. \n\nWe wait the Blessed Thousand Years ! \n\nThe present with its hopes and fears, \n\nIts longings all unsatisfied, \n\nLooks through the portal opening wide \n\nTo let the Future in, and waits \n\nIts coming through the portal-gates. \n\nO Future ! near and yet so far \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhere shines the bright millenial star \xe2\x80\x94 \nHaste thy approach ! The days are long \nTill Right shall triumph over wrong, \nTill Morn shall chase away the Night, \nAnd faith be verified in sight ! \n\nWe wait the Blessed Thousand Years ! \nDim, undefined, as through our tears \nWe forward look, there seems to rise \nA newer earth, with brighter skies \nThan those which beam erewhile on this, \nWhere hope attains to fullest bliss ; \n\n\n\nTHE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS. \n\nWhere all the fret, the din and moil, \nThat round these weary days of toil, \nShall find completest recompense ; \nWhere, unrestrained, our soul and sense \nShall feed and ripen on the food \nGleaned from the fields of perfect good ; \n\nWhere every pampered lust shall be \nUnknown and man be fully free ; \nWhere buds of promise know no blight, \nAnd pure desire brings pure delight ; \nWhere all discordant noises cease, \nAnd only echo songs of peace ! \n\nBlest Thousand Years ! O righteous God, \nThe thorny paths the world has trod \nAre wearying its heart and strength \xe2\x80\x94 \nMethinks they weary Thee, at length ! \nBring, then, the paths that lead erewhile \nThrough blooms which hide no secret guile ! \n\nWe wait the Blessed Thousand Years ! \nWe wait and labor. He who hears \nA people\'s prayer for nobler things, \nWill give the good time swifter things : \nWhile that for which we long and wait \nOur faith and works may ante-date ! \n\nn \n\n\n\n: 93 \n\n\n\nPOWER OF PRAYER. \n\nThe preacher\'s theme this morning was a common \none. We have all thought more or less of the power of \nprayer ; we have all heard much in regard to it. Yet the \nmorning\'s discourse presented one or two points in a \ncomparatively new light, and these are just the points \nupon which many stumble and doubt. \n\nGod is not a God of uncertainties. His purposes are \nnot yielding and pliable, so as to be changed by this one\'s \nrequest, or that one\'s pleading. "Then why pray?" \nasks some one. " If God\'s designs are already deter- \nmined, why waste breath in prayer ? " Because prayer is \na part of God\'s plan. It is ordained in the divine econ- \nomy that petition shall prelude bestowal. Anything \nworth having is worth asking for, is the common rule. \n\nPrayer is spirit-born, God-willed. It is the human \nwant, grafted on to the divine purpose. "Ask and \nyou will receive, " is the promise. It is not, however, \na miscellaneous promise, made without any limitation. \nThere are many things which we have no right to ask \nfor \xe2\x80\x94 the granting of which would work us harm rather \nthan good. It is only as touching those things the \ngranting of which is predetermined, that the promise \nholds secure. \n\nFor what, then, shall we ask? Can we ever know thct \n\n\n\nABILITY TO GIVE. \n\n\n\n*95 \n\n\n\nwe ask aright? The Holy Spirit moves to right asking ; \nif we have that as an indwelling presence we shall seldom \nerr. There are certain vague, restless stirrings of the \nsoul, when a sense of personal need presses upon us as a \nburden. In times like these we are moved to prayer, and \nour prayer is available. Petitions of the lips are wasted \nwords ; the prayer of the heart, inspired by the spirit of \nGod, is a certain power. \n\n\n\nABILITY TO GIVE. \n\nIt is the time of giving gifts. Has not this season a \ndeeper significance than we are accustomed to think \nupon ? \n\nLife, primarily a free and splendid gift to us, was \nmeant to be, secondarily, a benefit to men at large. Is \nthe meaning fulfilled ? How much of the wealth of \nbeing do we give to those about us ? \n\n" But I am very poor," says one. \'\' I am not rich in \nanything which the world needs. Others can bestow of \ntheir endowments, or of what they have acquired, but I \nmust be only a recipient. I have nothing to give." \n\nSo might those disciples have talked, who chanced up- \non that helpless man who waited by the Gate Beautiful. \nThey had no money, and he was there for alms. They \nmight have made a seemingly reasonable excuse, and left \n\n\n\nI96 ABILITY TO GIVE. \n\nhim unhelped. They might have said to him" We, too, \nare penniless ;" and he would not have expected a far- \nthing. \n\n" Silver and gold we have none," they declared, "but \nsuch as we have give we unto thee. In the name of \nJesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk." Was not \ntheir gift of the very best and most valuable ? And hav- \ning it in their power to bestow so generously, would any \nexcuse suffice for them to withhold the bestowing? \n\n" Such as we have" \xe2\x80\x94 herein lies the secret of it all. In \nour poverty we have yet something which some wayfarer \nneeds. At many a Gate Beautiful lies a waiting one, \nwhose life we may make glad. \n\nWeak, are we, and unable to work effectively in and \nof ourselves ? So were those disciples. But there is a \nhint for us in their declarative command. "In the \nname of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, " they did what they \ndid, and gave what they gave. In Christ\'s name we \nalso must work and give. If, as ieal disciples, we stand \nat the Gate Beautiful, we shall fail not in giving, for the \nspirit will be ours, and to us will be given the means. \nAre we daily passing by the waiting souls ? Then a \ntruer discipleship is needed. Are we all our life long \nwithholding what men want, in mistakenness or selfish \ngreed ? Then, by-and-by, from us will be taken that \nwhich we have, and it shall be given to him who hath \nnot. \n\n\n\nGOD\'S TIME. \n\nThe sun goes down, and the light fades out\xe2\x80\x94 \n" God has forgotten the world ! " \n\nOver the heavens come dark and doubt \xe2\x80\x94 \n" God has forgotten the world ! " \n\nThe darkness deepens \xe2\x80\x94 in gloom we grope\xe2\x80\x94 \n" God has forgotten the world !" \n\nHidden forever the stars of hope \xe2\x80\x94 \n44 God has forgotten the world ! " \n\nBut see ! there\'s a gleam in the midnight sky ! \n\n44 God will remember the world ! " \nStars do shine in the By-and-By \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n44 God will remember the world ! " \n\nAnd see ! there\'s a glow on the eastern hills ! \n\n44 God will remember the world ! " \nThe glad day dawns when the good God wills ! M \n\n44 God will remember the world ! " \n\nRuin and death are abroad to-day \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nGod has gone out of the world ! \nWhat does it profit to preach and pray ? \n\nGod has gone out of the world ! \n\nTruth is futile, and Right is weak \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nGod has gone out of the world ! \nVainly we listen to hear Him speak \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHas He forgotten the world ? \n\n\n\nI98 GOOD GIFT\'S. \n\nNo ! He liveth, He heeds, He hears ! \nGod is alive in the world ! \n\nFaith can see Him through pain and tears- \nGod is alive in the world ! \n\nHe will help in His own good time \xe2\x80\x94 \nGod is aliye in the world ! \n\nRight shall win in a day sublime \xe2\x80\x94 \nGod ivies on in the world ! \n\n\n\nGOOD GIFTS. \n\n11 If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts \nunto your children, how much more shall your Heaven- \nly Father give good things to them that ask Him." Thus \ndid Ruth repeat the text of the morning. \n\nAt every hearthstone, in this holiday time, some token \nis given and received, telling of kindly regard and affec- \ntion. Parents remember their loved ones; the parents \nin return are remembered. All this giving of gifts is \nbeautiful and works out a benefit. Apart from the added \nnearness it imparts to domestic life \xe2\x80\x94 setting aside its \nsalutary influences in the way of strengthening family \nties \xe2\x80\x94 it is most beneficial. \n\nWho so receives a testimonal will, if he be studious of \nhimself, consider how little he has merited it, how much \nhis life and thought and companionship should be im- \n\n\n\nGOOD GIFT\'S. \n\n\n\n199 \n\n\n\nproved, to be worthy of such regardful manifestation. \nAnd in the gift there is an incentive to better motive, \npurer action, ambition higher and nobler. With the \ngift\'s abiding abides the incentive influence, and while it \nabides the being grows nearer what it should be. Good \ngifts, to thoughtful souls, have in them more than the \nworld sees, more than the donors apprehend. \n\nGod cares not for the race simply as a race, not for hu- \nmanity simply as humanity, but for each individual as \nHis own child. \n\n11 How much more ! " You are tenderly considerate \nof your own ; you would not insult your little one\'s un- \ndoubting faith by putting a stone in the stocking expect- \nantly hung ; how much more careful for His own is your \nHeavenly Father, than any earthly parent can be ! We \nmay never fathom the " much more. " It covers breadths \nwe can not span, it sweeps vastness we can not look across. \nIt comprehends the difference between the finite and the \nInfinite- God ministers to the individual want. His \nlove and care are all embracing, yet they distinguish as \nindividually as any human love and care can distinguish \xe2\x80\x94 \nyea, " how much more! \' But the gifts must be asked \nfor. Things come that are not asked for, perhaps, but \nrarely the things we need most. When they do come \nunasked, they are as the exceptional surprises of the \nholiday time. All that our being daily requires should \nbe sought for in daily asking. All the good gifts of every- \nday being and doing \xe2\x80\x94 the loving spirit, the patience, the \ntrust, the hope, the willing service\xe2\x80\x94 must be earnestly \nprayed for. While we see universal illustration of earthly \n\n\n\n200 WHEN THE END COMETH. \n\ngift-giving, why should we doubt the willingness and \nability of our Heavenly Father to give us all we need? \nThe Divine is richer than the human. The One who \ncreated all holds ever in His hand more than any creature \ncan possibly claim title to. Of this great holding our \nblessing is born. But it is begotten of our faith. "Ask \nand ye shall receive, \' is the promise. The promise never \nfails. Perhaps it sometimes seems to, but \'tis only in the \nseeming. Each heart, with a faith in it, can say with \nPhcebe Cary, that \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 spite of many broken dreams, \n\nThis have I truly learned to say \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat prayers I thought unanswered once, \n\nWere answered in God s own best way* \n\n\n\nWHEN THE END COMETH \n\nHowever careless-minded we may be, there will come \nin our soberer moments, questionings as to what awaits \nus when the end shall approach \xe2\x80\x94 the end of this little \nfragment of being which we call life. Just so suie as \nthe days steal by, shall we come, sooner or later, to some- \nthing new and strange, and of which we cannot fore- \njudge. We all feel this, more or less deeply ; and we all \nquestion within ourselves if we are ready to welcome this \nnew and strange something into our lives. For we all \nbelieve that the end of which we speak is not really an \n\n\n\nWHEN THE END COMETH. 201 \n\nend ; that there is more beyond ; that further away into \nthe forever than we can conceive, our beings are to reach, \n\xe2\x80\x94 that there is no absolute death. \n\nMen may drive away these questionings, in a measure, \nand may perhaps delude themselves for a time into the \nbelief that they have to deal only with the present. But \nis it wise to do this? Is it prudent to say "Soul, take \nthine ease ? " It is not doing away with the grave fact of \nthe coming change. When the end cometh, \xe2\x80\x94 and the \nend, as we term it, will come, \xe2\x80\x94 we shall be obliged to \nface \xe2\x80\x94 what ? \n\nIn our whole catalogue of words there is nothing like \nthat brief " forever," \xe2\x80\x94 brief, as a word ; longer than finite- \nness can measure* as a time. When the end cometh, the \nforever will begin. Here we can count upon nothing as \nlasting, but in that unending forever all things will be as \nunending as the forever itself. We shall joy on or sor- \nrow on, with never a pause \xe2\x80\x94 never a summons to cease. \nHere we may be glad for a season and then sad for a \nseason \xe2\x80\x94 the forever know r s neither season nor change. \nHere we may do evil, if we will, and satisfy conscience \nby a promise of better deeds by-and-by, \xe2\x80\x94 in the forever \nwe must reap the bitter fruits of our evil-doing, or the \nsweet rewards of doing well. Ah, that incomprehensible \nforever ! There are men whom the word haunts like a \nvery demon, \xe2\x80\x94 men whose living is blackened by sin and \ncrime ; who pretend utter recklessness of the future, but \nin whose mind the little word echoes and re-echoes like \na never-dying reproach. \n\nAnd there are others who whisper it sweetly to them- \n\n\n\n2o2 GOD\'S MORROW. \n\nselves\xe2\x80\x94 for whom it is the refrain of a song that makes \nmusic in their hearts from morning until evening. To \nthem it is suggestive of eternal gladness. Their full ac- \nceptance of salvation through Christ makes of the for- \never, for them, a long Sabbath of Rest. They feel that \nwhen the end ccmeth, there will also come Peace. \n\nWhen the end cometh. \xe2\x80\x94 It may be next year, or next \nweek, or \xe2\x80\x94 to-morrow. It cannot be far off, at the most. \nIt may be nearer than we think ; our short to-day may \neven now be illuminated somewhat by the light of the \nnever-ending to-morrow. Only a little while, and we \nshall greet the end w r hich is but the beginning, and shall \ntake into our hfe an eternal joy or sorrow. \n\n\n\nGOD\'S MORROW, \n\nGod ! in the night of my sorrow \n\nShine Thou with the light of Thy morrow ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat day of sweet rest for the weary, of peace for the tronbled \nones sore \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat day of glad sunlight so cheery, \nWhose smile on the world-desert dreary \nShall quicken rare buds to their blooming, in beauty of bloom \nevermore. \n\n1 wait, in the dark, its appearing, \nImpatient the while it is nearing, \n\nFor, e\'en though the stars may be shining, uncertain and dim is \nthe v. ay ; \n\n\n\n"AS THE LEAF:\' 203 \n\nPerplexities past my divining \nMy feet from the path are inclining, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI follow my Saviour like Peter, and go even further astray. \n\nGod ! the dim twilight is chilling ! \nSend soon Thy bright morrow, all thrilling \n\nWith warmth that shall melt me to loving intenser, unshadowed \nby fear ! \n\n1 long for faith\'s full-fruited summer, \nWith doubting no more an incomer, \n\nThe sunshine of peace all about me and Jesus the Christ ever near! \n\n\n\n"AS THE LEAF." \n\n1 4 We do all fade as the leaf. " Thus the soul whispers. \nAnd mayhap the soul sighs a little, and looks back to \nthe bud and the blossom with somewhat of regret. For \nfading is sad. And yet if fading be fulfillment, then it is \nnot sad. Has not the leaf fulfilled its mission? All \nthrough the summer it has drunk the tree\'s juices, draw- \ning them up through the tree\'s wonderful cells that the \ntree might grow and work out its destiny. Now its labor \nis over. The growing time lapses into patient waiting. \nThen what can the leaf do but fade? \xe2\x80\x94 fade gracefully, as \nbecomes a goodly leaf whose fulfillment is attained. \n\nSo if we all do \xe2\x80\xa2 \' fade as the leaf, " it is a blessed fading. \nIf we fade because our mission is wrought out, our labor \nall ended, our opportunity filled full, surely there can be \n\n\n\n204 HUMAN SYMPATHY. \n\nno more glorious conclusion. In our sober second \nthought we question, Do we ? No leaf drops from its \nstem in this bright autumnal season, which, as a leaf, has \nnot done its perfect work. Alas ! how many human \nleaves drop down to dust with their work all unwrought, \ntheir opportunity all unimproved, their mission a failure ! \n\n\n\nHUMAN SYMPATHY. \n\n"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." \nIt is as true now as ever it was. Forget it often as we \nmay, the fact will find its reminder in some hour we think \nnot. A new life warms within when love is born. That \nnew life thrives and grows when love abides ; and human \nlove, which was born with our humanity, will abide while \nits existence is recognized and approved. With its abid- \ning, abide better times for all mankind. \n\nSuch human love strengthens our love for things di- \nvine. We can trust God more completely when we put \nlarge faith in our fellows. Our hearts broaden toward \nDeity when they reach out widely to embrace the world. \nThat man\'s Christianity ought to be best, whose human- \nity is most far-reaching. And so this is the precious les- \nson of a great woe : we are brothers all, at the last. We \nhave common affections, and, thank God ! common \nhopes. And knowing all. sympathizing with us in all, \n\n\n\nA PSALM OF PRAISE. 2O5 \n\nwe have an elder Brother, even Jesus Christ, in whose \nhumanity we see an example for every human being, in \nwhose divinity is our sure promise of that which is to \ncome. \n\n\n\nA PSALM OF PRAISE. \n\nO\'ER all November\'s dreariness; \n\nAnd all the waning year\'s complaint, \nThrough smoky haze \nOf summer days \nThat fill the skies \nWith sweet surprise \nWhen earth in splendid vesture lies, \nThere comes a peace my soul to bless, \nAnd calm me, though I inly faint. \n\nIt steals upon me like a dream, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA tender dream, as softly kind \nAs ever blest \nA soul at rest ; \nAnd one by one \nEach morning sun \nIs kissing me, as it has done \nWith magic in its golden beam \n\nSince Youth its garlands for me twined. \n\nI live again each morning o\'er ; \n\nI breathe again each morning\'s air, \nEach fancy sweet \nAgain repeat ; \n\n\n\n206 A PSA L M OF PRAISE. \n\nEach gladsome thrill \nAt dreaming\'s will \nAsserts that it has power still ; \nAnd joys that long have gone before \nAnother yield of pleasure bear. \n\nWhere I had sung a psalm of praise, \nAgain the praiseful psalm I sing ; \nWhere sad I sighed, \nOr moaning cried, \nI sigh no more \nWith sadness sore, \nBut know the fruit that sorrow bore \nIs blessing all my brief to-days, \nAnd so a peal of joy I ring ! \n\nAs one by one the days go by, \n# I see my Lord\'s dear presence near \n\n*, His touch I feel \n\nIn woe and weal, \nAnd day by day \nHe leads my way, \nFrom morning till the evening gray ; \nAnd gladly thankful then am I \n\nTo hear His voice of holy cheer. \n\nI bless Thee, O Thou righteous God ! \nThat yesterdays Thou gavest me ! \nThat they were mine, \nAnd I was Thine ! \nAnd Thee I bless \nIn thankfulness \nFor the to-day that I possess : \nAnd when the way of life I \'ve trod \nMay I the past recall with Thee ! \n\n\n\nTHE RENDERING OF GRATITUDE. \n\nHere on this Sabbath evening, which with its holy si- \nlence waits upon the New Year\'s dawning, what is more \nfitting than that we think of all God has done for us in \nthe twelve-month gone, of all He may do for us in the \ntime to come ? What more becometh us than heartfelt \ngratitude for all His mercies ? \n\nBut is the rendering of gratitude so simple a thing ? \nIs it indeed, so universal a thing? Grateful, are we? \nVery likely ; but not always in the way we should be. \nAs gratitude is a personal rendering, so should the ren- \ndering be to a personal God. It is not enough that we \nfeel a sort of gratitude to nature, to law. In nature and \nin law we must see a living God, \xe2\x80\x94 a God of love and to \nbe loved, \xe2\x80\x94 and to Him must be rendered the service of \nour hearts. \n\nThe beginning or the ending of any year may be really \nno more than other times to us, yet it is well that we \nconsider such beginning or ending as a way-mark in life, \na sort of stopping place, where we may pause to look \nback \xe2\x80\x94 where, in the midst of all our hurry and worry, \nwe may stop to be glad. For we are too rarely glad. \nThose things which would cause regret and sorrow seem \nto us far more numerous than those other things whereof \nwe should rejoice. But full to overflowing of happy hap- \npenings is our life, all the rounded weeks. \n\n\n\n2o8 BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. \n\nHappenings ? Call them not so. There is no chance \nwith Him to whom we owe all that we have and are. \nNothing merely happens, with God, therefore nothing \nmerely happens with us. We may use the word, if only \nwe use it with the right meaning underneath. And be- \ncause there is no happening \xe2\x80\x94 because all that comes to \nus of being and having is wisely foreordered \xe2\x80\x94 our grati- \ntude should go out perpetually. \n\n\n\nBLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. \n\n" Blessed are they that mourn ! " \n\nAh, many there be, then, blest ! \nNo day its beauties complete hast worn \n\nTill evening lighted the West. \nSome hour grows dark with woe \n\nThough bright soever the dawn, \nSome bitter regret each heart must know \n\nFor treasures too early gone. \n\nWe sorrow, alas ! how much ! \n\nOur eyes grow weary of tears, \nAs pain comes closer with cruel touch \n\nThrough all the pitiless years. \nWe sorrow, and weakly trust \n\nThrough sorrow we may grow strong, \nYet sorrowing pray to the Good and Just \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nu How long, O our Lord, how long ? " \n\n\n\nBLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. \n\nThere comes to our human cry \n\nResponse that is all divine, \nAnd whether we heed it, or pass it by, \n\n\' T is equally yours and mine. \nAs sweet as a psalm of peace \n\nIt echoes along the air, \nAnd grief has ever its full surcease \n\nIn this one answer to prayer. \n\nHow long shall we mourn ? Alas ! \n\nThe answer has naught of this ; \nThe night of our sorrow may quickly pass, \n\nSoon pain may be turned to bliss ; \nOr never may come the dawn, \n\nAnd peace to the throbbing breast, \nWe never may chance on the gladness gone,- \n\nBut they that do mourn are blest ! \n\nThis, this is the answer heard \n\nIn response to our human cry ; \nGod breathes no tenderer healing word \n\nTo hearts that must hear or die. \nThough sorrow has crushing weight, \n\nAnd leaves us bleeding and torn, \nReward for tears will be sweet and great, \n\nFor \'\'Blessed are they that mourn I" \n\n\n\n209 \n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN EXPRESSION. \n\n" There could have been no silent Redeemer, and be- \nlieve me, my friends, He can have no expressionless \nrepresentatives." \n\nSo said the preacher this morning, and to-night Ruth \ncalls up the saying, and we ponder it. \n\n"Months ago/\' she remarks, "we read on one of our \nSabbath Evenings a poem about \'The Silent Christ/ I \nshall always remember it. It spoke of the Saviour\'s boy- \nhood, and young manhood \xe2\x80\x94 of how He walked Judea\'s \nhills and gave no sign of the divinity within Him \xe2\x80\x94 and \nalways since then I have seen at times the picture that \npoem drew of my Redeemer\'s silent years. It must have \nt>een a true picture ; and yet the preacher did not declare \namiss. Christ was not silent after His redeeming mis- \nsion began. All His life then was just a wonderful \nspeech. How men listened to it ! How they are listen- \ning still ! " \n\n" But if His followers be not voiceless, " one asks, "do \nthey echo their Master\'s speech ? " \n\n"Not often enough," is her answer. How can they ? \nThey are not divine. They are very human. They \nspeak out of human difficulties, and human besetments, \nand the ten thousand surroundings that annoy and per- \nplex. They are fretted, and harassed, and borne down \n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN EXPRESSION. 21 1 \n\nTheir tongues are Jed astray, and they utter sad com- \nplaints. Their lives are warped by evil, and give sad \ntestimonies. But they do somehow give expression. \nThey are not dumb. Representing Christ before men, \nthey speak for Him or against Him, whether they will or \nno. And the world listens, moved for good or ill." \n\n" Would it not be better if we were voiceless for \nChrist, since we can not always give testimony in a wise \nway ? " \n\n" No. We must learn the wisdom of testifying. We \nmust seek to live right, that our expression may be help- \nful, and true to Christian faith. Ours is not a testimony \nof the lips \xe2\x80\x94 that amounts to little \xe2\x80\x94 but of the life, and \nthis amounts to much. Though we be dumb as statues, \nwe may speak so that many shall hear and heed. \xe2\x80\xa2 It was \nnot in His words alone, marvelous and profound as they \nwere, that Christ spoke loudest to those around Him. \nHe was eloquent for humanity in every act. No tributes \nof speech could have so tenderly sanctified human being, \nwith all its possibilities, as did He sanctify the same \nwherever He Walked and wrought. "\' \n"But we can not do as He did ? " \n" Certainly not. We can not raise the dead, \xe2\x80\x94 saving \ndead purposes to live nobly and unselfishly, and dead re- \nsolves to be pure of common sins ; we can not heal the \nsick, and bless the blind, and make a present heaven for \nthose of perfect faith. Yet we can imitate the Master\'s \nlife, and thus in some faint degree echo His abiding \nspeech. We can look at His modest denial of self, and \nbe more unselfish. We can see how He loved men, and \n\n\n\n2 12 BEFORE THE SERVICE. \n\nbe more forbearing. We can remember how He suffered \nfor the world, and be more patient as in the world we are \nmade to suffer. We can see how He trusted in the very \ndeeps of darkness, and be more trustful when clouds of \ntrouble come. " \n\nAh, yes. We can give a truer testimony that Christ \ndid well so to speak and die for us all. And men will \nnote it if we do, and will ask what such living speech \ncan mean. \n\n\n\nBEFORE THE SERVICE, \n\nDear Lord and Master, Thou who went \nApart from men so oft to pray, \n\nGive me a calm and sweet content, \n\nCommuning here with Thee to-day ! \n\nI leave the world of sin behind, \nI turn to Thee my eager face, \n\nAll that I want in Thee to find, \n\nWithin this hallowed, holy place. \n\nMy poverty its need forgets : \n\nBefore Thy will my longing fails ; \n\nThe mi&t of murmuring and regrets \nBeneath Thy loving smile exhales. \n\nMy sinful self no more I see ; \n\nForgot is all that I have been ; \n\n\n\nIN SIGHT OF THE CITY. 213 \n\nThe veil between my soul and Thee \nIs lifted, and I enter in \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWithin a holier than this \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe temple of Thy love divine \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd foretaste have of heavenly bliss, \n\nAnd know that endless joy is mine ! \n\n\n\nIN SIGHT OF THE CITY. \n\nThere is an old legend of a soldier who journeyed to- \nward Jerusalem, to make crusade against the heathen who \nheld it. His hopes were high, and he went on bravely \nday by day, till looking from a mountain-top at length \nhe saw the city\'s walls and gleaming roofs, and thought \nhis victory near at hand. Bnt then he sickened, and \nthere he died \xe2\x80\x94 died in sight of the glories he never \nshould enjoy. \n\nAre we not all journeying toward Jerusalem? The \nPilgrim\'s lion Gate is before us each. It must open, if \never we pass through into tbe beauties beyond. Like \nthe brave Crusader, we may die in sight of the city\'s \nwalls \xe2\x80\x94 may, yes, we must. It is given none to reach the \ngoal, except they yield up life. But we are more blessed \nin our pilgrimage than the soldier was in his. To him \ndeath came with stern pathos, at the end of all his hopes \nand aims. There was the city, gleaming in the cloudless \n\n\n\n2T4 LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED. \n\nsun, but he should not set his foot therein. All his toils \nhad been for naught. For us, however, the city will \nsmile a welcome, when we come in sight, and we shall \nknow if we be but wise in time, that the curtain of death \nlets down between it and us only to rise on brighter \nglories when the Glad Day dawns. \n\n\n\n"LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED!" \n\n" Let not your heart be troubled ! " \n\nNo sweeler words of cheer \nThe Master spake for their dear sake, \n\nWhose love was full of fear. \n" Lo, I am with you always ! " \n\nGlad thought of lonely ones ; \nThrough dreary way by mght and day, \n\nThe silvery sentence runs ! \n\n" Let not your heart be troubled ! " \n\nWhat troubleth thine, my friend ? \nDo you not know that Christ can go \n\nNo more to painful end ? \nDo yot not feel His comforting \n\nAmid your trials all ? \nNo bitter loss by cruel cross \n\nCan on your loving fall. \n\n" Let not your heart be troubled ! \'* \n\nThe springs of life are sweet \nIf you but drink at the fountain\'s brink \n\n\n\nSHALL HE BE SAVED 1 \n\nThat flows by Jesus\' feet. \nIn Him the doubt of being \n\nIts full assurance knows ; \nIn Him all fret and fear are met \n\nBy full and sweet repose. \n\n\n\n2I 5 \n\n\n\nSHALL HE BE SAVED? \n\nWe read the other day of a man buried in a well. \nThe well was deep and he could not extricate himself. \nThrough a small opening beside the pump he could be \ncommunicated with, and could secure a little fresh air, \nenough to prevent suffocation. How friends rallied to \nsave him ! Through all the neighborhood ran the cry of \ndanger to a life. They worked with a noble will \xe2\x80\x94 rela- \ntives, neighbors, and those to whom the victim was only \na man, in need of humanity\'s service. They called to \nhim encouragingly, they plied shovel and pick, they for- \ngot all else on that quiet Sabbath afternoon, but this \nman\'s great need and their great obligation. Again and \nagain, as his deliverance seemed at hand, did the earth \ncave in once more, and bury him more completely ; again \nand again did they bend all their energies to the gener- \nous task. They sank a pipe to him, and forced air down \nthrough it ; they built a curb, to prevent the earth from \npressing too heavily upon his head ; they toiled on, al. \n\n\n\n210 SHALL HE BE SAVED 1 \n\nmost without thought of tiring, putting more and more \nof plan and system into their work, vieing with each \nother in doing man\'s duty to man. \n\nThe day waned, but still they rested not. The mer- \nchant, the minister, the professional man, labored right \non through all those weary hours, side by side with the \nhumblest toiler from the ditch. Before the great stress \nof that awful time all class conditions vanished. They \nwere simply all men, loyal to a common manhood, and \nzealous in a common cause. Darkness came on, the \nlong hours of night wore away ; but yet they wavered \nnot. Morning dawned, and still was their brother in \nperil, discouraged, faint, perhaps dying. Only one or \ntwo could labor, as the end was neared, and these at the \nrisk of their own lives. All were exhausted with their \nwaiting and their work. Then the fire-bell rang out its \nwarning of danger. To property ? Ah, no ! to a hu- \nman life ! Fresh hands must toil that any hands might \nsave. \n\nAnd they did toil, as bravely as their fellows had done. \nThey toiled, and they won. A few hours more and the \nman was saved \xe2\x80\x94 weak, bruised, half-unconscious, but \nsaved ; and from all hearts went up a great throb of joy, \nwhile cheers of victory rent the air. \n\nDown in the pit of intemperance a man has fallen. \nHe is somebody\'s father, somebody\'s husband, some- \nbody\'s friend. Let the cry run through all the commu- \nnity. Let it set the bells of alarm to ringing ; let hu- \nmanity be aroused ! Shall he be saved ? Into deeper \nand more dangerous depths never man fell. If he get \n\n\n\nTHE LONELY LAND. \n\n\n\n217 \n\n\n\nout at all it must be by the help of friendly hands, and \nthe merey of God. Are your hands outstretched ? Are \nyou answering the call ? Will you forget self and selfish \ninterests, and toil freely for this brother in distress ? \xe2\x80\x94 will \nyou save a soul? " Unto the least of these, my little \nones/\' said the Master. His words were very broad, and \nthey reach over and include all duty, and all doing. \nWherever there is human need, there must humanity go \nto help and to save. They must answer for their sin, who \nwalk selfishly by on the other side. \n\n\n\nTHE LONELY LAND. \n\nA lonely land ! \n\nBeneath an Eastern sun \nIt sleeps in dreary peace till day is done. \nAlong the sandy reaches pilgrims go \nFrom lands far-lying, searching to and fro \nFor signs of that old life the ages knew \nWhen earth was young, and men their nurture drew \nSo free and pure it beat through cycles long \nIn patriarchal pulses firm and strong. \n\nA lonely land ! \n\nIts mountains calmly lift \nTheir faces sunward, but they see no thrift \nUpon their slopes, and hear no busy hum \n\n\n\n2l8 THE LONELY LAND. \n\nFrom valleys busy. To them seldom come, \n\nAs early came, the saintly devotees \n\nWith plaint and prayer their pain of soul to ease. \n\nThey sit in silence, in a silent land. \n\nAs if they waited some Divine command. \n\nA lonely land ! \n\nAs kingly and serene \nFair Tabor rises, looking o\'er the scene, \nThe dreamy hushes round about it thrill \nTo no glad being ; Esdraelon isf still \nAs if it never felt the heavy tread \nOf conquering legions ; all the past is dead \nTo present seeing ; on the dreary plains \nNo hint of fading Yesterday remains. \n\nA lonely land ! \n\nThe slope of Olivet \nIs haunted by a ghost of old regret, \nAnd in its silence ever seems to wait \nThe echo of some footfall missed of late ; \nThe paths that climb the hills of Nazareth \nAre dull and somber as the walks of death, \nAnd Bethlehem looks out of sober eyes \nOn all the peace that round about it lies. \n\nA lonely land ! \n\nUncertain Galilee \nIs always but a patient, lonely sea, \nIn storm or calm, and rests amid its hills \nRemembering ever, with a thought that thrills \nTo sweeter murmurs, touch of Godly feet, \nAnd words of Masterhood when fierce it beat, \nAnd sighing always for the men who came \nAnd swept its bosom in the Master\'s name. \n\n\n\nLOOKING BACKWARD. \n\nA lonely land ! \n\nFor out of it went Christ ! \nAnd time and need have never yet enticed \nHis glad returning. Waiting till He come, \nThe sweetest speech of vale and hill is dumb ; \nThe deepest breath of holiest Mount is stirred \nFor longing ear no more by healing word ; \nThe silent peace of all this silent land \nRe-echoes never a Divine command ! \n\nA lonely land ! \n\nAnd yet the solitudes \nAre full and prescient with a Life that broods \nAbove the present, as it pulsing went \nThroughout the past, \xe2\x80\x94 a Life that sweetly bent \nTo bear the world\'s great burden, bore it then \nFrom vale to mountain-top, and gave to men \nThe Life Immortal, from the Crown and Cross, \nAnd left them rich, though lonely for their loss ! \n\n\n\n219 \n\n\n\nLOOKING BACKWARD. \n\nAs we sit. here in the firelight, on this final evening of \nDecember, a fair face hangs before us on the wall. Be- \nhind us, looking down upon the paper as we write, is a \nportrait of dear old Whittier, the Quaker poet, who \nseems to be thinking of his vis-a-vis opposite, the sweet ; \nfair face with eyes turned sidewise into distance \xe2\x80\x94 as he \n\n\n\n2 20 LOOKING BACKWARD. \n\nthought years ago of another imaginative form, \xe2\x80\x94 as the \n\n11 Angel of the Backward Look ! " \nFor the ideal head that hangs above our desk is Retro- \nspection ; and the meditative womanhood it pictures is \nlooking backward, as so much meditative womanhood \nand manhood beside is looking backward, on the time \ngone by. Now while the year grows old, and we are so \nsoon to turn the last page of our liie-volume and read \n"Finis" again, what vision more fit than this retrospec- \ntive one ? \n\nWe have come a toilsome way, perhaps ? Then let us \nturn and gaze upon it, with hearts a little saddened for \nthe hurts it gave us, and the weariness it knew. We \nhave lost some tender things out of our days, may be? \nThen let us muse upon them in that sweet, sad silence \nwhich is too holy for speech. We have stumbled \nover the pitfalls of our own wild passions and desires, \nperchance? Then let us look back over failures, and \nsore bruises, and grow stronger amid regrets. \n\nThis angel of the Backward Look may be best com- \npany for every one, if only what she sees shall be wisely \nturned by us to our account. She is a Presence certain \nas the life within. She may hide herself, often, but she \nrarely quite forsakes. She walks with us all, day by day, \neven as the ideal face looks always away into the past, \nhere in the quiet of our peaceful home. She is meant \nto be \xe2\x80\x94 let us trust she is \xe2\x80\x94 an angel of blessing; if she \nwere to prove otherwise, some might come to think her \nalmost a fiend. \n\nMen should sometimes turn and look back, that thev \n\n\n\nAT EVEN-TIME. 221 \n\nmay find a clearer vision for the way before. These ret- \nrospective pauses in life are full of happy advantage, \xe2\x80\x94 or \nought to be. Our to-day should be wiser for our yester- \nday ; our future should prove richer for our past. We \nneed the recession of distance to judge wisely what we \nwere and what we did. Impulse cools, passion lapses, \nprejudice dies out, error sees less blinded, every faculty \nof being trims itself for truer use. Our present can not \nbe correctly known, until we put it from us, and view it \nretrospectively. There can be no perspective except as \nwe have light and shade, and these will appear to every- \none who looking backward dwells alike on sad and glad \nthings, seeing equal grace in each. \n\n\n\nAT EV\xc2\xa3N^ TIME. \n\nO Lord ! the way is dark and lone : \n\nI grope about, uncertain long ; \nNo gladness that my life has known \n\nFlows forth in happy thrills of song. \nMy sky with gloom is dull and drear ; \n\nNo stars smile out with beauty bright ; \nBut through the dark these words I hear \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" At evening time there shall be light ! \n\nMy midday sun has hid his face, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI can not see the glory round ; \nIf God should seek me in this place, \n\n\n\n222 AT EVEN-TIME. \n\nAnd make to me no sign or sound, \nI should not know His presence near, \n\nI should not wonder at the sight ; \nBut in this promise is my cheer \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" At evening time there shall be light ! n \n\nO Lord ! in weariness I pray \n\nThat Thou wilt come and walk with me, \nAs Thou of old didst walk the way \n\nWith shining face, that I may see ! \nOr give me patience, till appear \n\nSome cheering rays, to bide the night, \nAnd let me never cease to hear \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" At evening time there shall be light ! " \n\nLife\'s little day will reach its close ; \n\nThe dreary way will find an end ; \nTo worn and weary sweet repose \n\nWill come as comes the dearest friend. \nO Lord ! I pray Thee, grant that this \n\nShall be my song when comes the night, \nAnd day\'s dark gloom fades into bliss \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" \' T is evening time, and there is light ! " \n\n\n\n\nliilili \n\n\n\n\n020 185 619 A \n\n\n\nHramS \n\n\n\n'