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Presented   by~Wo^^  ,"5QV^rrX)<g/VAj  \^^'33 


BV  4253    .S76    1866 
Stone,   A.    L.    1815-1892 
Memorial  discourses 


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MEMORIAL    DISCOURSES. 


BX 


REV.    A.    L.    STONE,    D.   D., 

Late  Pastor  of  the  Park  Street  Church, 


BOSTON: 

FUBLISHEr)     BY    HEIN-RY    HOYT, 

No.     9     CORNHILL. 

1866. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

HENRY  HOYT, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


DEDICATION. 


To  the  members  of  Park  Street  Church  and  Society,  to  whom  seven- 
teen years  of  happy  fellowship  with  them  in  the  service  of  the  gospel 
have  united  the  author  in  bonds  which  no  absence  or  distance  can 
sever,  this  volume,  as  an  echo  of  the  ministrations  to  which  they 
have  listened  so  kindly  and  so  long,  is  most  gratefully  and  afifection- 
ately  dedicated. 


PREFACE, 


Not  "  dead,  but  absent,"  it  was  no  thought  of  mine  to  be  "  still 
speaking  "  to  my  former  congregation  of  Park  Street,  or  the  larger  com- 
munity on  whose  patient  audience  I  have  so  often  trespassed.  But 
some  of  my  brethren  in  the  pulpits  of  Boston  and  its  vicinity,  and 
not  a  few  of  the  people  to  whom  I  have  ministered  so  many  years, 
and  hold  fast  to  my  heart  by  so  many  ties,  desired  me  to  leave  behind 
me,  as  I  migrated  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  something  which 
should  be  to  them  a  memorial  of  the  labors  among  them  which  had 
thus  come  to  an  end.  There  was  no  reason  why  I  should  not  comply 
with  this  request  except  my  doubt  whether  these  pages  would  have 
any  other  value  to  them,  or  others,  than  that  which  their  partial 
friendship  should  attach  to  them,  and  this  they  overruled. 

They  are  selected  and  grouped  by  no  especial  law,  but  as  fitly 
enough  representing  and  continuing  the  endeavor  of  the  writer  to 
bring  the  profitableness  of  "all  Scripture"  before  those  with  whose 
spiritual  nurture  he  was  charged. 

May  they  yet  be  tributary  to  the  Christian  growth  and  comfort  of 
all  who,  for  friendship's  sake,  or  Christ's,  shall  search  them  for  the 
truth  that  honors  the  Master  and  saves  the  soul ! 

A.  L.  STONE. 


CONTENTS 


God  —  THE  GOVEENOR 1 

The  Work  of  New  England  in  the  Futuee  of  the  Country      .         14 

God's  Delay  to  punish 46 

The  Sabbath  in  the  Family 58 

Knowing  Christ 86 

God  and  the  "World  reconciled  . 102 

Wearing  Christ's  Garments 115 

Christ's  Cup 127 

Waiting 142 

Incompleteness  of  Life 154 

John's  Failure , 167 

Friendship 181 

Faith's  Ventures 197 

Plea  for  the  Monthly  Concert 212 

Human  Loneliness 229 

The  Ministries  of  Time 242 

Sorrows  of  Jesus 258 

Balance  Sheet  ;  or,  Taking  Account  of  Stock       ....       266 
All-Sufficiency  of  Christ 279 


SERMONS 


I. 

GOD  — THE  GOVERNOR. 

FOR  THE  KINGDOM  IS   THE  LORD'S :    AND    HE    IS   THE   GOVERNOR    AMONG    THB 

NATIONS.  —  Psalm  xxii.  28. 

THERE  are  some  very  special  aclvautages  now,  in  the 
attitude  of  the  public  mind,  for  considering  and 
appreciating  the  principles  and  procedures  of  the  divine 
government  among  men.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  we 
are  not  always  in  sympathy  with  God  in  his  estimate  of 
the  sacredness  of  Law,  and  his  measures  to  preserve  or 
restore  its  inviolability.  That  estimate  we  sometimes 
look  upon  as  mysterious  or  extravagant,  and  those  meas- 
ures as  high-handed,  sanguinary,  and  cruel. 

It  is  a  grand  thing  for  us,  in  that  great  contest  of  arms 
in  which  the  nation  is  engaged,  that  our  stand  is  on  the 
side  of  loyalty.  There  are  men  as  earnest,  and  perhaps 
as  sincere  and  conscientious,  on  the  other  side.  But  the 
whole  force  of  their  position  and  the  entire  current  of 
their  sympathies  concur  to  make  not  law,  but  rebellion 
against  it,  sacred  to  them;  not  the  maintenance  of 
irovernment,  but  its  overthrow ;  not  the  preservation 
of  Union,  but  its   destruction.     The  whole  educational 


2  GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR. 

power  of  the  movement  upon  them  is  toward  demor- 
alization and  lawlessness.  It  loosens  from  about  their 
hearts  the  bands  of  governmental  restraints,  all  binding 
sanctities  of  covenants  and  compacts  and  oaths  of  fealty ; 
makes  it  right  and  obligatory  in  their  view  to  assail, 
tear  down,  and  subvert  the  majestic  fabric  of  constitu- 
tional authority,  and  the  public  order  which  it  guards; 
changes  deceit,  treachery,  and  robbery  from  crimes  to 
virtues ;  and  presents,  on  the  other  side,  no  countervail- 
ing rights  and  sanctities  defended  and  established,  no 
imperilled  liberties  fought  for  and  bled  for,  to  offset 
and  neutralize  the  awful  nurture  of  revolutionary  and 
treasonable  violence. 

But  every  outlook  of  ours  upon  the  great  struggle  is 
from  the  heights  of  the  capitol.  We  are  with  the  gov- 
ernment. We  stand  for  the  laws.  We  sustain  the  ap- 
pointed and  legitimate  administration.  We  strike  at 
hydra-headed  anarchy.  For,  let  this  rebellion  prevail, 
and  government  is  impossible.  All  bands  of  allegiance 
are  like  tow  touched  by  fire.  Compacts  of  confederation 
are  ropes  of  sand.  Disintegration  —  as  between  North 
and  South,  between  State  and  State,  between  one  portion 
of  a  State  and  another,  between  cities  and  towns  and 
neighborhoods,  between  man  and  man,  —  nay,  w^e  might 
say  between  body  and  soul  in  the  same  man,  for  there  is 
no  final  bound  to  the  principle  —  becomes  the  supreme 
law.  We  see  the  exigency  with  the  eyes  of  our  rulers. 
It  is  a  perfectly  fundamental  and  radical  issue.  It  is 
life  or  death  with  all  constituted  authority.  It  is  the 
whole  question  of  civil  and  social  order.     It  is  just  the 


GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR.  3 

problem  whether  men  can  dwell  together  in  communities, 
or  whether  they  shall  resolve  themselves  back  into  indi- 
vidualism and  barbarism,  become  each  an  Ishmaelite,  his 
hand  against  every  man  and  every  man's  hand  against 
him.  And  so  deep  and  strong  are  our  convictions  that  we 
say,  —  we  all  say ;  no  tongue  lisps  a  whisper  of  dissent, 
—  Government  must  be  maintained  at  w^hatever  cost. 
Constitutional  law  must  be  enforced  at  all  hazards. 
And  we  suffer  no  man  alive,  and  no  page  of  history,  and 
no  imagination  of  the  thoughts  of  the  heart,  to  put  before 
us  any  estimate  of  the  hazard,  any  computation  of  the 
cost,  which  can  make  us  Mter  in  that  stand.  Before  any 
possible  future,  we  repeat  it  with  firm  lips  and  steadfast 
hearts,  "at  all  hazards,  at  whatever  cost."  Here, 
too,  as  in  the  other  direction,  is  an  educating  power  of 
transcendent  force,  and  the  lesson  upon  us  and  our  chil- 
dren and  our  children's  children  will  not  lose  its  special 
vitality  for  three  generations,  at  least,  of  human  life,  and 
will  abide  in  our  history,  a  voice  of  wisdom  and  authority 
for  all  times  and  histories  to  come, 

Xow,  then,  finding  us  in  this  attitude  of  mind,  God 
may  speak  to  us  concerning  his  kingdom.  He  is  a  Gov- 
ernor, and  he  may  press  us,  now,  with  conclusions  af- 
fecting his  administration,  which  none  of  us  can  gainsay. 

If  he  ask.  Shall  there  be  a  government  at  all,  set  up 
in  his  name  on  earth?  we  can  only  now  give  one  an- 
swer. Sometimes  we  speak  of  God  as  though  he  were 
only  a  father  to  our  humanity,  and  should  confine  himself 
to  that.  A  father's  office  we  conceive  to  be  to  furnish 
us  with  a  home ;  to  make  that  home  pleasant  and  safe ; 


4  GOD  —  THE    GOVERNOR. 

to  provide  for  us  there  as  well  as  he  may ;  to  call  us  to- 
gether around  the  bright  hearth  and  the  smoking  board ; 
to  appoint  us  a  pillow  of  comfortable  rest ;  to  watch  at 
our  side  with  faithful  vigils,  tender  care,  and  skilful 
nursing  when  we  are  sick,  and  wipe  away  our  tears 
when  we  are  sad.  We  all  like  to  call  God,  ''Father:' 
He  appears  in  such  an  amiable,  smiling  aspect  when  this 
relation  alone  is  recognized,  that  we  dismiss  our  fears,  and 
have  only  grateful  sensations  as  he  presents  himself  thus 
before  us.  It  is  very  agreeable  to  be  so  cared  for  and 
cherished  and  blessed.  So  far,  we  have,  none  of  us, 
any  quarrel  with  God.  Let  him  pour  his  blessed  sun- 
shine upon  us  all  the  day.  Let  him  soften  our  fields 
with  his  spring  showers,  and  fill  our  wells  with  his  au- 
tumn rains.  Let  him  refresh  the  arid  places  of  earth 
with  nightly  dews.  Let  him  give  us  the  round  of  the 
changeful  and  fruitful  seasons.  Let  him  gladden  our 
daily  walks  with  the  companionship  of  kindred  and 
friends,  and  make  our  tabernacle  musical  with  household 
talk.  A  good  father,  a  kind  benefactor.  There  is  not  a 
heart  on  earth  that  objects  to  such  a  conception  of  God, 
or  to  any  such  function  of  his  superintending  providence. 
Nay,  he  may  even  advise,  in  a  fatherly  way,  as  to  the 
temper  we  ought  to  cherish  and  the  conduct  we  ought  to 
exhibit,  and  chide  us  gently,  if  we  miss  the  mark,  and 
seek  to  persuade  us  to  better  purposes  and  more  filial 
returns . 

Our  eyes  are  open  a  little  wider  now.  We  see  clearly 
that  such  an  administration  will  not  do.  It  is  not  strong 
enough.     It  lacks  enforcing  and  coercive  power.     It  is 


GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR.  D 

cruelly  weak.  In  a  sense,  it  tempts  to  rebellion  and 
defiance.  God  must  be  a  Governor,  as  well  as  a 
Father.  He  must  enact  laws,  publish  ordinances,  set 
up  institutes ;  come  before  us  not  simply  with  a  father's 
love,  but  with  a  ruler's  authority.  We  want  to  see  firm- 
ness, as  well  as  kindness,  on  his  face.  We  want  to  feel 
that  there  is  a  steadfast  will,  as  truly  as  a  paternal  pity ; 
that  his  throne  stands  as  fast  as  his  promises ;  and  that 
his  control  of  us  and  our  fellow-men,  and  of  all  things 
around  us  afiecting  our  interests,  is  as  wide,  searching, 
and  absolute  as  his  exploration  of  our  wants,  and  the 
generosity  with  which  all  need  is  met.  We  shall  agree 
in  saying,  "  If  God  be  good,  let  him  give  us  a  govern- 
ment, not  shadowy,  remote,  and  ineffective,  but  near, 
positive,  peremptory,  that  may  be  felt,  relied  upon,  and 
ascertained  to  be  real  and  solid."  The  fatherhood  of 
God  is  a  very  affecting  truth,  but  it  does  not  of  itself 
go  far  enough  for  our  confidence  and  our  comfort.  Not 
till  we  read  on  his  vesture  and  his  thigh,  that  other 
title,  "  King  of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords,"  are  our  souls 
at  peace.     Here  we  plant  our  feet  upon  a  rock. 

Again,  if  God  ask.  Shall  this  government  be  main- 
tained? our  answer  is  equally  prompt  and  hearty.  We 
have  not  two  opinions  about  it.  We  want  a  strong, 
steady,  abiding  government.  We  desire  to  know  how 
it  is  bulwarked  ;  what  forces  wait  upon  its  behests  ;  what 
executive  vigor  it  possesses.  Is  omniscience  its  coun- 
sellor? Is  omnipotence  ready  to  march  at  its  bidding? 
Does  its  control  sweep  the  area  of  its  territory,  ubiqui- 
tous in  every  part  ?     Is  it  prepared  for  all  exigencies  ?    Is 


6  GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR. 

it  a  fair-weather  government,  on  deck  in  pleasant  lati- 
tudes, handling  the  sails,  steering  the  ship,  ordering  the 
crew  while  the  winds  and  currents  favor?  and  does  it 
abdicate  if  there  be  gales  or  lee  shores  or  mutiny?  or 
is  it  a  government  for  stormy  weather  overhead  and 
conspiracies  on  board?  What  will  it  do  if  defied?  On 
that  question  our  chief  solicitude  hangs.  Let  God  put 
that  question  to  us.  What  shall  my  government  do  if 
it  encounter  combinations  and  conspiracies  against  its 
perpetuity?  Shall  it  give  way,  retract  its  edicts,  back 
down,  let  whoso  will  renounce  allegiance,  and  throw  off 
the  character  of  subjects,  or  shall  it  be  maintained?  We 
are  ready  with  our  answer.  How  easy  it  is  to-day  to 
answer  !  No  hesitation  !  Our  response  is  brief,  but  em- 
phatic. It  repeats  the  last  word  of  the  question  with  a 
downrisfht  cadence,  "  maintained  !  " 

Suppose,  again,  the  Great  Governor  asks  us  hoio  far 
he  shall  go  in  the  maintenance  of  his  government.  We 
reply  again,  without  taking  time  for  debate,  and  without 
any  qualification.  As  far  as  is  necessary  for  the  object. 
Shall  he  proffer,  then,  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  every 
subject?  Yes,  to  every  subject.  And  if  this  oath  be 
declined,  or,  having  been  taken,  be  broken  by  falsehood 
and  perjury,  shall  he  insist  upon  the  supremacy  of  the 
government  there?  Yes,  he  must  insist.  But  if  he 
commit  himself  to  such  a  demand,  how  far  must  he  be 
prepared  to  back  it  up?  If  need  be,  with  the  whole 
power  of  the  government.  But  it  may  call  for  the 
waters  of  a  universal  deluge.  Then  let  the  deluge  fall. 
It  may  necessitate  the   ten  plagues  of  his  wrathful  right 


GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR.  7 

arm.  Then  inflict  them.  It  may  make  our  earthly  Niles 
run  red  with  blood.  No  matter,  they  must  run  through 
loyal  dominions.  It  may  call  for  the  extermination  of 
the  Amalekites.  Then  exterminate  them.  It  may  com- 
pel the  administration  to  keep  a  standing  army  of  fam- 
ines, fevers,  pestilences,  and  storms,  and  an  immense 
police  of  aches  and  pains  and  crosses  and  disappoint- 
ments. Yery  well,  then  the  administration  must  do  it. 
It  may  oblige  the  government  to  make  a  terrible  example 
of  rebels  and  traitors,  to  hold  up  their  tragic  end  as  an 
awful  warning,  to  show  them  to  all  the  States  of  God's 
empire  gibbeted  in  eternal  anguish  and  infamy,  —  the 
shame  and  condemnation  of  their  great  parricide  clinging 
to  them  forever  and  ever.  Well,  if  this  be  needful,  it  is 
right.  It  is  therefore  good.  It  is  benevolent.  The 
government  has  no  choice.  It  must  be  maintained.  In 
the  hearts  or  upon  the  necks  of  those  v/ho  oppose  it,  its 
supremacy  must  be  asserted.  If  it  take  cycles  of  proba- 
tionary centuries,  if  it  cost  myriads  of  subject  lives,  if 
it  necessitate  the  laying  waste  of  ten  thousand  worlds, 
fortresses  of  secession  and  nests  of  sedition,  —  if  it  part 
brother  from  brother,  cut  off  unnumbered  children  of 
God's  loins  from  their  Father's  house,  cast  down  from 
the  firmament  a  third  part  of  the  stars  set  therein  by 
God's  hand,  —  the  infinite  good  of  an  established  gov- 
ernment demands  and  justifies  the  prodigious  outlay. 
For,  government  sacrificed,  all  is  lost;  no  good  remains. 
Better  lose  a  part.  The  loss  is  partial  and  temporary. 
It  can  be  replaced.  The  good  of  a  sustained  administra- 
tion is  universal  and  eternal.     How  clearly  we  see  that 


8  GOD  —  THE    GOVEENOR. 

now !  How  easy  it  is  to  answer  these  questions  here  and 
to-day  !  The  principles  of  government  are  one,  on  earth 
and  in  that  august  court.  How  fully  God  vindicates  him- 
self in  our  instinctive  and  accordant  judgments  !  How 
absolutely  we  pronounce,  The  cost  of  maintaining  govern- 
ment must  not  he  regarded!  That  is  sanction  enough  for 
any  and  all  of  God's  procedures. 

Again,  suppose  the  divine  lips  reiterate  the  question, 
What  shall  he  done  icith  rehels?  Possibly  we  should 
suggest,  especially  to  a  government  undeniably  strong 
enough  to  deal  with  them,  a  course  of  forbearance  for  a 
while  ;  time  given  them  for  soberer  thoughts  ;  attempts  to 
remove  their  prejudices,  to  convince  them  of  the  benevo- 
lent intentions  and  spirit  of  the  government,  to  awaken 
them  to  penitence  and  shame,  to  lead  them  back,  if  possi- 
ble, to  their  allegiance ;  but  when  the  question  returns. 
They  are  obdurate  ;  they  will  not  have  God  to  reign  over 
them ;  they  have  set  up  for  themselves ;  they  are  deter- 
mined upon  independence  of  the  rightful  authority ;  they 
are  going  on  under  their  own  flag  ;  what  shall  be  done  with 
them  ?  our  answer  again  is  prompt  and  decisive ;  the  gov- 
ernment must  proceed  against  them.  It  cannot  allow  their 
triumph.  That  dishonors  the  administration  before  all 
worlds,  and  must  disaflect  the  loyal  everywhere  and  for- 
ever. No  knee,  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  will  continue  to 
pay  homage  to  such  a  government,  which  is  no  govern- 
ment. It  must  deal  with  these  rebels,  if  it  would  not 
have  defection  and  rebellion  general.  It  must  put  them 
down.  If  need  be,  it  must  cut  them  down,  it  must  mow 
them   down,  —  it   must   utterly   exterminate  them,   if  it 


GOD  —  THE    GOVERNOR.  9 

come  to  that.  Rebellion  must  be  crushed  out.  Admit  it 
in  any  corner  of  God's  broad  kingdom,  and  allow  it  to 
thrive  and  live  and  maintain  its  little  rival  empire  there, 
and  the  weakness  and  incompetency  of  the  administration 
are  confessed,  and  it  is  disrobed  of  royalty  from  hence- 
forth. Put  an  end  to  it.  Rebellion  itself  is  responsible 
for  the  havoc  which  it  provokes.  Bring  over  it  the 
clouds  of  heaven,  open  the  magazines  of  electric  fire, 
hang  out  the  flag  set  with  suns  of  light  and  striped  with 
red  of  dreadful  vengeance.  March  the  forces  of  Almight- 
iness,  and  let  the  artillery  open  its  thunders ;  bring  out 
the  reserves  of  Jehovah,  the  chariots  of  God,  which  are 
ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand,  —  the  rebellion  must 
BE  WIPED  OUT !  Can  we  give  any  other  answer  ?  Put 
the  question  to  twenty  millions  of  people  in  this  our 
nation  to-day.  Is  God  justified  in  putting  down  rebel- 
lion in  his  dominions,  by  whatever  pains  and  penalties 
needful?  and  twenty  millions  of  voices  answer,  with  a 
shout  that  rises  above  the  choral  melodies  of  heaven, 
"  Ay  !  "  These  flags,  that  have  blossomed  out,  this  sea- 
son past,  so  suddenly  upon  all  the  summer  air,  symbolize 
more  than  the  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  the  great  Republic. 
They  float  and  wave  for  a  more  august  principle.  The 
mustering  and  marching  among  the  hills  and  valleys  of 
our  New  England  homes  and  across  the  breadth  of 
prairies  and  over  dividing  mountains  are  in  allegiance  to 
a  grander  call  than  that  of  patriotism.  All  this  fervor 
and  self-devotion  declare  a  truth  high  as  the  throne  of 
God  and  eternal  as  his  reign,  —  Rebellion  against  good 
government  must  be  extinguished  by  utmost  power  and 


10  GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR. 

severity.  And  more  than  this,  they  declare  that  it  must 
be  so  extinguished,  the  treatment  be  so  effectual,  the 
warning  so  memorable,  the  crushing  so  final,  that  never 
again,  while  government  endures,  shall  rebellion  lift  its 
head.  When  before  was  God's  scheme  of  governing  a 
universe  so  indorsed  by  man  ?  Never  in  the  long  story 
of  time.  But  we  see  exigencies  and  principles  now,  as 
our  eyes  never  beheld  them  in  the  past. 

If  we  ask,  again,  What  is  the  duty  of  rebels?  the 
same  unbroken  unanimity  replies,  To  lay  down  their  arms, 
restore  their  spoil,  and  submit  unconditionally  to  the 
government.  No  treating  with  God  with  arms  in  our 
hands.  No  questioning  of  his  intents,  while  our  traitor- 
ous flag  is  flying.  No  expectation  of  his  clemency,  or 
demand  for  his  forbearance,  v/hile  we  occupy  our  for- 
tresses. Submission  first.  Nothing  before  that.  The 
government  must  keep  its  one  aspect,  so  long  as  we  re- 
sist and  stand  out.  It  can  make  no  terms  with  treason. 
All  talk  of  amnesties  and  pardon  must  come  in  on  the 
basis  of  absolute  surrender. 

What  is  the  duty  of  the  loyal  ?  Clear  again  and  un- 
mistakable. They  must  take  side  with  the  government. 
There  must  be  no  question  with  any  mind  where  they 
stand.  They  must  not  only  let  it  be  known,  but  make  it 
known,  with  which  party  they  are  in  sympathy,  —  whether 
with  the  government  or  with  rebellion.  There  can  be  no 
such  thing  as  neutrality.  Neutrality  is  infidelity  and  dis- 
loyalty to  the  crown.  It  is  aid  and  comfort  to  treason. 
God  insists,  and  we  shall  say  to-day  that  he  has  a  right  to 
insist,  that  every  man  shall  run  up  his  flag.     We  feel  like 


GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR.  11 

insisting  upon  the  same  thing  in  the  earthly  issue.  God 
calls,  "Come  out  from  among  rebels."  "Confess  Christ 
before  men."  "Join  the  fellowships  of  my  people."  "  He 
that  is  not  for  me  is  against  me."  Oh,  how  impregnable 
are  these  positions  !  How  intelligent  is  God's  earnest- 
ness, at  the  head  of  his  government,  in  insisting  upon  be- 
ing openly  acknowledged  in  a  time  and  in  a  world  of 
rebellion  !  It  is  not  enough  for  one  of  us  to  say,  "  Why, 
I  mean  to  be  a  just  and  peaceable  man ;  I  am  going  about 
my  business  ;  I  am  not  to  be  pressed  into  making  demon- 
strations." That's  the  mistake.  No  demonstration  is  a 
demonstration.  It  is  disaffection  and  defection.  Men 
must  demonstrate.  They  must  run  up  their  flag,  and  it 
must  be  the  right  sort  of  a  flag  too.  We  can  understand 
the  intense  abhorrence  with  which  the  lips  of  God  pro- 
claim it  to  these  neutrals, — "So  because  thou  art  luke- 
warm, and  art  neither  cold  nor  hot,  I  will  spue  thee  out 
of  my  mouth."  Are  any  of  us  neutral  as  between  God 
and  the  o-reat  rebellion  ?  Do  we  leave  it  in  doubt  where 
we  are,  what  colors  w^e  secretly  prefer  ?  We  have  not 
thought  of  that  matter  as  we  ought,  have  we?  See  the 
unutterable  meanness  and  cowardice  and  wickedness  of 
that  attitude.  We  don't  want  to  fight,  do  we  !  We  pre- 
fer not  to  arm !  we  choose  not  to  enlist !  When  good 
soldiers  are  crowned,  where  shall  we  be?  When  traitors 
are  punished,  what  will  become  of  us? 

Again,  can  the  loyal  do  anything  with  happier  effect 
than  this  one  thing,  —  show  their  confidence  in  the  Supreme 
administration?  God's  plans  are  large;  they  are  slow- 
moving  as  we  reckon  time  ;  they  are  not  submitted  to  our 


12  GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR. 

inspection.  Suppose  they  seem  to  us  too  slow ;  fail  of 
what  we  call  grand  chances ;  give  up  such  capital  strate- 
gies of  our  devising;  and  we,  with  the  king's  uniform  on, 
marchinor  under  his  orders  and  officers,  and  enrolled  for 
the  war,  stop  and  shake  our  heads,  and  vent  our  criti- 
cisms, and  propose  our  emendations,  and  purse  up  our  lips 
and  shruo^  our  shoulders  ;  what  is  the  effect  ?  The  effect 
is  to  damage  the  government;  to  shake  its  hold  upon 
other  hearts ;  to  interfere  with  its  recruiting ;  to  pour  a 
contagion  of  faintness  and  uncertainty  through  the  ranks 
where  we  march.  That  is  not  for  us.  It  is  for  us  to  obey 
orders  ;  to  trust  the  management  of  the  campaigns  to  the 
Great  Captain  of  our  salvation ;  to  march  when  he  gives 
command  ;  to  pitch  when  the  word  comes ;  to  maintain 
the  post  at  which  he  sets  us,  and  keep  such  a  cheerful  and 
trustful  air  that  men  shall  say,  "  These  soldiers  are  confi- 
dent of  victory.     They  trust  their  leader." 

By  and  by  the  war  will  be  ended.  All  rebels  will  be 
subdued  to  penitent  allegiance,  or  punished  with  final 
exile  and  ignominy.  The  loyal  and  triumphant  forces 
will  gather  home  to  the  presence  of  the  King  and  the 
glory  of  the  capital.  What  an  ovation  will  await  them  as 
they  march  in  upon  the  streets  of  the  royal  city !  All 
heaven  will  be  moved  at  their  coming.  From  lip  to  lip, 
the  tidings  will  leap,  "  The  warriors  of  Prince  Emmanuel 
are  returned  from  the  fields  of  earth."  And  as  the  long 
line  comes  gleaming  on,  the  angelic  welcomes  will  be 
heard  in  farthest  spheres,  on  the  outer  verge  of  light. 
There  are  they  that  were  stoned  to  death  in  riotous  cities, 
martyred  witnesses  of  the  truth ;  there  are  the  men,  few 


GOD  —  THE   GOVERNOR.  13 

and  alone,  that  defended  some  "  Sumter "  of  principle, 
around  which  roared  aloud  the  world's  hostile  scorn ; 
there  are  they  that  left  houses  and  lands,  and  home  and 
kindred  behind,  to  give  their  lives  in  the  great  struggle ; 
and  each  scar  of  battle  will  be  a  badge  of  everlasting 
honor ;  and  the  rent  banners  will  be  hung  out  over  heav- 
en's battlements,  and  bathed  in  living  light;  and  the 
hand  that  led  the  forces  on  will  set  upon  each  brow  a 
crown  of  glory. 
2 


IL 


THE  WOEK  OF  NEW  ENGLAND  IN  THE 
FUTUEE  OF  THE   COUNTRY. 

AND  THET  THAT  SHALL  BE  OF  THEE  SHALL  BUILD  THE  OLD  WASTE  PLACES; 
THOU  SHALT  RAISE  UP  THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  MANY  GENERATIONS;  AND 
THOU  SHALT  BE  CALLED,  THE  REPAIRER  OP  THE  BREACH,  THE  RESTORER  OP 

PATHS  TO  DWELL  IN.  — Isaiah  Iviii.  12. 

WE  cannot  to-day  be  narrow,  and  shut  our  thoughts 
within  the  limits  of  the  Commonwealth.  The 
TIMES  are  educating  us  all  into  views  and  sympathies 
broad  as  the  land.  We  stand  in  these  hours  on  an  emi- 
nence, and  our  horizon  is  the  borders  of  the  Republic. 
We  are  lifted  to  the  dome  of  our  nationality,  and  our  field 
of  vision  stretches  to  the  water-line  that  marks  either  ocean 
shore,  —  the  blue  of  the  Lakes  and  the  blue  of  the  Gulf. 

We  cannot  name  our  State,  or  any  State,  without 
thinking  at  once  of  our  whole  country.  We  are  weaned 
from  the  idea  that  a  State  is  complete  by  itself.  It  is  one 
component  part  of  a  Federal  Government,  held  to  its  sis- 
ters by  a  deathless  bond.  It  is  a  branch  of  a  living  and 
fruitful  vine,  in  which  alone  it  has  life  and  fruitfulness. 
Except  it  abide  in  the  vine, — we  may  reverently  apply  the 
Scripture,  —  it  "  is  cast  forth  as  a  branch,  and  is  withered ; 


THE    WORK    OF   NEW    ENGLAND.  15 

and  men  gather  them  and  cast  them  into  the  fire,  and  they 
are  burned." 

Let  the  stars  in  the  heavens  break  from  their  constella- 
tions, but  let  not  one  on  our  field  of  blue  part  the  chain 
of  celestial  gravitation  and  attempt  to  shine  alone.  It 
shall  soon  become  a  "  wanderinsr  star,"  "  Sfoinor  out  in  the 
blackness  of  darkness  forever." 

We  belong  to  a  nation  —  a  nation  living  still  —  fair 
and  strong  and  whole,  undivided  and  indivisible,  wear- 
ing still  on  its  brow,  for  all  the  jealous  kingdoms  to 
read,  the  old  familiar  inscription,  ''E  jplurihus  unxim^^ 
and  girding  itself  anew  for  the  race  of  the  future. 

And  the  question  which  I  desire  briefly  to  discuss  to- 
day is  this  :  What  is  the  work  of  Massachusetts,  and  of 
New  England,  in  this  near  future  of  the  whole  country? 

We  may  say,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  life  of  New 
England  cannot  be  dissevered  from  the  national  life. 
There  has  been  in  some  quarters  certain  idle  and  flippant 
talk  in  reference  to  such  a  readjustment  of  the  national 
boundaries  as  should  leave  this  old  Puritan  Common- 
wealth and  her  five  sisters  outside  the  walls  of  the  new 
confederation.  Bat  our  connection  with  the  Eepublic  is 
not  a  matter  of  territorial  contiguity  and  geographical 
lines.  Let  men  run  border  lines  as  they  pleace  ;  let  them 
frame  ordinances  of  separation ;  let  them  build  a  Tartar 
wall  between  us  and  the  great  homestead;  neither  civil 
nor  material  barriers  can  exile  us  from  the  family  circle. 
It  were  just  a&  possible  to  separate  from  the  loaf  the  lea- 
ven that  made  it  liijht  and  sweet,  or  from  a  human  life  the 
principles  and  influences  of  its  early  nurture. 


16  THE    WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

New  England  is  not  a  certain  limited  portion  of  the 
national  domain,  a  sharp  eastern  angle  that  can  be  clipped 
oflf.  No  map  of  the  Union  gives  to  the  eye  her  full  and 
proper  extent.  No  engineering  art  can  explore  and  pro- 
ject her  share  of  our  continental  heritage. 

Her  life  is  ubiquitous  in  the  nation.  From  her  foun- 
tain heart  the  warm  arterial  currents  have  circulated 
through  the  whole  body  and  flowed  out  to  the  remotest 
extremities.  Her  sons  have  gone  forth  into  every  habi- 
table place  of  the  broad  land.  They  have  carried  with 
them  her  enterprise,  her  intelligence,  her  art,  her  ingenu- 
ity, the  pure  and  ordered  life  of  her  homes,  the  tranquil 
securities  of  her  law-abiding  communities,  her  system  of 
common  schools,  academies,  and  colleges,  her  reverence 
for  the  Sabbath,  the  memory  and  the  love  of  her  house- 
hold altars  and  public  sanctuaries.  Their  first  harvests  as 
they  have  occupied  and  opened  up  virgin  soil  have  been 
not  what  the  earth  yielded  to  the  hand  of  tillage ;  they 
sowed,  first  of  all,  Puritan  ideas, — the  seeds  of  New  Eng- 
land institutions ;  and  that  which  grew  earliest  beneath 
their  husbandry  has  been  the  transplanted  life  of  their 
own  native  hills  and  valleys.  Here  are  indestructible 
channels  which  cannot  be  closed,  and  through  which  the 
fountained  abundance  of  New  England's  fulness  has  flowed 
out  and  is  flowing  still  across  the  prairies,  and  along  the 
central  valley,  and  through  the  wilderness,  and  unto  the 
far  Pacific  coast.  New  England  can  no  more  be  divorced 
from  the  Union  than  the  maternity  of  a  mother  from  her 
children.  That  maternity  is  in  their  form  and  features  ; 
it  gives  the  coloring  to  cheek  and  hair ;    it  looks  from 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         17 

their  eyes ;  it  speaks  from  their  tongues ;  it  runs  in  their 
veins  ;  it  beats  in  their  hearts.  Not  even  by  miracle  could 
it  be  separated  from  them. 

Separate  New  England  from  the  Union  !  Give  us  back 
our  sons  and  daughters,  more  than  half  a  million  of  them, 
from  all  the  homes  of  the  land  outside  our  borders ! 
Give  us  back  our  millions  of  capital  that  have  already 
changed  so  much  of  the  western  wilderness  to  a  smiling 
garden,  whitened  the  length  of  its  rivers  with  the  foam 
of  swift  steamers,  and  braided  over  the  land  the  iron 
strands  of  trade  and  travel ;  turn  back  upon  us  the  deep 
streams  of  wealth  that  flow  out  annually  to  those  granaries 
of  the  West  for  their  cereal  stores  !  Give  us  back  the 
forceful  and  fruitful  words  that  have  gone  forth  from  her 
press,  her  pulpit,  her  rostrum  of  public  oratory,  from 
every  platform  and  every  page  on  which  the  eloquent  lips 
of  her  sons  have  spoken, — words  that  have  quickened  and 
controlled  the  intellectual  life  of  generations,  and  guided 
popular  movements  in  every  part  of  the  country ;  this 
public  speech  of  New  England  that  has  gone  forth  free 
and  fresh  and  vital  as  the  air  of  heaven,  gather  it  up  and 
restore  it  to  its  authors ;  separate  it  from  the  popular 
mind  and  heart,  from  the  principles  and  the  practice  of 
our  homebred  millions  !  Give  us  back  the  messengers  of 
a  pure  gospel  that  have  gone  forth  at  our  sending,  with 
large  self-sacrifice,  to  plant  the  banner  of  the  cross  in 
"  western  wilds,"  and  bear  it  on  in  the  very  van  of  our 
spreading  civilization,  and  with  them  the  churches  they 
have  built,  and  the  fair  Christian  order  they  have  reared 
amid  the  outlawry  of  frontier  settlements  !  Give  us  back 
2* 


18  THE   WOKK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

the  broad,  bright  river  of  our  charities,  that  has  branched 
to  so  many  thresholds  of  suffering  through  these  four 
tragic  years !  Give  us  back  the  brave  blood  that  has 
drenched  a  hundred  battle-fields,  and  reddened  the  trail 
of  New  England  feet  wherever  the  armies  of  the  Union 
have  marched ! 

When  all  this  can  be  done,  when  the  nation  will  con- 
sent to  this,  then  may  men  talk  about  "  leaving  New 
England  out  in  the  cold."  Till  then,  her  place  is  in  the 
warm  hearts  of  the  people,  her  life  mingled  with  the  life 
of  the  nation,  "  one  and  inseparable." 

We  have,  we  may  say,  in  the  second  place,  to  keep 
New  England  undegenerate. 

The  greatness  of  New  Ensrland's  influence  is  not  so 
much  in  what  she  does  as  in  what  she  is.  The  two  go  to- 
gether. When  she  works,  when  she  speaks,  it  is  the 
background  of  character  that  lends  to  both  their  weight. 
Just  as  when  an  individual  utters  his  thoughts,  —  it  is  not 
so  much  what  he  says  as  who  says  it.  The  chief  empha- 
sis of  words  and  of  deeds  comes  from  the  heart  of  the  doer 
and  the  speaker.  There  is  no  premium  in  the  sphere  of 
moral  power  upon  idleness,  frivolity,  and  corruption. 
Both  for  men  and  for  communities,  if  we  would  have  the 
influence  pure  and  strong,  these  attributes  must  first  be 
demonstrated  in  the  character.  It  is  when  those  who 
speak  in  the  name  of  New  England  can  say,  "Look  at 
her,"  that  their  oratory  is  beyond  tongues  of  flame  and 
words  of  fire.  We  have  it  in  charge,  then,  to  guard  the 
purity  and  nourish  the  strength  of  this  home-life.  The 
fountain  must  be  full  and  clear  if  the  streams  are  to  be 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         19 

pure  and  copious.     We  must  keep  the  New  England  ideal 
rounded  and  perfect  in  her  actual. 

There  are  some  things  New  England  cannot  be.  She 
cannot  be  the  granary  of  the  nation,  a  great  agricultural 
producer.  A  single  prairie  lot,  where  the  horses  trot  at 
the  plough  in  one  straight  furrow  of  miles  before  they 
turn,  and  where,  later,  the  reapers  seem  struggling  like 
wrecked  mariners  in  the  wide,  tawny  harvest  sea, 

"  Rari.nantes  in  gurgite  vasto," 

would  swallow  as  a  little  morsel  all  the  farming  life 
within  oiu'  borders.  She  cannot  be  a  grower  of  tropi- 
cal fruits  and  flowers,  breathing  from  red,  ripe  lips 
the  fragrance  of  tropical  airs;  a  tiller  of  the  vine,  the 
orange,  and  the  olive ;  a  nurse  of  pale  invalids  hurrying 
from  cold  coast  winds  to  seek  soft  bowers  and  sunny 
vales.  She  cannot  show  in  her  granite  clifis  and  rude 
ravines  the  yellow,  glittering  scales  to  which  the  greed  of 
all  nations  should  come  rushing  and  trampling,  hewing 
down  her  hills,  and  turning  her  peaceful  wilds  back  into 
the  bald  desolations  of  old  chaos.  But  she  can  be  the 
fountain-head '  of  intelligence  for  the  people,  kindling  in 
every  little  vale  and  hamlet,  for  the  poorest  and  humblest, 
the  lights  of  letters  and  learning,  building  on  favored 
heights  her  tall  towers  of  Science,  to  scatter  their  rays 
afar,  calling  to  her  classic  halls  the  wisest  teachers  of 
the  day,  shedding  upon  all  the  paths  of  her  children, 
from  the  untiring  enginery  of  her  press,  the  white  leaves 
of  daily  knowledge  and  high  research,  as  orchard  trees 
shed  the  blossoms  of  spring,  as  this  January  sky  sheds 


20  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

its  snowflakes  to-day.  She  can  be  the  schoolmistress  of 
the  land,  teaching  the  alphabet  of  all  good  nurture, 
leading  her  pupils  up  through  the  great  volumes  of  wis- 
dom, and  quarrying  out  the  massive  granite  of  her 
thoughts  for  all  intellectual  builders. 

She  can  be  the  mother  of  art  and  of  invention,  so  that 
the  right  hand  of  all  labor,  whether  of  the  mind,  the 
shop,  or  the  field,  shall  stretch  itself  out  to  her  for  the 
most  facile  implements  of  its  craft. 

She  can  be  the  asserter  and  defender  of  all  humane  and 
noble  principles,  so  that  every  champion  of  truth  and 
freedom,  every  lover  of  the  right  and  of  his  fellow-man, 
shall  draw  inspiration  from  her  words  and  strength  from 
her  steadfastness. 

She  can  especially  be  the  mother  and  nurse  of  men. 
This  is  her  royal  staple.  The  sands  of  the  Cape  are 
barren  and  rough,  and  bleak  are  the  Berkshire  hills  ;  but 
the  barren  sands  and  the  bleak  hills  grow  men.  To  train 
the  generations  of  her  sons  and  daughters  is  the  most 
peculiar  work  of  New  England  within  her  borders.  She 
does  not  put  her  infants  out  to  nurse.  Her  generous 
breasts  suckle  all  her  babes.  She  is  to  take  each  new- 
born child  of  every  home,  and  to  solve  over  it  this  prob- 
lem: Given  a  fresh  young  life,  how  to  conduct  it  to  the 
noblest  manhood,  the  purest  womanhood  !  From  the  cradle 
to  the  fullest  prime,  and  onward  to  the  chamber  of  rest, 
she  is  to  be  to  this  life,  in  all  its  physical,  mental,  and 
moral  culture,  the  institutions  that,  from  first  to  last,  shall 
develop,  mould,  and  guard  it,  the  atmosphere  that  shall 
fill  its  lungs,  and  drape  it  round  about,  a  wise  and  faithful 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         21 

foster-parent.  Beyond  all  the  newer  and  more  unfur- 
nished portions  of  our  country,  she  is  to  provide  within 
her  rocky  portals  a  nursery  for  the  children  of  the  Re- 
public. 

There  is  one  word  which,  more  than  any  other,  holds 
before  our  thought  the  whole  New  England  ideal.  It  is 
not  only  a  descriptive,  but  an  inspiring  word.  It  leads  us 
back  to  the  presence  and  the  heroisms  of  our  dead  fathers. 
There  throb  in  it  the  stern,  strong  pulses  of  martyr  life. 
It  is  keyed  to  the  music  of  our  early  forest  temples,  in 
which  the  Pilgrims  worshipped  God, 

"  And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 
To  the  anthems  of  the  free." 

Oh  that  our  New  England  might  be,  late  and  forever, 
what  she  was  at  first,  —  Puritan  !  Once  a  word  of  re- 
proach, veined  with  sneering  irony,  —  History  has  written 
it  as  our  proudest  eulogy.  To  keep  it  unblotted  down 
the  ages  is  our  most  sacred  trust. 

For  this  there  must  be  a  real,  practical,  public  faith  in 
God.  We  must  believe  that  he  is  a  God  nigh  at  hand, 
and  not  afar  off.  We  must  not  exile  him  to  the  seventh 
heavens, — a  cold,  remote,  hazy  spectre.  There  must  be 
with  us  a  reverent  sense  of  his  constant  presence  and  a 
devout  recognition  of  the  mingling  of  his  counsel  and  his 
hand  in  all  our  private  and  public  affairs.  How  near  he 
was  to  our  fathers ;  they  walked  with  him,  and  talked 
with  him,  and  questioned  his  will  at  every  step  of  life  ! 
Their  eye  sought  his,  their  hand  touched  his  in  every 
strait.     We  must  not  be  afraid  to  name  him,  and  avouch 


22  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

him,  and  appeal  to  him,  iu  our  proclamations  and  State 
papers  and  legislative  acts  and  judicial  decisions.  We 
ought  to  be  afraid  to  leave  him  out,  and  to  withdraw  our 
public  life  from  the  shadow  of  those  tutelar  sanctities.  If 
ever  we  cease  to  be  here  a  God-fearing  people  ;  if  we  drift 
away  from  the  faith  of  a  divine,  revealed  religion,  and  its 
rightful  control  of  human  affairs  ;  if  we  give  up  the  Chris- 
tian Sabbath,  as  an  effete  institution ;  if  we  discard  the 
Bible  as  God's  code  of  laws  for  individuals  and  for  States  ; 
if  we  dissociate  politics  and  religion,  breaking  up  the  old 
Puritan  bridal,  which  wedded  them,  and  pronounced  over 
them  this  nuptial  benediction,  "What  God  hath  joined 
together,  let  not  man  put  asunder ; "  if  we  make  our  pub- 
lic days  of  thanksgiving  and  of  humiliation  mere  festive 
holidays,  in  which  we  seek  our  own  pleasure  rather  than 
to  please  and  propitiate  God ;  if  we  divorce  thus  the  voice 
of  the  State,  the  course  of  law,  the  decrees  of  justice,  and 
the  popular  life  from  the  word  and  authority  of  God,  we 
shall  have  emptied  our  old  baptismal  name  of  all  its  signif- 
icance,—  keeping  the  form,  but  not  the  life;  the  shadow, 
not  the  substance ,  —  and  in  that  hour  and  in  that  act  the 
sceptre  of  New  England's  power  will  be  broken,  her 
crown  lost,  and  her  banner  that  she  planted  in  the  wilder- 
ness, with  its  ancient  heraldry,  "  Christo  et  eccJesice,^'  trail 
dishonored  in  the  dust. 

Let  all  of  us  rather  conspire  to  lift  up  again  the  old 
Puritanic  ideal.  "It  is  certain,"  declares  one  of  the  early 
New  England  voices,  "that  civil  dominion  was  but  the 
second  motive,  religion  the  primary  one,  with  our  ances- 
tors in  coming  hither.   ...  It  was  not  so  much  their  de- 


IN    THE   FUTURE    OF   TPIE   COUNTRY.  23 

sign  to  establish  religion  for  the  benefit  of  the  State ,  as 
civil  government  for  the  benefit  of  religion."  Another 
voice,  a  century  earlier,  testified  that  the  fathers  "  came 
not  hither  for  the  world,  or  for  land,  or  for  traffic,  but 
for  religion,  and  for  liberty  of  conscience  in  the  worship 
of  God,  which  was  their  only  design." 

This  sacred  interest  was  first  everywhere.  "As  near 
the  law  of  God  as  they  can  be,"  was  the  instruction  of  the 
General  Court  of  Massachusetts,  in  old  time,  to  its  com- 
mittee appointed  to  frame  laws  for  the  Commonwealth. 

Only  in  the  reproduction  and  general  dififusion  of  this 
spirit  can  we  hope  to  make  the  New  England  of  the  past 
the  New  England  of  the  future,  a  power  and  a  glory  in 
the  land. 

Looking  forward  now  and  beyond  our  own  confines,  we 
may  say,  in  the  third  place,  that  it  belongs  to  us  to  live 
in  and  for  the  future  of  the  whole  country. 

This,  too,  is  one  part  of  our  inheritance  from  a  Puri- 
tan ancestry.  Our  fathers  were  builders  for  the  future. 
They  lived  for  all  the  coming  ages.  They  laid  deep  foun- 
dations whereon  they  hoped  there  might  rise,  after  their 
day,  the  walls  of  a  Christian  empire,  to  stand  until  earth's 
"cloud-capped  towers  "  should  fall.  We  are  fond  of  say- 
ing, "  They  builded  more  grandly  than  they  knew."  Per- 
haps that  is  true  in  respect  to  the  political  fabric  of  which 
they  laid  the  corner-stone,  and  the  material  results  that 
have  followed  their  work.  But  they  had  a  vision  of  a 
spiritual  temple  that  should  rise  from  their  humble  begin- 
nings, until  its  dome  should  span  the  continent  and  its 
arches  echo  the  psalms  of  meeting  and  mingling  nations. 


24  THE   WOKK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

Foundation-work  is  congenial  to  the  sons  of  New  Eng- 
land. It  runs  in  our  blood  to  be  pioneers  of  a  spreading 
Christian  civilization. 

We  must  look  forward,  for  our  past  is  brief.  It  is 
kindling  and  inspiring,  but  it  is  yet  fresh  and  new.  We 
have  no  calendar  of  hoary  centuries,  stocked  with  events 
and  revolutions  that  have  marked  off  the  eras  of  history, 
and  rich  with  the  spoils  of  time.  Compared  with  the  life 
of  nations  and  the  courses  of  history,  we  began  but  yes- 
terday. Looking  back,  a  glance  reaches  the  starting- 
point.  More  naturally  we  turn  our  gaze  forward.  Not 
records,  but  prophecies,  hold  our  eyes.  Untempted  to 
live  on  the  glories  of  a  dead  ancestry,  we  are  inspired  to 
do  something  for  our  posterity  to  commemorate. 

We  must  look  forward,  for  our  ideal  is  higher  than  we 
have  reached.  We  may  have  been  vain  and  boastful,  but 
none  of  us  can  believe  that  the  summit  of  American  great- 
ness has  been  reached.  The  magnificent  capabilities  of 
the  continent,  and  the  adaptation  of  our  forms  of  life  to 
all  possible  progress  on  such  a  theatre,  rebuke  our  com- 
placency in  the  past,  and  hold  in  prospect  a  sublime  goal 
for  which  we  have  yet  to  gird  up  our  loins  and  run. 

We  must  look  forward,  because  revolution  leaves  us 
not  a  finished  task,  but  only  a  clear  track.  Give  us  peace 
and  victory  to-morrow,  and  it  brings  us  only  a  vacation 
from  fighting,  none  from  work.  Eevolution  does  not 
create  a  civilization.  It  opens  the  door  and  ushers  it  in, 
if  it  be  prepared.  If  this  revolution  of  ours  succeed  fully, 
it  will  have  helped  to  rid  us  of  some  malign  forces  in  the 
development  of  American  life,  —  at  least,  of  some  incarna- 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         25 

tions  of  those  forces  ;  it  will  deliver  into  our  hands  a  na- 
tion saved  from  crumbling  apart ;  but  what  this  nation 
shall  be  and  do,  what  it  shall  live  for  and  realize,  is  a 
problem  that  will  yet  remain. 

Nations  must  work,  as  God  works  on  the  earth,  for 
something  yet  beyond  and  unmatured.  When  they  pause 
and  say,  This  is  the  limit  and  consummation  of  our  doing, 
he  w^ill  say  of  each  of  them,  "  Cut  it  down,  why  cumber- 
eth  it  the  ground  ? "  At  every  stage  of  progress  they 
must  renew  their  devotion  to  what  is  incomplete  in  the 
divine  scheme  for  man.  Casting  off  all  dead  and  useless 
appendages,  burning  their  ships  behind  them  as  they 
touch  new  shores  of  discovery  and  conquest,  they  must 
follow  hard  after  the  guiding  steps  that  are  tracking  man's 
way  to  the  calm  heights  of  a  perfect  social  state. 

We  may  ask,  then,  in  the  fourth  place,  what  are  the 
specific  tasks  to  which  we  are  to  address  ourselves  in 
working  for  the  future  of  the  whole  country  ? 

The  nearest  duty  of  all  is  to  push  this  war  triumphantly 
through.  Persistent  rebellion  is  alone  responsible  for  all 
the  blood  and  treasure  it  shall  yet  cost  to  maintain  the 
supremacy  of  the  government.  That  supremacy  can  only 
be  maintained  by  showing  its  power  to  be,  as  well  as  its 
right  to  be,  when  both  are  called  in  question.  Let  no 
sign  of  weariness  or  impatience  in  the  protracted  struggle 
come  from  us  while  a  rebel  banner  taints  the  air.  The 
length  of  the  war  has  been  absolutely  indispensable  for 
the  full  sense  of  nationality ;  the  unity  and  authority  of 
the  Federal  Government  to  enter  and  possess  the  hearts 
of  the  people ;  for  the  radical  revolutionizing  of  the  old 
3 


26  THE   WOEK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

social  system  of  the  South  ;  for  the  education  of  the  mass- 
es up  to  the  political  and  moral  issues  of  the  present  hour. 
Let  no  voice  among  us  call  for  peace  while  treason  stands 
erect  and  defiant.  Let  no  sigh  of  complaint  freight  any 
wind  that  blows  from  the  North  toward  the  capitol.  To 
every  fresh  call  for  men,  let  us  give  quick,  consenting  re- 
sponse. The  armies  that  have  been  marching  through 
the  summer  and  autumn  from  victory  to  victory  must 
needs  find  their  ranks  thinner,  and  the  final  strokes  are 
yet  to  be  delivered.  We  have  to  fill  the  ranks,  to  stimu- 
late enlisting,  to  sound  the  call  for  volunteers  at  all  the 
gateways  of  our  hills  and  in  the  streets  of  our  towns,  to 
compensate  the  forsaken  tasks  of  labor's  thrifty  hands,  to 
keep  a  light  on  the  hearth  of  the  absent  soldier's  home  for 
his  wife  and  babes,  and  bread  on  the  board  and  "  the  wolf 
from  the  door."  "Fight  it  through  !  "  Let  the  press  em- 
blazon it  morning  and  evening.  Let  the  ministry  of  Him 
who  came  to  send  the  sword  on  earth  before  his  reign  of 
peace  give  it  voice.  Let  legislation  in  town  and  State 
give  it  all  helpful  practical  indorsement.  Let  the  whole 
heart  of  New  England  give  it  clear  and  ringing  echo. 
And  here,  especially,  where  the  word  was  first  spoken 
that  broke  the  silent  terror  of  the  beginning,  let  that 
sound  have  once  more  full  volume  and  cheerful  tone : 
"  The  sons  of  Massachusetts  to  the  rescue  !  " 

We  have,  of  course,  a  duty  of  ceaseless  vigilance.  The 
transition  periods  of  a  nation's  life  are  perilous  crises. 
They  inaugurate  the  dynasties  of  moral  forces  that  are  to 
sway  the  sceptre  for  a  cycle  whose  diameter  no  man  can 
calculate.      The  fortunes  of  this  nation  are  in  transition 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         27 

uow.  We  have  reached  the  line,  sailing  on  in  the  Ship 
of  State,  and  are  crossing  it  into  seas  unplonghed  before. 
In  respect  to  opinions,  morals,  public  leaders,  society, 
and  institutions,  we  are  leaving  the  old  and  entering  upon 
the  new.  On  the  other  side  of  this  great  chasm  that  sep- 
arates our  past  from  our  future,  our  national  story  is  to 
begin  afresh,  our  annals  to  open  a  new  volume.  Public 
sentiment  is  to  be  reformed ;  new  banners  are  to  float  in 
the  van  of  national  progress ;  we  are  to  take  down  and 
rebuild  many  a  shattered  line  of  our  walls  of  empire ;  we 
are  to  legislate  and  to  act  upon  novel  questions  without 
precedents. 

What  shall  we  carry  on  with  us  ?  What  shall  we  leave 
behind  ?  What  new  elements  shall  come  in  to  leaven  the 
whole  lump  ?  What  old  elements  shall  be  extirpated  or 
neutralized?  AVhat  things  vital  and  precious,  the  legacy 
of  the  past,  shall  be  studiously  garnered  up?  What  dead 
weights  shall  be  thrown  off?  Who  will  watch  to  see  that 
no  divine  gift  of  the  old  civilization  is  dropped  out,  no 
seed  principle  of  our  earlier  liberties  and  evangelisms 
blown  away  or  smothered,  no  ancient  guarantees  of  public 
faith  and  honor  and  popular  privilege  weakened  or  forgot- 
ten ?  Who  will  scrutinize  as  carefully  the  forces  that  har- 
ness jthemselves  to  the  onward  movement,  and  make  sure 
that  no  wanton,  profane  hand  lay  hold  of  the  sacred  ark 
of  our  hopes ;  that  no  seed  principle  of  mischief  be  sown 
where  many  hands  are  scattering  grain  broadcast ;  that  no 
insidious  attempt  to  twine  around  our  swelling  limbs  fet- 
ters that  shall  one  day  cripple  our  growth  and  our  free 
motion,  shall  prosper? 


28  THE   WOEK   OF  NEW   ENGLAND 

This  is  precisely  the  demand  that  invokes  New  Eng- 
land intervention.  Her  weight  in  the  wavering  scales  of 
our  public  destinies  is  not  the  weight  of  numbers,  nor  of 
territorial  greatness  and  promise,  nor  of  political  predomi- 
nance. The  centre  of  political  power  has  forever  receded 
from  the  East ;  it  will  visit  no  more  the  Atlantic  slope  of 
the  Alleghanies ;  it  is  crossing  meridian  after  meridian, 
westward  still.  Let  it  pass  ;  our  moral  sceptre  remains. 
It  is  open  to  us  still  to  sway  the  nation  by  the  force  of 
ideas,  to  rule  through  the  royalty  of  principles  that  can 
never  be  discrowned.  Let  the  questions  which  we  have 
just  asked  get  their  clear  and  authoritative  answers  in  the 
voice  and  the  attitude  of  this  little  sisterhood  of  common- 
wealths, and  we  rule  the  confederacy  still.  But  we  must 
look  well  at  the  foundation  of  the  principles  which  we  at- 
tempt to  assert  and  maintain.  They  must  have  an  un- 
questionable right  of  supremacy.  They  must  be  royal 
^^jure  cUvino.^^  They  must  be  no  temporary  policies  and 
expediencies,  but  everlasting  facts  and  laws.  They  must 
take  hold  of  what  is  imperishable,  have  their  roots  in 
the  very  nature  of  God,  and  be  linked  to  the  car  of  his 
omnipotent  providence.  The  divineness  of  government, 
the  supremacy  of  law,  order  imperial,  human  equality, 
the  inalienable  rights  of  man,  —  intelligence,  freedom, 
law,  and  religion, —  the  four  immovable  pillars  of  commu- 
nal peace  and  perpetuity, — standing  by  these,  holding  and 
teaching  this  faith,  New  England  will  be  a  power  in  the 
Union  forever. 

For  these  principles,  then,  she  must  be  jealous  with  an 
infinite  jealousy  in   watching   the    country   through  this 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         29 

present  crisis.  This  is  the  turn  of  the  fever.  There  must 
be  no  negligence  nor  slumbering  now  ;  every  change  must 
be  noted ;  every  pulse  must  be  felt ;  the  slightest  aberra- 
tion is  of  moment.  We  must  be  Argus-eyed,  so  that  no 
future  disaster  shall  impeach  our  vigilance  in  this  critical 
hour. 

Another  duty  of  ours  concerns  the  deliverance  of  this 
land  from  the  bondage  of  the  past.  That  deliverance  is 
not  yet  complete.  For  one,  I  am  restless  and  anxious 
until  that  consummation  come. 

We  have  been  in  covenant  with  a  great  wrong.  We 
admitted  it  into  partnership  with  our  rational  life.  We 
awarded  it  rights  and  immunities.  It  proved  itself  a 
fraudulent  partner  from  the  beginning,  but  we  were  held 
by  the  bond.  We  kept  it.  There  was  an  inherent  in- 
compatibility, but  the  covenant  remained.  Through  all 
this  time  our  proper  national  civilization  was  not  born, 
but  only  conceived.  Jacob  and  Esau  struggled  together 
in  this  pregenital  strife,  never  dissociated,  the  one  clasp- 
ing the  other's  heel. 

It  was  meant  that  this  land  should  be  a  home  of  liberty 
and  justice  for  all  God's  creatures  to  the  end  of  time  ;  that 
the  rights  of  man  should  stand  and  grow  here  as  the  old 
forests  of  the  wilderness  had  stood  and  grown,  their  roots 
striking  deep  downward,  their  tops  branching  upward  to 
the  open,  free  heaven,  their  arms  intertwining,  and  the 
streams  of  a  continent  watering  their  lusty  life.  There 
was  to  be  one  land  on  the  face  of  the  earth  in  which  polit- 
ical and  i-eligious  freedom  should  walk  over  its  length  and 
breadth  without  let  or  threat,  —  one  where  there  should 
3* 


30  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

be  on  the  body  aucl  on  the  soul  no  cham.  So  our  found- 
ers builded ;  so  our  fathers  and  mothers  suffered  and 
wrought  and  prayed.  And  the  new  temple  of  promise 
rose  fair  and  stately,  and  its  light  streamed  afar,  and  many 
feet,  weary  and  wounded,  hastened  thither  to  rest  with- 
in this  secure  asylum.  But,  alas,  what  shrines  were  built 
within  !  Was  there  one  to  a  pure  faith  ?  Was  there  an- 
other to  equal  law  ?  Was  there  a  third  to  maiden  Lib- 
erty? But  what  other  fourth  shrine  is  that,  grim  and 
dark,  crowding  these  three?  What  grisly  demon  sat 
within,  usurping  place  in  that  fair  fellowship? 

Alas  for  the  new  hope  and  the  new  nation  and  the  new 
world  I  Alas  for  our  bright  western  star  so  soon  turning 
wan  and  dim  ! 

But  God  had  not  joined  this  compact  with  evil.  His 
hands  were  not  tied  if  ours  were.  He  has  a  way  of  an- 
nulling covenants  with  crime.  He  found  the  means  to 
shatter  our  inviolable  bond.  He  sent  the  earthquake  of 
revolution  to  shake  down  the  demon  shrined  in  our  sacred 
temple.  It  stood  strong.  It  had  its  foundation  deep, 
and  had  been  buttressed  with  massive  masonry.  It  was 
clamped  and  riveted  to  the  temple  walls  with  mau}^  a  bolt 
of  iron ;  but  the  earthquake  was  stronger  yet.  It  shook 
and  heaved  and  wrenched  apart  till  it  seemed  as  though 
the  temple  itself  would  fall.  Many  said.  It  will  fall.  It 
did,  indeed,  tremble  and  rock,  and  its  lights  were  shiv- 
ered ;  but  it  stands  yet,  with  tower  and  dome  catching 
the  light  of  earliest  and  latest  day,  and  the  dark  shrine  is 
overturned.  It  lies  prostrate  and  in  ruins.  Its  horrid 
deity  is  fallen,  like   Philistia's   Dagon   before   the   ark, 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         31 

maimed   and   broken,   with  the   stump   only  remaining. 
Thus  is  the  bond  parted ;  thus  the  covenant  ceases ;  and 
we  have  to  watch  now  that  no  hand  rebuilds  that  demol- 
ished shrine  ;  that  no  malign  craft  sets  up  Dagon's  stump 
again  in  our  great  temple.     Surely,  we  have  felt  the  curse 
of  this  corroding  bond  long  enough.     Shall  we  ever  bow 
our  necks  to  it  again?     Shall  we  suffer  any  man  among 
men,  or  any  fiend  from  below,  to  press  its  poisonous  links 
into  our  flesh  once  more  ?     We  have  the  shattered  mate- 
rials of  that  dark  altar  to  sweep  out  of  the   consecrated 
temple,  the  last  vestige  of  that  horrid  idolatry  to  banish 
and  bury  forever.     This  work  is  not  yet  done ;  it  needs 
finishing.     There  are  those  who  would  knit  again  the  rup- 
tured strands  of  the  old,  rent  covenant.     Men  of  New 
England,  legislators  of  Massachusetts,  suffer  this  never 
to  be!      Here,  where  the  most  strenuous  voices  of  the 
great  reformation  have  been  uttered  from  the  beginning, 
let  them  still  sound  forth,  full  and  clear.     You  will  have 
to  watch  against  cunning,  selfishness,  and  intrigue  ;  against 
many  a  nobler  sentiment  of  mistaken  generosity  and  mag- 
nanimity and  lingering  reverence  for  the  Constitution  as 
it  was ;  and  against  that  foul  monster,  fouler  and  more 
misshapen  than  Satan  saw  sitting  portress  at  the  gate  of 
liell,— Party  Spirit.      I  do  not  feel  safe  or  at  peace 
while  any  legal  remnant  of  this  accursed  thing  clings  to 
us.     See  to  it  that  this  bondage  of  the  past  be  utterly  and 
forever  doomed.     Take  you  care  that  this  incubus  of  evil 
never  more  throne  itself  upon  our  national  life. 

From  this  last  point,  we  may  rise  to  a  higher  and  more 
general  affirmation.     We  must  see  to  it  that  the  whole 


32  THE    WORK    OF   NEW    ENGLAND 

course  of  this  government,  both  in  its  constitutional  law 
and  in  its  public  administration,  shall  be  determined  by 
strict  right  and  divine  iDrinciple. 

Have  wo  or  have  we  not  yet  learned  the  lesson,  that 
evil  built  into  the  templed  life  of  a  people  is  an  element 
of  weakness  and  corruption  in  the  structure?  It  may 
seem  to  the  builders  a  necessity.  The  whole  work  may 
pause  as  though  there  could  be  no  further  progress  with- 
out allowing  the  wrong  a  place.  Admitting  it,  the  walls 
may  go  swiftly  up,  as  though  vindicating  the  expediency 
of  the  measure  by  a  success  fair  and  grand,  and  not  else 
possible.  But  God  has  taught  us  that  this  demonstration 
is  a  delusion  and  a  terrible  mistake.  The  columns  so  reared 
have  to  be  taken  down  again ;  that  is  the  divine  teach- 
ing. It  is  not  real  progress  to  build  in  with  evil,  that  the 
work  may  go  swiftly  forward ;  it  goes  swiftly  to  decay. 
All  that  is  built  upon  it  is  lost  labor.  It  cannot  stand. 
While  God  reigns,  nothing  propped  with  wrong  shall  re- 
main firm.  That  crumbling  support  will  one  day  fail, 
and  the  superincumbent  pile  lean  to  its  fall.  Nothing  but 
truth  and  right  will  stand.  There  is  not  a  trumpet  tone 
so  loud  in  all  history  as  that  which  proclaims  it  now,  that 
our  national  disaster  is  the  fruit  of  national  crime,  the 
issue  of  mingling  evil  with  the  foundations  of  the  repub- 
lic. Are  we  not  educated  yet  into  the  conviction  that  we 
must  build  altogether  in  righteousness,  if  we  build  for 
posterity  and  the  golden  future  ?  Have  we  not  acquired 
a  conscience  yet  in  the  heart  of  this  American  people? 
Shall  we  not  walk  at  length  by  its  light,  without  swerv- 

ino"  9 


IX  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         33 

What  is  God's  idea  in  a  great  nation  ?  Merely  the  bet- 
ter carrying  on  of  commerce  and  the  elaboration  of  the 
art  of  comfortable  living?  Is  it  not  that  it  shall  stand 
the  noblest  representation  of  the  principles  of  his  own 
supreme  government, — nay,  the  actual  vice-regency  of  his 
sceptre  among  men,  a  temple  of  concrete  justice,  in 
which  no  right  shall  suffer  harm,  and  no  wrong  find  a 
shelter?  If  in  any  of  its  decrees  and  procedures  it  con- 
tradict his  attributes,  malign  his  character,  and  annul  his 
statutes,  will  he  accept  it  as  his  ideal,  and  write  upon  its 
front  "  esto perpetua'^^ ?  Will  he  not  wTite  that  other  sen- 
tence in  the  old  Hebrew,  —  ''Mene,  mene,  tekel,  upharsin^^? 

We  are  rebuilding  here  ;  we  must  take  better  care  this 
time.  It  should  seem  enough  to  say  that  right  is  right ; 
but  we  must  add  that  right  is  safety,  right  is  perpetuity, 
right  is  immortality.  Wrong  is  death  and  destruction, 
wrong  is  treason  and  disloyalty.  We  are  taking  stern 
measures  with  rebellion  now.  But  every  seeming  patriot 
who  consents  to  any  unrighteousness  in  the  reconstructed 
nation  is  a  more  insidious  and  a  more  deadly  traitor  to 
the  Union  than  any  man  with  arms  in  his  hands  in  all  the 
rebel  hosts. 

In  this  task  of  rebuilding,  only  the  most  resolute  stead- 
fastness, only  the  most  sleepless  vigilance,  will  keep  evil 
out.  The  demand  will  be  incredibly  urgent.  "Yield 
here  !  "  "  Give  way  there  !  "  "  Consent  to  this  unimpor- 
tant compromise,  and  embarrassment  Avill  be  obviated, 
and  all  will  go  smoothly  !  "  The  pinch  will  be  the  sorest 
when  rebellion  collapses.  With  the  rebels  at  our  feet  su- 
ing for  terms,  we  shall   remember   that   they  were  our 


34  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

brothers.  All  our  generous  sensibilities  will  ])e  moved 
toward  them.  Our  bowels  will  yearn  over  them.  We 
shall  feel  that  we  cannot  be  hard  with  them.  We  shall 
be  put  upon  our  magnanimity.  We  shall  take  them  by 
the  hand  and  lift  them  tenderly  up.  We  shall  be  in- 
clined to  give  them  more  than  they  would  have  the  face 
to  ask.  We  shall  desire  to  show  them  that  the  hand  that 
struck  down  their  parricidal  weapons  was  never  a  hand 
of  hate,  but  of  grieved  and  reluctant  justice.  That  will 
be  a  perilous  hour  for  the  constancy  of  principle.  Then, 
when  any  voices  ask  us,  in  the  name  and  in  the  spirit  of 
fraternal  conciliation,  to  welcome  the  erring  and  the  con- 
quered back  with  their  old  properties  and  relations,  in- 
cluding some  remnant  of  the  ancient  wrong  or  some  new 
vicarious  wrong,  it  will  be  hard  to  resist.  There  is,  of 
course,  a  place  and  a  sphere  for  compromise.  We  may 
yield  our  interest,  we  may  forego  advantage,  we  may 
waive  opinion  and  preference  for  peace  and  harmony ; 
but  we  have  it  as  the  most  solemn  charge  of  these  years 
of  violence  and  blood,  to  yield  nothing  of  righteousness 
and  justice  to  any  demand  for  any  gain  so  long  as  the 
world  standeth. 

It  is  a  part  of  our  work,  which  ought  to  have  distinct 
and  formal  mention,  to  deepen  in  the  hearts  of  the  people 
the  sentiment  of  the  sacredness  of  government.  There 
has  been  in  the  very  nature  of  our  institutions  a  chronic 
and  growing  strain  upon  this  sentiment.  Everything  in 
this  land  tends  to  the  elevation  of  the  individual.  We 
teach  that  each  man,  standing  erect  in  the  image  of  his 
God,  is  the  peer  of  every  other.     We  provide  for  the 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         35 

largest  training  of  the  individual.  He  is  a  graduate  of 
the  schools.  He  is  master  of  tongue  and  pen.  He  is  a 
reader  of  books.  He  takes  at  least  a  daily  newspaper; 
perhaps  he  posts  himself  morning  and  evening  upon  all 
the  progress  of  thought  and  the  chronicle  of  events.  He 
has  his  opinions.  He  embraces,  it  may  be,  some  system 
of  social  and  political  philosophy.  More  frequently  he 
holds  to  tenets  and  prejudices  which  are  his  own  and  un- 
shared. He  is  the  architect  of  his  own  fortunes.  Every 
track  is  free  to  him.  He  may  aspire  hopefully  in  any  di- 
rection, and  cut  for  himself  steps  to  any  eminence  of 
name  and  place  and  power.  He  has  his  own  religious 
training  and  religious  creed  with  no  State  establishment 
to  coerce  him  into  uniformity.  He  looks  up  to  no  man. 
He  is  dependent  upon  no  one.  He  brooks  interference 
from  none. 

The  nation  is  bristling  all  over  with  these  individuali- 
ties, as  isolated  and  distinct  and  as  sharp  as  the  quills 
of  the  "  fretful  porcupine."  How  can  these  millions  of 
independent  thinkers  be  made  to  see  alike,  feel  alike,  and 
act  alike  in  the  matter  of  the  common  supremacy  of  gov- 
ernment? The  more  intelligent  and  self-reliant  they  be- 
come, the  more  complete  each  separate  manhood  is,  the 
more  difficult  the  problem  grows.  How  can  you  make 
any  two  or  more  of  such  constituents  take  the  same  yoke 
and  wear  it  peacefully  together  ?  ^Yhat  but  anarch}^  can 
come  of  such  diverse  and  resolute  elements  ? 

Now  if  government  w^ere  something  that  existed  here 
independently  of  these  self-poised  minds,  framed  for 
them,  laid  upon  them,  with  an  inherent  power  to  be  and 


36  THE   WOEK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

to  constrain  subordination,  the  conditions  of  the  problem 
were  instantly  changed.  But  with  all  this  independence 
of  thought  and  opinion,  each  man  is  himself  clothed  with 
political  power.  He  is  a  sovereign.  There  is  none  above 
him.  He  is  himself  a  maker  and  administrator  of  laws. 
Of  these  millions  of  sovereigns  how  will  you  make  one 
harmonious,  self-consistent,  and  authoritative  sovereign- 

ty? 

Government  is  their  creature,  not  their  monarch. 
How  will  you  teach  them  to  revere  what  their  hands  have 
made?  They  will  the  government  into  being.  If  it 
doesn't  please  them,  they  can  take  it  down  and  set  up  an- 
other. Is  it  natural  that  they  should  fall  before  it  and  do 
it  homage  ?  All  public  officials  are  their  servants,  whom 
they  have  invested  with  liveries,  and  to  whom  they  pay 
wages.  Is  it  to  be  expected  that  they  should  kiss  the  feet 
of  their  servants?  They  feel  that  it  is  their  right  and 
their  duty  to  watch,  to  criticise,  and  to  rebuke  these  pub- 
lic servants  ;  and  in  this  duty  they  cheerfully  abound.  Is 
this  the  way  to  cultivate  reverence  and  submission  ? 

How  obvious  is  it  that  the  maintenance  of  govern- 
ment, and  especially  the  hallowing  of  its  authority  over 
such  a  constituency  of  free,  intelligent,  independent,  and 
sovereign  minds,  is  one  of  those  problems  concerning 
which  there  is  always  the  hazard  of  an  ill-omened  issue. 
Disloyalty  and  treason,  and  sympathy  with  both,  are  the 
logical  inference  of  this  inflated  sense  of  the  popular  rela- 
tion to  the  government  of  the  land. 

We  need  to  insist  upon  the  divineness  of  human  gov- 
ernment.    Our    children    must    be    taught   it   from   the 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF   THE  COUNTRY.         37 

cradle,  that,  however  constituted,  "  the  powers  that  be 
are  ordained  of  God."  If  men  elect,  God  crowns.  If  we 
lead  our  rulers  to  the  chair  of  state,  God  puts  the  sceptre 
into  their  hands.  They  become  then,  not  our  officials, 
but  his.  They  are  the  servants,  not  of  popular  caprice, 
nor  the  will  of  majorities,  they  are  the  servants  of  the 
throned  Justice,  the  supreme  Eight. 

The  natural  philosophy  of  government  ought  to  have 
clearer,  more  impressive,  and  more  constant  explication 
in  all  the  literature  that  trains  the  American  mind.  Our 
schoolbooks,  the  press,  the  rostrum,  the  pulpit,  should 
discuss  with  more  earnestness  and  more  simplicity  the 
fundamental  principles  of  that  philosophy. 

If  men  are  to  dwell  together  in  communities  there 
must,  of  course,  be  social  order.  The  opposite  of  this  is 
anarchy,  chaos.  For  order  there  must  be  law,  —  equal, 
impartial,  universal  law. 

For  the  supremacy  of  law  there  must  be  administrative 
authority,  —  the  right  and  the  power  to  institute  and  en- 
force law. 

For  the  ground  of  this  right,  the  charter  of  this  author- 
ity, we  come  back  again  to  the  will  of  God,  who  accepts 
earthly  magistracies  as  his  vicegerents,  and  clothes  them 
with  his  own  delegated  sanctity. 

There  is  no  land  under  heaven  that  so  needs  the  popu- 
lar demonstration  and  the  constant  iteration  of  these 
truths  as  ours.  And  it  is  but  the  nearest  inference  to 
add  that  there  is  none  where  the  righteousness  of  the 
statute  and  the  purity  of  the  magistrate  are  more  closely 
connected  with  the  sacredness  of  the  government  in  the 


38  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

popular  heart.  Civil  enactments,  whose  inspiration  is 
partisan  intrigue,  or  mercenary  favoritism,  —  an  unjust 
ruler,  setting  up  the  dynasty  of  his  own  passions,  preju- 
dices, and  partialities, — a  corrupt  legislator,  writing  in 
the  statute-book  with  unclean  hands,  —  a  magistrate 
swayed  by  self-interest,  and  purchasable  with  gold,  — 
these  give  public  contradiction  to  their  divine  paternity, 
and  make  contempt  of  government  and  revolt  against  law 
the  instinct  of  all  noble  natures.  So  far  as  the  popular 
faith  goes,  the  legitimacy  of  civil  government,  as  an  ordi- 
nance of  Heaven,  runs  in  the  channel  of  purity  and  equity. 
For  public  impression,  the  proof  of  divine  authorship  halts 
when  the  divine  likeness  fails.  If  we  would  keep  men's 
hearts  among  us  loyal  to  civil  authority,  and  help  to  make 
the  supremacy  of  law  inviolable  through  the  land,  we 
have  it  in  solemn  charge  to  guard  the  avenues  to  power 
from  all  profane  approach,  and  to  exercise  the  functions  of 
office,  legislative  and  executive,  in  all  honesty  and  good 
conscience. 

I  think  it  is  worthy,  also,  of  a  moment's  separate  plea, 
that  we  utter  the  sentiments  and  beliefs  of  New  England  in 
full,  clear,  unequivocal  speech.  We  must  hold  fast  here 
to  our  birthright  of  free  thought  and  free  speech.  There 
is  nothing  that  concerns  the  honor  and  j)rogress  of  the  na- 
tion, or  the  rights  of  humanity,  in  reference  to  which  it  is 
not  our  privilege  to  inquire,  to  form  our  conclusions,  and 
to  declare  them  in  the  hearing  of  our  fellow-men.  Every 
principle,  every  measure  that  seeks  ascendency  in  this 
land,  every  ancient,  every  fresh-founded  institution,  we 
have  a  right  to  discuss.     Whatever  subtle  leaven  would 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         39 

insinuate  itself  into  the  life  of  the  nation,  whatever  comes 
to  us  with  the  imposing  front  of  precedent  and  authority, 
and  assumes  the  prerogative  to  control  our  history,  we 
may  use  our  sharpest  faculties  to  search  out,  and  to  show 
forth  their  nature  and  their  claim.  The  honest  thoughts, 
the  deep  convictions,  the  intense  sympathies  of  our  New 
England  hearts,  frankly  and  boldly  uttered,  have  been  no 
mean  power  in  the  nation  in  rectifying  public  sentiment, 
undermining  the  security  of  wrong,  and  preparing  the 
national  mind  for  generous  and  radical  progress.  There 
have  been  those  who  would  have  laid  a  finger  of  iron  on 
New  England's  lips,  and  silenced  her  faithful  witness. 
But  she  keeps  her  birthright  yet.  Let  her  guard  it  well 
for  the  future.  Let  her  maintain  her  right  to  question,  to 
investigate,  to  form  her  opinion  upon  the  wisdom  and  the 
morality  of  all  that  courts  the  popular  suffrage,  not  as  one 
ambitious  to  hold  a  barren  sceptre,  but  earnest  to  pour 
her  own  copious  life  into  the  public  veins  for  the  health 
and  vigor  of  the  nation's  being.  This  is  one  imperial  pre- 
rogative of  New  England,  one  most  sacred  obligation, — to 
overstep  her  own  boundaries  with  the  forceful  moral  influ- 
ence of  her  public  testimony  against  all  civil  and  social 
wrong,  her  strong  protective  plea  for  every  imperilled 
right.  Our  numbers  are  few^  and  our  territory  small ;  we 
have  no  Yalley  Stream  flowing  from  our  hills  through  the 
length  of  the  northern  continent.  But  from  the  ^Dure, 
cool  fountains  of  these  moral  and  intellectual  heights  we 
may  send  forth  a  ceaseless  utterance  for  truth,  right,  and 
liberty,  —  a  deep,  broad  river,  watering  all  the  land. 
There  will  come  upon  us  soon  a  call  to  help  repeople 


40  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

and  resettle  a  desolate  South.  There  is  one  symbol  of 
prophecy  upon  the  broAV  of  which  we  might  write  as  its 
most  fitting  interpretation  this  word,  —  War.  It  is  that 
"fourth  beast,"  that  Daniel  saw  in  his  night  vision,  ris- 
ing out  of  the  "great  sea,"  —  "dreadful,  and  terrible,  and 
strong,  exceedingly ;  and  it  had  great  iron  teeth ;  it  de- 
voured and  brake  in  pieces,  and  stamped  the  residue 
with  the  feet  of  it."  Under  these  horrid  hoofs,  many 
parts  of  the  South  have  become  a  waste  more  dreary  than 
any  untamed  wilderness.  In  the  wilderness  of  savage 
nature  there  is  nothing  suggestive  of  violence  and  de- 
struction. But  in  following  the  track  of  an  invading 
army,  we  walk  amid  the  wreck  of  what  was  once  fair 
and  blooming  ord^r. 

The  fences  are  gone  from  the  fields  once  bearing  up 
thrifty  tillage  and  rich  harvests.  Granaries  and  barns 
have  sunk  into  black  heaps  of  coal  and  cinder.  The  lone 
chimney  tells  where  the  peaceful  cottage  rose.  A  ranker 
growth  of  tangled  weeds  betrays  the  site  of  the  garden. 
Rows  of  stumps  recall  the  once  fruitful  orchard.  The 
level  fields  of  the  farm  have  been  ridged  up  with  earth- 
works, and  ditched  with  rifle-pits.  In  the  once  compan- 
ionable hamlet  not  a  dweller  remains.  A  house  or  two 
may  yet  be  standing  above  the  blackened  ruins  of  its  fel- 
lows, but  without  doors  or  window  lights,  and  with  wind 
and  storm  sweeping  through  its  dismal  chambers.  Frag- 
ments of  household  furniture  lie  scattered  around,  half 
embedded  in  the  earth.  A  schoolhouse  or  a  church  at 
the  fork  of  confluent  roads  shows,  in  its  pierced  and 
shattered  walls,  how  the  meeting  tides  of  battle  surged 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         41 

around  that  salient  angle.  Within,  the  floor  has  been 
rudely  cleared  ;  for  what  purpose  many  a  dull  stain  on  the 
boards  gives  testimony.  The  public  roads  lead  you  to 
the  bank  of  bridgeless  rivers.  There  are  no  vehicles  of 
travel  remaining,  no  implements  of  husbandry,  no  tools 
of  art.  No  flocks  nor  herds  wander  in  the  pastures,  no 
beasts  of  draft  or  burden  wait  for  the  harness.  The  nar- 
row, curving  level  keeps  the  memorial  of  the  railway ; 
but  the  sleepers  are  burned,  and  the  iron  twisted  into 
rusty  contortions.  Civilization  must  begin  again  with  all 
her  tasks  repeated,  and  these  melancholy  ghosts  haunting 
the  scenes  of  her  old  triumphs.  Immense  regions  at  the 
South  are  thus  blighted.  The  obduracy  of  rebellion  — 
and  rebellion  is  still  obdurate  —  has  brought  upon  itself 
this  unsparing  scourge. 

It  seems  to  me  that  this  tenacity  of  purpose  with  the 
Southern  leaders  and  ruling  classes  is  of  God.  It  wears 
the  aspect  of  a  judicial  decree.  It  is  like  the  hardening 
of  Pharaoh's  heart,  that  the  whole  Southern  system  of 
life,  labor,  and  society  may  be  drowned  together  in  this 
red  sea,  and  not  a  vestige  of  the  old  malign  civilization 
of  that  portion  of  our  country  survive  these  bloody 
years. 

Upon  such  a  radical  devastation  there  will  come  in  our 
new  duties,  to  explore  these  wastes,  to  map  out  the  vast 
territories  over  which  the  ploughshare  of  extermination 
has  been  driven,  to  open  up  the  promise  of  these  fertile 
and  masterless  estates  to  the  keen  eyes  of  Northern  thrift 
and  the  hurrying  tread  of  emigrant  feet,  to  Americanize 
the  new  busy  marches  that  will  soon  press,  with  mightier 
4* 


42  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

armies,  and  with  move  peaceful  weapons,  those  silent 
fields,  and  to  send  thither  the  seeds  of  New  England  life 
and  institutions,  to  be  scattered  broadcast  •  and  first  of  all 
to  occupy  the  ground. 

There  will  be  also  a  work,  worthy  our  best  endeavors, 
to  bring  up,  ennoble,  and  save  a  degraded  remnant  of 
Southern  population.  Here  all  that  is  generous  and 
charitable,  all  that  is  magnanimous  and  forgiving  in  the 
heart  of  New  England,  will  have  free  scope.  We  shall 
have  to  show  our  former  enemies  how  sincerely  and  truly 
we  can  be  and  are  their  friends.  We  shall  have  to  bless 
them  in  spite  of  their  prejudices  and  all  the  depressing 
weio:ht  of  their  old  habits.  We  shall  have  to  show  them 
how  much  better  we  can  do  for  them  than  they  have  ever 
done  for  themselves.  We  shall  need  to  parcel  out  for 
them  new  estates,  to  organize  for  them  home  industries, 
to  put  into  their  hands  the  implements  of  various  work, 
to  help  them  lift  a  roof-tree  over  their  heads,  to  inspire 
them  with  hope,  diligence,  economy,  and  the  ambition  for 
self-improvement,  to  set  before  them  on  their  own  soil 
the  models  of  our  own  sweet  and  comfortable  domestic 
life,  to  build  schoolhouses  and  churches  and  send  them 
teachers  and  preachers,  and  sift  into  all  their  brightening 
consciousness  the  light  of  letters,  the  issues  of  the  daily 
press,  and  a  fresh,  healthful,  evangelical  literature.  This 
grand  charity  will  tax  our  fiiith  and  our  self-denial  to  the 
utmost  for  years  to  come.  How  many  voices  will  call 
mournfully  to  us  throughout  this  bereaved  and  desolate 
South  !  What  fragments  of  broken  homes  will  appeal  to 
us !     How  many  wandering  fugitives,  not   knowing   on 


IN  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         43 

which  side  the  grave  their  kindred  are,  houseless,  friend- 
less, penniless,  with  tragic  memories  behind  them  and  no 
light  of  hope  before,  will  wait  our' coming  to  bless  them 
with  a  shelter,  and  renew  for  them  some  faint  interest  in 
life. 

Of  course  the  future  of  the  African  race  in  this  land 
is  a  problem  that  will  press  us  as  it  will  press  the  whole 
country  with  its  urgent  and  difficult  conditions.  This 
land  that  has  held  them  in  bondage  will  have  to  give 
them  a  home.  This  nation  that  has  been  to  them  a  task- 
master will  have  to  be  a  foster-parent  and  a  protector. 
With  their  restored  manhood,  they  must  have  such  a 
start  in  respect  to  their  material  interest  and  their  social 
prospects,  as  well  as  in  all  that  relates  to  their  intel- 
lectual, moral,  and  religious  nurture,  that  the  future 
shall,  if  possible,  if  they  enter  its  open  door,  grandly 
overpay  their  sorrowful  past.  For  this  full  redemption 
of  the  emancipated  slave,  New  England  must  by  wise 
and  unstinted  charities,  by  generous  legislation,  and  by  all 
social  magnanimities,  do  her  royal  share. 

This  is  a  glance  only  at  the  tasks  crowding  in  upon  us 
in  the  days  that  now  are  and  the  days  that  are  to  come. 
It  covers  but  a  small  part  of  the  whole  field  of  our  duty 
to  our  age  and  our  race.  But  there  is  enough  in  these 
few  specifications  to  invoke  our  most  strenuous  diligence, 
our  loftiest  consecration.  It  rests  with  us,  and  those  who 
shall  succeed  us,  to  make  this  New  England  of  ours  — 
by  her  pure  life  and  steadfast  principle,  her  just  laws, 
beneficent  institutions,  and  stainless  morals,  her  clear  and 
commanding  utterance  for  immortal  right,  her  public  and 


44  THE   WORK   OF   NEW   ENGLAND 

private  charities,  her  sense  of  the  grandeur  of  the  ordeal 
through  which  this  nation  and  all  it  involves  of  hope  and 
promise  for  man  is  passing  now,  and,  above  all,  her  faith- 
ful adherence  to  the  original  ideal  of  a  Puritan  common- 
wealth, walking  and  talking  with  God,  and  holding  his 
will  everywhere  supreme  —  an  angel  of  mercy  and  guid- 
ance to  our  whole  land,  for  this  and  for  all  after-times. 

We  congratulate  the  State  rather  than  His  Excellency 
that  this  occasion  signals  no  retirement  from  the  chair  of 
her  cbief  magistracy.     It  was  not  needed  for  him,  for  any 
completeness  of  personal  or  official  honor,  for  the  very 
summit  of  a  just  and  wide  fame,  that  the  people  of  Mas- 
sachusetts should  once  more  with  such  large  consent  put 
the  reins  of  her  public  affairs  into  those  tried  and  skilful 
hands.     She  honors  herself  most  by  so  placing  this  high 
trust.     She  knows,  and  beyond  her  borders  the  central 
government  and  the  nation  know,  with  what  prescient 
forecast,  what  timely  providence,  what  hopeful  courage, 
what  unquenchable  loyalty,  what  indefatigable  diligence, 
and   what   thoughtful   tenderness   her   administration    at 
home  and  abroad  has  been  conducted  throus^h  these  dark 
days  of.  revolution  and  conflict.     Her  internal  order  and 
prosperity,  her  renown  in  the  high  places  of  the  field, 
both  the  spirit  and  the  comfort  of  her  sons  doing  brave 
battle  for  the  sacred  flao-   her  weisfht  in  the  scale  of  riofht 
on  the  grave  questions  of  the  hour,  are  the  bright  record 
which  justifies  the  inference  that  she  is  governed  well. 

If  we  could  spare  you,  sir,  we  would  give  you  release 
from  these  solemn  cares,  and  follow  you  with  our  com- 
memorative gratitude  into  the  peaceful  retirement  of  pri- 


IX  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  COUNTEY.         45 

vate  life.  But  in  these  stern  days  of  work,  when  our 
whole  New  England  has  so  much  to  do  to  inaugurate  the 
elect  and  waiting  future,  we  pile  our  public  burdens  upon 
you  once  more,  and  beseech  the  God  of  our  fathers  to 
give  you  strength  to  bear  them  as  worthily  in  the  year  to 
come  as  in  these  historic  years  that  have  gone. 

And  may  the  gentlemen  of  the  Senate,  the  Council, 
and  the  House  of  Kepresentatives,  called  of  their  fellow- 
citizens  to  the  discharge  of  duties  which  would  at  any 
time  have  invoked  their  best  wisdom  and  highest  fidelity, 
be  quickened  to  discern  at  what  a  point  they  stand  in  the 
history  and  fortunes  of  the  republic,  and  the  lengthening 
scroll  of  human  progress ;  and  forgetting  their  own  ease 
and  emolument,  and  rising  above  ever}^  personal  and  pri- 
vate interest,  give  to  the  care  of  the  State,  and  the  honor 
and  safety  of  the  nation  in  these  troubled  times,  all  their 
heart  and  all  their  soul  and  all  their  mind  and  all  their 
strength  ! 

And  before  the  term  of  official  duty  which  opens  for 
you  to-day  shall  have  run  out,  may  we  be  called  to  join, 
with  all  the  people  of  the  land,  in  keeping  such  a  day  of 
public  thanksgiving  to  Almighty  God  as  has  never  gath- 
ered our  joy  and  praise  in  the  past,  —  over  a  nation 
saved,  united,  free,  at  peace  wdth  itself,  with  all  the 
world,  and  with  the  throne  of  Infinite  Justice  and  Good- 
ness ! 


III. 

GOD'S  DELAY  TO  PUNISH. 

AND  THEY  CRIED  WITH  A  LOUD  VOICE,  SAYING,  HOW  LONG,  O  LORD,  HOLY 
AND  TRUE,  DOST  THOU  NOT  JUDGE  AND  AVENGE  OUR  BLOOD  ON  THEM 
THAT    DWELL    ON    THE    EARTH  ?  —  RCV.  vL  10. 

AMONG  the  scenes  that  rose  before  the  eyes  of  John 
of  Patmos  out  of  the  vast  dark  future,  tracked  only 
by  these  prophetic  lines  of  light,  was  one  that  disclosed 
to  him  a  company  of  earthly  sufferers  gone  home  to  heav- 
en. There,  under  the  shadow  of  the  sacrificial  altar,  be- 
neath the  refuge  of  the  atonement,  they  were  grouped  to- 
gether, resting  and  waiting.  They  were  resting,  for 
earthly  pain  and  woe  were  past.  They  were  waiting,  for 
their  earthly  indication  yet  lingered.  It  appears  that 
they  were  martyrs  whom  the  fierce  hand  of  persecution 
had  done  to  death  for  their  fidelity  to  truth  and  Christ. 
They  seem  to  be  aware  of  the  procedures  of  the  divine 
Providence  in  the  world  they  have  left  behind.  They 
know  that  the  cause  for  which  they  died  is  not  yet  tri- 
umphant. They  see  the  proud  crests  of  bigotry  and  op- 
pression yet  unhumbled.  Have  they  given  life  in  vain, 
suffered  and  bled  for  nought?     God  is  holy  and  hates 


god's  delay  to  punish.  47 

evil.  Why  does  he  not  smile  down  the  crowned  wrong? 
God  is  true  and  wdll  redeem  his  promises.  Why  does  he 
not  show  himself  the  friend  of  the  righteous?  And  their 
voices,  not  fretful  and  querulous,  but  earnest  for  the  final 
victory  of  the  right,  address  the  Highest,  "  How  long, 
O  Lord,  holy  and  true,  dost  thou  not  judge  and  avenge 
our  blood  on  them  that  dwell  on  the  earth  ?  " 

There  are  many  souls  yet  dwelling  in  the  flesh,  who 
echo  that  cry,  "How  long?  "  God  reigns,  we  believe,  we 
know ;  but  evil  also  reigns.  God  is  against  it ;  he  has 
declared  that  it  shall  not  prosper ;  but,  despite  his  holi- 
ness and  his  truth,  the  throne  of  iniquity  stands.  Power 
oppresses,  rapacity  robs,  lust  deceives  and  betrays,  de- 
traction stabs  in  secret,  armed  injustice  defies  law  human 
and  divine.  "How  long?"  Men  join  together  in  earnest 
league  against  some  specific  form  of  evil,  as  of  tyranny  in 
government,  or  oppression  in  political  institutions,  or  in- 
temperance in  morals,  with  God  on  their  side  and  "the 
good  time  coming "  before  them.  But  what  a  dubious 
warfare !  How  often  are  they  baffled  and  defeated ! 
How  deep  the  roots  of  evil  have  struck  !  How  securely 
it  lifts  its  towering  growth  !  They  make  slow  progress. 
Sometimes  it  seems  as  though  they  did  not  gain  at  all. 
Is  God  on  their  side  !  Is  there  to  dawn  a  bright,  millen- 
nial day?  The  good  despond,  the  bad  grow  bold.  "Be- 
cause sentence  against  an  evil  work  is  not  executed 
speedily ;  therefore,  the  heart  of  the  sons  of  men  is  fully 
set  in  them  to  do  evil."  Why  not?  The  evil-doer  is  un- 
punished ;  he  w^alks  at  large ;  no  judgments  make  him 
afraid ;    God  doesn't  silence  his  proud  boasting.     Is  it  so 


48  god's  delay  to  punish. 

certain  that  virtue  has  an  iufiuite  ally?  How  these 
delays  of  the  Supreme  Justice  lend  heart  to  the  wicked  ! 
What  do  they  care  for  some  distant,  shadowy  terror? 
Here  are  the  prizes  of  their  corrupt  desires  right  at  their 
feet.  Before  the  crash  comes,  before  the  hour  of  reckon- 
ing chimes,  they  will  have  enjoyed  the  lawless  sweets  to 
the  full,  and  have  escaped  into  some  refuge  yet  to  open. 
And  still  God  is  silent ;  his  hand  is  motionless ;  the 
heavens  are  serene.  The  righteous  wait  for  a  sign ;  but 
earth  and  sky  are  mute.  "How  long,  O  Lord?"  Oh,  if 
evil  might  be  at  once  put  down,  and  wrong  righted  now, 
treason  to  law,  liberty,  humanity,  and  all  good  brained 
at  a  stroke,  the  almighty  thunders  flashing  instant  wrath 
upon  guilt  and  crime,  then  might  the  lowly  lift  up  their 
heads,  and  the  days  of  darkness  would  be  numbered  ! 
Must  we,  then,  chide  these  divine  delays?  Shall  we  not 
rather  ask  if  they  are  not  in  God's  sight  both  wise  and 
good  ? 

We  must  remember  for  one  thing  that  this  world  is 
not  a  world  of  retribution.  The  great  harvest  law  is,  in- 
deed, established  in  nature.  Providence,  and  morals,  that 
"whatsoever  a  man  soweth  that  shall  he  also  reap."  But 
when  and  where  the  full  harvest  shall  be  garnered  are 
still  open  questions.  The  supreme  administration  takes 
position  in  regard  to  good  and  evil,  and  declares  it  will 
visit  for  all  wrong ;  but  the  times  and  seasons  for  such 
judicial  visitation  are  not  disclosed ;  whether  the  aveng- 
ing judgments  shall  fall  sooner  or  later  God  gives  no 
pledges.  Here  and  there  he  drops  the  bolts  of  doom 
visibly  and  suddenly  upon  the  head  of  guilt,   that  men 


49 


may  not  forget  that  there  is  a  God,  and  that  he  rules 
in  righteousness.  And  then  again  for  long,  silent  in- 
tervals, he  reserves  all  his  wrath,  and  the  path  of  crime 
seems  heaped  about  with  impregnable  securities.  Often 
the  good  pass  away  under  a  cloud ;  the  wicked  carry  their 
bad  ventures  through  with  a  high  hand,  and  depart  amid 
the  blaze  of  success.  God  does  not  undertake  to  make 
things  equal  here  and  now.  No  earthly  history  writes 
out  the  whole  of  his  procedures,  or  balances  the  accounts 
he  keeps.  All  human  records  of  his  administrative  poli- 
cies must  be  fragmentary,  if  not  distorted ;  for  the  pro- 
cesses of  his  government  pass  beyond  the  ken  and  the  pen 
of  mortal  historians,  taking  in  time  and  eternity.  If  God 
wait,  therefore,  he  does  not  forget.  If  retribution  de- 
lay, it  is  not,  therefore,  set  aside ;  it  only  shifts  the  scene 
and  defers  the  hour.  If  some  great  offender  step  into 
the  grave  before  pursuing  vengeance  overtake  him,  and 
they  who  have  watched  his  course  say  above  the  turf 
that  hides  him,  "Here's  a  bold,  bad  man,  that  came  to  the 
end  unchecked  and  unscathed,"  we  may  reflect  that  he  has 
not  yet  come  to  the  end.  The  grave  is  not  a  refuge  from 
the  power  of  God ;  it  is  only  a  passage  from  one  state  to 
another.  Beneath  its  portal  the  criminal  has  gone  for- 
ward to  meet  his  Judo:e. 

Instead  of  being  a  world  of  retribution,  this  is  a  world 
of  probation.  Trial  with  human  character  is  progressive 
and  continuous.  It  takes  in  successive  incidents,  influ- 
ences, and  occasions.  It  has  its  stages  of  advance,  its  ebb 
and  flood  tides.  Its  grand  crises  often  come  late.  Its 
preparatory  processes  are  often  veiled  and  unsuspected, 
5 


50  god's  delay  to  punish. 

and  can  only  be  learned  on  some  great  consummation  day. 
Principles,  whether  right  or  wrong,  grow  by  slow  incre- 
ments, like  oaks  on  the  hill-tops,  and  by  many  a  wrestle 
with  wind  and  storm.  Were  God  to  rebuke  evil  with  his 
instant  judgments,  these  deliberate  courses  of  human  de- 
velopment would  all  be  cut  short.  The  gradual  ripening 
and  strengthening  of  the  soul's  moral  life  would  be  made 
impossible ;  the  fair  blue  sky  above  would  be  shrouded 
from  human  sight;  the  thunder  cloud  of  wrath  would 
bow  low,  and  black  our  daily  life ;  incessantly  its  fires 
would  gleam  and  its  artillery  roll,  and  underfoot  the  green 
earth  would  be  an  aceldama  of  blood ;  for  sinful  man's  ap- 
peal to  the  justice  of  a  holy  God  is  without  intermission. 
Again  God  delays  his  primitive  stroke,  that  his  own 
character  may  be  more  clearly  revealed.  He  has  all 
power ;  how  will  he  use  it  ?  He  hates  sin  with  an  infinite 
abhorrence  ;  how  will  he  treat  it?  When  we  are  injured 
or  afironted,  having  the  power  to  right  ourselves,  we 
make  haste  to  get  satisfaction.  How  will  God  bear 
wrong  ?  There  is  no  sublimer  spectacle  in  the  universe 
than  the  patience  w^ith  which  that  Supreme  One  endures 
man's  trespasses.  Wave  after  wave  the  tossing  sea  of 
human  guilt  breaks  at  his  feet,  and  dashes  its  insulting 
spray  upon  his  robes  of  majesty ;  his  name  is  defiled,  his 
attributes  denied,  his  power  defied,  his  purposes  contra- 
vened; and  to  all  this  the  sensibilities  of  his  nature  must 
be  exquisitely  sensitive ;  yet  there  he  sits  in  the  bonds 
of  an  infinite  self-restraint,  calm,  patient,  and  forbearing, 
looking  upon  the  endless  succession  of  the  mad  waves  of 
human   rebellion,    and   withholding  his  hand.      He  was 


god's  delay  to  punish.  51 


strong  when  he  lifted  up  the  heights  of  the  everlasting 
mountains  and  curbed  the  lawless  seas,  —  strong  when  he 
subdued  and  hauled  from  heaven  the  rebel  angels,  and  when 
he  built  the  worlds  and  tossed  them  out  like  bubbles  upon 
the  flood  of  ether ;  but  is  he  in  any  act  or  work  so  strong 
as  in  this  awful  self-control?  All  the  voices  of  human 
blasphemy  cannot  ruffle  it ;  all  the  tragedies  of  human 
crime  cannot  break  it  down.  The  day  rises  and  sets  on 
sorrow  and  guilt ;  years  of  sharp  wrong  fill  out  their  suc- 
cessive revolutions;  centuries,  ages,  lapse  slowly  away 
under  lusty  and  jubilant  evil,  and  yet  God  waits,  observant 
of  all,  feeling  all,  remembering  all,  but  passing  it  by 
without  a  reckoning.  Is  this  the  way  to  bear  wrong? 
Would  he  teach  us  by  his  own  marvellous  example  to 
take  patiently  the  spoiling  of  our  goods,  the  bitter  as- 
saults of  malice  and  all  personal  injury,  and  to  look 
also  with  patient  forbearance  upon  the  evils  that  waste 
at  large  in  the  commonwealth  of  human  happiness.  If 
He  to  whom  vengeance  belongeth  defers  its  infliction, 
shall  not  we?  If  that  silent  endurance  of  his  so  move  us, 
shall  we  not  make  it  an  inspiration  and  a  law  for  our 
own  life  ? 

And  how  this  long-sufiering  calmness  heightens  the 
impressiveness  of  wrath  when  wrath  comes  forth  !  It  is 
not  impulse  then ;  it  is  not  sudden  passion ;  it  is  not  the 
rash  outbreak  of  a  vehement  and  ungoverned  temper.  It 
is  slow-moving,  deliberate,  resolved  justice  proceeding 
unto  execution  because  it  can  no  longer  delay,  —  j^roceed- 
ing  now  inevitably  and  inexorably  because  its  hour  has 
struck.     Nothing  is  lost  from  the  terror  of  punishment  by 


52  god's  delay  to  punish. 

this  delay,  but  rather  the  dreadful  tranquillity  out  of 
which  it  takes  its  way  lends  it  a  fearfulness  more  overaw- 
ing than  the  wildest  rage. 

Again,  God's  delays  often  respect  the  measures  and 
agencies  by  which  the  guilty  are  to  suffer.  Reprisal  in 
kind  and  manner  is  one  and  a  favorite  law  of  the  divine 
retribution.  This  may  take  time.  A  son  dishonors  and 
outrages  the  gray  hairs  of  his  father.  How  shall  he  be 
punished?  Shall  God  chastise  at  once?  Will  the  turbulent 
boy  see  and  feel  his  guilt  now,  or  the  keenness  of  the  re- 
quital, as  he  would  if  he  live  on  till  his  own  locks  are 
gray  and  his  age  beginning  to  be  solitary,  and  then  the 
son  of  his  own  loins  rise  up  to  take  him  by  the  beard  ? 
Ah,  when  that  late  anguish  rises  in  his  heart,  he  will  know 
how  he  once  wounded  a  heart  that  cherished  him,  what 
a  pang  he  inflicted;  and  as  this  answering  pang  stabs 
his  spirit,  he  will  have  it  to  say  in  bitter  remorse,  "  It  is 
just."  Young  Jacob  drove  a  dart  to  his  father's  soul 
when,  covering  his  smooth  skin  with  the  hair  of  the  kid, 
he  swore  to  Isaac,  "I  am  thy  very  son  Esau."  How 
shall  he  be  punished  for  this  deceit?  Wait.  Come  again 
into  his  presence  when,  bowed  with  years,  he  leans  upon 
his  staff,  and  his  sons,  cheating  him  in  turn,  ruthlessly  lay 
before  him  Joseph's  coat  of  many  colors  stained  with 
blood,  saying,  "This  have  wo  found.  Know  now  whether 
it  be  thy  son's  coat  or  no."  Oftentimes  the  very  prize 
which  the  guilty  hand  seized  becomes  the  instrument  of 
torture.  Not  all  at  once  of  course.  Gradually  its  character 
changes.  It  is  long  perhaps  before  it  ceases  to  attract. 
Slowly  the   leaven  of  a   new  virus   enters  into  it,  and 


god's  delay  to  punish.  53 

at  last  it  is  worn,  like  the  coat  of  Hercules,  as  a  poisoned 
robe,  filling  the  frame  with  anguish  and  corruption. 

God  would  have  also  human  help  in  overcoming  evil. 
He  keeps  back  the  thunders  of  his  power  and  calls 
in  loyal  volunteers.  He  permits  them  to  fight  many  a 
strenuous  battle,  to  become  heroes  on  great  field  days ; 
he  drills  and  musters  them  in  all  the  manly  discipline  of 
a  soldier's  life  and  matches  them  against  the  stubborn 
wrongs  he  would  subdue.  Their  feeble  arms  take  up,  in- 
stead of  his  omnipotent  arm,  the  championship  of  virtue, 
lift  the  gage  of  evil,  and  measure  themselves  against  the 
powers  hostile  to  God's  reign.  This  delays  the  victory, 
but  it  exalts  and  ennobles  humanity,  tutors  and  educates 
the  servants  of  God,  and  lends  an  intenser  interest  in  our 
hearts  to  the  long  protracted  struggle. 

It  is  not  always  that  the  nature  of  an  evil  thing  is  seen 
at  the  outset.  God  understands  it.  But  if  he  smite  as  it 
deserves,  men  may  wonder  at  his  severity.  They  cannot 
enter  at  once  into  his  estimate  of  what  he  has  scourged, 
because  the  evil  was  yet  seminal  and  unexpressed.  Let 
it  live  and  flourish  and  blossom  by  and  by  and  bear  its 
ripe  fruits  before  their  eyes,  and  as  those  baleful  apples 
fall,  men  will  underst^md  better  why  the  lightnings  of 
heaven  should  scathe  and  blacken  such  a  growth.  Unless 
the  evil  came  up  thus  to  its  full  stature,  and  put  on  all  its 
deformity  before  it  were  dealt  with,  if  it  were  choked  and 
checked  in  its  young  greenness,  there  were  danger  of  its 
repetition  when  the  next  hour  of  temptation  should  chime. 
Let  it  stand  and  grow  yet  a  while,  let  its  swelling  propor- 
tions crowd  out  all  healthful  growths,  let  men  look  upon 
5* 


54  god's  delay  to  punish. 

its  kingly  coronal  of  Upas  leaves,  and  mark  the  death 
that  spreads  beneath  its  fatal  dews ;  let  them  look  upon 
some  vice  of  character,  at  first  thought  well-nigh  harm- 
less, as  later  it  pushes  its  rank  leprosy  over  the  whole 
soul ;  let  some  political  wrong,  at  first  only  a  hidden  fer- 
ment, break  out  into  rancorous,  pestilent  eruption,  where 
foul  and  fast  the  life  itself  runs  away ;  let  men  see,  let 
history  record,  let  generations  feel,  what  desperate  wick- 
edness lies  in  the  purpose  to  maintain  political  ascen- 
dency for  a  sectional  end;  let  wasted  treasuries  bear 
their  witness,  and  crimsoned  fields  and  desolated  homes 
and  broken  hearts ;  let  the  punishment  linger  till  the  fell 
spirit,  the  horrid  rapacity,  the  death-griping  wilfulness  of 
this  evil  thing  is  stamped  upon  its  brow,  the  mark  of  Cain 
branded  in  so  deep  that  not  all  the  gloss  of  the  Father 
of  lies  can  ever  efiace  it ;  then  let  the  heel  of  Omnipo- 
tence tread  it  down,  and  one  such  demonstration  will  be 
enough. 

Good  and  evil  are  often  so  mingled  in  this  life  that 
one  cannot  be  dislodged  without  uprooting  the  other. 
The  wheat  and  tares  grow  together.  For  the  sake  of  the 
wheat,  it  is  often  better  that  the  tares  remain  undis- 
turbed. There  are  bad  men  whose  crimes  demand  signal 
rebuke,  but  there  are  certain  precious  interests  partly 
resting  upon  them  which  would  suffer  if  they  were  rude- 
ly struck  away.  They  are  men  of  foul  hearts  and  pro- 
fane lips,  but  they  are  husbands  and  fathers,  and  de- 
pendent lives  wait  upon  their  industry,  and  nestle  under 
their  care.  They  have  fields  to  till  and  harvests  to 
raise  and  products  of  skill  and  labor  to  produce  for  the 


god's  delay  to  punish.  55 

adornment  and  comfort  of  other  lives.  They  do  not  fear 
God,  nor  regard  man ;  but  God  can  make  them  useful 
nevertheless.  Thek  muscles  are  strong,  and  their  wits 
are  sharp  for  him,  and  their  very  wrath  shall  praise  him. 
They  shall  serve,  though  unwittingly,  as  helpers  to  hu- 
man advancement,  subduing  earth's  briers  and  thorns,  — 
they  are  good  enough  for  that, — increasing,  for  selfish 
ends,  useful  inventions,  sailing  the  ships  of  commerce, 
and  manning  the  ships  of  war,  legislating,  ruling,  fight- 
ing in  great  battles  that  set  forward  the  progress  of  na- 
tions. 

Shall  God  make  no  use  of  them?  If  all  that  he  ac- 
complishes by  the  hands  of  wicked  men  were  left  out  of 
the  sum-total  of  human  working,  it  would  greatly  change 
the  footing  up.  Let  him  delay  wrath  and  subsidize  these 
malign  activities  for  his  own  beneficent  ends. 

Meanwhile  look  in  upon  the  interior  experience  of 
these  respited  lives.  The  final  sentence  which  they  have 
provoked  holds  ofi*;  but  are  they  therefore  exempt  from 
the  penal  consequences  of  ill-doing?  Are  there  no  sharp 
returns  for  wrong  which  they  find  they  cannot  escape? 
They  live  ;  so  did  Prometheus  chained  to  his  rock  on  the 
bald  Caucasus,  with  the  vulture  tearing  at  his  liver  every 
day.  Is  there  no  cruel  beak  that  is  fleshed  perpetually  in 
their  tortured  heart  ?  Are  there  not  bitter  dregs  in  every 
cup  of  sinful  pleasure  they  drink  ?  Are  they  not  taunted 
with  fears  and  forebodings  ?  Can  they  lay  the  pale  ghosts 
of  accusing  memories  ?  Does  not  conscience  pierce  them 
with  her  barbed  sting?  Does  not  their  soul  sit  in  the 
shadow  when  it  sits  alone?  Are  these  criminals  really 
quite  at  large?     If  they  walk  abroad,  are  they  not  at- 


5Q  god's  delay  to  punish. 

tended  by  their  jailer  who  leads  them  chained,  and  makes 
them  every  now  and  then  to  feel  the  corroding  iron  ? 

But  there  is  another  side  of  the  divine  character  that 
comes  into  radiant  vision  often  in  such  delays.  To  show 
mercy  is  the  infinite  delight  of  God's  heart.  To  recover 
the  erring,  to  save  the  lost,  to  make  the  dead  live  again, 
to  bring  enemies  to  his  feet  in  penitent  allegiance, — 
these  are  his  most  illustrious  triumphs.  There  is  an  in- 
tercessor standing  between  the  axe  and  every  barren  fig- 
tree  pleading,  "  Let  it  alone  this  year  also  ! "  Spared 
men  may  become  changed  men.  They  are  spared  often 
on  this  peradventure.  They  may  awake  from  delusion 
and  folly  ;  they  may  see  how  their  feet  are  snared  ;  they 
may  meet  yet  some  benign  influence  that  shall  prevail 
over  all  the  solicitation  of  passion  and  appetite ;  afflic- 
tions may  bring  them  to  their  sober  selves,  and  the  lips 
that  wantoned  with  the  divine  sanctities  may  call  trem- 
blingly out  of  the  dust,  "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sin- 
ner." Were  not  this  better  than  instant  and  hopeless 
wrath?  Whatever  voice  asks,  "How  long?"  should  we 
not  all  answer,  "  Oh,  so  long  as  there  is  hope  ;  so  long  as 
Mercy,  sweet  angel,  can  yet  smile ;  so  long  as  the  golden 
sceptre  of  forgiveness  and  reconciliation  can  still  be 
stretched  out "  ? 

Reviewing,  then,  these  possible  reasons  for  the  delay  of 
God's  just  punishment  of  the  wicked,  we  may  say,  Let 
no  man  presume  on  such  respite  !  Delay  is  not  forgetful- 
ness  on  God's  part.  It  is  not  escape  on  man's  part.  It 
may  indeed  keep  the  way  of  return  open,  but  all  the 
while  it  is  but  preparing,  if  such  forbearance  fail  of  this 
end,  a  more  certain  and  crushing  doom.     God  is  silent, 


god's  delay  to  punish.  57 

is  he  ?  while  we  grow  bold  in  sin.  We  look  and  listen  ; 
there  is  no  sight  or  sou,nd  to  alarm  us.  Ah,  that  very 
silence  is  appalling.  Unseen  agencies  are  at  work  some- 
where. Below  the  horizon's  rim  the  storm  is  gathering ; 
the  air  is  breathless ;  but  this  hush  of  the  elements  pre- 
cedes the  bursting  of  the  tempest.  You  discern  no 
enemy.  Look  out,  then,  for  an  ambush.  Nothing  ap- 
proaches. Be  sure,  then,  you  will  be  surprised.  If  God 
delays  in  mercy,  let  not  our  presumption  necessitate  his 
wrath;  not  presumption,  but  repentance,  is  the  right 
practical  inference  from  such  gracious  forbearance. 

And,  on  the  other  side,  let  no  mon's  heart  doubt  or 
faint  because  evil  seems  to  have  present  impunity.  God 
will  prove  liimself  an  avenger  of  all  violated  rights. 
Wait.  The  tide  will  turn,  will  rise.  Wait.  The  little 
cloud  like  a  man's  hand  will  cover  the  face  of  the  sky, 
and  make  it  black  with  fury.  Wait.  Distant  the  slow- 
grinding  wheels  of  doom  move  on.  The  vast  iron  rim 
turns  as  though  it  scarce  moved  at  all.  The  ponderous 
arc  comes  down  almost  imperceptibly ;  but  it  crashes 
where  it  rolls.  Have  patience ;  even  a  heathen  could 
write,  "The  mills  of  the  gods  grind  slow,  but  they  grind 
fine."  The  sure,  inexorable  processes  of  the  heavenly 
Justice  are  on  their  way.  Hold  on  with  faith,  hope,  and 
good  courage.  In  the  end,  God  and  right  and  truth  and 
virtue  will  triumph,  and  wrong  will  take  its  hopeless  sen- 
tence. Endure  for  a  little  while,  maintain  the  conflict  a 
little  longer,  keep  a  good  heart  above  reverses.  God 
delays,  but  he  will  come.  To  some  despairing  voice  ask- 
ing for  the  hundredth  time,  " How  long? "  will  leap  forth 
his  answer,  "NOW." 


lY. 

THE  SABBATH  IN  THE  FAMHiY. 

FOR  I  KNOW  HIM,  THAT  HE  WILL  COMMAND  HIS  CHILDREN  AND  HIS  HOUSE- 
HOLD AFTER  HIM,  AND  THEY  SHALL  KEEP  THE  WAY  OF  THE  LORD,  TO  DO 
JUSTICE  AND  JUDGMENT;  THAT  THE  LORD  MAY  BRING  UPON  ABRAHAM 
THAT  WHICH  HE  HATH  SPOKEN  OF   HIM.  —  Gen.  XVUi.  19. 

THE  gifts  of  the  promise  made  to  him  who  was  "  called 
the  friend  of  God  "  were  yet  suspended  on  the  condi- 
tions of  parental  faithfulness  and  a  household  ordered  in 
"  the  way  of  the  Lord."  The  divine  purpose  of  mercy 
and  goodness  to  a  pious  line  takes  up,  as  indispensable 
links  in  the  golden  chain,  the  right  training  of  each  gen- 
eration in  the  long  succession.  If  God's  favor  is  to  be 
transmitted  from  sire  to  son,  the  statutes  of  God  are  also 
to  be  handed  doAvn,  and  a  spirit  of  obedience  and  con- 
formity to  be,  by  all  strenuous  nurture,  fostered  and  se- 
cured. The  family  is  God's  first  and  fundamental  institu- 
tion for  reproducing  and  continuing,  as  the  fathers  die 
and  their  sons  succeed  them,  a  people  to  know  and  serve 
him.  He  ordained  it  before  the  Church  and  the  State; 
or  rather  it  was  the  earliest  Church,  the  original  and  ger- 
minal commonwealth.  He  builds  States  by  building  fam- 
ilies, attaching  their  members  thus  to  the  soil  of  their 
nativity,  making  patriotism  an  instinct,  and  the  subject's 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMH.Y.  59 

relation  a  habit  from  the  cradle.  He  builds  in  the  same 
way  his  spiritual  kingdom,  spiritual  knowledge  and  faith 
becoming  hereditary  through  the  ministry  of  the  Christian 
home.  For  these  issues  he  clothes  the  head  of  the  family 
with  dignity  and  authority,  confirms  his  sceptre  by  strong 
and  positive  decrees,  and  makes  his  name  and  person 
venerable  and  sacred  by  the  offices  he  fulfils,  and  the 
corresponding  instincts  of  dependence  and  natural  affec- 
tion. If  we  lose  the  family  as  a  school  of  virtue  and  pi- 
ety, we  lose  the  heritage  of  all  covenanted  blessings,  — 
we  displace  a  unit  from  the  series  of  God's  stepping- 
stones  along  our  line,  breaking  off  the  succession,  —  we 
sink  a  chasm  between  the  deep-freighted  divine  hand  and 
the  future  it  would  have  endowed  with  riches. 

The  family  and  the  Sabbath  —  God's  first  institutions 
for  man  —  were  put  in  significant  proximity  when  he 
ordained  them  both.  If  God's  six  days'  work  includes, 
as  some  think,  the  creation  of  woman,  and  we  repeat 
concerning  the  day  that  followed  the  formula  that  an- 
nounced the  other  completed  days,  "the  evening  and  the 
morning  were  the  seventh  day,"  then  the  first  bridal  eve 
was  the  Sabbath  eve,  the  first  day  of  family  life  in  Eden 
was  the  Sabbath-day.  If  this  be  so,  the  Sabbath  brings 
to  each  wedded  pair  the  fragrant  memorial  of  those  first 
nuptials,  on  which 

"  All  heaven 


And  happy  constellations    . 
Shed  then*  selectest  mfluence,' 


and  pleads  that  the  union  thus  formed  between  itself  and 
the  family  remain  perpetual.     Over  those  bands  we  may 


60  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

hear  the  great  officiating  Priest  saying,  "  What  God  hath 
joined  together  let  not  man  put  asunder  !  " 

Our  home  itself  suggests  the  Sabbath.  All  days  of  the 
week  it  is  our  rest.  Wandering  amid  strangers,  sasped 
by  the  sharp  and  hard  contacts  of  life's  jealousies  and 
competitions,  lonely  in  solitude,  we  turn  how  gladly  to 
the  one  threshold  on  which  unfeigned  welcomes,  compan- 
ionable voices,  the  gentle  ministries  of  love,  will  greet 
us  and  fill  our  spirits  with  tranquillity  and  repose.  The 
weary  laborer  in  the  field  looks  up  to  the  declining  sun, 
marks  his  shadow  lengthening  toward  the  east,  and  bends 
with  fresh  vigor  to  his  task,  as  his  thought  glides  away  a 
swift  herald  to  his  own  cottage-door.  Outside  that  door, 
life  to  him  is  labor ;  within  it  is  rest.  The  implements  of 
toil  he  lays  down  before  he  enters.  He  goes  in  to  be  re- 
freshed and  cheered  ;  to  sit,  not  stand  ;  to  have  a  place 
of  ease  at  the  bright  hearth  and  pleasant  board ;  to  lay 
his  length  upon  his  couch,  and  let  the  soft  tide  of  sleep 
rise  over  him,  and  drown  his  consciousness.  Home  is 
his  peaceful  evening  port  after  the  day's  rough  voyaging 
for  his  body  and  spirit,  —  a  perpetual  Sabbath.  One  to 
whom  God  has  given  such  a  daily  Sabbath,  so  pleasant 
and  beneficent  a  reminder  of  the  weekly  rest,  ought  to 
hear  with  most  welcoming  thankfulness,  as  though  it 
spoke  with  a  voice  of  music,  the  command,  "  Six  days 
shalt  thou  labor,  and  do  all  thy  work ;  but  the  seventh 
day  is  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord  thy  God ;  in  it  thou  shalt 
not  do  any  work,  thou,  nor  thy  son,  nor  thy  daughter, 
thy  man-servant,  nor  thy  maid-servant,  nor  thy  cattle, 
nor  thy  stranger  that  is  within  thy  gates." 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY.  61 

The  first  thing,  then,  for  the  parent  who  asks  the  ques- 
tion which  we  have  here  to  answer,  "  How  is  the  Sabbath 
to  be  kept  in  the  family  ?  "  is  to  feel  that  his  own  spirit 
and  example  will  settle  the  reverence  paid  to  the  day  and 
the  manner  of  its  keeping  in  that  little  community  of 
which  he  is  the  head.  He  must  look  to  himself  first. 
Before  he  consider  methods  and  measures,  and  tax  his 
invention,  and  put  his  contrivances  in  operation,  let  him 
question  his  own  soul.  What  is  the.  Sabbath  to  him? 
Does  he  call  it  "a  delight,  the  holy  of  the  Lord,  honor- 
able "  ?  Is  it  the  festival  of  the  week  to  his  heart  ?  For 
his  whole  nature,  body  and  mind  and  spirit, '  does  he 
esteem  it  a  most  gracious  boon  of  God?  Is  he  looking 
upon  it  as  a  severe  intermeddling  ordinance,  breaking  off 
his  most  fascinating  pursuits,  taking  so  much  from  what 
he  calls,  with  all  the  eager  relishes  of  his  soul,  in  one 
intense  word,  —  "Life,"  dooming  him  to  a  dull,  pulseless 
pause  of  existence  ?  Or  is  this  the  culmination,  the  crown, 
the  zest  of  desire  and  hope,  the  welcome  release  from 
worldly  care,  the  banquet-day  for  a  soul  hungry  and 
thirsty  and  denied,  amid  earthly  planning  and  toiling,  fit 
and  full  refreshment  ?  There's  a  compensative  beneficence 
in  the  Sabbath  for  the  body's  need.  The  weary  frame 
sits  at  high  noon  to  gather  breath  and  strength  before  it 
renews  the  chase,  but  the  pause  is  ever  too  brief.  The 
call  afield  sounds  again  before  the  brow  is  dry  and 
the  swell  of  the  bosom  gone  down  into  quiet.  The  night 
comes  with  its  anointing  dews  of  sleep,  and  imparts  fresh 
increments  of  vigor.  But  the  night  is  too  short.  It 
doesn't  impart  as  much  as  was  expended.  The  balance 
6 


62  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

is  against  us  still  when  the  morning  blows  its  clarion. 
The  stock  on  hand,  through  all  the  fluctuations,  dimin- 
ishes till  the  week  be  spent.  Speedy  bankruptcy  were 
inevitable,  did  not  the  Sabbath  come  in  with  compensa- 
tive relief  to  supplement  the  pause  at  noon  and  the  minis- 
tration of  the  night  with  one  solid  day,  insisting,  kindly, 
from  sun  to  sun,  "in  it  thou  shalt  not  do  any  work,"  and 
joining  two  reposeful  nights  by  this  pleasant  isthmus  of 
restful  light.  Is  there  in  like  manner  a  compensative 
element  in  the  Sabbath  for  the  soul's  need  ?  How  do  we 
think  of  it  ?  We  run  to  the  fountains  of  spiritual  refresh- 
ing morning  and  evening  of  our  toiling  days  ;  we  moisten 
our  lips  as  we  kneel  down  at  the  springs  of  comfort  in 
our  closet  and  at  the  family  altar ;  we  fill  a  cup  from  the 
precepts  and  promises  of  the  word ;  we  gather  a  little 
manna  thus  daily  as  the  dew  rises  and  before  the  sun  is 
hot,  —  a  taste  of  the  bread  of  heaven;  but  the  soul  is 
kept  on  short  allowance.  It  expends  amid  worldly  cares 
and  draughts  more  than  it  thus  receives.  It  will  become 
lean  and  famished  if  a  special  and  more  bountiful  table  be 
not  spread  for  its  need.  What  is  it  that  supplements  for 
the  soul's  spiritual  compensation  the  closet,  the  house- 
hold worship,  the  daily  Scripture  reading?  Is  the  Sab- 
bath welcomed  as  such  a  feast-day  to  our  hungry  spirits, 
—  a  day  in  which  we  can  lie  at  the  foantahis  of  refresh- 
ment through  all  the  bright  hours,  hear  the  governing 
provider  urge  his  large  hospitality, — "Eat,  O  friends; 
drink,  yea,  drink  abundantly,  O  beloved"? 

No  strictness  of  ruling,  no  stern  administration  of  Sab- 
bath law,  will  commend  the  Sabbath  to  the  fit  hallowing 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY.  63 

of  the  domestic  circle,  if  the  clay  is  not,  with  the  family 
headship,  a  loved  and  choice  gift  of  God's  goodness. 
This  little  society  mirrors  the  character  set  over  it  for 
guidance  and  control.  Looking  into  the  clear  depths  of 
some  Alpine  lake,  you  see  all  the  snowy  peaks  around 
leaning  against  that  nether  sky  as  in  the  upper.  There 
below,  as  above,  the  torrents  foam  and  the  avalanches 
leap.  There  float  the  clouds  as  overhead,  and  the  lonely 
and  lordly  vulture  poises  in  slow  flight  his  broad  wings. 

Scarce  more  accurate  is  this  mirrored  repetition  of  the 
surroundings  and  overhangings  of  the  lake  than  the  re- 
production in  the  home  of  the  pattern  life  and  character 
of  the  family  head.  Line  after  line  the  pattern  is  worked 
into  their  own  life  by  young  copjnsts  until  the  same  lines 
and  figures  faithfully  reappear.  With  the  most  youthful 
members  of  the  circle,  long  before  they  can  respond  to 
our  voices  in  articulate  speech,  our  words  and  signals 
are  intelligible,  and  answering  signals  give  back  perfect 
counterpart  of  the  correspondence.  Then  it  is  that  what 
they  see  and  hear  in  the  home,  the  tones  that  are  uttered, 
the  scenes  that  are  acted,  voices  of  passion  and  mirth, 
the  hushed  and  solemn  accents  of  prayer,  the  quietness 
around  them  on  the  Sabbath-day,  or  the  rude  clamor  that 
fills  its  hours,  the  postures  of  kneeling  or  of  revelling 
households,  occupy  their  mind  with  images  thenceforward 
vivid,  influential,  and  imperishable.  I  have  thought  this 
ought  to  be  said  here,  for  if  the  sense  of  this  be  not  on 
our  hearts  as  parents,  if  the  question  of  our  personal 
spirit  and  example  be  not  our  first  point  of  solicitude, 
and  the  necessity  of  honestly  being  and  doing  for  our- 


64  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

selves  all  that  we  propose  for  the  household  do  not  press 
us,  it  is  of  little  use  to  inquire  further. 

I.  There  must,  of  course,  be  for  the  hallowing  of  the 
Sabbath  in  the  family,  as  well  as  out  of  the  family,  a 
refraining  from  work.  It  must  be  seen  there  that  all  the 
workers,  so  far  as  possible,  rest  from  labor,  cease  from 
their  ordinary  occupation.  This  must  not  be  a  transfer 
of  the  business  from  the  office  and  the  field  to  the  privacy 
of  the  home.  It  is  not  ceasing  from  labor  to  stay  in  the 
house,  instead  of  going  to  the  counting-room  or  the  shop, 
and  push  forward  our  business  enterprises  by  letter- 
writing,  posting  books,  and  sifting  estimates  and  calcula- 
tions. This  is  to  bring  the  world  into  the  very  scene  of 
which  we  are  asking.  How  shall  we  keep  the  Sabbath 
then?  It  is  invading  the  sanctuary  of  the  home  with 
what  doesn't  belong  there  on  any  day  of  the  week.  A 
business  man  ought  to  leave  his  knit  brow  and  corrugated 
face  behind  him  in  the  workshop,  if  he  can,  whenever  he 
comes  in  across  the  doorstep  of  his  house  ;  let  him  go  to 
his  wareroom  and  on  'Change  a  business  man,  with  all  his 
problems  working  in  the  lines  about  his  eyes  and  lips,  but 
let  him  come  into  the  family  a  domestic  man,  his  pack  of 
worldly  care  and  harness  of  worldly  toil  depart  at  the 
door  or  further  oif,  and  the  sunshine  of  love  and  joy 
shining  on  his  countenance.  He  wants  his  hands  now,  not 
to  strike  a  strong  stroke  in  the  earth,  or  on  the  anvil,  or 
at  trade,  but  to  meet  soft  and  warm  palms,  to  catch  and 
toss  aloft  his  babe.  His  grim  lips  may  relax  for  smiles 
and  kisses  and  gentle  words.  He  comes  in  to  cheer  and 
be  cheered  as  a  man  who  has  not  only  a  brain  to  contrive, 


THE   SABBATH   IN   THE   FA^HLY.  65 

a  skill  to  execute,  a  will  to  hold  his  own  in  the  world's 
competitions,  but  a  heart  with  which  to  cherish  dear  ones, 
affections  to  come  forth  into  refreshing  play.  It  is  a  mis- 
take and  an  impertinence  on  any  day  of  the  six  to  trans- 
fer the  shop  to  the  fireside.  It  is  all  this,  and  a  crime 
beside,  to  make  the  transfer  on  the  Lord's  day. 

As  it  isn't  quite  respectable  on  Sunday  to  strip  the  arm 
for  downright  work,  there  are  not  a  few  who  give  up 
the  outward  activities  of  their  daily  industry  and  keep  on 
planning.     There  are  plans  enough  laid  on  the  Sabbath 
for  myriads  of  fortunes,  if  God  did  not  cross  them,  or 
give  them  a  malign  success, — plans  for  business,  plans 
for  travel,  plans  for  pleasure,  plans  for  every  pursuit  and 
hope  of  heart  and  life.     The  Sabbath  is  of  all  days,  with 
multitudes,  the  day  for  planning.     And  this  planning  fills 
the  walls  of  many  a  home  with  its  busy  talk,  through 
almost  all  the  hours  of  the  family  intercourse.     It  makes 
the  changeful  interest  of  conversation  whenever  the  silence 
is  broken.     It  leads  out  all  the  listeners  and  all  the  par- 
takers into  the  dust  and  heat  and  glare   of  life  again. 
They  sit  together  at  the  family  board ;  the  light  in  the 
room  is  perhaps  subdued  from  yesterday's ;  to  the  neigh- 
bors they  seem  to  be  within  keeping  Sabbath.     But  they 
are  not  within.     They  are  out,  going  to  and  fro  on  free 
excursion  trains,  loading  and  unloading  ships,  ransacking 
foreign  markets,  buying,  fashioning,  and  making  up  the 
costume  for  the  season,  and  settling  mercantile  and  social 
accounts.     I  believe  it  is  a  great  and  unceasing  desecra- 
tion of  the  Sabbath  in  many  a  family,  this  gabbling  about 
what  shall  be  done  on  the  morrow.     There  can  be  no 
household  Sabbath  where  this  profanation  is  admitted. 


QQ  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

It  has  been  well  remarked  that  to  rest  from  work  in 
hallowing:  the  Sabbath  is  for  each  worker  to  cease  from 
that  which  is  his  own  employment ;  that  is,  each  worker 
is  to  cease  to  bo  a  worker  in  that  matter.  But  wherein  is 
he  a  worker  ?  What  constitutes  him  the  man  he  is  in  that 
department  of  human  industry?  Is  he  a  worker  only 
with  his  two  hands,  or  with  the  loins  of  his  back?  Does 
he  not  bring  thought  and  purpose  and  arrangement  and 
desio-n  into  his  tasks  ?  Is  he  not  a  worker  with  his  inven- 
tion,  his  experience,  his  judgment,  his  sagacity?  But  he 
is  to  cease  to  be  a  worker  in  his  work.  Then,  in  that 
calling,  he  must  cease  from  brain  work  as  well  as  from 
hand  work,  —  cease  from  planning  as  well  as  achieving, 
and  rest  his  mind  as  well  as  his  loins  from  that  use  of 
his  fiiculties  with  which  he  fills  other  days. 

The  housework  itself,  that  which  cannot  altogether 
pause  on  any  day  of  the  year,  for  any  call,  human  or 
divine,  ought  to  be  restricted  and  simplified.  Every 
housekeeper  knows  how  to  prepare  for  days  of  special 
preoccupancy  that  interdicts  careful  attention  to  the  do- 
mestic management.  Such  days  occur  not  unfrequently 
in  the  progress  of  secular  time,  and  are  arranged  for, 
without  much  embarrassment.  This  precast  may  be  ex- 
ercised as  well  for  the  Sabbath,  that,  as  toiling  manhood 
from  without  comes  in  to  rest,  toiling  womanhood  within 
may  sit  down  in  the  same  domestic  quiet,  with  few  calls 
to  break  in  upon  the  calm,  and  plead  for  time  and 
thought  and  strength  in  household  tasks. 

I  know  that  the  wives  and  daughters  of  many  homes 
are   unvisited   by  any   such   disturbing   summons.     Are 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE    FAIillLY.  67 

there  not   the  servants?     If  the   table   is    to  be  graced 
with  the  presence  of  Sabbath  guests,  and  a   sumptuous 
banquet  is  desired,   or   if  we  choose  ourselves   to   fare 
more  luxuriously  than  yesterday  because  we  have  more 
leisure  to  sit  and  enjoy  the  dainties,  or  because  the  fomily 
circle  is  more  full,  or  because  we  shall  not  be  driven  forth 
when  the  repast  is  ended  to  intercourse  in  which  all  our 
keenness   and   alertness   will   be    in    demand,    but    may 
drowse  our  dulness  away,  if  we  so  please,  in  extension 
chairs,  or  on  pillowed  couches,  the  special  provision  need 
not  greatly  tax  our  personal  attention  or  activity.     All 
that  we  have  to  do  is  to  give  our  orders.     The  cook  will 
serve  up  at  the  appointed  time  our  favorite  dishes  ;   the 
parlor  girl  and  butler  will  see  that  the  family  style  suffers 
no  discredit.     All  will  go  well.     We  pay  good  salaries, 
and  can  rely  upon  having  our  directions  faithfully  and 
gracefully  complied  with.     We  need  not  stay  to  superin- 
tend ;  we  can  sit  through  the  morning  in  our  pew,  cool 
and  untroubled,  our  thoughts  drifting  away  occasionally 
to  the  entertainment  in  progress,  but  not  in  distressing 
anxiety,  rather  in  pleasant  anticipation ;  and  in  decorous 
observance  we  and  our  favored  children  keep  Sabbath 
ordinances.     Meanwhile  at  home  the  work  goes  bravely 
on.     The  kitchen  is  a  laboratory  of  art.     The  converging 
processes  that  are  to  meet  in  the  issue  are  put  in  motion, 
each  in  its  time  and  at  its  proportioned  rate  of  advance. 
Fires  glow,  meats  steam,  savory  clouds  thicken,  and  the 
grand  success  looms  clearly  up  through  all  the  apparent 
disorder. 

But  who  are  these  creatures  on  whom  the  heat  and  the 


68  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

burden  are  rolled?  Are  they  machines,  automatons? 
Ah,  no.  They  are  men  and  women,  beings  with  souls,  — 
souls  as  deathless  as  those  that  gave  out  the  order  for  the 
"dinner,  and  then  rolled  at  leisure  to  the  house  of  God,  — 
with  the  same  large  capacities,  the  same  immortal  des- 
tinies pending. 

Oh,  the  unutterable  meanness  of  these  family  enter- 
tainments !  The  board  is  covered  with  generous  cheer ; 
but  they  are  not  generous  souls  that  preside.  They  have 
been  somewhat  thoughtful,  they  fancy,  for  their  own  spir- 
itual health ;  they  have  robbed  the  cheaper  soul,  which 
they  have  kept  grinding  in  the  prison-house  of  toil,  of  its 
Sabbath  sunshine,  God's  house,  Jesus'  gospel.  They 
themselves  must  be  edified  by  the  formulas  of  worship,  — 
prayers,  music,  preaching, — and  they  must  dine  well. 
As  for  the  Irish  help,  why,  it  wont  make  much  difference 
with  them,  and  they  are  well  paid,  and  like  the  place  too 
well  to  leave,  and  really  it  is  somewhat  of  a  pity,  but  the 
thing  can't  be  managed  in  any  other  way,  and  this  is  the 
day  when  these  friends  can  best  of  all  favor  them,  and  so 
there  is  nothing  to  be  said.  No,  "nothing  to  be  said" 
just  now ;  but  there  will  be  something  to  be  said  by  and 
by.  This  is  an  honorable  family,  —  by  courtesy  a  Chris- 
tian family,  —  but  I  know  that  the  servants'  wages  there 
are  paid,  if  not  in  uncurrent  money,  in  money  which  the 
banks  wont  receive  on  deposit !  This  family  would  insist 
on  being  taken  to  heaven,  when  the  time  can't  be  post- 
poned, in  the  femily  coach,  though  drivers  and  footmen 
had  to  take  back  the  carriage,  and  thus  be  themselves 
shut  out ! 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY.  69 

The  Sabbath  iu  the  family  should  breathe  its  benedic- 
tion of  rest  from  work  along  all  the  levels  of  the  family 
mansion,  and  upon  every  avoidable  secular  task  of  hand 
or  thought. 

Another  thing  in  the  hallowing  of  the  family  Sabbath 
is  to  secure  for  the  household  an  atmosphere  of  order, 
serenity,  and  quietness.  Some  of  us  can  remember  the 
Sabbaths  of  our  childhood  in  country  homes.  There  was 
something  in  the  very  aspect  of  the  homestead,  without 
and  within,  that  helped  the  sanctity  of  the  day.  The 
morning  broke  in  unvexed  stillness.  The  plough  paused, 
arrested  in  mid-furrow.  Unyoked,  the  oxen  cropped  the 
dewy  grass,  or,  as  the  sun  rose  higher,  lay  ruminating  in 
the  shade.  No  musical  chime  from  the  mower's  arm 
giving  edge  to  his  scythe  disturbed  the  halcyon  calm. 
The  brooks  ran  with  fuller  music,  as  though  they  struck 
a  richer  melody  of  praise,  and  the  bees'  hum  came  in  with 
deeper  and  clearer  resonance.  A  mellower  light,  as 
though  mingled  of  chastened  elements,  mantled  the  dwell- 
ing and  brooded  over  the  sacred  solitudes  of  the  un- 
wrought  fields.  The  columned  vapor  from  the  solid  stone- 
built  masonry  of  the  chimney-top  rose  like  morning 
incense  from  an  altar.  Through  the  east  windows,  the 
golden  rays  streamed  in  upon  a  scene  of  quietness  and 
order.  The  household  furniture  was  in  its  place,  —  for 
even  chairs  and  footstools  were  not  suflered  to  be  ii-regu- 
lar  on  that  day,  — the  incitements  and  accompaniments  of 
childish  sports  were  set  aside  as  not  to  be  handled  in 
those  hours,  the  nameless  litter  of  childhood's  treasures, 
strewn  as  by  fairy  hands  through  the  "living  room,"  was 


70  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE    FAMILY. 

cleared  away,  making  strange  and  staid  vacancy,  and  the 
family  clock  ticked  with  a  more  suggestive  and  impres- 
sive stroke.  A  spirit  of  cleanliness  reigned,  and  draped 
the  forms  that  moved  slowly  about  the  mansion,  as  "with 
fine  linen,  clean  and  white,"  which  "  is  the  righteousness 
of  saints."  All  rude  and  harsh  noises  were  hushed,  and 
to  our  young  hearts  it  was  made  to  seem  that  the  permitted 
boisterousness  of  other  days  would  wound  the  tender  sen- 
sitiveness of  this.  It  was  impossible  not  to  discern  that 
this  was  a  ^lay  that  differed  from  other  days.  We  felt  as 
though  some  most  reverent  presence  came  nearer  than 
amid  the  clash  of  our  implements  of  toil  and  instruments 
of  mirth,  and  that  we  must  walk  and  talk  softly  beneath 
that  sacred  shadow. 

We  cannot  bring  in,  in  every  scene  of  household  life, 
this  witness  and  echo  of  Nature  to  the  statute  of  her  Lord. 
But  the  tranquil  and  orderly  serenity  of  the  family  apart- 
ments we  may  strive  to  secure.  The  eve  of  preparation, 
diligently  improved,  may  anticipate  and  save  the  hurry 
and  bustle  of  Sabbath  morning.  A  studious  carefulness 
may  make  our  movements  more  quiet,  the  tones  of  our 
voices  more  gentle.  Our  children  may  be  taught  that 
some  of  the  shriller  stops  of  their  wondrously-varied 
organ  are  not  to  be  drawn  on  Sabbath-days.  The  loud, 
ringing  laugh  and  gleeful  shout  may  be  hushed  into  music 
more  subdued;  the  sonorous  footfall,  clattering  through 
entries  and  up  and  down  stairways,  taught  a  softer  tread, 
and  passion  and  petulance  chided  as  jarring  on  the  pleas- 
ant Sabbath  harmony.  You  are  thinking  how  difficult  a 
thing  it  is  to  tone  down  this  sharp-chorded  spirit,  to  key 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FA3IILY.  71 

lower  the  spontaneous  symphonies  of  those  lips,  to  find 
any  Sabbath  opiate  for  those  restless  and  tireless  nerves. 
Yes,  do  the  best  you  can ;  the  head  of  life  and  energy 
within  the  young  frame  is  so  high  and  full  that  it  will 
force  unwitting  expression.  The  school-boy's  self- vindica- 
tion for  startling  the  hum  of  school  life  by  sending  out 
his  breath  round  and  musical  from  his  mouth  was  almost 
philosophically  correct.  "He  hadn't  whistled,"  he  said; 
"it  whistled  itself."  This  exuberance  of  strong  pulsing 
vitality  is  not  to  be  harshly  repressed,  —  frozen  silent  and 
stiff  by  frigid  frowns,  —  but  softly  hushed  down  as  a 
gentle  sky  calms  a  tossing  sea,  when  all  its  waves  are 
gambolling  at  play.  What  we  want  is  to  inspire  from 
earliest  life  in  these  young  hearts  a  tender  reverence  for 
Sabbath  hours,  a  growing  sense  that  the  day  differs  in 
sacredness  from  other  days,  has  other  uses,  and  must  have 
another  keeping.  Still  the  problem  remains,  you  say, 
"  How  to  manage  these  mercurial  spirits,  under  unwonted 
restrictions,  and  deprived  of  the  diversions  of  other 
days."  Shall  we  keep  from  them  their  toys,  deny  them 
the  games,  the  blocks,  the  picture-books,  that  amuse  so 
many  hours  on  other  days  ?  Then  what  shall  those  little 
empty  hands  take  hold  of?  What  objects  shall  those 
restless,  roving  eyes  fasten  upon?  Daytime  is  long  for 
these  small  people  when  unrestricted  fertility  invents 
and  caters  for  their  entertainment.  How  can  either  they 
or  their  guardians  bear  the  burden  of  unoccupied  Sab- 
baths ? 

I  am  not  wise  enough  to  answer.     Blessed  would  be 
the  art  that  could  devise  and  frame  for  the  nursery  a  set 


72  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

of  Sabbath  diversions !  How  many  benedictions  of 
mothers,  ready  to  faint  by  the  way,  would  come  upon  the 
head  of  that  fortunate  artist !  And  that  word  "  diver- 
sion" is  the  key  to  the  problem,  after  all.  These  young 
spirits  must  be  diverted  frofn  preying  upon  themselves 
and  upon  the  rest  of  the  household,  in  ways  that  shall 
come  to  help  the  power  of  Sabbath  associations.  Occu- 
pation is  indispensable  through  some  medium  of  eye  or 
ear  or  hand  for  the  mind. 

I  found  a  group  of  children  one  Sabbath-day,  with  all 
their  secular  blocks  and  cards  in  the  midst  of  the  parlor 
floor,  and  engaged  in  busiest  architecture.  "But  do  you 
play  with  your  blocks  on  Sunday?''  I  asked.  "Oh, 
papa!"  protested  one  eager  voice,  "we  are  building  a 
church,  and  there  is  the  pulpit,  and  we  are  going  to  put  a 
preacher  in  it,  and  then  we  shall  have  meeting."  I  did 
not  upset  their  steepled  fabric,  but  I  offered  my  services 
as  preacher,  and  was  somewhat  enthusiastically  received. 
A  very  extensive  and  elaborate  arrangement  of  chairs 
and  sofas,  harnessed  with  cords  and  mounted  with  foot- 
stools and  cushions,  was  introduced  to  me,  at  another 
time,  as  a  family  coach,  the  driver  in  his  place,  with  whip 
in  hand,  ready  to  take  the  household  to  the  meeting- 
house for  Sabbath  worship.  A  more  modest  equipage 
was  suggested,  occupying  less  room  and  attention,  with 
more  quiet  progress,  as  better  suited  to  the  Sabbath  expe- 
dition, and  the  apartment  was  restored  to  order,  while 
the  incident  furnished  a  good  text  from  which  to  speak 
of  Christ's  meek  entry  into  Jerusalem,  and  of  Elijah's 
chariot  and  horses  of  fire. 


THE   SABBATH   IN   THE  FAMD^Y.  73 

If  only  there  could  be  a  rattle  for  the  babe  with  the 
mimic  chime  of  Sabbath  bells,  a  trumpet  that  would  blow 
a  Sabbath  tune,  a  soldier's  array  that  would  help  the  little 
heroes  to  fight  the  battles  that  already  summon  them  to 
be  valiant,  what  a  relief  it  were  !  Yes,  and  what  a  loss  per- 
haps to  the  discipline  of  the  parental  spirit ! 

After  all  our  wit  and  self-devotion,  it  will  be  needful 
full  often  to  issue  decrees  and  interdicts  that  rest  on  au- 
thority alone.  The  Sabbath  must  say  to  childhood  as  it 
says  to  manhood,  as  all  divine  law  says  to  the  subject, 
"Thou  shalt,"  and  "Thou  shalt  not."  It  is  feared,  I  know, 
that  by  such  strictness  we  may  make  the  Sabbath  repel- 
ling to  young  hearts,  bring  over  them  a  chill  when  it  re- 
turns, as  though  a  gloomy  and  cold  shadow  had  fallen 
upon  them,  and  settle  the  memory  of  the  day  in  their 
hearts  as  something  hostile  and  unfriendly  to  their  joy. 
I  believe  this  danger  is  overrated.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
there  are  homes  that  are  invested  with  almost  funeral 
gloom  on  the  Sabbath-day,  blots  in  the  smiling  landscape 
of  good  and  glad  nature,  out  of  which  oppressed  spirits, 
feeling  as  though  buried  alive,  would  rush  into  any  ave- 
nue for  the  sake  of  escaping  into  light  and  air.  These 
are  superstitious  rather  than  Christian  homes.  They  are 
not  homes  where  the  parental  heart  retains  the  sympathy 
of  its  own- youth,  or  gives  itself  in  sacrificing  love  to  the 
comfort  and  improvement  of  the  young.  They  are  selfish 
homes,  most  likely,  where  sternness  prevails  because  it 
is  cheaper  than  kindness,  and  peremptory  statutes  save 
indolence  from  self-reproach.  But  no  home  is  so  truly 
joyful  as  a  well-governed  home,  —  a  home  where  wise 
7 


74  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

laws  are  firmly  administered,  and  wholesome  restraints 
imposed.  No  home  is  so  miserable  to  all  the  inmates  as 
one  where  childhood  and  youth  have  the  mastery  over  pa- 
rental authority,  and  freely  follow  out  the  prompting  of 
their  own  lawless  inclination.  Liberty,  guarded  by  law, 
restrained  by  law,  and  obedient  to  law,  is  a  happier  state 
than  full  and  wild  license.  Religion  itself  is  a  binding 
of  the  heart  and  God  and  duty;  but  it  is  through  all  its 
exercises  of  penitence  and  submission,  faith  and  hope,  a 
tenderer  joy  than  the  roving  freedom  on  which  it  casts  its 
bonds.  The  child-heart  is  steadied  and  guided  by  re- 
straining statutes  ;  it  touches  sure  and  firm  certainties  ; 
the  sweet  sense  of  right  and  of  its  inward  approval  gath- 
ers upon  it,  and  its  young  feet  find  themselves,  if  not  in 
the  paths  of  self-gratification,  at  least  and  even  more  con- 
sciously, in  "the  way  of  peace."  Abraham  was  to  com- 
mand his  children  and  his  household  after  him.  It  will 
be  often  needful  that  the  parent  should  exercise  his  right- 
ful authority  during  the  passing  of  the  Sabbath-day.  It 
is  the  method  by  which  God  teaches  the  young  heart  the 
great  and  precious  lesson  of  obedience  and  submission. 
We  need  not  be  afraid  as  parents,  tenderly  and  firmly  in 
the  last  issue,  to  insist  upon  reverence  to  the  Sabbath  in 
our  home,  to  legislate  for  quietness  and  order,  sure  that 
in  this  we  are  legislating  for  serenity  of  spirit  and  a 
wealth  of  happy  young  thoughts,  as  well  as  for  many 
a  precious  thing  in  character  beside.  I  can  remember  a 
home  so  guarded  by  Sabbath-law  and  the  supplemental 
authority  of  the  family  head.  I  can  remember  that  the 
whole  household  group  went  regularly  and  reverently  to 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY.  75 

the  house  of  God.     No  light  excuse  passed  current  with 
that  firm  arbitration.     Any  convenient  Sabbath  sickness, 
that  was  sick  enough  to  detain  one  of  us  from  the  sacred 
porch,  was  sick  enough  to  be  treated  with  the  bitterest 
remedy  the  house  afibrded,  not  welcome  a  second  time. 
In   pauses    of  worship,  or  in  the   mellow  hours   soften- 
ing  toward   the  evening   twilight,   the  whole   household 
were   gathered   together,   and   the   good    old    catechism, 
each  question,  w^ith  its  "variations,"  "  what  is  enjoined," 
"what  is  forbidden,"  etc.,  was  recited  from  beginning  to 
ending.     I  think  I  can  remember  that  childhood  then  was 
a  little  restive  at  times  under  this  strict  constraint,  that 
keen    eyes  watched   the    sun's    disappearing  behind    the 
western  hills, — the  hour  for  relaxing  the  vigilance  that 
had  stood  on  guard  till  then ;   but  I  can  remember  and 
do  testify  that  it  was  not  an  unhappy  home,  the  Sabbath 
was  not  a   gloomy  day.      Either  these  eyes  cannot   see 
clearly  through  the  mist  of  tender  memories,   or  there 
was  never   a   happier,  more  genial,  more  loving   home. 
The  atmosphere  of  law  and  love  was  one.     Law  was  only 
another  name  for  love,  and  love  administered  law.     xVnd 
the  Sabbaths   thus    spent  in  such  regulated    observances 
were  then  and  are  now  all  bright  in  the  review,  because 
gilded  with  the  smile  of  approving  Heaven.     It  was  such 
a    Sabbath   as  I  am  pleading  for,  through  which  order, 
quietness,  and  serenity  reigned  together. 

It  follows  here  naturally  to  say  that  it  is  one  office  of 
the  family  Sabbath  to  cultivate  the  domestic  affections. 
The  life  of  the  week  leads  out  the  members  of  the  family 
and  joins  them  to  various  outside  fellowships.     The  mas- 


76  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

ter  of  the  home  enters  the  circle  of  his  fellow-craftsmen 
and  exchanges  with  them  greetings  and  pledges.  The 
mistress  looks  after  the  ties  that  bind  her  to  the  social 
sphere  in  which  she  moves.  The  sons  and  daughters  go 
to  meet  their  school-day  acquaintances  or  their  chosen 
companions  of  their  age.  They  are  these  outside  bonds 
which  are  strengthened  through  the  six  days'  contacts  and 
intercourse.  Often  those  that  dwell  beneath  the  same 
roof  see  but  little  of  one  another  through  the  days  of  toil. 
They  exchange  morning  salutations,  and  snatch  a  hasty 
meal  in  company,  then  drift  about  till  evening  brings  them 
together  wearied  and  worn,  or  thronged  still  with  care,  and 
the  night  hides  them  within  her  curtains.  Many  a  busy 
man  is  almost  a  stranger  to  his  own  household ;  but  the 
Sabbath  brings  these  parted  ones  together  and  holds  them 
together.  They  are  for  a  few  hours,  at  least,  members  of 
no  fellowship  but  that  of  the  home ;  they  are  all  there, 
and  all  at  rest ;  they  sit  side  by  side,  with  no  hurrying 
call  to  bid  them  "  rise  and  depart ;  "  they  can  give  ques- 
tion and  answer  in  long  and  intimate  communion ;  the 
pent-up  confidences  of  their  hearts  may  have  utterance 
now ;  fond  inquiries  bring  out  the  troubling  or  the  joy- 
ful secret,  and  heart  opens  to  heart.  Then  they  go  to 
the  house  of  God  still  in  company.  They  sit  again  side 
by  side  in  the  same  family  pew.  The  great  truths  of 
God's  Avord,  however  absorbing  the  meditation  upon  them, 
do  not  tend  to  divide  them  in  thous^ht  and  feehns:  from 
one  another,  but  rather  to  endear  them  and  draw  the  tie 
closer  in  the  anticipation  of  sharing  together  an  eternal 
home  in  heaven.     The  close  of  the  day  and  the  evening 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY.  77 

has  especial  dews  of  blessing  for  the  life  and  fragrance 
of  this  domestic  union.  The  calm  of  the  day  has  taken 
possession  of  their  spirits.  Its  influences  and  associations 
have  rebuked  littleness  and  meanness  and  envy  and  jeal- 
ousy, and  they  are  nearer  together  than  when  the  day  be- 
gan. They  look  now  more  closely  upon  one  another's 
faces  and  forms.  They  seem  comelier  and  lovelier  to  the 
eye  than  on  other  days.  All  their  attractiveness  is  fresh- 
ened up.  They  are  in  newer  and  fairer  costume  than 
yesterday's ;  they  scarce  knew  that  each  wore  the  family 
features  so  becomingly,  and  that  each  could  be  so  gracious 
and  winning  in  figure  and  manner.  "It  is  not  unlawful," 
says  Baxter,  discoursing  on  the  "  divine  appointment  of 
the  Lord's  day,"  "to  be  at  the  labor  of  dressing  our- 
selves somewhat  more  ornately  or  comely  than  on  another 
day,  because  it  is  suitable  to  the  rejoicing  of  a  festival," 
nor  is  it  unworthy  of  us  to  remember,  we  may  say,  that 
thus  the  eyes  in  which  we  desire  to  appear  and  to  be  our 
best  may  look  upon  us  more  fondly  and  pleasantly. 

It  is  well  that  the  evening  meal  be  served  invitingly, 
not  sumptuously  and  at  the  cost  of  the  Sabbath's  leisurely 
calm  to  any  member  of  the  household,  but  with  such 
festal  and  relishing  appliances  as  nimble  skill  can  easily 
furnish  within  this  unoccupied  hour,  or  generous  fore- 
thought provide  as  the  old  week  goes  out.  We  agree 
with  Ephraim,  the  Syrian,  w4io  exhorts  against  "glut- 
tony and  drunkenness  "  on  the  Lord's  day.  "  Thou,  my 
brother,  shouldst  not  annul  the  work  of  God  for  meat  and 
dainties,  nor  to  favor  an  insatiable  appetite  shouldst  thou, 
occupied  and  distracted  with  culinary  cares,  hinder  the 
7* 


78  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

sacred  purpose  of  the  day.  All  these  things  we  leave  to 
those  whose  god  is  their  belly  and  whose  glory  is  their 
shame."  I  am  not  pleading  in  the  interest  of  appetite, 
but  in  the  name  of  a  reunited  household  keeping  the 
Lord's  festival,  that  their  evening  meal  of  itself  contribute 
something  to  the  happy  and  genial  intercourse  around  the 
family  board.     The  poet  Grahame  sings  well,  — 

"  Hail,  Sabbath !  thee  I  hail,  the  poor  man's  day ; 
On  other  days  the  man  of  toil  is  doomed 
To  eat  his  joyless  bread,  lonely,  — the  ground 
Both  seat  and  board.    .    .    . 
But  on  this  day,  embosomed  in  his  home. 
He  shares  the  frugal  meal  with  those  he  loves." 

That  is  the  place  and  hour  for  thankful  reminiscences,  for 
speaking  of  God's  good  hand  upon  them  in  their  house- 
hold story,  for  calling  up  Sabbaths  gone  and  fellow-wor- 
shippers departed,  and  drawing  the  bonds  of  kindred  love 
and  union  closer  about  their  hearts.  The  morrow  will 
strike  the  golden  chain  that  holds  them  in  one  to-day  and 
jar  them  apart.  Let  them  have  their  light  feast  as  a 
grateful  celebration  of  the  gladness  and  goodness  of  such 
an  hour,  a  help  to  its  joyfulness  and  a  seal  upon  its 
memory.  In  staid  and  rigid  Scotland  the  "  Sabbath-night 
supper"  has  been  an  immemorial  institution,  a  household 
sacrament,  a  sunbeam  falling  across  a  sombre  cloud.  It 
was  seasoned  with  pious  talk,  and,  as  TertuUian  wrote  of 
the  same  charmed  hour,  "prayer  concludes  the  feast." 
So  witnesses  the  bard  of  Ayrshire, — 

**  The  cheerful  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face. 
They  round  the  ingle  form  a  circle  wide; 
The  sire  turns  o'er  in  patriarchal  grace 
The  big  ha'  Bible,  and  his  father's  pride."  Bukns. 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY.  79 

Add  to  this  chastened  festivity  music.  Most  afflicted 
is  that  home  where  there  is  neither  voice,  nor  art,  nor 
heart  for  the  strains  of  sacred  song.  The  family  har- 
mony culminates  in  that  pleasant  concert.  All  that  has 
kept  any  spirit  there  from  any  other  melts  away  as  the 
varied  notes  mingle  and  blend.  They  all  aim  at  concord. 
They  produce  concord.  They  have  come  together  in 
agreement  and  unison.  They  cannot,  after  singing  in  the 
same  strains,  soaring  in  company  on  Avings  of  praise 
toward  the  divine  presence,  remember  differences  and 
cherish  alienations.  There  is  a  charm  in  this  hour  of 
song  for  all  the  members  of  the  household.  Fretful 
childhood  and  querulous  age  are  alike  soothed  and  spell- 
bound. "I  am  persuaded,"  writes  Legh  Richmond  to  his 
daughter,  "that  music  is  designed  to  prepare  for  heaven, 
to  educate  for  the  choral  enjoyment  of  paradise,  to  form 
the  mind  to  virtue  and  devotion,  and  to  charm  away  evil, 
and  sanctify  the  heart  to  God.  A  Christian  musician  is 
one  who  has  a  harp  in  his  affections,  which  he  daily  tunes 
to  the  notes  of  the  angelic  host,  and  with  which  he  makes 
melody  in  his  heart  to  the  Lord." 

A  Sabbath  thus  spent  cannot  fail  to  endear  the  mem- 
bers of  the  home  to  one  another.  This  is  an  issue  it 
were  well  to  have  distinctly  in  view.  Whatever  can  for- 
ward it,  by  pleasantness  of  mien  and  of  speech,  by  using 
more  freely  the  language  of  love,  for  which,  perhaps, 
there  are  ears  and  hearts  in  our  dwelling  that  are  aching, 
—  a  language  that  flies  our  lips  in  the  sternness  of  our  in- 
terchanges with  a  selfish  world,  —  by  entering  tenderly 
into  the  sharp  passages  of  one  another's  daily  experience, 


80  THE   SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

rehearsed  on  this  clay,  by  making  the  rooms  of  the  house 
bright  with  firelight  and  lamplight,  or  bringing  in  flowers 
to  shed  both  beauty  and  fragrance  around,  and  helping 
the  festal  aspect  of  the  home,  w^e  ought  to  call  into  ser- 
vice. We  should  so  keep  the  Sabbath  within  this  domes- 
tic retreat  as  to  secure  by  it  the  full  realization  of  the 
highest  ideal  of  Christian  domestic  life. 

Finally,  the  Sabbath  should  be  improved  in  the  family 
as  a  day  for  special  religious  teaching.  The  great  object 
of  the  day  is  to  take  off  our  thoughts  from  things  mate- 
rial, earthly,  and  temporal,  and  bring  them  into  commu- 
nion with  things  invisible,  heavenly,  and  eternal.  This 
object  must  be  pursued  as  steadily,  and  can  be  secured  at 
least  as  successfully,  with  the  children  of  the  household 
as  in  wider  and  older  circles.  The  responsibility  for  this 
home  nurture  comes  upon  the  parent  or  guardian.  If  he 
act  the  part  of  a  faithful  and  tender  provider  for  these 
dependent  ones  in  all  but  this,  and  carelessly  or  indo- 
lently or  timidly  omit  this,  he  is  yet  chargeable  with  the 
most  unkind  neglect.  To  have  denied  them  daily  bread 
w^ould  have  been  less  cruel. 

He  may  think  himself  unequal  to  so  grave  a  task. 
But  why  is  he  a  parent?  The  relation  is  upon  him.  He 
cannot  flee  from  the  duty. 

If  he  heartily  and  prayerfully  undertake  it,  he  will  find 
himself  wonderfully  helped.  He  must,  of  course,  be  will- 
in^:  to  summon  his  best  energies  to  the  work.  The  Sab- 
bath  will  be  to  him,  not  a  day  of  self-indulgent  sloth,  but 
of  great  intellectual  activity.  Nor  will  he  leave  all  the 
burdens  of  the  day  for  the  day  itself.  He  may  make 
large  preparation  for  it  before  it  arrive. 


THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY.  81 

It  will  be  his  duty  to  see  that  his  family  know  the  pub- 
lic ordinances  of  the  day.  If  he  teach  otherwise  by  his 
own  example,  in  whole  or  in  part,  if  he  prefer  for  him- 
self an  easy  and  undisturbed  attendance  upon  preachino", 
with  no  restless  elements  in  his  pew,  he  can,  in  no  way, 
redeem  for  those  young  hearts  the  proper  influence  of  the 
day.  He  is  teaching  error,  though  he  mean  it  not,  by 
a  fearfully-convincing  demonstration. 

He  may  do  much  by  interesting  himself  in  their  at- 
tendance upon  the  Sabbath-school,  aiding  them  in  the 
preparation  of  their  lessons,  looking  with  them  into  the 
library-books  which  they  bring  in.,  inviting  their  teacher 
to  meet  them  under  their  roof  and  to  become  acquainted 
with  them  in  their  domestic  development,  and  lendino-  his 
whole  personal  sanction  to  the  influence  of  this  beneficent 
institution  in  their  relio^ious  traininsr. 

But  this  is  not  the  whole,  though  it  is  where  many 
parents  stop.     He  may  lay  up  through  the  week  special 
questions  and  topics  for  Sabbath  consideration, —ques- 
tions that  have  arisen  in  the  progress  of  family  discipline, 
— topics  suggested  by  peculiarities  of  disposition  and  fliults 
or  virtues  of  character  which  he  has  observed  from  day 
to  day,  but  could  not  take  thoroughly  in  hand.     He  may 
gather  night  after  night  a  store  of  touching  and  impres- 
sive incidents  from  his  nightly  reading  of  the  press ;  re- 
member his  little  school,  his  small  home  parish,  in  all  his 
reading  and  all  his  seeing  and  all  his  hearing,  and  have 
more  instructive  and  suggestive  matter  accumulated  in  his 
Sabbath  drawer  than  he  can  exhaust. 

He  must  not  forget  that  these  young  pupils  receive 


82  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMHiY. 

their  most  vivid  and  memorable  lessons  through  the 
senses.  It  is  worth  his  own  while  to  make  himself  as  care- 
fully and  fully  acquainted  as  his  circumstances  will  per- 
mit with  the  wonders  of  the  earth  and  the  air  and  the  sea, 
and  lead  out  the  exploring  and  eager  young  thought  to 
those  exhibitions  of  the  divine  power  and  skill  and  good- 
ness, with  which  the  visible  creation  is  filled.  The  pages 
of  nature  are  all  pictorially  illustrated  to  his  hand.  Stars 
and  dewdrops,  rainbows  and  violets,  clouds  and  their 
shadows,  thunder-storms,  the  round  and  the  products  of 
the  seasons,  their  own  frame  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made,  animal  and  insect  life,  light,  heat,  frost,  — let  him 
make  these  sensible  things  ministers  and  revealers  of  God 
and  his  character  and  his  truth.  He  will  find  no  lack  of 
interest,  or  of  stimulating  questioning  with  his  young 
audience. 

Following  the  hint  of  teaching  by  the  senses,  let  him 
be  sure  to  furnish  the  nursery  with  a  pictorial  Bible. 
This  emblazoned  typology  will  draw  curious  eyes  between 
the  leaves,  and  let  in  the  marvellous  histories  there  upon 
the  mind,  and  they  will  never  be  forgotten.  Let  him 
seek  to  make  this  book  of  books  a  charm  and  a  fasci- 
nation to  the  circle  of  little  ones.  My  own  father  was  a 
fine  reader  of  Scripture  narratives.  He  took  pains  to 
read  well  in  his  house  to  the  youngest  ears  that  could 
listen  Avith  any  intelligence.  It  was  as  good  as  play  to 
hear  him  give  out  some  of  the  stirring  scenes  of  the 
Scripture  record.  He  used  to  indulge  us  often  in  that 
way  on  the  Sabbath.  He  was  magnificent  upon  the  duel 
of  David  and   Goliath.     The   first  verse  of  that  grand 


THE   SABBATH  IN  THE  FAMH^Y.  83 

chapter,  as  he  began,  always  thrilled  our  hearts  like  the 
blast  of  a  trumpet.  The  echoes  come  back  yet,  as  I  read 
it  again,  from  that  part  of  childhood's  Sabbath  hour,  and 
all  ringing  with  heroic  tones,  "Now  the  Philistines  gath- 
ered together  their  armies  to  battle,  and  were  gathered 
together  at  Shochoh,  which  belongeth  to  Judah,  and 
pitched  between  Shochoh  and  Azekah,  in  Ephes-dam- 
mim." 

By  whatsoever  volumes  and  helps,  we  must  teach  our 
households    religiously    on    the    Sabbath.     Not    in    set 
forms,  not  in   systematic  lessons,  not  in   dry  and  hard 
details.     We  must  be  men  of  parables.     It  is  surprising 
how  rich  and  fertile  one  may  become  in  this  style  of 
teaching,  even  the  humblest  and  least-favored  mind,  by 
making  it  an  object  of  a  little  thought  and  study.     Our 
children's  minds  and  hearts  are  ours  on  the  Sabbath.     On 
other  days  they  are  school-children,  they  are  apprentices, 
they  are  clerks ;   they  are  studying,  with  other  teachers 
and  masters,  the  knowledge  of  this  world.     On  this  day 
they  are  with  us.     They  are  sons  and  daughters  only, 
while  the  Sabbath  sun  lingers.     They  are  heirs  with  us 
of  immortality.     We  may  join  hands  with  them,  draw 
their  arms  within  ours,  and  walk  on  with  them  toward  the 
gate  of  heaven. 

I  feel  still  that  the  practical  difficulties  remain  as  be- 
fore. Childhood  is  restless,  volatile,  impatient  of  re- 
straint, and  naturally  averse  to  religious  truth.  With 
us  both  brain  and  heart  are  often  weary.  All  our  devices 
fail  at  times  to  bring  the  peace  of  a  Sabbath  benediction 
upon  the  troubled  waters  of  household  unrest.     We  are 


84  THE    SABBATH   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

often,  as  parents,  straitened,  ashamed,  and  desponding. 
I  hope  I  have  not  added  to  this  feeling  of  discourage- 
ment, or  if  we  despair  over  the  ideal  which  so  often 
rises  before  us,  it  may  serve  to  lead  us  down  into  the  val- 
ley of  humiliation  and  prayer.  God  will  help  us,  when, 
feeling  weak,  we  cast  ourselves  upon  his  strength.  He 
will  make  some  of  the  failures  over  which  we  mourn 
so  bitterly  —  those  unsatisfying,  weary  Sabbath-days  — 
blessed  successes. 

Some  wedded  heart  here  is  saying,  with  a  great  sor- 
rowfulness, "  I  stand  alone  in  this  formidable  effort ;  the 
help  I  most  need  of  all  human  giving  is  withheld ;  it  is 
not  help,  but  hindrance.  What  I  say  and  do  for  Sabbath 
hallowing  in  my  home  is  unsaid  and  undone,  I  fear,  by 
one  at  my  side.  How  strong,  how  comforted,  I  should 
feel,  if  this  interrupted  union  could  only  fill  itself  out  by 
a  harmony  ofiering  and  example  in  this  sacred  observ- 
ance! " 

Oh,  lonely  wife,  I  know  thee  who  thou  art !  Thou 
canst  not  bid  thy  children  dishonor  their  father ;  thou 
thyself  honorest  and  lovest  him.  Thou  canst  not  sufi'er 
them  to  approve ;  thou  art  in  perpetual  dread  lest  their 
feet  follow  after  the  ways  that  so  grieve  thee  and  that 
have  to  them  such  persuasive  sanction.  Beseech  the 
merciful  One  that,  through  the  kindness  of  thine  heart 
and  the  weakness  of  love,  thine  own  feet  go  not  astray. 
And  thou  redouble  the  mother's  faithfulness,  prayerful- 
ness,  and  constancy,  and  doubt  not  that  the  strong  and 
living  child  thus  trained  will  yet  conduct  down  the  divine 
blessing. 


THE   SABBATH  IN   THE   FAMILY.  85 

Oh,  husband,  father,  who  takest  thine  own  pleasure  ou 
the  Lord's  day,  shall  the  seeds  of  that  example  grow  up 
in  young  hearts  into  hardness  and  crime,  and  on  some 
tragic  day  the  child,  whose  eye  follows  now  your 
thoughtless  Sabbath  step,  look  back  out  of  a  stained  and 
blasted  manhood  to  this  light  pleasuring  of  yours,  as  the 
germ  of  his  awful  doom  ?  Do  you  know  how  you  try 
the  heart,  every  throb  of  whose  womanly  tenderness  is 
yours,  and  which,  keeping  reproaches  and  remonstrances 
silent,  smiles,  perhaps,  upon  you  because  it  cannot  grieve 
you,  in  that  over  which  it  mourns  ?  Are  there  not  gentle- 
ness and  manliness  enough  in  your  soul  —  if  we  speak 
not  of  the  fear  of  God  and  the  voice  of  solemn  duty  — 
to  keep  you  from  such  a  trampling  at  once  upon  God's 
law,  a  woman's  heart,  and  a  child's  fate  ? 


Y. 

KNOWING  CHRIST. 

"...    FOR  I  KNOW  WHOM  I  HAVE  BELIEVED."  —  2  Tim.  i.  part  12. 

HOW  it  is  that  one  who  walks  with  Christ,  and  whose 
soul  is  joined  to  him  in  a  vital  and  conscious  union 
knows  this  Saviour  as  no  other  soul  knows  him,  it  will  be 
difficult  so  to  explain  by  any  language  or  imagery  which 
can  be  employed  as  to  make  it  intelligible  to  those  who 
have  no  experience  of  it.  And  yet  this  is  just  what  many 
an  inquiring  spirit  desires  and  waits  to  comprehend. 
They  stand  at  a  distance  and  look  upon  him  whom  the 
gospel  sets  forth  as  the  way  of  life.  They  walk  round 
about  him  without  seeing  how  to  approach  him,  and  hav- 
ing no  confidence  in  any  addresses  they  may  ofier  to  him. 
He  is  to  them  remote,  indistinct,  almost  mythical.  Per- 
haps they  have  not  yet  settled  it  in  their  thoughts  who 
and  what  he  is.  If  they  attempt  communication  with 
him,  it  is  all  on  their  side ;  they  have  only  their  own 
voices ;  there  are  no  returning  accents ;  all  is  silent,  mo- 
tionless, and  unresponsive. 

"  Does  he  reveal  himself  to  those  that  believe  in  him  ? 
Does  he  come  to  meet  them  out  of  this  vague  and  hazy 
distance  ?     Does  he  break  his  silence  so  that  they  hear 


KNOWING  CHRIST.  87 

and  recognize  his  voice?  Do  they  know  him  as  their 
Friend  and  Eedeemer,  and  know  that  they  know  him,  and 
come  into  relations  of  intimacy  with  him,  and  exchange 
with  him  reciprocities  of  love,  confidence,  and  sympa- 
thy ?  "     So  they  question. 

If  now  as  those  to  whom  Christ  is  precious,  and  to 
whom  he  has  made  himself  known,  we  could  open  to 
them  all  the  journal  of  our  hearts,  introduce  them  to 
scenes  of  an  inward  personal  experience  which  never  can 
be  thrown  upon  canvas,  tell  them  how  it  is  that  we  are 
sure  we  have  seen  and  felt  and  touched  and  embraced 
him,  what  it  is  we  know  of  him,  by  what  process  this 
acquaintance  was  made  and  has  ripened,  and  wherein  is 
the  daily  consciousness   of  his  presence  with  us,  and  his 
power  upon  us,  it  would  meet  perhaps  better  than  any 
other  demonstration  the  state  of  mind  in  which  so  many 
now  are.     True  we  might  answer  in  the  words  of  Philip 
to  Nathaniel,   "Come  and  see."     But   they  want  to  be 
helped  to  come,  and  have  their  eyes  guided  to  that  which 
is  to  be  seen.     We  might  say,  "Here's  the  guide-book; 
read  and  follow  the  directions."     But  it  is  not  strano-e 
that  they  should  feel  that  it  is  one  thing  to  look  upon  a 
map  of  an  unknown  region,  or  to  study  a  guide-book,  and 
another  thing  to  hear  from  one  who  has  been  a  traveller 
that  way  what  his  own  lips  can  say  about  it. 

So  they  say  to  us,  "Tell  us  how  you  know  Jesus,  and 
know  that  he  is  such  a  Saviour."  It  may  be  that  if  we  at- 
tempt to  tell,  we  shall  often  break  down  through  poverty 
of  words ;  that  we  shall  often  seem  to  them  as  speakino* 
without  meaning,  because  the  meaning  is  beyond  them ; 


88  KNOWING    CHRIST. 

that  when  we  lead  them  out  into  our  experiences,  we  shall 
get  them  presently  beyond  their  depth. 

Just  as  when  one  listens  to  two  artisans  conversing 
upon  the  subject  of  their  craft,  or  a  circle  of  professional 
men  discussing  the  matters  of  their  profession,  he  may 
understand  much  of  what  is  signified,  but  every  now  and 
then  is  made  to  feel  that  he  is  off  soundings  where  they 
easily  touch  bottom.  Still  something  surely  can  be  said, 
and  said  intelligibly,  though  it  be  said  out  of  an  expe- 
rience to  which  the  listener  is  a  stranger,  of  that  exper- 
imental knowledge  of  Christ  possessed  by  a  renewed 
heart. 

1.  We  know  whom  we  have  believed  not  simply  as  an 
historic  personage, — just  as  we  know  Washington  or 
Columbus  or  William  Tell.  It  is  not  simply  that  we  can 
say  where  he  was  born,  and  of  what  parentage,  and  trace, 
without  the  omission  of  one  incident,  all  the  story  of  his 
life.     This  you  know  as  well  as  we. 

2.  It  is  not  that  we  have  opinions  about  him  which  we 
entertain  with  entire  confidence.  Mere  opinions  might 
be  shaken  by  some  style  of  argument,  some  show  of  evi- 
dence, which  we  have  not  yet  met.  But  absolute  knowl- 
edge, of  course,  nothing  can  overturn.  We  have  opinions 
concerning  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  Oliver  Cromwell, 
but  not  the  sort  of  intimate,  experimental  knowledge  of 
which  we  are  now  speaking.  We  have  opinions  concern- 
ing our  neighbors  and  acquaintances,  the  men  whom  we 
have  seen  and  mixed  with  for  years,  and  yet  none  of 
these  men  do  we  know  as  we  know  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ. 


KjS OWING    CHRIST.  89 

3.  It  is  not  that  we  kuow  him  through  the  works  of  his 
hand  as  Creator,  and  can  speak  thus  of  the  power 
that  heaved  up  the  mountains  and  hollowed  the  oceans 
and  arched  the  starry  skies ;  of  the  wisdom  that  has 
executed  such  masterpieces  of  contrivance,  and  flows  in 
the  countless  channels  of  design ;  of  the  taste  that  has 
tinted  the  air,  painted  the  sunset  clouds,  shaped  the  for- 
est tree,  carpeted  the  meadow  with  emerald  velvet,  and 
starred  it  with  flowers ;  of  the  goodness  that  shines  in  the 
sun,  marches  in  the  seasons,  lisps  down  in  summer  rains, 
and  rolls  its  great  weaves  in  harvest-time.  The  mere  sen- 
timentalist knows  all  this. 

4.  It  is  not  that  we  know  him  as  a  Teacher  in  that  rec- 
ord of  his  short  life.  Many  another  eye  than  ours  has 
perused  that  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  many  another 
tongue  pronounced  it  sublime,  unequalled.  The  touch- 
ing and  tender  beauty  of  the  parables,  their  simplicity, 
aptness,  force,  and  naturalness  have  been  appreciated  by 
other  minds,  who  have  written  them  "exquisite,  inimi- 
table." The  faultless  and  lofty  maxims  of  his  morality, 
the  gentleness  of  his  charity,  his  purely  Christian  lessons 
of  forgiveness,  have  had  other  admirers  than  those  who 
know  him  as  we  kuow. 

5.  It  is  not  that  we  know  him  just  as  an  example, 
have  seen  how  he  fulfilled  all  the  relations  of  hfe,  how 
patient  he  was  under  contradiction,  how,  when  he  was 
reviled,  he  reviled  not  again,  how  diligent  and  earnest  in 
the  work  he  had  to  do,  how  meek,  how  mild,  how  long- 
sufiering,  how  compassionate,  how  forbearing  toward  great 
oflenders,  how  spotless  and  irreproachable  everywhere. 
All  this  record  is  public  property,  and  this  example  has 


90  KNOWING    CHRIST. 

even   had   its   eulogies  as  the  crowning  purpose  of  his 
mission  and  life. 

6.  The  knowledge  we  have  of  him  is  a  present  and 
current  knowledge.  We  know  him  now  and  to-day. 
We  do  not  in  this  peculiar  apprehension  of  him  go  back  up 
the  centuries.  It  is  not  that  we  have  made  his  acquaint- 
tance  here  in  these  pages  of  long  ago.  Or  if  we  were 
here  introduced  to  him,  we  have  had  another  and  a  later 
acquaintance  with  him.  We  know  him  in  the  present, 
—  not  as  the  prophet  that  trod  the  shores  of  Galilee,  and 
the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  but  as  to-day  and  every  day 
with  us  and  showing  himself  unto  us. 

7.  We  know  him  thus  personally,  for  ourselves,  not  as 
through  the  testimony  of  the  evangelists,  who  walked 
with  him  and  talked  with  him.  We,  too,  have  walked 
with  him  and  talked  with  him.  It  is  not  of  him  that 
we  know  from  those  that  have  been  nearer  to  him  than 
we.  We  know  himself  by  an  intimacy  existing  directly 
between  his  heart  and  ours.  We  have  had  experience  of 
what  he  is,  and  have  come  into  personal  relations  and 
conscious  union  to  him. 

8.  We  know  him  as  our  sacrifice  and  peace.  When 
we  could  not  but  consent  to  the  law  of  God  that  it  was 
holy  and  good ;  when  we  could  not  but  confess  that  we 
had  broken  it,  and  deserved  its  condemnation ;  when  a 
sharper  sentence  was  passed  against  us  by  our  own 
consciences  within,  and  we  carried  about  this  burden, 
Judas-like,  "I  have  sinned,"  ourselves  our  accusers, 
and  knew  no  way  to  silence  this  remorseful  accusation,  or 
to    escape   that   condemnation,   our   peace   slain,   and   a 


KNOWING    CHRIST.  91 

fearful  looking-for  of  judgment,  half  slumbering,  half 
wakeful,  but  always  a  dull,  deep  pain,  an  abiding  gloom, 
in  our  consciousness,  we  came  one  day  upon  this  Jesus  as 
though  he  had  just  descended  alive  from  the  cross  after 
his  agony.  He  was  bleeding  in  head  and  hands  and  feet 
and  side.  He  looked  upon  us  with  ineflfable  love  in  his 
face,  and  as  he  fastened  thus  our  wondering  eye,  he  said, 
"  Burdened  one,  I  have  brought  you  a  pardon  for  your  sin. 
Look  up  and  smile ;  you  are  acquitted,  you  are  free." 
Our  first  thought  is  one  of  rapturous  amazement ;  with 
the  second  a  chill  questioning  comes  back  upon  our  heart, 
and  falteringly  we  ask,  "But  did  noi  God  then  care  much 
about  our  sinning?  Was  it  but  a  slight  injury  done  to 
him  and  his  government  ?  Can  he  overlook  it  so  easily  ? 
Did  our  consciences  make  too  much  of  it,  and  were  we 
burdened  more  than  we  need  to  have  been  ?  " 

And  still  that  look  of  love  beams  upon  us,  and  that 
wounded  hand  holds  out  the  pardon,  and,  with  a  strangely 
meaning  smile,  the  voice  says,  "It  is  free,  it  is  yours." 
But  our  question  falters  forth  again,  "  The  penalty,  then, 
as  an  expression  of  God's  estimates  of  holiness  and  sin, 
was  it  too  severe  ?  Is  it  set  aside  ?  By  simply  returning  to 
our  allegiance,  can  we  make  up  all  the  injury  done,  and 
are  the  interests  of  a  moral  government  cared  for  ?  "  And 
the  lips  sweetly  reply,  "The  penalty  is  set  aside.  I  have 
come  in  God's  name,  and  bringing  God's  love,  to  tell  you 
this  good  news."  It  is  not  clear  to  us  yet ;  something  is 
evidently  held  back ;  the  significance  of  that  smile  is  not 
interpreted ;  we  are  still  troubled  in  our  joy  about  the 
way  the  thing  is   managed,  our  conscience   still  shy  of 


92  KNOWING    CHEIST. 

resting  in  it,  and  we  look  up  again,  and  another  question 
flashes  across  us,  "Because  we  have  not  yet  seen  the 
ill-desert  of  sin  recognized  and  met.  There  is  no  expia- 
tion. We  cannot  have  peace  even  by  an  act  of  forgive- 
ness at  the  expense  of  our  conscience.  But  why  do  you 
bleed?  The  pardon  is  all  stained  with  crimson.  What 
is  this  that  you  have  suflfered?"  And  the  loving  smile 
half  answers  as  we  begin  to  feel  that  we  are  somehow 
connected  with  that  tragedy,  and  the  voice  briefly  ex- 
plains, "The  penalty  was  set  aside,  and  another  sanction 
for  the  law  was  substituted."  "Yes,"  we  reply,  eagerly, 
for  we  are  on  the  track  now,  "  and  that  substitute  was 
this  great  sufiering  of  one  so  august  and  sacred,"  and 
our  eyes  fill  with  starting  tears.  "Why,"  it  is  answered, 
"  I  could  not  show  pity  to  a  sinner,  and  be  suspected  of 
sympathizing  with  his  sin;  that  were  still  more  to  dis- 
honor the  law  and  afiront  the  Lawgiver ;  that  were  treason 
against  the  crown.  So  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  give 
this  testimony  for  the  law  and  against  sin,  showing  that  I 
am  on  God's  side  and  the  law's  side  as  to  sin,  while  still 
after  this  sacrificial  testimony  I  could  bless  and  save  you." 
"  Then  it  is  you  that  have  made  this  pardon  so  free,  and 
oh,  at  such  a  price  !  it  is  for  me  you  bleed,  and  God's  love 
has  found  a  channel  through  that  mangled  flesh  !  "  "  It  was 
a  true  burden  which  I  felt,"  says  conscience.  "We  were 
not  mistaken  about  the  desert  of  sin ;  but  who  could  have 
dreamed  of  such  a  way  ?  "  And  we  fall  at  those  feet  and 
take  the  pardon,  and  wash  away  the  flowing  blood  with 
faster  flowing  tears,  and  pour  out  our  heart  there  and  say, 
"Lord,  thou  hast  bought  me,  thou  hast  bought  me."     In 


KNOWING    CHRIST.  93 

this  scene  we  have  known  Jesus.     It  could  not  have  been 
more  real  to  us  if  it  had  been  between  man  and  man. 
We  have  held  such  an  interview  with  him,  and  entered 
into  such  relations  with  him.     Always  when  the  thoughts 
of  the  past  trouble  us,  we  see  him  standing  between  our 
sin  and  our  punishment  with  his  bleeding  form.     Always 
when  we  are  betrayed  afresh  into  sin,  with  shame  and 
agony  in  our  hearts,  struggling  with  penitence  and  love, 
we  see  him  standing  thus  our  shield  from  justice.     So  do 
we  know  him  ever  as  our  sacrifice  and  our  peace.     We  do 
not  dream  this,  we  experience  it.     There  is  no  more  posi- 
tive experience  of  our  life.     If  you  have  confidence  in  our 
sanity  and  our  veracity,  you  must  receive  this  testimony. 
9.  We   know   again    that   we   have   communion    with 
him.     Our  knowledge  is  that  we  are  admitted  to  personal 
intercourse  with  him.     It  is  not  that  we   believe  in  his 
omniscience  and  omnipresence,  and   are  persuaded  that 
hQ  hears  us  and  understands  us  and  knows  our  desires  ;  it 
is  that  he  makes  us  feel  that  his  personal  presence  comes 
upon  us  and  around  us.     We  are  no  more  sure,  without 
sight,    of  the  presence  of  a  flower  by  its   fragrance,  of 
fire  by  its  warmth,  of  the  open  air  by  its  freshness,  than 
we  are  of  his  nearness  by  what  he    breathes    upon    us. 
There  comes  before  him,  as  he  visits  our  place  of  kneel- 
ing, an  influence  that  heralds  his  approach.     That  influ- 
ence fastens    upon    our  heart   and   draws   it   unto    him. 
The  influence  of  the  magnet  upon  steel  is  not  more  pos- 
itive.    Love   glows,  faith    clings,   hope    soars,  weakness 
and  want  plead,  and  the  whole  nature  goes  to  him  as  his 
presence  draws.     It  is  not  imagination  that  stirs  the  soul 


94  KNOWING    CHRIST. 

SO  deeply  and  lifts  all  its  passionate  waves  of  trust  and  de- 
sire toward  this  invisible  presence,  any  more  than  it  is 
imagination  that  raises  the  tide  wave  out  of  the  ocean 
level,  and  keeps  it  rolling  round  the  earth.  It  is  not  im- 
agination that  paints  before  our  inner  eye  the  portraiture 
of  that  face  in  whose  speaking  lineaments  we  behold  all 
the  heart  of  God.  It  is  not  fancy  that  calls  up  to  our 
thouo-ht  just  the  promises  we  most  need  to  cheer  us,  and 
the  precepts  indispensable  to  guide,  and  makes  us  hear  his 
gracious  whispers  of  acceptance  and  benediction.  Imag- 
ination is  a  waking  dream ;  but  all  this  is  the  most  con- 
scious reality,  and  abides  with  us  in  solid  results  of  spir- 
itual comfort  and  life.  Were  they  fancies,  they  would 
evaporate  in  bright  sentimentalisms,  brief  and  unsubstan- 
tial as  the  roseate  morning  vapors.  Imagination  could  not 
renew  her  magic  for  us  thus  every  day.  But  commu- 
nion is,  with  more  or  less  vividness,  our  daily  expe- 
rience, and  its  influence  remains  a  power  upon  our  heart 
continually.  It  is  not  the  effect  of  place  and  posture 
with  us.  We  do  not  go  to  the  closet  to  meet  our  Saviour 
there ;  he  goes  with  us,  as  though  he  said,  drawing  our 
arm  through  his,  "Come,  let  us  be  alone  together  for 
a  while."  It  is  not  only  in  the  closet  that  Ave  have  this 
intercourse.  As  we  do  not  meet  there  for  the  first,  so 
we  do  not  part  as  we  recross  the  threshold  with  outward 
step.  This  consciousness  of  communion  with  Christ  at- 
tends us,  so  that  a  glance  will  look  into  his  friendly  eye, 
a  low-voiced  call  will  bring  an  answering  voice,  a  hand 
stretched  out  will  meet  his  clasping  hand. 

10.  We  know  thus  that  we  have  him  to  lean  upon. 


KNOWING    CHRIST.  95 

The  greeting  of  a  new  morning  wakes  us,  and  we  have 
the  day's  pilgrimage  to  set  out  upon.  Whither  the  way 
will  lead  to-day,  and  how  the  path  will  open,  we  know 
not.  In  ourselves  we  are  weak  and  dismayed  before  all 
the  uncertainties  ckistering  along  the  hidden  caves  our 
feet  are  to  explore.  Then  we  ask  him  to  join  company 
with  us,  that  we  may  not  go  alone  ;  and  straightway  our 
sense  of  solitude  and  loneliness  departs.  We  know  this. 
Our  spirit  feels  the  fellowship  and  becomes  brave  and 
hopeful  in  this  consciousness.  Presently  the  way  be- 
comes steep  ;  the  climbing  steps  of  arduous  duty  are  to 
lead  us  up  the  acclivities ;  our  panting  breath  and  fal- 
tering limbs  appeal  to  him,  and  he  bids  us  lean  upon  his 
supporting  hold,  and  we  take  him  at  his  word,  and  find 
that  we  are  resting  upon  solid  strength.  The  path  be- 
comes obscure  and  weary  ;  we  turn  in  perplexity  to  him, 
and  he  goes  before  us  to  show  the  right.  Our  doubts 
dissolve.  Guiding  footprints  lead  us  on  without  wander- 
ing. The  heat  of  the  noontide  becomes  oppressive  ;  we 
are  wearied  and  ready  to  faint ;  the  day  is  but  half  gone 
and  we  are  spent.  "  Cast  thy  care  here,"  is  the  sooth- 
ing whisper  that  glides  into  our  soul, — "Lay  off  thy 
burden  upon  the  Lord,"  "Lean  more  heavily  ;  I  will  sus- 
tain you."  We  do  lean ;  we  make  over  our  weariness 
to  him,  and  we  feel,  we  know,  that  we  are  rested,  re- 
freshed, and  recruited.  We  next  see  clouds  oratheriuof ; 
the  sun  withdraws  his  light ;  we  plunge  down  some  dark 
defile  ;  we  are  afraid  ;  it  is  the  shadow  of  an  inscrutable 
Providence  that  falls  upon  us,  and  our  heart  fails  us. 
But  he  makes  us  know  that  he  is  near ;    he  ever  presses 


96  KNOWING    CHEIST. 

closer  to  our  side,  and  gives  us  the  comforting  assurance, 
"I  will   never  leave   thee  nor   forsake  thee."     And  so, 
whatever  the  experience    of  the    day,  when   our    spirits 
droop,  when  we  are  hard  beset,  when  we  know  not  whither 
to  turn,  when  our  weakness  is  like  the  giving  up  of  the 
ghost,  we  find  this  one  presence  always  about  us.     We 
cannot  be  deceived.     Every  effect  must  have  its  cause. 
We  feel  the  blessed  efiects  of  this  divine  nearness ;   we 
are  rallied  and  reinforced  in  all  wavering  and  despon- 
dency ;    we  are  breathed   upon  with  a  freshening  vigor, 
anointed  with  healing  and  strengthening   oil,  and  come 
through  the  day,  because  of  this  help,  with  a  progress 
to  which  we  know  our  own  feet  to  be  totally  inadequate. 
11.  We  know  thus,  not  only  that  we  lean  upon  him, 
but   that   he   strengthens  us.      This  actual  reception  of 
strength,  when  we  are  altogether  void  of  it,  is  a  won- 
derful   experience.       Some    old    propensity   girds    itself 
against  us ;  some  habit  seen  in  increasing  light  to  be  a 
hindrance   to   our   spirituality   and    usefulness    is   to   be 
thrown  off;  some   sin  against  which  we  have  forgotten 
to   watch    surprises    us ;    some    cunningly   arranged    and 
mightily    enticing   temptation    gathers    before   us ;    some 
great  cross  lies  at  our  door  to  be  taken  up ;  some  diffi- 
cult, delicate,  intricate  duty  summons  us ;  some  challenge 
of  our  powers  of  endurance  or  of  action,  by  God  or  man 
or  spirit  of  evil,  confronts  us.     At  first,  perhaps,  we  do 
not  feel  our  weakness.     We  adventure  in  our  own  suffi- 
ciency.    We  try  to  stand,  and  cannot;  we  try  to  do,  and 
fail ;  we  match  ourselves  with  our  adversary,  and  the  con- 
test goes  against  us ;  we  lift  at  our  cross,  and  our  loins 


KNOWING    CHRIST.  97 

give  way.  Our  best  resolution  avails  us  nothing  but  to 
show  the  absoluteness  of  our  infirmity ;  our  sharpest  en- 
deavors only  reveal  how  disproportionate  they  are  to  our 
great  need.  Empty  of  resources,  we  turn  to  Christ;  we 
confess  our  emptiness  and  extremity.  We  beseech  him 
to  make  his  strength  perfect  in  our  weakness.  Now, 
what  we  have  to  testify  is  this, — that  with  this  resort 
to  Jesus  the  whole  aspect  of  the  case  changes.  We 
stand,  we  overcome,  we  endure,  we  break  the  bands  of 
sin,  we  put  to  rout  the  powers  of  evil,  we  are  more  than 
conquerors  through  him.  We  shout  aloud  our  triumph, 
"I  can  do  all  things  through  Christ  that  strengtheneth  me." 
We  were  fainting  and  sinking ;  our  powers  were  over- 
borne ;  there  was  no  help  in  us.  We  look  to  him ;  we 
touch  his  hand,  and  as  fabled  Antseus,  the  son  of  earth, 
in  his  wrestling  with  Hercules,  received  new  strength 
every  time  he  touched  the  ground,  so  fresh  forces  of 
divine  aid  come  to  our  succor  at  every  look  upon  Christ, 
every  contact  with  his  sacred  form.  We  cannot  bo  mis- 
taken in  this.  It  is  the  result  of  the  thousand  experi- 
ments, all  governed  by  the  same  law,  and  all  issuing 
adversely  or  prosperously  as  we  trust  ourselves  on  him. 
It  is  the  dail}'  and  hourly  witness  of  our  lives. 

12.  So  we  know  him  as  our  light.  We  are  blind  and 
ignorant,  and  turning  to  him  for  illumination.  Xot  more 
surely  does  the  day  come  with  the  rising  sun  than  guiding 
beams  stream  down  to  our  bewildered  thoughts  as  we 
invoke  his  shining.  We  know  it  by  as  many  historic 
scenes  in  our  past  as  there  are  days  in  the  yeai*s  we  have 
lived. 

9 


98  KNOWING    CHRIST. 

13.  So  is  he  our  life.  If  the  branch  of  a  vine  had 
consciousness,  it  could  not  more  distinctly  testify  that  its 
life  is  in  the  vine  than  we  can  that  our  spiritual  life  is  in 
Christ.  We  look  within  for  it,  or  without,  upon  all  other 
helps,  and  no  pulse  beats.  We  look  to  him,  and  the  vital 
currents  are  in  motion  and  the  heart  throbs  with  strong 
and  lusty  vigor.  Our  souls  feel  the  living  supplies  as 
truly  as  Nature  in  all  her  veins  the  reviving  of  spring. 
We  cannot  say  how  this  life  cuts  its  channel  from  his 
heart  to  ours ;  but  we  know  we  receive  it,  and  we  know 
we  derive  it ;  it  is  not  native,  it  is  imparted,  and  it  flows 
to  us,  or  flows  within  us,  when,  and  only  when,  we  turn 
to  him. 

14.  So  he  is  in  sympathy  with  us.  It  is  not  fancy 
that  he  comforts  us  in  sadness,  for  we  are  really  com- 
forted ;  our  tears  are  dried  up ;  the  smile  returns  to  our 
face  and  the  peace  to  our  hearts  ;  and  this  transition  from 
mourning  to  joy  is  when  we  ask  him  to  sufler  our  head  to 
droop  upon  his  breast. 

15.  So  we  see  his  unchanged  face  in  all  trying  events. 
"It  is  I,"  he  says,  through  the  darkness  and  over  the  wild 
heaving  billows,  "be  not  afraid."  "I  am  Lord  of  provi- 
dence, I  am  head  over  all  things  to  my  beloved ;  I  am 
purging  my  branches,  that  they  may  bear  more  fruit." 

My  hearers,  there  is  no  end  to  this  testimony.  I  have 
striven  only  to  produce  specimens  of  it.  To  those  whom  I 
chiefly  wish  to  afiect,  I  shall  have  failed,  after  all,  to  make 
the  apprehension  clear  how  distinct  all  this  consciousness 
is  with  a  believer,  how  separate  it  is  from  all  that  is  nat- 
ural and  self-originated  within  him,  how  certainly  and 
unerringly  he  knows  it. 


KNOWING    CHRIST.  99 

II.  You  ask  now,  Did  you  know  all  this  at  first?  Had 
you  this  clear  perception  of  a  present  Christ  and  his 
various  agency  at  the  outset?  I  answer,  JVo.  We  only 
trusted  him  for  it,  at  the  very  start.  We  put  our  hand 
in  his,  but  we  had  no  exjperience  of  his  help  along  the 
road,  for  we  were  not  as  yet  travellers  in  it.  We  had  the 
confidence  that  he  could  and  would  carry  us  through,  — 
a  confidence  inspired  by  nothing  that  we  had  known,  but 
only  by  his  word  of  promise. 

III.  You  ask  again,  perhaps,  how  this  knowledge  has 
grown  upon  us.  I  answer.  By  two  kinds  of  experience. 
Our  experience  of  weakness,  helplessness,  and  peril  in 
the  great  work  of  escaping  from  the  bondage  of  sin,  and 
our  experience  of  the  actual  fruits  of  resorting  to  Christ. 
If  I  could  take  a  single  instance  of  such  a  twofold  expe- 
rience, it  might  make  the  matter  clearer.  Suppose,  then, 
that  there  grows  upon  me  the  conviction  that  a  certain 
trait  in  my  character  greatly  hinders  my  piety,  obstructs 
my  progress,  grieves  my  brethren,  stumbles  sinners,  and 
clouds  my  own  soul.  I  resolve  to  put  it  down.  I  grapple 
with  it.  The  struggle  is  long  and  severe.  Sometimes  I 
think  I  have  got  the  better  of  it.  But  I  find  soon  that  it 
is  as  vital  as  ever.  It  needs  to  be  plucked  up  by  the 
roots.  Its  tyranny  becomes  so  galling  that  I  cannot  en- 
dure it.  I  carry  it  to  this  Saviour  and  ask  him  to  under- 
take my  deliverance,  and  he  begins  upon  it  with  a  process 
of  his  OAvn.  His  treatment  is  deep  and  thorough,  though 
trying,  his  surgery  sharp,  but  final.  I  am  delivered  and 
healed.  Can  I  doubt  who  has  done  it?  And  as  these 
experiences  multiply,  shall  I  not  more  and  more  come  to 


100  KNOWING    CHRIST. 

know  him  as  a  personal  Saviour,  and  with  increasing  con- 
fidence carry  all  my  needs  to  him? 

IV.  Do  you  ask  again,  How  didtliis  knowledge  begin, 
how  can  it  be  entered  upon?  This  is  the  way.  The 
burden  of  wanting  such  a  help  w^as  upon  our  hearts,  the 
burden  of  sin,  of  captivity  to  it,  and  of  condemnation  for 
it,  of  helplessness  in  ourselves  either  to  escape  the  latter 
or  break  from  the  former.  We  heard  him  set  forth  as  such 
a  complete  and  glorious  Deliverer,  as  willing  and  ready 
to  undertake  for  every  soul  that  would  confide  its  case  to 
him.  We  said.  If  this  Helper  is  what  he  is  represented, 
he  is  what  our  great  want  requires.  Tremblingly  we 
approached  him  and  retired  again,  then  drew  near  shyly 
and  once  more  retreated.  Some  single  word  of  his  caught 
our  ear, — "  Come,"  "  Come  unto  me,"  and  we  went  in  the 
dark,  and  said  there  as  we  stood,  alone,  in  the  dark,  "  Is 
the  Deliverer  near?  Let  us  know  this  great  deliverance. 
Here  we  are.  Lord,  undertake  for  us."  And  we  ventured 
to  leave  our  case  with  him,  as  a  fiiint  echo  stole  out  of  the 
silence  and  seemed  to  whisper,  "Him  that  cometh  unto  me 
I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out."  And  we  now  know  what  we 
did  not  so  certainly  know  then,  at  once,  that  he  began 
with  us  that  hour. 

V.  Do  you  ask.  Can  we  begin  so?  Yes,  you  can. 
Speak  up  to  him  now  in  the  depths  of  your  soul, — 
"Saviour,  Master,  Guide,  whom  as  yet  we  know  not,  we 
have  heard  of  thee  as  a  Deliverer  from  the  bondage  of 
wrath  and  sin.  We  are  in  captivity  to  both.  Thou  art, 
w^e  believe,  the  way  of  escape.  We  see  not  a  step  of  the 
way.     We  see  not  even  thee.     But  we  stretch  out  our 


KNOWING    CHEIST.  101 

hands  to  thee ;  we  empty  them  of  all  our  idols ;  we  lift 
them  for  thy  clasping  and  guidance.  Only  lead,  we  will 
follow  thee.  We  trust  thee,  make  us  know  thee."  Ee- 
member  this, — "It  is  not  know  and  then  believe,  but 
believe  and  you  shall  see  the  salvation  of  God." 
9* 


VI. 

GOD  AND  THE  WORLD  KECONCILED. 

.      .     .     ,     GOD  WAS  IN  CHRIST  RECONCILING  THE  WORLD  UNTO  HIMSELF.— 2 

Cor.  V.  part  19. 

THERE  is  condensed  here  into  a  single  line  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  gospel.  Every  word  is  compact  and 
weighty  with  the  force  of  this  great  pressure  upon  it. 
The  story  of  the  incarnation,  its  necessity,  and  its  purpose, 
the  historic  life  and  work  of  Jesus  in  the  flesh,  man's 
apostasy  and  alienation  from  God,  and  the  sublime  and 
touching  spectacle  of  the  infinite  Father  coming  forth  in 
the  sacrifice  of  his  Son  and  the  energy  of  the  new-creating 
Spirit  to  accomplish  the  marvels  of  redemption,  —  all 
these  are  here. 

We  have  nothing  that  so  rounds  and  completes  the 
description  of  the  gospel  as  this  word,  —  it  is  a  kecon- 
CILING  gospel.  It  is  not  merely  a  refining  and  educating 
system,  bringing  out  the  occult  virtues  and  graces 
darkly  sphered  in  human  nature,  or  training  to  athletic 
vio-or  moral  forces  already  vital  within  us,  though  feeble 
and  torpid.  Its  great  work  is  not  to  polish  the  rough- 
nesses of  a  spirit  that  only  needs  discipline  and  culture 
to  put  on  the  beauty  of  holiness,  just  as  a  lapidary  cuts  a 


GOD  AND  THE  WOULD  RECONCILED.        103 

new-found  diamond,  that  its  imprisoned  lustres  may  shine 
forth. 

Its  chief  travail  is  to  reconcile  man  to  God.  No  other 
conception  of  it  discerns  its  true  glory,  or  enters  into  the 
purpose  of  its  divine  author.  If  it  come  to  us  merely  as 
a  code  of  higher  morals,  a  stimulant  to  a  more  self-sacri- 
ficiug  charity  of  liviug,  to  open  to  us  the  iuspiring  exam- 
ple of  that  sinless  Messenger  from  Heaven,  to  spiritualize 
by  teachings  of  heavenly  wisdom  and  beauty  our  life  of 
sense,  to  lift  us  by  its  elevating  truths  above  meannesses 
and  vulgarities  and  dishonesties,  — if  this  be  all,  it  is  no 
gospel  for  our  deepest  aud  mo£t  helpless  need.  The 
angels  might  have  hushed  those  choral  chants  that  broke 
the  silence  and  lit  the  darkness  of  miduight  above  the 
hills  of  Bethlehem. 

It  is  an  atoning  gospel  we  want,  —  not  one  in  the  first 
instance  to  excite  and  cheer  us  in  our  struggles  after  hu- 
man perfection,  but  first  of  all  to  restore  us  to  the  favor 
of  God,  to  slay  our  enmity  to  him,  and  propitiate  him 
towards  us,  bringing  us  near  to  him  in  harmony  and 
friendship  forever. 

And  so  it  announces  itself  in  our  Scripture,  "  God  in 
Christ  EECOXCiLiNG  the  world  unto  himself." 

I.  If  now  this  Vv'ork  of  reconciliation,  proposed  as  the 
chief  function  of  the  gospel,  be  a  reality  in  the  full  signif- 
icauce  of  the  language  expressing  it,  then  there  is  as- 
sumed here  the  essential  fact  of  the  guilt  and  euin  of 
MAN.  We  cannot  advance  a  step  in  the  explication  of  the 
text,  without  conceding  that  God  and  man  are  at  variance. 
The  holy  inhabitants  of  heaven  need  no  reconciling  unto 


104  GOD   AND   THE    WORLD   RECONCILED. 

God.  He  is  forever  at  peace  with  them.  They  have 
never  harbored  a  rebel  thought  against  him.  To  reconcile 
is  to  reunite  in  love  and  confidence  those  who  have  been 
estranged,  to  remstate  in  forfeited  fiivor  and  friendship 
one  who  has  offended,  to  make  up  and  put  away  existing 
hostilities  and  alienations.  To  reconcile  man  to  God  is 
to  bring  them  back  to  his  favor,  to  appease  his  wrath 
against  them,  to  do  away  the  division  that  has  rived 
them  asunder.  If  such  a  work  needs  to  be  done,  how  ab- 
solutely it  argues  man  an  apostate  and  alien  from  God. 
Our  first  business,  therefore,  must  be  to  set  forth  this 
breach. 

God  sustains  to  this  creature  man,  apart  from  the  work 
of  redemption,  relations  of  an  infinite  force  and  tender- 
ness. He  is  the  Maker  of  his  frame,  the  Father  of  his 
spirit,  the  Builder  of  his  home,  the  Provider  of  his  boun- 
ties, the  Preserver  of  his  life,  the  Benefactor  of  his  days, 
the  Giver  of  every  good  and  every  perfect  gift.  All  the 
offices  involved  in  these  relations  God  has  fulfilled  with 
spotless  honor  to  himself,  with  immeasurable  goodness  to 
the  creature.  He  has  moreover  made  himself  known  to 
man,  disclosed  his  character,  published  his  will,  and  fur- 
nished him  in  his  law  a  perfect  rule  of  living.  Now  the 
breach  is  this.  There  is  not  one  of  those  relations  which 
man  on  his  part  has  not  violated  and  outraged.  The 
workmanship  of  God's  power,  he  has  "  worshipped  and 
served  the  creature  more  than  the  Creator,  who  is  blessed 
forever."  The  child  of  such  a  Parent,  he  has  withheld 
all  filial  love  and  reverence;  a  dweller  in  God's  earth, 
he  has  cursed  and  defiled  it  with  sin ;  a  receiver  of  God's 


GOD   AND   THE   AVORLD   EECOXCILED.  105 

'bounties,  he  has  hardened  his  heart  against  all  the  claims 
of  gratitude  ;  a  subject  of  God's  law,  he  has  set  at  nought 
its  infinite  authority,  and  lifted  the  banner  of  rebellion 
against  his  sovereign.     This  is  a  weighty  accusation,  but 
amply  and  sadly  sustained  by  the  testimonies  of  Omnis- 
cience itself  and  witnessed  to  in  all  the  rounds  of  the 
current  human  life.     Here,  then,  is  sunk  a  gulf  of  sepa- 
ration between  God  and  man.     God  is  of  purer  eyes  than 
to  behold  iniquity.     He  hates  sin  with  a  perfect  hatred. 
He  is  jealous  of  his  honor  and  right  as  throned  king. 
He  has  enacted  and  sanctioned  the  law,  "The  soul  that 
sinneth  it  shall  die."     How  can  lie  remain  in   friendly 
communion  with  such  rebels?     Is  it  any  wonder  he  has 
withdrawn  himself  from  a  race  in  arms  against  him,  and 
hung  over   them  the  fulminations  of  his  eternal  wrath? 
And  on  the  other  side  man  has  rejected  God.     He  has 
trampled   on   his    laws.     He   has    given  his   honor  unto 
idols.     His  affections  have  gone  after  other   gods.     His 
will  has  hardened  itself  against  his  Maker  and  Monarch. 
He  is  sold  under  sin,  a  willing  captive  to  Satan,  at  enmity 
with  God.     How  deep  and  awful  this  chasm  !     jNIan  can- 
not cross  it  in  the  face  of  the  sentinel  thunders  that  o'aard 
the    divine    justice.       God   cannot  cross  it,   leaving  his 
broken  law  and  shattered  sceptre  behind,  trophies  of  suc- 
cessful insurrection.     No  human  prayer  can  span  it,  for 
the   condemned   cannot   plead   against   this   Judge.     Xo 
divine  mercy  can  overleap  it,  fettered  by  the  stern  neces- 
sities of  a  moral  government  as  yet  defied  and  dishonored. 
So  they  stand  on  either  side,  —  God  insulted  and  offended, 
men  filling  up  the  measure  of  their  guilt,  and  the  yawning 


106  GOD   AND   THE    WOELD   RECONCILED. 

gulf  between.  So  they  stand,  God  lifting  his  dreadful 
right  hand  with  his  glittering  sword,  man  stiffening  hia 
puny  arm  of  rebellion.  No  voice  of  mercy,  no  voice  of 
penitence,  calls  across  from  brink  to  brink.  If  God  pass 
over,  it  must  be  to  take  vengeance,  to  execute  wrath.  If 
man  pass,  it  must  be  to  his  trial  and  doom.  Thus  is  a 
world  divorced  from  God.  The  great  malign  one  has 
wrought  fearfully.     The  Eden  intercourse  is  ended. 

"  No  more  of  talk  where  God  or  angel  guest 
With  man,  as  with  his  friend  familiar,  used 
To  sit  indulgent." 

Earth  is  estranged  from  God.  God  has  gone  up  from 
earth. 

"  Foul  distrust  and  breach 
Disloyal,  on  the  part  of  man,  revolt 
And  disobedience.    On  the  part  of  Heaven, 
Now  alienated,  distance  and  distaste, 
Anger  and  just  rebuke  and  judgment  given." 

Can  this  gulf  be  bridged  ?  Can  this  wandering  orb  be 
made  to  gravitate  back  toward  the  central  sun  ?  Can  the 
great  breach  be  repaired  and  God  and  man  commune  again 
in  protecting  love  and  filial  trust  as  in  the  early  Paradise  ? 
And  our  Scripture  answers,  "  God  is  in  Christ  recon- 
ciling the  world  unto  himself."  And  this  is  our  next 
point. 

II.  God  first  moves  in  the  efibrt  for  reconciliation. 
From  his  side  of  the  dividing  gulf,  he  looks  across  upon 
his  rebel  subjects.  They  are  the  children  of  his  loins. 
Something  of  the  Father's  image  is  on  them  still.  They 
have  lost  their  inheritance  of  immortality.     Without  God, 


GOD   AND   THE    WORLD   RECONCILED.  107 

without  hope.     Striving  to  cheat  themselves  into  spasms 
of  fitful  mirth,  but  carrying  within  them  an  upbraiding 
conscience  and  a  heavy  heart,  and  looking  out  portionless 
into  the  dark  night  of  eternity.     With  all  his  feelings  as 
a  moral  Governor,  whose  authority  has  been  trampled 
on;    with   all   his   care    as    Sovereign   of  the    universe, 
whose  word  and  will   must  be   inviolable  ;   with  all  his 
hatred    of    sin,    and    his    unalterable    determination    to 
punish   it,   he   yet   loves   these   wretched   transgressors. 
He  cannot  see  them  perish.     He  yearns  over  his  prod- 
igal,  riotous    children.      He    longs    to   gather    them    to 
their  Father's  house,  and  kill  the  fatted  calf.     "How  shall 
I  give  thee  up  ? "  breaks  forth  his  compassionate  sorrow. 
Oh,  he  will  not  give  them  up.    Man  shall  see,  and  Heaven 
shall  see,  and  the  old  Tempter  glorying  in  his  triumph 
shall  see,  and  all  the  universe  shall  see  what  God  can  do 
to  relight  this  darkened  orb  and  set  it  again  amid  the 
shining  spheres  that  wheel  about  his  throne.     The  cloud- 
veiled  heights  of  mercy,  which  no  angel  wing  has  scaled, 
no  creature  eye  looked  upon  as  yet,  shall  be  unveiled  to 
the  wonder  and   praise   of  all  loyal   intelligences.     Oh, 
what  new  brightness  poured  its  floods  over  creation  when 
the  cloud  moved  !     Who  before  could  have  fathomed  this 
mighty  secret  of  God's  heart?     God  was  holy  and  just 
and  good  ;  this  they  knew.     Who  could  have  hit  the  amaz- 
ing truth  that  he  could  forgive  sin,  and  advance  the  sinner 
to  crowns  and  thrones  in  heaven  ?     The  rebel  angels  were 
hurled  from  their  happy  seats.     God  moved  to  reconcile 
man  unto  himself.     They  who  looked  to  behold  another 
stroke  of  infinite  justice,  another  province  of  revolt  lopped 


108  GOD   AND    THE   WOELD   HECONCILED. 

off  from  the  holy  and  happy  kingdom  of  Jehovah,  saw 
another  sight  that  held  them  mute  with  surprise  and  awe. 
Man  is  helpless  and  hopeless.  He  cannot  rise  to  God. 
He  can  do  nothing  to  bridge  the  gulf.  He  can  make  no 
overture  to  God.  He  is  under  sentence.  His  doom  calls 
for  him.  But  God  rises  in  his  place.  A  voice  from  the 
midst  of  the  throne  pierces  the  heavens,  rends  the  skies, 
and  rallies  the  despairing  heart  of  earth,  —  "Lo,  I  come." 
HI.  And  he  who  spake  was  himself  the  assurance  and 
type  of  reconciliation.  While  jet  the  gulf  is  impassable 
it  disappears  in  the  symbol  of  the  incarnation.  Look 
upon  the  person  of  Jesus.  The  lost  humanity,  the  offend- 
ed Deity,  are  one  again.  They  are  seen  united  there, 
blended.  God  in  Christ,  ere  yet  the  cross  is  reared,  has 
taken  the  rebel  nature  back  to  his  bosom.  He  has  trav- 
ersed the  distance  that  separated  the  two  ;  he  has  thrown 
down  the  barriers  between  ;  he  has  bridged  the  chasm  ;  the 
restored  humanity  is  wedded  in  indissoluble  bonds  with 
the  pitying  Divinity,  in  and  by  the  reconciling  Christ. 
Though  the  law  be  broken,  though  the  creature  be  fallen, 
though  justice  must  be  satisfied,  though  the  sinner  have 
no  offering  he  can  bring,  still  God  and  man  are  met. 
The  outraged  Lawgiver,  the  daring  rebel,  are  joined  to- 
gether, and  that  mysterious  alliance  for  whatever  purposes 
assumed  is  clear  in  this,  —  pledges  entire  reconciliation, 
eternal  fellowship.  It  is  a  promise  for  the  creature  reach- 
ing beyond  all  the  privilege  and  felicity  of  his  former 
estate  in  the  garden.  Adam  and  his  Creator  but  com- 
muned then.  They  were  not  one.  But  this  reconcilia- 
tion after  the  fall  is  to  elevate  and  glorify  the  rescued 


GOD  AND  THE  WORLD  RECONCILED.        109 

humanity  to  heights  attainable  by  no  other  rank  of  created 
mind.  "He  took  not  on  him  the  nature  of  ang^els." 
"Know  ye  not  that  we  shall  judge  angels?"  "Thou 
hast  made  us  kings  and  priests  unto  God."  I  love  to 
linger  here,  to  dwell  upon  this  living  prophecy  of  the 
incarnation,  to  interpret  its  exceeding  great  and  precious 
promise,  to  welcome  it  as  God's  bond  of  so  perfect  a 
reconciliation,  so  consummate  a  union,  so  glorious  a  des- 
tiny, for  sinful,  outlawed  man. 

IV.     And    now    we  must    inquire    as    to    the   actual 
method  of  this  reconciliation,  whose  transcendent  issue  is 
given  us  in  such  a  type.     What  is  needful  to  be  done  be- 
fore such  a  result  can  be  realized  ?     Clearly  the  order  and 
supremacy  of  the  divine  government  must  be  sustained 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  corrupt  and  alienated  heart  of 
man  must  be  rectified  and  won  on  the  other.     A  recon- 
ciliation must  affect  both  parties.     The  bridge  that  spans 
the  gulf  must  have  its  double  pier  to  rest  upon,  —  one  on 
God's  side,  the  other  on  ours.     God  cannot  reconcile  us 
just  by  coming  over  to  us.     He  must  draw  us  to  him. 
He  cannot  come  to  us  leaving  the  demands  of  justice 
clamoring  for  satisfaction.     He  cannot  draw  us  to  him 
without  overcoming  and  slaying  the  enmity  of  our  hearts 
and  renovating  our  nature.     No  part  of  this  work  is  pos- 
sible to  man.     Let  him  seek  to  build  up  a  righteousness 
of  his  own,  and  pile  his  good  deeds,  his  laborious  virtues, 
and  costl}^  charities  one  above  ajiother,  and  raise  himself 
on  these   mole-hill  eminences  to  match  the  altitudes  of 
the   perfect   law.     Oh,  how  those   towering  Alps,  from 
their  pure  and  far  heights,  look  down  upon  him  !     Never 
10 


110  GOD   AND   THE   WORLD   RECONCILED. 

can  his  sliding  feet  and  his  frail  strength  of  climbing  reach 
the  sun-white  summit.     He  cannot  blot  out  one  sin  of  the 
past.     His  former  guilt  nothing  but  his  death  can  expiate, 
and  his  actual  and  current  life,  however  loftily  he  aim, 
wins  not  one  smile  from  approving  law,  but  darkens  for- 
ever under  its  awful  frowns.     Equally  fruitless  are  his 
best  efforts  to  catch  his  truant  affections  and  desires,  to 
brinof  them  chastened  and  lovinsr  to  his  abused  and  in- 
jured  Father,  to  pacify  his  reproachful  conscience,  to  bend 
his  disloyal  will,  to  kindle  within  the  life  and  power  of  an 
earnest,  practical,  persistent  godliness.     Nor  could  created 
wisdom  have  devised  a  plan  by  which  God  himself  could 
achieve  this  marvel,  could  wed  these  opposites.     What  a 
problem  it  was  to  solve  !     Given  a  law  of  infinite  value, 
with  an  infinite  penalty  and  a  world  of  transgressors,  to 
make  reparation  to  law,  let  the  transgressors  go  free,  and 
restore  them  to  their  allegiance  !     If  the  sinner  be  cut  off 
in  his  guilt,  the  law  is  vindicated,  justice  is  satisfied,  gov- 
ernment sustained,  but  there  is  not  salvation  for  the  lost. 
If  the  sinner  be  justified  and  forgiven,  while  yet  there  is 
no  expiation  for  his  guilt,  it  may  be  well  with  him ;  the 
mercy  of  God  is  illustriously  displayed,  but  the  authority 
of  the  sovereign  Ruler  is  prostrate  in  the  dust.     No  more 
shall   the   heavenly   choirs   sing   together,  "Justice   and 
Judgment  are  the  habitation  of  thy  throne.     Just  and  true 
are  thy  ways,  thou  King  of  saints.     Who  shall  not  fear 
thee,  O  Lord,  and  glorify  thy  name?"     Under  such  an 
administration   rebellion   shall   not  stop  with  earth.     If 
there  be  some  unheard-of  sacrifice  by  which  God's  just 
hatred  of  sin   and  his  determination  not  to  suffer  it  to 


GOD  AND  THE  WORLD  RECONCILED.        Ill 

offend  with  impunity  can  be  expressed,  by  which  thus  the 
guilt  of  the  transgressor,  being  atoned  for,  may  be  par- 
doned,  what  force  beyond  all  this  shall  undertake  the 
renovation   of    human   character,   its    resurrection   from 
spiritual  death  into  newness  of  life?     "  Oh,  the  depth  of 
the  riches  both  of  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  God ! " 
God,  in  the  person  of  the  Son,  took  to  himself  a  sacrificial 
humanity,  lending  it  by  such  alliance  an  infinite  worth, 
entering  thus  into  a  condition  under  the  law,  rendering 
there  a  perfect  obedience,  not  obligatory  on  him  who  was 
above  the  law,  shedding  there  the  blood  of  expiation  de- 
manded   by   inexorable  justice,    thus   lifting   again    the 
trampled  prerogatives  of  the  crown,  and  then  plying  the 
heart  of  the  rescued  sinner  by  the  melting  power  of  that 
cross,  the  might  of  that  dying  love,  and  moving  upon  it 
with  the-  life-inspiring  energy  of  the  new  creating  spirit. 
This  great  transaction  solves  the  problem.     God  can  offer 
reconciliation  in  the  fulness  of  his  mercy,  for  his  crown 
is  protected,  his  government  upheld.      The   sinner  can 
come  into  a  cordial  acceptance  of  this   offer,  and  be  at 
peace  with  this  offended  majesty,  being  delivered  by  the 
righteousness  of  Christ  from  the  pain  and  pressure  of  an 
evil  conscience,  won  by  the  cross  of  Christ  to  penitence, 
gratitude,    and   love,    his   will    subdued   and  his    nature 
sanctified  by  the  operations  of  the  Spirit  of  grace.     And 
so  in  brief  this  wonderful  Scripture  hath  its  fulfilment,  — 
that  God  is  in  Christ  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself. 
Indignant  justice  is  pacified ;  obilurate  rebellion  is  con- 
quered ;    the   penal   sanction    of  law   is    sustained ;    the 
sentence   is   removed  from  the  penitent  criminal ;    with 


112  GOD   AND   THE   WOKLD   RECONCILED. 

unfettered  love  God  invites  ;  with  assured  confidence  the 
weeping  sinner  draws  nigh.  Over  the  bridgeless  gulf  the 
Mediator  has  laid  his  own  body,  and  upon  it  a  just  God 
comes  with  life  and  peace  to  meet  the  now  hopeful  offen- 
der, forsaking  all  for  that  embrace  of  love.  That  which 
was  symbolized  in  the  person  of  Christ  is  thus  actualized. 
A  new,  divine  life,  flowing  free  in  this  unobstructed  chan- 
nel, enters  the  dead  heart  of  the  race,  and  quickens  it  to 
live  again.  God  accepts  a  sufiering  Christ  as  the  con- 
demned criminal's  substitute.  The  sinner  receives  in  his 
welcoming  and  believing  soul  that  atoning  Christ  as  his 
surety  with  God,  bringing  to  him  not  only  the  seal  of 
pardon,  but  a  new  force  of  wilUng,  loving,  and  obeying. 
And  so  the  song  of  joy  breaks  from  his  lips.  Out  of  the 
miry  depths  his  feet  are  raised  to  stand  on  the  Rock  of 
ages.  What  wonder  that  he  sings  of  the  Lamb  that  was 
slain  !  What  marvel  that  we  hear  him  after  death  chant- 
ing on  the  celestial  hills,  "  Worthy  the  Lamb  !  " 

My  friends,  the  gospel  which  our  churches  hold  and 
our  ministry  preaches  is  sometimes  thought  to  be  and 
represented  to  be  a  stern  and  harsh  system,  dealing 
sharply  with  human  errors,  covering  with  forbidding 
gloom  the  face  of  the  Almighty  Father,  and  pressing 
its  unlovely  austerities  upon  shrinking  and  sensitive  spir- 
its. How  unjust  and  mistaken  a  thought !  We  preach 
God  in  Christ,  "reconciling  the  world  unto  himself,  not 
imputing  their  trespasses  unto  them."  If  we  speak  of 
the  great  divisive  abyss  the  fall  has  sunk  between  man 
and  his  God,  it  is  to  unfold  the  necessity  and  the  glory 
of  that  redemptive  system,  that  mediatorial  work,  that 


GOD   AND   THE   WORLD   RECONCILED.  113 

throws  its  indestructible  arch  across.  If  we  speak  of  a 
justice  that  demands  for  every  sin  the  blood  of  expiation, 
it  is  to  point  to  the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh  away  the 
sin  of  the  world.  If  we  speak  of  the  carnal  heart  as  en- 
mity with  God,  it  is  to  tell  how  Jesus  died  for  you  while 
you  were  yet  enemies,  to  reconcile  you  to  the  Father. 
Our  gospel  is  a  gospel  of  reconciliation.  Our  ministry  is 
a  ministry  of  reconciliation.  The  glad  evangel  put  into 
our  mouths  is  this,  "Be  ye  reconciled  to  God."  There 
is  no  other  portrait  of  the  divine  character  so  ravishing 
as  this,  no  overture  of  God  to  man  so  tender,  no  voice 
from  heaven  the  burdened  conscience  so  leaps  to  hear, 
nothing  that  so  lights  the  dying  eye  and  comforts  the  de- 
parting spirit.  No  other  system  of  theology  can  so  de- 
monstrate to  earth  and  heaven  that  mighty  Scripture 
"  God  is  Love."  "  Herein  is  Love,"  not  in  the  golden  sun 
or  soft  dews  or  airs  of  spring  or  fruits  or  harvests  or 
vineyards  or  all  of  autumn's  generous  bounty,  — "  Aere- 
m,"  not  in  health  and  friends  and  social  joys  and  daily 
good,  —  "  herein  is  Love  !  not  that  we  loved  God,  but  that 
he  loved  us,  and  sent  his  Son  to  be  the  propitiation  for 
our  sins." 

God  is  not  your  enemy.  He  would  be  your  friend. 
You  are  afraid  of  him,  but  he  will  deliver  you  from  all 
your  fears ;  your  sins  cry  against  you,  but  he  will  blot 
them  out  with  atonins:  blood  and  remember  them  no 
more  forever;  you  dread  the  process  of  making  peace 
with  him.  Did  the  father  of  the  returning  prodigal  afflict 
him  with  hard  conditions?  But  God  is  so  great,  so  se- 
renely holy,  so  girt  with  majesty  and  kiugliness  !  Yes, 
but  he  knows  what   you   are,  and  welcomes   you    to   a 


114  GOD  AND  THE   WORLD  RECONCILED. 

perfect  reconciliation.  Would  you  approach,  fix  your 
thought  on  the  Mediator.  There  he  stands  in  human 
form,  —  no  aspect  of  inapproachable  splendor  and  power, 
—  holding  the  Father's  right  hand  in  one  of  his,  stretch- 
ing the  other  to  you,  a  bond  between  God  and  you,  oc- 
cupying and  filling  the  whole  distance ;  human  on  your 
side,  divine  on  the  other ;  shading  off  humanity  into  De- 
ity from  you  through  himself  to  God ;  shading  off  Deity 
into  humanity,  again,  through  himself  from  God  to  you; 
attaching  you,  by  this  mysterious,  interlinked  vinculum  to 
his  Father  and  your  Father,  and  transmitting  divine  life 
and  joy  from  the  Father  to  your  spirit.  Still  that  out- 
stretched hand,  with  the  print  of  the  nail  in  it,  solicits 
your  acceptance.  When  you  clasp  it,  Jesus  is  yours  and 
God  is  yours  and  heaven  is  yours.  Holding  there.  Jus- 
tice cannot  strike  you ;  you  belong  to  the  humanity  of 
Jesus,  and  Justice  has  smitten  there  once,  and  is  satisfied. 
Held  by  that  hand,  you  are  one  with  the  Father  and  the 
Son.  Those  strange  words  of  Jesus  in  prayer  for  his 
disciples  on  the  sorrowful  night  of  the  betrayal  are  ful- 
filled,—  "I  in  them  and  thou  in  me,  that  they  may  be 
made  perfect  in  one."  Come!  Are  you  not  ready? 
You  are  unworthy,  you  are  weak,  you  are  timid,  you  are 
conscience-stricken,  you  are  shackled  by  evil  passions 
and  habits.  Yes,  all  that  is  understood;  but  just  such 
as  you  are  God  in  Christ  calls  you,  waits  for  you,  by  us 
beseeches  you  to  be  reconciled  to  him.  Going  hence  to 
some  secret  place  of  prayer,  will  you  not  give  your  hand 
with  your  penitent  heart  to  Christ,  that  henceforth,  in 
life  and  death,  in  earth's  travail  and  heaven's  glory,  you 
may,  by  that  living  link,  be  forever  joined  to  God? 


YIl. 

WEAKING  CHEIST'S  GARMENTS. 

AND  THEY  CRUCIFIED  HIM,  AND  PARTED  HIS  GARMENTS,  CASTING  LOTS ;  THAT 
IT  MIGHT  BE  FULFILLED  WHICH  WAS  SPOKEN  BY  THE  PROPHET,  THEY 
PARTED    MY    GARMENTS  AMONG    THEM,    AND  UPON   MY  VESTURE    DID  THEY 

CAST  LOTS.  —  Matt,  xxvii.  35. 

IT  is  a  revolting  scene  of  greedy  cupidity  which  is  here 
witnessed  at  the  very  foot  of  the  cross.  The  Saviour, 
stripped  of  his  garments,  has  been  nailed  to  the  wood,  and 
the  cross  lifted  and  secured  in  its  place.  The  mortal  an- 
guish has  begun.  On  the  right  hand  and  the  left  of  the 
chief  sufferer  hang  the  malefactors.  The  daughters  of 
Jerusalem  are  weeping  around.  One  would  think  that  in 
the  presence  of  such  tragedies  even  the  executioners 
would  be  sober  and  decent.  They  are  inflicting  punish- 
ment upon  public  convicts,  it  is  true,  but  those  convicts 
are  human,  and  their  dying  groans,  if  unworthy  of  pity, 
might  well  touch  a  chord  in  the  common  nature  that 
should  hold  observers  at  least  gravely  silent.  But  those 
whose  bloody  work  has  thus  far  progressed  are  not  look- 
ing at  the  face  of  Jesus.  They  are  looking  for  his  gar- 
ments. Those  are  their  inheritance.  It  is  a  part  of  the 
usual  price  of  the  job.     They  are  yet  warm  from  his  per- 


116  WEARING  Christ's  garments. 

son ;  but  the  eager  heirs  cannot  wait.  While  his  sad  eyes 
gaze  down  upon  them,  they  make  partition  of  the  plunder. 
There  are  four  of  them,  and  they  continue  to  make  four 
parcels  of  what  they  have  to  divide.  The  division  is 
equalized  perhaps  by  severing  the  outer  garment  into  its 
parts,  fabric,  fringes,  and  borders,  so  that  each  shall  have 
his  share.  But  when  they  come  to  the  inner  coat  or 
tunic,  it  is  perceived  that  it  is  not  made  in  the  common 
style,  of  two  parts  joined  together,  but  is  woven  whole. 
To  tear  it  into  fragments  would  make  it  useless  to  any- 
body ;  so  they  cast  lots  for  this,  and  one  of  them  appro- 
priates it  as  his  prize.  Look  at  them  in  their  new  gar- 
ments. Will  they  know  themselves?  Will  their  friends 
know  them  ?  Have  they  not  come  to  resemble  Him  whose 
well-known  costume  they  have  put  on?  Especially  the 
man  with  the  seamless  coat,  may  he  not  be  mistaken  to- 
morrow for  the  Saviour  himself,  and  startle  somebody 
with  the  reappearance  of  the  crucified  Nazarene  ? 

The  resemblance  goes  no  deeper  than  the  garments. 
They  are  wearing  what  the  Saviour  wore,  but  they  are 
like  him  in  nothing  else.  They  have  his  external  appear- 
ance, but  within  they  are  unchanged,  and  carry  still  the 
hearts  of  thieves  and  murderers.  They  are  his  crucifiers  ; 
though  they  are  clothed  as  he  was  while  he  walked  among 
the  living. 

Is  there  anything  significant  in  this  incident  ?  Is  it  not 
by  itself  a  very  meaning  parable  ?  Does  it  not  hint  to  us 
that  there  may  be  many  who  put  on  the  garments  of 
Christ,  but  at  heart  they  are  no  friends  of  his?  May 
there  not  be  many  reasons  why  men  should  willingly  and 


WEARING  Christ's  garments.  117 

eagerly  clothe  themselves  in  the  outward  mantle  of  Christ's 
likeness,  and  yet  rank  all  the  while  among  those  who  put 
him  to  grief  and  shame  ? 

Let  us  suggest  briefly  some  of  these  reasons,  and  name 
some  of  those  Avhom  they  are  allowed  to  govern. 

Few  men  who  have  a  bad  heart  are  bold  enough  to 
wear  openly  the  costume  that  really  belongs  to  them.  If 
they  were  to  expose  all  their  vile  thoughts  and  wicked 
purposes  to  the  public  gaze,  they  would  be  shunned  as 
men  shun  pitch,  slime,  the  plague,  and  other  things  that 
work  defilement  and  mischief.  They  must  put  on  some 
decent  outside  covering.  They  must  cover  up  the  cor- 
rupt desires  of  their  heart.  What  can  they  wear  so 
cleanly  and  unsuspicious  as  some  garment  from  the  vestry 
of  Christianity?  These  are  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing. 
They  learned  this  art  from  their  "father."  For  Satan 
himself  is  transformed  often  into  an  angel  of  light. 

It  is  respectable  now  to  put  on  Christian  raiment.  The 
cross  decorates  imperial  robes,  and  gleams  in  golden  lus- 
tre on  proud  temple  towers.  The  religion  of  Jesus  has 
wrought  too  long  and  well  in  the  earth  to  be  despised. 
The  man  who  has  embraced  its  truths,  and  is  guided  by 
its  principles,  commands  the  confidence  of  his  fellow-men. 
Wherever  one  can  introduce  himself  thus  habited,  the 
garb  carries  with  it  a  high  and  worthy  indorsement. 

There  are  some  men  whose  idea  of  Christianity  is  that 
it  can  be  put  on  as  one  puts  on  a  garment.  With  them 
it  is  not,  in  its  nature,  an  inward  radical  change,  but  an 
outward  fairness,  pureness,  and  saintliness.  It  consists 
in  a  decorous  observance  of  the  Sabbath  and  its  institu- 


118  WEARmG  Christ's  garments. 

tions  of  worship,  in  a  formal  daily  reading  before  the 
household  of  God's  word,  and  a  still  more  formal  address 
to  his  presence,  or  in  putting  on  certain  ordinances  sup- 
posed to  carry  with  them  gracious  forces  for  the  character 
and  life.  There  is  a  desire  to  be  Christian  for  the  sake 
of  standing  well  with  God  and  our  own  esteem,  and  these 
light  fabrics  are  easily  fitted  to  us  and  are  no  burden. 
Conscience  is  pacified,  hope  is  warranted,  the  heart  at 
rest,  and  meanwhile  there  is  no  quarrel  with  the  desire 
and  the  relish  for  natural  good. 

There  are  reasons  enough  in  our  day  for  being  not  only 
willing,  but  anxious,  to  appear  invested  with  the  badges  of 
a  faith  against  which  none  but  the  worst  men  openly  con- 
tend, and  the  confession  of  which  carries  with  it  so  much 
that  conciliates  universal  regard.  And  if  now  we  come 
to  classes,  and  ask  who  they  are  who  clothe  themselves  in 
this  Christian  costume,  we  may  remark,  — 

1.  There  are  some  who  make  humanity  their  whole 
religion.  They  leave  others  to  talk  about  the  love  of 
Christ.  They  love  their  fellow-men.  They  plead  the 
rights  of  man.  They  argue  the  worth  of  man.  They 
cultivate  the  habit  of  expressing  sympathy  for  human 
sufferings,  and  extending  charity  to  human  want.  They 
devise  institutions  to  shelter  the  houseless  and  friendless ; 
they  spread  tables  for  the  famishing ;  they  make  garments 
for  the  naked ;  they  carry  about  subscription  books  for  all 
manner  of  humane  enterprises.  Their  charity  is  chiefly  a 
charity  for  the  present  life,  a  charity  for  the  body ;  it  does 
not  busy  itself  much  with  missions,  or  gospel  societies, 
but  it  throws  its  arms  around  the  fainting  flesh,  and  seeks 


WEARING   CHRIST'S   GARMENTS.  119 

to  better  all  the  outward  condition.     Now  this  exact  style 
of  humanity  is,  as  far  as  it  goes,  Christian.     It  comes  of 
the  gospel.     It  was  born  out  of  the  teachings  and  life  of 
Christ.      We  have  learned  to  see  the  value  of  man,  to 
pity  the  need  of  man,  to  comfort  the  sorrows  of  man, 
to  understand  the  dignity  of  man,  to  feel  the  brotherhood 
of  the  race,  since  Christ  came  into  the  flesh  and  wrought 
for  man  all  his  works  of  love,  and  died  for  man  on  Cal- 
vary.    And  the  very  peculiarity  of  this  charity,  in  look- 
ing after  the  earthly  condition  of  men,  makes  it  a  closer 
copy  of  his  kindness,  all  whose  miracles  of  healing  were 
to  lift  and  straighten  and  nourish  the  poor  human  body. 
Here,  then,  is  one  of  Christ's  garments,  clearly  recogni- 
zable in  fashion,  texture,  and  hue  as  his,  worn  in  the  midst 
of  human  fellowships.     Are  the  wearers  therefore  Chris- 
tian?    Outwardly   and   in   doing    they   are.     Are    they 
inwardly?     What  if  they  join  themselves  to  those  who 
stoned  him  because  he  said,  "I  and  my  Father  are  one," 
and  approve  and  pronounce  again  the  same  ancient  rea- 
son, "For  a  good  work  we  stone  thee  not,"  —  they  are 
advocates  of  good  works,  —"  but  for  blasphemy,  and  be- 
cause that  thou  being  a  man  makest  thyself  God"  ?  With 
Christ's  garment  on,  and  yet  rejecting  his  doctrines,  de- 
nying his  divinity,  refusing  him  as  an  atoning  Saviour 
and  expiatory  sacrifice,  are  they  not  of  those  who  crucify 
him  and  then  part  his  raiment  among  themselves  ?     From 
his  cross  he  beholds  them  consenting  unto  his  death,  and 
putting  on  his  robes  for  their  daily  wearing. 

2.  Again  there  are  many  who  accept  his  doctrines,  who 
call  him,  "Lord!"  "Lord!"  but  who  never  receive  him 


120  WEAEiNG  Christ's  garments. 

into  their  hearts.  They  have  been  educated  in  the  ortho- 
dox faith;  they  hold  the  orthodox  creed;  they  attend 
upon  orthodox  preaching.  Examine  them  at  what  length 
you  will,  and  you  will  find  them  clear  and  strong  in  the 
truth  that  is  distinctively  evangelical.  Let  a  stranger  ask 
them  at  large,  "What  think  ye  of  Christ?"  and  no  con- 
fessor of  Jesus  could  give,  so  far  as  the  head  goes,  a 
fuller  and  more  satisfactory  reply.  "  The  truth  as  it  is  in 
Jesus,"  they  have  put  on  entire.  His  seamless  coat,  un- 
rent,  clothes  them.  They  walk  abroad  bearing  his  like- 
ness to  all  who  look  upon  their  costume.  Do  they  there- 
fore love  him?  Have  they  joined  their  souls  to  him?  Is 
he  their  life  and  joy?  He  is,  in  their  creed,  is  he  in  their 
heart,  their  Lord  and  their  God  ?  In  spirit  are  they  trans- 
formed into  his  likeness?  Oh,  how  many  there  are  in  all 
our  congregations  who  have  the  doctrines  of  Christ,  but 
who  hold  the  truth  in  practical  unrighteousness;  who 
accept  all  that  we  teach  concerning  him,  giving  their  as- 
sent to  the  whole  system  of  his  redemptive  work,  but  never 
giving  their  hearts  to  his  spirit,  their  lives  to  his  service. 
You,  too,  my  friends,  wear  his  garments,  but  you  are  not 
like  him ;  you  are  not  his ;  he  is  not  yours.  What  you 
yet  need  is  to  ]jut  on  himself. 

2.  There  are  again  some  who  have  joined  themselves  to 
his  visible  people,  and  who  wear  openly  the  garment  of  a 
Christian  profession,  who  yet  seem  to  lack  the  inward 
life  and  power  of  godliness.  Wherever  they  go,  that  gar- 
ment of  profession  announces  a  Cliristian ;  they  wear  it 
into  prayer-meetings ;  they  wear  it  into  the  Sabbath  as- 
sembly;   they   wear   it   to   the  sacramental  table,   while 


WEARIXG   CHRIST'S   GARMEJs^TS.  121 

the  inward  witness  to  what  they  thus  declare  is  wanting. 
Their  costume  and  their  spirit  are  at  variance.  Their 
profession  and  their  practice  disagree.  What  they  are 
contradicts  what  they  wear. 

One  maintains  externally  the  appearance  of  great  sanc- 
tity. He  is  grave  of  countenance  and  careful  of  speech. 
He  is  punctilious  in  all  formal  religious  observances. 
The  household  knows  the  length  and  comprehensiveness 
of  his  daily  prayers.  He  is  hard  upon  the  errors  of  other 
men,  and  fastidious  even  about  trifles  which  a  more  gen- 
erous catholicity  endures  without  disturbance.  He  is 
hard  even  upon  himself.  He  keeps  himself  up  by  con- 
stant straining  to  this  rigid  standard.  But  there  is  noth- 
ing of  the  freeness  and  warmth  of  love  about  him.  There 
is  no  fountain  of  tenderness  in  his  soul.  You  would  as 
soon  put  your  infant  to  nurse  with  one  of  the  Egyptian 
Colossi  as  to  put  a  babe  in  Christ  who  wanted  cherishing 
care  into  these  granite  arms.  He  is  not  a  renewed  man. 
Unawares  he  is  a  Pharisee,  save  that  he  is  not  a  con- 
scious hypocrite.  He  has  great  purpose  and  stern  con- 
sistency ;  there  is  formed  within  him  a  conviction  that 
this  rigid  dutifulness  is  piety,  but  Christ  is  not  formed 
within  him.  Still  another  species  of  this  outward  sanctity 
does  cover  up  conscious  inward  corruption.  The  long 
face  is  a  mask.  The  man  has  found  out  that  he  is  not 
what  he  thought  he  was,  —  a  changed  man.  There  is  a  tide 
of  inward  uncleanness  surging  to  and  fro  in  his  soul, 
against  which  the  floodgates  are  never  shut.  He  cannot 
put  off  his  sanctimonious  habits ;  it  is  agreeable  to  be 
thought   quite   correct   and   eminently   holy.      It   keeps 


122  WEARING  CHRIST'S   GARMENTS. 

curious  eyes  from  peering  into  his  bosom;  the  honest 
acknowledgment  of  what  he  is  would  be  too  deep  a 
shame  for  his  soul  to  bear.  So  he  keeps  on  the  garment, 
and  harbors  inwardly  the  carrion  birds  of  impure  pas- 
sions. 

There  is  another  in  the  Church  who  has  the  costume  of 
self-denial  conspicuous  on  his  person.  That  is  a  portion 
of  the  robe  of  Christ.  "If  any  man  will  come  after  me, 
let  him  deny  himself,  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  me." 
And  this  man  denies  himself  all  the  round  of  what  are 
called  the  pleasures  of  life.  These  gay  and  costly  festiv- 
ities, that  include  rich  tables,  lighted  saloons,  music,  and 
flowers,  draw  not  one  farthing  of  revenue  from  him. 
Is  he  not  practising  delf-denial  ?  The  personal  and  do- 
mestic luxuries  of  expensive  furniture,  elegant  wardrobe, 
dashing  equipage,  a  decorated  and  brilliant  establishment, 
he  lightly  foregoes,  though  perhaps  strongly  importuned 
in  one  direction  and  another  by  those  beneath  his  roof. 
Surely,  a  self-denying  man. 

His  neighbors  expend  freely  upon  transitions  with  the 
seasons,  — in  winter  into  the  comfortable  city  mansion,  in 
summer  out  to  a  country  retreat,  or  from  place  to  place 
on  travelling  excursions,  breathing  the  air  of  the  moun- 
tains, sipping  salubrious  waters,  taking  the  roll  of  the 
surf,  pacing  amid  rural  fields  and  beneath  rural  shades  in 
inland  rural  towns.  He  calls  all  this  "fashion,"  sets  his 
face  against  it,  and  practises  again  his  self-denial.  And 
all  the  while  that  he  seems  to  be  dealing  so  abstemiously 
and  rigorously  with  what  others  find  to  be  their  natural 
or  acquired  tastes,  there  is  sitting  within  on  the  perch  of 


wEAKiNG  Christ's  garments.  123 

his  heart,  a  ravening  cormorant,  that  devours  everything 
its  filthy  beak  can  gobble.  This  man  might  love  worldly 
pleasures  perhaps,  but  he  loves  something  else  better. 
He  might  be  fond  of  luxuries  and  festivities  and  seaside 
and  mountain  air  and  curative  springs,  but  there  is  an- 
other thing  dearer  yet.  He  loves  money.  The  cor- 
morant is  covetousness.  The  Christian  virtue  of  self- 
denial  was  only  a  garment,  the  gilded  outside  of  the 
cage  where  he  keeps  his  cormorant.  When  he  says  no 
to  a  pleasure  or  a  lust,  it  is  not  Christian  self-denial 
that  speaks,  it  is  a  croak  of  the  cormorant.  When  he 
says  no  to  the  wife  and  daughters  that  plead  for  the  beach 
in  sultry  August,  it  is  not  that  he  may  have  wherewith  to 
endow  God's  poor,  it  is  because  his  cormorant  wants  it 
all.  Strange  that  Christ's  robe  should  cover  such  a 
greedy  spirit,  the  plumage  of  the  holy  dove  this  bird  of 
prey ! 

Again  there  is  often  a  very  demonstrative  religious  zeal 
which  really  seems  to  consume  the  whole  man,  but  which 
at  some  one  critical  point  breaks  down.  It  is  very  ear- 
nest for  the  souls  of  men ;  it  will  go  all  lengths  for  their 
rescue  ;  it  multiplies  means  and  agencies  and  importunities 
to  gather  these  aliens  in ;  it  can  give  time  and  strength 
and  toil,  will  and  money,  too,  to  wield  whatever  hopeful 
instrumentalities  for  their  salvation.  The  cause  of  Christ, 
the  growth  of  the  Church,  the  augmented  fidelity  and  self- 
devotion  of  Christians,  absorb  it.  Here  is  Christianity  in 
full.  The  mantle  reaches  from  the  shoulders  to  the  feet. 
There  is  no  scantmess  in  it.  Its  ample  folds  wrap  the 
whole  person.    Surely,  here  is  a  man  with  whom  love  is  a 


124  WEAEING   CHRIST'S   GARMENTS. 

universal  principle.  His  soul  is  full  of  it.  It  must  over- 
flow upon  every  partner  of  the  common  humanity  with 
whom  he  comes  in  contact.  It  will  bathe  and  lave  every 
hand  he  touches. 

Let  us  accompany  this  friend  as  he  goes  out  to  make 
some  trifling  purchase.  He  is  himself  in  trade  perhaps, 
and  understands  that  a  man  who  lives  by  trade  must  have 
a  fair  profit.  He  sells  on  that  principle.  How  does  he 
buy  ?  He  calls  for  the  article  he  wishes  and  examines  it, 
as  though  disapprovingly.  He  asi?:s  the  price.  "What, 
so  much  for  this  ? "  His  tone  is  ofi'ensive  to  a  sensitive 
mind.  Perhaps  he  remarks  that  he  does  not  wonder 
that  the  sellers  of  this  sort  of  ware  get  rich.  He  ex- 
amines the  article  again,  with  increasing  disapprobation. 
But  there  is  no  abatement  of  the  price.  He  depreciates 
the  quality  of  the  material,  the  quality  of  the  work,  the 
style  and  taste  of  the  goods,  while  all  the  time  it  is  the 
thing  he  wants.  He  says  plainly  and  bluntly,  "You  must 
take  less."  "You  ask  too  much."  "  I  can't  give  it."  He 
is  told  finally  that  he  is  at  liberty  to  leave  it  if  he  does 
not  care  to  take.  But  that  does  not  suit  him.  He  wants 
it,  and  he  wants  to  beat  the  seller  down.  He  wants  to 
get  it  at  a  cheaper  price.  He  wants  to  feel  that  he  has 
made  a  good  bargain.  He  seems  to  forget  that  there  are 
two  of  them  that  have  the  natural  desire  to  secure  a  fair 
trade.  He  lingers  yet  and  picks  flaws,  and  half  turns 
away  and  turns  back  and  urges  fresh  subtractions  from 
the  value  of  the  goods,  and  pushes  hard  for  a  reduction 
of  price.  It  is  not  a  very  pleasant  scene.  I  am  sorry  to 
detain  you  in  it.     At  last  the  man  is  gone,  paying  down 


WEAEING   CHEIST'S   GARMENTS.  125 

his  reluctant  money.  The  seller  has  a  little  heightened 
color  on  his  face.  He  turns  to  us  and  remarks,  "That 
customer  is  said  to  be  a  member  so  and  so  of  such  a 
church.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  religion  they  hold  there. 
I  desire  never  to  see  the  man  in  my  store  again." 

Well,  we  might  call  on  domestics  in  families  to  testify 
to  the  impression  which  religious  masters  and  mistresses 
make  on  them.  We  might  call  on  a  wife  to  give  in  evi- 
dence, if  she  only  would,  as  to  the  sort  of  heart  in  a  Chris- 
tian husband  that  beats  against  her  own.  We  might  call 
on  clerks  and  employees  to  stand  up  as  witnesses  and  say 
how  an  intense  Christianity  develops  in  their  direction. 

But  these  points  have  been  pushed  far  enough.  Oh,  it 
is  so  sorrowful  that  w^hen  we  see  Christ's  vesture  we  can- 
not be  sure  that  his  lineaments  are  there  too  !  It  is  so  sad 
that  those  whose  names  are  fairly  written  out  on  the  roll 
of  the  church  do  under  the  Christian  cloak  what  brinofs 
indelible  reproach  upon  the  Christian  religion !  It  is  a 
matter  of  such  deep,  deep  searching  of  ourselves  that, 
having  on  the  garments  of  Christ,  and  having,  as  we  hum- 
bly believe,  something  of  the  spirit  of  Christ,  there  may 
yet  be  so  many  things  in  us,  such  inconsiderate  moments 
and  actions,  that  a  keen-eyed  world  protests,  "  We  see 
the  garments  of  Jesus,  but  we  don't  see  anything  else  that 
is  like  him." 

Oh,  I  beseech  you,  let  the  Church  be  searched  to-day. 
If  we  keep  underneath  and  mean  to  keep  the  qualities  and 
practices  of  a  worldly,  greedy,  and  selfish  spirit,  let  us 
strip  off  to  the  last  fibre  the  vesture  of  the  Master,  that 
the  reproach  come  upon  humanity,  and  not  upon  the  doc- 
10* 


126  WEAKING  CHRIST'S  GARMENTS. 

trine  of  Jesus.  And  if  we  wish  a  blessing  upon  us  here 
in  our  Christian  work,  let  us  do  more  than  run  to  and  fro 
with  swift-footed  zeal,  let  us  rectify  our  lives,  put  away 
every  evil  thing,  find  the  dead  flies  in  the  ointment  and 
extract  them,  for  Christ  wants  clean  hands  as  well  as  a 
fervent  spirit  to  minister  in  the  holy  things  of  his  altars. 


VIII. 

CHEIST'S   CUP. 

BUT  JESUS  ANSWERED  AND  SAID,  YE  KNOW  NOT  WHAT  TB  ASK.  ARE  YE 
ABLE  TO  DRINK  OF  THE  CUP  THAT  I  SHALL  DRINK  OF,  AND  TO  BE  BAP- 
TIZED WITH  THE  BAPTISM  THAT  I  AM  BAPTIZED  WITH  ?  THEY  SAY  UNTO 
HIM,  WE  ARE  ABLE.  —  Matt.  XX.  22. 

SUCH  is  human  nature,  even  in  discipleship,  that  it 
was  certain  that  sooner  or  later  the  hearts  of  the 
chosen  twelve  would  feel  the  temptation  to  human  ambi- 
tion. True,  in  the  world's  eyes,  the  Leader,  whose  per- 
son and  fortunes  they  followed,  was  an  obscure  provincial, 
a  man  of  no  name  or  mark  or  rank,  from  a  lowly  family, 
a  despised  Galilean,  concerning  whose  claims  to  honor 
and  respectability  it  was  enough  to  ask  the  contemptuous 
question,  "Can  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Nazareth?" 
To  acknowledge  him  was  to  lose  caste  in  Jewish  society ; 
to  follow  him,  so  far  from  quickening  any  ambitious  aspi- 
rations, seemed  rather  the  final  crucifixion  of  pride.  But 
the  disciples  knew  more  and  better  concerning  the  dig- 
nity of  "the  Nazarene."  In  their  eyes  he  was  an  un- 
crowned king.  The  day  of  his  coronation  was  not  dis- 
tant. The  throne  of  his  father  David  was  his.  He 
should  sit  and  reign   in  a   state  more   magnificent   than 


128  cheist's  cup. 

Solomon's.  Where  and  what  this  kingdom  was  to  be 
were  questions  upon  which  they  had  vague  notions. 
Sometimes  to  their  eyes  its  wide  borders  swept  around 
the  hills  of  Canaan,  defied  and  repelled  the  assaults  of 
Roman  power,  and  their  own  Jerusalem  was  its  royal 
capital.  Sometimes  it  took  on  a  more  celestial  beauty 
and  grandeur,  and  was  a  kingdom  not  of  this  world ;  but 
Jesus  was  its  Prince ;  that  lowly  head  should  wear  this 
peerless  diadem.  And  what  should  they  be,  —  they  who 
walked  with  this  heir  of  royalty  every  day,  who  shared 
all  his  privacy,  who  companioned  him  under  reproach 
and  ignominy,  whom  he  called  his  friends,  whom  he  had 
himself  elected  to  be  with  him  and  to  compose  his  reti- 
nue, who  were  the  only  hearts  on  earth  that  showed 
him  kindness  and  believed  in  his  future  ?  Would  he  not 
have  ,royal  gifts  for  them  ?  As  he  rose  into  these  high 
places  of  empire,  should  they  not  rise  with  him?  Should 
they  not  be  nearest  his  person,  most  illustrious  in  dis- 
tinction of  all  who  should  then  do  him  homage,  be  his 
councillors  and  senate,  and  share  his  kingliness  as  they 
had  shared  his  lowliness  ?  And  which  of  them  should  be 
first  and  foremost  in  this  coming  elevation  ?  Probably 
these  questions  found  secret  audience  in  each  heart  of 
this  little  band,  and  these  visions  of  greatness  floated  be- 
fore every  eye.  If  there  was  an  exception,  it  may  have 
been  the  heart  of  him  surnamed  "  Iscariot !  "  One  strong, 
overmastering  passion  excludes,  or  at  least  subordinates, 
every  other.  There  are  not  two  monarchs  of  the  heart. 
Avarice  ruled  in  the  breast  of  Judas !  Fill  his  bag  for 
him,  and  others  might  come  between  him  and  either  side 


Christ's  cup.  129 

of  Jesus.     He  was  too  covetous  to  be  ambitious  in  that 
direction. 

James  and  John  were  among  the  earliest  called  of  all 
the  disciples  and  on  the  same  day  with  the  calling  of  Si- 
mon Peter,  and  Andrew,  his  brother.     They  had  already 
been  distinguished  by  their  Master,  when  he  surnamed 
them  "Sons  of  thunder."     Perhaps,  too,  they  were  ad- 
mitted all  along  to  special  intimacies  with  Jesus,  as  Pe- 
ter and  these  two  seem  to  have  been  selected  to  be  with 
Christ  whenever  he  reduced  the  number  of  his  followers. 
It  may  have  been  John's  place  to  have  reclined  next  his 
Lord  at  every  meal.     In  the  distribution  of  the  honors  of 
his  kingdom,  will  he  not  give  them  pre-eminence?     The 
time  has  come  for  them  "to  make  the  request.     They  are 
on   their  way  up  to   Jerusalem,  and  Jesus   has   spoken 
plainly  of  the  sufferings  and  death  he   shall  accomplish. 
The  two  aspirants  for  chief  places  need  an  intercessor, 
and  their   mother  willingly  undertakes  the  office.     She 
leads  them  near  to  him,  and  the  three  offer  him  their  wor- 
ship ;    and  then  the  matron  signifies  that  she  has  some- 
thing to  ask.     "  What  wilt  thou  ?  "  is  the  gracious  encour- 
agement,—  gracious  and  encouraging,  and  yet  it  gives 
her  time  to  pause,  if  she  will,  and  inquire  of  her  own  heart 
what  it  is  she  craves.     But  her  petition  finds  instant  ut- 
terancCi  —  "Grant  that  these  my  two  sons  may  sit,  the 
one  on  thy  right  hand,  and  the  other  on  thy  left,  in  thy 
kingdom."     With  a  tender  and  pitiful  look,  we  may  sup- 
pose, and  a  gentle  voice,  —  for  so  the  words  seem  to  read, 
—  Jesus  makes  reply,  "Ye  know  not  what  ye  ask.     Are 
ye  able  to  drink  of  the  cup  that  I  shall  drink  of,  and  be 
baptized  with  the  baptism  that  I  am  baptized  with  ?  " 


130 


And  in  this  question  appears  the  truth  which  it  will  be 
profitable  for  us,  I  hope,  to  revolve  for  a  little.  We  un- 
derstand the  nature  of  that  kingdom  of  which  Christ  is  the 
head  better  than  did  the  early  disciples.  We  are  not 
likely  to  make  it  a  personal  prize  to  sit  on  a  throne  with 
our  Lord,  either  at  his  right  hand  or  at  his  left ;  but  it  is 
a  desire  with  many  a  Christian  heart  to  come  nearer  unto 
the  presence  of  Christ,  to  share  a  closer  friendship  with 
him,  to  know  a  more  intimate  communion,  to  drink  in 
more  of  his  spirit,  to  become  more  vitally  and  indissolu- 
bly  joined  to  him,  and  to  sit  ever  like  Mary  of  Bethany 
at  his  feet,  and  learn  of  him.  And  we  may.  No  voice 
rebukes  this  sort  of  ambition  !  There  is  a  way  in  which 
this  longing  of  the  heart  may  be  gratified  and  satisfied. 
And  this  is  the  doctrine  of  our  Scripture.  The  price  of 
personal  and  pre-eminent  nearness  to  Christ  is  to  drink 
of  his  cup  and  to  be  baptized  with  his  baptism.  The  cup 
of  Christ  and  his  baptism  refer  to  all  his  sorrowful  and 
sufiering  experience  in  the  work  of  human  redemption. 
This  twofold  imagery  divides  that  experience,  perhaps, 
into  two  parts.  Baptism  is  an  outward  rite,  and  touches 
us  only  externally.  As  a  symbol  it  refers  to  that  which 
comes  upon  us  from  without,  that  which  the  hand  of  an- 
other administers,  or  which  some  agency  outside  of  our- 
selves' brings  in.  But  that  which  we  drink  we  taste  in- 
wardly. Our  own  hand  lifts  it  to  our  lips.  Its  flavor  i« 
inwardly  appreciated ;  its  bitterness  lingers  in  our 
mouth;  its  fire  burns  in  every  vein,  and  its  anguish 
courses  through  our  whole  system.  So  in  the  suflerings 
of  Christ  there  was  an  outward  and  an  inward  smart. 


Christ's  cup.  131 

Poverty  and  weariness  and  hunger  and  homelessness  and 
buffeting  and  scourging  and  thorns  and  nails  were  his 
baptism. 

The  elements  of  his  cup  were  mingled  of  the  trials  of 
his  spirit.     They  were  all  the  burdens  he  took  upon  his 
soul  for  man  and  among  men ;  all  his  care,  all  his  com- 
passion, all  his  travail  of  patience  and  of  grief,  his  ex- 
perience  of  contradiction,   ingratitude,   misappreciation, 
rejection,  and  reviling.     It  was  a  full  cup  wrung  out  to 
him.     There  were  strange  ingredients  in  it,  such  as  no 
other  lips  ever  tasted,  the  dreaded  bitterness  of  which 
wrung  from  him  the  strong  plea,  "Father,  if  it  be  possi- 
ble, let  this  cup  pass  from  me  ;  nevertheless,  not  as  I  will, 
but  as  thou  wilt."     But  in  speaking  now  of  our  fellowship 
in  the  experience  of  Christ,  we  need  not  be  careful  to 
separate  the  symbols  he  employed.     We  may  call  that 
fellowship  a  tasting  of  his  cup,  or  a  participation  in  his 
baptism,  as  our  thought  shall  most  naturally  take  the  one 
mould  or  the  other.     If  we  are  to  be  near  Christ,  the  first 
cup  we  are  to  drink  with  him  is  the  cup  of  Consecration. 
One  of  his  most  distinguishing  names  is,  by  interpreta- 
tion, "The   Anointed  One."     As  with  holy  oil  he  was 
separated  and  set  apart  for  his  work.     We  may  conceive, 
for  so  the  Scripture  seems  to  intimate,  that  there  were 
glories  and  functions  and  administrations  belouoino-  to 
him  as  the  eternal  Son  of  the  Father  which  he  laid  aside, 
that  he  might  be  singly  devoted  to  this  work.      There 
were  certainly  prerogatives  and  honors  and  sovereignties 
which  he  waived,  that  it  might  appear  unto  principalities 
and  powers  in  heavenly  places  that  he  was  engaged  m 


132  chkist's  cup. 

this  one  thing,  and  had  accepted  all  its  conditions  and  limi- 
tations. When  he  comes  into  the  field  of  human  view, 
this  entireness  of  consecration  asserts  itself  with  most 
abounding  testimony.  There  w^as  never  for  any  scheme 
or  object  of  any  creature  such  a  diligence  as  his.  Temp- 
tation sought  to  make  him  swerve  for  its  splendid  bribes, — 
"all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them," 
but  he  was  steadfast  there.  Ease  and  place  and  fame  paid 
court  to  him,  but  he  would  not  turn  aside.  Weary  nature 
and  fainting  manhood  offered  their  plea,  but  plead  in  vain. 
His  friends  and  followers  interceded  with  him  to  persuade 
him  off  from  pain  and  suffering,  but  he  so  rebuked  this 
officiousness  that  the  offence  was  never  repeated.  What- 
ever voice  called  him  to  any  side  issues,  his  reply  was 
unchanging,  "Wist  ye  not  that  I  must  be  about  my 
Father's  business  ?  "  Every  journey  undertaken  was  for 
this  sole  end.  Each  morning  renewed  his  tasks  of  teach- 
ing and  healing,  his  labors  of  love,  his  pilgrimages  of 
mercy.  Far  on  into  the  night  he  bore  still  upon  his 
heart  the  burdens  of  the  day,  and  when  he  sends  away 
his  disciples  on  the  sea-shore,  and  after  the  sun  has  gone 
down,  it  is  not  that  he  may  rest,  with  no  human  contact 
to  quicken  or  weary  any  nerve  of  body  or  soul,  but  that 
he  may  enter  the  shadow  of  some  more  straining  and 
mysterious  wrestling.  True,  the  methods  of  his  work 
were  various.  But  it  was  one  work.  Its  details  were 
not  such  perhaps  as  we  should  have  marked  out  for  him. 
They  sometimes  stumbled  his  disciples.  They  raised  a 
doubt  in  the  bold  breast  of  John  of  the  wilderness, 
Herod's    prisoner.     Nothing    seemed   further   from    his 


cheist's  cup.  133 

thought  than  the  assumption  of  any  royal  state.     He  was 
a  travelling  physician.     He  was  looking  after  men's  bodily 
maladies.     He  delivered  wonderful  moral  discourses  in 
parables.     He  roamed  through  Galilee  and  Judea,  pro- 
nouncing these  beautiful  lessons  for  daily  life,  and  open- 
ing the  doctrines  of  his  coming  kingdom  wherever  he 
could  find  an  audience.     He  was  present  at  social  festi- 
vals, dined  with  wealthy   Pharisees,  and   mingled  with 
marriage  guests,  but  all  and  everywhere  with  one  intent. 
Single-eyed,  single-hearted,  and  in  each  variety  of  demon- 
stration forwarding  his  great  mission.     He  drank  deep  of 
this  cup  of  consecration,  and  offers  it  now  to  our  lips,  as 
a  bond  and  seal  of  union  with  himself.     We  are  not  to  be 
tithed.     All  idea  of  self-ownership  and  proprietary  rights 
we  are  to  give  up.     We  are  to  take  the  entire  inventory 
of  our  personal  forces  and  efiects  and  lay  at  his  feet.     We 
may  not  check  off  and  separate  and  divide,  —  this  for 
Christ,  this  our  own.     We  are  not  practically  to  arrange 
that  one  day  in  seven  shall  be  set  apart  for  God's  service ; 
that  the  evening  and  the  morning  of  secular  days  shall  be 
his ;  that  the  amount  pledged  on  subscription  books  is 
sacredly  to  be  reserved,  and  the  balance  is  our  own  per- 
sonal revenue  from  our  toil,  to  be  expended  as  we  please, 
and  plead,  if  special  calls  are  made  upon  us  for  service 
and  for  charity,  "I  have  not  time;  I  cannot  spare  the 
means."     In   the  modelling  and  mapping  out  of  some 
professedly  Christian  lives,  the  claims  of  Christ  cover  but 
a   small   part   of  the  whole.     A   little    Sunday  domain, 
rounded  off  at  the  corners,  is  staked  out  for  him ;  his 
claim  notches  into  the  day's  beginning ;  it  touches  hazily 
12 


134  cheist's  cup. 

the  border  line  of  closing  day  obscured  by  mists  from 
dreamland.  There  is  a  small  mortgage  in  his  favor  upon 
the  homestead,  the  interest  of  which  only  is  paid,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  estate  is  clear  for  the  titled  earthly 
master.  Whenever  he  can  steer  clear  of  these  definite 
and  limited  claims,  the  whole  broad  range  is  free  to 
him,  and  every  fruit  that  grows  there  is  to  sweeten  his 
own  palate  and  grace  his  own  board.  Does  this  man 
taste  of  the  cup  of  Christ?  Perhaps  he  does.  He  may 
just  moisten  his  lips,  but  a  deep  draught  he  does  not  take. 
Oh,  he  must  reserve  nothing.  He  must  write  upon 
houses  and  lands,  upon  body  and  soul,  up6n  heart  and 
life,  upon  all  his  pleasant  things,  "  Sacred  to  Jesus."  He 
must  lie  down  and  rise  up  a  consecrated  man,  a  vassal 
set  apart  to  the  use  of  his  Lord.  He  must  go  to  shop 
and  field  and  office  and  study  and  wareroom  and  drawing- 
room  a  consecrated  man.  Is  it  hard  to  make  over  all, 
to  have  nothing  left,  to  be  only  a  steward  of  time  and 
money  and  personal  presence  and  personal  power?  It 
is  a  great  relief  from  care,  for  then  neither  gains  nor 
losses  are  ours,  and  we  may  lay  aside  all  solicitudes  about 
harvest  seasons,  and  spring  and  autumn  trade,  and  the 
risks  of  the  sea.  Is  it  a  stripping  off  of  earthly  authority 
and  dignity,  an  abdication  of  the  throne  ?  Well,  this  is 
the  cup.  We  can  drink  or  we  can  refrain.  But  this  is 
the  price  of  nearness  to  Christ  here  and  hereafter. 

Again  it  is  written  of  Christ  that  he  pleased  not  him- 
self. A  brief  and  simple  phrase,  but  let  one  attempt  to 
appropriate  and  realize  it  as  descriptive  of  his  own  style 
of  living,  what  a  breadth  of  sweep,  what  a  w^orld  of 


CHRIST'S   CUP.  135 

significance,  he  will  find  in  it !  A  young  lady  who  had 
just  joined  herself  to  the  fellowship  of  Christian  people, 
and  whose  natural  tastes  and  previous  culture  lay  in  the 
direction  of  social  gayeties  and  musical  entertainments,  par- 
ticularly of  the  dramatic  order,  was  in  conference  with 
her  pastor  as  to  the  restraints  to  be  placed  upon  these 
tastes  in  future.  "You  have  no  one  now  to  please  but 
Christ,"  he  said  to  her.  "But  am  I  never  more,  then,  to 
gratify  my  love  of  music  and  of  society?"  she  asked. 
"  Never  more  in  ways  that  Avould  displease  him,  however 
exquisite  the  gratification  might  be  to  you,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Am  I  to  have,  then,  no  pleasures  in  life  such  as  others  of 
my  age  enjoy  ?  Is  that  which  has  been  the  light  of  life  to 
me  to  become  darkness  ?  "  "  Can  you  not  find  your  i^leas- 
ure,  then,  in  fulfilling  the  pleasure  of  Christ?  Would  you 
grieve  him  to  gTatify  yourself?  Would  you  not  rather 
miss  from  henceforth  the  taste  of  every  earthly  joy  to 
please  him  instead  ?  "  "  But  this  makes  life  so  dull  and 
sombre,"  came,  after  a  little,  her  sad  and  troubled  answer. 
And  then,  after  another  little  pause,  her  frank  and  ingenu- 
ous testimony  lighting  up  her  face  with  a  look  of  joy  such 
as  mirth  never  wore,  "But  I  would  rather  please  him." 
Ah,  my  child,  whoever  you  are,  ready,  like  our  first 
mother,  to  shed  "  a  few  natural  tears  "  upon  leaving  your 
earthly  paradise,  take  the  cup  ;  the  first  taste  seems  bitter, 
but  a  strange  sweetness  lingers  on  the  palate.  More 
grateful  every  day  becomes  the  draught.  The  thought, 
"Christ's  lips  were  on  the  brim  before  it  came  to  mine," 
stirs  into  it  an  elixir  of  life  no  clusters  of  the  vine  ever 
yielded.     His  eyes  have  looked  into  it  before  yours.     His 


136  Christ's  cup. 

face  was  just  now  imaged  there.     Drink  next  to  him,  and 
so  come  near  to  him,  and  be  one  with  him. 

And  what  a  sentence  is  that  written  of  him  again,  "  He 
carried  our  sorrows  "  !  His  own  hand  offers  us  again  the 
same  cup,  saying,  "Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,  and  so 
fulfil  the  law  of  Christ."  We  walk  in  the  midst  of  earthly 
wretchedness  and  distress.  We  are  not  to  go  through 
briskly  and  carelessly,  gathering  our  skirts  unto  our- 
selves, lest  they  should  sweep  within  the  grasp  of  some 
forlorn  one  and  detain  us.  Here  is  one  in  affliction.  You 
cannot  restore  his  loss,  but  you  can  stop  and  weep  with 
him.  Here  is  one  in  want.  Have  you  nothing  to  divide 
with  him?  I  do  not  speak  of  your  last  crust.  It  is  that 
which  is  usually  handed  out.  Can  you  not  share  a  fresh 
loaf?  Here  is  one  struggling  beneath  a  weight  of  care,  a 
pale  watcher,  who  has  not  breathed  a  breath  of  pure,  fresh 
air  for  many  a  day,  a  toiling  widow  with  fatherless  chil- 
dren, a  deserted  wife,  or  one  worse  than  deserted,  allied 
to  brutality  and  shame.  Stop  and  stoop  and  step  under 
these  burdens  for  a  little,  if  you  may,  and  let  the  released 
one  take  a  run  into  freedom  and  open  day,  doubly 
cheered  by  the  sunshine  in  the  sky  and  on  your  kind  face. 
Here  is  another  struggling  with  temptation.  Ah,  the 
deep  waters  are  about  him ;  the  waves  will  go  over  his 
head.  Drop  all,  plunge  in,  drag  him  to  the  solid  shore. 
All  this  will  keep  your  hands  full,  —  yes,  and  your  heart 
full,  and  make  your  quiet  home  and  your  pillow  so  grate- 
ful. But  you  will  never  suffer  from  ennui.  Time  will 
never  hang  heavy  on  your  hands.  You  will  be  furnished 
with  abundant  occupation.     The  last  thought  of  the  day 


CHRIST'S   CUP.  137 

coming  to  your  soul,  like  the  blessed  balm  of  sleep  to 
your  eyelids,  will  be  this,  "I  have  wrought  all  day  for 
others,  dear  Master ;  I  have  tried  like  thee  not  to  seek  my 
own."  There's  an  opiate  in  that  cup  for  weary  nerves ; 
you  will  sleep  well. 

Again,  the  cup  of  Christ  includes  misappreciation  and 
ingratitude,  as  the  return  for  good  done  and  favors  be- 
stowed. Do  you  like  that  ?  We  must  not  count  largely 
upon  human  thankfulness  when  we  put  ourselves  greatly 
out  for  another's  advantage.  There  are  not  many  that 
love  the  yoke  of  obligation.  We  keep  our  friendships 
best  with  those  who  owe  us  nothing.  A  quarrel  is  a 
cheap  svay  to  cancel  all  claims.  We  must  be  prepared  to 
have  our  motives  suspected,  our  acts  misconstrued,  our 
good  evil  spoken  of,  to  receive  a  wreath  of  thorns  for 
coronation,  to  be  counted  meddlesome,  impertinent,  ob- 
trusive, and  fanatical.  The  very  faithfulness  that  springs 
from  deepest  love  of  the  heart  shall  be  reckoned  unchar- 
itableness,  and  the  hand  we  freight  deepest  with  bounty 
shall  be  the  first  to  smite.  Not  a  pleasant  cup  this  ;  the 
mixture  is  acrid  and  stinging  as  the  waters  that  lie  above 
the  "cities  of  the  Plain."  But  Jesus  drank  this  cup. 
Around  him  one  day  a  hundred  threatening  hands  were 
armed  with  missives  of  death.  "  Many  good  works,"  said 
he,  with  touching  point,  "have  I  showed  you  from  my 
Father;  for  which  of  these  works  do  ye  stone  me?" 
Would  you  stand  with  him  there?  Consent,  then,  not  in 
a  spirit  of  romance,  not  with  a  morbid,  diseased  fretful- 
ness  and  suspiciousness,  but  with  cheerful  patience,  that 
those  whom  you  chiefly  strive  to  bless  shall  wound  you 
12* 


138  Christ's  cup. 

deepest.  Christ  gave  uucalculating  love.  He  bought 
every  soul  that  denies  him.  The  young  man  who  went 
sorrowful  and  disobedient  from  his  presence  he  loved, 
and  left  it  on  record  that  he  loved  him.  He  called  the  trai- 
tor Judas  "friend,"  and  the  kiss  of  betrayal  met  a  loving 
lip.  He  loved  past  all  the  wounding  which  secret  or  open 
hostility  could  inflict.  It  was  a  patient  love.  Those  dis- 
ciples were  such  dull  scholars  they  needed  "line  upon 
line."  "Line  upon  line "  they  had  ;  but  every  lesson  left 
them  questioning  among  themselves,  and  brought  out  from 
them  the  stupidest  comments.  "Beware  of  the  leaven  of 
the  Pharisees,"  he  cautions  them.  "Ah,"  they  say  to 
one  another,  "  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisees  ;  it  is  because 
we  have  forgotten  to  take  bread."  But  he  led  them  on 
and  up  to  his  meaning  with  such  unwearied  patience,  he 
took  them  apart  and  dissected  for  them  his  own  words 
and  reduced  his  wisdom  to  such  simple  elements,  that 
these  grown-up  babes  in  spiritual  knowledge  at  length 
could  say,  "  Lo,  now  thou  speakest  plainly,  and  speak- 
est  no  proverb."  My  brother,  my  sister,  is  your  lov- 
ing patience  stoutly  taxed?  Take  the  strain  with  silent, 
placid  lips.  What  a  hubbub  of  childish  mirthfulness  or 
childish  petulance  there  is  sometimes  in  the  home  !  How 
many  distracting  questions  and  instant  and  urgent  calls 
are  crowded  into  that  chorus  !  It  all  pours  in,  perhaps, 
upon  one  sustaining  heart  that  needs  to  be  strong.  One 
has  a  complaint  to  lodge,  one  has  a  hunger  to  be  ap- 
peased, one  has  a  thirst  to  be  quenched,  one  has  a  hurt 
to  heal,  one  has  a  pain  to  soothe,  one  has  a  jDerplexity  to 
solve,  one  has  lost  something  which  must  be  hunted  up, 


CHRIST'S    CUP.  139 

one  has  parted  something  which  must  be  bound  together, 
and  one,  the  most  importunate  of  all,  does  not  know  what 
he  wants.     All  want  a  portion,  occupation,  something  to 
interest,  something  to  absorb.     Yesterday's  device  is  stale 
for  to-day.     The  first  suggestion  is  a  failure,  the  second 
carries  only  a  minority,  the  third  leaves  still  a  minority. 
The  east  wind  is  sharp  without,  or  the  rain  is  falling,  and 
the  sky  is  lowering.     And  this  task,  varied  beyond  all 
possible  fertility  of  supposition,  was  the  task  of  yesterday 
as  well,  and  must  be  taken  up  again  to-morrow.     Oh, 
parent,  guardian,  teacher,  are  you  able  to  drink  this  cup? 
Sometimes  the  weary  nerves  and  aching  head  and  heart 
will  plead,  "Let  this  cup  pass  from  me!"     Do  you  end 
your  prayer  there  ?     There  was  a  "  nevertheless  "  in  the 
form  you  are  following.     Try  again.     Remember  it  is  the 
cup  of  Jesus.     It  will  seat  you  at  his  right  hand;    it  will 
make  you  one  with  him.     He  drank  of  it,  and  commends 
it  to  you.     He  does  not  taste  cordials,  and  bid  3^0 u  season 
your  drink  with  ashes.     His  cup,  his  own,  he  passes  on. 
Eaise   it   to   your  white,  shrinking   lips ;    take    up  that 
"nevertheless,"  —  "Nevertheless,  not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou 
wilt."     You  look  upon  breaking  fortunes,  you  look  upon 
alienated  friendships,   you   look   upon  withering   hopes, 
you  look  upon  failing  strength,  upon  the  dark  shadow  of 
adversity.     Are  you  able  to  raise   the    cup   perpetually 
"nevertheless,  not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt"?     A  be- 
loved one  droops  ;    languidly  the  gentle  eyes  seek  yours  ; 
whiter  grows  the  thin   cheek;    a   babe   moans   in   your 
arms,  and  then  is  still.     A  stalwart  boy  goes  up  into  his 
chamber  and  lies  down,  and  comes  not  forth  ao^ain.     The 


140  cheist's  cup. 

desolation  of  widowhood  darkens  toward  your  door. 
Would  you  sit  with  Christ  in  his  kingdom?  Will  you 
have,  then,  this  baptism?  Go  down  with  him  into  swift- 
flowing  Jordan,  the  chill  of  Hermon's  snows  in  its  wa- 
ters yet.  Take  his  cup,  say  your  grace  over  it,  "  Never- 
theless, not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt, "  and  drain  it  off,  and 
you  will  find  your  Master  at  your  side.  His  kingdom  has 
come  unto  you.  He  is  on  your  right  hand  and  on  your 
left;  you  will  never  more  be  alone.  That  last  baptism 
of  his  was  under  the  cold  flood  of  death.  There  is  some- 
thinsf  written  above  the  Sufferer's  crowned  head  on  the 
cross  beside  that  which  is  written  in  Greek  and  Latin 
and  Hebrew.  Its  letters  gleam  down  the  ages,  and  one 
can  read  them  here  and  now,  — "  Self-sacrifice,  the  law  of 
Christ"  —  "the  law  of  Christian  living."  The  thorns  are 
sharp,  the  nails  rend  cruelly,  flesh  pleads  off,  self-protec- 
tion protests  ;  but  the  hand  of  Jesus  beckons.  The  last 
taste  with  Christ  is  of  the  vinegar  mixed  with  gall.  Oh, 
are  we  able  ?  Have  we  been  crucified  with  him  unto  this 
vain  world?  Do  we  know  always  what  we  ask  in  our 
prayers  ?  Is  it  sanctification  ?  Is  it  likeness  to  Christ  ? 
Is  it  unworldliness ?  Is  it  poverty  of  spirit?  Oh,  but  if 
God  answer  any  of  these  requests,  it  will  be  by  a  baptism 
as  of  fire  ;  it  will  be  by  a  medicined  cup  with  gall  in  it. 
Do  we  still  pray  it?  Yes,  let  us  venture,  for  he  can  sus- 
tain while  he  disciplines.  Behold  the  law  of  Christian 
advancement !  the  way  of  Christian  honor  the  path  to 
crowns  and  thrones.  It  is  a  way  descending  into  the  val- 
ley of  humiliation.  It  stoops  to  service.  Our  Saviour 
announced  it  plainly,  "Ye  know  that  the  princes  of  the 


Christ's  cup.  141 

Gentiles  exercise  dominion  over  them,  and  they  that  are 
great  exercise  authority  upon  them ;  but  it  shall  not  be 
so  among  you,  but  whosoever  will  be  great  among  you 
let  him  be  your  minister.  And  whosoever  will  be  chief 
among  you  let  him  be  your  servant.  Even  as  the  Son  of 
man  came  not  to  be  ministered  unto,  but  to  minister,  and 
to  give  his  life  a  ransom  for  many."  If  the  path  climb,  it 
climbs  as  the  path  of  Jesus  did  on  the  day  of  crucifixion 
up  the  slope  of  Calvary.  Let  it  be  our  constant  prayer, 
"  Master,  take  us  into  thy  fellowship  and  strengthen  our 
weakness  for  thy  sorrowful  but  blessed  baptism." 


IX. 

WAITING. 

IT  IS  GOOD  THAT  A  MAN    BOTH    HOPE    AND    aUIETLY    WAIT   TOR    THE   SALVA- 
TION OP  THE  LORD.  —  Sam.  iii.  26. 

THERE  are  countries  where  the  climate  of  the  year 
is  divided  into  "the  rainy  season"  and  "the  dry." 
But  the  former  is  not  one  uninterrupted  period  of  "  falling 
weather."  Here  and  there,  during  its  continuance,  there 
are  sweet,  bright,  calm  days,  with  not  a  cloud  on  all  the 
face  of  the  heaven.  The  voice  which  I  have  taken  this- 
morning  out  of  the  old  prophetic  utterances  I  found  in 
the  midst  of  the  Lamentations  of  the  weeping  prophet. 
But  it  is  a  cheerful  voice.  There  is  no  sob  of  weeping  in 
it.  It  was  a  bright  hour  amid  that  rain  of  tears  when  this 
word  was  written.  And  the  sunshine  lingers  in  it  yet. 
We  hear  in  it  an  echo  of  that  earlier  note  struck  by  the 
harp  of  David.  "  Wait  on  the  Lord,  be  of  good  courage, 
and  he  shall  strengthen  thine  heart.  Wait,  I  say,  on  the 
Lord." 

But  this  word  "  wait "  is  a  cold  word  for  most  human 
hearino-.  Even  Faith  often  finds  it  hard  to  receive  it, 
and  passionate  earthly  desire  meets  it  as  the  challenge  of 
an  enemy.     It  is  a  good  word  for  all  times  and  all  hearts. 


WAITING.  143 

It  is  especially  good  for  us  here  and  now.  As  a  people 
we  do  not  find  it  easy  to  wait.  A  chronic  fever  of  impa- 
tience is  in  our  land,  the  universal  epidemic.  It  comes 
partly  of  our  stimulating  climate,  partly  of  our  circum- 
stances as  pioneers  of  civilization  on  a  new  continent, 
partly  of  the  rapidity  with  which  we  have  seen  great  for- 
tunes built  up  and  golden  dreams  realized,  partly  of  the 
straining  competition  on  every  racecourse  for  every  goal, 
and  partly  of  the  natural  ardor  of  the  soul  eager  to  touch 
its  prize,  and  enjoy  its  good  without  delay.  Speak  to  us 
any  other  word  than  this.  Bid  us  "  run,"  and  we  gird  up 
our  loins  at  once.  Bid  us  "  act,"  and  the  day  shall  not  be 
long  enough  for  our  diligence,  the  season  too  short  for 
our  harvest.  Bid  us  "dare,"  and  no  terror  shall  make  us 
blench.  But  "wait," — that  denies  all  our  longings,  post- 
pones our  hopes,  removes  the  feast  to  which  our  hunger 
hastened,  dries  up  the  spring  to  which  our  thirst  was 
stooping.  The  salient,  the  energetic  qualities  of  char- 
acter are  easily  cultivated ;  the  retiring,  the  passive  come 
hard.  Even  with  those  who  believe  in  God,  his  govern- 
ment, his  promises,  his  faithfulness,  his  fatherliness,  the 
virtue  of  patient  waiting  is  of  difficult  acquirement. 
God  is  sovereign,  wise,  good,  and  true.  He  will  perform 
where  he  has  promised;  but  he  is  slow,  and  we  chafe 
against  the  deliberate  process  of  his  providence.  This 
fever  of  impatience  burns  in  all  the  hearts  of  our  Ameri- 
can youth.  They  fret  at  all  apprenticeship,  whether  to 
letters,  mechanic  art,  or  trade.  They  are  in  haste  to 
graduate  from  all  the  preparatory  stages,  and  to  be 
launched  at  once  upon  the  real,  earnest  life.     They  hurry 


144  WAITING. 

through  the  ante-chamber  to  take  their  place  within,  with 
the  jostling  crowd  struggling  for  the  upper  seats.  When 
fully  embarked  on  the  voyage,  they  are  impatient  to  see 
across  the  breadth  of  waters  the  harbor  entrance.  Blow, 
breezes,  blow,  and  waft  them  over  the  ocean  ridges  to  the 
destined  port !  How  slow  the  log  runs  out !  Give  them 
a  gale  rather  than  a  calm.  Drive  the  steam  hard,  quicken 
the  paddle-strokes  to  one  continuous  rush  and  roar ;  their 
eager  feet  would  leap  down  upon  the  shores  of  their 
promised  land.  Our  fathers  were  content  to  go  slow,  to 
gain  by  small  and  sure  increments,  to  "retire"  when  age 
had  silvered  their  heads,  and  their  natural  force  was 
abated,  glad  and  content  to  touch  when  almost  at  life's 
far  boundary  a  competency.  Not  so  with  their  children. 
We  want  to  make  one  leap  from  the  bottom  to  the  top, 
forgetting  that  these  large,  adventurous  leaps  may  also  as 
easily  reverse  the  process  and  carry  a  man  from  the  top 
to  the  bottom.  We  want  to  be  rich  in  a  season,  to  ripen 
and  reap  our  golden  harvest,  as  Nature  does  hers,  in  a  sin- 
gle summer.  We  want  something  left  of  our  youth,  and 
all  our  manhood  at  least,  for  enjoyment.  We  want  to  lay 
hold  of  our  purses,  not  with  the  trembling  hand  of  age, 
but  with  the  firm  grasp  of  a  strength  not  yet  on  the  even- 
ino-  side  of  noon.  Give  us  the  morning  for  toil,  if  it 
must  be  so,  but  give  us  a  long,  bright  afternoon,  with  no 
unfinished  task.  Let  us  earn  with  sharp  diligence  and 
large  profits  while  the  hours  are  fresh  and  dewy,  climbing 
with  braced  limbs  while  the  sun  climbs.  Then  from  the 
splendid  meridian,  in  a  chariot  like  his  own,  gliding  eas- 
ily down  the  long  cloudless  decline  toward  the  pensive 


WAITING.  145 

shadow  of  the  distant  twilight.  And  this  is  not  merely 
the  fever  of  youth,  the  ardor  of  young  men,  the  impetu- 
osity of  business  adventure.  It  is  found  in  every  walk  of 
life.  It  is  the  restless  haven  of  every  heart's  desire.  It 
waits  upon  every  human  scheme.  It  is  in  the  strife  of 
opinions,  in  the  clashing  systems  of  moral  reform,  in  the 
growth  of  spiritual  character  and  religious  institutions. 
The  progress  of  mechanical  improvements  seems  to  have 
infected  every  enterprise  and  hope  of  the  heart  of  man. 
We  travel  in  a  day  as  far  as  our  fathers  did  in  a  fortnight. 
It  seems  but  fair,  then,  that  there  should  be  the  same  ratio 
in  making  our  fortunes  and  winning  our  purposes.  What 
took  fourteen  years  then  should  take  but  one  now.  Nay, 
this  is  rather  too  deliberate.  If  there  were  any  way  of 
travelling  by  telegraph,  we  should  most  of  us  take  the 
"  lightning  train."  It  chafes  us  that  thought  and  spirit 
can  fly  so  swiftly,  and  our  gross  bodies  must  lag  so  far 
behind.  We  shall  never  be  satisfied  till  Ave  harness  elec- 
tricity to  our  travelling-car,  and  take  the  risk  of  breath- 
ing on  the  trip.  These  advances  of  practical  science  in 
locomotion,  the  transmission  of  intelligence,  and  in  almost 
every  department  of  human  progress,  have  made  all  old 
methods  of  living  seem  intolerably  slow.  Our  veins  are 
inoculated  with  mercury.  Our  whole  system  of  life  and 
labor  is  impregnated  with  a  restlessness  that  can  never 
fold  its  arms  and  be  still.  Of  course  it  would  be  an  utter- 
ly vain,  as  an  unwise  and  uncalled-for,  attempt  to  seek  to 
arrest  this  ever  accelerated  tide  of  human  progress.  But 
the  spirit  which  it  engenders  in  the  human  heart,  and  its 
relations  to  morals  and  character,  present  matters  of 
13 


146  WAITING. 

gravest  coDsideration.  This  impatience  betrays  many  a 
soul  into  crime.  It  is  greedy  of  its  ends.  It  seeks  to 
reach  them  by  swift,  sudden  courses.  It  would  take  the 
shortest  cuts.  Those  which  seem  the  shortest  are  often 
crossed  by  certain  opposing  barriers.  There  are  laws  of 
honor  and  rectitude,  there  are  laws  of  the  land,  there  are 
laws  of  God,  that  lift  themselves  against  the  impetuous 
desire.  There  is  a  terrible  temptation  to  find  a  way  over 
instead  of  taking  the  longer  and  slower  way  round. 

Surmount  these  hindrances,  and  the  goal  is  so  near. 
Turn  out  for  them,  and  the  circuit  is  so  weary  and  slow. 
Here  is  a  premium  upon  transgression.  A  formidable 
rival  may  be  removed  or  circumvented  by  a  scheme  that 
involves  the  sacrifice  of  magnanimity,  the  dishonor  of 
some  mean  and  dirty  intrigue.  Oh,  would  he  were  out 
of  the  way  !  How  clear  the  track  would  be  !  Take  care. 
If  you  consent,  there  goes  the  best  of  your  nobility  and 
your  manhood.  You  will  have  come  out  ahead  of  your 
rival  and  —  your  honor.  A  false  oath,  —  not  so  bad  as 
that,  —  a  piece  of  misrepresentation,  a  little  stretching  of 
what  some  men  find  to  be  the  elasticity  of  the  truth,  and 
a  grand  success  is  possible.  A  triumph  with  stained 
hands,  soiled  garments,  and  the  prostrate  form  of  truth 
trodden  under  feet.  Avaricious  impatience  does  not 
mind  the  stains.  They  can  be  gilded  over,  covered  up 
by  ^nd  by  with  gold  leaf.  A  little  trenching  on  the  Sab- 
bath will  round  up  a  fruitful  trip.  An  ungenerous  advan- 
tage taken  of  superior  intelligence  and  superior  opportu- 
nity over  a  weaker  brother,  a  forgetfulness  in  trade  of  the 
law  we  respect  in  moral  codes,  —  loving  our  neighbor  as 


WAITING.  147 

ourselves, — will  materially  swell  the  aggregates  of  our 
profits,  give  us  perhaps  for  a  season  or  for  3^ears  the  con- 
trol  of   the   market.     How   can   we   postpone   such   an 
advance  for  our  scruple's  sake  ?     Labor  itself  is  a  burden  ; 
the   rewards  of  honest  industry  are  often   small;  these 
steady,  trifling  gains  will  take  years  to  foot  up  anything 
respectable,  that  will  allow  us  to  lay  down  our  tasks  and 
indulge  our  tastes.     There  is  money  enough  with  rich 
houses,  in  well-filled  purses,  in  the  vaults  of  banks.     An- 
other's name  well  simulated ;  a  demand,  with  face  and 
voice    disguised,  upon   a   belated  traveller;    a  midnight 
operation  upon  the  silver  closet  of  a  millionnaire,  or  the 
interior  securities  of,  or  the  trustful  day  defenders  of,  the 
bank ;  or  a  midday  operation,  striking  fraudulent  contracts, 
or  giving  fictitious  value  to  valueless  stocks,  and  sudden 
riches   and  gratifications  would  reward  this  single,  bold 
stroke.     It  is  because  desire  cannot  wait,  because  appetite 
is  clamorous  for  instant  indulgence,  because  the   eager 
hands  would  clutch  at  once  the  coveted  good,  that  crime, 
stepping  in  with  its  confident  but  delusive  promise,  flings 
its  fetters  over  the  soul.     Again,  this  impatience  of  our 
hearts  impugns  the  fiiithfuluess  of  the   divine  Promiser. 
In  respect  to  all  earthly  good,  the  sacred  pledge  of  God  is 
written  in  the  ancient  covenant,  in  the  world's  renewal  of 
its  youth,  that  "seed-time  and  harvest,  cold  and  heat, 
summer  and  winter  .      .      .    shall  not  cease."     The  spirit 
of  this  promise  repeats  itself  in  many  a  gracious  assur- 
ance concerning  the  great  Father's  care  for  the  comforts 
and  needs  of  the  body,  and  our  portion  of  natural  good. 
But  in  some  season  of  special  trial  the  early  and  the  latter 


148  WAITING. 

rain  fail  us,  the  heavens  are  brass  overhead,  the  earth 
powder  beneath,  the  green  blade  pales  to  a  sickly  yellow. 
How  shall  we  be  fed  ?  How  will  the  garners  of  autumn 
be  filled  ?  The  very  necessaries  of  life  seem  to  recede 
beyond  our  reach ;  prices  mount  on  an  ascending  scale, 
speedily  distancing  slow  climbing  labor  and  its  rewards. 
The  implements  with  which  we  wrought  are  taken  from 
us,  and  our  hands  left  empty.  The  field  of  toil,  for  which 
alone  we  have  training  and  skill,  is  thronged  to  repletion, 
and  we  are  left  out.  It  is  deserted  of  all  men,  and  we  are 
left  in  it  idle  and  alone,  no  man  hiring  us.  Each  turn  we 
make  reduces  our  strength  and  disappoints  our  hope. 
Inevitable  want  corners  us,  and  no  door  of  deliverance 
opens.  For  us  all  the  divine  promises  seem  repealed  and 
forgotten.  Is  it  not  time  for  some  daring,  desperate,  ex- 
pedient ?  It  is  very  well  to  hope  if  a  man  can  see  any 
light  ahead,  and  "  quietly  wait "  for  salvation,  if  there  is 
any  coming.  It  may  be  written  ever  so  fairly,  "  Trust  in 
the  Lord  and  do  good ;  so  shalt  thou  dwell  in  the  land, 
and  verily  thou  shalt  be  fed."  But  a  promise  wont  spread 
a  table,  or  light  a  fire,  or  weave  a  piece  of  cotton,  or 
make  up  a  garment,  or  pay  a  note,  or  satisfy  the  grocer 
on  the  corner.  We  must  look  out  for  ourselves  lawfully 
or  lawlessly.  Necessity  knows  no  law.  Then  is  God  for- 
getful or  faithless?  Nay.  All  the  while  he  is  workiug 
unseen  and  silently.  Behind  the  curtain  his  hand  is  busy. 
From  afar  converging  lines  are  bringing  up  relief.  Sepa- 
rate forces  will  unite  at  the  point  intended.  That  point 
will  be  perhaps  man's  utmost  extremity.  But  at  that  point 
hopeless   destitution   and   the  divine  fulness   will  meet. 


WAITING.  149 

You  remember  how,  in  last  autumn's  campaign,  upon  All- 
toona's  thinly-defended  works,  in  Sherman's  line  of  com- 
munication,  moved  a  whole  division  of  the  rebel  host. 
One  of  Sherman's  resolute  leaders,  by  hard  marching, 
flung  himself  behind  those  works.     The  greatly  outnum- 
bering  assailants   demanded   a   surrender   to    spare    the 
effusion  of  blood.      The  Union  commander  was  willino- 
to  meet  the  effusion  of  blood,  and  the  storm  broke  upon 
him   with   devouring  fury.     Seven  hours   it  raged  and 
seven  times  his  own  numbers  pushed  the  fierce  assault. 
Single-handed  he  fought  it  out.     Where  were  the  tens  of 
thousands  of  his  comrades  ?     Was  he  left  to  his  fate  ?     So 
it  seemed.     Why,  then,  maintain  against  such  odds  the 
unequal  strife  ?     Why  not  yield  while  there  was  anything 
left  to  save?     Ah,  he  was  there  to  fulfil  a  sacred  trust. 
And  nobly  did  he  discharge  it,  till  unexpected  victory 
came  at  last,  and  the  baffled  enemy  retired.     Was  he  left 
to  his  fate?     Sherman's  eye,  from  the  top  of  Look-out 
Mountain,  was  on  evfery  white  puff  that  surged  up  from 
those  well-served  batteries.     The  strong  columns  of  the 
army,  under  laurelled  generals,  were  moving  on  through 
all  those  hours  and  closing  in,  and  well-nigh  encompass- 
ing the  rebel  bands.     The  whole  loyal  host  was  engaged 
in  bringing  succor  to  that  brave  company  in  the  belea- 
guered town,  though  they  knew  it  not.     So  watches  and 
works  the  all-beholding,  faithful  God,  preparing  the  fulfil- 
ment of  his  pledges  when  our  hearts  are  ready  to  fiiint. 
Let  us  be  rebuked.     Wait,  in  whatever  extremity,  and  we 
shall  see  that  "  God  is  not  slack  concerning  his  promises 
as  some  men  count  slackness."     Again  our  impatience 
13* 


150  WAITING. 

outruns  the  divine  Providence.  God  covenants  with  be- 
lieving Abraham  that  in  his  seed  shall  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth  be  blessed.  But  Abraham  is  an  hundred 
years  old,  Sarah  is  ninety,  the  promised  heir  is  not, 
and  Eliezer  of  Damascus  stands  gaping  and  ready  for 
the  inheritance.  It  is  vain  waiting  longer;  Abraham 
must  help  Providence.  So  he  allied  himself  with  the 
Egyptian  bondwoman,  bringing  sore  trouble  and  sharp 
discord  into  his  house,  and  embittering  his  age  with 
domestic  feuds.  And  at  last  how  simple  and  easy  to 
almighty  power  the  redemption  of  his  pledge  !  how  all- 
sufficient  the  sovereign  providence  !  It  was  revealed  to 
Rebecca,  even  before  she  looked  upon  the  faces  of  her 
twin  boys,  that  the  elder  should  serve  the  younger.  But 
dim-eyed,  gray-haired  Isaac  is  on  his  death-bed,  and  still 
Esau  holds  the  birthright.  Wait,  oh,  impatient  mother, 
God's  word  will  not  fail.  But  she  cannot  wait.  She 
must  help  God  by  a  lie  and  a  crime,  and  so  she  puts  up 
Jacob  to  that  act  of  cruel  deception,  that  almost  broke 
that  aged  heart,  exiled  Jacob  for  many  long  years  from 
his  home,  sowed  bitter  hatred  between  the  brothers,  and 
brought  upon  the  younger  a  keen  reprisal  when  his  own 
head  was  bowed  with  the  snows  of  life's  winter.  This 
is  the  great  temptation  with  an  impatient  spirit  to  outrun 
Providence,  to  set  up  its  own  devices  in  the  place  of 
Providence,  and  so  defeat  the  nearest  methods  of  God's 
chosen  plans. 

Again  this  spirit  of  impatience  misses  in  its  haste  the 
hio-her  good.  Samuel,  the  prophet,  anointed  Saul  king 
over  Israel,  and  sent  him  before  him  to  Gilgal,  bidding  him 


WAITING.  151 

wait  seven  days  till  he  himself  should  come  and  offer  up 
the  sacrifices.     Seven  days  Saul  waited,  but  the  Philistines 
were  mustering  strong  at  Micmash,  the  men  of  Israel  were 
falling   away  from   the   king,  battle  was   imminent,  and 
the  sacrifice  yet  postponed.     The  seventh  day  is  nearly 
spent ;  the  host  of  the  uucircumcised  approaches.    Samuel 
will  not  come,  and  the  rash,  impatient  king  himself  offers 
the  sacrifice.     He  has  gained  this  preparation  for  the  bat- 
tle, and  stayed  perhaps  the  desertion  of  his  people.     But 
what  has  he  lost  ?     Scarce  has  he  ended  the  rites  before 
the  prophet  comes,  and  announces  that,  for  that  act  of 
public   disobedience,    God   had   rejected   Saul   from   the 
kingdom.    Obedience  is  better  than  all  which  disobedient 
haste  can  hope  to  secure.    Strength  of  character  is  better, 
patience  is  better,  calm  submission  is  better,  heroic  en- 
deavor is  better,  the  steadfast  passive  virtues,  born  of 
trial  and  made  tough  and  abiding  under  the  strain  of 
some  wearing  delay.     How  often  in  trouble  we  are  blind 
to  this  truth  !     Oh,  give  us  relief!     Take  off  the  burden  ! 
Relax  the  tension  upon  nerve  and  spirit !     Give  us  an 
antidote  for  the  pain  !     Come,  Lord,  ere  our  brother  die  ! 
Ah,  sisters  of  Lazarus,  let  the  Saviour  linger.     Two  days 
he  abode  still  in  the  same  place  where  he  was.     It  seemed 
indifference,  cruelty,  anything  but  love.     But  the  mar- 
vellous experience  of  the  next  four  days,  those  precious, 
precious  tears  of  Jesus,  the  grand  and  gracious  miracle 
that  stirred  all  Jerusalem  from  centre  to  circumference, 
were  well  worth  waiting  for.     Bear  his  absence  a  little 
longer.     Oh,  tired  and  troubled  spirit,  the  larger  shall  be 
your  deliverance,  the  sweeter  your  joy. 


152  WAITING. 

Over  the  delays  of  our  personal  sanctification  we  are 
sometimes  weary  of  waiting,  impatient  of  our  slow  prog- 
ress. It  seems  to  us  fitting  that  we  should  be.  So 
many  weak  sides,  so  many  vulnerable  points,  so  many 
redoubtable  and  unhumbled  foes,  such  frequent  falls,  such 
shameful  defeats.  Oh,  shall  we  ever  grow  strong  and 
have  the  mastery  of  our  spiritual  enemies?  Yes,  by  suc- 
cessive conflicts  ;  wait  till  the  appointed  hour  brings  them 
on ;  by  oft-repeated  trials  they  will  rise  upon  us  one  after 
another,  by  God's  wise  methods  and  seasons  of  spiritual 
nurture.  Let  him  introduce  them,  each  in  his  time,  and 
we  shall  wear  at  last  the  victor's  crown,  and  sing  his 
song. 

We  are  impatient  often  in  our  own  sphere  of  Christian 
labor,  that  the  gospel  seems  so  powerless.  There  are  so 
many  yet  resisting  souls  that  we  long  to  see  brought  in  as 
the  trophies  of  its  conquering  efficacy.  Look  how  they 
stand  up  in  the  midst  of  us,  — men,  more  than  we  count, 
on  whom  the  truth  has  broken  many  a  lance  without  ever 
piercing  their  shield.  Oh,  for  more  frequent  appeals  for 
a  sharper  weaponry  out  of  the  sacred  arsenal,  for  more 
puissant  hands  to  wield  it,  for  new  modes  of  attack  and 
new  secrets  of  overcoming.  "Wait,"  said  Jesus,  to  the 
assembled  disciples,  ready  to  storm  Jerusalem  and  sweep 
over  Lidia,  "tarry  in  the  city,  wait  for  the  promise  of 
the  Father  which  .  .  .  ye  have  heard  of  me."  And  they 
waited,  and  with  a  sound  "as  of  a  rushing  mighty  wind," 
though  all  the  air  was  still,  and  no  leaf  stirred  on  Olivet, 
came  the  descending  spirit,  and  then  each  flame-crowned 
apostle  went  forth  clothed  with  might  and  with  salvation. 


WAITING.  153 

Let  us  wait  as  they  waited, — wait  in  faith,  wait  in  prayer, 
wait  in  submission,  wait  in  confident  expectation,  hope- 
fully, quietly,  with  zeal  and  labor  like  Paul's,  with  cour- 
age like  Daniel,  and  we  shall  see  in  every  field  of  hoping 
and  of  toiling  the  salvation  of  the  Lord. 

Difficult  but  precious  lesson, — the  lesson  of  patient 
waiting,  of  cheerful  content  under  divine  delays,  of  joyful 
assurance,  though  the  desire  of  our  heart  and  the  God  of 
our  promises  do  linger  long. 


X. 

INCOMPLETENESS  OF  LIFE. 

AND  THE  LORD  SAID  UNTO  HIM,  THIS  IS  THE  LAND  WHICH  I  SWEAR  UNTO 
ABRAHAM,  UNTO  ISAAC,  AND  UNTO  JACOB,  SAYING  I  WILL  GIVE  IT  UNTO 
THY  SEED  :  I  HAVE  CAUSED  THEE  TO  SEE  IT  WITH  THINE  EYES,  BUT  THOU 
SHALT  NOT  GO   OVER  THITHER.  — -  DCUt.  XXXiv.  4. 

AS  we  move  onward  in  the  journey  of  human  life,  there 
are  many  reminders  by  the  way  of  the  coming  end. 
The  sickness  that  lays  us  up  for  a  while  in  the  midst  of 
our  vigorous  days,  the  decline  of  each  setting  sun,  the 
death  of  summer  verdure  and  the  autumnal  fall  of  the 
leaves,  the  lapse  of  the  year,  the  passing  of  each  of  our 
life's  four  seasons,  the  dropping  from  our  side  of  the  com- 
panions of  our  way,  —  each  of  these  is  intended,  and  usu- 
ally serves,  to  turn  our  thoughts  forward  to  the  final 
arrest  of  our  steps,  the  mortal  sickness  one  day  to  seize 
us,  the  going  down  of  our  last  earthly  sun,  the  winter  of 
our  year.  There  is  nothing  unkind  in  sending  us  such 
reminders.  We  need  them.  And  they  are  given  in 
faithfulness  and  mercy. 

And  one  of  the  impressions  most  vividly  produced 
upon  us  at  such  seasons  is  of  the  disappointing  incom- 
pleteness of  our  life  on  earth.     The  fever  comes  in  the 


incojvipleteness  of  life.  155 

midst  of  our  plans  and  toils,  the  closing  day  reproaches 
us  for  many  a  brave  purpose  of  the  morning  unfulfilled, 
and  the  waning  year  cuts  short  the  schemes  which  we  had 
hoped  to  see  rounded  with  full  success.     This  impression 
is  probably  present  on  every  heart  as  we  stand  here  to- 
gether on  this  shore  of  the  last  Sabbath  of  the  year  and 
see  its  months,  like  waves  broken  and  spent,  all  behind 
us.     How  much  that  we  meant  to  have  effected  before  we 
were  called  to  stand  by  the  pillow  of  the  dying  year  is 
still  unachieved  !     What  good  that  we  hoped  to  have  at- 
tained to  is  yet  in  the  future  !     What  dear  desire  eagerly 
followed  is  yet  unpossessed !     And  as  it  is  to-day,  so  it 
will  be  at  the  last.     Each  human  life,  longer  or  shorter, 
wherever  it  pauses,  and  however  it  be  protracted,  will  be 
visited  at  its  close  with  the  sense  of  disappointment  and 
incompleteness.     If  Moses  had  been  told,  Avhen  he  led 
out  the  tribes  from  Egypt,  that  he  should  never  lead 
them  into  the  promised  land ;  that  he  should  march  at 
their  head  forty  years  in  the  wilderness,  but  should  never 
cross  the  Jordan  with  them ;  that  he  should  come  in  sio-ht 
of  their  goodly  inheritance,  but  should  never  set  foot  in  it, 
never  taste  of  the  milk  and  honey,  never  sit  under  the 
shadow  of  its  fruitful  vines,  it  would  have  been  so  sad 
and  depressing  a  sentence  that  faith  and  resignation  could 
hardly  have  struggled  against  it.     There  was  always  be- 
fore his  eye  and  his  hope  the  vision  of  that  great  triumph 
when  he  should  stand  at  the  head  of  a  redeemed  nation 
on  those  sacred  hills  of  promise,  and  be  permitted  to  lift 
up  with  his  own  hand  the  banner  of  the  holy  people 
higher  than  all  the  ensigns  of  earthly  royalty.     But  it  was 


156  INCOMPLETENESS   OF  LIFE. 

never  to  be.  He  was  to  come  near  it,  but  short  of  it. 
It  was  to  be  almost  within  grasp,  but  not  touched.  One 
only  narrow  stream  of  all  that  had  separated  him  from 
this  prize  still  flowed  between ;  across  it  and  far  beyond 
he  could  see  with  his  eyes,  but  he  was  never  to  go  over 
with  his  feet.  There  he  stood  on  the* very  border,  the 
gate  ready  to  open,  the  goal  before  him,  when  God  said 
to  him  tenderly,  but  firmly,  "  Come  up  into  this  mountain 
and  die  ! "  It  was  a  trying  word  to  Moses,  and  for  one 
moment  he  plead  against  it.  "O  Lord  God,  thou  hast 
begun  to  show  thy  servant  thy  greatness  and  thy  mighty 
hand.  I  pray  thee,  let  me  go  over,  and  see  the  good  land 
that  is  beyond  Jordan,  that  goodly  mountain  and  Leba- 
non ! "  And  then  came  the  final  word,  fatherly  but  sov- 
ereign also,  "Let  it  suffice  thee ;  speak  no  more  unto  me 
of  this  matter."  There  followed  indeed  the  glorious  com- 
pensative vision  from  that  salient  summit  of  the  Moab 
range,  but  the  work  and  the  hope  of  a  life  seemed  to  miss 
of  their  crown.  Touching  illustration  of  that  incomplete- 
ness attending  every  human  career  in  this  world,  upon 
which  we  may  briefly  meditate  as  we  are  held  awhile  in 
the  grasp  of  this  old  year  so  near  its  end. 

There  is  more  than  one  sense,  to  be  sure,  in  which 
the  briefest  and  most  fragmentary  life  may  be  considered 
filled  out  to  utmost  completeness.  As  to  God's  provi- 
dential purpose  in  it,  it  is  as  long  and  as  productive  as  it 
was  meant  to  be.  Just  as  it  is,  it  fits  accurately  into  the 
ever-developing  divine  plan ;  no  more  and  no  less  was  ex- 
pected from  it.  It  is  complete  as  a  link  between  the  gen- 
erations of  men  and  the  stages  of  human  progress.     It 


IiSC031PLETENESS    OF   LIFE.  157 

takes  the  living  torch  from  the  hand  of  its  predecessor 
and  passes  it  over  to  the  hand  of  its  successor.  Then  its 
function  is  ended,  and  it  may  cease  to  be. 

It  is  often  complete  in  the  balance  of  its  own  propor- 
tioned seasons.     It  sports  in  the  sunny  hours  of  child- 
hood.    It  drinks  in  the  fervid  inspiration  of  youth.     It 
shares  the  consciousness  of  manhood's  strength.    It  wears 
the  white  and  honorable  crown  of  age.     It  is  a  full  life 
year.     It  has  had  a  spring,  a  summer,  an  autumn,  a  win- 
ter, treading  the  full  round  of  all  the  circling  months. 
There  is  sometimes,  too,  whatever  the  heart  has  longed 
for,  not  yet  attained,  —  there  is  sometimes,  let  us  thank 
God,  a  full-orbed  sense  of  satisfaction  with  our  work  and 
the  length  of  our  working  day.     A  dying  patriot  and 
statesman  could  say  as  he  filtered  in  the  midst  of  the  toil 
which,  gray-haired  and  bowed  with  years,  he  still  main- 
tained, "  This  is  the  last  of  earth ;  I  am  content."     And 
another  gray-haired  laborer  on  whom  the  hand  of  power 
was  laid  with  despotic  violence   could   write   it   as   his 
peaceful  testimony,  "  I  am  now  ready  to  be  offered,  and 
the  time  of  my  departure  is  at  hand.     I  have  fought  a 
good  fight,  I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the 
faith." 

Still  how  much  that  this  same  heroic  veteran  hadho^Ded 
to  secure  of  the  victories  of  the  truth  must  have  rested 
upon  his  mind  as  visions,  upon  whose  fulfilment  he  might 
look  down  from  another  world,  but  was  never  to  see  in 
this! 

This  incompleteness  will  come  into  clearer  recognition 
if  we  consider  how  little  a  human  life  accomplishes    in 
14 


158  INCOMPLETENESS    OF   LIFE. 

comparison  with  the  plans  of  God.  Those  divine  plans 
are  large.  They  reach  from  age  to  age,  from  generation 
to  generation,  "from  everlasting  to  everlasting."  They 
cover  the  beginning,  the  progress,  the  final  periods  of  all 
human  history.  They  take  up,  employ,  and  dismiss  suc- 
cessive workers,  while  yet  some  miner  detail  only  is 
wrought  out,  and  the  vast  integral  scheme  is  scarcely  at 
all  set  forward.  A  single  task  may  fill  and  weary  the 
hands  of  one  laborer  and  another  and  another  before  it  is 
concluded,  and  in  its  completion  seem  only  a  trivial  con- 
tribution to  the  general  progress.  Measured  by  the  co- 
lossal, slow -moving  system  of  God's  providence,  the 
turning  of  this  vast  wheel  that  rolls  on  the  designs  of 
the  ail- wise  Mind,  —  a  wheel  so  high,  so  broad,  that, 
though  always  moving,  its  motion,  like  the  growth  of  the 
seasons  or  the  procession  of  the  constellations,  is  imper- 
ceptible to  our  eye, — how  brief,  how  fragmentary,  how 
evanescent  is  the  little  life  and  work  of  man  !  God  will 
call  him  out  of  the  families  of  earth  a  peculiar  people. 
Who  shall  have  the  founding  and  building  of  this  elect 
nation?  How  much  shall  any  one  chosen  instrument  ac- 
complish in  the  piling  of  this  slow-rising  architecture? 
Abraham  hears  the  voice  of  God  on  the  plain  of  Mamre, 
and  moves  out  to  begin  the  work.  He  dies,  and  Isaac's 
hand  catches  the  slackened  thread  of  progress.  Jacob 
goes  over  Jordan  with  his  staff  only,  and  comes  back  a 
double  band.  Joseph  disappears  beneath  the  dark  portal 
of  an  Egyptian  prison,  and  reappears  in  the  second  char- 
iot of  royalty.  The  babe  of  the  Nile  turns  his  back  on 
the  court,  choosing  rather  to  suffer  afiiiction  with  the  peo- 


INCOMPLETENESS    OF   LIFE.  159 

pie  of  God.  Joshua  inherits  the  captaincy  of  the  tribes 
after  him.  Warriors,  judges,  and  kings  in  long  succes- 
sion follow  on.  Jerusalem  itself  sinks  under  sorrowful 
judgments ;  the  abomination  of  desolation  stands  in  the 
holy  place,  and  from  the  loins  of  David's  line  comes  forth 
a  later  and  a  mightier  Leader  to  conduct  the  lingering 
but  sure  march  of  the  Church  unto  that  triumphal  hour, 
when  "  the  kingdom  and  dominion,  and  the  greatness  of 
the  kingdom  under  the  whole  heaven,  shall  be  given  to 
the  people  of  the  saints  of  the  Most  High."  But  what 
hero  of  the  leadership,  whose  truncheon  so  many  hands 
have  borne  for  a  while,  can  say  concerning  this  imperial 
conquest,  "  Behold  what  I  have  wrought"?  How  small  a 
space  in  such  vast  reaches  of  progress  does  the  span  of  a 
single  life  cover!  How  broken  and  fragmentary,  com- 
pared with  this  sublime  whole,  must  that  life  appear  to 
itself  and  the  great  Supreme  One  !  We  rise  up  and 
deliver  a  stroke  or  two,  and  then  sink  faint  and  over- 
borne almost  at  the  point  where  our  toil  commenced.  It 
is  to  compare  great  things  with  small,  as  though  all  the 
tillers  of  earth  had  it  in  charge  to  makes  its  rough  places 
smooth,  and  to  convert  its  deserts  into  gardens  of  bloom 
and  fruit.  But  the  most  that  each  can  do  is  to  bring  a 
single  field  into  culture,  and,  having  sown  his  first  har- 
vest, which  another  shall  reap,  the  night  cometh  and  his 
work  is  ended.  How  insignificant  the  plat  which  has 
compassed  his  utmost  of  diligence,  as  compared  with  the 
broad  continents  and  the  boundless  Saharas  yet  to  be  sub- 
dued !  How  incomplete  the  earthly  life  as  judged  by  the 
all-comprehending  plans  of  God  !     We   had  thought,  in 


160  INCOMPLETENESS   OF  LIFE. 

our  clay,  to  help  forward  the  kingdom  of  truth,  to  sup- 
plant wickedness  on  the  earth  with  righteousness,  to  carry 
the  light  of  salvation  out  over  the  dark  seas  and  unto  the 
dark  isles,  and  to  help  Jesus  to  his  throne,  and  see  him 
begin  to  reign  ere  our  eyelids  should  droop  in  the  final 
sleep ;  but  the  evening  twilight  has  descended,  and  our 
lips  can  do  little  more  than  repeat  the  old  challenge  of 
our  enemies,  "  Where  is  the  promise  of  his  coming?  For 
since  the  fathers  fell  asleep  all  things  continue  as  they 
were."  What  incompleteness  in  such  living !  What  a 
fragment  is  such  a  being  !  AYhat  an  humbling  conscious- 
ness must  possess  it  at  last  of  the  unattained,  now  forever 
beyond  it1 

So  it  will  be  also,  not  merely  in  reference  to  God's 
plans,  but  in  reference  to  our  own  private  schemes,  of 
working,  whether  for  earthly  fruits  or  spiritual.  You 
shall  hear  some  aged  patriarch  say,  as  he  walks  feebly 
forth  into  the  sun  from  his  cottage-door,  and  gazes  upon  the 
acres  over  which  his  hand  has  guided  the  plough  for  half  a 
century,  "  I  always  meant  to  have  blasted  out  that  ledge 
of  rock,  to  have  levelled  that  ridge,  to  have  drained  that 
swamp.  It  has  been  my  purpose  for  years  to  have  cleared 
that  boggy  and  stony  pasture  field  for  tillage  and  meadow. 
I  have  often  thought  of  opening  a  vista  through  that  for- 
est growth ;  of  sinking  that  steep  ascent  in  my  carriage- 
path,  by  a  cut  to  the  heart  of  that  knoll,  into  an  easier 
grade ;  of  digging  a  well  in  that  upland  range  for  my 
herds ;  of  breaking  that  abrupt  slope  on  one  side  of  my 
lawn  into  terraces  ;  of  detaching  my  barn  from  my  house, 
and  adding  to  the  mansion  a  wing  for  more  capacious 


INCOMPLETENESS   OF   LIFE.  161 

domestic  accommodation ;  but  I  have  never  seen  just  the 
time  when  I  could  enter  upon  these  improvements,  and  I 
am  too  old  now.  My  sons  after  me  may  perhaps  effect 
some  of  them ;  but  I  shall  never  undertake  them."  And 
he  turns  back  to  his  easy-chair  with  a  sigh  over  his  inter- 
rupted work.  Age  and  infirmity  caught  him  before  his 
dreams  were  realized.  The  end  is  near,  and  what  remains 
undone  must,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned,  remain  undone 
forever.  He  has  seen  it  with  his  eyes,  but  he  has  reached 
a  bound  over  which  he  may  not  go  to  possess  it.  And 
where  these  hopes  and  plans  have  reference  to  spiritual 
interests,  the  experience  is  the  same.  We  had  hoped  to 
have  seen  some  one  puissant  enemy  of  the  truth  subdued, 
and  to  have  had  a  hand  in  the  triumph ;  to  have  secured 
the  evangelization  of  certain  spiritual  wastes  alwa3^s  ap- 
pealing specially  to  our  heart ;  to  have  witnessed  the 
growth  and  establishment  of  some  Christian  enterprise, 
whose  foundations  we  had  hoped  to  lay  ;  to  have  rejoiced 
over  the  conversion  of  some  dear  friend  and  neighbor ;  to 
have  had  a  jubilee  in  the  home  over  some  lost  one  found, 
some  wanderer  returned  to  his  father's  house  and  his 
father's  God.  But  we  have  gone  as  far  in  our  instrumen- 
tality for  these  precious  ends  as  we  are  permitted  to  go. 
The  end  is  near.  Our  words  are  feeble.  A  few  more 
prayers,  and  we  must  lay  our  burdens  down  and  rest, 
where  nothing  shall  disturb  or  gladden  us  any  more. 
These  unfinished  holy  endeavors,  we  behold  their  con- 
summation in  vision,  but  we  are  not  to  touch  them  with 
living  hands.  So  also  there  is  personal  good,  long-covet- 
ed privileges,  we  hoped  to  have  enjoj^ed,  but  the  taste  of 
14* 


162  INCOMPLETENESS   OF   LIFE. 

which  is  never  to  sweeten  our  mouths,  that  valley  stream 
of  Jordan  meeting  our  feet  sooner  than  we  had  thought. 
What  the  failure  will  be  none  of  us  now  can  say ;  but  we 
may  be  sure  our  life  will  be  incomplete  in  respect  to  some 
of  these  crowning  expectations.  Hope  always  outstrips 
pursuit,  and  "  Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast." 
Some  hope  will  reach  across  the  river,  and  the  swift  cur- 
rent will  forbid  our  crossing  over.  We  had  hoped  to  have 
carried  our  children  through  their  process  of  education, 
or  to  have  seen  them  settled  in  their  calling  and  winning 
good  successes,  or  to  have  sat  beneath  the  new-sprung 
roof  of  their  home  life,  to  have  taken  their  children  into 
our  arms  and  read  the  future  of  our  lineage  in  their  young 
eyes.  We  had  hoped  to  have  cleared  off  certain  incum- 
brances from  our  earthly  estate,  and  to  have  accumulated 
a  certain  definite  sum  as  our  competence  for  age  and  an 
inheritance  for  our  sons  and  daughters.  We  had  hoped 
to  have  seen  certain  great  aggressive  movements  in  the 
redemption  of  man  from  the  bondage  of  prejudice,  appe- 
tite, and  vicious  habit  prevalent,  before  our  eyes  should 
close  ;  the  true  meaning  of  Christ's  gospel  settled  and  ac- 
cepted by  all  professed  believers ;  the  salvation  of  be- 
nighted parts  of  our  land  coming  forth  out  of  Zion ;  the 
final  overcoming  of  our  own  spiritual  enemies ;  the  full 
conquest  of  evil  passions  in  our  heart ;  the  peaceful  set- 
tlement of  some  long  perplexing,  practical  question  of 
our  personal  religious  life ;  our  full  conformity  to  the 
imao-e  and  will  of  Jesus.  But  when  we  stand  there  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  we  shall  assuredly  see  some  of 
these  hopes  beyond  us.     Pursuit  will  stop  at  the  water's 


INCOMPLETENESS    OF   LIFE.  163 

edge.  Possession  will  mock  us  from  the  farther  shore. 
There  will  be  some  good  our  hearts  have  intensely  craved, 
our  hands  wrought  for  diligently,  our  feet  hastened  after 
far  and  wearil}^  which  we  shall  see  only  with  our  eyes, 
and,  seeing  thus,  know  that  it  is  not  to  crown  our  earthly 
lot,  and  confess  in  this  baffled  search,  this  postponed  de- 
sire, the  incompleteness  of  this  mortal  life. 

And  if  we  ask  now  for  the  lessons  and  the  uses  of  this 
sense  of  incompleteness,  how  obvious  it  is  that  it  is  meant 
to  impress  us  with  the  conviction  of  God's  all-sufficiency. 
He  does  not  lean  so  heavily  upon  his  human  helpers  that, 
when  they  fail  him,  his  Avork  pauses  and  his  plans  are  ar- 
rested. He  does  not  build  so  confidently  on  these  frail 
pillars  that,  when  they  crumble  beneath  the  load,  the 
fabric  of  his  great  scheme  of  Providence  totters.  His 
stoutest  champions,  his  foremost  agents,  the  leaders  of 
movements  that  carry  in  them  most  of  the  conditions  of 
human  progress,  and  the  richest  promise  of  human  wel- 
fare, may  vacate  their  trust  and  lie  down  in  silence  and 
darkness,  but  the  divine  counsels  and  the  divine  resources 
suffer  no  bereavenient.  Men  ask.  How  can  such  great 
losses  be  made  up,  and  who  is  worthy  to  succeed  to  such 
honors  laid  down?  But  God  is  not  disturbed.  His  plans 
•are  not  hindered.  He  can  call  whom  he  will  to  the  vacant 
posts.  He  has  his  successors  already  in  view,  iu  train- 
ing, and  under  appointment.  His  own  all-sufficiency  im- 
presses itself  upon  us  through  this,  his  independence  of 
short-lived,  frail,  and  fainting  human  workers. 

In  the  same  view  his  sovereignty  appears  more  august 
and  kingly.     It  is  his  hand  that  fixes  the  limits  of  this 


164  INCOMPLETENESS   OF  LIFE. 

fragmentary  human  life.  He  has  appointed  to  each  man 
his  bounds,  which  he  cannot  pass.  He  breaks  in  upon  our 
plans,  our  vitality,  our  strength,  and  decrees  the  arrest 
of  all  our  hopes  and  labors.  He  does  it  in  ways  so  varied, 
so  unexpected,  so  startling,  so  discriminating,  as  to  leave 
the  impression  on  men's  hearts  that  there  is  a  supreme 
Disposer  on  the  throne,  who  takes  counsel  of  himself  in 
such  arbitration,  and  acts  his  wise  and  sovereign  pleasure. 

Another  use  of  this  dispensation  is  to  quicken  our  dili- 
o-ence.  Oh,  all  the  voices  of  the  frailty  and  brevity  of 
life  bid  men  be  up  and  doing.  The  morning  and  the 
evening,  the  evening  and  the  morning,  in  their  quick  suc- 
cession, the  rapid  flight  of  the  seasons,  the  swift  tread 
of  the  years,  the  lapse  of  fleetness  and  vigor  in  the  human 
frame,  the  changing  shadows  as  our  sun  crosses  the  me- 
ridian, —  all  unite  in  this  salutation  with  every  dawn,  re- 
peating it  with  each  stroke  of  the  hours,  "Work  while 
the  day  lasts,  for  the  night  cometh  in  which  no  man  can 
work  ! "  Some  tasks  are  sure  to  be  crowded  out  of 
life,  some  labors  commenced  to  be  left  unfinished.  Then 
"  what  thou  doest,  do  quickly  !  " 

And  again  the  lesson  is  that,  while  redoubling  our  dili- 
gence, we  moderate  our  expectations.  We  are  sowing  for 
magnificent  harvests.  We  are  toiling  for  splendid  suc- 
cesses. We  are  investing  for  richest  returns.  We  are 
climbing  toward  loftiest  and  most  radiant  summits.  For 
all  our  present  hardship  and  rigor,  there  shall  be  a  gol- 
den future,  and  in  the  light  of  it,  as  it  rises  above  the  far 
horizon  and  advances  to  meet  us,  our  eyes  glisten  and 
our  step  is  more  buoyant.     Ah,  how  many  have  gone  for- 


INCOMPLETENESS    OF   LIFE.  165 

ward,  their  feet  sandalled  with  such  hopes,  and  stepping 
as  though  they  trod  on  air,  who  found  that  the  river  in- 
tercepted their  path  before  they  reached  the  goal ;    that 
their  confident  expectation  was  only  a  view  from  Pisgah's 
top ;    that  fruition  lay  beyond  the  stream,  and  their  feet 
touched   those    cold  waters  while   yet  their   hands  were 
empty.     Be  moderate  in  desire  and  expectation.     Tone 
down  this  brilliance  and  eagerness  of  life's  hopes,  so  shall 
life's  disappointing   incompleteness  be  less  bitter  to  our 
spirit  when  the  cup  is  raised  to  our  lips.     There  is  a  pe- 
culiar chastening  for  age  in  this  arrangement  of  Provi- 
dence.    Age  is  the  harvest  time  for  which  we  have  sowed, 
and  in  which  we  expect  to  rest  with  our  sheaves  thick 
around  us.     But  how  often  does  age  stand  b}^  its  empty 
granaries  with  no  field  on  all  its  estate  yet  to  reap.     The 
land  of  promise  toward  which  it  travelled  so  long  is  be- 
yond  it  still.     Instead  of  sitting  beneath  its  vines  and 
tasting  the  grapes  of  Eshcol,  it  is  sitting  on  the  bank  of 
the   river   somewhat    desolate  and  alone,  waiting  rather 
than  enjoying.     We  wonder  often  why  good  men,  whose 
years  have  been  given  to  works  of  beneficence  and  piety, 
should   have  such  sharp  discipline  in  age,  —  the  loss  of 
health,  the  loss  of  property,  the  loss  of  those  on  whom 
they  expected  to  lean,  the  grief  that  comes  from  looking 
upon  the  sorrow  or  the  shame  of  some  whom  they  love 
and  being  powerless  to  help  them.     Ah,  they  were  not 
quite   weaned   from   earth,    not   fully   ripe    for   heaven ! 
These  last  touches  of  a  gracious  discipline  are  for  their 
final  perfecting,  —  the  mellowing  of  the  fruit  before  angel 
hands  gather  it.     And  under  this   earthly  completeness. 


166  INCOMPLETENESS   OF  LIFE. 

our  eyes  look  forward  and  upward  for  what  is  denied  us 
here.  We  shall  not  indeed  go  over  this  Jordan  of  disap- 
pointment and  inherit  on  the  other  side  ;  but  there  is  an- 
other Jordan  which  we  shall  cross.  We  shall  not  have 
our  home  in  the  earthly  Canaan,  nor  tread  its  vine-clad 
hills;  but  we  shall  enter  that  celestial  land  of  promise, 
and  sit  on  those  serene  heights  where  angels  cluster,  and 
on  which  shines  the  light  of  God.  We  may  not  inherit 
fully  here  ;  we  may  advance  only  into  the  cold  shadows 
of  poverty  and  neglect,  as  we  go  forward  leaning  on  our 
staff;  but  there,  as  heirs  of  God  and  joint  heirs  with 
Christ,  a  full  and  satisfying  inheritance  will  crown  and 
gladden  every  desire,  and  all  earthly  disappointment  be 
swallowed  up  in  eternal  satisfaction.  This  lifts  the  peo- 
ple of  God  out  of  all  the  sadness  that  settles  on  life's 
shattered  hopes.  On  this  mount  of  faith  their  feet  can 
stand  as  on  Pisgah's  top,  and  all  the  glory  of  the  goodly 
land  appear  before  them,  and  loftier  and  whiter  than 
the  snowy  crown  of  Lebanon  the  dazzling  mount  of  the 
throne  of  God,  and  no  voice  of  stern  interdict  pronounces 
the  decree,  "  Thou  shalt  not  go  over  thither,"  but  a  wel- 
come of  soft  music  calls  to  them,  "  Come,  ye  blessed  of 
my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world." 


XI. 

JOHN'S  FAILURE. 

AND   HE   SENT  AND   BEHEADED   JOHN   IN   THE  PRISON.  —  Matt.   xiv.  10. 

WHEN  the  angel  Gabriel  announced  to  the  aged  Zach- 
arias  that  his  old  age  should  be  no  longer  childless, 
the  announcement  carried  with  it  this  assurance  concern- 
ing the  unborn  babe,  "Thou  shalt  have  joy  and  gladness, 
and  many  shall  rejoice  at  his  birth,  for  he  shall  be  great 
in  the  sight  of  the  Lord."  And  when  that  more  illustrious 
prophet  heralded  by  the  son  of  Zacharias  had  commenced 
his  public  work,  he  bore  his  witness  to  the  dignity  of  his 
messenger  and  forerunner, — "Verily,  I  say  unto  you, 
Among  them  that  are  born  of  women,  there  hath  not 
arisen  a  greater  than  John  the  Baptist."  But  how  brief 
was  the  earthly  career  of  that  greatness  !  How  suddenly 
it  paused !  In  what  obscurity  it  went  down  and  went 
out !  It  seemed  to  end,  too,  in  failure,  —  a  failure  all  the 
more  disastrous  and  reproachful  (perhaps  in  our  eyes) 
because  it  would  appear  to  have  been  met  off  the  track 
of  the  preacher's  legitimate  calling,  and  might  so  easily, 
with  a  little  care  and  prudence,  have  been  avoided.  "  See 
what  comes,"  we  say,  "of  his  interference  with  the  morals 


168  John's  failure. 

of  sovereignty  and  power.  He  was  not  court  chaplain. 
He  was  not  the  keeper  of  the  conscience  of  Herod.  He 
was  not  sent  to  regulate  the  domestic  relations  of  the 
Tetrarch.  He  had  one  message  to  deliver,  one  cry  to  lift 
up.  He  Avas  a  herald  running  before  the  coming  of  Zion's 
King  to  proclaim,  "  Eepent,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is 
at  hand,"  "prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord."  If  he  had 
confined  himself  to  that,  kept  within  his  sphere,  preached 
that  doctrine  of  repentance  and  wrath  to  come,  and  the 
near  advent  of  one  mightier  than  ho,  he  might  have 
escaped  the  prison  and  the  axe.  "Possibly."  And  what 
effect  had  his  rash  and  obtrusive  protest  upon  those  im- 
plicated in  the  evil?  It  kindled  a  revengeful  and  remorse- 
less hate  in  a  woman's  heart.  It  drew  into  sympathy 
and  fellowship  with  her  in  a  new  crime  the  heart  of  her 
daughter.  It  led  the  guilty  Herod,  not  to  repentance  and 
reformation,  but  to  a  deeper  and  more  tragic  guilt.  It 
must  have  held  up  the  name  of  the  chief  magistrate  to 
obloquy  and  odium,  and  brought  a  scandal  upon  the  ruler 
of  the  people.  It  set  the  example  of  disrespect  to  digni- 
ties, and  tended  to  insubordination  in  the  subject.  It 
ended  in  the  silencing  of  a  voice  to  whose  stirring  words 
thousands  had  listened,  and  the  sacrifice  of  a  life  that 
mi«"ht  yet  have  gathered  unnumbered  trophies  of  its  ear- 
nestness and  fidelity.  "Yes,  all  that."  He  had  a  field  of 
labor.  It  was  broad  and  unoccupied.  No  man  disputed 
his  precedence  in  it.  His  sway  there  was  without  a  rival. 
There  was  no  narrowness  in  its  limits  to  make  him  feel 
shut  in  and  straitened.  Up  and  down  the  Jordan  valley, 
across  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  the  Judean  wilder- 


169 

ness,  he  could  range  at  his  pleasure.      He  was  bishop 
there  of  all  the  desert,  and  he  was  fitted  for  his  place. 
He  was  at  home  in  the  desert  life.     His  lungs  played 
freely  in  its  congenial  air.     He  had  taken  upon  him,  in 
body  and  soul,  the  rude,  stern,  grand  type  of  its  nurture. 
He  coveted  no  purple  robe.     The  locust  of  grassy  valleys 
w^as  to  him  instead   of  fowl  and  fatling,   and  the  wild 
honey  was  sweet  to  his  taste.     He  could  dispense  with 
the  home,  the  city,  and  social  life.     Night  in  the  wild  was 
his  pavilion,  and  the  stars  above  the  river  his  companions. 
Brave,  bold,  rugged,  strong,  and  young,  he  was  the  man 
for  this  missionary  work.     He  had  gained  a  hearing  too. 
He   spoke   not   to  the  echoes  of  the  Moab  mountains. 
Jerusalem  and  all  the  region  round  about  had  heard  of 
him  and  gone  out  to  him.     He  had  touched  the  popular 
heart.    He  struck,  and  every  chord  vibrated.     And  it  was 
not  mere  curiosity  or  sentimental  interest  that  he  excited. 
He  roused  the  conscience.     He  alarmed  the  fears.     He 
won  his  hearers.     They  forsook  their  sins.     They  came 
to  his  feet  broken-hearted  penitents,  and  were  baptized  of 
him  in  Jordan  unto  a  new  life.     There  was  no  flao-oino-  of 
this  power  over  them.     He  was  in  the  full-tide  of  this 
popular  movement  on  the  crest  of  the  wave.     And  if  this 
field  had  suddenly  become  barren,  and  yielded  no  longer 
any  harvest,  he  might  still  have  pushed  forward  in  the 
van  of  that  conquering  kingdom,  uttering  to  new  people 
and  tribes  the  word,  "  It  is  at  hand,"  and  pointing  over 
his  shoulder  to  the  shadow  of  one  whose  shoes'  latchet  he 
was  not  worthy  to  unloose. 

All  this  opening  for  a  life  of  usefulness,  this  splendid 
15 


170  JOHN'S   FAILUKE. 

harvest  which  he  had  begun  to  reap,  he  staked  and  lost 
on  one  adventurous  throw.     He  must  needs  intermeddle 
with  matters  of  state.     He  must  go  up  from  the  Jordan 
to  Jerusalem  to  rebuke  wickedness  in  high  places.     He 
must  beard  the  lion  in  his  den,  adulterous  Herod  in  the 
very  insolence  of  secure  crime  and  unlorded  power.     In 
this  he  failed,  by  this  one  step  he  lost  all.     Was  it  a  mis- 
take and  an  error?     Did  he  lose  all?     Was  the  life  of 
John  in  this   turn   of  it   and   sacrifice  of  it   a   faihu'e? 
That  is  my  question.     We  cannot  so  conclude  because  he 
died   early  and  by  a  death  of  violence.     Then  are  the 
death  of  youthful  patriots  who  fall  in  victorious  battle  a 
mistake  and  a  failure.     Then  were  the  death  of  martyrs 
at  the  stake  and  in  the  amphitheatre  a  waste  of  generous 
blood.     Then  were  the  sacrifice  of  Christ  himself  what 
it  seemed  to  his  murderers,  the  defeat  of  his  work  and 
the  final  triumph  of  his  enemies.     No.     Death  itself  is 
often  the  noblest  victory.    We  may  give  much  for  a  good 
cause,  and  keep  back  life.     We  may  give  toil  and  prayer 
and  gold,  and  testify  thus  our  sense  of  the  soundness  of 
its  claims.     But  when  we  throw  in  this  final  contribution, 
when  it  is  seen  that  we  count  life  itself  cheap  before  the 
preciousness  of  some  holier  and  worthier  thing,  that  is  a 
testimony  that  silences  all  gainsaying.     It  is  not  certain, 
then,  that  life  given  in  sacrifice  is  thrown  away,  goes  out 
in  waste  and  failure.     John  was  true  to  his  convictions. 
At  once  we  side  with  those  convictions.     We  are  sure 
that  he  was  in  the  right.     Our  hearts  front  the    tyrant 
who  had  inaugurated  adultery  as  the  morality  of  the  court 
and  echo  the  calm,  steady  utterance  of  those  unfaltering 


John's  failure.  171 

lips,  —  "It  is  not  lawful  for  thee  to  have  her."     It  is  a 
great  and  rare  thing  for  a  life  to  be  true  to  its  conscien- 
tious judgments,  to  swerve  from  them  neither  from  fear 
nor  favor,  to  refuse  to  be  bribed  or  awed  into  dishonest 
silence,  to  act  and  speak  as  the  free  soul,  the  untram- 
melled thought  impels,  to  keep  that  soul  free,  and  that 
thought  without  a  shackle,  and  carry  the  sustaining  con- 
sciousness that  the  outward  and  the  inward  correspond. 
This  noble  assertion  of  moral  liberty  may  bring  the  body 
into  chains.     Is  it  better,  then,  to  wear  the  fetters  within, 
to  have  no  shackles   on  the  limbs,  to  boast,  "I  am  at 
large,"  while  the  spirit  is  imprisoned  in  its  own  cowardice, 
and  thought  and  speech  are  in  the  ignominious  chains  of 
falsehood?     Which  is  success,  and  which  is  failure,  — to 
sit  within  dungeon  walls  a  true  man,  or  to  stifle  the  moral 
sense  in  a  deeper  darkness  and  ride  in  a  chariot?     The 
man  who  abides  by  the  right,  who  confesses  it  with  heart 
and  life  and  lip,  who  moulds  to  these  inward  facts  of  his 
moral  convictions  the  outward  shaping  of  his  way,  who 
keeps  life  true  to  this  inward  light,  who  will  have  it,  and 
who  makes  it  at  any  cost  correspond  with  what  God  has 
given  him  to  know  and  believe  and  feel,  has  gloriously 
succeeded,  whether  he  be  canonized  living  as  a  saint,  or 
be  broken  on  the  wheel.     By  this  test  the  life  of  John 
was  no  failure.     He  kept  his  truth.     He  brought  his  con- 
victions into  the  incarnation  of  action.     A  fire  burned 
within   his   bones,  —  a   fire   of   indignant   remonstrance 
against  a  public  and  notorious  wrong.     He  would  not 
smother  that  fire.     He  would  not  be  untrue.     iS^o  fear, 
no  policy,  should  mark  his  face  in  flattering  and  smiling 


172  John's  failure. 

obsequiousness  before  the  face  of  Supreme  Power.  He 
maintained  his  freedom,  and  the  voices  of  the  ages  say- 
above  his  headless  trunk,  "Here  lies  a  true  man."  I  can- 
not call  that  a  failure  ;  I  call  it  immortal  success. 

Again,  John  was  a  witness  to  the  disinterestedness  of 
truth.  If  it  had  been  seen  in  that  trial  of  his  constancy 
that  truth  could  be  bought  and  sold,  thiit  truth  coveted 
preferment,  that  it  ceased  to  be  truth  when  danger  and 
suffering  threatened,  that  it  was  a  bidder  like  avarice  and 
ambition  and  every  light  and  false  thing  for  personal  gain 
and  popular  favor,  that  it  loved  ease  and  comfort  and 
emolument  better  than  its  own  purity,  that  it  was  what  it 
was  only  for  the  sake  of  what  it  could  win  by  it,  and 
when  threatened  with  loss,  changed  sides  like  a  politician, 
—  if  this  had  been  the  witness  of  John,  it  would  have  been 
more  corrupting  than  the  sin  of  Herod.  But  he  stamped 
it  on  his  life,  he  stamped  it  on  this  historic  page,  he  wrote 
it  on  his  prison  walls,  he  preaches  it  still  with  the  voice 
that  pierced  the  heart  of  the  desert,  "Truth  has  no  price." 
Again,  the  testimony  published  then  and  left  to  us  is  that 
Truth  is  no  respecter  of  persons.  If  when  publican  and 
harlot  appeared  before  him,  when  the  humble  and  name- 
less crowd  surrounded  him,  John  had  preached  "Repent," 
ringing  it  rough  and  full,  — "repent,  flee  from  the  wrath 
to  come  !  "  and  when  the  sensual  and  cruel  Herod  was  in 
presence,  spoke  not  at  all,  or  spoke  softly,  rounded  off 
the  angles  of  that  sharp  word  Repent,  and  spoke  of  the 
desirableness  of  some  improvement,  of  the  probability 
that  his  excellency  might  some  day  reject  the  infelicities 
of  his  present  position,  and  begged  permission,  in  courtly 


JOHN'S   FAILURE.  173 

phrase,  to  point  out  some  of  the  consequences  of  what  he 
hoped  he  should  be  pardoned  for  saying  he  could  not  re- 
gard but  as  a  grave  and  serious  error,  that  majesty  of 
Truth  would  have  been  brought  into  contempt ;  he  would 
have  been  a  traitor  to  her  queenly  dignity.     He  would 
have  interpreted  her  message  in  one  dialect  to  an  obscure 
offender,  and  in  quite  another  to  the  man  who  gilded  over 
his  crimes  with  the  gloss  of  wealth  and  station.     That 
would  have  been  a  flxilure  for  the  world's  pity  and  scorn. 
The  other  was  a  success  for  the  world's  admiration,  for 
God's  encomium.     And  now  who  knows  the  whole  effect 
at  the  time  of  that  fearless  and  noble  protest?     It  was 
needful  in  God's  deaUngs  with  Herod  that  this  rebuke 
should  come  in  as  a  part  of  his  history  and  experience. 
It  brought  a  holy  God  near  to  him  and  before  him.     It 
held   up   right  and  lawfulness  in  outlines  clearer  and  a 
demand  more  audible  than  princes  are  often  permitted  to 
see  and  hear.     It  was  instead  of  a  public  sentiment,  antic- 
ipating judgment  upon  the  vileness  of  a  crowned  poten- 
tate, and  dared  to  come  near  enough  to  make  sure  of  beino- 
heard  and  understood.     It  was  the  hour  of  God's  mercy 
to  this  ruler.     It  gave  him  one  of  those  golden  opportu- 
nities vrhich  come  to  us  all  to  acknowledge  and  forsake 
guilt,  to  fall  down  and  pray,  "God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner."     It  may  have  arrested  the  evil  influence  of  that 
vicious  example  in  a  station  so  commanding  and  influen- 
tial, and  have  kept  back  multitudes  from  following  in  the 
path  of  so  bold  and  shameless  a  demoralization.     It  set  up, 
we  cannot  say  before  how  many  minds,  a  divine  standard 
of  what  is  lawful,  and  educated  the  conscience  of  thou- 
15* 


174  JOHN'S   FAILURE. 

sands,  perhaps,  to  reverence  and  obedience.  "Thrown 
away  and  wasted  !  "  —  that  earthly  life  may  have  been  in- 
stead of  the  eternal  ruin  of  thousands  of  its  contempo- 
raries, —  may  have  held  back  a  nation  from  lower  deeps 
of  debauchery,  and  have  saved  from  relapse,  and  have 
confirmed  in  the  faith  and  virtue  of  a  new  religion,  the 
tens  of  thousands  of  converts  whom  John  had  baptized. 
We  are  not  competent  yet  to  pronounce  that  life  a  failure. 
We  are  too  distant,  too  ignorant,  so  to  pronounce.  Again, 
it  may  be  well  enough  to  remark  that  the  great  work  as- 
siofned  in  Providence  to  this  life  seems  to  have  been 
achieved.  His  herald  task  was  performed.  He  had  seen 
the  hour  when  he  could  say,  "This  is  He  of  whom  I  said, 
After  me  cometh  a  man  which  is  preferred  before  me." 
Publicly  he  had  baptized  to  an  infinitely  more  glorious 
and  eventful  mission  than  his  own  that  greater  and 
mightier  Prophet.  The  way  of  the  Lord  had  been  pre- 
pared. The  forerunner  had  turned  the  attention  of  the 
people  to  this  illustrious  advent.  His  final  discourse  had 
weightier  tidings  for  the  world's  ear  than  any  he  had  pre- 
viously pronounced,  "Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  which 
taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world."  He  could  add  nothing 
more  to  that.  It  was  time  to  hear  another  voice  speak. 
There  came  a  revolution  in  the  popular  heart,  and  instead 
of  the  eagerness  to  rush  forth  into  the  wilderness  to  see 
that  more  than  prophet,  the  new  quest  was,  "Sirs,  w^e 
would  see  Jesus."  Already  it  had  been  told  to  John  by 
some  of  his  own  half-zealous  adherents  and  followers, 
"Rabbi,  he  that  was  with  thee  beyond  Jordan,  to  whom 
thou  bearest  witness,  behold  the  same  baptizeth,  and  "  — 


JOHN'S   FAILURE.  175 

oh,  hard  trial  to  the  natural  heart  —  "all  men  come  unto 
him."  Not  thrice,  nor  twice,  has  there  been  in  all  the 
annals  of  humanity  a  nobler  victory  over  self  than  the 
answer  of  John  evinces,  "  A  man  can  receive  nothing  ex- 
cept it  be  given  him  from  heaven.  Ye  yourselves  bear 
me  witness  that  I  said,  I  am  not  the  Christ,  but  that  I  am 
sent  before  him.  He  that  hath  the  bride  is  the  bride- 
groom. But  the  friend  of  the  bridegroom  which  standeth 
and  heareth  him  rejoiceth  greatly  because  of  the  bride- 
groom's voice.  This,  my  joy,  therefore,  is  fulfilled,"  and 
he  adds,  w^ithout  one  rebellious  thought,  his  self-triumph 
moving  us  almost  as  deeply  as  that  of  Abraham  before 
the  altar  of  Mount  Moriah,  words  that  poor  human  nature 
finds  it  hard  to  speak  calmly,  but  with  the  same  great  joy 
on  his  face,  "He  must  increase,  but  I  must  decrease."  It 
was  not  an  incomplete  life  pausing  where  it  did.  As 
truly  as  Paul  the  aged  after  him,  could  this  youthful  hero 
sing,  "  I  have  fought  the  good  fight,  I  have  finished  my 
course,  I  have  kept  the  faith."  His  work  was  done  and 
well  done.  His  crown  was  won.  Herod's  hand  placed 
it  on  his  head.  His  doctrines  remain.  His  utterance 
sounds  down  to  us.  What  it  is  to  prepare  the  way  of  the 
Lord,  what  preaching  it  is  that  rouses  and  changes  men, 
he  has  taught  us.  A  finished,  consummated  life,  nothing 
fragmentary,  no  failure  here.  We  are  wrong  to  measure 
success  by  outward  and  visible  results.  The  true  meas- 
ure of  success  is  in  one  word,  fidelity.  When  laurels 
are  distributed  by  God's  hand  to  the  victors  of  earthly 
warfare  and  struggle,  the  eulogy  of  the  divine  lips  does 
not  recount  the  trophies  of  that  valor,  more  or  less  in 


176  JOHN'S  FAILURE. 

number,  —  "  Thou  hast  been  faithful  in  few  things,  I  will 
make  thee  ruler  over  many.  Enter  into  the  joy."  It  is  not, 
"  Thou  hast  been  successful,  thou  hast  been  popular,  thou 
hast  drawn  crowds  of  followers  and  disciples  after  thee," 
but  simply,  "  Thou  hast  been  faithful."  The  world  says, 
perhaps,  of  some  obscure  laborer,  if  indeed  she  speak  of 
him  at  all,  "This  man  has  toiled  in  vain."  The  Church  may 
ask,  if  she  will,  "Whom  has  he  converted?"  The  year 
books  shall  bear  record  that  others  have  made  and  bap- 
tized more  disciples  than  he.  Against  ill-success,  against 
discouragement  and  false  judgment,  he  may  have  wrought 
all  his  life,  and  seemingly  at  last  succumbed  to  the  diffi- 
culties and  impracticabilities  of  his  position,  and  the  first 
cheering  word  he  has  ever  heard  may  come  to  him  when 
God  beckons  him  across  the  river  and  greets  him  with, 
"  Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant."  But  we  should 
omit  perhaps  the  grandest  refutation  of  the  idea  that  the 
life  of  John  was  a  failure,  if  we  should  neglect  to  notice 
the  power  of  it  for  evermore  as  a  kindling  and  inspiring 
example.  Ah,  there  stood  a  hero.  There  was  no  blanch- 
ing in  him.  So  should  truth  front  wrong,  his  example 
declares.  It  should  dare  first  to  speak,  then  to  seal  its 
testimony  with  blood.  For  us  he  was  constant,  faithful 
and  fearless.  It  did  not  conquer  Herod,  but  it  has  waked 
and  kept  on  fire  the  martyr  spirit  in  other  lives  all  down 
the  lapsing  ages.  It  has  rallied  steadiness  and  endur- 
ance ;  it  has  animated  Christian  boldness  and  courage 
since,  in  hearts  no  man  can  number.  When  the  pinch 
comes,  the  sight  of  one  resolute  face,  one  form  that 
quails  not,  puts  manhood  into  a  thousand  breasts.     Men 


JOHN'S  FAILURE.  177 

have  looked  back  to  John  iu  many  a  crisis  of  hard-fought 
fiekls  and  dubious  days.     There  he  stands,  between  the 
prison  and  the  headman's  axe  on  the  one  side,  and  inces- 
tuous Herod  on   the   other.     He   seems   to   see   neither 
prison  nor  axe.     God  above  and  duty  before  him  are  all 
he  sees,  and  he  wavers  not  for  one  uncertain  moment. 
We  catch  his  spirit.     We  copy  his  deed.     We  see  him  iu 
the  same  line  with  later  and  earlier  conquerors.     This 
side  of  him,  Peter  dauntlessly  saying,  "Whether  it  be 
right  in  the  sight  of  God  to  hearken  unto  you,   more 
than  unto  God,  judge  ye."     Beyond,  far  up  the  ages,  is 
Daniel,  with  one  window  of  his  chamber  looking  out  to- 
ward Jerusalem,  the  other  toward  the  den  of  lions,  and 
the  voice  of  prayer  rising  from  his  kneeling  form.     Had 
Peter  died  then  and  there  as  he  stood,  had  the  lions  had 
the  mastery  of  the  young  Jewish  prince,  doubtless  illus- 
trious and  kindling  would  their  example  have  been.     It 
were  not  well  to  have  earthly  deliverers  attend  always 
upon  Christian  heroism.     That  would  mix  an  earthly  ele- 
ment with  the  triumph  of  faith.     Let  some  of  these  con- 
querors pay  the  penalty  of  their  faithfulness,   refusing 
deliverance.     So  shall  their  championship  of  truth  and 
right  be  a  purer  and  more  unquestionable  witness  to  an 
inward  power  sustaining  them  against  nature's  weakness. 
Sometimes  we  have  in  current  earthly  histories  exam- 
ples on   the   field   of  strife  of  so-called   failures,  worth 
more  as  quickeners  to  valor  and  helps  to  a  soldier's  vir- 
tue than  most  brilliant  successes.     Such  was  the  scene  in 
the  late  Crimean  War  when,  on  a  dull  October  morninsr, 
thirty  thousand  Kussians  appeared  over  the  hills  of  Bala- 


178 


klava,  in  the  rear  of  the  allied  armies  of  France  and  Eng- 
land, and  swept  the  feebly-defended  Turkish  redoubts 
crowning  the  heights.  Eetiring  then  a  little  to  choose 
their  ground,  plant  their  batteries,  and  reform  their  army, 
they  seemed  to  be  making  preparations  to  bear  ofi*  the  cap- 
tured cannon  of  the  allies.  A  somewhat  confused  order 
was  given  from  the  English  commander-in-chief,  confused- 
ly transmitted  and  confusedly  interpreted,  for  the  cavalry 
to  advance  and  frustrate  the  enemy's  design.  The  effect 
of  the  order  thus  understood  was  the  world  famous  charge 
of  the  Light  Brigade,  that  hurled  a  little  band  of  gallant 
gentlemen  against  an  army  of  horse,  foot,  and  artillery  in 
the  chosen  position.  Surprised  at  the  order,  misgiving 
alone,  unsupported,  but  lending  their  hearts  to  the  work, 
they  rode  through  grape  and  shell,  trampling  under  feet 
a  cloud  of  skirmishers,  right  over  the  fatal  battery,  cut- 
ting through  a  mass  of  five  thousand  Russian  cavalry,  and 
turning  on  their  course,  each  man  matched  against  a  host, 
pierced  by  lance-thrusts,  hacked  by  sword-cuts,  and  rid- 
dled by  bullets,  regained  the  camp  by  twos  and  threes, 
riding  out  six  hundred  and  seventy  strong,  returning  with 
scarce  two  hundred  saddles  filled.  A  waste  of  heroic  life 
and  gallant  blood  we  say.  And  yet  it  struck  a  chill 
through  Russian  hearts,  and  bannered  every  English  war- 
rior in  every  succeeding  fight.  It  taught  lessons  of  the 
soldier's  obedience,  the  soldier's  loyalty,  and  the  soldier's 
truth  which  the  wars  of  centuries  and  a  hundred  gazetted 
triumphs  could  not  teach  so  well.  It  stirs  the  warm 
blood  in  a  soldier's  bosom,  more  than  the  general's  word 
or  the  bugle's  note.     The  memory  of  it  will  be  the  pride 


John's  failure.  179 

of  the  English  soldier,  and  fire  and  sustain  his  noblest 
daring,  so  long  as  men  shall  learn  the  art  of  war.  There 
is  to-day  no  aristocracy  so  peerless,  no  order  of  nobility 
so  illustrious,  amono^  all  Enijland's  titled  ranks,  as  that 
little  surviving  company,  concerning  which  men  say  as 
they  point  out  a  solitary  passer-by,  "  There  goes  one  of  the 
'Light  Brigade.'"  There  is  no  victory  on  all  the  plains 
which  English  blood  has  moistened  the  island  bards  shall 
love  so  well  to  sing,  the  plumed  cohorts  shall  boast  with 
so  generous  an  emulation,  as  this  wasteful,  useless,  un- 
equalled charge. 

"  When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
Oh,  the  wild  charge  they  made  ! 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made, 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred." 

No,  my  friends. 

Nothing  that  is  true  to  honor  and  courage  and  fidelity, 
nothing  heroic  and  self-devoted,  is  ever  in  vain.  The 
hearts  of  Christ's  warriors  on  earth  shall  ever  feel  the 
thrill  of  brave  blood  at  the  name  of  John ;  the  bards  of 
Heaven  shall  celebrate  his  failure  as  one  of  the  grandest 
victories  of  God's  human  champions.  Young  men,  breth- 
ren, fellow-workers,  go  and  do  ye  likewise.  If  you  stand 
for  a  truth,  a  principle,  a  sample  of  conscience,  a  price  of 
morality  too  high  and  pure  for  your  associates  to  appre- 
ciate ;  if  in  any  of  these  issues  you  stand  alone ;  if  for 
your  persistent  virtue  the  narrowing  circle  of  neglect  and 
want  shut  in  about  you  like  prison  walls  ;  if  well-meaning 


180  JOHN'S  FATLUKE. 

friends  chide  your  too  fastidious  conscientiousness;  if 
you  fail  to  carry  your  principle  by  the  acclamation  of 
majorities,  and  find  that  you  must  sufier  for  it  instead  in 
a  minority  of  one ;  if  you  are  moved  to  give  your  young 
life  to  the  country  that  calls  now  for  all  her  valiant  sons, 
and  the  thought  of  finishing  your  career  so  soon,  on  some 
fatal  field  day,  instead  of  living  on  in  serene  tranquillity 
and  amid  household  ties  to  a  late  old  age,  wrestles  with 
your  spirit,  look  back  again  to  that  lonely  prisoner,  that 
heroic  youthful  preacher  and  confessor,  done  to  death  for 
his  faithfulness,  and  accept  your  lot,  listemng  the  while 
to  this  watchword  from  overhead,  "  Be  thou  faithful  unto 
death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life." 


XII. 

FEIENDSHIP. 

....     THERE   IS  A  FRIEND   THAT    STICKETH    CLOSER  THAN  A  BROTHER. — 

Prov.  xviii.  24. 

WE  speak  a  very  tender  and  sacred  word  when  we 
call  one  our  "brother."  But  a  brother  may  not  be 
a  friend.  All  the  household  ties  may  be  complete  upon 
a  heart  that  yet  feels  that  it  has  not  one  friend.  The  in- 
timacies of  the  home  may  be  coupled  together,  leaving 
this  heart  unmated.  And  where  love  is  not  denied,  the 
love  that  is  rendered  us  in  the  natural  ties  scarce  seems 
to  us  the  tribute  of  the  free  heart.  It  is  mixed  with  in- 
stinct. It  comes  not  so  much  as  a  matter  of  choice, 
because  the  eye  has  seen  and  the  heart  has  felt  a  charm 
that  cannot  be  resisted,  but  as  a  matter  of  natural  instinc- 
tive prompting,  quickened  by  common  blood,  strength- 
ened by  common  interest. 

It  may  not  be  a  personal  homage  when  those  who  are 
cradled  together  are  found  content  with  one  another's  so- 
ciety. Nature  has  joined  them  rather  than  elective  affec- 
tion. The  fellowship  is  close  often  rather  hy  force  of 
habit  than  by  clinging  tenderness  and  mutual  sympathy. 

The  heart  wants  more  than  this.  It  wants  one  upon 
16 


182  FRIENDSHIP. 

whom  it  can  bestow  its  love  and  esteem,  to  whom  it  can 
impart  all  its  confidence,  and  from  whom  it  can  receive 
the  same,  as  a  voluntary  offering,  the  expression  of  a 
good  will  which  it  has  won  not  by  blood,  but  by  its  own 
qualities,  not  the  dictate  of  nature,  but  the  full,  free 
choice  of  the  heart. 

Sometimes  this  want  is  supplied  within  the  circle  of 
the  home,  not  as  the  fruit  of  nature,  but  above  nature. 
More  frequently,  perhaps,  I  had  almost  said  more  nat- 
urally, this  intimate  friendship  is  with  one  outside  the 
home,  the  soul  exercising  its  liberty,  finding  its  happi- 
ness in  giving  without  the  constraint  of  nature,  and  crav- 
ing in  return  that  which  is  spontaneous  and  uncon- 
strained. It  would  love  and  trust,  not  of  debt,  but  of 
free  will. 

Give  me  a  friend.  _I__am  not  myself  till  I  have  a 
^iend.  My  nature  is  locked  up ;  my  friend  has  the  key. 
Till  he  open,  how  can  I  know,  how  can  another  know, 
what  my  heart  is  capable  of?  I  am  restricted,  stifled, 
suppressed.  I  do  not  grow  up  and  out  to  the  light  and 
the  air.  I  do  not  think  my  own  thoughts,  nor  speak  my 
own  language,  nor  warm  into  true,  loving,  and  genuine 
confidence  till  my  friend  come.  If  I  have  no  friend,  I 
shall  be  likely  to  remain  unexpressed,  and  so  to  be  less 
and  less  what  I  might  be.  My  friend  carries  my  devel- 
opment beyond  all  my  old  consciousness  of  capacity. 
What  does  a  stranger  or  a  mere  acquaintance  do  for 
my  truer  self?  He  takes  a  careless  greeting,  a  light 
courtesy,  a  civil  word,  a  touch  of  my  listless  hand.  Is 
this  all  I  have  to  give  ?     Is  this  all  I  am  ? 


FEIENDSHIP.  233 

What  a  transformation  one  hour  of  intercourse  with  a 
friend  effects  ;  how  my  heart  opens  ;  how  I  venture  down 
for  its  deepest  mysteries,  and  lead  them  up  to  day;  how 
I  dismiss  the  shyness  that  kept  the  sanctuaries  of  my  soul 
veiled ;  how  the  soul  itself  walks  forth  like  Adam  in  the 
garden,  unrobed  but  not  afraid,  meeting  in  the  paradise 
of  friendship  no  eye  that  brings  a  blush ;   how  I  speak 
what  my  lips  never  uttered  before ;  how  I  feel  what  my 
heart  never  felt  before;  how  the  hidden  fountains  at  this 
breath  of  spring  — the  rigid  frost  all  dissolved  —  well  up 
and  pour  forth  their  fre^h,  unchecked  streams ;  how  my 
nature  revels  in  this  genial  clime,  whose  brightness  is  the 
face  of  my  friend  !     Is  this  myself?     I  knew  it  not.     I 
should  never  have  known  it  but  for  this  touch  of  friend- 
ship's magic  wand.     It  is  not  my  old  solitary  self. 

It  is  my  occult,  my  begotten,  my  possible  self,  and  I 
come  into  actual  and  demonstrative  being  in  this  natal 
hour.  I  was  never  fully  born  until  now,  and  knew  no 
complete  maternity  till  I  knew  the  cherishing  nurture  of 
friendship. 

How  much,  then,  do  I  need  that  friendship  itself  should 
do  for  me  ?  If  I  can  put  into  speech  all  that  my  soul,  in 
its  deepest  asking,  wants  of  a  true  friend,  what  shall  I 
plead  for? 

I  want  a  friend  that  shall  meet  the  craving  of  my  heart 
for  a  perfect  loveliness  and  beauty.  I  cannot  be  satisfied 
with  loving  fair  and  beautiful  things  that  are  inanimate. 
The  rose  is  perfectly  beautiful  in  its  way.  My  heart 
springs  toward  the  faultless  arch  and  brilliant  coloring 
of  the   rainbow ;  the   wooded   lake,  far   away  from   the 


184  FEIENDSHIP. 

hauuts  of  men,  and  unvexed  by  the  intrusion  of  human 
life,  is  quietly  and  exquisitely  lovely.  I  admire  these 
charms  of  nature ;  I  stand  fascuiated  with  gazing  upon 
them;  I  pronounce  their  loveliness  without  a  blemish, 
but  I  am  alone  while  with  them.  There  is  no  tenderness 
in  my  love,  no  warmth  of  sympathy  in  it;  there  is  no 
exchange  of  soul.  My  taste  is  educated  and  refined,  but 
I  have  seen  no  face  that  answers  back  to  mine. 

I  want  an  incarnate  beauty,  a  loveliness  living  and 
vocal,  moving  in  the  plane  of  intelligence,  capable  of  ap- 
preciating and  reciprocating  what  I  feel,  so  that  I  can  love 
and  be  loved  after  my  kind.  I  want  a  being,  a  character, 
a  person,  a  soul,  to  whom  I  can  say,  "  Thou,"  and  who  will 
understand  my  offering  when  I  lay  dow^n  there  all  that  I 
have.  And  I  want  the  fairness  to  be  exceedingly  ftiir, 
the  loveliness  exceedingly  lovely.  I  want  to  gaze  and 
ffaze  and  see  no  blemish.  We  all  have  within  us  an  ideal 
of  a  grace  and  beauty  that  are  faultless.  Matching  this 
ideal  and  kindled  by  it,  we  have  all  of  us  an  aspiration  to 
find  and  obtain  this  perfection,  making  the  prize  ours  for- 
ever. We  are  looking  for  it  on  every  hand  all  our  life 
long,  —  a  nature  all  truth  and  purity  and  gentleness  and 
tenderness  and  benevolence  and  strength,  with  no  false 
thing,  no  harshness,  no  prejudice,  no  fickleness,  no 
w^eakness  in  it.  Shall  this  ideal  mock  and  elude  us 
always?  We  question  each  bright  face  of  earthly  kin- 
dreds to  see  if  it  be  there.  We  hold  a  moment  each 
hand  that  touches  ours.  Is  this  the  ideal  friend,  constant, 
loving,  sympathetic,  above  all  meanness,  selfishness,  de- 
ceitfulness,  and  mutability?     We  listen  to  each  tone  that 


FRIENDSHIP.  185 

falls  upon  our  ear,  if  haply  that  one  true  heart  still 
searched  for  spoke  there.  Where  we  give  our  love  and 
confidence,  it  is  as  much  our  ideal  we  love  and  trust  as 
anything  real  which  our  eyes  have  discerned,  often  more. 
We  think  we  are  looking  upon  the  real  when  we  have  only 
projected  out  our  ideal  and  flung  its  charm  over  the 
object  of  our  gaze.  And  the  disappointments  of  life 
come  often  from  the  growing  perception  that  the  real  fails 
to  coincide  with  what  we  thought  we  saw  and  were  about 
to  possess.  Indeed,  we  have  learned,  most  of  us  by  expe- 
rience, even  the  most  favored  of  us,  that  in  the  real  we 
must  subtract  more  or  less  largely  from  the  ideal,  consent 
to  imperfection,  fiud^ur  best  friends  and  truest  not  all 
that  we  thought  them,  at  least,  not  all  that  we  could  con- 
ceive, come  upon  qualities  or  limitations  of  qualities  that 
demand  our  forbearance,  even  as  we  must  ask,  for  our- 
selves, from  them,  large  forbearance  in  return. 

This  consciousness  and  discernment  of  mutual  faults 
makes  our  human  friendships  very  tender  and  touching, 
secures  many  sentiments  in  loving  hearts,  the  exercise  of 
which  would  otherwise  have  found  no  place,  —  sentiments 
of  generosity,  carefulness,  forgiveness,  and  charity,  — 
but  it  denies  to  us  forever  our  ideal.  That  perfect  image 
unmated  anywhere,  finding  amid  all  varieties  of  human 
life  no  mirror  for  its  fairness  and  symmetry,  comes  back 
to  our  heartsjjjke  Noah's  weary  dove  to  the  ark,  and 
hides  within  the  chamber  of  our  soul.  We  gaze  upon  it 
still,  but  it  is  only  an  image.  We  refresh  ourselves  by 
the  contemplation  of  its  surpassing  attractions,  but  it  is  a 
picture,  and  no  more.  Is  there  no  original  for  this  pic- 
16* 


186  FRIENDSHIP. 

ture?  Shall  we  never  behold  this  image  realized  and 
vitalized?  Shall  this  hunger  for  a  perfect  loveliness 
nowhere  and  never  be  satisfied  ?  Is  it  merely  an  internal 
aspiration,  a  standard  which  our  own  soul  has  set  up,  and 
is  it  to  help  us  only  as  an  educating  ideal,  but  never  to 
gladden  and  enrich  us  as  something  with  which  we  can 
make  a  close  and  satisfying  alliance  ? 

Let  us  rest  this  question  here,  unanswered,  for  the  jaao- 
ment,  and  pass  on. 

We  want  again,  as  a  natural  and  inalienable  demand  of 
the  heart,  a  friendship  that  shall  draw  out  our  whole 
capacity  of  loving.  The  heart  delights  to  give  love,  to 
go  on  giving  so  long  as  there  is  no  check,  to  feel  that  it 
can  give  without  restraint  or  limitation.  But  suppose  it 
presently  find  that  where  it  has  begun  to  bestow  love, 
it  cannot  love  there  any  more  ardently ;  that  it  has  ex- 
hausted or  outrun  the  attractive  power ;  that  it  is  like  a 
torfist^tree^rowing  in  a  box  in  a__greenhguse,  its  roots 
hemmed  in  and  confined  by  that  narrow  crib,  and  its 
boughs  met  soon  by  the  low  roof  and  clipped  to  that  dwarf- 
ish standard,  —  roots  that  would  pierce  the  earth  for  many 
a  rod,  seeking  deep  springs  of  remote  watercourses,  — 
boughs  that  would  rise  into  the  mid-air  and  toss  with  a 
giant's  strength  in  dalliance  with  the  full  gales  of  heaven. 
Suppose  the  heart  awake  to  this  consciousness  that  it  has 
given  to  its  friendships  all  that  those  friendships  can  com- 
mand, and  has  yet  an  indefinite  capacity  for  loving  unem- 
ployed ;  that  it  could  give  more  love  and  yet  more,  but 
cannot  give  more  to  these  objects,  outreaching  and  over- 
growing them  as  a  luxuriant  vine  outtops  and  overruns  a 


FRIENDSHIP.  187 

low  and  scanty  trellis ;  what,  then,  shall  comfort  and  por- 
tion it  ?  What  shall  it  do  with  this  superfluous  capacity 
of  loving  ?  Is  it  superfluous  ?  What  was  it  given  for  in 
such  excess  ?  Shall  this  fountained  fulness  find  no  outlet, 
and  for  want  of  channels  set  back  and  stagnate  and  breed 
the  malaria  of  ceaseless  discontent,  a  perpetually  chafing 
restraint.  When  the  heart  questions,  as  it  must  if  it 
make  no  positive  discoveries,  if  it  were  willing  to  love  on 
bUndly ;  when  it  questions,  as  at  times  it  cannot  avoid 
doing,  the  wisdom  of  bestowing  such  vast  afl"ection  upon 
the  frail,  perishable,  and  imperfect  objects  of  earth,  and 
the  still  outreaching  vine  seek  something  loftier  and 
larger  to  climb  and  spread  upon,  that  it  may  show  what  a 
vigor  of  life  and  productiveness  is  in  it,  shall  it  forever 
droop  unsupported  to  the  ground,  and  plead  with  all  its 
vacant  tendrils  in  vain  ? 

We  want,  again,  a  friendship  that  can  enrich  us  indefi- 
nitely. This  is  not  a  selfish  desire  so  much  as  a  noble 
aspiration.  Being  incomplete  in  ourselves,  we  seek  to 
draw  completeness  from  our  friend.  He  must  have  what 
we  have  not.  He  must  not  fall  below  what  we  have.  If 
he  be  poorer  and  weaker  in  everything  than  we  are,  he 
will  not  help  us  up,  but  will  drag  us  down.  If  we  choose 
as  our  friend  one  whom  we  can  contain  and  measure  on 
every  side,  we  shall  either  some  day  despise  him  or  shall 
sink  content  to  his  level,  wrons^inof  our  own  more  vi<]:or-. 
ous  soul.  He  that  chooses  wisely  chooses  where  he/ 
will  have  gain  of  something  that  he  lacks.  A  true  friend- 
ship should  be  mutually  improving.  We  also  may  give, 
though  we  acquire.     We  may  have  something  to  impart 


188  FRIENDSHIP. 

where  we  have  much  to  receive  in  this  interchange  of 
bounty.  We  want  a  friend,  therefore,  whom  we  cannot 
exhaust  in  a  day  or  a  season,  one  in  whom  we  can 
make  new  discoveries  of  wisdom  and  of  worth  every  day, 
one  who  has  something  beyond  still  in  every  disclosure  he 
makes  to  us  of  his  thought  and  of  his  heart,  one  whom 
we  can  never  fully  read  as  we  peruse  a  printed  volume, 
coming  at  last  to  the  end  and  saying,  "  I  have  finished," 
as  we  close  it  and  lay  it  down.  We  want  to  feel  that  he 
gives  us  richly  of  his  abundance,  and  that,  had  our 
want  been  greater,  he  could  have  given  more,  or  that 
he  gives  all,  and  yet  could  give  again,  as  a  cloud  empties 
itself,  and  passes,  and  returning  on  a  changed  current, 
pours  a  fresh  deluge  down. 

But  while  we  desire  thus  a  superior  for  our  friend, 
we  want  one  who  cannot  despise  us,  one  whose  wisdom, 
where  he  is  wise  and  we  are  ignorant,  will  bear  with  our 
ignorance  ;  whose  strength,  where  he  is  strong  and  we  are 
weak,  will  bear  with  our  weakness  ;  whose  address,  where 
we  are  untutored,  will  guide  and  teach  without  humiliat- 
ing us.  We  want  to  feel  it  safe  —  safe  for  our  self-re- 
spect—  to  show  him  our  deficiencies,  that  he  may  supple- 
ment them,  and  yet  not  look  down  upon  us.  We  have 
even  a  longing  to  show  not  only  our  weakness,  but  our 
corruption,  to  confess  that  we  have  moral  diseases  at 
heart,  to  beseech  that  we  be  not  better  thought  of  than 
we  deserve.  We  may  indeed  exercise  modesty  and  hu- 
mility in  our  earthly  friendships,  but  we  cannot  show 
there  the  evil  imaginations  that  haunt  us,  lest  we  sully  our 
friend's  purity  too.     Were  there  one  to  whom  even  this 


FRIENDSHIP.  189 

infirmity  might  be  disclosed  and  our  soul  have  help,  and 
yet  our  place  be  secure  in  his  esteem  and  affection,  oh, 
what  a  friend  were  that ! 

We  want  in  a  friend  quick  perception  and  intelligent 
sympathy.  He  must  not  stride  in  with  rude  and  blun- 
dering steps  among  our  delicate  sensibilities.  His  offers 
of  help  must  not  be  in  a  voice  that  jars  upon  our  hear- 
ing when  we  are  sensitive.  He  must  understand  us,  not 
after  long  and  reiterated  and  wearisome  explanation  of 
our  feelings,  —  he  must  understand  us  instinctively,  read 
our  mood  at  a  glance,  penetrate  to  our  trouble  or  our 
joy  with  one  diving  look,  adapt  himself  to  the  changes 
of  temperature  beneath  the  sky  of  our  soul  without  too 
keenly  feeling  himself  the  variations  of  climate,  — know 
how,  in  one  word,  to  rejoice  with  us  when  we  rejoice, 
-amLtojvveep  witliJis . whan  we^ weep . 

We  want  one,  and  here  is  where  our  quest  among  our 
human  kindred  utterly  fails,  who  can  come  in  upon  that 
region  of  interior  loneliness,  where  we  are  so  often  weak 
and  desolate  with  none  to  help. 

We  have  sorrows  that  we  can  never  tell  to  any  mortal 
ear.  Oh  that  there  were  one  who  could  sit  down  and 
hear  the  long  sad  tale  and  pity  us  and  comfort  us  ! 

We  have  burdens  to  bear  to  whose  liftiuo^  we  can  call 
in  no  human  hand.  Oh  that  there  were  one  who  could 
come  to  us  when  we  are  bowed  and  our  strength  is  spent, 
and  with  friendly  hand  lift  at  those  burdens  or  sustain  us 
as  we  falter  beneath  the  load. 

We  have  temptations  pushing  us  hard  in  unseen  con- 
flicts, to  whose  withdrawn  battle-fields  we  cannot  invite 


190  FRIENDSHIP. 

any  with  whom  we  associate  to  repair,  lest  they  also  re- 
ceive some  wound  that  will  be  henceforth  reproachful  to 
us.  Ah,  if  we  knew  a  friend  who  could  be  our  champion 
then,  himself  invulnerable,  and  his  friendship  unchang- 
ing, not  to  be  forfeited  by  such  a  fellowship  in  our  strug- 
gle with  evil,  what  a  note  of  triumph  we  could  sing ! 

When  friends  have  counselled  us  and  entreated  us,  and 
shown  us  the  way  of  safety  and  the  path  of  honor,  we 
have  still  a  remaining  weakness  in  which  they  cannot 
come  to  our  aid, — a  weakness  of  w^ill,  an  infirmity  of  pur- 
pose, a  wavering  heart,  a  halting  choice,  which  is  often 
fatal  to  our  peace  and  welfare.  Ah,  if  there  were  one 
who  could  show  us  duty  and  counsel  us  to  walk  in  it, 
helping  us  to  will  and  to  do  the  unerring  right,  what  a 
friend  were  he  in  the  crises  of  our  life  ! 

When  my  frame  is  prostrate  in  sickness,  when  I  cannot 
lift  my  fainting  head,  nor  scarce  stretch  out  the  right  hand 
of  my  strength,  when  it  is  too  great  a  task  to  speak  aloud, 
or  to  frame  question  and  answer  for  any  who  come  to  my 
bedside,  give  me  then  a  friend  whom  physician  and  nurse - 
can  safely  admit  to  my  presence,  who  can  salute  me  with- 
out disquieting  me,  sit  with  me  without  imposing  the 
burden  of  his  presence,  whose  presence  itself  is  a  benedic- 
tion of  rest  and  peace,  who  can  interpret  my  feebly-mur- 
muring lips  without  making  me  repeat  my  whispers,  who 
is  calmly  wakeful  when  other  eyelids  droop,  who  watches 
as  vigilantly  and  tenderly  the  pulses  of  my  soul  as  the 
physician  those  of  my  body,  and  gives  me  the  sweet  and 
reposeful  sense  of  being  always  cared  for,  the  comforting 
assurance  that  neglect  is  impossible,  and  I  can  bless  the 
painful  captivity  that  shuts  me  up  with  such  a  friend. 


FRIENDSHIP.  191 

There  will  come  some  day  a  sickness  that  cannot  be 
healed,  a  hurt  that  is  mortal.  The  final  hour  draws  on. 
My  friends  are  about  me.  I  see  their  love  and  sorrow. 
I  am  setting  out  on  a  strange  journey.  Will  any  of  that 
weeping  circle  go  with  me?  No,  they  are  there  to  se6 
me  off  while  they  stay.  They  take  my  hand  not  to  join 
me  as  I  depart,  but  only  to  say  "Farewell."  They  bend 
over  me,  not  to  whisper  the  sustaining  pledge,  "I  will 
never  leave  thee,  nor  forsake  thee,"  but  to  breathe  a  last 
"adieu." 

As  I  enter  the  shadow  of  the  dark  portal,  I  see  them 
clustering  together  behind  me,  leaving  me  to  go  forward 
alone.  "Oh,  my  friends,  desert  me  not  now,  walk  a  little 
way  with  me  on  this  fearful  unknown  road."  But  how- 
ever anguished  my  appeal,  not  one  of  them  passes  to  my 
side  to  bear  me  company.  They  weep,  but  their  feet  re- 
main rooted  to  the  ground.  To  my  outstretched  hand 
they  extend  theirs,  but  it  is  only  to  wave  the  parting 
signal. 

Must  I  tread  that  shadowy  valley  with  no  companion- 
ship? Is  there  no  rod,  no  staff,  that  can  comfort  me? 
Not  one  of  all  that  have  loved  me  to  whom  I  can  then 
say,  "  Thou  art  with  me,  I  am  not  afraid  "  ?  And  when  I 
have  gone  down  thus  to  the  dark  river,  and  have  crossed 
over,  what  do  I  know  of  the  farther  shore  ?  Must  I  land 
a  lonely  stranger  on  that  shore  of  eternity,  that  dim  vast 
shore,  with  no  guide,  no  welcome,  no  kindred,  no  tie  from 
the  past,  that  holds  firm  and  strong,  no  familiar  friendly 
voice  that  shall  make  me  feel  at  home  ? 

These  are  some  of  the  thoughts  and  questionings  of  my 


192  FRIENDSHIP. 

heart  when  I  muse  upon  the  friendship  I  need,  and  as  I 
muse  and  question,  I  perceive  more  and  more  the  diffi- 
culty of  securing  such  a  friend.  Oh,  rare  and  precious 
treasure  that  should  fill  this  great  want  of  my  soul  and 
my  life  !  Where  shall  I  find  him?  Who  is  he?  What 
is  his  name,  and  where  his  home? 

And  I  turn  to  read  my  Scripture  again.  "There  is  a 
friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother."  Does  not 
Solomon  mean  more  here  than  the  failure  of  natural  afiec- 
tion,  and  the  exalting  of  real  and  abiding  afiection  above 
natural  ties?  Is  he  not  writing  more  grandly  than  he 
knows?  Does  he  not  hold  a  prophet's  pen?  Is  he  not 
sketching  a  likeness,  the  original  of  which  should  come 
afterward?  Is  he  not  publishing  an  unconscious  testi- 
mony which  one  who  was  to  arise  in  the  fulness  of  time 
should  take  to  himself?  How  is  it  that  all  hearts  agree 
that  this  ancient  utterance  fits  now  but  one  name  of  all 
that  have  been  spoken  among  men  ?  Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
the  Son  of  Mary,  the  Son  of  the  Highest,  the  Friend  of 
man,  is  this  "Friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother." 

He  is  "  fairer  than  the  sons  of  men."  I  can  find  no  spot 
or  blemish  in  him.  In  him  is  no  excess  and  no  deficiency. 
All  that  I  have  ever  conceived  of  innocence  and  purity 
and  goodness,  of  patience  and  gentleness  and  sincerity, 
are  realized  in  him  who  did  no  sin,  neither  was  guile 
found  in  his  mouth.     My  ideal  is  met  at  last. 

There  I  can  love  without  qualification  and  restriction, 
with  no  guilty  sense  of  idolatrous  extravagance.  I  can 
expend  my  whole  power  of  loving.  My  heart  cannot  en- 
large itself  beyond  the  attractiveness  of  this  beloved  ob- 


FRIENDSHIP.  193 

ject.  Love  as  I  may,  growing  in  loving  capacity  and 
fulness  through  all  immortality,  I  can  never  feel  that  I 
have  loved  him  enough.  I  only  feel  how  mean,  how  poor 
the  offering  of  affection  which  I  bring  when  compared 
with  his  inexhaustible  worth,  and  sing  at  last  when  my 
one  heart  is  emptied  at  his  feet,  — 

"  Had  I  a  thousand  hearts  to  give, 
Lord,  they  should  all  be  thme." 

And  as  I  cannot  overtop  this  attractive  power  by  an}^ 
luxuriance  of  my  heart's  love,  so  neither  can  I  exhaust 
the  fruitfulness  of  that  friendship  for  me.  Successive 
harvests  may  reduce  the  fertility  of  the  soil ;  the  drought 
may  drink  up  river  and  lake ;  but  however  much  I  draw 
from  the  bounty  of  Jesus,  from  his  love,  his  light,  his 
power,  his  faithfulness,  I  feel  that  there  is  an  infinite  ful- 
ness left.  These  resources,  and  the  kindness  that  makes 
them  mine,  I  cannot  drain. 

And  pensioning  my  wants  on  this  enriching  friendship, 
I  never  feel  my  relations  to  it  degrading.  I  am  never 
despised,  never  reproached,  never  treated  as  a  mere 
hanger-on,  a  wearisome  dependent.  The  more  I  ask  of 
this  friendship,  the  more  it  gives,  and  the  better  it  is 
pleased,  and  there  I  may  show  all  the  indwelling  corrup- 
tion of  my  soul,  and  hear  no  word  and  catch  no  look  that 
puts  me  to  shame.  I  may  show  it  as  freely  as  one  with  a 
hidden  cancer  betrays  the  secret  to  a  trusted  physician, 
receiving  in  return  only  an  access  of  healing  care. 

Here  I  am   understood.     What   I   cannot   express   is 
known.     The    sympathy  of  Jesus   makes   no    mistakes. 
17 


194  FRIENDSHIP. 

Deeper  than  my  consciousness  is  his  insight  into  my 
trouble,  and  his  manner  as  gentle  as  his  intelligence  is 
wise,  —  soft  words  tenderly  spoken,  rest  for  weariness, 
strength  for  weakness,  comfort  for  sadness. 

In  the  solitudes  of  my  soul,  where  no  human  footstep 
can  tread,  he  is  at  home.  I  can  find  no  chamber  so  inte- 
rior and  secluded  where  a  grief  may  hide  from  him,  or  a 
wounded  spirit  lie  tossing  without  his  knowledge  and 
presence.  The  balm  which  no  human  hand  could  reach 
me  for  my  secret  hurts  his  wounded  hand  brings  in ;  the 
temptation,  whose  severity  I  could  not  make  known  to 
any  intimate  of  my  earthly  fellowships,  he  foils  with  his 
ever-ready  skill  and  power,  for  I  am  willing  that  he 
should  know,  and  he  is  more  than  willing  to  defend. 
The  weak  and  waverinsi  will  he  steadies  and  rallies  and 
girds  with  conquering  energy. 

He  makes  all  my  bed  for  me  in  my  sickness ;  comes  in 
with  a  step  that  never  jars  ;  exacts  nothing  of  eiiort  and 
action,  but  only  asks  peaceful  trust ;  excites  no  sensi- 
tive nerves,  but  only  calms  both  body  and  soul;  keeps 
unwearying  vigils  while  he  "  giveth  his  beloved  sleep ;  " 
makes  every  wakeful  hour  bright  with  his  dear,  comfort- 
ing presence,  so  that  the  silent,  dark  night  is  a  chamber 
of  radiant  communion  with  him,  and  when  my  eyes  ques- 
tion him  of  th©  issue,  lays  his  finger  on  his  lip  and  smiles 
till  I  am  satisfied. 

And  on  that  lone,  last  journey,  when  friend  and  lover 
and  brother  retire  from  me,  he  gathers  my  arm  in  his,  he 
leads  me  on  through  the  darkness.  I  feel  no  weight  of 
the  sable  gloom.     I  feel  no  fright  at  unseen  awful  terrors. 


FKIENDSHIP.  195 

I  am  with  him,  and  a  dawning  light  paves  soon  my  ad- 
vancing path,  and  I  see  a  pearly  gate,  and  I  enter  a  gol- 
den street,  and  my  Guide  and  Friend  presents  me  fault- 
less before  the  presence  of  the  excellent  glory. 

Is  not  this  the  friendship  we  want  ?  Can  we  live  with- 
out it?  Can  we  die  without  it?  If  it  were  offered,  could 
any  heart  that  was  not  mad  reject  it  ? 

They  gave  him  his  name  of  old,  —  scornful  lips,  but 
they  spoke  the  truth,  "Friend  of  publicans  and  sinners." 
He  stands  near  us  now  and  makes  his  gentle  overture, 
"Ye  are  my  friends  if  ye  do  whatsoever  I  command  3'ou." 

Will  you  have  his  friendship?  Will  you  sacrifice 
everything  else  to  make  him  your  friend  ? 

Take  this  hymn  of  trust  and  make  it  yours  :  — 


0  holy  Saviour,  Friend  unseen, 
Since  on  thine  arm  thou  bidst  me  lean. 
Help  me,  throughout  life's  changing  scene, 
By  faith  to  cling  to  thee! 

Blest  with  this  fellowship  divine. 
Take  what  thou  wilt;  I'll  not  repine; 
For  as  the  branches  to  the  vine 

My  soul  would  cling  to  thee. 

Though  far  from  home,  fatigued,  oppressed. 
Here  have  I  found  a  place  of  rest. 
An  exile  still,  yet  not  unblest, 
Because  I  cling  to  thee. 

What  though  the  world  deceitful  prove, 
And  earthly  friends  and  hopes  remove; 
With  patient,  uncomplaining  love 
Still  would  I  cling  to  thee. 


-i*"^ 


196  rPJENDSHIP. 

Though  oft  I  seem  to  tread  alone 
Life's  weary  waste,  with  thorns  o'ergrown, 
Thy  voice  of  love,  in  gentlest  tone, 
Still  whispers,  "  Cling  to  me !  " 

Though  faith  and  hope  are  often  tried, 
I  ask  not,  need  not  aught  beside; 
So  safe,  so  calm,  so  satisfied. 

The  soul  that  clings  to  thee!" 


XIII. 

FAITH'S    VENTUEES. 

BY  FAITH  ABKAHAM,  WHEN  HE  WAS  CALLED  TO  GO  OUT  INTO  A  PLACE 
WHICH  HE  SHOULD  AFTER  RECEIVE  FOR  AN  INHERITANCE,  OBEYED;  AND 
HE   WENT  OUT,   NOT  KNOWING   WHITHER  HE   WENT. — Hcb.  xi.  8. 

IT  was  a  sublime  venture  in  the  strength  of  which 
Abraham  went  forth  from  Ur  of  the  Chaldees  in 
search  of  a  strans^e  land  to  be  shown  him  of  God.  No 
geography  of  that  unknown  country  lay  before  his  eye. 
All  the  map  he  had  of  it  was  this  misty  sketch,  without 
features  or  outlines,  in  the  divine  promise,  "A  land  that 
I  will  shew  thee."  His  home  was  in  the  rich,  alluvial 
pastures  of  the  lower  Euphrates.  That  was  his  countr3^ 
the  place  of  his  nativity,  the  place  of  his  kindred  and  of 
his  father's  house.  All  the  pleasantest  and  all  the 
strongest  ties  of  his  life  held  him  fost  to  that  spot. 
Ancestral  associations  made  the  place  sacred  to  his  heart. 
There  he  himself  had  lived  till  he  was  now  seventy-five 
years  old.  He  was  not  a  young  man,  standing  alone, 
just  beginning  the  world,  and  free  to  strike  out  whither 
he  would  in  search  of  good  successes ;  he  was  a  man  of 
family,  with  wife  and  aged  father  and  youthful  orphan 
nephew  and  a  considerable  household  attached  to  his 
17* 


198  faith's  ventures. 

movements  and  sharing  his  fortunes.  The  Canaan  to- 
ward which  the  heavenly  call  bade  him  journey  was  at 
least  four  hundred  miles  away.  All  between  was  a  path- 
less wilderness ;  there  was  no  public  road  along  which  he 
might  take  his  domestic  tribe,  following  securely  in  the 
track  of  travellers  who  had  gone  before  him.  Swift 
streams  unbridged,  mountain  chains  with  passes  unex- 
plored, secluded  valleys,  the  hiding-place  of  robber  bands, 
and  the  horrors  of  desert-life  were  certain  perils  to  be 
encountered.  And  what  precisely  should  be  the  reward? 
Something  large,  but  vague. 

But  Abraham's  foith  was  equal  to  the  test.  Ah,  he 
had  the  strong,  sweet  comfort  of  a  sure  call  from  God. 
He  knew  what  voice  had  spoken  to  him.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  the  word  of  command.  That  was  audibly 
divine.  And  he  so  believed  the  Promiser  that  it  was 
easy  for  him  against  all  dissuasives  to  obey,  or,  if  not 
easy,  that  great  faith  won  the  victory. 

I  think  it  was  well  for  Abraham  that  that  call  was 
to  an  unknown  future.  It  would  have  been  a  tougher 
strain  upon  his  faith  if  he  had  seen  what  was  to  be 
written  of  him  in  the  years  to  come.  Doubtless  he 
would  still  have  triumphed,  but  it  would  have  been  after 
a  sharper  conflict.  The  promise  that  leads  him  out  is 
this:  "I  will  make  of  thee  a  great  nation."  When  he 
arrives  in  Canaan,  a  stranger  amid  its  powerful  and  pop- 
ulous tribes,  the  covenanted  blessing  in  its  repetition 
seems  to  recede.  "  Unto  thy  seed  will  I  give  this  land." 
He  flits  about  from  mountain  to  mountain  and  vale  to 
vale,  building  an  altar  here  and  another  there,  but  not 


faith's  ventures.  199 

settling  or  pausing  by  any  of  them,  moving  southward,  a 
pilgrim  from  day  to  day  without  a  home,  and  presently 
driven  quite  out  of  the  country  by  a  grievous  famine. 
Is  this  the  goodly  countiy,  the  land  flowing  with  milk 
and  honey?     From  the  pursuing  jaws  of  the  famine  he 
hastens  down  into  Egypt,  and  is  soon  in  trouble  with  the 
court  and  the  king,  and  in  peril  of  his  life.     Then  back 
again    into   the  south   of  Palestine,  in    trouble    on    ac- 
count  of  Lot,    from   the   invasion   of  hostile   kings,   in 
trouble   in   his   own  family,  in  trouble  for   the   doomed 
cities  of  the  plain,  in  further  and  stranger  trials  of  faith, 
and  dying  at  last  with  nothing  of  all  that  splendid  inheri- 
tance his  own  but  a  tomb,  which  he  had  bought  with  his 
own  money,  in  which  lay  his  dead  wife,  Sarah,  and  in 
which  he  himself,  but  for  that  one  field  still  a  landless 
exile,  was  buried  at  her  side.     Truly  he  went  out  not 
knowing  whither  he  went,   and  not  imagining.     Amono' 
all  the  pictures  which,  under  the  inspiration  of  his  faith, 
he  drew  of  the  future,  probably  not  one  of  those  hard  re- 
alities was  sketched. 

And  this  has  been,  ever  since  the  peculiarity  of  our 
earthly  trial,  the  one  record  of  every  man's  story.  He  is 
called  of  God  at  each  stage  of  his  way  to  go  forth,  he 
knoweth  not  whither.  The  call  he  hears,  but  what  it 
leads  to  he  cannot  foretell.  The  consummation  he  may 
feel  sure  of;  but  the  method,  the  process,  the  path  that 
lies  between,  even  the  nature  of  the  prize  he  is  to  touch, 
described  in  material  terms  and  as  though  close  at  hand, 
but  changing  for  possession  perhaps  to  some  remote  spir- 
itual interpretation,  —  all   this  is  hidden  from  him,  an 


200  faith's  ventures. 

enio-ma  which  only  the  future  itself  can  solve.  Each 
morning  of  our  life,  each  fresh  enterprise  for  a  clay  or  for 
an  hour  upon  which  we  embark,  is  a  call  to  us  to  enter 
into  the  unknown,  by  simple  faith  in  God. 

I  wish  to  dwell  upon  the  influence  of  this  peculiar  fea- 
ture in  our  earthly  trial,  this  venturing  of  faith  upon 
the  unknown  that  lies  outward  from  the  present. 

It  is,  in  the  first  place,  no  dissuasive  from  going  for- 
ward. Every  man  has  it  to  say  as  the  light  of  morning 
flashes  under  his  opening  eyelids,  "I  know  not  what  the 
day  will  bring  forth.  It  may  have  some  great  disaster 
in  store  for  me.  As  I  go  out  into  the  street  I  may  en- 
counter some  shock  of  violence  that  shall  shake  the  very 
citadel  of  my  life,  —  my  wareroom  and  all  that  it  con- 
tains may  be  shattered  into  wreck;  the  day's  business,  de- 
spite my  best  sagacity,  may  prove  the  most  unfortunate 
stroke  of  industry  my  hands  ever  delivered.  It  is  all  un- 
certain .  My  whole  labor  may  be  vain  and  worse  than  vain . " 
This  is  not  the  mere  musing  of  a  hypochondriac.  It  is 
all  the  soberest  truth.  Shall  this  man,  therefore,  add,  "I 
cannot  take  a  step  amid  such  hazards.  I  cannot  go  for- 
ward till  the  mist  clears  up.  This  walking  I  know  not 
whither  is  too  rash.  I  will  not  rise.  I  will  keep  my  pil- 
low. I  will  adventure  nothing  because  I  cannot  see  the 
end ! "  Would  you  commend  him  for  his  wisdom  and 
prudence  in  such  a  decision?  Would  you  not  bid  him 
shake  off  both  his  fears  and  his  sloth  and,  taking  an  in- 
spiring draught  of  faith,  gird  himself  for  his  day's  journey 
and  his  day's  work!  Shall  the  husbandman,  because  he 
knows  not  what  floods  or  drought  or  blight  may  come 


faith's  ventures.  201 

upon  his  fields  with  the  season's  progress,  refuse  in  the 
young  summer  to  plough  and  sow,  lest  there  should  be, 
after  all,  no  harvest  for  him.  Shall  there  be  no  enterprise 
of  pith  and  moment  undertaken  because  the  issue  lies 
hidden  under  a  cloud  ?  Shall  our  ignorance  of  the  future 
paralyze  all  our  diligence,  and  will  none  but  the  headlong 
and  desperate  venture  to  plunge  forward  into  the  dark  ? 
Faith  never  gives  such  counsel,  nor  worldly  wisdom, 
borrowing  her  lamp  for  the  darkness  of  the  wa3\  Faith 
says,  "  Go  forward  !  "  She  tells  us,  "  God  knows  what 
is  coming,"  and  he  bids  us  be  up  and  doing.  His  eyes 
survey  all  that  is  hid  from  us,  and  ours  can  look  into  his. 
It  is  enough  that  he  is  not  blind,  and  cannot  be  taken  by 
surprise.  From  shore  to  shore  the  wide,  dim  sea  lies 
level  to  his  gaze,  and  he  calls  to  us  to  sail  on.  There  are 
storms  ahead,  and  sunken  rocks,  and  fugitive  icebergs, 
and  ships  steering  to  meet  us  in  our  own  track,  and  red- 
handed  pirates,  and  hungry  swarms  from  foundering  ves- 
sels, and  ten  thousand  other  nameless  perils  of  the  deep. 
Yes,  all  these  possibly.  But  there  is  God  overhead, 
observing  all,  controlling  all,  guiding  all.  That  is  enough 
for  faith.  And  as  to  the  matter  of  prudence,  why,  our 
dangers  do  not  come  exclusively  from  motion.  Sitting 
still  may  keep  us  in  the  very  focus  of  harm.  The  flames 
may  wTap  the  house  from  which  we  refuse  to  go  out,  the 
bed  from  which  we  refuse  to  rise.  There  is  no  work  of 
life  on  which  we  do  not  proceed  without  knowing  whither ; 
but  the  believing  heart  simply  says,  "  God  knows,"  and 
moves  cheerfully  and  trustfully  forward. 

Again.     The   unknown   of  faith's   heritage    saves   our 


202  faith's  ventuees. 

weakness  from  being  crushed.  We  can  bear  our  griefs 
and  disappointments,  by  God's  help  as  they  come  upon 
us,  one  by  one.  "Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof,"  —  sufficient  for  our  strength,  sufficient  for  our 
knowledge.  And  only  one  day's  evil  can  in  the  present 
divine  arrangement  come  upon  us  between  the  rising  and 
the  setting  sun.  But  God  has  not  made  us  strong  enough 
to  take  upon  our  hearts  in  one  burden  all  the  evil  of  life. 
That  vision  would  quite  break  us  down.  Suppose  in  en- 
tering upon  the  family  relation  we  saw  at  one  straight 
glance  forward  all  the  trials  that  are  to  wear  our  strength 
and  make  our  hearts  bleed,  the  pain  and  grief  of  little 
children,  their  wrestling  with  strong  diseases,  anxious 
days  and  sleepless  nights  on  their  behalf,  the  dimming  eye 
and  whitening  face  of  one  and  another,  and  the  dreary 
hush  as  they  fall  asleep,  the  heavy  solicitude  that  comes 
later  when  the  problems  of  their  character  and  destiny 
are  waiting  solution,  the  sharp  anguish  of  praying  for 
them  in  their  times  of  temptation  what  seem  to  us  un- 
answered prayers.  All  the  changes  of  that  coming  and 
unwritten  family  story,  its  migration  from  scene  to  scene 
and  home  to  home,  its  struggles  in  dark  days  when  want 
is  doorkeeper  of  the  house,  the  infirmities  of  human  tem- 
per that  sometimes  darken  its  interior  lights,  the  perplex- 
ing questions  it  is  to  stagger  under  for  burdened  months 
before  responsibility  sees  an  open  path  of  duty,  we  could 
not  go  to  the  bridal  hour  with  so  bright  a  face  and  light  a 
heart  as  now.  We  should  turn  pale  with  dread  and  mis- 
giving, and  ask  ourselves  doubtfully  whether  we  should 
be  found  sufficient  for  such  a  future.     And  yet  who  of  us 


FAITHS   VENTURES.  203 

in  looking  back  over  such  a  record  would  wish  he  had 
otherwise  chosen?  Gathering  in  one  all  our  sicknesses, 
all  our  labors,  all  our  sorrows,  all  our  defeats,  wringing 
all  life's  bitterness  into  a  single  cup,  and  offering  that  cup 
to  our  lips  to  be  taken  at  one  draught,  who  could  lift  his 
hand  to  that  cup  and  welcome  that  draught  to  his  palate  ? 
That  would  make  a  Gethsemane  darker  than  nature's  mid- 
night. Whatever  the  alternative  were,  we  should  be 
tempted  to  plead,  "Let  this  cup  pass  from  me!"  It  is 
better  that  we  go  forth  not  knowing  what  lies  before  us. 

Again.  The  unknown  to  which  faith  leads  us  out 
stimulates  hope  and  aspiration.  If  we  were  not  quick- 
ened by  the  view  of  grand  possibilities,  there  is  little  we 
should  attempt.  Cold,  absolute,  certain  knowledge  would 
be  the  blight  of  hope,  the  death  of  aspiration.  We  do 
not  know  the  future,  but  w^e  can  paint  it.  Give  us  our 
colors  and  our  brush,  and  stretch  the  canvas  for  us,  and 
move  our  easel  near.  Our  way  is  to  be  onward  along 
sunny  vales,  by  pleasant  river  banks,  through  gardens  of 
delights,  with  richest  fruitage  hanging  low  to  desire,  and 
all  hearts  that  beat  in  contact  with  our  own  catchino: 
strength  and  joy  from  ours.  You  need  not  tell  us  that 
this  is  a  fancy  sketch.  For  once  it  may  come  true.  Say 
not  that  scenes  as  fair  have  been  painted  before,  but  have 
been  uniformly  overlaid  by  more  sombre  hues  of  reality ; 
we  are  going  to  the  unknown,  and  the  unknown  may  be 
even  more  radiant  than  our  vision.  Other  men's  lives  in 
the  past  have  failed  of  their  ideal,  but  ours  may  come 
nearer.  We  see  where  they  mistook ;  we  shall  avoid  their 
errors,  and  achieve  the  success  they  missed.     The  flight 


204  faith's  ventukes. 

of  other  men's  hope  has  been  amid  cold  clouds,  pelted  by 
storms,  beaten  down  by  the  great  rain  and  hail,  and  has 
come  fluttering  and  out-wearied  to  the  ground,  but  our 
eagle  will  spread  a  more  soaring  pinion,  and  ride  the 
tempest  with  a  stronger  stroke,  and  hold  his  steep  way 
straight  on  for  the  sun.  There  are  better  prizes  than  hu- 
man hands  have  gathered  ;  we  may  reach  them,  —  loftier 
heights  than  human  feet  have  trodden ;  we  may  stand 
upon  them.  Many  a  gallant  ship  has  struck  in  the 
voyage  ;  ours  shall  come  into  the  harbor.  It  may  be  the 
divine  will  that  the  successes  denied  to  those  who  have 
gone  before  us  shall  crown  our  endeavors.  Our  friend- 
ships shall  prove  more  constant  and  prosperous  than 
those  of  which  we  have  read.  From  our  bridal  altar  a 
pleasant  highway  shall  lie  onward  amid  bloom  and  ver- 
dure unfading.  Ah,  what  may  not  God  purpose  for  us 
of  triumph  and  enjoyment?  Faith  takes  hold  of  his 
whole  power  and  goodness.  The  unknown  is  what  is 
possible  to  him.  Believingly,  hopingly,  faith-inspired,  we 
go  forward,  not  knowing  whither  or  to  what,  but  dreaming 
of  the  brightest. 

And  then  again,  going  thus  in  faith  to  meet  the  un- 
known, we  are  saved  from  the  bitterness  of  disappoint- 
ment. The  particular  hopes  we  have  cherished  may  miss 
of  their  fulfilment.  But,  then,  we  did  not  stand  upon 
hope,  but  upon  faith,  and  that  rock  is  steadfast  still ;  that 
never  moves.  Our  bright  dreams  fade  out  one  by  one, 
but  God  does  not  change.  Our  ignorance,  in  which  we 
drew  pictures,  has  not  affected  his  wisdom.  The  real 
ground  of  comfort  and  of  confidence  has  not  yielded  by 


faith's  ventures.  205 

one  particle.  He  has  brought  to  pass  what  he  would. 
It  is  not  what  we  expected,  but  it  is  what  he  saw  to  be 
best,  and  therefore  it  is  best.  It  is  better  than  the  gay, 
flimsy  pattern  our  pencil  sketched.  It  has  undiscovered 
connections  with  a  richer  and  greater  good  than  we  have 
seen.  These  trying  events,  so  different  from  what  we 
had  hoped  for,  are  not  final  ends  of  God's  dealing.  They 
reach  forward  into  a  future  still  unrevealed  and  worthy  of 
our  most  ardent  aspiring.  They  are  parts,  humble  parts 
or  costly  parts,  of  a  whole,  which  no  eye  but  God's  has 
yet  seen,  and  whose  majesty  and  grandeur  will  fill  the 
soul  when  we  apprehend  them  with  infinite  content. 
You  cannot  convince  us  that  failures  are  what  they  seem. 
They  are  simply  such  uses  as  the  great  Designer  chose  to 
make  of  us  and  our  working  for  a  scheme  that  cannot  fail. 
Faith's  unknown  is  capacious  enough  to  hold  within  its 
globed  sphere  such  issues  of  the  divine  beneficence,  such 
rewards  for  hoping,  believing,  and  toiling,  as  shall  make 
all  our  anguish  in  journeying  toward  them  a  forgotten 
travail  in  the  joy  of  their  new  birth.  In  this  view  disap- 
pointment has  no  deep  sting  to  wound  and  rankle  in  our 
souls.  It  is  only  in  faith's  rendering  a  correction  of  our 
misconception  as  to  the  methods  by  which  God  will  reach 
through  us  his  full,  transcendent  ends. 

The  effect  of  this  arrangement  upon  character  is  one  of 
its  most  peculiar  and  most  precious  influences.  If  at  the 
outset  of  our  way,  at  the  threshold  of  every  new  enter- 
prise, we  could  climb  some  height  from  which  all  the  com- 
ing road  were  visible,  the  long  reaches  to  be  traversed, 
the  hills  to  be  climbed,  the  streams  to  be  forded,  the 
18 


206  faith's  ventures. 

sharp  angles  to  be  turned,  the  dark  ravines  to  be  thread- 
ed, from  which  also  the  distant  end  lay  full  in  view,  it 
would  be  natural  for  us  to  keep  our  eye  upon  that  revela- 
tion. At  every  forward  step  we  should  recall  that  map 
of  the  road,  and  measure  our  progress  and  graduate  our 
expectation  by  what  we  could  retain  of  that  vision  of  the 
whole  journey.  We  should  be  looking  steadily  and 
sharply  for  the  features  and  way-marks  of  the  road  which 
had  impressed  themselves  most  deeply  upon  our  minds. 
We  should  thus  walk  by  sight,  and  make  our  eyes  our 
guide.  But  now,  as  we  turn  our  eyes  forward,  there 
hangs  before  us  the  thick,  impervious  veil  that  separates 
us  from  the  unknown.  We  can  look  back  and  gather  the 
record  of  the  past,  and  listen  to  the  voices  of  experience. 
But  as  to  coming  events,  we  can  only  look  up.  There  is 
but  one  Being  who  sees  the  end  from  the  beginning.  For 
our  comfort  and  guidance,  he  offers  us,  in  our  weakness 
and  ignorance,  the  alliance  of  his  perfect  knowledge,  his 
infinite  wisdom,  his  overcoming  strength.  We  are  taught 
thus  to  walk  by  faith.  We  cannot  see,  but  we  can  trust 
him.  We  know  not  the  road,  but  we  can  follow  him. 
We  cannot  tell  what  is  coming,  but  we  can  look  to  him  to 
prepare  us  for  all.  The  road  forks,  and  we  are  utterly  at 
a  loss  which  hand  to  take ;  we  peer  into  either  opening, 
but  the  unrevealing  mist  lies  thick  on  both ;  we  can  only 
watch  our  Father's  face,  and  lift  our  hand  to  touch  his,  and 
wait  the  intimation  of  his  choice.  These  necessities  keep 
us  near  him,  awake  our  concern  at  anything  that  divides 
us  from  his  presence,  and  hold  us  in  suppliant  and  de- 
pendent intimacy  with  him. 


FAITHS   VENTURES.  207 

If  a  promised  blessing,  some  exiDected  reward,  seem 
to  recede  as  we  advance,  we  study  the  promise  more 
deeply,  we  find  new  capacities  of  meaning  in  its  terms, 
we  get  glimpses  of  some  better  thing  than  that  which  we 
thought  so  near  at  hand,  and  look  forward  to  a  grander 
consummation  than  our  life  histories  had  ever  dared  to 
hope  for.  If  that  which  we  dimly  saw,  and  supposed  just 
before  us,  is  yet  afar  off  in  some  untravelled  remoteness, 
like  a  mountain  peak,  which  at  dawn  of  day  we  thought 
we  should  reach  ere  noon,  but  find  even  as  the  day  wanes 
that  it  seems  as  far  away  as  ever,  what  a  majestic  pile 
must  it  be,  to  keep  itself  so  along  above  the  horizon,  and 
send  forward  its  kingly  salutation  to  such  distant  travel- 
lers ! 

We  have  a  Canaan  in  pledge  and  in  prospect.  We 
travel  on  toward  its  border.  Our  feet  are  on  its  soil. 
The  land  we  touch  is  called  Canaan,  but  it  does  not  seem 
our  land  of  promise.  It  has  sweet  vales  and  goodly  hills, 
its  vines  are  fruitful,  and  butter  and  honey  flow  down  its 
rocky  shelves,  but  we  are  not  put  in  possession.  We  are 
a  hungered  and  uuportioned  still,  and  must  journey  on. 
Why,  then,  our  Canaan  is  still  beyond  and  before  us,  and 
its  vales  must  be  fairer  than  these,  and  its  hills  oreener, 
and  some  goodlier  Lebanon  lift  its  white  crown  above  it, 
and  clusters  richer  than  those  of  Eshcol  be  ripeniuo-  for 
our  coming.  We  are  looking  for  a  home  and  a  rest,  for 
the  soul  is  sure  "  a  rest  remaiueth ; "  that  cannot  fail  us. 
And  we  have  come,  we  think,  upon  our  sweet  possession. 
Now,  soul,  be  comforted,  and,  heart,  be  at  peace.  Now  let 
the  dear,  strong  ties  of  kindred,  manifold  bands  of  love 


208  faith's  ventukes. 

and  sympathy,  gather  upon  us,  fasten  their  clasping  coils 
around  body  and  soul,  intertwine  their  thousand-fingered 
tendrils  with  the  chords  of  our  very  life.  Here  we  are  at 
home.  Our  pilgrimage  pauses  here.  Our  tent  life  is  at 
an  end.  We  shall  have  no  more  any  feast  of  tabernacles. 
Let  us  build  of  stable  and  durable  material,  and  bid  our 
household  gods  accept  their  permanent  shrines.  God  is 
good  and  has  kept  his  promises  well.  We  will  take  the 
harp  and  sing  —  But  what  is  that  he  says  ?  "  Arise  ye  and 
depart,  for  this  is  not  your  rest ;  it  may  by  and  by  be  your 
tomb,  but  never  your  restful  home."  Why,  then,  we  must 
strike  our  tents  again  and  take  our  staff  and  journey  once 
more.  But  a  rest  remaineth,  and  it  is  across  the  river,  and 
its  name  is  Canaan  !  Yes,  it  remaineth,  but  we  are  learn- 
ing to  think,  we  are  beginning  to  know,  that  it  is  that 
other  and  darker  river  which  we  are  to  cross  before  we 
find  it ;  that  we  are  to  tread  the  celestial  heights,  that  we 
are  to  enter  the  promised  rest,  the  sure  inheritance,  only 
as  we  enter  the  city  of  God. 

Truly  each  pilgrim  of  faith  goeth  forth  not  knowing 
whither.  He  pitcheth  at  close  of  day  as  though  at  his 
journey's  end,  and  is  not  aware  that  he  must  move  again 
with  the  morning.  God  keeps  his  hope  still  just  before 
him, — just  before  him,  but  never  grasped,  —  so  that  he 
may  run  still  with  outstretched  hand  and  eager  desire ; 
and  then  the  hope  is  lifted  higher,  and  God's  lips  smile 
the  assurance,  "Here  it  is  at  last,"  and  we  see  that  we 
have  been  running  for  nothing  less  than  an  immortal 
crown," — for  no  transient  home,  but  for  an  eternal  heaven. 
This  is  fiiith's  large  and  full  inheritance,  her  magnificent 


FAITH'S   VENTUEES.  209 

unknown.  The  earthly  disappointments  are  only  step- 
ping-stones each  toward  these  serene  final  summits ;  the 
restlessness  of  earth,  only  the  traveller's  enforced  dili- 
gence in  pursuing  his  road  quite  to  its  goal.  Our  igno- 
rance, that  stumbles  and  halts  so  often,  and  catches  up 
such  inferior  good  as  though  it  could  be  content  with  it 
as  a  portion,  and  grieves  so  to  lay  it  down,  covers  this 
heritage  of  everlasting  joy  and  peace.  All  the  busy, 
earnest  years  that  lie  between  the  starting-point  and  the 
goal,  all  the  rich  investments  of  our  heart's  deep  love,  — 
the  fond,  warm  covenants  in  which  we  pledge  a  union  not 
to  be  sundered,  —  all  personal  and  domestic  ties,  all  so- 
cial bonds  growing  out  of  our  life  with  the  full  vitality  of 
nature  and  of  grace  in  them,  are  but  the  training  and  dis- 
cipline for  our  nurture  unto  his  great  and  blessed  pur- 
poses ready  to  be  revealed  in  us  at  the  last. 

If  we  saw  now  and  beforehand  as  clearly  as  we  shall 
see  the  meaning  of  each  particular  part  of  the  grand 
scheme,  we  should  miss  the  full  power  of  its  ministry 
upon  the  growth  of  our  souls  toward  the  stature  of  their 
immortal  manhood.  Let  us  give  faith's  rendering  to  the 
poet's  rhymes. 

"  When  another  life  is  added 

To  the  heaving,  turbid  mass; 
When  another  breath  of  being 

Stains  creation's  tarnished  glass; 
When  the  faint  cry,  weak  and  piteous, 

Heralds  long-enduring  pam, 
And  a  soul  from  non-existence 

Springs  that  ne'er  shall  sleep  again; 
When  the  mother's  passionate  welcome, 

Sorrow-like,  bursts  forth  in  tears, 


210  faith's  ventures. 

And  the  sire's  self-gratulation 
Prophesies  of  future  years,  — 
It  is  well  we  cannot  see 
What  the  end  shall  be ! 

"  When  across  the  infant  features 
Trembles  the  faint  dawn  of  mind, 
And  the  soul  looks  from  the  windows 

Of  the  eyes  that  were  so  blind ; 
When  the  incoherent  murmurs 

Syllable  each  swaddled  thought 
To  the  fond  ear  of  affection 

With  a  boundless  promise  fraught, 
Kindling  great  hopes  of  the  morrow, 

From  that  dull,  uncertain  ray, 

As  by  glunmering  of  the  twilight 

Is  foreshown  the  perfect  day, — 

It  is  well  we  cannot  see 

What  the  end  shall  be ! 

"  When  the  boy,  upon  the  threshold 
Of  his  all  comprising  home. 
Puts  aside  the  arms  maternal 

That  enlock  him  ere  he  roam; 
When  the  canvas  of  his  vessel 
Flutters  in  the  favoring  gale, 
Years  of  solitary  exile 

Hid  behind  its  snowy  sail; 
V/hen  his  pulses  beat  with  ardor, 
And  his  sinews  stretch  for  toil. 
And  a  thousand  bold  emprises 
Lure  him  to  that  eastern  soil,  — 
It  is  well  we  cannot  see 
"What  the  end  shall  be! 


"  Whatsoever  is  beginning 

That  is  wrought  by  human  skill,  — 
Every  daring  emanation 
Of  the  mind's  ambitious  Avill,  — 


faith's  ventures.  211 

Every  first  impulse  of  passion, 

Gush  of  love  or  twinge  of  hate,— 
Every  launch  upon  the  waters, 

Wide  horizoned  by  our  fate,— 
Every  venture  m  the  chances 

Of  life's  sad,  oft  desperate  game, 
Whatsoever  be  our  object, 

Whatsoever  be  our  aim. 
It  is  well  we  cannot  see 
What  the  end  shall  be ! " 


"  It  Is  well  we  cannot  see 
What  the  end  shall  be]  " 

but  best  of  all  that,  not  seeing,  we  can  both  hope  and 
trust. 


XIY. 

PLEA  FOE  THE  MONTHLY  CONCERT. 

AND  WHEN  THEY  WERE  COME,  AND  HAD  GATHERED  THE  CHURCH  TOGETH- 
ER, THEY  REHEARSED  ALL  THAT  THE  LORD  HAD  DONE  WITH  THEM,  AND 
HOW  HE  HAD  OPENED  THE  DOOR  OF  FAITH  UNTO  THE  GENTILES. — ActS. 

xiv.  27. 

FOR  graphic  and  even  romantic  interest,  there  is  no 
other  book  of  the  Bible  that  surpasses  this  book  of 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  As  its  name  indicates,  it  is  a 
book  of  action.  You  are  led  by  it  along  a  story  of  mar- 
vellous adventures.  There  is  not  one  dull  chapter. 
Every  page  is  stirring  and  eventful.  Neither  history  nor 
fiction  ever  traced  a  chronicle  more  crowded  with  strange 
and  thrilling  scenes.  And  the  line  of  adventure  is  not, 
either  in  its  inspiration  or  its  consequences,  frivolous  and 
transient.  The  scheme  that  marshalled  the  journeyings 
and  the  sufferings  of  these  heroic  actors  was  nothing  less 
than  to  "  open  the  door  of  faith "  to  nations  ignorant  of 
Christ  and  his  salvation.  What  a  lyric  and  picturesque 
touch  of  the  pen  of  Luke  in  this  expression,  —  "opening 
the  door  of  faith"  !  A  door  of  light  upon  deep  darkness, 
— a  door  of  deliverance  for  the  bondmen  of  superstition 
and  idolatry,  —  a  door  beneath  whose  grand  arch,  and 


PLEA   FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT.  213 

through  whose  stately  portals,  the  long,  bright  procession 
of  the  Christian  virtues  should  enter  in  and  possess  the 
realms  of  barbarism,  degradation,  and  cruelty  !  Perhaps 
it  will  be  popularly,  though  it  cannot  be  to  Christian 
hearts,  a  less  taking  version  if  we  say  it  is  a  record  of 
missionary  labors,  missionary  trials,  and  missionary  suc- 
cesses. It  is  the  first  vohime  of  the  long  work  of  the 
Church  in  obedience  to  that  command,  at  once  so  full  of 
the  love  and  the  authority  of  Jesus,  "  Go  3  e  into  all  the 
world,  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature." 

In  the  scene  outlined  in  our  text,  we  are  introduced  into 
a  missionary  meeting,  whose  special  purpose  is  the  com- 
munication of  missionary  inteUigence.  To  the  disciples 
at  Antioch  belongs  the  honor  of  the  first  mission  ever  sent 
forth  by  a  Christian  Church.  Moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost, 
with  fasting  and  prayer,  and  the  laying  on  of  hands,  they 
had  set  apart  Barnabas  and  Saul  to  the  missionary  work. 
(You  read  concerning  this  inauguration  service  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  present  chapter.)  From  such  "Farewell  " 
these  two  intrepid  brethren  had  gone  forth  from  city  to 
city,  with  various  fortune,  through  perils  and  sufierings, 
with  ever  increasing  boldness,  preaching  the  death  and 
resurrection  of  Jesus,  and  salvation  through  him.  At 
length,  after  persecutions  and  stonings,  rejected  of  the 
Jews,  but  with  great  and  good  success  among  the  Gen- 
tiles, they  had  completed  their  tour,  and  now  stood  again 
among  their  brethren  at  Antioch.  The  whole  Church 
came  together  to  hear  these  returned  missionaries.  There 
was  no  need  of  urging  an  attendance  upon  that  meeting. 
None  said,  "It  is  only  a  missionary  meeting;  it  will  be 


214        PLEA  FOR  THE  MONTHLY  CONCERT. 

dull  and  tame."  There  were  no  attractions  within  all  the 
city  that  could  divert  a  disciple  from  the  scene  where 
these  missionary  laborers  were  to  tell  their  simple  story. 
Their  hearts  were  bound  up  in  hearing  how  it  had  fared 
with  those  whom  they  had  sent  out  to  preach  the  new 
gospel,  and  how  that  gospel  was  winning  its  way  in  the 
earth.  No  strains  of  music,  whether  sacred  or  profane ; 
no  lips  of  eloquent  orators,  charming  never  so  wisely ; 
no  scenes  bright  and  pleasant  with  social  festivities,  could 
compete  with  the  interest  of  that  rehearsal  which  was  to 
tell  how  a  Christian  mission  had  prospered.  They  had 
not  prayed  and  fasted  and  commissioned  their  brethren 
to  this  work,  to  be  indifferent  to  its  record,  and  turn 
carelessly  away  from  the  story  of  its  progress,  its  difficul- 
ties, and  its  triumphs. 

In  nearly  all  the  elements  of  interest  attached  to  this 
occasion  of  long  ago,  and  in  some  additional  elements  of 
a  grander  scope  and  deeper  power,  we  have  this  scene 
repeated  in  our  own  times  every  month,  in  that  "  Con- 
cert OF  Prayer  "  now  so  widely  observed  by  the  modern 
Christian  Church.  Eighty  years  ago  last  June,  the  ob- 
servance of  this  Concert  began  with  an  association  of 
Baptist  ministers  of  Nottingham,  England.  Forty  years 
earlier  an  attempt  had  been  made,  by  a  number  of  Scotch 
ministers,  to  secure  more  united  and  concerted  prayer  for 
a  general  effusion  of  the  Holy  Spirit  "  on  all  the  churches 
of  the  Redeemer  and  on  the  whole  habitable  earth."  The 
Saturday  afternoon  and  Sabbath  morning  of  each  week, 
and  more  solemnly  the  first  Tuesday  of  each  quarter  of 
the  year,   were    specially  commended  to   Christians  for 


PLEA  FOR   THE   MONTHLY  CONCEET.  215 

such  seasons  of  agreeing  intercession.    Many  pious  hearts 
in  Great  Britain,  and  some  on  this  side  the  ocean,  caught 
the  flame  of  this  quickening  influence,  and  "praying  so- 
cieties "  were  gathered  and  maintained  in  various  places 
in  both  countries.     The  sacred  fire  touched  the  heart  of 
our  own  Jonathan  Edwards,  who  was  moved  to  write  an 
elaborate  essay,  entitled  "  An  humble  attempt  to  promote 
explicit  agreement  and  visible  union  of  God's  people  in 
extraordinary  prayer  for  the  revival  of  religion  and  the 
advancement  of  Christ's  kingdom  on  earth."     These  ef- 
forts and  influences  culminated  at  length  in  the  adoption 
of  a  resolution  by  the  Nottingham  Association,  in  1784, 
"recommending  the  setting  apart  of  the   first   Monday 
evening  in  every  month  for  prayer  for  the  extension  of 
the   gospel."     The    circle   of  churches  acting  upon  this 
suggestion  widened,  though  somewhat  slowly,  every  year. 
A  few  American  churches,  it  is  believed,  kept  alive  the 
old  Quarterly  Concert  from  its   institution,   before   the 
middle  of  the  last  century.     A  few  more  began  the  ob- 
servance of  the  jMonthly  Concert  at  about  the  time  of  the 
sailing  of  the  first  missionaries  of  the  "American  Board." 
But  the  observance  of  this  Concert  did  not  gain  very  gen- 
eral prevalence  until  the  year  1815,  when  it  was  urged 
and  enforced  by  the  Panoplist,  and  almost  immediately 
welcomed    by   large    and    increasing   numbers    of    local 
churches.     After  some  twenty  years,  it   was  found  that 
not  a  few  pastors  and  churches,  from  the  difliculty  of 
gathering  a  full  attendance  upon  Monday  evening,  had 
transferred  the  Concert  to  the  first  Sabbath  evening  of 
the  month.     Several  missionary  and  ecclesiastical  bodies 


216  PLEA   FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT. 

favored  this  change ;  the  subject  was  discussed  at  the 
meeting  of  the  American  Board  in  1838,  and  though  no 
action  was  taken,  it  would  appear  that  this  change  had 
been  widely  though  not  universally  approved. 

With  such  a  past,  this  sacred  season  has  come  down  to 
us.  Its  observance,  maintenance,  and  transmission  are 
now  in  our  hands.  It  is  no  longer  a  novelty ;  neither  is 
the  Sabbath,  nor  Christianity  itself;  but  none  the  less  for 
that  ought  our  interest  in  it  to  be  fresh,  lively,  and  ten- 
der. Our  fathers  and  mothers  loved  it  and  honored  it. 
They  would  as  soon  have  turned  their  backs  on  the  Lord's 
day  and  the  sacramental  supper  as  on  this  hour  of  prayer 
for  the  conversion  of  the  world.  The  first  Sabbath  of 
each  month  was  with  many  of  them  the  communion  Sab- 
bath. Most  appropriately  they  came  from  the  table  of 
their  Lord  to  pray  that  the  memorials  of  his  love  and 
death  might  be  set  before  all  the  perishing.  In  their  sac- 
ramental hymn  these  two  verses  came  always  together :  — 

"  'Twas  the  same  love  that  spread  the  feast 
That  gently  drew  us  in; 
Else  wo  had  still  refused  to  taste, 
And  perished  in  our  sin. 

"Pity  the  nations,  0  our  God! 
Constrain  the  earth  to  come; 
Send  thy  victorious  word  abroad, 
And  bring  the  strangers  home." 

There  is  some  reason  to  fear  that,  with  the  present 
new  generation  of  Christian  believers,  this  Concert  has 
less  interest  and  sacredness  than  with  the  generation  re- 
tiring.    They  felt  that  it  was  as  divine  as  the  very  insti- 


PLEA   FOE   THE   MONTHLY  CONCERT.  217 

tution  of  missions ;  that  the  Church  at  home  could  not 
otherwise  obey  the  command  to  go  forth  preaching  the 
word  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ;  and  that  it  was  treachery 
to  the  Lord,  and  to  those  whom  they  had  sent  forth  in 
their  name  to  disciple  all  nations,  to  lay  upon  them  such 
a  commission,  and  send  forth  with  them  no  volume  of 
united,  agreeing  prayer.  They  had  too  faithful  a  spirit, 
too  tender  a  conscience,  toward  this  observance,  to  al- 
low in  them  the  omission  of  any  possible  respect  to  its 
most  honored  keeping.  We  wear  the  bands  of  fealty  to 
this  venerable  ordinance  more  loosely  and  lightly.  With 
us  it  is  only  one  of  a  great  many  v:ays  of  spending  the 
evening  of  the  Sabbath,  between  which  one  and  any  of 
all  the  rest  we  are  free  to  choose,  as  convenience,  ease, 
and  personal  inclination  may  dictate.  The  Sabbath  even- 
ing has  come  to  have  a  thronging  pressure  upon  it,  such 
as  our  fathers  never  dreamed  of.  It  is  our  eveninof  for 
sacred  operas, — I  mean  concerts, — for  oratorios,  for 
paid  declamation,  for  every  department  of  humane  and 
moral  enterprise,  for  the  recitation  of  perilous  adventures 
in  our  modern  land  of  bondage,  for  inaugurating  new 
police  regulations  in  the  metropolis,  for  well-nigh  every 
cause  that  can  find  an  advocate,  hire  a  hall,  and  that 
wishes  for  an  audience.  These  manifold  channels,  with 
others  less  questionable  than  some  of  these,  sluice  off 
the  attendance  upon  the  venerable  Concert  of  Prayer, 
and  leave  it  sometimes  stranded  dry  and  high,  like  an 
abandoned  hulk  on  the  shore. 

Such   a  depletion   and  desertion  of  this  meeting  is  a 
great  loss  to  the  cause  of  missions,  a  great  subtraction 
19 


218  PLEA   FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT. 

from  the  power  and  faithfulness  of  the  Church  in  this  main 
artery  of  Christian  life  and  labor,  a  blast  and  a  blight 
upon  the  intelligent  and  principled  piety  of  the  youth  of 
our  communions,  and  a  sad  omen  for  the  type  of  piety 
that  shall  hold  the  ascendency  with  us  in  coming  days. 

Let  me  now  take  some  one  of  you  by  the  hand,  whom 
I  see  here  this  morning,  but  never  see  on  the  Concert 
evening,  and  set  before  you  the  persuasive  claims  of  this 
Monthly  Concert  of  Prayer. 

Consider,  first,  its  contribution  to  your  intellectual  cul- 
ture, and  to  the  amount  of  your  positive  knowledge. 
Missionary  explorations  have  now  been  pushed  out  over 
the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  They  have  traversed 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  continents.  They  have 
searched  the  sea  for  hidden  islands.  They  have  made 
the  acquaintance  of  every  barbarous  people.  They  have 
occupied  the  seats  of  ancient  civilization.  Toward  the 
poles,  they  have  gone  as  far  into  arctic  and  antarctic  win- 
ters as  the  most  dauntless  navigators.  Under  the  equa- 
tor, they  have  braved  the  heat  of  tropic  suns.  The  men 
who  have  conducted  these  Christian  marches  have  been 
men  of  good  ability,  of  studious  habits,  and  of  disciplined 
mind.  Most  of  them  have  been  graduates  of  our  colleges, 
and  not  a  few  of  them  men  of  the  highest  promise  in 
scientific  tastes,  literary  accomplishments,  and  intellectual 
force.  These  men  have  gone  out  into  these  varied  re- 
gions of  the  earth,  with  their  eyes  open  and  their  minds 
alert,  to  observe  and  record  all  that  came  within  their 
field  of  vision.  They  have  told  us  of  the  novel  aspects  of 
these  strange  shores.     They  have  opened  to  us  the  inte- 


PLEA   FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT,  219 

rior  of  these  mighty  continents.     They  have  mapped  out 
these  island  groups.     They  take  us  up  picturesque  val- 
leys, and  over  rocky  ridges,  and  across  nameless  rivers, 
and  pause  with  us  on  the  margins  of  inland  lakes,  veiled 
hitherto  from  all  but  native  sight,  and  climb  with  us  the 
dome  of  volcanic  mountains,  until  we  see  with  them  all 
that     their   eyes   have   gazed   upon.      They   tell   us   the 
growths  of  the  field  and  the  forest,  —  what  the  hand  of 
nature  rears,  and  what  the  hand  of  tillage.     They  paint  the 
portraits  of  the  races  dwelling  in  these  far-off  scenes,  in- 
troduce us  to  their  houses,  their  social  life,  their  temples 
of  worship,  their  religious  rites,  their  traits  of  character, 
their  governments,   their  manners    and  customs.     They 
are  not  flying  tourists,  skimming  over  the  soil  as  by  ex- 
press, and  sketching  only  what  they  see  by  daylight  from 
the  windows  of  a  lightning  train.     They  go  into  these 
new  climes  to  dwell   there.     They  make   themselves  at 
home  among  the  people.     They  observe  deliberately,  and 
by  many  a  verification,  all  concerning  which  they  testify. 
They  have  the  deepest  practical  interest  in  studying  the 
hearts  and  lives  of  these  strange  races,  and  they  are  men 
whose  testimony  can  be  taken  as  the  witness  of  truth  and 
honesty.     The  rehearsal  of  these  testimonies,  from  be- 
neath the  face  of  the  whole  heaven,  must  needs  bring  to- 
gether a  vast  amount  of  the  most  wonderful  and  the  most 
reliable  contributions  to  human  knowledge  which  our  en- 
lightened age  can  boast.     It  is  knowledge  not  merely  of 
the  dead  past,  but  of  the  living  present.     On  parallel 
lines  with  our  life  at  home,  all  these  distant  nations  and 
tribes  are  moving  forward  in  their  own  current,  daily  his- 


220  PLEA   FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT. 

tories.  And  every  month,  at  least,  we  may  look  over, 
eastward  and  westward,  into  these  contrasted  courses  of 
human  progress,  and  keep  a  calendar  of  the  whole  drift 
of  the  race.  There  is  no  periodical  that  comes  upon  the 
table  of  the  savant  that  contains  within  the  same  space  a 
juster,  wider,  more  varied  view  of  man  as  a  mortal  and 
an  immortal  being  —  his  condition,  his  dwelling-place,  his 
graduated  interrelations  on  the  full  scale  of  humanity  — 
than  the  monthly  "  Missionary  Herald  "  of  the  American 
Board.  Scholars  quote  it,  ambassadors  pay  tribute  to  its 
writers,  science,  geography,  history,  study  and  appro- 
priate it.  These  are  the  pages,  such  are  the  facts,  that 
come  month  by  month  before  the  minds  of  those  who  at- 
tend these  missionary  meetings.  To  some  extent  these 
facts  would  be  accessible  without  such  attendance,  in  the 
printed  periodical;  but,  practically,  they  would  not  be 
gathered.  If  read,  they  would  not  be  made  so  impres- 
sive and  memorable.  A  young  man  who  should  resolve, 
for  his  intellectual  enriching  alone,  never  to  fail  of  at- 
tendance upon  this  monthly  resume  of  the  world's  getting 
on,  might,  to  his  advantage,  accept  it  as  a  substitute  for 
libraries  and  lyceums  and  lectures,  and  would,  when  in 
years,  find  himself  possessed  of  a  sum  total  of  mental  ac- 
quisitions which  no  pecuniary  value  could  measure.  No 
young  man  who  desires  any  breadth  of  intelligence  con- 
cerning the  day  in  which  he  lives,  and  his  contemporaries 
of  the  great  common  family,  can  afibrd  to  neglect  this 
one  source  of  intellectual  training  and  furnishing. 

But  it  is  more  vital  to  the  idea  of  Christian  culture  to 
say  that  nowhere  else   can  you  obtain  such  vivid  con- 


PLEA  FOR  THE   MONTHLY  CONCERT.  221 

ception  of  the  depth  of  man's  moral  and  spmtual  ruin. 
Human  nature  is  the  same  with  all  the  races,   and  in 
every  laud  and  clime.     But  we  see  it  at  home  under  the 
ameliorating  power  and  the  decent  restraints  of  the  Chris- 
tian faith.     Take  away  these  restraints,  go  before  this 
renovating  power,  where  the  dawn  of  this  travelling  day 
of  light  and  order  has  not  yet  risen.     Oh,  how  deep  and 
total  the  darkness  !     What  forms  are  moving  about  in  it ! 
What   scenes   are   veiled   in   it !      What   degradation   is 
there  !     Follow  the  missionary's  torch  as  he   lights   up 
dimly  the  revolting  reality.     What  faces  are  there  !     Are 
they  human?     Is  that  the  mouth   made   to   smile  with 
sweet  and  gentle  affections?     Is  that  the  brow  piled  as 
the  throne  of  thought?     Are  those  the  eyes  filled  with 
the  light  of  intelligence  ?     Look  upon  the  retreat  where 
that  life  kennels,  translate  its  speech,  trace  out  the  rudi- 
mental  family  relation,  speak  to  them  such  words  as  vir- 
tue,  goodness,   purity,  benevolence,  truth.     Verily  you 
are  talking  in  an  unknown  tongue.     Are  these  our  fel- 
low-men, children  of  our  own  ancestors?     Alas,  what  has 
sin  wrought !     This  is  the  world  that  has  departed  from 
God.     This  is  what  God  saw  and  loved.     This  is  what 
Jesus  saw,  and  died.     Can  any  of  us  see  it  and  think  sin 
a  little  thing  ?     Can  any  of  us  see  it  and  doubt  the  doc- 
trine of  man's  depravity  ?     Can  any  of  us  look  upon  it 
habitually,  and  not  appreciate  the  world's  need  of  the  gos- 
pel ?     If  there  be  in  our  modern  Christian  development  a 
less  burdensome  sense  of  man's  utterly  lost  and  ruined 
condition  than  our  fathers  had,  if  we  have  come  to  speak 
pleasantly,  tolerantly,  and  hopefully  of  human  nature  as 
19* 


222  PLEA  FOR  THE  MONTHLY   CONCERT. 

only  needing  a  little  smoothing  and  polishing  to  be  accep- 
table to  a  holy  God,  may  not  this  defection  be  traceable 
to  a  neglect  of  these  dark  exhibitions  of  human  guilt  and 
shame  ? 

Here,  too,  perhaps,  as  nowhere  else,  we  learn  to  appre- 
ciate the  power  of  the  gospel  as  a  restoric  system.  Can 
it  clothe  these  naked  savages  ?  Can  it  lift  these  dull  and 
sensual  eyes  heavenward  ?  Can  it  transform  these  brutal 
instincts  to  holy  aspirations  ?  Can  it  change  these  fero- 
cious tempers  to  meekness  and  love  ?  Can  it  lead  out  be- 
fore these  gross  and  debased  minds  God  and  good  angels 
and  all  the  purities  and  sanctities  of  Christian  living? 
Can  it  displace  the  kennel  with  a  Christian  home,  and  es- 
tablish within  the  decent  order  and  propriety  of  a  Chris- 
tian household  ?  Can  it  change  the  wild,  vile  speech  of 
those  untamed  lips  to  words  of  prayer  and  songs  of 
rhythmic  tenderness  and  worship  ?  Can  it  harness  tyran- 
nic and  domineering  idleness  and  improvidence  to  dili- 
gence and  thrift,  and  turn  the  wilderness  into  a  garden, 
the  desert  into  a  fruitful  field  ?  Can  it  lift  up  the  swarm- 
ing tribes  of  such  human  outcasts,  and  build  them  into 
the  fair  proportions  of  a  Christian  nation,  and  set  it  as  a 
gem  of  light  and  beauty  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  the 
loveliest  thing  God's  eye  looks  upon  on  the  broad  Pacific 
Sea?  How  such  a  view  exalts  the  gospel  before  us! 
How  it  rises  and  towers  up  —  God's  great  work  —  with 
new  sublimities  of  power,  more  kindling,  inspiring,  and 
quickening  to  our  homage  than  we  have  ever  elsewhere 
seen  it !  If  we  would  know  how  much  God  has  invested 
of  his  wisdom  and  greatness  in  this  redemption  scheme, 


PLEA  FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT.  223 

these  are  the  scenes  in  which  to  acquire  that  knowledge. 
No  month  shall  pass  without  bringing  some  of  these 
amazing  triumphs  of  the  love  and  grace  of  Jesus  before 
us,  to  move  our  wonder  and  excite  our  adoring  praise. 

What  other  scene  helps  us  to  come  into  such  full  and 
tender  sympathy  with  Christ  as  this  ?     How  does  he  feel 
toward   our  lost  race?     How  does  he  look  upon  these 
"dark   places   of  the   earth,    full   of  the   habitations   of 
cruelty"?     What  are  his  thoughts  of  this  vast,    sunken, 
heathen  world?     Is  it  for  us  only  that  he  died?     Does  he 
long  for  us,  and  none  beside?     Are  not  his  compassions 
waiting,    waiting,    waiting,    till    some   voice    speak    his 
name  in  the  ears  of  these  far-off  ransomed  ones,  and  some 
hand  lead  them  to  him  for  pardon  and  crowns  of  life  ? 
What  is  his  dearest  wish,  what  is  his  grandest  purpose, 
on  the  earth  ?     Is  it  not  to  be  known  as  the  earth's  Saviour 
and  Lord?     Can  a  Christian  heart  be  in  sympathy  with 
Jesus  and  indifferent  to  missions  ?     Can  that  heart  enter 
into  the  feelings  of  that  divine  bosom,  and  prefer,  on  the 
Concert  eve,  to  spend  the  hour  somewhere  else?     Find 
me  a  place  upon  which  the  regard  of  the  Saviour  is  more 
intensely  fixed   upon  the   first  Sabbath  evening   of  the 
month  than  that  scene  where  the   Church  assembles  to 
pray,  "Thy  kingdom  come,"  and  to  watch  and  listen  unto 
the   answers   to   that   prayer.     Whither  will  you  guide 
me  ?     Shall  it  be  where  light  hearts  gather  to  be  exhilar- 
ated by  artistic   singing?     Is  Jesus  present  there  with 
warmer  sympathies  than  where  those  prayers  ascend,  and 
the  ends  of  the  earth  send  in  responses?     Shall  it  be 
where  some  question  of  municipal  polity  is  discussed? 


224  PLEA  FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT. 

Shall  it  be  where  trained  elocution  is  reciting  the  sen- 
tences of  famed   orators  for  our  literary  entertainment? 
Shall  it  be  where  an  indolent  household  circle  takes  neg- 
lige posture  in  easy-chairs  and  on  soft  lounges?     What 
other  purely  religious  gathering  even,  however  solemn 
and  spiritual,  can  have  an  object  so  grand,  so  comprehen- 
sive, so  near  the  deep  core  of  the  heart  of  Christ,  as  this 
that  has  met  to  take  up  his  great  commission,  and  to  bring 
him  his  chief  and  long-delayed  joy  and  reward  ?     If  our 
personal  predilections,  our  itching  ears,  our  roving  pro- 
pensities,  our  thirst  for  outside  spiritual  stimulus,  our 
desire  for  self-gratification,  control  our  movements,  why, 
we  may  go  hither  and  thither,  as  far  as  our  vagrant  feet 
and  our  more  vagrant  fiincies  shall  carry  us.     But  if  sym- 
pathy with  Christ  marshal  our  steps  on  this  one  Sabbath 
evening,  if  we  mean  to  be  where  he  lingers  with  tenderest 
interest,  and  to  come  under  the  most  welcoming  glance  of 
his  eye  and  his  warmest  smile,  can  we  doubt  that  this 
scene  of  conference  and  prayer  concerning  the  evangeliz- 
ing: of  the  nations  is  the  scene  whither  we  should  be  led  ? 
It  will  be  acknowledged,  of  course,  that  the  Church 
owes  a  duty  to  Christian  missions,  and  that  each  individ- 
ual member  of  the  Church  shares  in  that  debt.     What  is 
it  that  is  owed?     A  little  treasure,  an  annual   gift,   an 
occasional  utterance  of  the  Lord's  Prayer,  without  any 
special  emphasis  on  the  missionary  petition  therein,  more 
than  we  put  on  that  for  our  daily  bread,  a  glancing  of 
the  eye  over  the  missionary  column  of  the  family  religious 
newspaper,  if  such  a  column  can  be  found  ?     This  cannot 
be  all.     And  yet  it  is  likely  to  be  about  the  whole,  if  one 


PLEA   FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT.  225 

neglect  the  Monthly  Concert.  It  is,  with  multitudes  of 
professing  Christians  living  in  such  neglect,  practically 
the  whole.  Nay,  we  are  to  meet  and  hear  freshly,  again, 
that  great  missionary  command,  with  all  the  stress  of 
Jesus'  heart  in  it.  We  are  to  meet  and  send  out  oar 
cheer  to  the  faithful  brethren  who  have  gone  in  our  place 
to  the  distant  idolatrous  tribes,  and  who  look  back  with 
straining  eyes  to  see  whether  they  are  remembered  still, 
and  how  many  of  us  come  together  to  hear  their  saluta- 
tions, and  to  waft  them,  in  prayers,  our  united  benedic- 
tions. We  are  to  meet  to  kindle  in  our  souls  afresh  the 
missionary  ardor,  to  draw  in  a  deep  inspiration  of  the 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  and  of  the  rescuing  pity  and  yearn- 
ing love  of  our  Lord.  The  missionary  life,  which  is, 
more  than  any  other  form  of  expression,  that  Vvhich  em- 
bodies and  conveys  most  of  the  heart  of  Jesus, — most 
nearly  identical  with  that  spirit  of  Christ  without  which 
no  man  is  his,  —  cannot  be  vital  and  earnest  with  one  who 
chooses  to  live  in  habitual  non-attendance  upon  this  scene 
of  sacred  missionary  interest. . 

If  there  is  any  one  scene  that  secures  the  full  and  sym- 
metrical development  of  the  Christian  character,  crowns 
and  w^reathes  it  with  all  its  graces  in  full  bloom  and  fra- 
grance, it  is  still  this  scene  of  the  Missionary  Concert. 
Here  is  height,  for  we  go  up  to  the  throned  heart  of 
Jesus.  Here  is  depth,  for  we  gauge  the  abyss  of  man's 
ruin.  Here  are  length  and  breadth,  for  our  thoughts 
and  sympathies  and  prayers  run  swiftly  from  pole  to  pole 
of  the  habitable  earth,  and  wrap  the  globe  around,  like 
the   tidal  wave  of  its    oceans.      Here    Christian  pity   is 


226  PLEA   FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT. 

taught  to  weep  her  softest  tears.  Here  Christian  endur- 
ance faces  its  sharpest  conflicts,  its  heaviest  strain,  and 
Christian  heroism  wins  its  greenest  laurels.  Here  our 
faith  wrestles  with  hardest  problems,  and  again  looks  upon 
its  brightest  rewards.  Here  we  come  to  feel  that  we  are 
nothing,  and  less  than  nothing,  before  the  mountain  bar- 
riers that  bar  the  gospel's  way,  and  again  that  our  faith, 
instrumentally,  is  mighty  through  God  to  the  pulling 
down  of  the  strongholds  of  error  and  sin.  Here  the  love 
of  souls  becomes  a  consuming  passion,  and  the  longing 
insupportable  that  our  crucified  Lord  should  see  the  fruit 
of  his  anguished  travail  and  be  satisfied.  Here  our  search 
grows  eager  for  the  ancient  promises,  and  we  sift  the 
word  of  God  to  trace  out  that  covenant  of  the  Father 
that  pledges  to  the  Son  the  heathen  world  as  his  inheri- 
tance. Humility,  patience,  perseverance,  self-denial, 
ceaseless  gratitude  for  the  things  wherein  we  are  made  to 
differ  from  our  benighted  kindred,  the  spirit  of  importu- 
nate prayer,  a  discernment  of,  and  a  consecration  unto, 
the  true  and  noble  end  of  Christian  living,  —  all  these  re- 
ceive here,  every  month,  a  fresh  baptism,  wherein  they 
are  sprinkled  from  the  dust  of  earthliness,  and  show  a 
divine  purity  and  beauty.  The  hold  of  our  ambition,  our 
greed,  our  craving  for  luxuries,  our  all-encroaching  world- 
liness,  are  relaxed;  and  here,  if  anywhere,  here  almost 
assuredly,  we  write  upon  body,  soul,  and  estate,  "All  for 
Christ."  This  makes  a  broad,  vigorous,  healthful  Chris- 
tian development.  Nothing  narrow,  sickly,  and  dwarfing 
in  this  experience.  Here  the  disciple  grows  to  his  full 
stature.     He  lives  not  in  the  confining  cell  of  his  own 


PLEA  FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT.  227 

prejudices  and  bis  selfish  enjoyments.  He  lives  in  the 
wide  world  over  which  the  cross-bannered  host  of  God's 
elect  is  mai'ching,  beneath  the  open  sky,  where  the  shadow- 
ing wings  of  the  missionary  angel  bear  on  that  glad  her- 
aldry, calling  down,  through  the  airy  spaces,  "  Peace  on 
earth,  good  will  to  men,"  and  within  the  full  circumfer- 
ence of  that  large  love  that  bought  the  world  with  a  sacri- 
ficial death. 

My  dear  people,  I  do  not  think  any  of  us  can  afford  to 
dispense  Avith  this  school  of  Christian  nurture.  I  think 
many  of  us  need  a  higher  appreciation  of  its  priceless 
worth.  I  believe  there  is  nothing  that  we  can  do  for  our 
Christian  growth,  no  influence  under  which  we  can  sit  for 
our  personal  quickening  and  enlarging,  no  service  which 
we  can  render  to  the  Master  and  the  great  scheme  which 
he  carries  on  his  heart,  in  any  one  hour  of  all  the  month, 
at  once  so  profitable  to  us,  so  fruitful  for  human  good,  so 
grateful  to  Christ,  as  this  attendance  upon  the  meeting  for 
missionary  intercession.  Will  any  of  you  say  that  these 
meetings  are  not  interesting?  That  is  your  mistake. 
They  are.  You  cannot  tell  in  any  tone,  by  any  utter- 
ance, from  any  lips,  the  story  of  the  struggliug  and 
triumphing  gospel,  the  story  of  man's  degradation  and 
sinfulness  and  woe,  the  story  of  our  Christian  comrades 
pioneering  the  paths  of  saving  truth  in  the  far-off  lands 
of  superstition  and  darkness,  without  interesting  any 
heart  in  sympathy  with  Christ.  Will  you  stay  away  be- 
cause the  meetings  are  thinly  attended?  Is  that  a  remedy 
for  that  evil  ?  The  single  element  of  a  thronged  house ,  with- 
out one  other  feature  changed,  would  fill  the  meetings  with 


228  PLEA  FOR   THE   MONTHLY   CONCERT. 

life  and  power.  The  presence  of  numbers,  the  warmth 
of  so  many  hearts  beating  together,  the  ascending  clouds 
of  intercession  from  so  many  souls  in  unison,  the  inter- 
acting inspirations  from  so  many  sympathies,  all  drawn 
out  in  one  direction,  and  coursing  together  through  the 
changes  of  the  meeting,  would  make  the  place  as  solemn 
and  privileged  as  the  council-chamber  of  the  Deity. 

It  is  one  evening  of  a  month.  Give  it  to  this  service. 
Set  it  apart  and  consecrate  it,  and  make  it  sacred  to  this 
observance.  Write  a  vow  before  God,  in  your  closet,  to 
keep  this  Concert.  Let  nothing  but  his  peremptory  hand 
upon  you  keep  you  away.  I  would  have  no  regular  en- 
gagement, of  whatever  sort,  that  should  bereave  me  and 
Christ  of  this  attendance.  Come,  young  and  old ;  come 
in  fair  weather  and  foul ;  come  fresh  or  weary ;  come 
though  angelic  choirs  give  concerts  in  pavilions  of  gold, 
though  silver-tongued  orators  promise  strains  of  elo- 
quence sweeter  than  song.  Come,  to  please  Jesus,  to 
take  upon  your  willing  hearts  the  tender  pressure  of  his 
last  command,  and  your  souls  shall  reap  a  full  reward ; 
the  welcomes  of  your  waiting  Lord  shall  greet  you  and 
rest  upon  you,  and  the  world's  redemption  shall  be 
hastened  on. 


XV. 

HUMAN  LONELINESS. 

IF  THOU  BE  WISE,  THOU  SHALT  BE  WISE  FOR  THYSELF ;  BUT  IF  THOU  SCORN- 
EST,  THOU  ALONE  SHALT  BEAR  IT.  —  PrOV.  ix.  12. 

DEIYE  at  midnight  through  the  mazy  streets  of  some 
great  centre  of  human  life.  Here  and  there  a  lamp 
is  faintly  burning.  The  crowds  have  melted  away.  Si- 
lence has  settled  down  between  the  dark  ranges  of  man- 
sions and  warehouses.  The  eye  glances  up  and  runs 
along  the  surflice  of  the  tall,  dim  walls.  What  is  hidden 
there  within?  AYhat  secrets  do  those  shuttered  homes 
enclose?  If  one  could  look  into  all  that  seclusion,  what 
strange  elements  of  society,  what  varied  and  perhaps 
startling  experiences,  personal  and  social,  would  meet  his 
view  !  High  up,  half  shaded,  but  struggling  feebly  out, 
a  light  burns  obscurely.  What  is  there,  —  sickness,  wake- 
fulness, plotting  crime,  or  only  deep  slumber  watched 
over  by  that  friendly  ray?  Imagination  revels  at  will. 
But  night,  silence,  and  the  dark  masonry,  with  its  curtains 
and  blinds,  keep  their  secrets.  We  cannot  explore  or 
know.  And  if  all  those  windows  were  to  flame  out  with 
a  sudden  illumination,  if  we  could  take  the  wings  of  the 
bird  of  night  and  fly  over  the  thronged  city,  and  every 
20 


230  HUMAN   LONELINESS. 

roof  were  transparent,  we  should  know  not  much  more 
than  we  now  know  while  pacing  slowly  and  wonderingly 
along  the  dark  street.  The  interior  scenes  of  those 
guarded  shelters  would  be  visible,  — passages,  stairways, 
and  the  furnishing  of  occupied  apartments.  We  should 
look  upon  faces  and  forms,  hear  the  heavy  respiration  of 
sleepers,  or  perhaps  human  voices  interchanging  murmur- 
ing confidences.  But  the  real  mystery  of  life  is  more 
darkly  shrouded.  Wake  all  the  unconscious  thousands 
there,  and  let  them  offer  their  opened  eyes  and  their  or- 
dinary daily  face  to  our  gaze,  we  should  be  but  little 
nearer  the  solution.  There  are  more  impenetrable  walls, 
there  is  a  deeper  night  around  that  mystery,  than  the  re- 
tiring day  and  the  hand  of  man  have  made.  Only  God 
above  and  the  heart  within  know  the  facts  of  experience 
and  character. 

Each  human  life  is  an  isolated  life.  It  may  have  its 
alliances  and  its  contacts,  but  it  never  loses  its  identity 
and  its  individuality.  The  stars  are  by  our  science,  for 
convenience'  sake,  set  in  systems,  grouped  in  constel- 
lations, but  each  is,  for  all  that,  a  separate  sphere,  with 
its  own  unexplored  interior  world.  So  the  human  soul 
is  an  orb  by  itself.  Its  peopled  chambers  compose  a 
world  apart  from  all  other  worlds.  Amid  crowds  or 
amid  solitudes  the  man  sits  ever  by  himself  in  the  solitari- 
ness of  his  own  uninvaded  consciousness,  with  secrets 
which  he  could  not,  if  he  would,  make  clearly  intelligible 
to  any  fellow-man,  with  questions  and  issues  which  he 
must  meet  alone. 

I  wish  to  lead  in  our  thoughts  out  of  the  world  of  broad 


HUMAN  LONELINESS.  231 

and  general  sympathies,  to  disengage  each  of  us  from  our 
associations  and  clanships,  to  separate  us  from  the  sweep 
of  the  tide,  in  which  we  seem  blent  with  kindred  drops, 
our  career  and  our  destiny  merged  with  those  of  our  clas- 
sification and  fellowship,  and  to  bring  us  in  flice  to  face 
with  our  own  single  selves.  That  is  the  intent  of  our 
Scripture  to  single  us  out  from  a  massed  humanity,  to 
isolate  us  within  our  own  personal  orbit,  to  discover  to 
us  the  singularity  of  that  orbit,  to  make  us  feel  that  un- 
divided responsibleness  that  burdens  ourselves,  and  to 
recall  us  to  the  conviction  that  we  are  to  meet  the  real 
problem  of  life  solitary  and  alone.  The  solitariness  of 
human  life  is  the  point  specially  to  be  illustrated. 

1.  Each  man  is  alone  in  the  original,  native  singleness 
of  his  being.  He  was  born  alone  into  this  world  of  his 
kind,  a  unit  of  life,  a  single  fresh  soul  from  the  Creator's 
hand,  with  his  own  private  and  personal  outfit  of  mental 
and  material  forces,  his  own  adjustment  and  proportions 
of  mind  and  body,  their  interchanges  and  relations  of  of- 
fices and  effects  special  and  peculiar  to  him.  His  cerebral 
development  is  his  own.  The  intellectual  and  the  animal 
divide  him  up  and  share  him  by  appointments  never  ex- 
actly repeated.  The  physical  serves  well  the  rational,  or 
disappoints  and  cripples  it,  or  shades  ofi"  toward  the  one 
extreme  or  the  other.  He  is  of  a  hardy  or  tender  spirit- 
ual constitution;  his  sensibilities,  frigid  and  stern,  or 
warm  and  sympathetic.  His  temperament  is  his  own. 
The  whole  balance,  poise,  and  composition  of  his  man- 
hood are  individual  and  unique.  The  elements  of  the 
common  humanity  are  there,  but  differently  mingled  in 


232  HUMAN   LONELINESS. 

him  from  what  they  are  in  any  other  fellow  specimen. 
God's  creative  versatility  and  variety  never  run  low.  In 
all  the  forest  no  two  oaks  in  limb  and  trunk  and  shade 
stand  alike.  On  the  seashore  each  grain  of  sand  is  in- 
dividual and  distinct.  The  wintry  air  is  full  of  falling 
snowflakes  like  blossoms  shaken  from  the  trees  of  para- 
dise, but  each  is  crystallized  with  a  conformation  of  its 
own.  In  breadth  and  height  and  hue  the  grass-blades 
vary,  and  "one  star  differeth  from  another  star  in  glory." 
The  diversity  of  the  human  form  is  a  symbol  of  the  real 
diversity  of  the  human  life,  and  of  itself  helps  by  no 
mean  contribution  to  constitute  that  diversity.  Souls  are 
as  unlike  as  bodies.  One  may  seem  twin  to  another,  as 
in  the  fleshly  form,  but  in  stature,  color,  texture,  or  what- 
ever expresses  the  dimensions  and  qualities  of  spirits, 
each  has  its  own  specialty  and  vindicates  its  separate  type. 

The  very  object  of  creating  men  single  and  distinctive, 
that  their  function  and  work  may  fulfil  the  Creator's  de- 
sign, keeps  them  in  their  identity  apart.  They  may  touch 
at  many  points,  they  may  compose  little  societies,  they 
may  join  their  voices  in  the  same  strain  of  music,  they 
may  lift  together  at  the  same  burdens  of  human  travail ; 
but  each  voice  has  its  own  tone,  each  nerve  its  own  force ; 
this  singleness  of  their  own  individual  make  always  at- 
taches to  them.  In  that,  each  is  forever  himself, — himself 
alone,  and  not  another,  and  those  limits  and  boundaries, 
those  descriptive  lines  that  mark  him  off  from  the  world 
at  large,  shut  him  in  to  a  personal  and  perpetual  solitude. 

2.  Again,  each  man  is  alone  in  the  citadel  of  his  own 
consciousness.     He  has  an  outward  eye  and  an  inward 


HUMAN  LONELINESS.  233 

eje.  With  the  outward  he  looks,  and  this  map  of  earth 
is  unrolled  before  him.  There  rise  the  mountains,  there 
spread  tlie  plains,  there  the  valleys  are  scored,  there  wave 
the  forests  and  murmur  the  brooks,  and  chase  one  another 
in  the  play  of  Titans  the  colossal  waves  of  lights  and 
shadows  over  the  harvest  fields  of  summer.  There  heaves 
the  sea,  now  in  stormy  tumult,  flinging  its  angry  billows 
against  all  its  bounds,  and  now  sobbing  itself  to  sleep  like 
a  child  wearied  out  by  its  own  passion,  and  again  bright 
and  sparkling  in  the  gleam  of  sunny  weather.  Above 
bends  the  sky,  sometimes  gusty  and  howling  wdth  winter 
winds,  or  all  still  and  black  with  a  ray  less  gloom,  or  cur- 
tained with  impenetrable  and  chilling  mists,  or  weeping 
softly  in  summer  rain;  and  then  again,  w^ith  a  deep,, 
pure,  and  unfathomable  blue,  across  which  the  crescent 
moon  cleaves  her  w^ay,  or  the  sun  rides  royally,  or  through 
which,  as  a  transparency,  the  starry  lights  of  celestial 
windows  and  avenues  show  far  and  clear.  This  is  the 
outer  world,  with  its  sea  and  sky,  its  landscapes,  seasons, 
and  changes.  And  I  have  outlined  its  map,  because  it 
has  its  counterpart  within.  The  inward  eye  looks  over 
an  inner  world  as  broad,  varied,  and  marvellous  as  the 
outer.  There  rise  the  ridges  of  its  controlling  thoughts, 
its  grand  and  stable  beliefs ;  there  gush  the  fountains  and 
murmur  the  streams  of  its  sensibilities.  There  wind  the 
channels  of  its  habitual  purposes  and  courses  of  soul ; 
there  is  the  expanse  of  knowledge  over  which  the  mind 
ranges ;  the  long,  branching  vales  of  memory ;  the 
heights  imagination  scales ;  there  come  and  go  the  April 
lights  and  shadows  of  its  changeful  moods ;  there  surges 
20* 


234  HUMAN  LONELINESS. 

up  in  tossing  swells,  or  lies  in  calm  repose,  the  great  deep 
of  its  emotions ;  the  forests  are  musical  with  birds,  or 
silent  and  gloomy  above  the  covert  of  the  passions  that 
have  their  lair  there  as  beasts  of  prey.  Above,  to  Hope 
and  Faith,  in  the  atmosphere  of  this  soul,  there  are  some- 
times clouds  and  driving  and  bitter  blasts ;  sometimes 
blessed  revelations  seen  remote  like  stars,  and  sometimes 
the  effulgence,  the  full  splendors,  of  glorious  sunlight. 
This  can  hardly  be  called  a  fancy  sketch.  The  outer  per- 
petually symbols  the  inner,  —  nay,  it  scarcely  has  any 
meaning  or  reality  save  as  the  soul  finds  correspondences 
for  it  and  glasses  all  its  features  and  vicissitudes  in  its 
own  more  conscious  life.  Upon  this  inner  world  of  con- 
sciousness there  rests  only  one  human  look.  The  soul 
walks  therein  alone.  It  never  can  admit  society  there. 
It  is  not  in  its  power  to  open  up  these  interior  vistas  to 
any  other  eye.  We  may  notice  an  air  of  abstraction  come 
upon  one  of  our  companions  ;  he  seems  lost  in  revery  ;  he 
has  forgotten  our  presence.  But  that  is  all  we  see,  —  his 
face  and  form  and  vacant,  assorbed  manner,  no  more. 
But  what  does  he  see  within  the  narrow  chamber  of  his 
brain,  whose  walls  and  dome  we  can  cover  with  our  two 
hands?  There  is  a  world  broader  and  statelier  than  earth 
itself.  His  thought  glances  across  continents  of  won- 
drous being,  ferries  itself  over  eceans  all  quivering  and 
throbbing  with  vitality,  soars  to  a  cope  no  eagle's  flight 
ever  touched.  Who  can  follow  him?  Who  can  read  the 
strange  chronicle  of  his  musings?  Who  can  watch  the 
processions  that  sweep  along  those  covered  highways, 
and  say  how  they  are  draped,  —  whether  in  mourning  sable 


HUMAN   LONELINESS.  235 

or  festive  white?     lu  the  sphere  of  consciousness  each 
man  dwells  alone. 

3.  Again.  Each  man  is  alone  in  the  daily  current  of 
his  existence.  I  mean  he  lives  his  own  life.  It  is  him- 
self, and  no  other,  that  wakes  where  he  lifts  his  eyelids  to 
the  light  of  morning.  It  is  his  own  feet  that  begin  again 
his  journey,  as  he  takes  up  his  pilgrim  staff,  girds  his 
loins,  and  sets  forth.  He  thinks  his  own  thoughts;  he 
summons  before  him  his  own  aims ;  he  feels  a  craving 
that  reports  itself  to  him  alone ;  his  ideal  good,  his  ideal 
life,  flit  before  him,  visible  only  to  his  own  eye,  and 
beckon  him  on.  He  has  something  lo  achieve  every  day 
which  is  his  personal  prize  for  the  day.  He  walks  with 
his  own  gait ;  the  footmarks  left  are  his  ;  he  lifts  in  his  toil 
his  own  strokes,  hurried  or  measured,  strong  or  feeble ; 
he  has  gained  or  lost  as  the  day  closes  in  a  sense  which 
touches  him  as  no  other  life.  He  may  have  yoke-fellows 
in  his  toil,  closest  intimates  in  his  schemes  and  dreams 
and  affections,  but  still  his  stream  of  life  flows  by  itself. 
If  it  join  some  companion  stream,  it  shall  be  like  the 
union  of  the  Aar  and  the  Khone.  They  have  united,  they 
fill  one  channel,  they  flow  on  between  the  same  banks, 
but  far  down  below  the  point  of  confluence,  they  are  seen 
to  be  as  distinct  as  when  the  one  slid  from  beneath  its 
mighty  glacier,  and  the  other  came  roaring  down  the 
Grimsel  pass.  So  for  many  a  league  they  pour  onward, 
side  by  side,  the  blue  Ehone,  the  yellow  Aar,  —  one,  yet 
divided.  Each  man  has  his  own  moulds  of  action,  in 
which  he  runs  all  his  conduct.  His  method  of  viewing 
motives,  of  reasoning  upon  premises,  of  arriving  at  con- 


236  HUMAN   LONELINESS. 

elusions ;  the  springs  within  him,  whose  play  is  the  most 
constant,  whose  volume  the  largest,  upon  which  whoso 
would  move  him  must  lay  a  finger ;  the  force  he  expends 
hour  by  hour,  and  the  direction  in  which  he  advances  ;  the 
threads  he  weaves  in  and  the  threads  he  drops,  and  con- 
sequently the  pattern  that  grows  under  his  fingers,  —  all 
these  constitute  and  proportion  his  life,  but  no  other  in  all 
the  compass  of  humanity.  When  he  hears  the  record 
read  out  at  last,  when  that  one  leaf  is  turned  in  the  eter- 
nal book,  and  the  original  of  that  biographic  story  is  sum- 
moned, there  will  be  no  need  to  call  his  name ;  he  will 
know  the  portrait ;  he  will  step  out  of  the  throng  to  own 
that  life  as  his  ;  no  other  man  will  move  ;  the  identity  will 
be  so  clear  there  can  be  no  mistaking. 

4.  And  each  man,  again,  is  alone  in  his  sifting.  There 
may  pass  over  his  head  peaceful  and  happy  years ;  fair 
behind  him  lengthens  out  the  pathway  of  his  life,  but 
the  night  of  his  wrestling  shall  come.  The  one  distant 
terror,  unknown  for  half  a  lifetime,  or  known  and  forgot- 
ten, or  remembered  and  yet  postponed,  in  God's  provi- 
dence kept  aloof,  suddenly  approaches,  like  Esau  and  his 
armed  band  sweeping  down  from  Mount  Seir  upon  Jacob 
and  his  company.  It  was  years  ago  that  the  younger  had 
so  grievously  injured  the  elder  brother,  and  fled  for  his 
life.  God  has  greatly  blessed  him  since,  and  he  has 
prospered  exceedingly ;  but  the  crisis  he  has  shunned  so 
long  at  last  darkens  toward  him.  To-morrow  that  aveng- 
ing presence  will  be  upon  him,  that  brother's  dreaded 
riofht  arm  must  be  met.  And  the  nis^ht  leads  him  into 
that  terrible  and  mysterious  conflict.     The  struggle  must 


HmiiiN   LONELINESS.  237 

come  for  every  man.     There  is  that  in  his  nature,  there 
is  that  in  his  story,  there  is  that  in  providence  of  testing 
and  trial,  which  he  must  meet.     The  ghostly  shadow  will 
assume  that  one  form  which  he  feels  he  has  chief  cause 
to  dread.     He  must  grapple  with  it  for  his  life  ;    no  eye 
shall  look  on ;    no  crowds  shall  cheer ;   no  champion  shall 
come  to  his  rescue.     Alone,  the  night  about  him,  singly 
contending  against  a  strength  whose  resources  he  cannot 
measure,  no  release  till  a  determinate  issue  be  reached,  — 
that  issue,  life  or  death,  glorious  victory  or  shameful  de- 
feat, —  he  must  fight  it  out.     There  is  a  temptation  be- 
fore which  each  man  is  personally  and  peculiarly  weak. 
Perhaps  we  have  battled  with   it  already,  possibly  that 
sorest  conflict  is  yet  before  us ;    but  whenever  and  where- 
ever  we   meet   it,  w^e   meet   it  alone.      It   will  sift  us ; 
God  will  let  us  feel  our  weakness.     Another  man's  trial 
we   could   lightly  bear ;    that  which  vanquishes  him  we 
could  easily  put  to  rout.     No  wonder,  perhaps,  he  was  so 
soon  overcome  by  such  a  foe.     But  there  is  some  spirit- 
ual antagonist  as  formidable  to  us.     Just  when  we  are 
reproaching,   perhaps,  our  fallen  brother,   our   own  Go- 
liath of  Gath  enters  the  valley  to  meet  us.     Ah,  if  we 
could   know  the   history  of  every  tempted  and  sinning 
man,  —  the  long,  weary  wrestling,  the  slow,  sad   night 
shutting  in  the  strife,  the  manful  resistance,  the  waning 
strength,  the  inward  anguish,  the  self-loathing,  the  shame 
like  that  with  which  naked  Adam  fled  and  hid  in  the  ffar- 
den,  —  if  we  should  consider  that  a  stress   may  yet  be 
laid  upon  us  beneath  which  our  best  powers  shall  wither, 
no  words  so  gentle,  tender,  and  loving  should  ever  pass 


238  HUMAN  LONELINESS. 

our  lips  as  those  we  should  utter  over  the  erring.  Let 
us  remember  it.  So  far  as  human  strength  goes,  each 
must  wrestle  alone  with  the  most  triumphing  temptation 
that  can  assail  him.  Job's  three  friends  sat  by  his  side, 
but  they  left  him  still  alone  ;  the  toils  were  his,  and  not 
theirs  ;  and  so  with  all  the  evils  of  his  lot.  So  will  it  be 
with  us,  each  of  us  sifted  and  tested  by  himself. 

5.  Each  man  is  alone  in  dealing  with  God's  truth  and 
spirit.  The  gospel  is  preached  by  one  utterance  to  a 
thousand  souls ;  but  to  each  man  it  is  as  if  he  sat  there 
uncompanioned  in  the  house  of  God.  God  has  only 
spoken  to  him.  The  question  raised  is,  What  will  he  do 
with  this  divine  message  ?  Personally  will  he  have  Christ 
to  reign  over  him?  The  sun  shines  for  him  and  his 
neighbor ;  the  air  is  their  common  inheritance  ;  the  same 
fragrance  of  flowers  they  may  inhale  together.  But  out 
of  all  that  hear  the  oflfers  of  pardon  and  life  only  the  soul 
that  in  the  solitude  of  its  own  voluntariness  yields  to  the 
moving  spirit,  steps  forward  for  itself,  and  takes  and 
kisses  the  hand  of  the  Sovereign,  will  find  itself  included 
in  the  amnesty.  Each  must  hear  for  himself,  each  must 
resolve  for  himself,  each  must  act  for  himself.  Alone 
with  God,  singled  out  from  a  world  gone  astray,  God's 
eye  upon  it,  God's  love  wooing  it,  the  bleeding  hand  of 
Christ  stretched  out  to  it,  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil  pleading  against  it,  the  soul  must  conclude  in  that 
solitude  this  high  debate,  and  choose  for  good  or  for  evil, 
for  the  death  that  never  dies  or  the  life  that  is  everlasting. 

6.  Alone  the  soul  must  encounter  the  struggle  of  dy- 
ing.    The  hand  may  be  held  in  some  warm,  loving  clasp ; 


HUMAN  LONELINESS.  239 

underneath  the  drooping  head  may  glide  a  strong  embrac- 
ing arm  ;  the  white  cheek  may  rise  and  fall  to  the  breath 
of  some  cherishing  bosom,  and  the  friends  dearest  in  life 
may  stand  around ;  but  the  soul  enters  upon  that  dread 
path  alone.  The  fleshly  hands  meet,  but  no  spirit  of  its 
fellows  walks  hand  in  hand  with  the  departing  traveller. 
What  it  sees,  it  only  sees ;  what  it  suffers,  it  only  suf- 
fers ;  the  progress  is  all  its  own,  — the  opening  marvels, 
the  clearing  shadows,  the  awful  verities ;  the  other  at- 
tendants, though  so  near,  are  by  the  breadth  of  worlds 
behind.  We  may  have  stood  many  a  time  by  the  side  of 
the  dark  river,  and  seen  others  go  down  into  the  chill 
waters,  and  the  way  may  seem  familiar;  we  may  think 
we  know  it ;  but  when  we  assay  the  current,  when  the 
cold  waves  rise  higher  and  higher,  and  we  gasp  and  falter 
and  feel  for  firm  footing,  and  look  to  see  what  welcome 
waits  us  on  the  further  shore,  what  forms  come  to  meet 
us  and  environ  us  around,  that  experience  we  must  try 
alone  and  b}^  ourselves.  It  is  coming  to  us,  that  solemn 
hour ;  it  will  take  us  into  its  solitary  custody ;  it  will 
single  us  out  from  the  crowd  and  whisper  in  our  ear,  un- 
heard by  any  other,  either  this  inspiring  messagey"The 
Master  is  come  and  calleth  for  thee,"  or  this  stern  arrest, 
"  Thou  fool,  this  night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of  thee." 
7.  Alone,  too,  each  shall  rise  in  the  great  day;  alone 
each  shall  be  judged,  each  sentenced  alone.  Though  that 
trumpet  blast  shall  wake  all  that  sleep,  each  shall  open 
his  eyes  with  sensations  all  his  own  upon  the  scenery  of 
that  day.  Though  all  the  generations  of  earth  shall  stand 
together  before  the  judgment-seat,  yet  each  man's  story 


240  HUMAN   LONELINESS. 

shall  be  recited  amid  the  hush  of  a  listening  universe,  and 
the  final  word,  "  Come  !  "  or  "  Depart ! "  shall  fall  on  each 
heart  as  though  none  beside  knew  such  joy  or  such  grief. 

So  solitary,  though  amid  dearest  fellowships  and  closest 
intimacies,  is  human  life  in  all  its  stages,  from  its  dawn 
of  being  till  its  destiny  is  fixed  forever.  Come,  then, 
my  friend,  and  look  your  isolation  full  in  the  face.  You 
stand  a  single  individual  soul  in  God's  sight,  responsible 
for  yourself,  living  your  own  personal  life,  moving  toward 
your  own  definite  future.  No  crowd  conceals  you,  no 
general  movement  sweeps  you  in,  no  vague  fellowship 
provides  for  you  apart  from  your  personal,  individual  act- 
ing. Alone  you  have  sinned,  alone  you  must  repent,  be- 
lieve, and  obey.  Oh,  the  vital  question  of  salvation  is  one 
between  you  and  God  !  It  must  be  settled  in  the  chamber 
of  your  own  spirit.  You  yourself  are  to  confront  all  the 
weighty  issues  of  your  being  in  time.  Religion  is  your 
own  personal  matter,  a  life  that  is  to  be  special  to  you,  a 
new  vitality  to  come  into  the  privacy  of  your  own  heart. 

The  deep  solitariness  of  your  whole  existence  admits  of 
one  grand  qualification.  Into  those  lonely  chambers  one 
glorious  Being  may  come.  Over  the  fields  of  conscious- 
ness you  may  stray  with  one  Friend  by  your  side,  who 
shall  see  and  know  and  feel  all  that  you  feel  and  know 
and  see.  In  the  weighty  conflict,  this  healing  and  vic- 
torious presence  may  succor  your  fainting  strength  and 
wounded  form.  Along  the  changeful  highway,  in  the 
shade,  in  the  shine,  the  meek  Pilgrim  from  Nazareth  may 
keep  you  company  and  share  your  experience.  In  all 
trouble  and  anguish  one  tender  Heart  shall  pulse  with 


HUAIAN   LONELINESS.  241 

yours,  as  truly  at  home  at  the  core  of  your  sorrow  as  you 
that  suffer.  You  shall  enter  the  shadowy  vale  singing, 
"Thou  art  with  me."  As  all  of  earth  recedes,  you  shall 
whisper  again,  "Ihese  have  left  me  alone,  yet  am  I  not 
alone,  for  my  Saviour  is  joined  to  me,  and  we  twain  are 
one  spirit."  And  passing  on  and  out,  your  watchword 
at  heaven's  gate  shall  be,  "Forever  with  the  Lord.'' 
Come,  O  lonely  life,  and  be  united  to  the  Lord  of  life. 
O  solitary  spirit,  be  made  one  with  the  Father  and  the 
Son,  your  solitude  opening  thus  upon  infinite  riches  of 
sympathy,  love,  and  communion. 
21 


XYI. 

THE  MINISTRIES  OF  TIME. 

I  THE  LORD  WILL  HASTEN  IT  IN  HIS  TIME.  —  Isaiah  Ix.  22. 

GOD  is  sovereign  and  omnipotent,  but  he  waits  the 
ministration  of  Time.  He  could  force  seasons  and 
laws,  but  it  is  his  way  rather  to  work  through  them  and 
by  them.  He  has  ordained  them  as  servitors  of  his  will. 
His  purposes  on  the  earth,  in  the  conduct  of  human  af- 
fairs, had,  in  respect  to  their  accomplishment,  a  germina- 
tion, a  process,  and  a  harvest-hour  of  consummation. 

Time  is  the  prime-minister  of  Providence,  and  brings 
to  pass  in  due  order,  at  their  full  periods,  and  at  the  ap 
pointed  juncture,  the  patient  counsels  of  the  Most  High. 
There  is  no  hurrying  and  no  sickness  of  deferred  hope  on 
that  eternal  and  tranquil  mind.  "One  day  is  with  the 
Lord  as  a  thousand  years,  and  a  thousand  years  as  one 
day."  It  lends  a  new  dignity  and  a  sterner  and  loftier 
majesty  to  Time,  when  we  consider  it  thus,  not  imperson- 
ally, as  the  passing  away  of  our  days,  —  the  swift,  mute 
lapse  of  the  stream  of  life  sliding  down  the  vale, — but 
as  a  strong,  executive  angel,  a  sceptred  and  conscious 
force,  that  has  it  in  charge  to  reveal  and  fulfil  the  hidden 
plan  of  God. 


THE   MINISTRIES    OF   TIME.  243 

Man  is  strong,  and  works  great  changes  upon  the  earth 
and  his  fellow-man.  Art  is  strong,  and  produces  its  rapid 
marvels.  The  forces  serving  the  human  will  are  nimble 
and  muscular.  Heat  and  frost  lift  up  monuments  of  their 
might  and  magic.  The  fires  of  earth's  centre,  the  winds 
that  sweep  over  the  surface,  the  seas  that  thunder  along 
her  shores,  — these  have  their  power  and  their  trophies. 
But  Time  is  the  great  magician.  All  these  latter  forces 
are  sinews  of  its  own  arm.  The  changes,  the  revolutions, 
the  histories  of  this  world,  are  only  chronicles  of  the  vice- 
regency  of  Time. 

It  is  fitting,  as  the  swift  shuttle  glances  past  again, 
drawing  another  thread  into  the  woven  fabric  of  God's 
scheme  for  earth  and  man,  bringing  out  yet  more  clearly 
the  parts  in  the  pattern  for  the  whole,  that  we  pause  to 
consider 

This  ministry  of  Time  in  accomplishing  the  divine 
pleasure. 

If  the  whole  scope  of  the  supreme  administration  may 
not  be  known  thus,  we  may  gather  at  least  some  of  the 
principles  and  particulars  that  unite  at  last  to  perfect  that 
consummate  whole.  We  shall  see  that  Time  is,  among 
men,  the  revealer,  the  attester,  the  vindicator,  the  recti- 
fier, the  fulfiller. 

Time  tests  the  principles  of  human  conduct.  I  speak 
here  of  avowed  principles  consciously,  perhaps  boldly, 
proceeded  upon,  set  in  contrast  or  antagonism  with  one 
another.  There  is  a  difference  among  men,  both  in  the- 
ory and  in  practice,  in  respect  to  these  principles.  The 
diversity  and  the  divergence  illustrate  themselves  in  in- 


244  THE    MINISTRIES    OF   TIME. 

numerable  ways.  Look  in  upon  two  scenes  of  family 
training.  In  one  of  them  the  idea  is,  with  the  controlling 
head,  that  the  true  end  of  domestic  nurture  is  social  suc- 
cess. Special  stress,  then,  will  be  laid  upon  the  accom- 
plishments whose  chief  grace  is  external.  The  manner 
is  a  matter  of  first  concern.  The  gloss  of  an  outward 
polish  is  of  great  price.  The  step  must  be  put  under  tui- 
tion. Motion  must  be  artistic,  graduated  to  rule  and 
canon.  Exits  and  entrances  must  be  fashioned  after  a 
model.  The  introduction  into  society  is  a  grand  and  sol- 
emn crisis.  Acquaintances  must  be  made.  The  young 
lives  must  be  launched  upon  the  social  world.  What  if 
they  should  be  neglected,  thrown  out  of  the  current, 
stranded  high  and  dry  upon  the  bank,  the  stream  of  their 
generation  flowing  merrily  by,  and  leaving  them,  as  it 
were,  only  to  serve  as  landmarks  for  the  progress  of  the 
gay,  iris-tinted  bubbles  that  float,  with  music  and  laugh- 
ter, ever  on  amid  greenness  and  bloom  ?  This  must  not 
be.  A  social  triumph  must  in  some  way  be  achieved. 
And  all  the  care  and  painstaking  converge  to  this  issue. 
In  the  other  the  commanding  object  is  the  formation  of  a 
right  character.  The  interior  life  of  gentle  manners  must 
be  gentle  thoughts.  The  only  external  polish  that  will 
never  grow  coarse  is  the  outshining  of  inward  purity  and 
kindness.  The  law  of  love  is  the  suflicient  code  of  polite- 
ness and  etiquette.  The  best  social  furnishing  is  the 
wealth  of  the  soul's  virtuous  intelligence,  an  appreciation 
of  what  is  true  and  beautiful  in  nature,  in  mind  and  mor- 
als, the  utterance  of  generous  sensibilities  and  of  a  self- 
respect  that  prefers  its  own  calm  approval  to  admiration 


THE   MINISTRIES    OF   TIME.  245 

and  flattery,  and  sets  the  price  of  its  modesty  too  high  to 
oflfer  itself  as  a  prize  for  social  bidding.     You  shall  hear 
now  the  first  of  these  two  systems  remonstrating  with  the 
other,  predicting  social  isolation,  social  failure,  urging  the 
demonstrative  and  forcing  culture,   adopting   it   for  the 
sons  and  daughters  under  its  guardianship,  and  resting 
cheerfully  and  complacently  in  its  superior  discernment 
and  wisdom.     This  subject  carries  me  back  in  thought  to 
my  own  early  rural  home.     I  look  in  again  upon  the  fam- 
ilies that  were  so  ambitious  of  social  conquests.     I  see 
the  youths  and  maidens  there  planning  festive  entertain- 
ments, and  delighting  in  gay  assemblies.     The  fashions 
and  the  gayeties  were,  to  be  sure,  somewhat  on  a  rural 
scale ;  but  it  was  our  world,  and  a  miniature  in  all  essen- 
tial features  of  the  most  brilliant  metropolitan  life.     And, 
to  be  sure,  the  sober,  puritanical  portion  of  the  rising  gen- 
eration there  were  left  quite  outside  this  conventional  so- 
ciety,—  their  faces  were  not  seen,  nor  their  hands  sought 
in  the  ball-room.     The  winter  evening  ride,   the   rural 
party,  and  generally  all  scenes  of  youthful  merry-making 
in  which  the  set  came  together,  were  made  up  without 
their  presence.     Here  there  were  smiles  and  laughs  and 
romps  and  dances  and  cards  and  all  the  staple  of  vain  and 
thoughtless  fellowship  and  enjoyment,   from  which  our 
graver  style  of  young  life  was  self-exiled.     And  so  the 
issue  was  made,  and  the  trial  of  the  two  systems  entered 
upon.     And   in   the    one  circle,  quick  friendships   were 
formed,  a  score  of  acquaintances  were  added  to  one's  list 
in  a  single  evening.     No  danger  of  being  lost  sight  of  so- 
cially, dropped  out  of  social  recognition ;    here  the  doors 
21* 


246  THE   MINISTKIES    OF   TIME. 

stood  wide  open  to  social  settlements  and  domestic  alli- 
ances. And  sometimes  it  was  felt,  I  know,  on  the  other 
side,  that  all  such  doors  were  shut  against  them.  'They 
seemed  isolated  from  those  of  their  own  age ;  their  seclu- 
sion was  uninvaded ;  they  could  improve  their  minds,  cul- 
tivate their  taste,  study  the  secrets  of  happy,  dignified, 
and  well-ordered  homes,  quite  to  themselves.  Who  would 
know  ever  whether  they  were  prizes  or  blanks?  The 
drawing  would  be  all  in  the  other  circle,  and  the  more 
worldly  policy  looked  like  a  success.  There  all  w^as 
bright  and  glittering.  Here  lay  a  shadow.  There,  there 
was  mating  and  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage.  Here 
all  relations  were  undisturbed.  Taking  life  as  it  is,  this 
more  select  discipline  promised  to  be  barren  of  results. 
But  principles  are  everlasting  verities  ;  they  change  not ; 
they  are  of  slow  development  often ;  their  seed  lies  cold 
and  motionless  long;  their  harvest  comes  late,  but  it 
comes.  Such  issues  are  not  to  be  settled  in  a  day.  Their 
trial  takes  in,  in  its  progress,  more  elements  than  are  at 
first  seen  to  be  included.  The  earlier  appearances  are 
not  reliable  exponents  of  the  final  consummation.  Across 
the  breadth  of  years  I  look  and  read  the  story  truer.  The 
paths  of  life  from  those  two  circles,  the  streams  from 
those  separate  fountains,  are  visible  before  me.  The 
gay,  brilliant  type  quickly  darkened  and  degenerated. 
That  was  its  best.  It  never  rose  higher.  There  were 
early  excesses,  there  were  early  and  dishonored  graves, 
there  were  floating  wrecks  of  vice  and  dissipation,  there 
were  sad,  sad  tales  of  shame  and  anguish,  there  were 
miserable  disappointments.      Those  that  were  specially 


THE   MINISTRIES    OF   TIME.  247 

decked  and  tutored  for  proudest  triumphs,  somehow,  al- 
ways missed  their  goal.  What  they  won  was  trash,  or 
worse,  and  for  the  most  part  they  drew  utter  blanks.  It 
all  came  to  nought.  The  glittering  bubble  burst,  and 
there  was  nothing  in  the  hand  but  the  stain  of  defiling 
moisture. 

And  on  the  other  side,  once  more,  there  was  always  a 
wealth  of  personal  resources ;  there  was  a  growing  but 
unconscious  refinement ;  there  was  fostered  a  selecter  and 
more   discriminating   taste;    solid   and   abiding  qualities 
grew  with  the  passing  youthful  season,  and  when  more 
difficult  and  fastidious  minds  came  searching  for  fresh, 
unsoiled   natures,    and   an   outfit   for   wider   and   hio-her 
spheres,  they  found  the  golden  fruit  hidden  beneath  the 
over-shadowing  leaves,  and  gathered  it  with  pride  and 
joy.     I  have  lingered  too  long  upon  this,  but  it  is  a  most 
instructive  page.     And  the  record  is  repeated  at  ten  thou- 
sand social  centres,  only  it  cannot  be  written  at  once,  or 
read  at  a  glance.     Like  Chinese  writings,  the  lines  stretch 
down  the  lengthening  scroll  of  Time.     Time  is  the  slow 
scribe,  the  sure  expounder. 

One  man  argues  that,  "Take  the  world  as  it  goes,  and 
you  must  practise  upon  it  to  gain  your  ends.  You  must 
manage  a  little  ;  you  must  move  subtly  and  dexterously  to- 
ward your  aims  ;  you  must  not  show  your  hand  ;  you  need 
not  tell  the  whole  story  out;  you  must  ask  more  than  you 
expect  to  get ;  you  must  put  the  best  face  on  a  thing  it 
can  be  made  to  wear ;  you  may  well  enough  leave  sharp 
eyes  and  keen  wits  to  explore  and  interpret  your  silence. 
The  universal  system  is  such  that  if  we  do  not  adopt  this 


248  THE   MINISTRIES    OF   TIME. 

policy,  we  shall  be  left  hopelessly  behind."  Another  mau 
plants  his  foot  immovably  upon  the  conviction  that  hon- 
esty is  the  best  policy.  He  must  be  frank,  transparent, 
true.  More  or  less,  his  gains  must  bring  within  his  doors 
no  rej)roaches.  Poverty  is  a  pleasanter  household  com- 
panion than  remorse ;  strict  right  with  a  crust,  rather  than 
wrong  with  princely  dainties.  And  the  two  procedures 
start  together  on  the  track.  The  first  success  is  almost 
always  on  the  side  of  cunning.  Slow-moving,  downright 
honesty  is  speedily  distanced.  One  holds  a  court,  the 
other  sits  in  solitude.  The  proverb  hardly  expresses  a 
truth  for  "  the  life  that  now  is."  Ah  !  wait  a  little.  Hear 
the  witness  of  Time.  Intrigue  and  practising  cannot 
always  escape  tjie  light,  and  the  light  they  cannot  bear. 
Men  once  bitten  grow  shy  of  traps.  Nobod}^  loves  to  be 
practised  upon.  Wily  natures  always  come  at  last  to  be 
distrusted.  These  little  business  and  social  treacheries 
invariably,  in  the  long  run,  lose  the  operators  their  richest 
capital,  —  confidence.  And  the  tides  ebb  away  ;  and  now 
it  is  honesty's  turn.  It  comes  late,  but  it  is  final.  There 
is  nothing  after  it.  Here  is  perfect  trust,  unsuspecting 
security.  Here  we  find  bottom,  and  stand  firm.  The 
proverb  was  altogether  right.  Principles  have  had  their 
development,  and  each  after  its  kind  borne  its  fruit. 
Time  has  ripened  and  gathered  it,  —  apples  of  Sodom  for 
the  one;  apples  of  gold,  —  nay,  golden-globed  sweetness 
from  the  tree  of  life  for  the  otter. 

This  is  the  demonstration  of  principle  that  cannot  be  set 
aside,  — the  demonstration  of  Time. 

Again,  Time  is  the  test  of  friendships.     Where  is  the 


THE    MINISTRIES    OF   TIME.  249 

love  that  never  grows  cold,  that  outlives  youth  and  bloom, 
that  was  founded  on  deeper  and  more  vital  attractions 
than  those  that  pass  away  with  life's  roseate  morning? 
Where  are  the  hands  that  used  to  clasp  ours  ?  Have  they 
warm  and  welcoming  palms  for  us  still?  AYhere  are  the 
lips  that  smiled  upon  us  once  ?  Do  they  keep  smiles  or 
sternness  for  us  now?  We  used  to  listen  to  such  earnest 
and  tender  expressions  of  interest  in  our  fortunes,  delight 
in  our  society,  regard  for  our  persons,  and  appreciation 
of  our  characteristics.  Are  all  those  utterances  silent 
now?  How  much  of  youthful  and  ardent  friendship  has 
survived  those  summer  clays?  How  many  of  our  later 
associations  have  kept  their  first  gushing  promises  in  truth 
and  faithfulness  ? 

And  yet  we  must  not  judge  harshly.  If  there  is  any 
lesson  which  Time  letters  most  legibly  on  all  the  pages  of 
our  story,  it  is,  that  our  hard,  reproachful  judgments,  our 
morbid  protests  that  all  is  false,  deceitful,  and  hollow, 
that  truth  and  honor  have  forsaken  the  earth,  that  none 
can  be  trusted,  that  no  heart  is  sincere,  that  real  kindness 
and  genuine  good-will  are  not  to  be  found  among  men, 
are  extravagances  that  would  be  ridiculous  if  they  were 
not  so  false  and  injurious.  We  have  been  deceived  and 
betrayed,  but  w^e  must  not  generalize  from  that  instance. 
We  have  broken  through  the  ice  here  and  there,  but  there 
may  be  yet  broad  fields  of  it  as  firm  as  a  marble  floor. 
The  very  hearts  that  we  pronounce  alienated  and  estranged 
may  rather  have  become  wearied  than  chilled.  Dislocated 
from  one  side,  the  broken  fibres  of  social  afiections  must 
cling  somewhere.     Thrown  upon  other  fellowships,   the 


250  THE  MINISTRIES   OF  TIME. 

tendrils  have  caught  and  twined  about  fresh  objects. 
Once  they  were  all  free  to  turn  and  choose  as  they  listed, 
but  they  have  been  pressed  long  since  into  new  alliances, 
and  have  responded  to  the  new  appeals  as  once  they  re- 
sponded to  ours.  But  in  this  very  fact  they  show  that 
their  nature  is  unchanged.  To  human  love,  if  not  to  our 
personal  memory,  they  still  are  true ;  yes,  and  bring  back 
the  old  relations,  and  we,  it  may  be,  should  not  find  them 
wanting.     This  is  what  Time  teaches. 

And  then,  again,  Time  tries  his  tests  upon  character. 
Sorrowfully,  often,  we  are  made  to  watch  this  process. 
All  seems  fair  outwardly.  We  have  unbounded  confi- 
dence. We  surrender  our  gravest  trusts.  We  rest  upon 
this  tried  and  approved  integrity.  It  becomes  a  standard- 
bearer  in  the  most  salient  advances  of  Christianity.  It 
wins  a  good  report.  It  stands  a  pillar,  straight,  strong, 
and  upright.  Lay  your  weight  there,  build  thereon  ;  and 
we  build,  and  feel  secure  for  solid  years.  And,  one  day, 
there  is  a  crash.  It  was  only  the  shell  of  a  pillar ;  either 
within  it  was  all  rottenness  and  hollo wness,  or  a  sudden 
and  violent  wrench  twisted  it  out  of  place,  and  down  it 
came,  fallen  and  broken.  It  is  a  mournful  lesson  Time 
has  read  us.  Whom  shall  we  trust?  What  shall  we 
build  with?  Character  that  has  stood  seemingly  all 
severer  tests,  passed  unsullied  amid  youthful  passions  and 
summer  temptations,  met  the  hour  and  call  of  solemn 
duties,  took  on  the  sober  livery  of  its  autumn  staidness 
and  ripeness,  cannot  this  be  confided  in?  Are  life-long 
victories  over  manifold  forces  of  evil  no  security  ?  Ah ! 
one  test  remains.     It  is  a  silent,  patient,  long-waiting  de- 


THE  MINISTRIES   OF  TIME.  251 

tective.  At  last  it  gives  in  its  report,  and  we  are  stricken 
dumb  with  surprise  and  grief.  Hastily,  perhaps,  we  say, 
"  All  is  over ;  this  is  the  end  ;  there  is  nothing  left  there  ; 
here  shuts  down  the  gate  of  life  and  hope."  And  Time 
may  yet  correct  this  too  hasty  conclusion,  and  read  us  an 
unpublished  story  that  would  draw  deep  upon  our  tender- 
est  sympathies,  and  forbid  us  to  pass  capital  sentence 
upon  our  brother  on  one  indictment  only,  when  we  are 
impeachable  in  many  points,  and  lead  up  out  of  the  valley 
of  humiliation  a  chastened  penitent,  a  restored  wanderer, 
whose  lore  in  divine  grace  and  infinite  compassion  shall 
surpass  all  that  we  have  known,  whose  fitness  for  rare  and 
special  service  shall  be  tempered  in  this  fiery  furnace,  and 
whose  evening  of  life  shall  yet  show  a  serene  and  glowing 
west.  Hast  thou,  O  Time  !  and  thou,  O  wondrous  Grace 
of  God!  such  revelations  in  store?  We  will  pause,  and 
hope  and  pray  till  the  future  draw  back  its  veil. 

Is  there  a  ghost  in  every  house,  a  phantom  dogging 
every  man's  footsteps,  a  secret  in  every  bosom?  Here 
and  there,  there  is  a  seemingly  calm  and  self-possessed 
spirit,  that  faces  tranquilly  the  light  of  day  and  the  gaze 
of  all-searching  eyes,  as  though  the  waters  flowed  trans- 
parent with  crystal  clearness  over  a  pebbly  bed,  in  which 
the  while  there  is  yet  beneath  this  surface-sparkling,  a 
deep,  dark  pool,  and  at  the  bottom  a  grim,  slimy  monster 
that  never  comes  to  the  light.  There  lurks  that  leviathan 
for  unsuspected  years.  No  ripple  above,  no  commotion 
on  the  surface,  gives  signs  of  the  horrid  life  in  the  dark 
depths.  The  man  walks  amid  his  fellow-men  as  though 
with  a  consciousness  never  disturbed.     No  infirmity  of 


252  THE   MINISTRIES    OF   TBIE. 

nerve  ever  sets  him  to  trembling.  No  pause  in  his  un- 
sleeping vigilance  betrays  him  into  fatal  admissions.  In 
his  utter  solitude  he  sometimes  faces  this  untold  story. 
But  no  lips  can  ever  tell  it.  It  lies  within  the  compass  of 
no  single  knowledge.  It  is  broken  into  fragments,  like  a 
shattered  ring,  or  a  fatal  bond  torn  apart  and  distributed 
into  remote  and  alien  hands.  Can  those  fragments  ever 
be  gathered,  those  parts  ever  be  reunited  ?  Alone  and  by 
itself,  each  means  nothing,  reveals  nothing.  What  simul- 
taneous impulse  shall  move  these  "  disjecta  membra  "  to 
come  together  ?  The  thing  can  never  be  ;  and  the  keeper 
of  the  shameful  secret  passes  on  reassured.  Then  Time 
waves  his  wand.  The  hand  that  held  one  fragment  mould- 
ers in  dust,  and  the  eyes  of  executors  scan  curiously  the 
torn  and  yet  ominous  leaf.  From  opposite  meridians,  as 
though  led  on  by  fate,  come  up,  at  the  only  juncture  that 
could  serve  the  issue,  the  remaining  witnesses.  The  mu- 
tilated memorial  is  again  a  whole,  but  it  is  written  in 
cipher,  and  the  dream  of  security 'lingers  yet.  And  the 
magic  wand  is  lifted  once  more,  and  the  hidden  key  drops 
from  its  hiding-place,  and  all  is  legible  and  patent.  Time 
has  become  the  minister  of  justice.  And  the  last  words 
of  every  dying  year  wake  in  guilty  breasts  this  dreary 
echo,  "  There  is  nothing  covered  that  shall  not  be  re- 
vealed, and  hid  that  shall  not  be  known." 

And  yet  there  are  those  to  whom  this  word  is  not 
dreary,  but  animating;  not  a  menace,  but  a  long-sustain- 
ing promise.  They  have  been  under  a  cloud.  Their 
character  has  been  unrighteously  aspersed.  Men  have 
believed  evil  of  them.     They  have  been  the  victims  of 


THE   MINISTRIES   OF   TIME.  253 

mistakes  or  of  circumstances  or  of  malignant  conspiracy. 
The  baleful  torches  of  calumny  have  flared  upon  them  and 
blackened  them  all  over.  Their  simple  assertion  of  inno- 
cence has  been  taken  as  brazen-fronted  hardihood.  Many 
a  hand  has  been  withdrawn  from  them ;  many  a  face  has 
turned  away.  Friends  once  trustful  and  beloved  have 
passed  by  on  the  other  side.  So  they  have  walked  on  in 
the  cold  shadows  of  the  long  night,  waiting  for  the  dawn ; 
and  the  slow  hours  rolled  away.  They  had  no  hope  but 
in  God,  and  God  sent  to  them  this  championship  of  Time. 
And  one  day  the  solution  of  the  mystery  was  suddenly 
uncovered,  and  men  saw  how  they  had  been  deluded,  and 
how  falsely  they  had  believed.  And  this  patient  inno- 
cence shone  forth  like  a  rising  sun,  the  brighter  for  its 
obscuration,  all  the  more  revered  that  it  had  suflered  lono- 

o 

in  uncomplaining  silence.  And  it  is  seen  that  character  is 
not  committed  to  human  keeping.  No  enemy  can  take  it 
from  us.  We  need  not  fear,  iu  our  innocence,  the  face  of 
mortal,  the  malice  of  infernal.  We  can  calmly  defy  all 
machinations  ;  and  when  girt  about  with  hissing  serpents, 
who  boast  that  they  have  us  in  their  own  den  and  power, 
we  can  stand  in  the  heroism  of  this  single  truth ;  "  The 
Lord  is  on  my  side,  I  will  not  fear ;  what  can  man  do  unto 
me?" 

Again,  the  real  struggle  of  a  man's  life,  the  crisis  of  his 
moral  history.  Time  often  holds  in  reserve.  It  comes  not 
in  his  sheltered  boyhood,  over  which  bend  only  bright  and 
genial  skies.  His  youth  glides  past  him,  a  peaceful  stream 
flowing  on  through  gentle  meadow^s.  Manhood  takes  him 
by  the  hand,  and  there  has  been  as  yet  no  faltering  in 


254  THE   MINISTRIES   OF  TIME. 

his  step.  He  seems  to  have  conquered  in  the  fields  of 
life,  to  have  mastered  his  passions  without  a  conflict. 
And,  perhaps,  gray  mingles  with  the  native  hue  of  his 
hair,  the  seal  of  his  confirmation  in  settled  integrity.  He 
knows  not,  and  no  man  knows,  the  strength  of  his  pro- 
pensities. The  hour  of  trial  has  never  fairly  fronted  him. 
What  a  mutinous  crew  slumber  under  the  hatches  there 
he  suspects  not !  What  combustibles  are  gathered  be- 
neath the  fair  fabric  of  his  unsullied  name  !  What  a  train 
might  be  fired,  what  a  fight  he  might  be  called  to  maintain, 
with  upleaping  and  furious  foes  and  flames,  he  never  for 
a  moment  dreams  !  It  may  happen  to  him  to  know  better 
by  and  by.  The  ripe  hour  hurries  on.  It  is  all  the  more 
perilous  that  he  has  never  faced  real  and  mortal  danger. 
He  has  no  lore  of  warning  experience.  The  train  is  fired, 
and  the  tumult  begins.  Let  him  gird  himself  like  a  man. 
The  combat  rages.  What  a  fearful  strife  !  Forward  and 
backward  the  tide  ebbs  and  flows.  No  such  strain  as  this 
has  ever  tested  the  might  of  his  arm.  He  has  called  him- 
self a  soldier,  but  he  has  never  had  a  field-day  till  now. 
What  if  it  should  go  against  him  ?  He  pants  and  bleeds 
and  falters.  Oh !  woe  the  day,  if  he  have  not  a  divine 
Helper,  or  if  he  forget  to  look  up  for  heavenly  succor ! 
Let  no  man  speak  harshly  of  the  fallen ;  let  no  man  plume 
himself  upon  his  own  immaculateness.  Our  day  may 
come.  Low  behind  the  bending  west  the  distant  cloud 
may  even  now  be  rising.  Be  meek,  charitable,  watchful, 
and  prayerful. 

God  even  commits  his  own  vindication  to  Time.     He 
delays,  both  to  visit  for  daring  wrong  and  to  reward  pa- 


THE   MINISTEIES   OF  TIME.  255 

tient  faith.  His  threatenings  and  his  proraises  seem  laid 
aside,  forgotten.  The  impious  cry,  derisively,  "  Where  is 
the  promise  of  his  coming?"  and  the  believer,  "Lord, 
how  long  ?  "  But  there  is  no  demonstration  from  the  si- 
lent heavens.  That  sovereign  hand  begins  its  work  afar 
oif.  It  rolls  up  not  a  single  event,  but  an  ordered  and 
massive  system.  The  good  die  while  yet  the  consumma- 
tion hoped  for  lingers.  The  vile  triumph,  and  their  seed 
seems  established  in  the  earth.  Then  on  the  vast,  dim 
dial,  the  index  points  to  the  appointed  hour,  and  ven- 
geance and  deliverance  do  their  work ;  and  amid  blas- 
phemy confounded  and  righteousness  exultant,  sounds 
the  blessed  voice,  "I  the  Lord  will  hasten  it  in  his  time." 

In  the  individual  life  the  grandest  spiritual  truths  are 
learned  late.  Here,  as  in  all  learning,  there  is  an  alpha- 
bet first,  and  more  wondrous  revelations  afterward.  For 
these  deeper  and  more  radiant  mysteries  there  must  be 
often  a  peculiar  preparation.  The  soul  must  have  a  past 
to  look  back  to,  to  build  upon.  The  path  up  the  snowy 
Alps  is  at  first  along  rugged  and  earthy  ravines  ;  by  and 
by  it  emerges,  and  the  dazzling  peak  shoots  heavenward. 
The  time  of  need,  the  hour  of  trial,  the  crisis  of  sharp  ex- 
perience, must  bring  the  moment  of  revelation.  We 
must  sufier  our  converts  to  be  babes ;  we  must  expect 
for  ourselves  more  glowing  and  rapt  discoveries  of  God's 
grace  and  loving-kindness  than  our  poor  attainments  in 
the  past  have  ever  mastered. 

But  these  ministries  of  Time  touch  heart-nerves  in 
passing.  They  play  sorely  on  tender  chords.  The  mu- 
sic is  solemn,  wailing,  and  dirgelike.     There  are  weep- 


256  THE   MINISTRIES    OF   TIME. 

ing  kindreds  here  who  dreamed  uot  a  year  ago,  in  their 
glad  security,  what  Time  had  in  store  for  them  ;  that  he 
should  lead  their  best  beloved  away  from  their  circle; 
that  he  was  weaving  ever,  while  they  smiled  and  slept,  a 
winding-sheet  for  tender,  fair,  and  manly  forms  ;  that,  in 
the  silence  and  in  the  darkness,  he  was  digging  a  grave, 
and  lettering  some  sweet  household  name  in  marble ;  that 
soon  he  should  shroud  their  joyousness  in  the  darkness  of 
the  tomb,  their  festive  garments  in  the  sable  of  mourning. 
But  this  he  had  in  keeping  for  them.  He  has  lent 
strength  and  grace  to  many  a  life  ;  he  has  piled  up  boun- 
ties at  every  door;  he  has  filled  our  garners  with  his 
loaded  wains ;  but,  alas  !  he  has  stolen  from  hearthstone 
and  fireside  what  he  can  never  replace. 

And  yet  Time  has  a  ministry  of  consolation  too.  He 
heals  where  he  wounds.  It  is  of  God  that  his  touch  has 
such  a  balm  in  it.  He  wipes  away  tears  ;  he  unknits  the 
furrowed  brow ;  he  brings  back  the  smile  to  the  quiver- 
ing lips  ;  he  leads  the  captive  forth  into  the  sunshine  ;  he 
gathers  upon  the  bereaved  the  tender  and  soothing  spell 
of  memory ;  he  plants  flowers  in  the  path  where  bleeding 
feet  have  walked,  pierced  by  the  thorns. 

O  Time !  what  dost  thou  yet  keep  back  from  us  ? 
What  commissions  hast  thou  to  execute  upon  us  in  these 
fresh,  opening  days  of  the  new-born  year?  Whither 
along  this  track  that  glides  always  into  the  shadow  of  to- 
morrow dost  thou  lead  our  feet  ?  What  of  joy  or  of  sor- 
row, of  conflict  or  of  suffering,  art  thou  marshalling  even 
now?  Vain  guess!  No  voice  answers.  Into  the  mist 
opens  no  vista  of  light.     But  this  we  know.  Time  is  a 


THE   MINISTEIES    OF   TIME.  257 

creature  of  God.  It  waits  upon  that  sovereign  will.  It 
comes  to  us  a  guide  sent  from  heaven,  to  conduct  us  on- 
ward into  the  good  pleasure  of  One  whom  in  life  and  in 
death  we  can  trust  with  our  mortal  and  immortal  hopes. 
O  Time  !  roll  on  the  year,  bring  up  the  forces  of  the 
hidden  future.  With  one  hand  clasping  the  divine  hand, 
and  a  mutual  good  cheer,  which  we  make  a  prayer  to- 
day, we  go  forward  in  faith  and  hope. 
22* 


XYII. 

SORROWS  OF  JESUS. 

....    A  MAN  OF  SORROWS    ...  —  Isa.  liii.  part  3. 

WHEN  mention  is  made  of  the  sufferings  of  Christ, 
our  thoughts  turn  naturally  to  the  scene  in  the 
garden,  where  nature,  overstrained,  gave  her  witness  in 
crimson  drops,  and  to  the  slow  agonies  of  the  cross,  kill- 
ing, not  by  any  single  mortal  stroke,  but  by  the  sharp- 
ness of  conquering  pain.  This  habit  of  thought  fails  to 
appreciate  the  deep  significance  of  such  an  expression  as 
that  we  are  to  dwell  upon  now. 

It  need  not,  necessarily,  be  a  mournful  and  saddening 
subject  for  us  to  consider.  There  is  nothing  depressing 
in  recalling  the  hardships  and  wounds  of  a  soldier  who 
has  come  home  victorious  and  laurelled  from  the  wars, 
nor  in  speaking  of  the  storm  and  wreck  and  thirst,  the 
great  fight  with  the  elements  through  which  the  much- 
enduring  mariner  has  returned  safely  and  prosperously  to 
port,  nor  in  listening  to  chronicles  of  the  long,  dreadful 
arctic  night  from  one  who  sits  at  our  warm  fireside  and 
tells  of  the  conflict  and  the  triumph.  Our  Saviour  has 
endured  the  cross,  passed  beneath  the  shame,  carried  his 


SORROWS    OF   JESUS.  259 

sorrows  and  ours,  and  gone  home  to  his  glorious  throne, 
made  perfect  by  sufferings,  filling  out  thus  the  whole 
spherical  idea  of  substitution  and  personal  sympathy,  and 
announcing  himself  as  "he  that  liveth  and  was  dead,  and 
is  alive  for  evermore."  To  speak  of  his  "sorrows  "  may 
fill  our  eyes  with  tears,  but  they  will  be  tears  of  grateful 
tenderness,  of  glad  thanksgiving,  and  will  leave  the  eyes 
that  weep  clearer  and  brighter  to  discern  his  peerless  ex- 
altation who  thus  suffered  and  triumphed  for  us. 

The  expression  we  are  contemplating  of  its  own  force 
indicates,  not  the  crowning  and  closing  specialty  of  suffer- 
ing which  Jesus  endured,  but  the  tenor  of  his  life,  the 
current  of  his  daily  experience,  the  habitual  consciousness 
of  his  soul.  It  takes  in,  of  course,  as  a  part  of  its  mean- 
ing, that  consummation  of  extreme  and  dying  anguish, 
but  it  covers  the  whole  story  beside.  When  we  say  of 
one  "  he  is  a  man  of  few  words  "  we  mean  not  that  he  of 
whom  we  speak  was  particularly  silent  on  a  given  occa- 
sion, but  that  he  is  of  a  reserved  and  unsocial  habit  at  all 
times  and  everywhere.  Our  description  has  the  same 
breadth  of  extent  when  we  speak  of  another  as  a  man  of 
strong  passions  or  prejudices,  of  another  as  a  man  of  keen 
observation,  of  another  as  a  visionary  man;  we  refer  to 
the  general  character  and  experience,  and  not  to  isolated 
instances. 

The  life  of  Christ  was  a  sorrowful  life.  It  moved  from 
beginning  to  ending  in  that  zone.  Sorrow  was  his  meat 
and  drink.  It  bathed  his  spirit  with  daily  immersion. 
In  that  shaded  and  thorny  vale  his  feet  walked  always. 
He  never  rose  quite  clear  from  this  valley  mist,  this  at- 


260  SORROWS  or  jesus. 

mosphere  of  sorrow  that  drooped  about  him  and  cluDg  to 
him.  Ah,  it  makes  our  hearts  ache,  not,  indeed,  with  a 
sensation  all  of  pain,  but  with  a  tender  and  burdened  ful- 
ness, which  has  its  witness  in  our  eyes,  to  follow  this 
Master  thus,  and  remember  it  was  all  for  us.  The  human 
in  him  was  altogether  sorrowful.  The  expression  fastens 
our  eye  upon  his  humanity.  He  was  a  man  of  sorrows. 
Those  experiences  of  life  which  in  us  are  mingled  of 
lights  or  shades,  those  avenues  of  entrance  into  the  human 
soul  which  in  us  are  avenues  to  many  a  joy  as  well  as 
to  here  and  there  a  grief,  were  in  him  experiences  alto- 
gether on  the  shady  side,  —  avenues  along  which  trooped 
and  pressed  for  admission  a  thronging  procession  of 
griefs.  To  share  the  bright  lot  of  our  human  nature  in 
its  frequent  providential  story,  to  sit  in  our  earthly  sun- 
shine, to  taste  the  sweets  of  our  earthly  vines,  to  inhale 
the  fragrance  of  our  earthly  flowers,  to  be  ministered 
unto  by  seasons  and  climes,  to  hold  delighted  converse 
with  congenial  spirits,  and  see  the  smile  of  friendship  and 
hear  the  words  of  love, — humanity  with  such  an  allot- 
ment, if  this  were  all,  were  not  so  great  a  trial  even  to  an 
exalted  spiritual  nature.  But  to  take  it  with  its  ca- 
pacities of  joy  and  suffering  only  to  have  them  filled  with 
the  latter ;  to  take  it  with  its  deep  sensibilities  alive  both 
to  pleasure  and  pain  only  to  find  it  all  sensitively  thrilling 
to  pain, — this  is  another  sort  of  transformation  for  a 
blessed  and  holy  nature,  and  it  was  with  such  an  expe- 
rience of  manhood  that  Jesus  entered. 

Let  us  glance  down  the  catalogue  of  these  sorrows  and 
name  such  of  them  as  meet  our  eye  with  most  prominent 


SORROWS    OF   JESUS.  261 

lettering.  We  shall  not  have  time  to  dwell,  only  to  let 
the  list  linger  a  moment  on  our  rapid  hearing;  and 
those  unnamed  will  seem  to  some  more  worthy  of  com- 
memoration, perhaps,  than  those  to  which  we  now  lend 
speech. 

We   need   not   make   much   of  his   poverty   perhaps. 
Other  men  have  suffered  and  do  suffer  poverty.     They 
are  pinched  and  distressed.      They  see  the  sad  eyes  of 
unprovided  ones  looking  up  to  them   daily,  and  cannot 
look  back  with  an  eye  that  relights  the  lamp  of  hope. 
They  are  hungry  and  cold  and  have  the  faintness  of  want 
and  the  heartache  of  despair,  and  all  without  any  con- 
sciousness of  some  high  and  infinitely  blessed  end  to  be 
thus  served  and  compassed.     We  know  not  that  Jesus' 
sufferings  of  destitution  were  more  acute  or  in  any  wise  a 
sorer  tax  upon  patience  and  manhood  than  that  of  many 
over  whom  the  heart   of  charity  bleeds   amid  our  own 
homes.     And  yet  we  do  not  know  all  the  history  of  that 
poverty.     Not  much  is  said  about  it  in  the  Gospel  his- 
tories.    There  are  glimpses  here  and  there.     We  know 
what  the  circumstances   of  the   family  were  when  that 
infant  form  was  cradled.     We  know  that  Jesus  wrought 
with  his  own  hands,  probably  through  a  long  and  toilsome 
youth,  to  add  something  to  the  comfort,  or  take  somethino- 
from  the  sharpness,  of  need  in  his  own  father's  house.     A 
single   line  tells   us  in  plaintive  confession,   "The  foxes 
have  holes  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  nests,  but  the  Sou 
of  man  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head."     But  there  are 
wide,  blank  intervals  of  his  life,  in  respect  to  the  comforts 
necessary  to  the  body,  where  the  narrative  is  altogether 


262  SORROWS    OF    JESUS. 

silent.  The  more  refined  and  sensitive  a  nature  is,  the 
more  delicate  in  its  perceptions  and  tastes,  the  more  the 
coarseness  of  poverty's  rude  shifts  must  chafe  and  press. 
As  the  humanity  of  Christ  seems  to  have  been  left  to  feel 
to  the  full  its  earthly  experience,  there  may  have  been 
under  the  shadow  of  this  meaning  silence  such  ever  wear- 
ing trials,  such  single  scenes  of  intense  suffering  as  we 
cannot  easily  conceive.  But  we  have  said  enough  about 
this. 

Look  at  that  sorrow  of  loneliness.  His  own  family 
understood  him  not,  and  his  loved  and  loving  disciples 
were  perpetually  puzzled  about  him.  All  whom  he  chose, 
and  between  whom  and  himself  there  were  ties  of  kindred 
and  friendship,  were  yet  so  far  off  from  him,  looked  upon 
him  with  w^ondering  and  doubtful  eyes.  Even  the  mother 
who  held  him  in  her  arms,  held  him  as  it  were  at  arm's 
length,  and  Avondered  over  her  strange  babe.  John  might 
lie  in  his  bosom,  Peter  might  touch  his  hand,  the  twelve 
might  sit  around  him  at  table  and  feast,  but  within  the 
humanity  that  came  in  contact  with  theirs,  in  his  own 
thoughts  and  feelings  and  cares,  there  was  another  and 
inner  sphere  into  which  no  man  entered  with  him.  There 
was  no  equal,  congenial,  and  brotherly  companion  into 
whom  his  eyes  could  look,  without  speech,  all  the  contents 
of  his  heart,  and  read  in  return  a  perfect  intelligence  and 
sympathy.  He  need  not  have  gone  away  from  his  dis- 
ciples to  be  alone.     He  was  ever  alone. 

"  Cold  mountains  and  the  midnight  air 
Witnessed  the  fervor  of  his  prayer." 


SORROWS    OF   JESUS.  263 

But  his  loneliness  was  a  mere  solitary  mountain  height, 
a  deeper  midnight  for  his  uncompanioned  soul.  It  seems 
to  have  come  over  him  now  and  then,  and  he  speaks  it 
with  such  a  voice  it  would  seem  as  though  the  thrilled 
and  startled  earth  might  give  back  a  groan.  "Alone," 
and  yet  I  am  not  alone,  for  the  Father  is  with  me.  Think 
of  walking  over  this  earth  and  through  the  midst  of  its 
circles  and  kindreds  without  one  companion  for  a  day  or 
an  hour  of  a  lifetime  ! 

We  have  spoken  under  our  first  head  of  his  spirit  as 
gentle  and  refined,  and  of  its  hard  and  harsh  contact  with 
the  coarseness  of  want.  But  think  now  of  its  coming  into 
contact  with  all  earth's  rude  and  coarse  types  of  life,  its 
nameless  abominations,  the  things  seen  and  heard  and 
understood  which  we  cannot  write,  —  sharp  speech,  evil 
railing,  mutual  suspicions,  wicked  jealousies,  taunts,  re- 
venges, ugly  and  tyrannical  tempers,  plottings  and  coun- 
terplottings,  the  looks  which  a  human  eye  can  give,  the 
expressions  which  a  human  face  can  wear,  the  words 
which  a  human  tongue  can  utter,  sharper  than  daggers, 
more  brutal  than  blows.  Go  on  in  your  own  imagina- 
tion, of  which  however  you  need  not  much  help.  Only 
fling  the  coloring  of  facts  upon  the  canvas,  and  then  see 
what  to  such  a  spirit  must  be  the  sorrowful  mingling  with 
such  a  race. 

Think,  again,  of  the  sorrow  of  his  sympathy  and  com- 
passion. If  he  could  have  gone  through  the  world  hard- 
hearted, he  could  have  escaped  this  pain.  Bat  all  grief 
was  his  grief ;  every  woe  came  upon  his  inheritance  ;  he 
bore  our  griefs,  he  carried  our  sorrows,  he  entered  into 


264  SORKOWS    OF    JESUS. 

the  burden  of  every  tried  one.  The  weeping  sisters  at 
their  brother's  grave ;  he  catches  sight  of  their  faces,  he 
looks  upon  the  tomb  and  —  oh,  look  upon  his  own  face  ! 
the  tears  are  flowing  there  —  he  sees  a  multitude  around 
him  in  the  wilderness  an  hungered  and  athirst,  and  it  is 
written  he  had  compassion  upon  the  multitude,  because 
they  were  as  sheep  not  having  a  shepherd.  What  would 
it  be  to  take  all  sufiering  of  others  upon  one  sustaining 
heart, — to  see  tears,  hear  sighs,  intense  wretchedness  of 
any  kind,  and  make  it  all  our  own?  Could  one  of  us 
bear  it  ? 

Then  there  was  the  depth  of  human  ruin  into  whose 
abysses  his  gaze  searched.  Oh,  what  had  sin  wrought ! 
He  saw  its  utter,  sad  devastations,  the  efiects  of  the  fall, 
such  malice,  such  hardness  of  heart,  such  hatred  of  truth, 
such  lying,  murders,  and  lusts,  such  ungrateful  and  de- 
termined hostility  to  their  Eedeemer  bringing  them  salva- 
tion !  What  must  it  have  been  for  him  to  have  to  say 
to  them  such  words  as  he  used  to  warn  and  rebuke,  "O 
generation  of  vipers  ! "  He  explored  the  depth  of  that 
great  gulf  of  man's  apostasy  as  no  other  human  eyes  ever 
did  before  or  since. 

Then  the  burden  of  those  ruined  ones,  we  cannot  fathom 
the  love  that  looked  out  of  his  eyes,  the  yearning  that 
made  his  heart  bleed,  the  restlessness  to  subdue,  win,  and 
deliver.  An  earnest  Christian  knows  a  little  of  it.  His 
soul  is  a  little  fountain  of  such  impulses,  but  in  that  soul 
a  great  ocean  heaved  and  swelled. 

Then  his  disappointment,  the  fruitlessness,  to  so  many 
of  his  great  mission.     Oh,  what  thoughts  were  his  when 


SOEKOWS    OF   JESUS.  265 

he  sat  on  Olivet,  and  apostrophized  the  city  lying  there 
beneath  him,  —  "  O  Jerusalem  !  "  —  Matt,  xxiii.  37.  And 
what  a  tone  lingers  yet  in  such  words  as  these  :  Ye  will 
not  come  to  me  that  ye  might  have  life " !  And  then 
this  most  desponding  utterance,  so  tender  that  the  tears 
drop  through  it  yet,  "  If  I  had  not  come  and  spoken  unto 
them,  they  had  not  had  sin."  But  we  cannot  now  go  on. 
We  are  here  to  commemorate  a  Saviour's  dying  love,  and 
all  sorrow  to-day  may  plead  unto  Jesus. 
23 


XYIII. 

BALANCE   SHEET;   OE,   TAKING  ACCOUNT 
OF  STOCK. 

"WHAT  PROFIT  HATH    A  MAN    OF   ALL   HIS    LABOR  WHICH    HE    TAKETH   UNDER 

THE  SUN?  —  Eccl.  i.  3. 

IT  is  a  wise  and  needful  custom  in  mercantile  life  to 
pause  periodically  in  the  current  of  buying  and  selling, 
review  the  work  of  our  fiscal  year,  and  take  account  of 
stock.  It  were  a  piece  of  wilful  folly,  in  neglect  of  such 
review,  to  launch  out  upon  new  enterprises,  to  adventure 
fresh  charges  and  expenditures,  or  to  dream  and  drift 
drowsily  onward,  careless  whether  the  past  had  added  to 
or  diuiinished  our  resources.  Of  such  a  reckless  and 
blind  confidence  there  could  come,  sooner  or  later,  only 
bankiniptcy  and  ruin.  We  need  to  ask  what  we  have 
gained,  what  we  have  lost,  how  the  sum  total  of  capital  and 
effects  at  the  year's  close  compares  with  that  at  the  year's 
beginning ;  whether  our  trusted  investments  are  produc- 
tive ;  what  there  is  to  add  to,  what  there  is  to  subtract 
from,  our  whole  wealth. 

Equally  wise  and  wholesome  is  it  for  us,  in  the  revolu- 
tions of  our  natural  and  moral  life,  to  have  our  points  of 
self-reckoning,  to  arrest  thereat  the  swift-gliding  stream 


BALANCE    SHEET.  267 

of  our  planning,  toiling,  and  hoping ;  to  call  up  the  past 
for  its  honest  report;  to  raise  the  question.  What  have  we 
gained,  what  have  we  lost,  in  the  true  wealth  of  our 
being  ?  and  with  careful  arithmetic  work  out  our  balance 
sheet  of  character  and  spiritual  standing  before  setting 
forward  on  the  new  reaches  of  our  way. 

The  chimes  that  toll  the  death  of  the  old  year,  and 
then,  changing  their  tone,  ring  out  joy  bells  for  the  birth  of 
the  new,  strike  for  us  a  fitting  hour  for  such  a  faithful 
reckoning. 

We  do  not  need  an  argument  to  prove  that  no  man's 
life  stands  still.  There  is  inevitably  growth  and  progress 
with  every  man  in  some  direction.  God's  is  the  only 
nature  without  advance  or  change.  Each  influence  that 
tries  its  powers  upon  us  produces  some  positive  effect. 
If  it  be  yielded  to,  it  governs  the  pulses  of  the  hour,  per- 
haps of  all  the  future.  If  it  be  resisted,  its  visit  is  still 
memorable,  as  strengthening  the  forces  that  have  over- 
mastered it  and  establishing  their  supremacy.  Every  day 
brings  up  such  influences  to  levy  their  pressure  upon  us. 
These  silent  visits  will  have  their  record  in  perhaps  the 
imperceptible  but  real  changes  of  our  convictions,  our 
principles,  and  our  purposes,  the  gradually  fading  or 
deepening  hues  of  the  coloring  of  our  thoughts  and 
our  days.  The  long  procession  of  such  visits  that  suc- 
ceed one  another  through  the  days  of  a  single  year 
must  inevitably  affect  the  man,  if  not  his  demonstrations ; 
the  worker,  if  not  at  once  his  work.  These  influences  will 
be  of  every  variety.  They  will  be  ordinary  and  spe- 
cial.    They  will  come  from  men,  from   books,  from  na- 


268  BALANCE    sheet;    OR, 

ture,  from  Providence,  from  the  depths  of  our  own  soul, 
from  God's  word  and  spirit.  They  will  make  up  in  their 
aggregate  the  whole  story  of  our  experience ;  and  this 
experience  w^ill  either  sharpen  our  wits  or  dull  them, 
quicken  or  stupefy  our  sensibilities,  bring  us  increments  of 
knowledge  and  power,  or  squander  and  waste  the  hours 
and  the  occasions  that  ought  to  have  helped  our  stores  of 
wisdom,  and  our  stability  in  goodness  and  virtue. 

Let  us  ask,  then,  to-day,  on  this  first  Sabbath  morning 
of  the  opening  year,  looking  back  before  we  look  forward, 
and  with  honest  desire  to  ascertain  all  that  the  past  can 
reveal  to  us,  what  results  of  the  old  year's  record  must 
we  set  down  on  the  side  of  loss  ?  What  may  we  carry  to 
the  side  of  gain  ?  What  "  profit  have  we  had  of  all  our 
labor  which  we  have  taken  under  the  sun  "? 

First,  then,  on  the  side  of  loss,  there  is  an  actual  dimi- 
nution of  our  capital  in  Time.  We  embarked  on  life's 
career  with  this  capital  at  its  maximum.  At  what  num- 
ber we  could  then  write  the  units  of  its  sum  total, 
we  knew  not  then,  we  never  have  known  since.  But 
God  is  merciful  beyond  the  appreciation  of  most  minds 
in  this  among  other  tokens  of  his  tender  regard  for  our 
comfort,  that  he  lays  not  on  human  hearts  the  fear  of 
daily  dying.  He  permits  his  creatures  to  rise  up  and  lie 
down,  to  o^o  forth  to  their  work  and  their  labor  until  the 
evening,  without  this  cold  conviction  pulsing  through 
their  souls,  and  uttering  itself  in  doleful  tones  whenever 
their  lips  open,  "I  shall  die  perhaps  to-day.  I  shall  wake 
no  more  perhaps  with  another  morning."  He  has  abun- 
dantly taught  in  his  word  and  in  his  pavilion  that  human 


TAKING  ACCOUNT  OF  STOCK.  269 

life  is  frail,  that  it  is  short  at  the  longest,  that  it  is  as  a 
vapor  that  appeareth  for  a  little  time,  then  vanisheth  away  ; 
that  its  continuauce  is  uncertain.  We  see  the  heavy 
sheaves  gathered  in,  —  manhood  in  its  prime  laid  low, 
youth  drooping  in  its  summer,  childhood's  blossom  and 
the  red  bud  of  infancy  nipped  by  untimely  frosts.  But 
God  so  sustains  our  hearts  that  the  arm  of  industry  is 
not  paral3^zed ;  hope  rises  with  us  every  morning  and  runs 
at  our  side,  or  glides  on  before  us  all  the  day.  We  send 
out  our  ships  on  far  voyages  ;  we  sow  and  wait  for  future 
harvests ;  we  invest  when  years  are  to  roll  forward  their 
salient  changes  before  our  dividends  shall  make  us  rich. 
Undoubtedly  we  forget  too  often  life's  frailty  ;  the  heart  is 
overbold  and  courageous ;  we  need  to  have  it  said  to  us 
at  least  daily,  as  to  the  Macedonian  of  old,  "  Philip,  thou 
art  mortal ;  "  but  what  comfort  and  tranquillity  in  laboring 
and  in  gathering  the  fruits  of  God's  goodness  and  human 
toil,  notwithstanding  the  sentence  that  arches  us  all, 
"Dust  thou  art,  and  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return"  !  God 
has  permitted  it  to  be  written  that  our  eyes  may  see  it, 
and  our  spirits  know  the  buoyancy  of  this  narrated  hope, 
"The  days  of  our  years  are  threescore  years  and  ten."  I 
think  it  is  not  his  pleasure  that  every  man  should  enter 
upon  his  day's  work  saying  to  his  heart,  "I  shall  die  to- 
day;"  but  still,  as  though  he  might,  the  man  who  is 
always  ready  can  toil  in  perpetual  hope  and  perpetual 
tranquillity. 

But  whatever  our  capital  at  the  start,  in  respect  to  the 
years  ordained  for  us,  we  have  lost  another  unit  of  that 
loan  from  God.     One  year  less  to  expend  upon  all  our 
23* 


270  BALANCE   sheet;    OK, 

earthly  schemes ;  one  year  less  in  which  to  toil  for  our 
families,  learn  the  lessons  and  fulfil  the  high  ends  of  life ; 
one  year  less  in  which  to  prepare  for  the  life  to  come ; 
one  year  less  between  us  and  that  last  chime  of  the  clock 
wound  up  to  men  only  with  the  beating  of  our  heart  be- 
tween us  and  the  grave,  and  that  which  is  after  death,  the 
judgment.  And  if  the  completion  of  each  year  suggests 
this  thought,  the  completion  of  a  decade  of  years  makes 
it  more  solemn  and  impressive.  Seven  such  decades 
touches  the  utmost  bound.  You  and  I  have  lived  two  of 
those  seven,  three  of  them,  four  of  them  (the  plural 
"  we  "  becomes  less  comprehensive  as  we  advance)  five  of 
them,  six  perhaps,  and  cutting  in  upon  the  seventh. 
Look  back,  not  far,  to  youth,  childhood.  How  near 
those  bright,  lawless  days  !  Only  yesterday  !  Measure 
forward  an  equal  reach,  and  where  are  Ave?  Sleeping  be- 
neath a  green  ridge,  with  a  white  slab  at  its  head  lettered 
with  our  name,  and  that  little  Latin  word  "  05^^,"  departed, 
completing  the  sentence. 

But  when  I  raise  the  question  of  lost  time,  I  mean 
much  more  than  the  obvious  and  universal  fact  that  our 
years  drop  oflf  one  by  one,  and  that  another  has  now  gone, 
taken  from  the  side  of  the  capital  yet  unexpended  to  be 
added  to  that  which  is  spent.  Have  there  been  no  days 
of  this  year  otherwise  lost,  —  lost  because  unimproved  ? 
Have  we  been  frugal  of  time?  Have  we  been  lavish  of 
moments  ?  Have  we  idled  away  no  swift,  underlying  in- 
tervals between  rising  and  the  morning  meal  ?  After  that 
meal,  and  before  our  industry  put  on  its  harness,  in  loiter- 
ing along  while  the  working  hours  shone  bright  overhead, 


TAKING  ACCOUNT  OF  STOCK.  271 

in  drowsy  animal  indolence  through  the  shades  of  even- 
ing, in  sleep  beyond  the  ministries  of  needful  refreshment 
and  recuperation?    Nay,  is  it  not  possible  that  our  busiest 
moments,  our  intensest  activities,  are  those  that  ouo-ht  in 
a  faithful  reckoning  to  be  carried  to  the  side  of  loss? 
Strokes  of  labor,  hours  of  work  given  to  pride,  worldly 
grasping,  self-indulgence,  any  issues  of  flesh  and  sense, 
any  ends  that  terminate  upon  the  life  that  now  is,  — are 
not  these  lost  to  us  ?     Shall  we  count  them  finally  among 
our  gains?     Have  they  helped  our  laud  riches?     Have 
they  not  robbed  us  of  so  much  that  might  have  been,  if 
otherwise  devoted,  grandly  productive  ?    All  that  has  been 
squandered  on  the  needs  or  the  desires  and  lusts  of  the 
present  with  no  other,  no  higher  thoughts  or  ends  has 
gone  hopelessly  against  us,— lost  days,  however  crowded 
with  diligence,  however  gladdened  by  successes;    for  life 
is  one  whole,  not  a  little  payment  here  in  time ;  it  has  one 
story  of   progress  and  character  and  destiny,  unrolling 
from  the  here  into  the  hereafter.     Every  truly  faithful 
work  must  take  hold  of  life  as  a  whole,  as  imperishable 
and  immortal,  and  the  question  of  gain  or  loss  must  be 
settled  by  those  balances  that  can  be  carried  forward  to 
the  eternal  enriching,  or  that  are  placed  only  momentarily 
on  the  side  of  profit  to  disappear  in  the  tremendous  ofiset 
of  a  whole  probation  wasted. 

So  that  diligence,  strong  nerved  and  careful  and  gainful, 
is  not  the  trae  redemption  of  time.  Many  a  man  who 
pauses  in  his  routine  of  work  to  aid  in  the  direct  nurture 
and  happiness  of  his  home  is  saving  time ;  to  cheer  the 
comfortless,  to  guide  the  perplexed,  to  hear  the  sad  stories 


272  BALANCE   sheet;    OR, 

of  temptation  and  remorse,  and  administer  to  such  forlorn 
spirits  is  saving  time ;  to  sit  down  at  the  board  and  in 
the  evening  circle  with  wife  and  children,  imparting 
knowledge  and  diflfusing  light  and  joy,  is  saving  time. 

I  dwell  no  longer  on  this  point.  Let  us  look  to  it,  each 
of  us,  and  give  it  the  place  in  our  reckoning  which  we 
judge  belongs  to  it. 

With  some  of  us,  again,  I  suppose  there  has  been  an 
actual  loss  from  the  capital  of  strength  and  vigor.  Per- 
haps we  cannot  perceive  it.  We  had  better  ask  our 
friends.  Perhaps,  again,  we  know  it  better  than  they, 
are  aware  of  signs  not  visible  or  palpable  to  them,  —  the 
foot  not  quite  so  light,  nor  the  step  so  elastic ;  the  form 
not  so  perpendicularly  upright,  or,  if  so,  not  so  sure  a 
match  against  weight  and  pressure ;  the  muscles  failing  a 
little  in  hardiness  and  roundness,  the  sinews  relaxing,  the 
hair  changing  its  hue  by  single  threads  of  a  new  coloring, 
the  power  to  do  and  to  endure  drained  of  something  of  its 
fulness  and  volume.  We  weary  sooner  than  we  did.  We 
like  easy  appliances  to  which  we  were  ever  indifferent. 
We  shrink  a  little  from  sharp  encounters  with  difficulties 
which  once  only  put  us  upon  our  mettle.  We  turn  over 
some  of  our  hastening  and  hurrying  to  our  boys,  to 
younger  men.  Is  it  so?  Put  it  down,  then,  on  the  side 
where  it  goes. 

Have  there  been  special  opportunities,  conjunctions  of 
favoring  circumstances  for  doing  some  particular  work, 
which  have  come  and  gone  unimproved,  to  return  no 
more, — a  kindness  to  be  shown,  declined  ;  help  to  render 
in  a  dark  day  refused,  and  the  day  not  past  by ;  a  soul  to 


TAKING  ACCOUNT  OF  STOCK.  273 

warn  and  succor  in  its  crisis ;  a  providence  to  improve 
and  impress  in  the  family ;  a  co-operation  to  render  in 
Christian  enterprises  that  were  calling  earnestly  for  vol- 
unteers ;  a  good  for  our  own  souls  possible  to  some  con- 
secration of  a  day  or  an  hour  to  that  end ;  a  word  to 
speak  for  truth  and  right  and  humanity  and  God  when 
men's  ears  were  open?  What  account  must  we  make 
to-day  of  these  precious  hours  of  the  year,  its  most  inesti- 
mable opportunities,  the  real  and  most  momentous  con- 
nections it  had  in  God's  purposes  with  our  life,  the  ends 
for  which  God  gave  it  ?  Reckon  them  in  our  lost  oppor- 
tunities, our  forfeited  occasions  of  doing  and  getting 
good  ?     "  Oh,  how  often  we  wish  backward  !  " 

Has  there  been  any  loss  of  purity  and  delicacy  and  con- 
scientiousness ?  Have  the  finer  sensibilities  and  the  more 
delicate  and  retiring  sentiments  of  our  soul  been  toyed 
with,  wantoned  with,  handled  and  sullied,  made  coarse 
and  common,  so  that  our  thoughts  and  feelings  are  less 
select  and  sensitive,  less  kept  within  doors  and  out  of  the 
glare  and  soot  of  street  exposure.  Have  we  become 
world-hardened  and  world-soiled,  so  that  we  laugh  where 
we  used  to  blush,  and  can  permit  a  jest  where  once  a  light 
word  gave  us  a  wound  ?  Let  us  look  and  get  the  exact 
state  of  the  balance  here,  and  put  the  item  in  where  it 
belongs. 

What  have  we  done  with  special  acts  of  discipline  in- 
tended for  special  efiects  upon  us  ?  We  needed  humbling, 
we  failed  in  submission,  we  were  afflicted  with  chronic 
discontent,  we  were  fluttering  with  perpetual  levity  and 
vanity,  we  were  deep  in  the  solemnest,  gravest,  and  in- 


274  BALANCE  sheet;   or, 

tensest  worldliness.  God  saw  and  meant  us  a  special 
mercy,  and  sent  a  chastening  and  helpful  providence,  a 
little  sharp  lesson  in  his  own  heavenly  tuition,  to  show  us 
our  need  and  help  us  to  realize  a  blessed  amendment. 
How  have  we  received  these  offers  and  ministries  of  help  ? 
Did  they  produce  their  desired  and  destined  effect,  or  did 
we  overlook  their  real  intent,  disappoint  their  aim,  and 
lose  their  most  invaluable  aid?  Set  them  down,  if  so, 
so  much  to  our  loss. 

Has  there  been  with  any  of  us  a  loss  of  hope  and  trust 
and  good  courage  for  truth  and  right?  Have  we  been 
ready  to  give  up  the  proverb  that  honesty  is  the  best  pol- 
icy ?  Have  we  come  to  feel  that  it  is  vain  to  contend  for 
righteousness  and  humanity  and  justice?  Have  we  been 
so  bereft  of  confidence  in  God  as  almost  to  doubt  whether 
he  was  on  the  side  of  a  manful  fight  for  principle  and 
piety?  Have  the  dark  clouds  that  lie  with  thunderous 
blackness  on  our  country's  horizon  caused  us  to  bate  one 
jot  of  hope  or  effort  for  the  incoming  of  the  day  when 
involuntary  servitude  shall  float  away  among  the  relics  of 
the  grim  and  iron  ages  reaching  along  the  past  of  human 
history?  Do  we  feel  as  though  expediency,  as  against 
right  and  principle  and  love,  were  the  doctrine  of  the  hour? 
For  ourselves  in  our  own  private  personal  story  has  so 
sable  a  night  hung  over  us  that  we  doubted  whether  God 
could  bring  the  day,  almost  whether  there  were  any  sun 
that  shone  anywhere?  Has  the  strain  upon  faith  been 
too  long,  too  severe,  patience  drawn  out  to  its  last  nerve 
of  endurance,  and  the  soul  settling  into  the  gloom  of 
hopeless  insubmission?      This  loss  of  confidence  in  the 


TAKING  ACCOUNT  OF  STOCK.  275 

great  Enler  and  Father  was  a  dreadful  loss.  Is  it  an 
item  in  any  soul's  experience?  If  so,  let  it  go  in.  Give 
it  a  place  on  the  balance  sheet. 

Possibly  there  has  been  with  some  soul  a  loss  of  char- 
acter and  moral  standing.  The  hour  of  temptation  came. 
It  found  you  alone,  unaided,  forlorn,  in  deep  need.  No 
friendly  companion  to  shield  and  strengthen  you.  The 
Avhisper  of  evil  was  delusive,  so  plausible,  no  evil  in- 
tended, the  snare  so  subtle,  the  wiles  so  hidden,  the 
meshes  so  soft  and  silken,  that  you  were  hopelessly  en- 
tangled before  you  dreamed  of  captivity,  and  now  your 
soul  wrestles  with  mighty  fears,  with  gloomy  memories, 
with  black  remorse,  with  environments  of  blank  ruin  that 
stare  at  you  as  with  Gorgon  face,  turning  your  heart  to 
stone.  Oh,  sad  loss  !  but  always  in  this  life  when  loss  is 
seen  and  known,  if  it  be  any  loss  short  of  the  soul  itself, 
there  is  hope,  because  there  is  mercy  in  God.  It  is  a 
woful  history,  an  experience  such  as  you  never  dreamed 
of  writing  for  yourself ;  but  put  it  down  ;  it  belongs  to  the 
record  of  this  year  gone.  It  may  be  a  stepping-stone  to 
great  riches,  but  in  itself  it  is  a  terrible  loss.  It  must 
stand  now  on  that  side  of  the  account. 

There  may  have  been  another  loss,  of  which  there  is 
always  danger,  concerning  which  none  of  us  perhaps  can 
ever  know  with  certainty,  —  the  loss  of  the  soul.  I  do  not 
mean  with  some  who  have  entered  eternity.  I  mean  with 
some  of  us  who  are  to-day  living  men.  If  the  records  of 
a  human  life  teach  anything  clearly,  it  is  that  that  life  is 
full  of  crises  ;  that  on  these  critical  points  turn  the  issues 
of  punishment  for  the  present  and  the  future ;    that  on 


276  BALANCE   SHEET;    OR, 

some  one  of  these  critical  moments  the  destiny  of  the  soul 
is  settled,  and  that  frequently  before,  perhaps  long  before, 
that  soul  enters  upon  eternal  scenes.  Thus  the  wave  of 
some  great  providence,  of  some  special  blessing,  or  some 
sharp  affliction,  or  some  visit  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  or  some 
melting  urgency  of  truth,  lifts  the  soul  nearer  to  God  and 
to  duty  and  to  a  newness  of  life  than  ever  before.  It  was 
the  grand  swell  that  was  appointed  as  its  hour  of  greatest 
hope  and  opportunity.  Unimproved,  settling  back  into 
the  old  color  and  the  old  track  of  life,  it  is  by  and  by 
seen,  —  seen  perhaps  in  the  hour  of  dying,  seen  clearly 
in  the  light  of  eternity,  that  there  and  then  that  soul  came 
the  nearest  to  salvation  that  it  ever  came,  that  never  again 
was  the  prize  of  a  blessed  immortality  so  within  its  grasp, 
so  nearly  possessed.  Every  year  some  such  history  must 
be  enacted.  There  are  some  here  who  ought,  with  trem- 
bling hand  and  pale  cheek,  to  write  down  on  the  side  of 
their  losses,  the  words  "my  soul,"  and  put  an  interroga- 
tion point  beyond. 

Oh,  it  is  a  solemn  reckoning  we  are  holding !  It  par- 
takes of  the  character  of  the  final  judgment,  only  here, 
blessed  be  God !  for  every  loss  but  one  there  is  possible 
yet  an  infinite  gain  that  shall  well-nigh  utterly  extinguish 
it. 

With  many  the  year  has  been  full  of  gain  all  along. 
With  all  of  us  a  year  of  God's  kindly,  nourishing,  pater- 
nal care.  Put  that  down  to  gain,  —  four  seasons  of  his 
prodigal  mercies,  day  and  night  ministering  bounty,  seed- 
time and  harvest  smiling  each  in  turn  as  with  the  radiance 
of  the  divine  countenance. 


TAKING  ACCOUNT   OF   STOCK.  277 

There  is  the  gain  of  so  much  and  so  many  of  life's 
finished  work  and  tasks.     There  is  the  gain  of  so  much 
service  for  God  and  man,  the  service  itself,  not  its  suc- 
cesses, counting  as  gain  for  character  and  reward.     There 
are  special  lessons  of  truth  and  heavenly  wisdom  which 
God  has  taught  us,  and  which  we  could  not  barter  for  a 
solid  orb  of  gold,  — precious  secrets  of  spiritual  living  that 
used  to  be  mysteries,  and  are  now  a  part  of  our  daily 
magic  of  overcoming.     There  are  fruits  of  discipline,  in 
patience  and  contentment  and  resignation,  and  sweet  sub- 
missiveness  and  serenity  of  spirit,  worth  more  than  any 
language  can  tell  or  any  currency  measure.     There  are 
new  spiritual  traits  nurtured  within  us  and  upon  us  which 
we  have  so  long  coveted  and  almost  despaired  of,  and 
concerning  which  we  now  sing  with  broken  heart,  —  bro- 
ken in  tender  joy,  — ''  Oh,  to  grace  how  great  a  debtor  !  " 
There  are  new  views  of  Bible  truths,  —  God's  deduc- 
tions, rich  promises,  and  positive  precepts  which  clear  up 
many  doubts,  guide  us  out  of  long  wandering  in  weary 
paths  and  brighten  all  our  sky  as  with  sunbeams. 

There  is  a  vantage  ground  for  future  conflicts  and  vic- 
tories shown  us,  in  which  our  feet  have  become  divinely 
established,  and  on  which  we  may  wait  with  celestial 
allies  the  assaults  of  the  great  adversary. 

There  are  sweet  daily  mercies  that  have  fallen  for  us 
every  morning  as  the  manna  fell  for  Israel  on  the  face  of 
the  desert,  and  the  taste  of  which  was  as  wafers  mixed 
with  honey. 

Oh,  how  these  gains  foot  up  !     What  song  of  gratitude 
can  fully  utter  our  hearts'  recognition  of  this  long  column 
24 


278  BALANCE    SHEET. 

of  God's  contributions  to  our  growing  riches  ?  Even  amid 
sorrows  we  count  still  our  profits,  —  friends  departing, 
chairs  and  chambers  left  vacant,  the  earth  opening  her 
arms  and  taking  to  the  rest  of  her  bosom  those  whom  our 
arms  were  clasping  and  would  fain  have  detained ;  but  so 
God  came  nearer  to  our  circle  than  ever  before ;  we  felt 
his  blessed  presence  and  comforting;  we  saw  how  faith 
could  triumph  over  nature's  fainting,  and  looking  up  when 
the  last  sigh  w^ent  outward  from  fading  lips,  w^e  saw  the 
heavens  opened  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  white-robed 
spirits  entering  into  joy  and  rest. 

So  stand  the  accounts  wdth  us  to-day,  a  monition  from 
the  past  for  the  future,  a  sober  arrest  for  thought  and  life 
on  this  transition  point.  Yes,  pause  here  yet  one  moment 
longer.  All  our  losses  —  all,  let  us  hope  —  God  may  blot 
out  now  w^ith  the  gift  of  his  most  generous  pardon,  the 
overflowing  w^ealth  of  his  favor  and  love. 

Oh,  leave  no  such  fearful  balance  against  you,  my 
friends,  as  those  items  foot  up  which  we  have  dwelt  upon  ; 
drasr  not  such  a  debt  forward  into  the  burdened  future. 
Come  to  the  great  Proprietor,  that  these  peculations  upon 
his  estate  intrusted  to  you  may  be  graciously  and  pitifully 
blotted  out,  and  your  way  lie  onward  for  all  coming  labors 
and  ventures  with  the  everlasting  gain  of  his  friendship. 


XIX. 

ALL-SUFFICIENCY  OF  CHEIST. 

FAREWELL  SERMON  DELIVERED  IN  PARK  STREET  CHURCH, 
FEBRUARY  4,  1866. 

.      .      .      BUILT     UPON     THE     FOUNDATION     OF     THE     APOSTLES    AND    PROPHETS, 
JESUS   CHRIST  HIMSELF   BEING   THE   CHIEF   CORNER-STONE. — Eph.  U.  20. 

THE  firmness  and  security  of  a  building  depend  not  so 
much  upon  what  we  can  see  of  the  structure  as  upon 
the  parts  which  are  mainly  hidden  and  unseen.  As  we 
approach  from  a  distance,  the  pile  may  look  fair  and 
stately,  with  broad  front  and  lofty  walls  and  crowning 
turret  and  tower,  and  we  may  be  ready  to  pronounce  it 
massive  and  strong.  But  we  cannot  know  whether  it  be 
so  in  truth  until  we  have  come  nearer,  and  have  examined 
that  lowlier  and  less  visible  part  upon  which  the  super- 
structure rests.  The  strength  of  the  edifice  is  not  in  lofty 
wall  or  decorated  porch  or  crowning  dome,  but  in  the 
foundation.  When  all  the  materials  are  piled  aloft,  when 
the  tempest  rocks  it  and  the  earthquake  heaves,  it  stands 
only  if  the  foundation  be  solid  and  unyielding. 

And  the  foundation,  too,  is  distinguished  into  parts, 
both  for  its  honor  and  its  security,  its  glory  and  crown. 
The  corner-stones  take  the  chief  burden  of  the  super- 
incumbent   mass.     To    them   the    foundation    lines    are 


280  ALL-SUFFICIENCY  OF   CHRIST. 

clamped  and  joined.  In  their  steadiness  the  whole  is  un- 
shaken. Among  these,  one  is  "Chief,"  the  Head  Stone  of 
the  corner,  the  Key  of  that  compacted  strength,  of  cost- 
liest material  and  most  careful  workmanship,  to  whose 
setting  in  its  place  is  gathered  whatsoever  can  do  it  grace 
and  reverence,  to  whose  keeping  are  confided  the  treasured 
memorials  which  are  to  be  preserved  unto  coming  ages 
and  generations. 

The  scriptural  Church  as-  a  whole,  and  so  with  each 
particular  church,  both  as  a  vital  part  and  as  a  represen- 
tative of  the  whole,  is  described  as  a  building,  a  living 
temple  fitly  framed  together,  resting  on  a  certain  definite 
foundation  with  one  chief  corner-stone. 

That  foundation  is  nothing  laid  by  the  hand  of  man,  or 
found  within  the  compass  of  man's  nature  and  capacity. 
It  is  what  God  revealed  to  prophets  and  apostles,  w^hat  he 
gave  them  to  know  and  to  build  upon,  the  truth  and  the 
life  which  they  experience  and  to  which  they  bear  witness, 
themselves  as  witnesses  to  the  words  and  works  of  their 
Lord.  And  the  Head  of  the  corner  is  that  Stone  elect  and 
precious,  which  the  pride  of  the  builders  rejected,  but 
on  which  God  has  built  his  Church  so  firm  that  "the 
gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it."  That  rock  is 
Christ.  In  him  the  foundations  meet  in  unity  and 
strength.  In  him  the  whole  building  is  compacted.  No 
forces  of  nature,  not  all  the  powers  on  earth  or  beneath, 
can  overturn  a  structure  so  founded. 

We  have,  then,  from  our  Scripture  this  cheering  and 
comforting  truth,  —  the  all-sufficiency  of  Christ  for  his 
Church. 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY  OF  CHRIST.  281 

There  will  be  in  our  communion  at  this  time  so  much 
that  belongs  simply  to  the  occasion,  to  be  said,  that  we 
must  pass  briefly  and  rapidly  over  points  that  were 
worthily  dwelt  upon  with  largest  treatment. 

And  I  remark,  in  the  first  place,  that  we  find  enough  in 
Christ  for  the  doctrine  of  the  Church.  The  Church  must 
have  a  doctrine.  It  will  live  only  as  it  holds  living  truth. 
Its  conquests  are  victories  over  minds.  It  gains  and  holds 
its  subjects  not  by  the  terrors  and  constraints  of  power, 
the  sword  in  one  hand,  the  ke3's  of  destiny  here  and  here- 
after in  the  other.  It  has  to  persuade  men,  to  secure  the 
convictions  of  their  souls,  to  show  them  something  to  be- 
lieve, on  which  the  longing  and  inquiring  heart  can  rest. 
And  it  brings  forth  this  grand  compendium  of  its  teach- 
ing, —  "  God  manifest  in  the  flesh,  justified  in  the  spirit, 
seen  of  angels,  preached  unto  the  Gentiles,  believed  on  in 
the  world,  received  up  into  glory."  Here  are  height  and 
length  and  breadth  and  depth.  "It  is  a  broad  land  of 
wealth  unknown."  There  is  no  narrowness  here  to  disap- 
point and  fret  the  exploring  mind.  There  are  background 
and  forcOTound  to  this  truth.  Touch  it  at  whatever 
point,  come  upon  it  in  whatever  aspect,  and  you  are  led  off 
either  way  into  the  Infinite.  It  is  not  a  little  round  of 
human  working,  or  of  earthly  moralities  in  Avhich  the 
preacher  of  this  doctrine  treads.  He  need  not  be  com- 
passionated of  the  reformers  and  the  philosophers  because 
he  is  shut  up  to  the  doctrine  of  Christ.  If  he  determine 
not  to  know  anything,  as  a  religious  teacher,  but  Jesus 
Christ  and  him  crucified,  he  is  no  captive  in  a  cell  that 
denies  him  range  of  feet  and  thought.  The  universe  of 
24* 


282  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF  CHRIST. 

God's  nature,  God's  government,  and  God's  providence, 
the  eternity  of  God's  purposes,  the  everlasting  principles 
of  justice  and  right  compacted  in  law,  the  wonders  of  re- 
demptive mercy  and  vicarious  love,  the  marshalling  of 
human  histories  in  all  their  annals  of  blood  and  crime  and 
heroic  achievement,  their  dark  shades  and  their  light 
shades,  their  progressive  civilizations,  their  painful  experi- 
ments, their  sciences  and  philosophies  and  acts  as  tributary 
to  the  reign  of  Christ,  —  this  is  the  limitless  field,  the 
sphere  without  walls  or  cope,  in  which  the  preacher  of 
Christ  and  his  salvation  ranges  at  will.  Here  is  enough 
to  stimulate  the  mind,  to  gird  every  power  for  strenuous 
wrestling,  to  feed  it,  to  expand  it,  to  hold  it  in  awe,  and 
to  satisfy  it  that  God  has  worthily  broken  silence  to  make 
a  revelation  of  his  will  vocal  to  the  race. 

Here,  again,  in  the  doctrine  of  Christ  is  sufiicient  for 
the  attraction  of  those  outside  the  Church.  God  loving: 
his  human  children  astray  and  lost,  guilty  and  con- 
demned, and  coming  among  them  in  the  incarnation, 
moved  by  that  great  love  to  take  their  sicknesses,  sor- 
rows, and  sins  upon  him,  and  through  his  sacrificial  death 
in  the  flesh  to  reconcile  them  unto  himself  and  restore 
them  to  the  heirship  of  heaven  and  immortality,  is  a  story 
men  will  stop  to  hear.  There  is  an  earnest  element 
under  all  the  light  frivolities  of  human  consciousness. 
There  is  a  deep  voice  in  the  heart  to  whose  pleading 
nothing  less  than  the  atonement  wrought  by  the  Lamb  of 
God  can  make  answer.  There  are  dark  solitudes  of  hu- 
man experience  in  which  each  man  walks  alone  repeating 
after   the    false    disciple,    that   traitor   Judas,    "I   have 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  283 

SINNED."  It  does  not  meet  such  an  experience  to  call  to 
this  man  to  listen  to  a  song,  all  whose  strains  are  bor- 
rowed from  nature's  minstrelsy,  the  notes  of  birds,  the 
chant  of  streams,  the  "deep,  profound,  eternal  bass"  of 
oceans ;  or  to  lead  him  up  before  some  exquisite  picture 
in  which  the  loveliness  of  human  nature  is  painted ;  or  to 
exhort  him  in  pleasant  words  to  be  just  and  true  and  gen- 
tle as  a  man  and  a  brother  among  his  fellow-men.  This 
treatment  does  not  go  deep  enough, — I  mean  deep 
enough  powerfully  to  attract  and  hold  the  interest  of 
men.  But  this  great  tragedy  of  the  cross  has  power  in 
it.  It  comes  to  deal  in  earnest  wdth  earnest  matters. 
It  is  full  of  dramatic  life  and  force.  It  does  not  at- 
tempt the  adjustment  of  sinful  man's  relation  to  a  holy 
God  with  smooth  w^ords  and  surface  manipulations.  It 
goes  to  the  root  of  the  difficulty.  It  cuts  through  the 
fair  bloom  of  the  surface  to  the  hidden  diseased  core.  It 
is  downright  radical,  and  thorough  in  its  treatment  of 
human  hopes  and  fears.  Every  voice  from  this  doctrine 
commands  attention.  If  sick  men  or  wounded  men  call 
in  a  physician  or  surgeon,  they  want  to  be  healed.  They 
want  thorough,  effectual  treatment.  Pleasant  drinks  and 
opiates  are  not  an  equivalent  for  health  and  soundness. 
And  men's  religious  wants  are  not  met,  their  souls  are 
not  at  rest,  they  are  not  satisfied  with  hearing,  till  they 
hear  of  a  slain  Lamb  that  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the 
world.  It  is  found  that  an  earnest  gospel  gathers  men  to 
its  proclamation.  The  w^ords  of  Christ  are  verified,  "  I, 
if  I  be  lifted  up,  lifted  on  the  cross,  lifted  in  human  teach- 
ing as  the  object  of  attraction  before  the  world,  will  draw 


284  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST. 

all  men  unto  me.  The  pulpit  that  preaches  Christ  cruci- 
fied need  not  run  out  into  literature,  or  social  life,  or  cur- 
rent providences,  or  the  sweep  of  reform  movements,  or 
advertise  quaint  and  whimsical  themes,  to  supplement  the 
charm  of  that  gospel.  The  dying  of  Jesus  for  human 
salvation  touches  the  world's  heart.  Publish  these  glad 
tidings,  and  the  feet  of  men  run  together  to  catch  that 
message. 

Again,  Christ  is  sufBcient  for  the  pastoral  care  of  his 
Church.  He  shepherdizes  each  flock  and  guards  every 
fold  of  his  people.  He  is  the  good  Shepherd,  ever  faith- 
ful, constant,  and  vigilant,  and  giveth  his  life  for  the 
sheep.  He  leads  them  out  into  green  pastures  and  beside 
still  waters.  He  taketh  the  lambs  in  his  arms  and  car- 
rieth  them  in  his  bosom.  It  is  he  who  appoints  under 
shepherds  to  go  in  and  out  with  the  flock,  to  guide  and 
feed  and  defend  them.  But  he  does  not  himself  retire. 
The  under  shepherds  are  responsible  to  him.  He  fur- 
nishes and  strengthens  them  for  their  calling.  They  are 
a  living  bond  between  him  and  the  souls  for  whom  they 
watch.  They  hold  their  office  from  him.  They  derive 
all  their  authority  from  him.  They  have  so  much  au- 
thority as  his  spirit  and  his  truth  dwelling  in  them  and 
communicated  through  them  confer  upon  them.  It  is  his 
voice,  and  not  theirs,  which  the  sheep  are  to  hear  from 
their  lips.  If  they  are  unfaithful,  he  does  not  cease  to 
care  for  the  flock  whom  they  mislead  or  neglect.  If  they 
die  or  remove,  he  resumes  all  their  functions.  The  flock 
is  not  left  shepherdless.  Forever  he  leads  them  and 
feeds  them  and  keeps  them.     He  never  changes  his  place. 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  285 

He  never  breaks  the  tie  that  binds  him  to  them.  Lovino- 
once,  he  loves  unto  the  end.  They  are  never  bereaved  of 
him.  Whoever  goes,  he  remains.  Whatever  post  is  va- 
cant, whatever  office  work  resigned,  he  may  always  be 
found.     To  all  that  call  upon  him  he  is  ever  near. 

Is  not  this  sufficient  for  the  comfort  of  believers  ?    It  is 
natural  that  they  should  look  for  the  words  of  Christ  and 
the  consolations  of  Christ  to  those  whom  Christ  has  set 
over  them  for  this  very  ministry ;  that  they  should  feel  in 
their  times  of  doubt,  of  sickness  and  pain,  of  sorrow  and 
anguish,  that  they  must  have  this  representative  of  Christ 
to  stand  by  their  side,  to  bend  above  the  pillow,  to  bow 
low  with  their  prostrate  forms  and  breathe  the  salutations 
of  Jesus.     And  it  is  natural  that  they  should  feel  that  if 
this  messenger  of  their  Lord  be  not  their  helper  in  such 
hours  of  trial,  their  burdens  will  weigh  heavily,  and  their 
hearts  seek  relief  in  vain.     Who  will  come  to  their  cham- 
ber when  the  strong  fever  is  on  them  and  lay  on  their 
brow  a  gentle  touch,  as  though  his  hand  had  brought  from 
Jesus'  palm  some  virtue  of  soothing?     Who  will  meet  the 
look  of  their  upturned  eye  searchiug  for  some  promise 
that  invites  the  unworthy  to  be  at  peace,  and  answer  it  as 
though  Jesus  replied,  "I  do  not  condemn  thee,  go  and 
sin  no  more  "?     Who  will  have  the  first  burdened  confes- 
sion of  the  penitent  wishing  to  be  led  to  the  hand  that 
distributes   pardons?     Who   will  open  tender   arms   for 
their  babes  at  the  font  of  baptism  ?     Who  will  bless  the 
bridal  hour  when  their  sons  and  daughters  stand  at  the 
altar  of  wedded  love?     Who  will  listen  to  the  ever  vary- 
ing tale  of  their  personal  and  domestic  history,  now  with 


286  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST. 

smiles  and  now  with  tears,  with  looks  that  give  and  words 
that  speak  love  and  sympathy  in  all  that  can  befall  them 
as  pilgrims  through  earth?  Who  will  hold  their  hand 
and  repeat  words  of  promise  and  strength  and  pleasant 
voices  out  of  heaven  when  their  heads  droop  in  the  last 
faintness  and  the  scenes  of  time  grow  dim  to  their  failing 
sight  ? 

He  whom  they  have  known  and  loved  so  well  and  chosen 
for  all  these  sweet  and  sacred  offices  may  have  gone  to  be 
a  dweller  with  another  people,  and  will  fill  no  more  any 
of  these  wonted  relations  to  their  life.  Yes,  but  Christ 
abides.  He  is  sufficient  for  all  these  wants  of  the  heart, 
these  vicissitudes  of  an  earthly  experience.  He  comes  to 
the  solitary  mourner,  whispering,  "  I  will  never  leave  thee 
nor  forsake  thee."  He  stretches  out  his  arms  toward  the 
babes  of  the  nursery  and  pleads,  "  Sufier  little  children, 
and  forbid  them  not  to  come  unto  me."  He  calls  all  the 
weary  and  heavy-laden  to  his  presence  to  find  rest  at  his 
feet.  If  there  be  no  human  face  bending  above  the  sick, 
the  sad,  the  fearful,  the  self-condemned,  will  they  not  look 
wuth  clearer  eye  and  straighter  glance  into  the  face  of 
Jesus?  Is  there  any  sting  of  bitterness  he  cannot  re- 
move, any  sorrow  he  cannot  comfort,  any  burden  he  can- 
not lighten,  any  ministry  of  strength  and  growth  and 
fruitfulness  he  cannot  fulfil  ?  Is  he  not  sufficient  for  all 
the  pastoral  care  of  his  people  ?  Will  not  that  even  be  a 
happy  hour  to  many  of  them  when  they  cease  from  com- 
munion with  his  messenger  and  come  nearer  to  himself, 
with  neither  man  nor  angel  between  ? 

And  if  our  thought  were  not  of  individuals  and  fami- 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  287 

lies,  but  of  the  whole  brotherhood,  in  all  that  concerns 
their  prosperity ;  if  any  of  you  ask,  with  troubled  fore- 
boding, what  will  be  the  future  of  this  church  and  people  ; 
who  will  throng  its  porches  and  fill  its  interior  spaces  ;  who 
will  adhere  to  it  now  and  who  will  desert  it ;  who  will 
break  unto  us  the  bread   of  life  and  draw  water  for  us 
from  the  wells  of  salvation ;  who  will  help  us  to  meet 
with  just  sentiment,  earnest  purpose,  and  vigorous  action 
the  great  practical  living  questions  of  the  day,  to  which  the 
gospel  is  to  be  applied,  and  the  Christian  life  to  be  adjust- 
ed ;  whose  hand  will  lift  our  banner  and  carry  it  in  the 
fore  front  of  the  host  of  God  in   their  onset  upon  the 
kingdom  of  darkness  and  of  evil,  —  oh,  let  every  heart 
rest  on  the  solid  rock  of  this  assurance,  Christ  is  suffi- 
cient for  all  this  need  of  coming  days ;  he  will  not  see 
his  flock  perish  of  hunger  or  thirst ;  he   will  not  leave 
them  defenceless  in  the  presence  of  ravening  wolves ;  the 
honor  of  his  name  is  bound  up  with  the  honor  of  yours ; 
both  are  inscribed  together  on  the  folds  of  the  flag,  and 
he  will  not  sufi'er  that  banner  to  trail  in  dust  and  shame. 
He  loves  this  church.     He  will  take  care  of  its  future. 
It  is  built  on  him.     It  cannot  be  overturned.     Let  none 
of  you  say  or  think  or  dream  that  its  prosperity  has  cul- 
minated,  its  power  to   bless  the  world  has  passed  the 
meridian,   for   you   do   thus    dishonor   the    "strength    of 
Israel,"  and  show  that  you  confide  more  in  man's  weak- 
nesses than  in  almighty  love  and  o-race. 

Christ  is  sufficient  for  his  Church  as  a  bond  of  union 
among  its  members.  For  a  deep  and  abiding  harmony  in 
Christian  fellowship  there  must  be  an  overcoming  of  the 


288  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST. 

natural  selfish  tempers  of  the  heart.  Each  must  be  able 
to  look  on  the  other,  and  through  whatever  variety  of 
feature  and  of  expression,  see  a  likeness  that  speaks  of 
brother's  blood,  and  publishes  the  fact  of  a  common  family 
tie,  a  household  unity.  This  common  likeness  must  be, 
more  or  less  distinct,  —  a  likeness  unto  Christ.  Oal}^  in 
partaking  of  the  spirit  of  Christ  can  the  wilfulness  and 
w^intonness  of  our  corrupt  natures  be  so  corrected  as  to 
blend  in  self-forgetful  amity.  To  keep  Christ's  ordi- 
nances, to  obey  his  commands,  to  commemorate  his  life 
and  death,  to  help  one  another  grow  by  transformation 
unto  his  image,  and  to  bring  strangers  to  love  and  serve 
him  as  his  children  and  friends,  is  the  ideal  of  Christian 
association  under  Church  covenants.  Of  such  a  union 
Christ  is  at  once  the  object  and  the  strength. 

Is  it  not  in  him,  my  brethren,  that  you  are  one?  Is 
not  he  the  crystallizing  centre  of  this  household  of  ours  ? 
Is  it  not  his  body  and  blood  that  have  made  the  sweetness 
of  our  sacramental  feasts?  Is  it  not  his  presence  that 
has  made  our  place  of  weekly  prayer  as  the  vestibule  of 
heaven  ?  Is  it  not  his  truth  that  has  held  you  to  its  Sab- 
bath utterance  in  these  thronged  aisles  ?  Is  he  not  the 
head  and  heart  and  soul  of  which  we  are  the  body  and 
members  visible?  Has  your  fellowship  been  merely  in 
the  strength  of  your  attachment  to  a  man  ?  Will  you  say 
this  with  your  lips  and  publish  it  as  your  withdrawing 
feet  pass  outward  from  this  family  home  ?  Will  you  let 
the  world  discover  that  this  is  the  seal  of  a  Christian  cove- 
nant? Will  you  set  up  a  man  as  rival  of  Christ,  and  put 
the  human  above  the  divine  as  a  bond  of  the  fellowship 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF  CHRIST.  289 

of  believers?  If  this  is  our  household  relationship,  the 
tie  has  not  been  severed  any  too  soon.  It  had  better 
never  have  been  formed.  If  this  be  all,  it  is  no  matter 
how  quickly  we  fall  apart  as  a  rope  of  sand,  nor  how  widely 
we  scatter  to  be  henceforth  indistinguishable  on  all  the 
surface  of  the  earth  and  unknown  in  heaven. 

But  it  is  not  so.  It  is  in  the  love  of  Christ  and  in  the 
service  of  Christ  you  have  been  joined.  It  is  in  the  like- 
ness of  Christ  you  see  eye  to  eye.  This  bond  you  will 
not  dishonor.  This  bond  is  indestructible.  While  this 
remains  first  in  your  regard,  you  cannot  grow  cold  toward 
one  another  or  wish  to  part.  Proclaim  it  by  word  and 
deed  that  you  are  one  in  no  temporary  surface  agreement, 
no  passing  touch  and  clasp  of  a  human  hand,  but  one  for- 
ever and  indissolubly  in  Christ. 

As  I  think  of  my  personal  relations  to  you,  and  of  the 
many  years  in  which  we  have  walked  together,  in  the  fel- 
lowship of  the  gospel  "from  the  first  day  until  now," 
there  is  one  exiDression  of  the  heart  of  Paul  toward  his 
brethren  of  Philippi,  which  perpetually  recurs  to  me  :  "I 
thank  my  God  upon  every  remembrance  of  you."     Happy 
church   concerning   which   the  chief  apostle   could  bear 
such  a  testimony !     How  must  that  line  have  been  read 
and  heard  as  they  came  together  at  the  tidings  that  Paul 
had  written  to  them  out  of  his  captivity  at  Rome  !     Hap- 
py Paul  who  could  so  write,  not  in  the  mere  forms  of 
hollow  courtesy,  but  as  the  honest  voice  of  his  truth-lov- 
ing  soul !     In  all  his  past  with  those  beloved  brethren 
in  whatsoever  demonstration  of  theirs  toward  him,  there 
was  no  "root  of  bitterness,"  nothing  that  rankled,  nothing 


290  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF    CHRIST. 

to  be  forgiven  or  forgotten;  "every  remembrance"  was 
so  sweet  and  pleasant  to  him  as  to  be  a  matter  of  joyful 
thanksgiving  to  God. 

It  is  my  exceeding  felicity  that  I  can  borrow  this  wit- 
ness of  the  apostle  and  give  it  public  utterance  to-day, 
without  qualification  or  reserve  concerning  this  beloved 
church  and  people.  If  there  were  anything  in  all  your 
treatment  of  me  that  called  for  the  charity  of  oblivion,  I 
hope  I  should  be  equal  to  such  generosity.  But  I  find 
here  no  occasion  for  the  grace  of  magnanimity. 

There  is  no  incompatibility  of  any  sort  that  makes  it 
needful  that  we  should  part.  It  seems  to  me  that  we 
could  dwell  together  in  unity  and  harmony  through  time 
and  eternity.  If  there  are  any  of  you  who  cannot  echo 
this  sentiment,  you  have  left  me  in  utter  ignorance  of 
such  dissent. 

It  is  a  voice  from  across  the  continent  that  persuades 
my  reluctant  feet  away  from  you,  the  voice  of  God  in  the 
shout  of  a  new-rising  empire  beyond  the  mountains  and 
on  the  Pacific  coast. 

Our  Republic  is  to  be  continental.  Our  eastern  wall 
and  our  western  are  to  be  washed  by  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
waves.  There  must  be  no  risk,  which  we  can  avert,  of 
such  a  strain  across  the  ridge  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 
that  the  country  shall  by  its  own  weight  break  and  fall 
apart.  We  must  secure  the  bridal  of  that  occidental 
realm  with  our  own  by  bonds  that  cannot  be  riven.  Lives 
that  are  deep-rooted  here  must  stretch  out  their  pendant 
boughs  and  take  root  there,  and  make  and  keep  the  na- 
tion one  by  clasping  fibres  which  cannot  wither  or  die. 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHEIST.  291 

Our  American  Zion  must  be  continental  also.  We  can 
hold  no  inch  for  nationality's  sake  which  we  would  not 
hold  more  eagerly  for  Christ.  Wherever  the  Old  Flag 
goes  and  receives  fealty,  there  must  the  banner  of  the 
cross  be  planted  too.  We  cannot  content  ourselves  with 
a  Christian  civilization  at  the  East,  and  see  with  uncon- 
cern all  its  sweet  charities  and  oentle  decencies  struogliDsr 
with  barbarism  on  those  new  shores.  The  hunt  for  gold 
pushed  fiercely  forward  by  rough  and  adventurous  men, 
carrying  with  them  no  homes,  no  society,  no  Sabbath,  no 
civil  order,  no  code  of  law,  and  making  that  rude  materi- 
alism their  idolatry,  of  course  has  tended  to  barbarism. 
There  was  need  of  a  vigilance  committee,  there  w^as  need 
of  purer  and  cleaner  elements  of  civil  and  social  life,  there 
was  need  of  the  watch-towers  of  religion,  and  clear- voiced 
prophets  to  proclaim  from  their  summits  the  divineness 
of  government  and  justice,  and  all  the  softening  and  re- 
straining influences  of  a  gospel  of  peace  and  love.  There 
was  need  that  a  Sabbath  should  be  carried  over,  and  that 
the  lawlessness  of  wild  spirits  flushed  with  gold  and 
strong  drink,  and  making  of  that  day  a  carnival  of  greed 
and  rioting,  should  hear  its  calm,  holy  voices,  and  be  led 
back  from  their  frenzy  to  decency  and  sobriety. 

There  has  been,  in  such  reforming  and  refining  influ- 
ences, great  and  good  progress.  But  the  struggle  is  still 
going  on.  "Come  over  and  help  !  "  is  the  cry  on  every 
Western  breeze.  There  is  abundance  of  energy  there, 
acuteness,  daring,  and  resolute  force.  But  the  sweeter 
and  gentler  graces  of  life  are  crowded  in  such  rude  con- 
tact quite  into  the  background.     They  must  be  reinforced 


292  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF  CHKIST. 

and  held  in  countenance  and  made  all-penetrating  and 
pervasive  by  the  entering  in  of  a  more  demonstrative 
Christian  culture  until  the  whole  lump  of  this  vigorous 
society  is  leavened.  Men  who  carry  that  culture  with 
them,  who  have  it  as  the  atmosphere  of  their  homes,  and 
the  breath  of  their  own  life,  who  can  stand  up  amid  all 
deteriorating  and  roughening  influences  without  being 
dragged  down  by  them,  and  lift  other  men  to  their  fairer 
level,  —  men  who  will  go  in  with  the  charm  of  refined 
Christian  households,  and  the  sweet  contagion  of  a  godly 
and  gentle  life,  as  well  as  with  the  messages  of  an  ele- 
vating and  sanctifying  gospel,  are  yet  needed,  —  oh,  in 
what  numbers  !  —  to  enter  into  this  unfinished  strife  and 
help  goodness  and  purity  and  charity  to  their  full  tri- 
umphs. 

There  is  power  there,  alert  and  girded,  ambitious  of 
large  success  and  great  achievements, — power  unmatched, 
perhaps,  in  sharpness  of  intellect,  boldness  of  will,  and 
keen  ambition  in  any  other  community  of  our  land,  young 
or  old;  but  as  to  the  work  it  shall  accomplish,  the  in- 
stitutions it  shall  build,  the  future  of  which  it  shall  be  the 
architect,  not  so  certain  as  it  would  be  and  ought  to  be 
either  of  its  direction  or  inspiration. 

The  great  tides  of  strong  life  surge  to  and  fro  waiting 
the  orbed  influences  of  heaven,  ready  enough  to  follow 
any  masterful  leadership,  though  it  head  toward  error  and 
evil.  How  readily  those  tides,  now  so  easily  turned, 
might  gather  a  motion  and  momentum  which  the  reform- 
ing work  of  years  could  not  check,  and  the  happy  future 
of  that  new  land  be  postponed  for  half  a  century  of  hard 
and  costly  reformation ! 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  293 

Now  a  great  multitude  of  voices  there,  full,  clear,  and 
earnest,  are  asking,  "  What  next?"  in  their  march  toward 
the  inheritance  of  coming  days.  Who  shall  stand  among 
them  to  answer  such  questions  and  to  lift  an  index  hand, 
kept  parallel  with  the  divine  counsels,  and  point  forward? 

How  shall  the  longing  be  met  on  that  distant  shore 
that  turns  ever  back  to  this,  giving  it,  as  tidings  come 
from  it,  as  steamers  sail  for  it,  as  the  heart  revisits  it  amid 
the  business  of  the  day  and  the  dreams  of  the  night,  no 
geographical  name,  but  only  that  one,  dear,  all-compre- 
hending word,  "Home"?  Who  will  carry  New  England 
out  thither,  import  it  into  the  midst  of  them,  its  honest 
Yankee  faces,  its  holy  chimes  of  Sunday  morning,  its  law- 
abiding  habits,  its  plea  for  order  and  organic  growths,  its 
soft  light  of  evenings  at  the  fireside,  and  the  gentle  minis- 
tries of  wives  and  children  crossing  inward  and  outward 
the  sunny  threshold  of  domestic  life  ? 

*Who  will  join  to  the  breadth  of  all  this  outflowing 
Christian  nurture  the  divine  passion  for  saving  souls,  and 
go  down  into  all  dark  and  slimy  depths  to  bring  up  and 
polish  these  living  gems  for  the  diadem  of  our  Lord? 
There  are  churches  of  Christ  already  there,  and  many  an 
earnest  and  true  ambassador  of  the  Master  setting  forth 
his  kingly  claims.  But  these  fortresses  of  truth  and  sal- 
vation are  lonely  and  distant  one  from  another.  They  do 
not  stand  so  thickly,  as  here  at  home,  that  hill-top  can  call 
to  hill-top,  and  vale  answer  back  to  vale.  They  are  few, 
and  the  field  is  broad  and  the  Avork  mighty,  and  the  pres- 
sure great,  and  fateful  decisions  imminent. 

It  is  one  of  these  burdened  churches  that  has  been  plead- 
25* 


294  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST. 

ing  with  you  and  with  me  for  this  year  past,  and  we  could 
not  choose  but  hear  its  voice.  It  did  not  seem  at  first  as 
though  that  voice  ought  to  prevail  with  us.  And  it 
sought  many  another  audience,  and  plead  with  many  an- 
other representative  of  New  England  life  and  Christianity. 
But  it  searched  and  plead  in  vain.  And  out  yonder  the 
great  issues  that  hold  all  our  hopes  for  Clirist,  country, 
and  humanity  on  that  deep  western  border  were  swiftly 
forming  and  ripening,  and  the  solicitudes  of  men  who 
carried  these  great  spiritual  burdens  on  their  souls  were 
ever  more  and  more  weighty  and  oppressive.  Could  no 
one  be  found  to  man  this  particular  post  and  make  it 
strong  in  the  eventful  conflict?  And  when  that  voice,  all 
the  more  importunate  because  none  would  listen  to  it,  fell 
again  upon  my  ear,  calling  in  the  name  of  Christ  and  the 
future  of  Christian  America,  "  Come  ! "  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  heard  in  it  diviner  accents  than  before,  and  that  its 
counterpart  called  to  me  out  of  heaven,  "Go  ! " 

Yes,  it  were  easy  to  go  if  there  were  no  detaining 
bands.  As  I  set  my  face  toward  the  sunset,  the  ties  of  the 
present  tug  at  me,  the  memories  of  the  past  come  back 
upon  me,  — ties  sweet  and  strong,  memories  tender,  pleas- 
ant, priceless. 

"I  thank  my  God  upon  every  remembrance  of  you." 
I  remember  your  first  welcome  to  me  here  when  I  had 
the  grief  of  that  original  parting  in  my  soul  as  I  was  torn 
from  my  first  love,  and  a  great  doubt  whether  I  had  fol- 
lowed a  divine  leading  in  coming  weak  and  young  to  this 
ancient  and  honored  church,  to  be  its  banner-bearer  in 
coming  years.     Ah,  many  of  those  who  shared  in  that 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  295 

welcome  are  not,  for  God  has  taken  them.  I  see  in  the 
densest  crowd  their  vacant  places.  I  look  wistfully  for 
their  absent  faces,  my  early  friends  and  helpers.  I  miss 
the  touch  of  their  hands  and  the  greetings  of  their  warm 
words.  But  some  of  you  remain  of  those  whom  I  first 
looked  upon  here  as  my  people,  companions,  and  lovers 
of  many  years  ;  whose  faces  have  never  been  turned  away 
from  me ;  w^hose  homes  and  whose  hearts  have  always 
been  open  to  me ;  who  have  borne  with  me  so  long  and 
yet  have  not  wearied  of  me ;  to  whom  I  have  looked  for 
cheer  and  help  and  strength,  and  never  looked  in  vain. 
Your  remembrance — remembrance  of  the  living  and  of  the 
dead — I  have  on  my  heart  to-day,  both  for  tenderness  and 
gratitude. 

I  recall  our  early  hopes  and  fears  as  we  began  our  work 
of  serving  the  kingdom  of  Christ  in  building  up  this 
church,  and  all  our  later  eflforts  and  burdens  in  the  prose- 
cution of  that  work  unto  the  present  time.  How  much 
better  has  God  been  to  us  as  a  co-worker  and  rewarder 
than  our  expectations  or  our  faith !  How  often  has  he 
visited  us  with  the  refreshing  influences  of  his  quickening 
and  reviving  Spirit !  Scarce  a  season  has  passed  that  we 
have  not  enjoyed  something  of  such  a  visitation.  Scarce 
a  communion  Sabbath  has  come  and  o^one  without  addins: 
some  to  our  fellowship.  In  all,  nine  hundred  and  fifteen 
have  been  joined  to  us  since  our  fellowship  in  these  labors 
and  cares  commenced,  of  whom  four  hundred  and  four- 
teen were  newly  gathered  from  the  world.  What  glad, 
burdened,  tearful,  rejoicing,  intense  days  we  have  lived 
through  those  harvest  times  !     How  pleasant  to  remember 


296  ALL-STJFFICIENCY  OF  CHEIST. 

them  now  and  to  lay  up  their  memories  for  the  refreshing 
of  our  immortality !  This  church  has  believed  in  revi- 
vals, has  prayed  for  revivals,  has  labored  for  revivals,  and 
refused  to  be  comforted  unless  revivals  came.  I  do  not 
mean  that  is  singular  among  our  churches  in  this  respect. 
It  would  have  been  singular  had  it  repudiated  such  pente- 
costs.  Be,  still  and  ever,  true  to  this  past !  But  seek  to 
have  the  home  work  always  deep  and  thorough ;  to  have 
every  heart  in  the  church  broken  and  contrite,  and  newly 
baptized  with  the  comfort  and  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
We  may  have  restricted  the  fruitfulness  of  our  harvest 
days  by  being  eager  to  run  out  upon  demonstrative  labor, 
to  subsidize  all  agencies  and  activities  in  forward  move- 
ments, before  the  burden  of  our  own  sinfulness  and  the 
burden  of  souls  had  brought  ourselves  low  enough 
into  the  dust  of  humility  and  penitence.  Set  a  watch 
here  for  coming  days.  Be  not  less  active,  but  strive  for 
a  deeper  personal  experience  of  the  condemning  and  sav- 
ing truths  of  the  gospel  in  your  own  souls  as  your  best 
and  indispensable  preparation  for  the  rescue  of  other 
souls.  There  is  no  rebuke  or  reproach  in  this  counsel. 
Our  summers  of  grace  are  a  precious  part  of  my  thankful 
heritage  out  of  the  past. 

I  look  here  upon  many  now  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  who 
were  laid  in  my  arms  as  a  parent's  offering  to  God  in  that 
rite  which  seals  his  covenant  with  believers  and  their  seed. 
The  seal  was  affixed  long  ago ;  the  years  have  gone  by, 
each  testifying  to  God's  faithfulness,  each  calling  upon 
you  to  take  the  vows  of  that  covenant  upon  your  own 
willing  heart  and  consecrate  yourselves  to  be  the  Lord's. 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF  CHRIST.  297 

No  other  and  later  pastor  can  ever  have  such  right  as  I 
have  to  ask  you  whether  you  have  truly  entered  into 
that  covenant  relation  with  God,  and  are  walking  with 
him  in  love,  reverence,  and  obedience  every  day,  seek- 
ing unto  him,  serving  him,  and  kept  by  him  along  every 
youthful  path?  Is  it  so?  When  shall  it  be  so?  I  am 
a  witness  for  Christ,  my  babes  of  years  ago.  You 
belong  to  him.     Give  him  his  own. 

I  see  those  whom  I  have  joined  at  the  bridal  altar. 
There  is  more  soberness,  but  not  less  peace,  upon  your 
faces  than  on  those  bright  evenings  gone,  when  of  twain 
you  were  made  one.  I  have  a  grateful  remembrance  of 
being  so  associated  with  your  domestic  history  and  joys. 
It  is,  I  think,  always  my  prayer  in  such  official  duty  that 
the  new  home  may  be  a  Christian  home,  that  the  family 
altar  may  be  built  in  it  even  on  the  bridal  eve,  and  that 
morning  and  evening  incense  may  be  kindled  thereon 
daily.  I  may  question  you,  therefore,  intimately  and  ten- 
derly, as  none  other  might  in  my  place,  whether  the 
voice  of  household  prayer  and  praise  is  indeed  heard  in 
your  dwelling?  Oh,  build  the  altar,  if  it  be  not  built !  If 
it  have  been  built,  keep  its  sacrifice  ever  burning. 

I  search  here  amid  the  crowd  for  those  who  are  so  often 
overshadowed  in  the  home  and  in  the  Sabbath  congrega- 
tion by  full-grown  adult  life,  the  little  ones  of  our  fami- 
lies. It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  that  were  a  most 
neglectful  and  incomplete  shepherd  care  that  should  for- 
get the  lambs  of  the  flock,  and  most  unlike  the  heart  of 
Christ.  I  have  felt  that  you  had  a  right  to  share  in  the 
pastoral  ministrations,  not  only  as  they  sought  you  within 


298  ALL-SUmCIENCY   OF   CHRIST. 

the  household  circle,  or  joined  themselves  to  the  conduct 
of  the  Sabbath-school,  but  as  they  uttered  the  messages  of 
Jesus  from  the  pulpit  on  the  Lord's  day,  I  have  had  no 
more  inspiring  or  rewarding  audiences  than  when  your 
earnest  eyes  and  bright  faces  have  been  turned  toward  mc 
in  the  house  of  God,  to  listen  to  his  word.  And  in  how 
many  friendly  and  festive  scenes  have  we  mingled,  when 
we  were  all  young  together,  our  faces  putting  off  their 
gravity,  our  feet  their  staid  decorum,  light  hearts  sitting 
visibly  on  smiling  lips,  and  every  harp  string  of  our  souls 
swept  by  the  fingers  of  joy  !  Oh,  my  lambs,  I  have 
gathered  you  in  my  arms,  I  have  carried  you  on  my  heart, 
I  stretch  my  arms  out  for  you  still !  My  heart  shall  never 
lay  off  that  pleasant  burden.  I  shall  remember  you  and 
write  to  you  from  afar.  But  you  must  be  Jesus'  lambs  as 
well,  more  than  you  are  mine.  His  arms  are  always 
stretched  out  to  receive  you.  His  heart  is  longing  for 
you.  Make  him  your  Shepherd,  his  embrace  your  safe 
and  happy  fold. 

Some  of  you  here  to-day  —  I  might  count  you  perhaps 
by  hundreds — are  my  spiritual  children.  I  saw  your  first 
tear  of  penitence  fall,  heard  your  first  burdened  inquiry, 
"  What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved  ?  "  kneeled  with  you  in  your 
first  prayer  of  consecration,  and  caught  the  earliest  sweet- 
ness of  your  new  song  of  praise.  There  is  a  tie  between 
us  that  can  never  be  sundered.  Eternity  will  only  hallow 
and  strengthen  it.  That  connection  with  your  present 
and  your  immortal  future  I  would  not  part  with  at  any 
price  earth  could  offer.  I  can  never  be  robbed  of  it. 
None  that  come  after  me  can  take  it  from  me.     I  would 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  299 

not  stand,  you  would  not  let  me  stand,  between  you  and 
Jesus.  If  I  led  you  right,  I  led  you  to  him.  He  must 
be  nearest  and  dearest.  He  must  increase,  and  I  must 
decrease.  But  I  shall  stand  with  you  at  his  side  here  and 
now,  yonder  and  hereafter,  and  say  to  him,  "I  and  the  chil- 
dren thou  hast  oriven  me."  Oh  that  I  could  add  to  these 
the  names  of  some  not  yet  written  here  on  the  scroll  of 
the  disciplehood  !  My  dear  friends  whom  I  have  so  often 
invited  to  come  to  Christ,  let  me  call  you  once  more  to 
make  him  your  Saviour  and  portion.  How  have  I  failed 
of  commending  him  to  your  love  and  trust  ?  There  is  no 
earthly  favor  for  myself  which  you  would  suffer  me  to  ask 
of  you  in  vain.  But  when  I  plead  for  Jesus,  I  cannot  win 
you.  Must  that  close  the  record  of  my  ministry  in  its 
effect  upon  you  ?  Is  our  parting  of  to-day  ominous  of  an 
eternal  separation?  Shall  we  meet  but  once  more,  per- 
haps, before  the  great  white  throne,  and  then  pass  from 
each  other's  presence  forever?  I  linger  yet  a  moment 
even  as  I  grasp  your  hand  in  parting  to  draw  you  toward 
that  long-waiting  divine  Friend,  who  is  ready  to  enter  into 
everlasting  covenant  with  you.  This  day  of  our  weeping 
together  would  be  to  me  the  happiest  of  all  these  years,  if 
I  might  have  now  the  assurance  that  I  have  not  preached 
Christ  to  you  in  vain. 

Pleasant  amono^  the  thankful  remembrances  of  this 
hour  are  the  kindnesses,  I  have  received  from  you  all, 
through  these  seventeen  years.  It  would  be  a  long  story 
and  many  pages  that  should  recite  them  every  one.  It 
would  count  up  every  smiling  salutation,  every  hearty 
hand-shake,  every  token  simple  and  costly  of  love  and 


300  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHEIST. 

remembrance,  sympathy  with  me  and  mine  in  the  times 
of  trial,  tender  vigils  with  my  sick,  tears  that  seemed  to 
fall  as  warm  and  fast  as  my  own  over  my  beloved  dead, 
care  for  my  bodily  health  and  comfort,  long  leaves  of 
absence  when  I  was  weary,  permission  to  visit  the  "  Sum- 
mer Isles,"  to  go  abroad  amid  Old  World  wonders,  even 
to  the  sacred  hills  trod  once  by  the  feet  of  the  Lord,  the 
city  he  loved,  the  stream  in  whose  margin  he  and  John 
stood  together  for  his  baptism,  and  the  generous  provi- 
dence that  has  kept  my  board  spread  and  my  house  bright 
and  warm  through  all  these  summers  and  winters  until 
now.  To  bring  back  this  generous  past  of  your  ministry 
to  me  and  those  dearer  to  me  than  life  would  be  to  live 
over  again  day  by  day  the  experience  which  has  made 
each  season  of  the  past,  since  that  wintry  day  that 
plighted  our  vows,  a  festival  of  your  love  and  care. 

I  have  written  ineffaceably  on  the  record  of  my  heart 
your  ready  and  fervent  response  when  the  dark  days  of 
our  country's  trial  came,  when  many  minds  were  per- 
plexed and  many  souls  fearful,  and  some  were  faltering 
and  lukewarm ;  and  the  call  was  sounded  here  for  all 
loyal  hearts  to  be  true  and  steadfast,  and  for  our  young 
men  to  go  forth  armed  to  the  defence  of  the  capital  and 
the  flag.  The  young  men  stood  up.  They  buckled  on 
the  sword.  They  took  hold  of  the  rifle.  Old  men  blessed 
them.  Fathers  and  mothers  said  "  Go  !  we  have  nothing 
dearer  we  can  give."  Fond  sisters  gave  both  tearfully 
and  cheerfully  the  parting  kiss.  Young  wives  unclasped 
their  arms  from  about  the  necks  of  young  husbands. 
And  they  went  forth,  our  fairest,  our  noblest,  our  bravest. 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY    OF   CHRIST.  301 

And  you  who   went  not  remained  to  pray  (there  were 
none  but  loyal  prayers  here) ,  remained  to  give  your  nim- 
blest industry  to  the   soldier's    comfort,  to    forward   all 
bountiful  supplies  for  the  sick  and  the  wounded  and  the 
prisoner ;   you  lent  your  pastor  for  a  campaign  of  nine 
months  ;   you  kept  good  courage  and  unfaltering  loyalty 
and  a  spirit  of  large  self-sacrifice  and  triumphant  hope  to 
the  last.     And  the  young  men,  our  elect  hundred,  have 
come  back  to  share  the  ovations  of  a  rescued  and  grateful 
country,  bringing  with  them  many  and  honorable  scars, 
shattered  limbs,  and  dismembered  frames,  leaving  behind 
many  a  sod  stained  with  the  best  blood  in  their  veins,  — 
leaving  behind,  alas,  some  of  their  gallant  comrades  whose 
dust  sleeps  in   safety  and  honor  beneath  the  victorious 
flag,  whose  names  are  written  in  our  hearts  and  on  our 
country's  long  scroll  of  heroes,  —  names  which  no  distant 
and  coming  generation  on  our  soil  will  willingly  let  die. 
Oh,  had  you  been  recreant  in  this  great  crisis  of  our  na- 
tion and  of  humanity's  long  struggle,  you  and  I  should 
have   parted  long  ere  this.     But  I  thank  God  that  the 
record  of  this  church  for  loyalty,  patriotism,  and  valor 
at  home  and  in  the  high  places  of  the  field  is  without 
blot  or  stain. 

Our  co-working  here  in  this  vineyard  of  the  Lord  will 
cease  from  to-day.  The  official  tie  is  severed.  But  that 
is  all.  Every  other  bond  holds.  One  who  goes  out  from 
the  home  of  his  kindred  to  far-ofi"  lands  does  not  cease, 
because  of  such  distance,  from  the  household  relation. 
He  is  a  son,  a  brother,  a  kinsman,  just  as  truly  and  with 
just  as  near  a  tie  of  blood  and  love  as  before.  Nothing 
26 


302  ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHEIST. 

shall  dismiss  us  from  one  another's  confidence,  affection, 
and  memory.  When  you  think  of  me  or  hear  of  me  on 
that  other  shore  of  our  common  country,  let  your  hearts 
answer,  He  is  ours.  And  forever,  no  matter  how  time  or 
distance  or  other  and  new  relations  may  protest,  I  shall 
call  you  mine.  Such  mutual  ownership  has  no  statute  of 
limitation.     It  never  expires. 

This  is  no  plea  against  what  you  owe  to  my  successor  in 
office.  Your  hearts  are  large  enough  to  hold  us  both. 
He  is  on  his  way  to  you.  God  has  already  chosen  him 
for  you.  Pray  for  him.  Let  every  unseen  step  of  his 
toward  this  place  be  paved  by  your  intercessions.  With- 
hold no  cordiality  of  welcome  from  him.  Say  not,  one  of 
you  in  the  deepest  solitude  of  your  soul,  I  will  never  love 
him  as  I  have  loved.  Transfer  all  your  kindness  and 
fealty.  He  may  not  be  the  choice  of  you  all.  Be  gener- 
ous and  forbearing,  in  such  case,  and  let  your  majority 
draw  after  it  and  carry  with  it  unanimity. 

Be  to  him  all  that  you  have  been  to  me.  He  cannot 
wish  for  more.     You  could  not  render  more. 

Sustain  him  as  you  have  sustained  the  ministry  that 
yields  this  place  back  to  you  to-day.  Gather  here  as  you 
have  gathered  on  the  Sabbath-day  whether  the  sun  shone 
or  the  storm  raged.  Go  to  your  meeting  for  prayer. 
Oh,  keep  that  room  below  thronged  with  your  praying 
hearts,  vocal  with  your  songs  of  Christian,  communion. 
"  It  is  your  life,"  the  life  of  your  individual  piety,  the  life 
of  this  church  as  a  power  for  good.  Remember  the  con- 
cert eve.  Be  true  to  Chi'ist  in  his  longing  for  the  out- 
lying nations.  Keep  the  nJssionary  flame  burning  bright 
on  these  altars  and  in  your  souls  evermore. 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  303 

Welcome  the  calls,  the  incessant  calls,  of  a  world-wide 
charity.  I  have  few  pleasanter  recollections  than  those 
which  are  associated  w^ith  the  almost  weekly  summons  to 
you  from  this  pulpit  to  contribute  of  your  substance  to 
relieve  the  wants  of  men's  bodies  and  souls.  I  presume 
I  have  often  been  urgent  and  importunate  in  such  ap- 
peals. My  memories  of  them  may  possibly  be  pleasanter 
than  yours.  But  I  do  not  believe  you  would  recall  one 
such  appeal  and  put  the  seal  of  silence  upon  it.  I  do  not 
believe  you  regret  one  offering  which  you  have  laid,  un- 
der such  stress,  at  the  feet  of  your  Lord.  Be  as  you 
have  been,  an  open-handed  church,  eyes  to  the  blind,  feet 
to  the  lame,  a  mother  to  the  orphan,  causing  the  widow's 
heart  to  sing  for  joy,  and  gathering  the  grateful  memo- 
rials of  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

Cling  together.  Oh,  let  none  fall  out  of  the  ranks 
now,  unless  by  order  of  the  Commander-in-Chief.  Do 
you  know  what  one  word  is  the  deepest  reproach  and  the 
guiltiest  shame  a  soldier  can  wear  on  the  eve  of  battle  ? 
Will  any  of  you  take  upon  you,  when  the  pinch  comes  to 
this  church,  the  name  of  "Deserters"?  Lock  arms  and 
stand  firm.  Are  you  friends  for  bright  days  and  not  for 
dark  days  ?  They  are  dark  days  that  try  the  soul  and 
show  what  our  friendships  are.  Stand  by  one  another  till 
another  hand  lift  the  banner  at  your  head  and  bear  it  for- 
ward. 

Give  me  your  blessing  and  your  prayers  !  You  will 
not  say  nay  to  that  request.  But  if  you  say  yes,  you 
must  do  the  same  for  that  church  and  people  to  whom  I 
go.    How  am  I  to  be  blessed  if  they  are  not  blessed  in  me  ? 


304  ALL-SUFFICIENCY  OF  CHRIST. 

You  must  love  them  and  pray  for  them.  Have  they  for- 
feited their  claim  to  this  because  their  need  is  greater  than 
yours?  There  is  no  other  church  in  the  land  to  which 
you  will  stand  in  so  tender  a  relation.  Take  them  on 
your  hearts  from  this  day  and  bear  them  perpetually  be- 
fore God  for  his  richest  favor,  and  such  praying  will  be 
doubly  blest,  the  suppliant  and  the  subject  sitting  together 
beneath  heaven's  wide-open  window. 

Every  step  forward  is  into  the  unknown.  God  may 
accept  me  that  it  is  in  my  heart  to  build  for  him  on  that 
Western  shore.  But  he  may  not  let  me  build.  The  At- 
lantic waves  are  first  to  be  crossed.  I  may  never  cross 
them.  The  Pacific  crests  lift  themselves  between.  Their 
white  interdict  may  bar  my  way.  Instead  of  that  distant 
Golden  Gate,  my  feet  may  pause  earlier  at  the  gate  of 
pearl.  Danger,  disappointment,  sickness,  death,  these 
may  be  the  near  heritage  to  which  I  seem  in  such  haste 
to  be  gone.  Say  not  in  such  issue,  "  He  would  have 
done  well  to  have  stayed."  That  would  not  thus  be  made 
certain.  The  willing  mind  is  what  God  accepts.  The  re- 
sults that  lie  beyond  make  no  proper  part  of  his  estimate, 
or  of  ours,  of  the  value  of  obedience. 

And  so  we  take  leave  of  one  another.  It  does  not  seem 
real  to  me  yet.  Is  this  my  last  Sabbath  with  you?  Am 
I  preaching  my  last  sermon  here?  When  another  Sab- 
bath dawns,  will  its  rising  sun  come  up  for  me  out  of  the 
sea,  and  its  setting  sun  go  down  into  the  sea?  And  are 
none  of  my  Sabbaths  any  more  to  lead  my  feet  hither? 
And  yet  it  will  be  a  short  leave.  God  may  permit  us 
some  greetings  again  by  the  way.  He  will  soon  bring  us 
together  never  to  part. 


ALL-SUFFICIENCY   OF   CHRIST.  305 

I  leave  with  you  the  labors  of  seventeen  years,  «till,  if 
God  will,  to  bear  fruit  among  you.  I  leave  my  manifold 
imperfections  and  frailties  to  your  charity,  that  they  may 
be  forgiven.  I  leave  for  your  occasional  watch  one  little 
grave  in  the  shades  of  Auburn,  where  my  first-born  sleeps. 
I  leave  my  memory  to  be  cherished  and  guarded  by  you, 
if  you  will  accept  the  trust.  I  leave  my  love,  my  thanks, 
my  prayers.  My  feet  may  go  and  bear  my  body  forth, 
but  I  leave  my  heart  behind. 
26* 


'■  J, 


^ 


*..•