■^1 tihraty of C^he 'theological ^tminavy PRINCETON . NEW JERSEY PRESENTED BY Dr. Earl A. pope Manson Professor of Bible Lafayette College BX 7233 .D84 T46 1899 Dwight, Timothy, 1828-1916. Thoughts of and for the inner 1 i f e Is t ^ •^ ^ ^ -(^ f^ I n ^ 1 \ \ -^ ^^ ^ ^^ i 4 « ^ ^ ^'^ 4^ £^..^ Cc \j TT^ THOUGHTS OF AND FOR THE INNER LIFE THOUGHTS OF AND FOR THE INNER LIFE SERMONS BY TIMOTHY DWIGHT PRESIDENT OF YALE UNIVERSITY STije ftitiflUom of ffioti is fajtthin LIBRARY OF f'HlNCtTON NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1899 Copyris^ht, 1809, By Dodd, Mead and Company. John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. TO 2ti)e 53rotf)£r])ooti of gale ^EnibErsttg, Graduates and Undergraduates^ I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME AS A TESTIMONIAL OF MY KINDLY FRIENDSHIP FOR THEM, AND OF MY INTEREST IN THEIR HIGHEST WELFARE. PREFACE. THE thoughts expressed in these sermons are, in accordance with the title which is given to the vohinie, thoughts of and for the inner life. Such sermons are perhaps less often presented to hearers and readers in these now passing years than those which deal with external work and ser- vice and with the great activities of the Church on behalf of men who are outside of its limits. The inner life, however, does not lose its interest, or its infinite worth, to the Christian mind. The author hopes that some thoughtful Christians may- find in what he has written a measure of useful suggestion that may repay them for the time which they chance to spend in looking over the pages of the volume. Thoughts are among the richest bless- ings which come to us in this world. Thoughts of the inner life are often richer than those of the outer Hfe. The idea of the Christian life, which, in large measure at least, underlies the suggestions of the sermons, is that of a personal fellowship, a Divine- human friendship, if we may use the term, between the believer and Christ. This is the Johannean idea, as set before us in the Fourth Gospel and viii PREFACE the First Epistle, and is, to the mind of the writer of these discourses, one of the most beautiful and inspiring of all the thoughts presented to us in the New Testament. The sermons have, most of them, been preached in the Chapel of Yale University to the audiences assembled there from time to time. Two or three of them have within themselves, as they are now printed, the evidences, very strongly marked, of their special purpose in relation to a company of young College men. Two or three others bear in them indications that they were written with refer- ence to persons in a different sphere of life, or of a more advanced age. These things, however, are merely incidental, and, it is believed, will in no case lessen the interest or helpfulness — if, indeed, there be anything of this character pertaining to them — which they may have for any reader. The volume now goes forth whithersoever it will — or whithersoever it may. May it bear a message of peace and of love in itself. TIMOTHY DWIGHT. Yale University, April, 1899. CONTENTS. Page I. The Unnamed Disciple i - II. Each Man's Life a Plan of God 19 III. Thou shalt know hereafter 32 IV. What Good Thing shall I do 48 V. The Heavenly Vision 64 VI. In Nothing be Anxious 80 VII. The True Life of Man not in his Possessions 94 VIII. The Following of Christ 108 IX. Our Citizenship in Heaven 121 X. For my Sake 134 XL The True Seer 150 XII. The Transformation of Character . . . 166 XIII. Love is the Fulfilling of the Law . . . 182 XIV. Likeness to Christ the Beginning and End OF our Sonship to God 198 XV. The Peace of Christ a Ruling Power . . 212 XVI. The Law of Liberty 228 XVII. The Passing of Life 242 XVIII. The Things that remain 258- XIX. The Power of Personal Life 275 XX. The Gifts and Lessons of the Years . . . 290 THE UNNAMED DISCIPLE Otie of the two that heard John speak, attd followed Jesus, was Andrew., Simon Peter's brother. — John i. 40. THE words of this verse form a part of a brief story from which as a centre or starting-point the entire Gospel which the Church ascribes to the Apostle John moves toward the fulfilment of its pur- pose. The story tells of two disciples of John the Baptist, who were pointed by him to Jesus as the Son of God. They followed Jesus, and at His invitation spent two hours with Him at the place of His temporary sojourning. In that brief interview they heard and saw enough to strengthen in their minds the conviction that He was, indeed, what the prophet-teacher had testified concerning Him, and at its close they returned to their own lodgings. This is all that the narrative relates ; but the writer adds the statement, that one of the two was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother. Of the other he says nothing which may determine his personality. What does the verse, as thus connected with the story, — what does the story, as we think of the two young men, suggest to us? It is certainly interesting to notice, that, so far as the Gospels give us any account of the ministry of THOUGHTS OF AND FOR Jesus, these two young men were the first ones who became His disciples. As that Jewish day closed at six o'clock in the evening, and their two hours' conversation came to its end, they constituted the company of believers — the Christian Church. What was their personal condition? How much did they know? We cannot suppose that they had made any considerable progress in the understanding of the great spiritual truths which Jesus had come to reveal. It was long after this that they were so undeveloped and uncomprehending as to awaken His astonishment at their slowness of heart to believe. It was even at the very latest hour of His life with them, that they continued to cherish the thought of a temporal kingdom, and were filled not only with sorrow, but with wonder and disappoint- ment of their hopes, when His departure from them to the heavenly world was revealed as a thing of the immediate and certain future. They could have heard but little from Him in those short hours — only enough to give them some impression of His personality and some passing glimpse into the depths of His inner life. But they certainly saw for themselves — this the narrative makes abundantly clear to us — that which caused the declaration of John the Baptist to become a living reality to their own consciousness. He had said to them, the day before, that a certain sign had been made known to him, and that he had been told that, when that sign should be manifested with reference to one among the number of those who were coming to him for his baptism, he could recognise by means of it the 2 THE INNER LIFE Messiah, to prepare whose way was his appointed mission ; — and he had added the statement that, after a time, he had seen the sign appear as this man was baptised. The interview with Jesus had led them to beheve that John was right, and that the Divine Spirit was with this extraordinary man. But this was probably the sum of the impression produced upon them. What the wonderful power was which lay within His mind and heart, they probably did not appreciate in any measure; nor did they know, if they put themselves under His guidance, to what He would lead them. We may believe, also, that the faith which they had was not secure against all dangers of the future. They could scarcely, in those two hours, have gained a founda- tion for their living, in whose security they could themselves have had entire confidence. They had, however, made a beginning, and it was a peace- ful one for their hearts. There are some things very instructive in their progress from that hour onwards. One of these is, that they came to Jesus again, the next day, and sought to learn more of what He might have to tell them. They went with Him to Cana, where they saw the great miracle — perhaps to Jerusalem, where He first entered pubHcly upon His office. They suffered themselves to be won by His words and teachings, and to open their hearts to receive more and more. They did not give way to doubts or questionings which might naturally have arisen, but seeing in Him from the outset a helpful 3 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR friend, they trusted and waited. A little while after- wards, they joined Him for their life's work, and lived in His society. They entered more and more fully into His living, and tried more and more com- pletely to transfer the secret of that living to their own souls. They found, as they moved onward, that life became richer and deeper, broader and more far-reaching, as they did this. In a wonderful way, they discovered themselves to be ready to give up all things for His sake. Still more wonderfully — when the years had passed and, with them, He had gone into the unseen — they learned that, in His absence. He was nearer and more to them than He had been even in His personal presence. As they looked back from the time near the end of their earthly career, they saw that the progress had been unbroken and uninterrupted, and they believed, as sincerely as men ever believe anything — they knew, with as much confidence as men ever know anything — that they had made no mistake in following the impulses of that hour of their early manhood. And then they died, in a calm, sweet, joyful hope of some- thing better — of a reunion with the Friend whom they had learned to love, and of being like Him when they should see Him again. Another thing is, that the two — so far as we get any knowledge of them from the Gospels and in their subsequent career — were very different men. Andrew seems, probably, to have been a solid, earnest, yet ordinary character ; a man to be trusted and respected, but not prominent like his brother, 4 THE INNER LIFE Simon Peter. He was one of the two. The other was the writer of the Fourth Gospel and the one who tells this opening story. The Christian Church, in all the ages, has supposed him to be the Apostle John. But he gives himself no name. The book, however, reveals to us much of what he was and brings us into a knowledge of his inner life. He was, evidently, a man who dwelt largely in the region of that inner life. He was contemplative, introvertive, rich and deep in his thoughts ; finding his delight in his own meditations ; watchful of the workings of truth in his individual character ; with a singular capacity for a pure friendship ; having deep emotions ; fitted to teach the lessons of holy love ; able to realise in himself, more than most men, the highest ideal of the soul. He was worthy to be the disciple whom Jesus loved. But, notwithstanding the wide difference, what they began to learn at that first meeting with Jesus accomplished the same result for the two. It be- came the origin of and starting-point for the peculiar growth of character which they knew in their ex- perience afterwards. It showed the same marvel- lous power to work along the lines of Andrew's life, which it manifested in the life of his companion. It gradually made him more earnest, more trustworthy, more devoted to good works, more ready to live , for others, more confident that life belongs to the { future rather than the present. If he had anything ' of Peter's character and Peter's experience, — if he resembled, even though with less of the same quali- ties, his brother, as he may well have done, — he 5 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR found his earnestness and his impulses coming con- stantly under the controlling influences of a new power, and his life glorified by an ennobling princi- ple. What it did for his associate the following narrative tells too plainly, and the world knows too well, to require it to be set forth anew. But it moved in the region of his emotions, his impulses, his love, his thoughtfulness, his rich, calm living, as if it were adapted only to natures like his. It took hold upon the ardor of his fiery passions, which would, at the first, have called down fire from heaven upon those who refused his message, and made the latest and often-repeated exhortation of his closing years, which he addressed to every Christian believer within his influence, to be in the words, Little children, love one another. It pene- trated within the ambitious feeling of the earlier manhood, whose desire and demand were for the highest places in the new kingdom, and, by its grad- ual yet silent energy, so transformed it into a loftier sentiment that, half a century afterward, he was not willing even to name himself in his own writing. He was gladly ready to leave the world without the knowledge of the author of the beautiful story which he had to tell, if so be that it would only believe in Him of whose kingdom and power and love the story was designed to be full. We can think of the two, at the end, and so of Peter and James, of Nathanael and Philip, who came to Jesus immediately afterward, as each one of them feeling in his own soul and saying to himself, that the energising force gained on that first day, which 6 THE INNER LIFE had wrought such a change in character as the years moved on, could have been fitted for no other hfe so perfectly as for his own, — and wondering, as we sometimes do when we are thinking, in the joy of our own experience, of the best and truest things of life, such as friendship, love, and home, whether they can be to any other what they are to us. But that they are to every one what they are to us — only with a richer gift as the nature, which is open to receive it, is richer and deeper — is the very proof that they arc the truest and best things in our living. And so that friendship with Jesus was the most real of all things to each one of that company while they lived, and when they died. Another thing, which we may notice, is, that the confidence of the two men in the reality of the friendship and its life-giving force was the same, and that all their life's progress, so far as their belief in what Jesus taught them was concerned, was a very quiet and restful one. They had stormy conflicts in their lives, as all men have ; as all men engaged in a good cause in such an age most peculiarly must have had. They were exposed to the doubtings and opposition of enemies to their faith. They may, moreover, have seen many difficulties in the system of doctrine to which they were committed, whose full solution must be waited for until some coming time or clearer day. They certainly had a terrible trial of their belief when they saw all the old ideas derived from their early education overthrown by the crucifixion of the Messiah. They may, no 7 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR doubt, have been despondent; and have questioned the reaHty of their own behef or love sometimes. But it is manifest that, when they retired in thought into that central place in their minds where their faith in Christ and His teaching dwelt, they were perfectly peaceful. Whether their faith was weaker or stronger ; whether it was as at the first hour, or at the last; it was /;/ itself calm and conscious of its own foundation. They did not have to argue for it with themselves, or strengthen it by contending against other systems of belief, or spend their time, on their own behalf, in supporting it and undertak- ing laborious defences of it, or encourage their hearts against the dangers of its possible failure by making a continual outcry about it of any sort. So far as it existed in their hearts, the wonderful fact about it was, that it was something /^r tJicm to rest upon, — and not something which needed, _/>~ privilege of rendering service to another, who on his part has done everything for us. The man, with the new revelation in his soul, finds himself joyous in his doing of what he is asked to do, where he had been full of unwillingness, or rebellious as against superior power. The whole system under which he lives puts on a new appearance to his view. It is arranged in all its parts, and in its every demand upon him, for the best and truest development of his personal life. The rules are simply the method of growth formulated in words. 233 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR Obedience to them is the means of reaching the end. It is that by which the soul takes to itself the living forces and makes them effective. It is that which brings the imperfect, yet growing life into union with the perfect life — the life of man with the life of God, — and into such union that the one can be changed, steadily and rapidly, into the likeness of the other. The spirit which enters the man is no longer a spirit of bondage. It is a spirit of sonship. The whole relation is as of a son to a father — and this, not a father beset with the earthly weakness, who loses himself, ever and anon, in wilful assertion of his own will or in arbitrary exercise of authority, but a father, who realises in himself, and in his relation to his son, all the teach- ings of wisdom, and gentleness, and affection, which the long years give as they pass. The spirit of sonship is the spirit of freedom when the fatherhood is such as this, and when the sonship answers on its part to the fatherhood on its part. What is the law between the two? Surely it is the law of liberty. There is no bondage, and never has been since the two came to know and understand each other. The life is freedom, and the rule of the life is freedom's rule. It was a great thing for one who had lived under the old system, and had been so strict an observer of it in its requirements as a legal system, to receive into his mind such a revelation as this. But the teaching of Jesus had made the light clear; and the darkness had passed away. The law meant ^ liberty — not liberty without law or against law, 234 THE INNER LIFE but liberty working out the fulness of free and perfect life, in union with the Divine Father's life, through the law that is essential to its own develop- ment. This was the wonder and the glory of the Christian revelation. The rules of the Divine life in the soul of man were the rules pertaining to the orderly and natural movement of that life ; and the natural movement is of necessity a free movement. But the free movement in this true life is inspired by love, and when this enters there is forgetfulness of all except its promptings. These promptings are to fulness of service, to largeness of obedience, to the fulfilment of every demand as in devotion to a friend and benefactor and father, to the giving of all to one who has given all, to the giving of the self to Him who has given Himself. The spirit of freedom, not of bondage, is the spirit of the Chris- tian system. Its law is the law of liberty — the law by which the son of the Divine Father freely guides his life and makes it like the Father's life. The third expression which may arrest our atten- tion in the writer's verses is this : He that lookcth into the perfect law, and so continiicth. The word here used is a peculiar one which denotes a very intent and careful examination. The man is con- ceived of as looking thus intently into the Christian rule of life and conduct ; and as doing so — not like the man who beholds his face in a mirror and passes on his way forgetful of what he is, but with continuous earnestness. Such looking the writer urges as essential. The necessity of it he appre- 235 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR ciated, as we may not doubt, because of the revela- tion of the new system, which he had received, as a perfect law of liberty. Viewing the old law as it was viewed in the earlier days, the man who would conform his life to it must, as it would seem, have looked into it with no passing or careless look. It had rules for every day and every action, and the man must know them and know whether he was fully conforming to them, if he would discover peace for himself. But here was a new system, involving the freedom of sonship. Its animating and governing principle was love. The love was to be inspired by a love which had gone before and given all blessing. This love-principle, having its root and foundation in the Divine love, was to penetrate every rule, impel every action, control every feeling, stir the life in every part. It was to be the working force that was always in operation. It was to renew the man on all sides, and in every department of his character and his soul. In the system and its teachings the ideal of the life was presented, and many rules and suggestions for its realisation were set forth. The work of securing for himself the realisation was left to the man. What could be more essential to the end to be attained than the one thing to which the writer refers? Place yourself before the ideal life, and think of your own relation to it. You must see it not only once for yourself, and then move on your way. You must look at it, not as a beautiful thing apart from yourself, and after a little forget what it is, and what you are. It is set before you as a 236 THE INNER LIFE thing to be studied as you study nothing else. It is a life, with its reahties and its rules. It is a life to be passed into your life through your turning your life into its likeness. Its rules are to be fol- , lowed, not in blind obedience, but in the freedom of a love that is inspired by love. It is to be devel- oped on every side, through all action and feeling, from one day to another. It is to be brought to its completeness through the union of your soul in conscious fellowship with Christ who revealed the ideal. No chance looking can give you the bless- ing. The man who beholds his natural face in a mirror may go his way, and straightway forget what manner of man he was, and no loss may be suffered or growth of manhood be prevented. But the beholding of the life for the soul is a different matter, wherein the forgetfulness of the manner of man that one is in comparison of the true soul-life is fatal to the great result that is needed. The thought must be ever on what the man is and on what the ideal would make him, and so the look must be continuously and intently on the word of the Divine message which is the perfect law. The writer now presents to us the close relation between the looking into the law, after this manner, and the doing of it. His words are striking words: He that looketh into the perfect law and so con- tinueth, ^^?;/^ — as if, of necessity, in the very nature of the case — not a hearer that forgetteth, but a doer that worketh. The doing, as contrasted with hearing and then forgetting, is assumed in the very 237 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR form of the sentence as essentially and vitally con- nected with the intent and continuous looking. Christianity, in its teaching and its exhortations, rests, and fitly may rest upon this assumption. It knows full well that a man can hear its message of life, or the proclamation of its demands, and can for the moment even be impressed in his mind, and yet can go away from the hearing with no abiding thought of the deep significance of the word for himself. He can forget what he has heard, and forget what manner of man he is. The beholding himself as in a mirror is a passing thing, and the remembrance of it is lost. But it knows also, and with equal assurance and certainty, that if the man can be brought to study the law of life — the law of liberty and love for the free and freely developing life of loving service — as he does who looks intently into some place where there is hidden treasure, or some mystery whose solution is of deepest import, the result will be and must be the doing of what the law asks for. Intent- ness of looking indicates and proves earnestness of purpose. When the intentness is in the sphere of character, the earnestness naturally and even of necessity moves into effort. The man is aroused to action with reference to manhood. The knowl- edge of what manhood is impels at once to working for it. Thoughtlessness makes forgetfulness. But when the thoughtlessness has given way to thought, and the chance looking to the continuous, serious, earnest looking, a new spirit takes control. The hearer becomes a doer ; and the doer, a doer that 238 THE INNER LIFE vvorketh to the attainmentof an end which is deemed vital to the soul. This is the way in which genuine character grows and develops itself. It is so in every department of our living. Awaken the man to the intent contemplation of the ideal in any line, and to the laws pertaining to it, and which it imposes, and you have begun the work of the making of the man — a work which will surely move onward towards completeness, if the awakening is contin- uous. It is true, most of all, in the moral and spirit- ual sphere, for here is the essential life of the man. It is to the end of the impression of the power of this ideal on the soul, as we may believe, that Chris- tianity, in its message, dwells so largely on the per- sonality of Jesus, and stirs men by its every appeal to look towards Him. To the same end it represents His life everywhere, according to the reality of it, as moving freely and lovingly under the perfect law of liberty. Fix your thought upon Him, it says, as a manly man studies and thinks upon the ideal set before him. Place your life beside His in compar- ison with His. See there and then, with the seeing of the inmost soul, what manner of man He was, and what you ought to be and may be. Abide there in the soul's thinking, as with the ever-con- tinuing look of intentness. With this word, it al- most leaves you to yourself for all the rest, for it knows that, as you thus look, you will cease to be a hearer only of the message, and will become a doer of the law, fulfilling its requirements and carry- ing the results of your working into character. If it can only move the soul by its appeal ; if it can 239 V V. THOUGHTS OF AND FOR lead it to put itself in the right place and the right attitude, it trusts the future with confidence. And then it adds for the soul its final word, of assurance and promise: This man shall be blessed in his doing. The writer had learned, as he wrote these words, the deep thought of the Christian teaching. It is only when we stand apart with our souls unmoved by the contemplation of the ideal, — only when we are forgetful hearers, like the one who beholds his natural face in a mirror and loses all thought or care as to what he is, that the law of Christian living seems a law of bondage. It mani- fests itself thus to our vision simply because our souls are not stirred to activity for the soul's true well-being. But when we look into the law, and by looking intently see in it the law of liberty and of perfectness for the soul's life, and when our looking changes, as it were by a wonderful transformation, into doing and working, a new experience comes to us. It is the experience of the Christian's career. What is it? It is the experience not of hope merely, but of realisation. The blessing is not only a thing which we work for through the earthly course, patiently waiting for it, while we are ever attracted by the lovely vision of it as a future good. It is a present reality, known day by day, and in all the years, which abides in the doing, and pertains to it. The law of free service always has such blessing. Its demands come to us as calls upon our love for a loving friend. We answer them by our doing and working, as the sweet privilege of life. We grow in 240 THE INNER LIFE love, in beautiful character, in happy consciousness of right and blessed life, in assurance that the ideal is forming itself in our souls, in all that is most precious and delightful within ourselves, as we thus answer them. The inner life of the man becomes more and more a blessing to himself, and he moves on toward and into the future, knowing that greater and better things are awaiting him as he himself becomes better and greater. The Christian teaching — the word of its mes- sage — the law of its free, happy, grand life, is a wonderful teaching and word and law. In the words of this writer the summons comes to you — and how reasonably and fitly — to look into it, and to make your lives conform to the ideal which it sets before you. i6 241 XVII THE PASSING OF LIFE For what is your life ? It is even a vapour that appeareth for a little time, atid then vanisheth away. — James iv. 14. I PLACE this question of the sacred writer at the beginning of what I would say at this time — having it in my thought to address my words to a company of educated young men in a university — not for the purpose of unfolding directly the answer which he gives to it, but rather because, in connec- tion with that answer, it appears more indirectly, to offer the opportunity of gathering together a few thoughts upon the general subject of our passing life. The answer of the sacred writer, indeed, when regarded in itself, is one which almost from the necessity of the case loses its force in great measure to the thought of such a company. The shortness of the time appointed for us in this world is a sub- ject which can scarcely make a very deep impression upon our minds when, in the fulness of youthful and manly vigour, we are just preparing for or commenc- ing our work for ourselves. The way looks long before us, as we view it from the starting-point. How can we believe that we shall soon reach the end? We shall not reach the end soon. There are thirty or forty or fifty years before us, — and that 242 THE INNER LIFE is not soon. The man who lias passed through those fifty years may fitly say, if he will, that life vanishes, for everything vanishes at last. But we have not passed through them. We are at the beginning, when all things are beautiful and hopeful. God did not mean, surely, that we should call life a vapour, and we cannot do so, at least till the realisa- tion of the future has taught us the lesson which, as yet, we do not more than half believe it has to teach us. Such, in substance, is what every young man says to himself, and what the members of every company of youthful friends say to each other, when their thoughts are arrested for the moment by this ques- tion of life. The ending and the beginning do not easily meet together. There are, however, some things so closely connected with that constant pass- ing away of the years which is to every reflecting mind an appreciated fact, that we may urge them upon those who look forward, as well as upon those who look backward. If not all within the realm of experience to-day, they are, at least, pressing upon us from the immediate future, and must be allowed their influence upon our minds even now, if we are to guide our course by great principles or by the great truths of our being. Let me ask you, then, to call to your thought the , fact, that life is always passing out of the present into the future. In one sense, life is wholly within the present, for the future is uncertain, and the past is gone from us. It is what we have and enjoy and 243 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR are, at this hour, that makes up our existence. We may have been anything in the time gone by, and it matters not, except as the results of that former time have worked out our present character and con- dition, or as memory has brought into the present the joy or sorrow which it then gathered into itself; while, as for to-morrow, it is an unknown season, which can never be ours until it is no longer to-mor- row, but to-day. This is the view of life which lin- gers with us, in general, through all the earlier period of our career ; and it is for us all one of the kindnesses of the Providential ordering, that the preparatory season does thus seem to limit itself to itself, so that no anxiety or fear mingles with the gladness of life's morning. But this is not the truest view, nor is it the one which can abide the progress of time and the changes of the world. You come, my friend, to the hour when all the preparation is completed, — when the implements of your service have been given you, and you are bidden to go forth and do your appointed work ; — and then, the present begins to seem to you almost as nothing. It is but a moment. It vanishes away into the future. You think of it only as it helps you onward towards that future, to which all your labours and hopes are pointing; in which your life centres and has its being. And thus it will be, more and more, just accord- ing to the nobleness of your aims or the largeness of your desires and plans. While you see the days running by you with so little done, and yet the work opening more widely before you with so much to 244 THE IN'NER LIFE do — the attainments and progress already made appearing to your thought the smaller, just in pro- portion, perchance, as they appear to others, or even are in reality, the greater — you will be always pressing on, laying hold upon the things before, and finding yourself, in your dissatisfaction with the pres- ent, waiting most impatiently for that coming period which, in its turn, must lengthen and enlarge itself continually in order to fill the deep wants of your soul. The mind, in this way, alters its judgment of things completely as it comes to its mature reflection, and it is compelled to do so, because it sees that each to-day is only the time of fitting itself for each to-morrow, — the season of toil or warfare, while life passes out of this into the season of rest or victory. But if all this is true, there is nothing necessarily of the brevity of life in it, nor is there anything which it is unnatural for us to think of when all is hopeful. There is, however, a suggestion that may have an all-important bearing upon our course of action in the world. Life is vanishing out of the present into the future now, and it always will be. What is the lesson? Is it not, that the future is the -, most certain and real part of our existence? Is it not, that the work of the soul for itself within the present is never accomplished, except as it takes hold upon the future and prepares for it? Surely, it would seem that this cannot be denied, for it is the very principle on which men are working every- where around us — only that they limit their vision. You, my friend, for example, use all your energy willingly in your chosen life's work, with no thought 245 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR of a full reward until perhaps the last ten years of the forty or fifty, to which you look forward, shall have begun ; and if some one tells you that those years may never come, you give no heed to what he says — you do not even half believe in the possibility of its truth — because you know that your highest and best life is not here, but there. You are preparing for something in the distance before you, and you will not, for a moment, hinder your labours by ad- mitting the thought that you may die before you reach it. And as it seems to me, you are in one sense, perhaps in the highest sense, right in this. Your mistake is not so much in thinking that you have so many years awaiting you, as it is in thinking that you have so few. It is not so much in forgetting your liability to fall in death before the way is half- accomplished, as it is in suffering yourself to imagine that death, whenever it comes, is anything more than a point in your history — an event which changes, indeed, the sphere, but not the fact, nor the greatest wants, of your existence. We grant you, then, the longest life — the whole of the half-century, even, that lies between you and the appointed boundary. We grant you that it is a long period, even as it seems to yourself. But that is not all the future, nor all your future. There are years beyond that. You are just as sure of sixty years or of a hundred, as you are of fifty ; and you are absolutely certain of both. At some time within the hundred years, your sphere of activity will change. But that will not make the time that 246 THE IiVNEk LIFE follows of less value to you — far from It Rather, as to-morrow is more real and valuable than to-day, so the later period must ever rise to the rightly- thinking mind, into an importance which vastly out- weighs the possibilities of the earlier one. This is the law of our being; a law which no reasonable man among us ever thinks of disregarding in his plan of living for this world, and a law which it is no more reasonable to disregard for any part of the future, so long as, whatever may be its dwelling- place, the soul remains itself. I am speaking now, especially, of what you are doing for yourself, my friend. Why direct every- thing with so much care — why, as you are just passing forth into life, lay every plan, as you are doing, with so much thoughtfulness and so bright visions of hope, with reference to the ten or twenty years which shall close the nexthalf-century of your existence, and then give not a moment's reflection, or the smallest part of your wisdom, to the ten or twenty years that begin the following half-century ? And this is all the difference between the two periods, when we consider the subject as we ought. Life is not going to contradict itself, when you are sixty years of age. It is not going to bring in the fulness of success then, and so remain a harvest- time of joy for you until it suddenly ceases at seventy. No : — it will be passing out of the present into the future then, as truly and as con- stantly as it docs now. Otherwise, it is nothing but a mockery. Otherwise, our largest desires and hopes and aspirations arc to meet disappointment, and 247 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR disappointment only. God cannot thus deceive the nature that He has Himself made. The Gospel comes to us at this hour, then, and here is its first message : — Be ready, at every mo- ment, for the future, and think of the remoter future, as well as the nearer one. It tells us also, that, in view of our present thought, death is nothing ; — and as the man who labours with no care reaching beyond the night that closes these daylight hours is degrading his humanity to the level of the beasts that perish, so every one who limits his preparation for the future by the bounds of threescore years and ten, because, forsooth, the darkness of death is full of doubt or mystery, is forgetful of his soul's high- est welfare and of the glorious birthright of his immortality. Let me ask you to call to your thought, again, % the fact that life is always passing out of the seen into the unseen. To the young child there is noth- ing, as it were, beyond what is seen. He lives among outward things, and fulfils the divine ap- pointment in that he does do. But there is another destiny for those who have already begun the labours of their career in the world. They also are in the midst of outward things, but these are growing — ■ gradually, it may be, but yet constantly — less and less to be their life. I do not mean that multitudes of persons may not go on from the commencement of their course to its close almost like children in this regard, or that multitudes more may not fail ever to look so earnestly at those things which in 248 THE INNER LIFE the Scriptures are called unseen, as to lay hold upon the eternal blessings. But I speak of the tendency — of the great fact alone, which is realised, in greater or less degree, in the experience of all thoughtful persons as they move onward in their course. The opening of mature years brings with it the necessity of working and the burden of re- sponsibility. A man is obliged to force his way into the great company who are carrying forward the world's affairs, and to achieve for himself success in his chosen line. The carelessness of the past is over now, while the reality of the present and the future breaks in more and more impressively upon the soul. Now there is something in this very work of life which drives one in upon himself, to com- mune there with all that he knows of the spiritual world. Your work, my brother, does not merely go from yourself outward and thus terminate upon it- self; but it returns from without inward also, so that you are growing up in your own inner life con- tinually by means of all that you are doing. And to your serious thought, this will ever be the truest, greatest result of your working, so far as you are concerned in yourself alone. Yes, you may enter on your career with whatever plans you please — with all your efforts directed towards the attainment of reputation, or wealth, or any of the thousand ob- jects of human desire that are at all worthy of an in- telligent man, — and in the earnest pursuit of these, you may throw yourself purposely into the midst of external things, into the hurry and business of the world around you ; but you cannot escape the ef- 249 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR feet of whieh I am speaking. There will be hours — now and then at least, if not always — when you will realise it. Life — whether we will it or not — becomes sober. Life becomes thoughtful. Life, if I may so say, becomes self-contemplative, very rapidly, as we go on in it ; and if you have any life that is deserving of the name at all — so that you are not a mere pleasure-hunter, or liver for the day only — you will see that your work is most unreal in itself, and most real in its influence within you. But the time will only suffer me thus to hint at this thought. It will impress itself more deeply upon us when we think of the responsibility and anxiety of life's work. The continual demand that is made upon the soul for fortitude and energy — no matter what may be the dangers, or disappointments, or defeats, which are met with in the struggle of the world — will force every man, even the strongest hearted, to retire often and look after the sources of new power. As such a man first becomes per- suaded of his own weakness, indeed, he may begin to search for these sources without himself, among the fellow-workers around him. But the search will soon cease ; or, if it be resumed from time to time, as the delusion of our life lingers with him, it will show itself to be fruitless where the deepest wants of the soul need to be supplied. No one human mind can ever fully enter into the experience of another, and the truth, that it cannot, men learn more thoroughly as the years move forward. What remains for the man then, but to go within himself? And when he has gone within, what remains for him 250 THE INNER LIFE there? Nothing, but cither to strive to gather up his own energies anew, which have already failed him once, or many times, or to turn toward the powers of the spiritual realm. Let him, now, take whichever of these two courses he will, life has com- pelled him, in the hour of his greatest emergency, to abandon the external altogether. Life has passed, for that hour at least, from the seen to the unseen. But with the earnest and thoughtful soul, which is faithful to itself, the effort will not always be — no, it will be less and less — to waken up its own un- aided strength, as its only resource. It will realise that its need is of a new power, higher than its own, and therefore it will try to hold communion with that which rules in the unseen world, and to search more deeply into the knowledge of that world, until it comes to feel and know that its own real existence is there. I do not say, let me repeat again, that all this is true, in its fulness, in the case of every mind. The blindness and sluggishness and passions of our humanity keep many from the truth forever. But I do say that such is the tendency — such is the les- son of the years — and you and I will be learning the lesson as we go forward towards the end, even though we may die, perchance, long before we have learned it thoroughly or received the richness of its Divine gift to the soul. It is a universal fact, also, that we do not move far beyond the opening of mature life, before we are called to endure the separations and sorrows of this world. The joyousness with which even the lightest-hearted among you, my young friends, may 251 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR enter on the ten years immediately before you — strong as you are in the confidence of warm friend- ships, and filled as you are with the bright vision of the future — will find itself, surely it will, over- clouded somewhat, before the ten years are ended. It is better, no doubt, not to think about it much, as yet. It will be time enough for that, when it comes. But, even now, I ask you to bear it in mind that, when it does come, you will know the fact within yourself. If you are called, for example, a few years hence to separate from one of your tried friends, as he is summoned into the eternal world, you will find that a part of your life is gone with him ; and, if you are to each other what you think you are to-day, that part of your life will never return from that world, any more than he will. It will have passed, once for all, from the seen to the unseen. Or if, in your per- sonal experience, you find the struggle of the world, even in its beginnings, harder for you than you had pictured it in your happy dreamings, or bearing with itself a suggestion, or perchance a threatening, of possible failure as to your largest hopes, a similar lesson will come to you — only it will be a lesson, not from the region of the unseen into which an- other has entered, but from that unseen region where the deepest thoughts and the central life of your own manhood have their abiding-place. But not only with sorrows or trials like these ; so it is with every separation, with every disappoint- ment, with everything that brings on darkness instead of light. There is a sort of distinct and independent life in these things, which runs on 252 THE INNER LIFE parallel with our outward work. The world knows nothing of it. It is wholly of and within our souls, and it makes us leave the outward behind us, because it leaves the outward behind itself. The very advancing years, also, tell the same story for themselves, because they are bearing us continually nearer to the unseen world. Life may not be brief to you now, because you have fifty years before you ; but it will begin to grow briefer to your view after a little while, and just in propor- tion as it does so, will be the impressiveness of the thought that the unseen life is the real one. I do not ask you to realise this fully now — but the Gospel message to you, as you form your plans of living and go forth into the world, is : Do not deceive yourself with regard to the future : it no more constantly brings the unseen into the seen, than it bears the seen into the unseen. In presenting the subject thus far, I have been led to allude to our active work in its bear- ing upon ourselves. Let me now ask you once more — my final thought — to call to your remem- brance that, so far as our work in other respects is concerned, life is always passing out of self into t]ie world. There is a deception which we all practise upon ourselves, in this regard. Not only at the outset of our career, but long afterward, we per- suade our souls that the work which we have under- taken has a completeness in itself; and we press on with all earnestness, as if the whole of it centred in the few years of our sojourning on earth. But if 253 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR our life is good for anything, — not given to mere personal enjoyment, — this is very far from being the fact. When we think of it rightly, you and I have not commenced anything, nor shall we finish anything. No, we simply take up an unfinished work, which some one else who went before us left for us to do and, after a season, we shall leave it, still unfinished, for some one else to take up anew, who shall follow after us. That is all. I may draw an illustration from the place in which we are educated. The person who finds his appointed sphere for a life-work in a University may be said to have two great things — at least, among others — assigned to him to do : — namely, to maintain, in common with those around him, the life of the institution, and to make all possible pro- gress in the department of learning to which he devotes himself. Now, in the former of these two things, he may find every day requiring new efforts or bringing new cares; he may become absorbed in devotion to his work, and may go on with ever- increasing energy and enthusiasm to the latest hour. But, as he passes away from his individual earthly life, the life of the University moves steadily on beyond him. His work enters into its future, and mingles there with what went before and what fol- lows after, until its relation to him may be alto- gether lost sight of, and forgotten. Thus it is, also, with the other portion of his duty, — even more clearly still, if that be possible. What has he done there, but advance his own science beyond the point where he received it, so that he opens to the future 254 THE INNER LIFE generation a wider vision and a larger field ? So far from a completeness within his lifetime, it had its beginning centuries ago, perchance, and may endure for centuries upon centuries to come. We, however, are but an example of mankind around us. The truth about our living is the truth about all living. The life of each individual may, in some sense, have a completeness ; but surely it is not in its work. The work has no completeness. It has, in the light in which we view it at this moment, no meaning, except as it finds its way out of self into the world, and not only this, but into the world of the future. The great law of self-sacrifice is dependent, in large measure, upon this fact. You cannot think rightly of the heroic sacrifices made in a great struggle for freedom, or in the work of a missionary to the heathen, or in any of the grander movements of the world in which those who have the most of life before them are called upon to give up that life most readily, except as you think of them thus. But when you thus think of them, the mystery is solved. The soldier may fall in his first battle, or the missionary in his first year of service, and yet not have thrown himself away for nothing. His life's work has ended just where it must have ended, had he been permitted to see the final success of his efforts. It has passed out of himself into the world. And so everywhere, whether there be a voluntary offering like this or not. The friend beside you, whom you have known and loved with the ardour of 255 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR a youthful affection, may pass away just as he sees the world opening before him and with the dis- appointment of every cherished hope, while you may linger on until the farthest limit of age is reached, realising all the visions that are now so beautiful to your soul. But your life — so widely different, as it seems, from his — is like his, in reality. You have gained nothing by your length- ened course, as we may almost say; for the ques- tion of sooner or later becomes an idle one, as you remember that the work of both takes hold upon the future, and abides there — as you re- member that his work and yours may even unite together again, as they both move on beyond you into the coming age and form together, in some mysterious way, a portion of the world's inheritance. The Gospel takes this closing thought, my friend, and says to you : Be as earnest and hopeful as you can be in all your work ; but remember that it passes on in this world while you go to another, and that, when your earthly life has thus vanished away, you will remain. But if this is so, here is one of the most vital and infinitely momentous truths of existence to all, and especially to those who are just forming their plans for the future. This thought may work backward in its influence, also, upon the two which have pre- ceded it; for if your life is so passing away from yourself that what you are doing now finds its perfec- tion only in later times, then the varied influences of your work in the unseen region of your soul are the only thing of importance connected with it, so far 256 THE INNER LIFE as you alone are concerned — and the growth of your character and interior being rises, of necessity, into the highest consequence. And again, if your work is leaving your hands as it were continually, and is to leave them altogether at death, to belong thereafter to the world only, not to you — then the years that follow the termination of your earthly course are worthy of your thought beyond all meas- ure more than any of those which precede it, for then you are entering on a new stage of your existence, when all things may depend on what you are. 17 257 XVIII THE THINGS THAT REMAIN The things that remain. — Revelation iii. 2. THESE four words were written by the author of the book from which they are taken with a special reference to thoughts or visions which were given to him. I venture to use them simply for what they are in themselves. We who belong to this peculiar community have reached within these now passing days the last brief section of our academic year. A large com- pany included in our number have come not only to the ending of this single year, but to the closing period of all the years in which they can know this place as the home of their united life. The final hour lingers a little while, yet it so manifestly draws near that it bears witness impressively of itself. It comes, as it were, out of the distance and darkness in which it has been so long hiding, and sends forth, just before itself, its word of seriousness for every one. While it lingers, the days have new meaning and new thought in them. They are quiet days, in the brightest and happiest part of the year. But they are, because of their nearness to the end, full of tenderness and suggestiveness, full of remem- brance and of hope, full of earnest movement of the 258 THE INNER LIFE soul, both inward and outward. They set the mind upon thinking in a way in which it has not thought before. They ask the man where he is, and what he is, in his inmost self; and, as they wait for his answer, they point forward. It is to those especially, who are nearest to-day to the final ending of the pleasant life here, that I would say a few words appropriate to the hour and the season — words which will also have their application, though in less measure it may be, to all. The days, upon which these are now enter- ing and which will so soon be past, may well suggest to them, I am sure, the thought of the things that remain. You stand to-day, my friends, at the last dividing-point of the course. Questions of your personal life must arise in your minds, at such a time. The questions above all others in which your manliest interest centres must be, What has passed away for us? — for each one of you, What has passed away for me, — and Wliat re- mains ? and the second of these two questions can- not but appear to your deepest thought the most vital one for yourselves. The first thing that remains for you is the time before the end ; which is indeed, very full of signifi- cance. In this matter there is found one of the marvellous kindnesses of God to us in this world — one of the proofs that He is a loving Father. There seems to be so much time when we begin life, or when we begin anything that is of what we call long continuance, that we waste it as if it were 259 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR valueless, or even misuse it to unworthy ends. The days and years pass on rapidly — flying by us, and beyond us, as if with wings ; — but they come, as they go, and we think of the coming, not of the going. To-morrow will answer the purpose of to- day, and we may wait for it. Or it will, at least, give us the hours wherein the half-work of to-day may be made complete. We may, therefore, leave to-day's work half-accomplished. So we live on. We live as children, thoughtless of the present and trustful of the future. Or, with more heroic and manly spirit, we resolve, at the beginning, with a great resolve. The years shall realise wonder- fully rich results for us in whatever we undertake. We will be more, and do more, than the idle multi- tude around us. We will be and do what is worthy of ourselves. But the resolution meets with weak- ness and hindrance as the time moves forward. The man's power is not what he thought it was. The end does not answer to the beginning. The hope changes to disappointment, and the years are gone. From whatever cause, when we come to a turning-point and look backward, we find that partial failure has befallen us. The past has not been what it might have been, or what we our- selves once hoped it would be when it came to its ending. This is oitr side of the matter, and it is a hard thing for us all when we think of it soberly. Look at the subject for yourselves, my friends. You who are drawing near the end here at this time, cannot help thinking in these passing days. You who are 260 THE INNER LIFE closing the first year here, or the last, must find the impulse to reflection moving you because of this fact. Do you not discover for yourselves the common experience? The college life has not brought you all the results that you hoped for, or all that it might have brought. There is a loss out of ih.Q platis and purpose when the achievement is measured. The time has failed of its fruits — not all of them, indeed — life is not all waste or disap- pointment; but much of good is for every one, to- day, among, and only among, the things that might have been. It is not a pleasant thought to you or to me — this one of the failures ; it is full of sadness. But it comes to us all in the quiet meditative days before the ending of the old years and the be- ginning of the new ones. This is our side of the matter. But it is not the Divine Father^s side. His thought, with which He comes to us as with inspira- tion and impulse, is, The quiet days are of the things that yet remaiit. They centre life in them- selves. They have within them the time that is all- sufiicient. Not all-sufficient indeed to do the work which might have filled the long years that are gone. They have not hours enough for this ; and the work, if ever done, must wait for some new stage of life for its accomplishment. But all-sufficient for the making of the man with reference to the present and the future. The making of the man did not pass away, in its possibility, with the failure of the work. It did not require the years for its beginning and its security, though it did for its early perfectness. 261 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR Its beginning may come now; and as it comes, the truest life of the man will be secure. The ivork also will follow the manhood — not as easily, not as rapidly, not as perfectly as it might have done, had all been right from the outset; but it will follow beautifully notwithstanding. This is the Divine side of the matter. The thought is of present possibility, and thus of encouragement. The thought is of the days that remain, not of the days that are past. The thought is of promise and hope, not of hope- less loss ; — and the summons which comes with the thought, is the summons to duty and manhood, in the time that remains, as inspired by the promise, and cheered by the Jiopc. Let the deep sense of the past failure turn itself into a quickening power for the coming time, and let the man hear the twofold voice of the past and future as a single call to man- hood. The thought which has just been presented sug- gests easily, as a second thing that remains, the power of new resolve. This, in the movement of the soul, is the starting-point of manhood. The power lingers for all with the time, and gathers itself up in its full energy within the time. In the case of some men in every community, the newness of the resolve must be entire, if truest manhood is to follow. The old purpose has been wholly wrong; or the life thus far has been aimless, drifting along and away with the chances of the passing days. In a company such as that to which we belong, the latter experience is more often realised. There are 262 THE INNER LIFE persons here perchance, from time to time, who come hither, or abide in this place, with their will- power definitely and consciously set towards evil — the determination being, that the life shall be given to it. But if they ever appear among us, the bless- ing of the place is, that they appear as aliens to the commonwealth. Their soul-movement is not the soul-movement of the community. They belong elsewhere, and are not recognised as of the citizen- ship. Our oftentimes occurring experience, rather, is that we treat life as we treat the days. We enjoy it, as we enjoy them ; but, as for the great purpose which is to govern it and truly create it, we defer this until the future, or form it only in some part of its force. This fault is not like the other. It is not the man' s devotion of himself to wrong-doing with the energy of a hardened nature ; but the tveakness oi youth, which fails to think of what is not within its immediate vision, and contents itself with what is thus near and around it. The weakness of youth, it is called. It is one, however, in which human ex- perience shows that the youth is father of the man, for it tarries with the man — and with every man, in greater or less degree — long after the youthful years have passed. But it is one that tends to failure, and involves it. The critical moment, however, comes by the Divine appointment. The day arrives, which is not the end itself, but which is near the end and testi- fies of it — the day which begins the brief closing season, and calls for and awakens thoughtfulness. What does it say to the thoughtful man, who now 263 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR hears its voice? It tells him that there remains within the brief season one of the greatest of gifts — the gift which may bear with it a remedy for all weakness, and even for all wrong purpose, in the past — the power of a new resolve. The man may take the gift as it is offered to him, and, in the yet lingering days, may make out of it a strong and vigorous and glorified life; or, if it need be so, a wholly renewed and transformed life, full of good as the former one was of evil. This is one of the ways in which we are educated in this world. Something is always ending for us. Something, as the ending time draws near, is ever reminding us, as if by a friendly forewarning, of that which is so soon to come. Something is whis- pering in our ear, with the tenderness as of interest in our well-being, that in the days between the fore- warning and the ending, there is opportunity, and more than this — a great force. Rise to the use and exercise of the force, according to its true mean- ing. The power of new resolve stands ready to change the character, or to strengthen it, if already changed. Let it have its perfect work. So the teaching comes, again and again, as we move on from one period to another, — out of an old experi- ence into a new one, — away from past thoughtless- ness, or failure, toward the opening possibility of the larger and better future. It comes with a pecu- liar impressiveness, when the premonition of the end is given at the beginning of that brief closing time after which youth in its fulness is to pass into manhood, and the regrets for the old days mingle 264 THE INNER LIFE with the hopes and fears for the new ones. The educating influence of such a time must tell upon the life which receives it, and the power of the new resolve must gain the mastery over the regrets and the fears alike, and must turn the hopes into assured confidence. Closely connected with the matter of new resolve, though having an independence of it, is another thing which remains — the power of forming a new ideal. This is one of the best things which still linger with us in the closing days. And this, again, is a blessing for all. For the man who has had a low ideal, unworthy of himself, the possibility is of a wholly changed one, which shall elevate and ennoble him, lifting him by its grand force above his old self and bringing him into the realisation of what it reveals. But for men who have known something better than this — whose ideal has been, to their own thought, high perchance, and yet has not reached the loftiest limits — there is a great possibility. The ideal of life or manhood, in one sense, may never be higher for the true man than it is at the beginning. He may enter on his course with the thought of the perfection of himself as that at which he is to aim — and there can be noth- ing beyond this. We believe that there are many who have this thought in the early years, and who hold it fast in their minds and hearts. There are many such in our own number, as we would not doubt. But what is the perfection of ourselves ? It is a 265 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR happy thing that, as the years go on, this question receives for us, and in us, a larger answer — more full of meaning and richness. We do not stay, in our thought, as we were in the earliest time. Our thought widens and deepens. You do not wish, my friend, — if you are in the right line of growth — to be where you were a year ago, or ten years ago, in the mind's life and the soul's life. You are more than you were then, and you rejoice in the fact. It will be so hereafter. You will be more ten years hence, and thirty years hence, than you are now. Youth in its fulness, just opening into manhood, is a grand thing and a good thing — as beautiful as it is hopeful, — but it is not everything, or the best thing. The best thing is beyond it, in the distance. And as for the progress of time which realises what is better, and at last, away off beyond the present vision, what is best — how much of its rich gift is found in the enlarging and ennobling of the ideal, which seemed to us, at the beginning, as grand as it could be. The ideal has become new to our thought — we discover in the after days — because of the new meaning which it has gathered into itself, and we dwell upon it with ever increasing interest, as its influence within us glorifies our souls. This is life as it was intended to be of God, and as we know it for ourselves, in our imperfect measure, in the growing years. But here, as everywhere, life moves especially in the critical seasons, and new revelations are made to it as it turns from one stage of its progress toward another. We gain, at the turning-points, 266 THE INNER LIFE more than we do along the even pathway/ Uphft- ing thoughts and larger views come to our minds when the ending of one age arrives for us and points onward to the beginning of another. The thoughts then are suggestive and quickening for all the future. The vision widens, and takes in, ever afterward, more than it did before. We know, with a deeper knowledge, by reason of these suggestive thoughts and this wider vision, what is the meaning and what is the reality of that ideal which we but partially understood in the earlier time ; and the ideal of life seems, and in a certain real sense is, a new one for us. Such is the gift which, as the ending of one period of life waits a little for the opening of the next one, remains within the last days — waiting for us, each and every one, to take it. It is one of the precious things that remain. And, in a peculiar sense and measure, does it belong in the season just before the termination of the youthful work for the educated man, for then the taking into one's self the best thoughts for the future is the most natural of all things. The season lingers a little, we may almost say, for this purpose ; and the power of forming the new ideal is among its great- est blessings, — for, as this is filled out to greater fulness at the starting-point of the manly years, the life has its best and largest opportunity for develop- ment under its influence. Allied to the influence of the new ideal is still another of the things that remain. The power of 267 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR putting the life in the right path Hngers with the final days which turn the thought forward to the future. And here we may speak of the matter in two ways. The life, what is it? It is first, the life in itself — the great, deep, central life of the soul, in which the man is to live always. This may be put in the right pathway in the season before the ending, if it has never been set on that way before. The mean- ing and purpose of the season indeed, with all its admonition of the future and tender suggestivcness as to the present and the past, are found in its influ- ence to this great end. There is no more earnest call, in all the years, to any man in this company, and no more loving one, than that which comes to him who has thus far failed to be deeply thoughtful of right living. He is called, in these passing weeks before the ending of the days here, to do what has not been done — to make the life what it ought to be, by giving it a new beginning. And with the sum- mons, comes the promise which rests upon the power of forming new ideals and the power of new resolve on the man's part, and upon the wonderful love of the heavenly Father who sends the call and bids the time yet linger. The blessing of all blessings, in its possibility, is in the passing days. But the life, we may ask again, what is it? It is what pertains to its special work and duty. Here also it may be put upon the right pathway. The question of the particular line of life and service, is a question which the young man just passing out of the preparatory period most naturally presents 268 THE INNER LIFE to himself. It is not essential, however, that he should answer it, at the moment. It may be that the time when the Divine wisdom would open the course clearly has not yet arrived. We may wait for the light until it is given us. But the great principles which should determine the answer and decision are needed now. Through them the life is to be set right, and when they have their abiding- place within the man, the answer in its more special bearing will be possible in its own season. The closing days wait for many with the gift of tliis power remaining within them. The man may es- tablish in himself, with a strength unknown before and with a firmness such that it cannot be shaken, the principle that shall govern his choice — the principle which bears with it the resolve to do what the love of God and the love of man re- quire of him. We do not go wrong, when this has dominion over our souls. Love shows the pathway, when the Divine moment comes for the particular decision. The days that wait may not be long enough for this decision, but they will be long enough for the entrance of the Divinely-given principle — and the life will be on the right path- way, so soon as this finds its legitimate place and force in the soul. And now — with this power of new resolve, and of forming the new ideal, and of putting life on the right path, which is offered to all alike, and with this gift of the time yet lingering, in which each may take to himself the power — there is one 269 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR more thing that remains. It must be so, because of the close relations of the company to one another. The days that wait for us a little while before the end carry in them tlie power of gaining and of giv- ing the best influence. One of the marked peculiari- ties of the life which young men lead in a place like this — in near and intimate companionship for a term of years, having common pursuits, and hopes, and impulses, and tastes, in large measure — is this : that they may do much for the making of one another, all along the course. Force for char- acter, and for thought, and for feeling, passes and repasses continually throughout the little commun- ity so thoroughly bound together. Consciously at times, and far more often unconsciously, each one gives to his fellow what is helpful in many ways — and each receives as richly as he gives. When the result is counted by the individual man, he finds himself to be far different from what he was at the beginning. New elements have come into him which were unknown in the earlier time. New force is manifested in his manhood. As he studies himself carefully, and traces back to its sources what he has gained, he discovers that he is partly made, in the richest development of mind and soul, out of the inward life of those whom he has known so intimately, and with whom he has moved onward in the journey of the passing years. He sees also, as he studies the lives of those about him, that they have, in like manner, received from himself. The life of the united company has become quite another thing than that which it was. The individuality of 270 THE INNER LIFE each, indeed, has been preserved, but it has been enlarged, and manifolded in its powers and re- sources, and made more beautiful for the man him- self and sweeter in its influence for other men, because it has taken into itself the best of that which came to it from every side. So it is always, when the individual life has suffered itself to grow, here, in the right way, and to become what the ideal of the place would make it. The man at the end, in this aspect of the matter, is created out of many men, and, in his turn, he has done his part in creating many men. It is a wonderful process and a wonderful result, but it is one of the interesting things of this our peculiar life, that we see the process ever going forward and the result ever com- ing nearer to its realisation. But our thought now turns towards the closing days, just before the end and yet waiting for the end. In a singular measure and degree is the power of which we are speaking manifest in these days. There is something in the tenderness, and even sadness, of the ending time, which opens both mind and heart. No one has failed to know this, who has passed through the experience of this season in any of the years that reach far back to the beginning of the college history. Men get closer to each other as they draw near to the hour of separation, and the deeper manhood shows itself more easily. It opens itself both for the giving and receiving. I have seen many times in life, as has every man who has moved along the years for a considerable 271 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR distance, in which the opportunity for getting and for bestowing good seemed to gather itself up as it were, in a remarkable way, into a brief season. But I have never known a time when for manly influence on men a larger possibility offered itself, than in such days as these, through which those of you, my friends, for whom the past and the future are so near their dividing point, are now passing. A man among you need not even put himself to earnest effort to exert or receive the influence. He may simply open his soul and mind for its incoming and outgoing, and the result will be secured. Everything is helpful now toward good, if one only does not shut the door of his inmost self against it. But if with the serious life-purpose of a man who is just entering upon the needs, and the experiences, and the largeness of his manly years, he puts himself to the earnest efl"ort, and de- termines to make for himself and take for himself what is in the closing time, he may find within it the richest gift of all the past to all the future. The thing that remains is the best thing, and it stands ready for each and every man, that he may receive it, in the brief season which is now beginning and is so soon to end, as a source of inspiration and impulse and life-giving force — a force and impulse and inspiration, which shall make the man ever larger in his manhood and happier also. I think of human life — when it is lived after the right method and when the powers of mind and soul abide till the end — as always growing in the rich- ness of its experiences and blessings, as it grows in 272 THE INNER LIFE the forces and acquisitions, the knowledge and ex- perience, that pertain to it. How can it seem otherwise to us, when we view it as we ought? But if so, may we not think of it, and must we not, as finding in its closing season — after the admoni- tion of the end has been given, but before the end itself has come — a gift which will have a singular blessing for us because, as it enters the life, it may be taken onward into the greater world beyond? And is not this gift, the power, realised in ex- perience, of gathering up into the life all the elevat- ing and enriching influence of the past years, and the past associations, as it offers itself anew to the mind and the heart? The evening time of the true life will be light, by reason of the light of the by- gone years thus shining out upon the coming and eternal years. So, in its measure, is it with the Hfe of youth in a place like this and surroundings like ours. The last happy days are not happy only because of the bright season of the year, or because the work is mainly ended, or because there is promise in the future. They are happy, far more truly and in far higher degree, because in them is this thing still remaining — that we gather up, as it were, in this brief season all the possibilities of giving and of getting, for the inmost soul of each and all, the in- fluence for good of every individual life and of the common Hfe. The good which is thus off'ered, and is thus made one's own, abides for the lifetime, and beyond the lifetime in this world. It glorifies the man, and makes the memory of the past years, and i8 273 THE INNER LIEE the hopes and experiences of the future years, blessed as with a Divine blessing. The days that are now passing by you, my young friends, who are drawing near the end of your course here, are full of meaning, of possibility, of gifts, whose value cannot be measured. Let me, as an older friend who passed through similar days a long time ago, ask you with all the emphasis of the subsequent years, to realise for yourselves their meaning, and take to yourselves the full measure of their gifts and their possibilities. 274 XIX THE POWER OF PERSONAL LIFE Sorrowing most of all for the word which he had spoken, that they should see his face 7io more. — Acts xx. 38. THESE words are very human and very sug- gestive. We can easily picture to ourselves the scene which the historian presents before us, as he tells of the farewell which was given by the Apostle to his friends. He had lived with them, and among them, for the three preceding years. During this period he had declared to them a new doctrine, which had become life to their souls. He had spoken the truth, as he believed it, with all faithfulness and tenderness. He had warned them of dangers, and assured them of consolation, and borne witness to them of the purpose and plan of God, and pointed them in all their needs to His grace. He had given all to them and done all for them freely, imposing himself in no way as a burden upon them, but ever labouring for his own support, that he might make all things that he did in their behalf a gift. When the three years were drawing near their end, he had been constrained to leave their city, as violent excitement had been roused against him and his teaching, and for a few months he had returned to Corinth to renew his work and 275 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR strengthen the disciples there. The lime for one of the great annual feasts at Jerusalem was now approaching, and he turned his course thitherward. On the way, the vessel in which he was making his voyage touched at a place in the neighbourhood of the city where he had thus lived so long. The opportunity was now afforded him of meeting once more, for a brief hour, the chief members of the church brotherhood which he had gathered together by his preaching. He calls them to him and addresses them in words of affection and retro- spect; and as he thus speaks, he takes his final leave of them, telling them of his belief that they will never meet him again. What a human scene it was — answering to the experience of all ages, and bearing in itself the evidence of the most natural sentiment, as we read the words in which it is described. But of all the words the most natural and most human are the closing ones : They sorrowed most of all, because they knew that they should see his face no more. The picture, as we call it before our minds, is an interesting one indeed, for it represents a thousand other scenes in human experience as truly as that which it offers to our view. But we would not dwell upon it simply or mainly because of this fact. The words, as we have said, are as suggestive as they are human, and the teaching comes from them — as it comes often from words and thoughts — by reason of their suggestiveness. Why was it that these Christian believers sorrowed 276 THE INNER LIFE tluis by reason of the thought that they should not see Paul's face again? It was because they realised at that moment, with an emphasis of reality, that the sight of the face was the sight of the man. If they could see him, they knew that there would rise before them the vivid representation of all that he had been and done, and of what he might do and be. They knew that the blessing of the past would have a new manifestation of itself, and the richness of the future would give a foreshadowing and fore- taste of its promise. It is always so, when we meet an old friend after a season of separation. His face bears testimony to us of all that is behind the pres- ent, and of all that is before it. The face, at such a moment, is the man. The loss of the face is, in a certain sense, the loss of the man. Everything passes into the sphere of memory, and the clearness and distinctness of the vision fade in some measure, and gradually, away. But if the face is the man, it is wJiat the man was that makes the renewed seeing of the face a matter of such strong desire. We do not care to meet again those who have left nothing of themselves within us, or for our lives, from the time of our last meeting. We bid them farewell without any stir- ring of sorrowful feeling. Let us look at the Apostle and his friends again. He had been for them a teacher. The message which he had brought to them was an announcement of something that they had not known or thought of before. As they received it and gave it its full power over their minds, it ennobled and glorified life for them. As 2?7 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR a teacher, he had carefully explained to them what they were slow to learn. He had repeated and impressed his lessons. He had led them on from step to step, giving them new light when they were moving towards darkness. He had testified of what he believed, and had admonished and encouraged and inspired them, according to the necessity of their development in discipleship. He had been more even than their teacher; he had been, as he said to the members of another Christian brother- hood, their spiritual father. Their life had come from him, and had been watched over and cared for by him. Surely they might well, in view of all this, have grief of a peculiar sort in the thought that they were not to see his face again. How much would such a sight mean, if it could only be granted even for an hour ! It would mean the fresh remembrance, with all its quickening and wonderful power for the soul, of the first beginning and the joyous progress in the early days, and the rich growth in the later time, of that new life for which they were thankful to God, and in which they were ever rejoicing as they .looked onward and upward. But there was something besides this, as the face represented the man. It was the personality of the teacher, and not only his teaching, which they called to mind as they thought of the separation. The teacher had, as we may say, lived the teaching, which he commended to their reception. He had given them deep thoughts, and sweet thoughts, and inspiring thoughts, respecting the great truth, as he had manifested before them its controlling power 278 THE INNER LIFE within himself. He had displayed to them in many ways, and on many sides, the greatness and grand- ness of human character as it is brought under the influence of the Gospel of God. How impressive must have been to their minds, at this hour of their last meeting, the words which he spoke in such simplicity and sincerity : After what manner I was with you all the time ; how I shrank not from de- claring unto you anything that was profitable ; by the space of three years, I ceased not to admonish every one night and day with tears ; in all things I gave you an example, that ye ought to help the weak : I hold not my life of any account, as dear unto myself, so that I may accomplish my course and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus. How the man must have risen before them in the magnificence of his Christian manhood, as these expressions came upon their hearing. And what a wonderful emphasis must have been added to them, as from the depths of a heroic soul, when, with the consciousness of what his life among them had been, he said : I coveted no man's silver, or gold, or apparel ; ye yourselves know that these hands ministered to my necessities and to them that were with me ; remember the words of the Lord Jesus, which I have remembered and followed, how he himself said. It is more blessed to give than to receive. They must have taken knowledge of him — as they thus saw what was in his inmost soul — that x he had indeed been with Jesus, and had learned of Him — learned of Him, not with the mind only, 279 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR but in the life. All these words also, as they called up in review the years of their happy fellowship with him, must have brought to their recollection many others which he had spoken, and which had become life-developing for their own souls. Such words as he wrote afterwards have moved the life- powers for multitudes of the most intelligent and thoughtful men in all generations. They must have contained within themselves, in some peculiar sense and degree, the seed-principle of the true life for those who first heard, or first read them. To see again a man full of such thoughts would be a privi- lege indeed ; to see him no more would be, as we may easily believe, a matter of sorrowful feeling, with which no other would seem worthy to be compared. Let us now, as we think of the scene and its sug- gestions, ask, What are the thoughts which may fitly come to our minds respecting ourselves, and respect- ing life? The first, as it seems to me, is a thought bearing upon the matter of reward, and is this: — that the true and best reward of life, as it moves on its way, or as it ends, is not to be found in its success or its fame, but in that which Paul had here. Paul had done a remarkable work in this promi- nent city, and also elsewhere. He had become one of the great lights in the Christian Church, as it extended itself widely from its earliest home over the Gentile world. He had had wonderful success, as estimated by the possibilities of the sphere within which he put forth his efforts and to which he con- 280 THE INNER LIFE secrated his powers. But what would his fame, or success, or prominence, or wide influence have been, if he had not been hi hiJiisclf what he was, — if the men who saw and heard him had not per- ceived within him the reaHty of that which he taught, — if, in a word, the man had not been more than the success or the fame, and had not been in the highest measure worthy to be seen again ? Men look forward with intensity of interest and desire to success in the attainment of reputation or power or position as an inestimable good in itself. They make the possession of this good the dream of their early ambition, the aim of their manly effort, the end of their living. When they strive or struggle for the prize, which they thus covet, in a selfish spirit, and with no thought or care for any service on behalf of the world, they persuade them- selves that life has no nobler meaning in it, and is only intended to realise its gains. When they rise above this lower level, where they are unworthy of their manhood, and take into their thought and action what may be helpful to others, they think that the prize is glorified, indeed, by this motive which attends the effort for it, but that it is still in itself the same thing. In every way they press on after it, as if it were what makes life worth the living. But a touching and beautiful scene like this, upon which we are dwelling in our thought for a few moments, has in itself another lesson and a widely different one. The grief, which was so manifestly and sincerely in the hearts of those about him, was THOUGHTS OF AND FOR more to the man who witnessed it than any success, in the outward measure of success, which he had had could ever be. It was so, because it bore testimony of the hfe which was in them, and of that which was in him. And so it is always. The earnest desire to see the face again — so that the knowledge that it cannot be is the most regretful of all things in the parting — shows that the associate of the years has much in himself, and has given forth much for us. A uniting force binds us together, and the life, which is now common to us both, owes its origin and its growth for ourselves, in greater or less degree, to what was, and is, in him. I ask you to think of it, my friends — you who are soon to go forth from the pleasant associations of the four years in this place. What is the word which you desire most of all to hear from your intimate friends, and most of all to speak to them at the end ? Is it not the word that carries in itself the hope of another meeting — the sight of the face, at some future time? Is not the hearing of this word, as it comes from the depths of the soul of the man whom you have known and loved, the reward of these years, beyond any other reward? And why is it thus? Is it not — when you have the thought resting upon the true foundation — because the word as it is spoken tells, with the emphasis of the soul's life, of what he knows that you have done for him by reason of what you have been in yourself? It is a testimony to what is more fundamental than success, and far nearer to the centre of life than fame. It speaks of what the man really is ; and surely the manhood 282 THE INNER LIFE of the man is the highest reward of the years. It will be so, equally, in the coming time. Life is not going to turn around for you and become quite another thing, when the youthful season is past, from what it is now. There is a larger sphere before you, indeed ; and there are greater prizes, as the world calls them, which are to be offered. But the human soul is the same, and the reward, which meets and satisfies the human soul in its inmost and noblest feeling, will be the same at the ending that it is at the opening of the manly career. This reward will be the testimony which comes from the living forces of other souls, as they have received the best of influence and inspiration from the man in whose behalf they testify. The second thought, that comes to us from the scene to which we have turned our minds and its sug- gestions, as it seems to me, is this: — that the true standard for the measurement of value, as related to our personal lives, is not to be discovered in our teaching, or our working, but in our living. Paul's teaching was a marvellous teaching, surely; full of life-giving power, if any teaching could be. His working, in its constancy and its energy, and its wisdom in adapting itself to its purpose, was as remarkable as was the doctrine which he taught. But what a change there would have been in the manifestation before the world of both, if the man - had not been what he was in his living. It was the man as formed under the influence of the doctrine, and putting forth the reality of himself into his work, 283 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR that made the glory of his career. It was the man within him that made his friends grieve because they were to see him no more. So it is with us, each and every one. The tendency of the world is to teaching and working. We become restless, with the thought that we are not fulfilling our mission among men, if we are not in action always, or ever declaring a mes- sage. But it is well for us to remember that, in the Divine ordering, a message of life is but half of it- self, without life in the messenger, and that action, even when it moves in the right line, is a force- less thing, unless there is a vital energy behind it. Herein lies the effective power of enthusiasm. Enthusiasm means life in the man. He works, out of an inspiration which has become a part of his being, and so he moves victoriously towards results in other men. But in the moral sphere, especially, there is no true enthusiasm without life. I ask you to look at your own experience, my friend, whether it be narrower or wider. Who is the man from whom the greatest power has come upon your personal manhood ? Is it not the one whose inner life has been most rich and deep and true? Is it not the one from whom, whenever you have seen him — not only in the intercourse of every day, but even as he was passing along these paths and under- neath these elms — you have felt that a lesson of genuine manliness has come to your soul? Such a man, if a teacher, has carried his moral and spiritual teaching for you in himself. It needed no word from his lips for your hearing, for you have seen it 284 THE INNER LIFE in your seeing him. If he was a worker, even in the best lines of effort — even for the purifying and elevating of the souls of those around him — his real energy and force have been manifest to you as behind and beneath the work, and in the life. If he was a friend, you have known the influence, not simply when you have talked with him and have listened to the expression of his thoughts, but be- cause you have beheld, in his whole exhibition of himself, what his thoughts have been to his own mind and for the development of character within himself. But if this be so, the very atmosphere of the place in which we are passing these years is full of testimony to the truth. No serious man, I am sure, can take his farewell of the place, and its associations, without giving to himself at least, if not to others, his witness, that the manhood in those whom he has esteemed and loved here as the worthiest men lies deeper than their doing, or their speaking, and that, in his desire to see them again, the chief impulse comes to him from what he knows them to be. It must have been a delightful thing to the mind of Paul, that the men with whom he had lived for three years of intimate acquaintance wished so earnestly that they might have another meeting with him because he was what he was. But as he thought of their feeling with pleasure, he may well have said to himself, This wish of theirs is an evidence of the true estimate for myself, and for every other man. What we are is more than what we do. And so -^ with us all. If we may have within ourselves the thought that the first of all things for the true life is 285 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR what we are, and that from this, as if its outgoing and its fruit, is to go forth all that we do or teach, we shall ever abide near the Divine ideal, and ever be under its glorifying influence. The third thought that comes to us from the scene, which has been presented to our minds, and its suggestions — and the last one to which I will refer — is closely related to those which we have been considering. It is this : — The true impulse of the true man is, to develop rich thoughts within himself, and to give them to others. A man does not fulfil the ideal of his life any more truly than he fulfils its obligations, if he simply performs the tasks assigned him, or does his outward work, whatever it may be. The mind and soul within him need to be cultivated, and to be fruitful. He needs to have, according to the possibilities which life opens to him, elevating thoughts on the subjects which relate to the highest interests of his manhood. It is such thoughts, that enlarge and glorify his personality. He needs them, also, for their helpful and upbuilding influence as bearing upon those about him. If a man lives for three years, as Paul did, in intimate relations with a little community of men, or with a few individual men, he fails of his highest duty, as well as of his best influence, in case they are able to gain nothing from the movement and working of his inmost life. We were intended to do good to one another in this way, as truly as in other ways, and, if wc have the vital power of the life in our- selves, we shall do so; for life always works from 286 THE INNER LIFE the centre outwards and beyond itself. No man can take into himself the all-powerful, transforming Chris-v; tian doctrine, and live with it as a vivifying force in his heart, without having much of its influence in the mind's thinking ; — and if he has this influence in his thinking, it will go forth, often without an effort and almost before he is aware, to those with whom he is associated in the fellowships of the world. The Christian man always has thoughts. He can-^ not be near to Christ, and dwell upon His love, without them. But the educated Christian has an especial duty and privilege in this regard. It is a part of his calling — as it is indeed, after his measure, in the case of every educated man — to be thought- ful. Education is not mere learning or the acquisi- tion of knowledge — the accumulation of a treasure to be laid up in the mind, and to remain there without living energy. Education is the cultivation and de- velopment of thinking power, and a man who has not secured for himself this has, so far, wasted the years of his education. The knowledge and learning find their real end in this. But the highest moral and spiritual education is open to the Christian ; and in this sphere, especially, is there no richest develop- ment without the stirring of the thinking power. A man must turn his mind in upon itself, and must study his soul, if he would set forward the true growth of his character. What would Paul's life have been without his > thoughts — where would have been the greatness of his character, which we now see so clearly, if there 287 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR had been within him nothing of that inspiring Chris- tian thinking which filled his letters with the ex- pression of itself, and came with impelling power to the minds of those to whom he spoke ? We need not look back to Paul, however. We may look again at ourselves. If we find, as we all do in the review of the years, that the growth of our individual lives in the mental and spiritual part is largely the result of what is given to us by the stimulating thought of others, the question is answered for us at once, and with emphasis. We miss half of the opportunity of hfe, we fail of half of its power for good, if we do not become thoughtful men — men who make the having and the giving forth of the most helpful, and the most inspiring, and the best thoughts the object of their constant mental effort. And how may this be accomplished better than in the way in which the Apostle realised it for himself — by putting the mind in daily communion with the highest truths of the soul's hfe, and bringing it to the continual,- joyful study of the thought and inner life of Christ, the great teacher and the perfect man? I have thus called your attention, my friends, to a verse from the sacred writings which tells of a parting between friends in the eariiest days of the church. It has a fitness in its lesson for all of us in the closing of our academic year, and an especial fitness for some of us in the ending of all the academic years. The old scene in its great central feature, may seem to repeat itself, as the days pass on and the question of future meetings THE INNER LIFE comes to those who must think of them with so much of interest. It is well for you to bear in mind the true standard of living, and the best re- ward of life, as you look back over the past and forward to the future. And it is fitting for you to remember that the thoughts for the inner life and the true life, which you gain and which you give, are the upbuilding forces for the souls of all alike. That you may, every one of you, realise the blessing of giving and receiving, in all that makes life what it ought to be, is my best wish for you ; and that you may know, by a constant experience, that it is more blessed to give than it is to receive, even as the Lord Jesus Himself said, is my largest hope ; — the same wish and hope which I would have for myself. 19 289 XX THE GIFTS AND LESSONS OF THE YEARS IViih lo)ig life will I satisfy hitn, atid show him iny salva- tion. — Psalm xci. i6. I PROPOSE to suggest for consideration, at this time, a few thoughts upon a somewhat uncom- mon subject of discourse — the blessing of growing older, or the increasing happiness of life as it ad- vances. We hear much, in the ordinary conversa- tion of mankind, of the brightness and joy of early years. Almost every man looks back upon his childhood with a sense of peculiar charm, and feels that its half-remembered days were cloudless like a summer morning, while the later years have been clouded and darkened. The fond wishes of the soul, therefore, return to that which is behind us, in the nearer or remoter distance. We carry with us a regret, which sometimes, indeed, hides itself away from notice in the multitude of our employments, but ever and anon breaks forth in its strength, that the past cannot come back even for an hour, and that we can never experience again what we once en- joyed. We listen also to much in the public dis- coursing of the Church concerning the peculiar privileges of the young and those who are just enter- ing upon their career. They are believed to hav^e, 290 THE INNER LIFE not only the hope and promise of the world in them- selves, but to be in a more desirable position than older persons in what relates to their own individual and interior life. How seldom, on the other hand, are men of forty or sixty addressed, except to re- mind them of increasing responsibilities, or, per- chance, of wasted opportunities, or of the rapidity with which life is passing, or the nearness of its end- ing. That a man is becoming happier as he is getting older — that life is richer, and deeper, and y better for every right-minded person now, than it was twenty years ago — seems to be a thought which scarcely enters the ordinary mind, or, at least, which scarcely ever so impresses itself as to demand and find an utterance. I believe that the truth is on the other side of this matter, and I ask the kindly reader to follow me as we consider the question whether it be not so. In the first place, let us look at the happiness of ^ childhood or early youth, and inquire what it is. It is the sense of life, in its beauty and joy, as a new thing. It is freedom from anxieties, doubts and fears. It is the calm confidence that there will be provision for its wants. It is the affection of the home circle, as yet unbroken by separation. It is the awakening consciousness of the mind's own powers and capacities, and the hope that, by means of them, the man will in due time accomplish great things in the world. We move onward a little way beyond our first maturity, and we find all this changed, in greater or less degree. The world seems 291 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR a different place from what it used to be, and we are roughly shaken out of our pleasant dreams and pict- urings. No wonder, that we begin at once to be dis- heartened, and to feel that the early years, as they ran away from us, bore with them beyond our sight the brightness and unalloyed happiness of life. Trials, and anxieties, and labours, and separations, and many failures in plans and purposes enter soon into the place of all that was so peaceful and beautiful. It is a world of hard work, instead of play. It is a world of sorrow, even, and constant disappointment. The golden period is behind us, not before us. But stay a moment in your thought, my friend. ■^ Happiness is not freedom from care. We are reasoning and working beings — designed for ma- turity, and not for the mere beginnings. Thirty or forty years ago, perchance, you had not a thought going out beyond the enjoyment of the day, or the morrow, and therefore were free from care. But you were doi7ig nothing; you were only, at the most, preparing to do. You had no true sense of your own capacities. You knew nothing of the sat- isfaction which comes from the full exercise of your powers, and from the accomplishment of real results. You were restless, even — just in proportion to the nobleness of your nature — to reach the hour when you might begin your portion of the world's work. If you are not in a morbid and diseased state of feeling for the time, you would not give up your present sense of manly force in action, and go back to the old condition, if you had the possibility, to-day, of choosing to do so once for all ; — and you would 292 THE INNER LIFE not, because you are assured in your deepest soul that it is not only better, but happier, to be what you now are, than what you then were. There is no truth more certainly learned in a man's own experience, than that, to the highest happiness of our life in this world some element of conflict and^ victory is essential. We must meet something of opposition to try our powers, and must feel that we have grown strong in overcoming it, or we do not know one half of the glory of our manhood. And this is the Divine appointment for mature and later years. The child is a lovely object in his own place ; but he is only the beginning, the imperfect develop- ment, of that which is to grow to its perfection afterwards. If the beginning were never to pass into something higher, life would be a most unat- tractive, because a most unfinished thing. The work must be better than the preparation. Look at your home life — where the happiness of childhood seems to us often the only unalloyed one, — and you will find, I am sure, that you are mistaken here also. Love goes downward, rather than upward. Your children do not, and cannot love you as '.-.i^ivy and beautifully as you love them. The law of nature and the possibilities of nature are only in the other way. You may turn your thoughts backward to the home of your earliest life and recall your affection for your father and mother, and — pure as it may have been — it is not what your affection now is for your own children. You have entered upon a new stage of your being, in this regard, and the feeling of to-day gives you 293 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR a deeper joy than the old one ever did, or ever could. The delightful peace, that fills the home life and makes it such an emblem of heaven — my friend, V^ in your childhood you participated in it only, but now, if it is in your home, you make it ; you are the author of it, and give it its being. And it is more blessed to give than only to receive. I can think of nothing better, as related to this world alone, than to be the centre of happiness and affection for the inmost circle in which God has placed our lives and given us our sphere of highest duty — always bestowing upon others that for which their life is a continual, though it may be a silent, thanksgiving. But this the child cannot be, because of his position and his years. It is a blessing reserved for after life, and it makes the later years happier even than the best part of the earlier ones. You were receptive, and wholly so once, in that former time, and therefore, again, you were free from many disturbing and harassing thoughts. Others cared for you, and you rested upon them. But now you are a giver in all things, and others rest upon you. You were made, however, to be a giver, and you have now only reached the fulness of your life. The labour, or fear of failure, or sense of uncertainty, which attends upon you as a condi- tion of your giving, is all lost sight of when it is over, and the result is reached. It even passes into, and forms an element of the joy of the result — so that we enjoy the more what we do for those depend- ent on our care, the more of effort, and self-sacrifice 294 THE INNER LIFE even, our gift to them has made necessary. You did not leave your happiness behind you, and bid it a final farewell, when you first ceased to feel that your wants would be supplied by those on whom you used to rest. Far from it. You entered, rather, upon a new stage and measure of it at that very hour; and, if you will examine your own experience carefully, you will surely find that the new condition has been better than the old. Each of the two stages has been good in its own appropriate season ; but the former one was only a mere preparation for the latter as that which is more perfect and more desirable. But is not the hope of great results, which belongs to youth, you say, a more joyful thing than the remembrance of Jialf-resiilts f This latter, however, is the accompaniment of most lives in their middle and later portions. Life is all new and hopeful at the beginning; while, as we go onward, it becomes an old, familiar thing, known mainly by its imper- fections. No doubt, I answer, we all lose much of the confidence of hope, after we begin to be actors in the world. We learn that we are accomplishing less — or in a difterent way, at least — than we used to think we should ; and the work of reformation and good goes forward more slowly than it might. We are tempered, thus, and moderated in our expectations. But if we are doing less than we anticipated once, we are doing, and not hoping only ; — and, in so far as anything is daily done for the good cause in the world, the manly soul has a satisfaction in it which 295 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR is deeper than it can have in its early hopes. It must be remembered, also, that, along with the moderat- ing of our expectations as life advances, and keep- ing pace with it, there comes in the soul the growth of two feelings, which are all-important to its happi- ness in a world like ours : — the one, that the good cause, the cause of all good things, may go forward most successfully in a way other than that which we had thought of; and the other, the feeling of con- fidence in a wiser and higher power that is ever- ruling and overruling for its own best ends. The youth is confident, indeed, in his anticipations, and therefore he is happy. But he is strong in his own ideas and plans, and believes that all things must move after his own manner and through his own efforts. He opens the door, therefore, for disap- pointment so soon as he begins to turn his hopes into action. But the man, who has been working for a score or two of years, and has been a docile disciple in the world's school, has learned other lessons, which rob disappointment and even failure of much of their disheartening effect upon the mind. If life has wrought for him its legitimate result; if he has grown older in the way in which God would have him grow, he has become trustful in God's wisdom, and hopeful, in a less ardent way indeed, but in a more peaceful one. And so, as I believe, the true effect of the pro- gressing years is to bring us — even when we look at that which is brightest in the early part of life — to a happier, as well as a better state. But as we may fitly turn our thoughts, in our Christian medi- 296 THE INNER LIFE tation, rather towards what pertains to the soul and its relations to the future, I would more especially consider some other points in which life, as it would seem, must bring greater happiness to right-minded persons as they go forward in it. Moving in this sphere of thought, I would say that as life, in any true view of it, is a plan of God, it must of necessity grow richer as it draws nearer to the end. I do not mean, of course, that it must be so in every man's actual experience. Some men, by their own choice and determination, put them- selves in direct opposition to the Divine plan and working. They prevent the development of any good design in their existence, and we can expect nothing but perversion in their case. There are others, also, who, though they may have the hopes of the Gospel within them, become querulous, or dry, or hardened in their feeling, and thus lose out of their souls what is offered them so freely by the Divine favour. We can only speak on such a subject, however, of those who put themselves in the right line of living, and affirm what will be true of them, in so far as they do this. But place yourself in the right position, and open yourself to the right influences — and you will not only know it must be so, but will realise for yourself that your life is a plan of God, and that He is carry- ing forward a work in you from its beginning to its consummation. How strange it would be, if there were no growth as the years advance, or if the growth were downward ! Is it possible that, in His training of a soul for its immortal existence, what is 297 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR best is placed at the very commencement, or that the progress of the plan towards its final issue can leave the soul less happy in the later, than in the earlier years? No — even those things of which we have already spoken are not, in this view of the subject, mere outward things or of the earthly life. In their influence, they belong to the character; and these things and all others, as they work in upon character, strengthen and purify and elevate it. They are designed to carry the soul forward in its own growth. They must make the soul hap- pier than it was before it had known their power, and before it had grown wiser and stronger and better. You may say that the carelessness, and the hope- fulness, and the joyous outlook upon life in child- hood, in themselves alone, are happier than what follows them and takes their place in maturer life — though, as I have already tried to show, I believe you are mistaken even in this view of them. But, when you look at your character, and at the plan of God in your own life, you cannot feel thus. This change indicates, and is, the progress of that plan. It was then near its beginning, but it is now, it may be, near its ending. What if, in this progress in your case, or in some cases, the outward man may, ^ as the Apostle says, have been decaying — the in- ward man has been renewed more and more. Anx- ieties, cares, struggles, labours — the assumption of great responsibilities and the endurance of many hardships — have brought strength to you. They have awakened new earnestness, new confidence, 298 THE INNER LIFE new devotion, new love to men and to God ; — and the work is drawing nearer to its completion. The Christian man, and even, in his measure, the man who limits his view to this world and yet places himself in the line of life's best influences, cannot lose happiness as he goes forward. If he does, he is contradicting the Divine order and, therefore, is not in the true line of thought. As well might the victorious general rejoice at the beginning of the conflict, or at the first gathering of his forces, and lose heart and happiness in the moment of his approaching triumph. As well might we call the dimmest hopes joyful, and the full fruition sorrowful. In every one of us who have been living in ac- cordance with God's plan for these years past, and who do not shut our eyes to the consciousness of it, there is, and must be, a growing happiness as the plan works onward through the years towards its final result in a better life. If we do not daily enter into the experience of it, it is because we have become distrustful, or have clothed the past with an unreal beauty, or have allowed the fruits of evil habits to spread over our lives so widely that we cannot see the Divine working alone and in its own loveliness. But there are some things wherein we grow naturally as the years advance, which tend directly to make us happier, as well as better men ; and to two or three of these I would call your attention. The man on whom the progress of life exerts its true 299 y^ THOUGHTS OF AND FOR and legitimate influence comes into a kindlier and more truly just judgment of those about him. The tendency in early life — particularly, as we first begin to associate with men — is to overestimate ourselves, and underestimate them. We have grown up thus far, as it were, within ourselves alone, and every- thing we therefore feel must be measured according to our standard. The good that is in others, unless indeed it may be those who are in full sympathy with ourselves, we are often slow to appreciate, and our judgments become severe. It is said that youth is generous — and so it is, in some respects, far more than the harder side of later life. But I cannot doubt that the man who has gained anything of the true spirit of Christ learns, under the natural in- fluence of progressing years, to believe good of others — that the familiar association with men, as time passes on, brings us to see, in spite of all their weaknesses or sins, the elements of good within them and the possibilities of building up the nobler life. If you, my friend, are becoming constantly more distrustful of those around you ; if your associates and neighbours are judged more harshly than they once were ; you are, I am sure, not learning the true lessons of the years, and are, so far at least, not under the Divine guidance. But, on the other hand, those who follow this guidance, and look through their own weak souls upon the souls of those around them, must continually grow more appreciative of their better nature and more generously hopeful re- specting them. And the kindlier you come to be in your judgment of other men, the happier you will 300 THE INNER LIFE be and must be ; — and this is the true and un- pei'verted influence of advancing Hfe. The natural effect of the years in a really manly soul is, also, to make it softer and gentler in itself I know that this may contradict the experience or observation of many persons. Habits strengthen, it is said, as life goes on, and we become harder and less open to impression. Not so, I believe, with those who are living nearest to the Divine method and are taking into themselves the proper influences of life. As I look back upon those of the genera- tion before me with whom I used to be most familiar, and who have finished their earthly course — strong and rigid and severe, as the men of that generation were, — I remember how the character softened into beauty, more and more, in the later years. If you also, on your part, will look upon those around you who are living rightly, you will see, I am sure, the gentler influences moving in upon their souls gradually and constantly as they move onward. Life must bring us nearer to the Divine tender-^ ness and gentleness as we live longer under their wonderful power. But the years themselves have the same effect, in that they naturally wear away the rougher and harsher parts of the nature, and show how much mightier a power in the world gen- tleness is, than severity. As the gentler influences, however, bear sway more and more completely, the happiness of the soul becomes, of necessity, deeper and deeper — even as the beloved Disciple, passing out of that vehemence and energy which gave him, 301 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR in his early manhood, the name of the Son of Thun- '^ der, came in the after period of his hfe into the quietness of the loving spirit which, as the old legends pictured it, faded away, without his dying, into the happiness of heaven. My friends, I hope that you and I are growing '*' gentler and kindlier as the years bear us onward. If we are not, we are losing one of the best, as well as one of the most natural influences of life, and are certainly not, in this regard, under the leading of the Divine Master, But, if we are thus growing, > we know for ourselves, and in ourselves, that life is becoming happier as we are becoming older, far better than any one can tell us. The right-thinking man, also, is naturally brought, as the years pass, to estimate more truly the com- parative value of the things offered to him in this world. You know, my friend, with a deeper knowl- edge than you had five and twenty years ago, that /^ the things relating to the inward life are better than those belonging to the outward; and if you are living in view of what you know, you are happier for knowing it. The experience of life has taught you that your success, or your wealth, or your ^ fame, is not the highest of earth's gifts, — that these things are nothing in comparison with those which take hold upon the well-being of your inmost souls. In early years, we do not appreciate this, except as it is taught us by the testimony of others. Life is new to us in those years, and the outward things fill our field of vision. But the progress of time 302 THE INNER LIFE opens to us the truth, and experience impresses it more deeply upon the soul. Who can doubt that, as we learn this truth, we become happier? I do not believe that any man knows what rich and deep happiness is, until he has taken into the depths of x his mind that which the lesson of the years teaches, and has made for himself the one great discovery, that it is what is internal, and not what is external to the soul, which fills the wants of our nature. We were created for the internal — for the development of ourselves to perfection ; and it is here alone, that the highest joy can come. We are thus led onward to our final thought: that, as the years advance, we are brought nearer ^ to the heavenly life. There is a certain point in the history of all men who think at all — some time after early youth has passed away — when a great change comes over them. Every thoughtful man who is in middle Hfe, or beyond that period, will recall it, I am sure, in his own review of past expe- rience. I scarcely know how to describe it better than by saying, that we then began to feel, as we had never felt before, the significance of the fact ^ that we are immortal beings. We had known this truth ever since we knew anything, perhaps, but we had not realised it in any impressive way for our thought. But now it becomes a vital thing to us, and we are never again what we had been. The idea of the eternal future, and of our life as passing into it — at any moment, it may be — cannot after- ward be shaken off altogether from our minds. It 303 THOUGHTS OF AND FOR presents itself, whenever it will in our every under- taking, and may colour by its presence our entire view of life. A man may, indeed, resist the influence of this thought so far that it will not regulate his subse- quent course of action. In that case, it will only disturb his quietness, from time to time, with its suggestion of possibilities or dangers. But if he gives it its proper force, and makes life to be what it would dictate, it opens continually before him >c the prospect of heaven, — not of heaven as a place merely, or an outward reward, but of a beautiful growth of the soul in all that is most desired and desirable. The most elevating thoughts ; the deep- '^ est emotions of love and kindliness ; the nearest communion with God which we ever have : — these are the foretastes of the heaven which it opens to us ; a future life and time in which these shall be- come the permanent experience of the soul in a place where all outward surroundings and all friendly associations shall be adapted to the pure inward and spiritual condition. I cannot believe that life was intended by its Divine author to grow less happy, as it should grow older, with such a prospect before it ; or that it ever does become so, except as we forget what we are gaining from year to year — what we are passing out of, and what we are passing into, as we draw steadily nearer to the end. It was not, then, without reason, that the Psalmist sang of long life as a blessing, when it was lived in 304 THE INNER LIFE the line of the Divine ordering. We may not for- get indeed that, as the years go on, there arc many things which try the soul to the very foundations of its being — toils, and burdens, and separations, and deaths of those we love. But in the wonderful working of all influences under the guidance of Him within whose plan are all our lives, even these things are made mysteriously to purify the soul, and thus, as it grows better, to make it grow hap- pier also. So too, when the life reaches its end, and the deepening and increasing happiness of earth is exchanged for the greater blessedness be- yond, the salvation which comes to the soul in its fulness is only that which had been shown or un- folded to it, in ever enlarging measures and clearer visions, while the years here were bearing it onward. 305 Princeton Theological Seminary Libraries 1 1012 01203 8354 y-f