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OUR
Sabbath Evening
HOME MEDITATIONS,
IN PROSE AND VERSE.
— BY —
•
ALPHONSO A. HOPKINS.
'Vi
BOSTON:
D. LOTHROP & COMPANY,
32 Franklin Street.
■/UO I
^
COPYRIGHT :
BY A. A. HOPKINS.
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CONTENTS.
PAGE
IN THE TWILIGHT 9
THE NEW LEAF II
THE SILENT CHRIST I3
OVERCOMING 1 6
DOUBTING DISCIPLES 1 8
THE VALLEY OF ACHOR 2o
STRONG IN WEAKNESS 21
A PRESENT CHRIST 2 2
THE STILL SMALL VOICE 24
THE HOMESICK 25
OUR BETHESDA 2j
THY ROD AND STAFF . . - 29
THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS . . . . 30
HUMAN DESIRES ...... 3 I
AS A PRODIGAL 33
pain's MINISTRIES 34
THE ROUNDS OF BEING 36
THE OTHER SIDE $7
THE SIN OF INDIFFERENCE 38
FOOLISH DARING 39
OUR GUIDES 41
HUMAN AFFECTION 42
MEASURING CHARACTER .44
THY PEACE 45
god's FATHERHOOD 47
HUNGERING AND THIRSTING .49
A HEART SONG 50
IV
CONTENTS,
divine ordering ....
the service of waiting
christian life. .
Christ's abiding . .
the pure in heart
the endless day . .
the angel of healing
the deeper rest. . . .
toward sodom. .
day by day .... ...
one with the lord . .
jephthah's DAUGHTER
THE HYMNS OF HOME. .
I SHALL BE SATISFIED .
PENALTIES FOR SIN . .
AT THE LAST
EARTH'S TWILIGHT TIME
A mother's PRAYERS . .
the underlying hope
feed my lambs ....
christian patience . .
conversion to christ. .
selling our birthright
the song of miriam. . .
the master truth . .
Christ's compassion
Christ's humanity .
the father's voice. .
an appropriating faith
impetuous christianity
UNREST
COURTING SIN . .
" AND THEN"
" COME UNTO ME"
KNOWING GOD
PATIENCE WITH SELF
THE TOUCH OF FAITH
PSALMS IN THE NIGHT
51
53
54
56
57
58
60
61
64
65
66
68
70
71
73
75
76
77
79
80
82
*3
85
87
89
9i
93
96
98
99
101
103
104
106
108
109
contents. v
" no night there " ho
materializing heaven i i 2
"vanity of vanities'' 114
AT THE ALTAR . .. . Il6
at the end i i 7
having and holding i 19
the hills of god 120
our little ills i 2 l
my manna ...... ...... ...... i 23
"by their fruits " 124
humanity's danger ... 125
little by little 127
belief in christ . i 28
belief .... ........ 129
every-day philosophy 131
it is well 133
completeness of faith i 34
the two malefactors 135
lost little ones i37
IS THERE A SAFER TRUST 138
IN SHADOW . . 1 40
CHRISTIAN INDIGNATION ...... . , 14 I
OUR SAMSONS 142
MY WILDERNESS I44
MNAS NEED 145
BY THE WAY 147
THE GATE BEAUTIFUL 149
THE SUMMER IS ENDED . l6o
blessed are the meek . i 52
christ in the home i53
his coming 155
demonized manhood 1 56
"am i my brother^ keeper " i58
the divine healing . 1 57
sanctifying toil 1 60
the ever absent 1 63
god's leading 164
TRUSTING l66
VI CONTENTS.
ALONG THE WAY
167
THE POVERTY OF RICHES I 68
OUR THANKSGIVING .
THANKSGIVING
DOUBTING CHRIST . . .
THANK-OFFERINGS. . .
IN THANKFULNESS. . .
OUR HEART-OFFERING
A CHRISTIAN HABIT. .
THE STAR DIVINE. . . .
NEWNESS OF LIFE. . . .
I70
I72
174
176
177
•• l79
180
182
184
JESUS WEPT 185
MY THANKFUL THOUGHT 1 87
THE CHRIST-CHILD 1 89
THE LAND OF MOAB 1 90
THE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS 1 92
POWER OF PRAYER .... I 94
ABILITY TO GIVE I95
god's TIME 197
GOOD GIFTS I98
WHEN THE END COMETH 200
GOD7S MORROW 202
"AS THE LEAF" 203
HUMAN SYMPATHY 204
A PSALM OF PRAISE 2O5
THE RENDERING OF GRATITUDE 207
BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN 2o8
CHRISTIAN EXPRESSION 2IO
BEFORE THE SERVICE 2 12
IN SIGHT OF THE CITY .213
SHALL HE BE SAVED 2 I 5
THE LONELY LAND 2 I 7
LOOKING BACKWARD 2I9
AT EVEN TIME 221
TO
MY MOTHER,
THE HUMAN INSPIRATION
OF
WHATEVER IS TRUE AND WORTHY IN MY LIFE,
AND OF
ALL THAT IS PUREST AND MOST HELPFUL
IN MY WRITINGS ;
AND TO
MY PASTOR,
ABOUT WHOSE MORNING THOUGHT
MY
EVENING MEDITATIONS OFTEN CLUSTER,
I DEDICATE
THIS BOOK.
IN THE TWILIGHT.
Sabbath evenings are especially pleasant at home.
However large or small the circle, an influence known
at no other time through the week makes itself felt, and
produces marked effects. Education has much to do
with this, to be sure — and for the same let education be
thanked ! But there is a somewhat in the Sabbath at-
mosphere unlike anything in the week-day work and
worry — a somewhat that is restful, and tranquillizing, and
sweet. There is, or there ought to be. - "Six daysshalt
thou labor," holds within it the truest economy of life,
even considered wholly apart from any sacred significance.
It is well for us at regular intervals to get away from our
labor — to stand removed, as it were — and look upon it
in the light of its relation to our inner existence — to
walk out of our lower selves into a self that is higher,
and better, and nobler.
We whose weeks are ever weeks of toil, need just what
Sabbaths bring of quiet reflection. The world is a very
busy world, and its opportunities for silent meditation
are few, indeed. Amid its whirl and stir we are pressed
upon every hand by duties that will not be thrust aside,
and that too often call only our baser being into action.
IO IN THE TWILIGHTS
Here in the home, as the Sabbath evening shadows gath-
er, we have drifted out from the world, and all its dis-
cordant noises fade far away. The morning service —
with its hymns that were in themselves a benediction, and
its words that were a kindly ministry to our souls — the
Bible-study that followed, and our afternoon's readings,
have borne us outward, and only in our on-coming sleep
need we drift back to the every-day being and doing (and
sinning?) once more.
But though separate from the world for a little, we can-
not forget its wants, its wickednesses, our own daily fail-
ures, our personal needs. The rather ought we to
remember them in fervent prayer. The sermon of the
morning had for its theme "The Resultant Effects of
Sin ;" and the preacher showed by numerous illustrations
that though we sorrow deeply over any transgressions
our repentance cannot avert the natural consequence of
sach transgression. David of old repented bitterly o*
his heinous sin before God, but the effects of that sin
were not done away. "The child that is born unto thee
shall surely die," was spoken in almost the same breath
with that comforting assurance of pardon : — "The Lord
also hath put away thy sin." So is it ever. God pardons
the sin ; but its consequences remain. But for this we
might go on sinning indefinitely, looking to a final repen-
tance to clear it all away. In the light of this fact
however, every added sin is a something added to the
sum of evil consequences, forever beyond our reach, never
to be effaced by repentance most sincere.
The world thinks differently, it would seem. Do we
THE NEW LEAF. II
not seem to think differently ourselves, often, when we
mingle with the world ? In the hush of our Sabbath even-
ing we hear the heart's soft answer — ' ' Yes. " And we say
to ourselves, in tenderly prayerful words — "Pray God that
all sin may henceforth be kept far from us, so that none
of its consequences shall be set down to our charge !"'
God grant to hear such petition, even as though it were
addressed on bended knee !
THE NEW LEAF.
' ' We have turned over a new leaf, " said Ruth on
New Year's morning.
"A new leaf!" How many are turned over with every
New Year ! It is a time for reflection, for fresh resolving,
for added fervor of zeal.
Sitting here to-night, we look back over the old year,
and seeing much that was base and impure, much of
failure and faltering, we feel as though to turn over a
new leaf were well indeed. We have so much to cor-
rect, so much to purify, so much to strengthen.
But does the turning over a new leaf once a year work
out what is needed ? Is it not a little sad to think so
many newr leaves must be turned over? What of the
old ones ? Are they full ? and is the writing so crude
and imperfect we blush over it ? Or aie they just blanks,
12 THE NEW LEAF,
or blanks in part, whereon we meant to write beautiful
things and through waiting and hesitation failed to write
at all ?
Let us not quite give over the old leaves. If we held
purposes noble and pure — and did we not ? — let us hold
to them still, with only a better endeavor, and a larger
faith. If we planned well, but indolently neglected to
execute, let us stand by the old plans. If our hope was
a good hope, let us cherish it to the end. We may have
newness of life, though we stand fast by the old year's
purposing, planning, and hoping.
And it may be the new life in the old that shall bless
us beyond measure. May be ! Is there any doubt of it ?
Our new life is always the old, with a difference. It is
old — the individuality of it, the scope of it. Real newness
came into ir but once — when Christ's spirit gave the new
impulse. Since then the only newness is a newness of
doing. Shall the doing be really new and true in the
year to come? Shall we write the new leaf full with'
steady purpose, with unfaltering faith, with love for God
and our fellowmen ?
O would our leaves of life were fair
With faithful writing everywhere !
O would that love shone clear and true
Each plan and purpose ever thro';
That zeal did never faint and tire ;
That hope ne'er waned to low desire ;
That so ezch New Year's dawn should bring
The old year's buds to blossoming,
And so all hopes and plans should tend
Through patient work to perfect end !
THE SILENT CHRIST.
Along Judea's homely ways
The young Messiah trod,
Within Him hid through weary days
The wonder-working God.
The sick no healing in Him knew,
No help the smitten sore ;
To wretched Gentile, needy Jew,
No aid divine He bore.
The blind went by Him to and fro,
Through all their lonely night ;
Yet none the tender touch might know
Of hands that held their sight.
The poor in poverty's distress
Lay by the rich man's gate,
Nor dreamed that heavenly power to bless,
Their iaith could antedate.
Alone amid the mass of men
He moved, the silent Christ,
To no divinest message, then,
His human lips enticed.
A worker with the work day throng,
Perhaps He yet could hear
Some strains of that transcendent song
The angels chanted near ;
14 THE SILENT CHRIST.
The sweet good-will, the peace on earth,
With which they sung Him in,
Through lowly door of human birth,
Upon the world of sin J
j Perhaps He listened, rapt and still,
Amid the noisy round,
To learn the Father's secret will, '
His purposes profound ;
Perhaps upon Judea's sands
He dreamed of waters sweet
That once He drank in heavenly lands
Close by the^Father's feet ;
Perhaps upon Judea's hills
He looked with longing eyes,
On scene no mprtal vision thrills
With tender, glad surprise ;
Perhaps on lonely nights He slept
To human sound and sense,
But waked to angels' touch and kept
Their fit communion hence !
We may not know. He came and went
With mortals, like the rest ;
No hint of growing discontent
His human life expressed ;
From out His dual consciousness
No word divine He spoke ;
The silent Christ, in human dress,
His silence never broke.
The world was weary grown indeed,
And cried for Him in grief ;
THE SILENT CHRIST.
Around Him grew the human need,
And found no full relief.
And still He held His silent way —
The waiting, silent Christ —
Till God's own long-appointed day
His lips to speech enticed !
Then whereso'er He chanced to be
He spake the Living Word ;
The hearts of men, the stormy sea,
In sudden wonder heard.
And ever since that blessed time
When silence found its speech,
In helpful syllables sublime
His words have come to each :
And never silence so divine
Shall walk the world again,
As lived and moved and made no sign,
Among Judea's men ;
As wrapped with human garb around,
The homely ways it trod,
And in its mystery profound
Was but the breath of God!
15
OVERCOMING.
Ruth was reading in Revelations, just before the
twilight came on. When it grew too dark to see, we all
sat there a while in silence.
" He that overcometh shall inherit all things/' repeated
Ruth, at last. "That is a blessed promise," she went on
to say. * ■ I think of no sweeter comfort for tired souls.
And I am glad the phrase that precedes the promise is
so comprehensive. ' He that overcometh ; It does not
say what must be overcome. It is not limited, in its
application, to any particular individuality. It covers,
so, all human stress and strain. "
"Then you think each man and woman of us has
somewhat to overcome ?" one asked.
"I know it, "she responded, with feeling. "Life is a
battle for us all. How hard the fight for some, you and
I may never quite understand ; but it seems hard enough,
even for us. We are borne down sometimes, to the very
dust. We cry out writh pain and longing. We want so
much that we do not have — peace, and plenty, and luxury,
the seeming joys of a richer and better endowed being
than our own.
' ' What is it to overcome ? Well, each one can answer
that question for himself or herself. I believe in
temptations according to temperament, and contests
OVERCOMING. IJ
growing out of these peculiar to individual character.
For me to overcome would be one thing ; for you to
overcome might be very different indeed. Is it not,
primarily, just an overcoming of selfishness ? So it seems,
as I look at it. All that self wants, only for self-satisfaction,
and not self-improvement — that is to be battled against.
Every passion that may degrade — that is to be conquered.
Every desire and impulse that may work ill to the soul
— these are to be set aside.
" And what is the gain ? Much comes to us here, but
the 'all things' of our inheritance wito shall estimate?
I like to feel that I am to inherit) that what is promised
me I may not, can, not earn ; that I must go out of this
life poor as I entered it, whatever my service ; that I am
to be rich beyond measure by-and-by ju st because God
is good beyond measure always, kind and tender and
lovingly beneficent. His promise of an inheritance for
me seals, somehow, my relation to Him. It makes me
feel that He is truly my Father, and I am as Luly His
child. I shall not forever want, because His promises
fail not. The infinite riches are certain, to such as are
heirs of God."
With regard to the past — -it is gone. Regrets are un-
availing. And the future ? It is not ours. , We have
the present, and that alone. Good resolutions for days
to come' are worth nothing. We must live as we would
live, now.
DOUBTING DISCIPLES.
The text of the preacher this morning was that remark
of Thomas, so heroic in form, so despondent in spirit —
"Let us also go up, that we may die with him."
Was it merely a happen-so, that the small band of dis-
ciples chosen by our Saviour numbered such diverse
dispositions, — that there were so many distinct tempera-
ments in it? Had not Christ a purpose in His every
doing ?-and were not these diverse natures chosen as so
many types of what the vast army of disciples should be
in years to come ? We think so.
Thomas was the type of doubt. From all we can
learn of him, he looked ever on the dark side of things;
was continually prophesying evil to come. He was a
sincere believer in the Master, perhaps, in the abstract.
But he doubted in the detail. He felt uncertain of the
end. He questioned always as to results.
How many of us so doubt, so question ! Have we as
good reason as had Thomas? Assuredly not. It* needed
a stronger faith to believe unhesitatingly in Jesus Christ
present in the flesh, than it now needs to* believe in
Him risen from the dead and sitting at the right hand of
the Father. He was the carpenter's son, then ; he has
been our Mediator ever since. It is not so strange that
Thomas doubted then, as that Christians doubt to-day.
DOUBTING DISCIPLES. 1 9
We know more of Jesus Christ than Thomas knew, even
after he put his hands in those gaping wounds. Chris-
tianity has been preaching its divine origin these 1,800
years, — preaching it with no additions, but with a more
complete development. It has proved its character by
what it has done for the race.
What excuse, therefore, have the doubting Thomases
to-day? Suppose there are dark times in individual
experience, why doubt ? Suppose the end is hedged about
and baffles oui percievings, why despond ? Such has been
the case in thousands of other instances. Men have
doubted, and desponded, but Christ lives yet. Uncer-
tainty has brooded over all the way many times before,
but we have always come out into clear paths after a while,
Verily, Thomas was a type of what should be, but not
of what ought to be. We may not shoulder all our
dubious forecastings upon temperament, and hold our-
selves blameless. As well might we excuse overt sin
because we were born with a tendency to sinning. Men
doubt, not so much because of any predisposition so to
do, as because of a cultivated, liking for unbelief. Men
have cultured themselves into skepticism — they are doing
it yet. Doubts will come to as, sometimes, and we are
not to blame for their coming. But we are blameworthy
if we let them take lodgment and stay, — if we feed and
cherish them and let them invite others.
THE VALLEY OF ACHOR.
Make me to feel, 0 loving Son
Of loving Father, just and kind,
That I with sin and doubt have done,
And now, with peace and trust at one,
My will to Thee is all resigned !
Make me in fullest faith to see
My every wickedness laid bare,
Renounced forever, as I flee
From this poor life of self, to Thee,
And learn Thy love beyond compare !
Make this indeed to me the Vale
Of Achor blest, where now I yield
The sweetest sin that would assail
My longing soul ; nor let me fail
To show Thee, Lord, the sins concealed !
The wilderness through which I came
Seems present yet ; but round me wait
The Canaan-lands, and in Thy name
I may possess them. Mine the blame
If for their sweets I famish late !
In weakness great, O Lord, I lift
My face to Thee, in hunger sore !
Send still Thy manna sweet and swift,
A.nd give my withered soul the thrift
Of blessing gracious, I implore !
STRONG IN WEAKNESS. 2 1
Here, Lord, I gladly give Thee all !
My sins, my self, I yield to Thee !
Thou art not far from every call
Of burdened heart, — here let me fall
Upon Thy breast, and burdens flee !
STRONG IN WEAKNESS,
" To suffer and grow strong." It is not the natural
sequence. Suffering begets weakness, as a rule. . Few
suffer long and keep their vigor undiminished.
And we must all suffer. All ? They are few who
escape suffering. It comes to each in some form-
suffering of the body, or mental anguish, or keen hurt
of the soul. Does it come ever with a blessing? We
know it does. We know that some characters find
perfection through sorrow, even as Christ found His.
For was there not a progression in our Saviour's life ?
He was tempted, and in many forms ; did He not grow
strong to resist temptation ? Surely that final test was a
hard one when He hung alone in the death agony, and
His heart cried out so piteously after the Father. It was
bad enough to be forgotten of men, and bruised for their
iniquities ; it was infinitely worse to be forsaken of God.
Through the suffering of sympathetic ministry, of the
scorn of unbelievers, of long and bitter temptation, of
agonizing prayer, of denial and betraying, of taunts
22 A PRESENT CHRIST.
and tortures, the Son of Man grew strong. Through
suffering of some sort, the best stiength must come to
each of us. When out of suffering comes strength, then
is suffering a blessing. How shall the strength come ?
The answer may be found in Christ's own life. He
prayed much. He trusted ever in the Father and in the
Father's love. In His prayers and His trust He grew
strong. How else can men grow strong to-day ?
A PRESENT CHRIST.
The family circle had been some time quiet, as the
shadows deepened. By-and-by a sweet voice stirred the
silence, and we heard the tender strains of that touching
little hymn — When Jesus Comes. It had a certain pa-
thos in it for us all. Over the last stanza sung the singer
lingered as if each word had peculiar comfort :
" He '11 know the way was dreary,
When Jesus comes ;
He '11 know the feet grew weary,
When Jesus comes ! "
None spoke, for a little, when the singing ceased.
Presently, out of the corner where the home-heart sits,
this comment came :
" I would rather believe that He knows all about my
way and weariness now. I want to feel that Jesus is not
one afar off, to come and to bless in some happy future,
THE PRESENT CHRIST. 2$
but a companion for every day, a friend in every need, a
very present help in time of trouble/'
"And you do not like the song then?*' another asked.
"It is very sweet," said the home-heart, softly;
" very sweet, and I do like it. It is only that I question
its sentiment, or perhaps I should say its philosophy."
"But is Christ always so near to you? Does He
never seem far off, and do you never feel that the way is
dreary and the feet tired without His knowing ? "
"Oh, yes \" and she sighed as she made reply. "We
have doubts, all of us. We doubt the most when we are
most tried and most heart-sick. But doubt and darkness
are temporary. It would be folly long to give up faith.
And when I sing I like best to sing of the Comforter who
came when Christ ascended to the Father — the very
Spiiit of Christ dwelling with and abiding in us."
" But there may be songs of comfort, " said the singer's
voice ; ' ' even David sang songs in the night. I have a
fancy that the surest way out of the dark is by a path of
song. The way is dreary, now, to some of us. It seems
o me that many must rind it so all along. Perhaps they
have too little faith in a present Christ ; but if they can
hold on surely to their faith in a Christ to come, even
that will bless them and make them glad. That which
we long for, hope for and pray for, will suiely come. "
THE STILL, SMALL VOICE.
Serene and tender shine the smiles
Of God upon my soul to-night ;
His loving care my doubt beguiles ;
His presence bringeth light.
The world of discord dies away ;
I hear no more its deaf ning din ;
And ghost-like through the evening gray
•Steal out the shapes of sin.
A holy hush is on the air ;
A holy peace possesses me ;
My very being is a prayer,
To pray is but to be !
Did God but speak as long ago
He spoke to prophets face to face,
I should His loving language know
Within this holy place '
And does He not in present time
So speak to men as once He spoke ?
With awful syllables sublime
He Sinai's silence broke ;
And not again in thunder tone
May men His awful speaking hear,
But all the ages men have known
His " still, small voice" anear.
THE HOMESICK. 2 5
Somen have listened, hushed and still,
As list we now, my soul and I,
Have caught, as now we catch, the thrill
Of God's own whisper nigh !
THE HOMESICK.
The Germans have added another beatitude to those
uttered by our Saviour on the Mount — "Blessed are the
homesick, for they shall see home. " There is a quaint
tenderness in it. How broad its original meaning may
have been, we can not say ; but it seems wide enough to
cover half of human kind.
There are so many homesick souls ! homesick amid
wealth, and beauty, and friends — homesick in poverty
and loneliness — crying out of their discontent for the
comfort and peace of home ! They hunger ; and at
home there is enough. They thirst; and at home the
pure streams of gladness flow on and on forever. Alas
for these many who are ever away from home !
Will they all reach there at last? "Blessed are they
that do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they
shall be filled." Ah ! there is fullness at home. "Bless-
ed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. "
Ah ! there is comfort, even, at home. "Blessed are the
pure in heart, for they shall see God ! " Blessedest bless-
26 . THE HOMESICK.
ing of all, God lives henceforth at home ! ' ' I go to pre-
pare a place for you/' said the dear Brother of us all;
and He spoke then to the homesick. The place He
prepared is Home.
It is singular that Christ uttered so many benedictions
upon those who want. Blessed are the hungry, blessed
are the poor, blessed are the sad— blessed, blessed, bless-
ed, every needy soul. And so, finally, just as an out-
come of all Christ said, blessed are the homesick, for
they want, and must want until they see home. And
what is it they want? Love, and content, and rest.
Home means this, and more — so much more ! Even as
we know how to give good gifts unto our children, so
does our Father in Heaven know how to give unto us.
Giving so freely here, what must He not give there !
Remembered so abundantly afar off, what will He not
do for us when we wander home at last !
We are journeying there, some of us, through devious
paths. Ah ! if we should forget the way, and that long
night should come on in which no light can shine, and
the morning should find us wanderers yet, homeless and
homesick henceforth and forever ! Blessed are the home-
sick, if ihey walk trustingly, faithfully and prayerfully on
toward the city of God, for to such as walk by faith the
way is sure, and they shall see home !
OUR BETHESDA.
In a certain sense we are invalids, all our lives long.
We have in us some conscious sickness that must be cured.
And we lie in expectant waiting by some Bethesda, as
did those invalids of old, waiting for the angel to come
and stir the waters that we may be healed.
Is not our whole life often a weary waiting for the
healing ? Do we not fail, frequently, to recognize God 's
angel when he comes in such kindly ministry ? Are not
the waters troubled, even while we gaze on rhem, yet
without our perceiving? Weak and blind, and half des-
pairing, do we not turn away sometimes even from the
angel 's very presence, and cry out in our bitterness against
what has come to us and what we have missed ?
If all mankind could be made whole in just the man-
ner they wish, what a working of wonders we should see !
But that can never be. The healing we most desire
comes to us often by ways we do not prefigure, and to our
dull consciousness it is no healing at all. Lying by our
Bethesda, if we see the waters troubled it is for another,
and we wait on, not taking what is really meant for us.
If our healing should come through love and warm
sympathy, we long for it, and then turn it aside when
offered. If faith would work the perfect cure we need,
we spurn it when it comes knocking gently at our heart's
2 8 OUR BETHESDA.
door, and in unbelief and doubting wait on. If sweet,
charity to all in thought and deed would make us well,
we cast it aside for that which is embittering and unkind,
and watch for the angel 's coming with a light in our eyes
that would make of every angel almost a demon.
Is it strange, then, that we go unhealed ? Is it strange
that at every pool of gladness and joy-giving we lie in
waiting all the years long? To be made whole is the
supreme want. Humanly speaking each lacks some-
thing. That lack must be supplied, and only our dear
Lord 's angelic ministers can supply it. May they trouble
the waters for us all, and speedily ! Divinely speaking,
each lacks everything, lacking a childlike trust in and
love for that most loving of all God 's ministers, His only
begotten Son. And may He trouble the waters of our
soul until the healing is perfect, and then grant us that
peace which passeth understanding !
The man who walks the street recognizing the excel-
lences of other men and honoring them, will find his
fellows conceding and esteeming his own virtues. He
who gives helping sympathy, abundantly and warmly, to
the suffering and sad, will himself have help and sympa-
thy, abundant and warm, when he suffers and is sad.
THY ROD AND STAFF,
Perplexed I walk my weary way,
In doubt and darkness, day by day ;
I see no earthly light to cheer,
I find no earthly comfort near ;
But weak and fainting though I be,
' Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! "
I seek some friendly arm to aid,
The help I need is long delayed :
I look for love to hold me fast,
No human love will always last:
But though all earthly helpers flee,
" Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! "
My burdens yet more heavy grow,
As on the weary way I go ;
And faint and hungered, weak and worn,
The while for losses great I mourn,
In longing sore I turn to Thee, —
" Thy rod and &taff they comfort me ! "
Beneath Thy smitings oft I shrink ;
Thy bitter cups I would not drink ;
I turn aside some path to find,
That through a better land shall wind,
Yet looking back, Thy face I see, —
" Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! "
And so I walk the weary way
Where'e^Thou leadest, day by day ;
3°
THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS.
Though smitten sore, I'll onward press
Till I the Promised Land possess ;
For faint and burdened though I be,
" Thy rod and staff they comfort me ! "
GRACES OF HOLINESS.
A visitor is with us to-night and we ask about former
acquaintances — has this one changed? — has that one
grown old ? To the latter question, in one instance, our
friend replies, — "She has too much spiritual beauty in her
face ever to grow old."
We remember her face well, and Ruth says, "Yes,
hers was the beauty of holiness, if we ever see it on
earth ; " and this application of a phrase rarely so applied
does not seem wrong.
Character does show itself in the countenance; the
inward grace of a real religious life will shine out, in a
way we may not quite describe. When faith, and love,
and patience all unite to beautify a Christian soul, is it
strange that the face takes on a rare sort of beauty which
years can not dim?
The light in some faces is like a benediction of peace.
It is at once a blessing and a declaration. Nothing but
the purest pi^ty makes it to glow there : it blesses you as
by a holy influenc ; it tells of devotion never failing, of
untroubled faith, of perfect hope, of undivided love.
HUMAN DESIRES. 3 I
Stephen's face wore It ; they must have seen it who saw
the beloved John. It has beautified the features of every
saint on earth ; it is one of the beauties of every saint
in heaven.
Such a beauty of holiness comes not by the seeking of
it. Like all true graces, it is an unconscious possession,
won not for itself. But it is always a proof of possibili-
ties in the Christirn life. It is ever a witness for higher
Christian character. It is a living testimony that care
and tribulation and disappointment need not mar the
soul's peace. For you shall find, search where you will,
that this beauty spiritual lies with those who have suffer-
ed, and borne burdens, and been driven, so, near to
God. Holiness follows and must follow, overcoming.
The beauties of it, the outward manifestations of it, are
results of unselfish upgiving, of complete trust, of never
doubting or rarely doubting love.
HUMAN DESIRES,
What are they ? What ought they to be ?
We may not doff our humanity untit death comes, but
we may discipline it, purify it by such disciplining, make
it a worthier thing. We may, with God's help.
But will we? To do it, much of our desire must
undergo change. Whereas we now long for that which
wonld in no wise ennoble, we must long for that which
32
HUMAN DESIRES.
will inevitably do that. Whereas self now prompts every
ambition* self must be ruled over until ambitions spring
from another source — the love of God within us.
Yet can we put thought in a strait jacket ? Can we
persistently check impure desires, unholy aspirations, and
help on the work of improving our moral nature? It
seems a hard task ; it is a hard task. Appetite is strong ;
passion is often master. Prayer at times is apparently of
no avail. Everything that is evil in our hearts fights
tenaciously for full possession, and often full possession is
granted. Then we go down — down in our own con-
sciousness. We lose self-respect ; we feel less and less
zeal in behalf of the true and pure.
We all know what such experiences are. Is there any-
thing sadder? And where is the iemedy? We ctn answer
well enough In our theory; it sometimes proves more
difficult in actual fact. The difficulty arises mainly, we
think, from just a lack of self-discipline. Even effica-
cious prayer is rendered inefficient, at times, through this
common lack. It is useless to pray for purity of thought
and desire, and still let the imagination continually run
riot over forbidden fields with never an effort at checking
it. It is idle to hope for answers to such prayer, when
back of it there is no earnest resolve to be self-helpful,
and to strive continually for better things. Human de-
sires can be purified only through human discipline, and
much of this can be carried on by self alone.
AS A PRODIGAL.
It is evening, Lord. I have had my day
Out in the wilderness, far from Thee,
Bright was the morn when I went away,
Happy my visions of joy to be.
In the hot high noon I was weak and faint,
Worn with rioting, heartsick, sore ;
Never I murmured or made complaint ;
Onward I crept to the sands before.
What if they blistered my naked feet ?
Better to suffer than turn back now.
What if I 'd nothing but husks to eat ?
Pride may starve, but it will not bow.
And what if with swine I could only mate
Out in the barren and dusty field?
What if I pined for my lost estate ?
Pride may die, but it will not yield.
Pride may die. And my pride is dead —
Dead, and buried where sleep the swine.
" I will return !" to myself I said ;
"Home ! — my Father's, that once was mine !"
It is evening, Lord, and I come to Thee,
Weak and hungry, and faint and sore.
Look in Thy pitiful love on me ;
Spurn me not from Thine open door !
3
34 PAIN'S MINISTRIES.
It is evening, now, and my day is spent ;
Little of life may be mine, beside —
Only a season of glad content,
All my hungering satisfied !
PAIN'S MINISTRIES.
Pain is our birthright. It comes to. us, as certainly
as the days come.
Can anything sent of God be without its blessing? Is
there no sweet ministry even in pain ? Do we simply
suffer and be still? Or do we suffer and grow strong?
Suffer we must. Either our health fails, or friends die
01 plans miscarry, or love proves false, or hope cheats,
and whichever it be, there will ensue suffering. There
is nothing so common as pain. There is no experience
so inevitable.
What the ministry of pain may be, will depend wholly
upon how we bear suffering — upon the spirit in which
we suffer. If pain is rebelled against, as an unjust visita-
tion from God — if we say constantly to ourselves the
while we suffer, " Gqp is unkind and cruel" — the minis-
try will be a ministry of hurting. And to how many
souls it is all this, and only this ! HowT many charge
hard things against their Maker, and go on through the
years gathering no s -eet fruit from the tree of bitter
blossoms !
PAIN'S MINISTRIES, 35
Blessed indeed are those who can give thanks even
amid their suffering — who can smile in God's face while
the hurt cuts like a knife — who can feel that something
is to come of the hurt besides scars and soreness. Bless-
ed with a rare blessedness are they who sing softly to
themselves though the heart be sad — who sing because
they know that from this darkness of sorrow shall cornea
light glad and beautiful, and, better than all, healing.
The Angel of Pain is kinder to us than we think.
Would that all could say with Saxe Holm :
Angel of Pain, I think thy face
Will be, in all the heavenly place,
The sweetest face that I shall see,
And swiftest face to shine on me.
All other angels faint and tire ;
Joy wearies, and forsakes desire ;
Hope falters, face to face with Fate,
And dies because it can not wait ;
And love cuts short each Wing dav,
Because fend hearts can not obey
That subtlest law which measures bliss
By what it is content to miss.
But thou, O loving, faithful Pain —
Hated, reproached rejected, slain —
Dost only closer cling and bless
In sweeter, stronger steadfastness.
Dear, patient angel, to thine own
Thou comest, and art never known
Till late, in some lone twilight place
The light of thy transfigured face
Sudden shines out, and, speechless, they
Know they have walked with Christ all day.
THE ROUNDS OF BEING.
Life is one continuous round of beginnings and end-
ings. And yet how few days are finished ! How few-
evenings see the morning's beginning properly ended !
We misjudge our deed greatly when we say it is done.
Done in its narrowest sense it surely is ; done in its
broadest meaning it as surely is not. A finished thing is
put away. Do we in fact put any doing entirely out of
our life? Would that we could, sometimes ! We should
be better, so.
Herein lies much of the bitterness of being — that the
weak things done, or the things weakly done, never can
be wholly laid aside. We hold on to them despite our-
selves. They are a part of us, because a part of our ex-
perience. The experience is the man, in very deed.
You cannot put your self apart from your self's acts and
say ' ' I arn better than these. " Self's acts are a vital part
of self.
Our beginnings, therefore, have only apparent endings.
Be they for good or ill, they run on through the gather-
ing years, and end never. It is well to think of this,
whenever the day fades into twilight — to realize that every
attempt made during its brief hours tells ever after, in a
greater or less degree, upon our life ; that every accom-
plishment, seemingly completed, goes on in influence
THE OTHER SIDE. $J
through the after-days, and dims not into utter fading.
The work of this hour over-laps the labor of the next,
and the two a.e bound together by invisible cords. So
the life here and the life hereafter interblend ; the doing
of the mortal will mold the being of the immortal beyond
all possibility of changing.
THE OTHER SIDE.
We go our ways in life too much alone ;
We hold ourselves too far from all our kind.
Too often are we deaf to sigh and moan ;
Too often to the weak and helpless blind ;
Too often, where distress and want abide,
We turn and pass upon the other side !
The other side is trodden smooth and worn
By foot-steps passing idly all the day ;
WThere lie the bruised ones, the faint and torn,
Is seldom more than an untrodden way ;
Our selfish hearts are for our feet the guide,
They lead us by upon the other side !
It should be ours the oil and wine to pour
Into the bleeding wounds of stricken ones ;
To take the smitten, and the sick and sore,
And bear them where a stream of blessing runs
Instead, we look about — toe way is wide —
And so we pass upon the other side !
<\8 THE SIN OF INDIFFERENCE.
O, friends and brothers, hastening down the years,
Humanity is calling each and all
In tender accents, born of pain and tears !
I pray you listen to the thrilling call !
You cannot, in your selfishness and pride,
Pass guiltless by upon the other side !
THE SIN OF INDIFFERENCE.
It is an all-prevailing sin. Men everywhere seem reck-
less of the future, indifferent as to what their eternity
may be. They live wholly in and for the present, and
care for naught else. It is as though they said, "This
life only is mine and I must make the most of it. To-
day is and To-morrow may not be. " Indeed, do they
not say it in their hearts?
And yet each morning and evening should make men
thoughtful of a coming time. Each hour is indeed a
fact, but more than a fact. It is a suggestion — a hint of
future ages. The hour may mean much, may comprise
much, but that which it hints of means infinitely more,
comprises so much more that no one can comprehend it.
Eternity is a word which the dictionary of life does not
define ; we can not satisfy ourselves of its marvelous
scope.
But because we do not understand, are we excusable
for complete indifference ? Because God is a mystery in-
FOOLISH DARING. 39
penetrable, may we ignore His existence ? We do, though.
We breathe with no thought of Him who gives us the
power to breathe. We enjoy all the sweet and beautiful
with no regard for Him who enables us to enjoy. We
take life and all its attendant circumstances as a matter-
of-course, worth little or much, as fate may ordain.
God has a right to more thoughtful regard on the part
of His creatures. It becomes us to shake off this sin of
indifference and concede the Creator His due.
FOQLISH DARING.
It is better, after all, to be a coward in some things.
And why ?
Because to be brave in the face of certain dangers —
dangers of certain kinds — is to run foolish risks uncalled
for, and from the very nature of things bound to result
in some degree of evil.
There are young men in the gutters to-day who were
first brave, as all young men are, and then weak, as so
many young men are sure to be. Their bravery worked
their ruin. They insisted on proving dangers that they
might have let alone in all honor — that they might even
have fled from without disgrace.
So there are professed Christians to-day in the Slough
of Despond because they foolishly dared to brave dangers
40 FOOLISH DARING.
to their faith which they might readily enough have shun-
ned. They could dally with vague speculations, thev
thought, without any harm, and so dallying they passed
under the cloud.
Society, on all sides, is full of temptations that invite
daring. They beckon every man and woman of us on-
ward ; and the mistaken notion that it is brave to test
them impels thousands to destruction. A man may
walk a rope over the very brink of Niagara, and come off
safely, but he is infinitely safer if he make no such
attempt. He only who keeps away from danger knows
what perfect security is.
If we hold life as of no worth, and the future as not to
be regarded, why then let us test every danger that may
perchance wreck us. But who so thinks ? Talk lightly
as we may of what living amounts to, it does amount to
so much for each and every one of us that we would not
willingly give it up. How shall we best keep it? By
clinging to the safe side. If any life is worth aught, the
best life is worth the most, and the best life is the safe
life. There is no truer logic. In the face of it, then,
can we go on testing dangers that bring no good in the
proving ?
OUR GUIDES.
In a pillar of cloud by day, O God,
And a pillar of fire by night,
Thy presence did guide on the way they trod
Thy people of old in flight ;
And the wilderness way that we walk to-dpy
More dreary and dark would seem,
If through the deep night, or the twilight gray,
Thy presence should never gleam.
I am glad that they waited in days of old,
With a promise of better tilings ;
For my heart it is stirred when the tale is told
By the hope and the cheer it brings.
I am glad that they journeyed those forty years
In trouble, and doubt, and pain,
For the gloom of my wilderness disappears
At thought of their final gain.
We may never quite perfectly understand
Why the wilderness waits for each,
Yet we know that the beautiful Promised Land
Is beyond it — without our reach ;
But whatever the burdens we have to bear,
Or however we shrink and faint,
We shall carry ourselves and our burdens there,
If a prayer is our sole complaint !
Had they only looked down in the olden time,
As they journeyed with falt'ring tread,
^2 HUMAN AFFECTION.
They would never have known of the guides sublime
That forever their foot-steps led ;
And I pray though we walk in a faithless way,
Though we seldom look up for lighr,
We may never lose thought of the cloud by day,
Or the pillar of fire by night !
HUMAN AFFECTION.
The preacher said sweetly comforting things this
morning, in regard to love as an influence in religious
life. In certain ages, and even to-day in certain places,
men have sought to divorce religion and affection — have
endeavored to put the two far apart. They have acted
upon the mistaken theory that piety means asceticism —
that to grow in spiritual grace they must become dead to
everything tenderly and lovingly human — must hold
themselves separate from their kind and acknowledge no
brotherhood with their fellows. So they have become,
hermits, and have lived the life of the recluse.
But all this is wrong. The best men of the Bible were
live men, — men who cherished sweet affections and
hesitated not to declare them. The most lion-hearted in
their dealings with sin were the most lamb-like in loving,
— tender and true. In the common things of the world,
so called, those characters are of most worth in which
there abounds fullness of affection — in which there throbs
HUMAN AFFECTION. 43
a large, live heart. And so in Christian life, they serve
God best whose out-reaching sympathies compel wide
service for humanity, — who know all men in a common
brotherhood, and are moved by human needs to noble
doing.
Sometimes it happens that the husband or the wife
hesitates to urge his or her companion on to a Christian
walk, fearing separation must come between. But. how
can separation come, when love to God only increases
love to all His creatures? God is not jealous in this
matter. Is it a sign, because He took away your child, r
that He hated the child ? — that He was jealous of the
love your child drew forth ? Not so. He only loved the
little one more than you loved it — loved it so well that
He would. spare it all possibility of sin and pain. God's
very nature is love ; and what He implanted in the heart
of humanity He will not rebuke.
There are Christian homes wherein love seems restrain-
ed, in which there is little of manifest affection. Is
such a state of things in full accord with our Saviour's
Gospel? Did Christ restoie Lazarus from the dead
simply as an exhibition of His miraculous power? We
think not. We prefer to believe the restoration was a
tribute to the rare love of those weeping. sisters. Human
affection is a blessed influence in this religion of ours ;
the influence broadens and deepens in proportion as
this affection is broad and deep, and unrestrained. Say
you that we must not worship what God has given us ?
Love is not worship ; it never need be. It is another
thing in character, in very essence. Love indeed, is a
44 MEASURING CHARACTER.
Christian duty, and so is worship — of a certain kind : in
so far they are kin. Unless religion warms oar heart
toward wife and child — toward all human kind — it is
scarcely to be trusted.
MEASURING CHAR A CTER.
It is not so much what we aie, as what we ought to
be, that should be regarded. We have no right to look
at our strict morality, our outward appearance, the name
we have in community, and because of these pronounce
ourselves very good, very praiseworthy. We may be
negatively good — good because not bad — good because
no strong temptation has overcome us and swept us away
into sin — good because from our temperament we can
hardly be guilty of overt crime.
Positive goodness is another thing. We may fall far
short of it and yet be quite respectable. It is by the
standard of that alone that we should be judged, or by
the standard of our possibility to attain unto it. One
man's character is very good for him, when it would be
very mediocre for his next neighbor, who is capable of
excellence far exceeding any he can ever reach. The
neighbor may have a character really commendable, as
an average, but not by any means up to what it should
be, considering his possibilities of progression.
THY PEACE. 45
For character is not simply neighborhood standing.
There are men in good repute with their fellows who
have not much character to boast of. They are negatives.
They lack an essential something to make them strong
and valuable. They are nevei workers in reform, leaders
in good works, earnest, efficient, zealous. What they
do is creditable, but they do so little thatthe credit side of
the sheet shows poorly enough against the debit of what
they might do and should do.
We are responsible for omissions, as for commissions.
Given the power to do, and failing to do, we are mani-
festly culpable. Our Saviour in His parable of the Ten
Talents emphasizes this great truth, and so earnestly that
there is no mistaking. That which we have will not long
be ours unless we put it to use.
THY PEACE.
Father, O Father ! the sunlight is vanished,
Swiftly the evening descends on my soul ;
Comfort and cheer from my bosom are banished,
Billows of bitterness over me roll,
Hearken again to my anguished petition, —
Give me Thy peace, in the midst of my pain !
Grant me the grace of a patient submission,
Bring me new hope as my courage shall wane.
46 THY PEACE.
Father ! O Father ! forlorn I am groping
On in a way that is shrouded in gloom ;
Faint is my purpose, and weary my hoping, —
Is there no rest till I come to the tomb ?
Answer the cry of my soul in its pleading, —
Give me Thy peace that I stronger may be,
Patient to follow" the path of Thy leading, —
Patient to grope until light I can see !
Father ! O Father ! I'm worn with the faring ; -
Hunger and thirst with the darkness increase,
Hunger and thirst for the boon of Thy caring,
Hunger and thirst for the gift of Thy peace.
Listen again to the cry of my spirit, —
Born of its need and its bitter unrest ;
Bow down the ear of Thy mercy and hear it,
Speak to the waves in my storm-troubled breast !
Father, O Father ! the night season thickens,
Darker the way as I painfully grope ;
Faith of its watchfulness wearies and sickens,
Faints to despairing the patience of hope.
Hear the deep cry of my agony, thrilling
Through the long night of my wandering here,
Then shall Thy peace, every passion wave stilling,
Fill me and thrill me till daylight appear !
GOD 'S FA TIIERIIOOD.
As the twilight comes on, the domesticity of our
nature makes itself most felt. We are not now ourselves
alone; we are part of that sweet family circle in which
we sit — part of it in love and tenderness and mutual
sympathy. Meditation is not so much loneliness of
thought, as . thought realizing close association with
others.
In a certain sense we are never so near our friends as
when we sit with them separated only by silence — when
our hearts go out to meet theirs in that silent commun-
ion which forbids all speech. Then indeed are we as
children of one parent, and God is our Father, in a
fatherhood so near and helpful, so complete and satisfy-
ing, that its recognition lifts us gladly heavenward.
And sitting here in the shadow, with our Home tokens
all about us, it is comforting to whisper softly those
sweet words of the Psalmist — "Like as a father pitieth
his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him. "
The human side of God's love speaks out in this. For
is it irreverent to think of God as loving wTith somewhat
of human affection? Can we not gain some little idea of
Divine Fatherhood from a comprehension of fatherhood
not divine ?
But God's Fatherhood is infinite in its many-sidedness,
and on that account we fail to measure it. The preacher
48 GOD'S FATHERHOOD.
well said, this morning, "I will accept no man's idea of
the whole heavens, which simply takes in the little there-
of that he can see from his narrow chamber window."
The infinite Fatherhood is more than it seems to us.
The relations of one child to the parent, are not the
relations of all the children. Temperaments differ, dis-
positions are diverse. To you, God may seem to be
Justice, and you may fear Him, knowing your sins. To
another He may stand as Holiness, and impurity may
shrink from His presence. To yet another, He may
appear only Love, and trusting faith may lose itself in
His great affection.
The Fatherhood of God includes all these, and even
more. Yet, while we must all realize, in some degree,
God's Justice, His Holiness, we need not to keep these
ever foremost in our mind when thinking of Him. The
justice and the holiness need not shut us out from that
over-brooding love which watches ever for our coming.
God's love and pity are as broad as humanity — aye, broad-
er than that — as broad as the great Divine Nature in
which they live evermore, from which they freely flow.
The world-life is a great web, and God, the weaver, is
working it out. If we look at only a small part of it,
there seems no design, nothing but a fragment. But if
our eye can take in the entire web, the design is at once
apparent.
HUNGERING AND THIRSTING.
Hunger and thirst are the strongest human besetments.
Have you ever hungered almost to the point of starving,
or been so a-thirst that the brain reeled and all your
being seemed on fire ? Then you can conceive, in a
measure, what a depth of meaning is hidden in that
phrase, (i Hunger and thirst after righteousness/'
When we are sorely an hungered, the supreme want
is food ; when we thirst to unquenchable inward burning,
the supreme want is drink. Just so when we hunger
and thirst spiritually, will the supreme want be righteous-
ness,— a renewing of the life within, a purifying of the
soul, a cleansing from every and all sin. How seldom
we so hunger and thirst. We have appetites for every-
thing else but this. Debasing pleasures rarely cloy us ;
we partake of them without loss of relish. Secret sins
we roll under our tongues with never abating enjoyment ;
they never weary us as daily food.
Then why may there not be this other hungering ? It
brings its own blessing. The promise is that " they
shall be filled v who do thus hunger and thiist aright.
Filled ! It is a sweet word, with no limitations such
as rob many another of complete meaning. It is the
same as satisfied. And who was ever satisfied in any
other way than this? No cloying of common appetite
4
50 A HEART SONG.
ever yet fully satisfied a man. Cloyed of one thing —
one pleasure — one gratification — he invariably turns to
something else with an irresistible longing.
God's righteousness so rills us there is nothing want-
ed beside. But it never fills unless longed for, hungered
for, thirsted for. Unless it be the supreme want of the
soul it never makes the soul inexpressibly glad. Is there
something desired after more than this? Then we shall
never be filled. Is there something we are willing to
sacrifice more for than this? Then sacrifice will never
bring its final and fruitful reward. Completely blessed
alone are they who do hunger and thirst after righteous-
ness.
A HEART SONG.
Singer, softly sing to night —
" God is good and just ;"
And in darkness or in light
In Him put your trust ;
Sing the song till earthly sight
Fades in " dust to dus . "
Singer, softly sing and low —
" God is love alway ; "
Let the heart in tender flow
Melt the words you say ;
Then shall you God's loving know
Sweetly day by day.
DIVINE ORDERING.
Sitting here in the twilight — in the sweet uncertainty
that seems to brood over all things — when that which to-
day is fades into dreamfulness, and that which is to be on
the morrow is yet unborn — it is blessed to feel that the
world is not ruled by chance, and that Divine orderings
link the days together. Conceive the thought of a uni-
verse without God, and you at once fall into doubt of all
things. There is no certainty. On nothing can you re-
ly. Would we care to live longer under such circumstan-
ces?
Our every surrounding testifies to an Omniscient Hand
and its working. There is order in the minutest partic-
ulars, and the ordering is so perfect, so wonderfully wise,
that we feel it must be divine. God works always with
the most rigid exactness as to detail. A pleasant writer
tells of a Texas gentleman who had the misfortune to be
an unbeliever. One day he was walking in the woods,
reading the writings of Plato. Coming to where that
gieat writer uses the phrase, "God geometrizing, " he
thought to himself, " If I could only see plan and order
in God's works, I could be a believer. "
Just then he saw a little "Texas Star" at his feet, and
picking it up, he began thoughtlessly to count its petals.
There were five. Counting the stamens, he found there
52 DIVINE ORDERING
were five of these. Counting the divisions at the base of
the flower, he found five of these. Then he set about
multiplying these three fives, to see how many chances
there were of a flower being brought into existence with,
out the aid of mind, and having these three fives. The
chances against it were one hundred and twenty-five to
one.
He thought that was very strange. He examined
another flower and found it the same. He multiplied
one hundred and twenty-five by itself to see how many
chances there were against there being two flowers, each
having these exact relations of numbers. He found the
chances against it were thirteen thousand six hundred
and twenty-five to one. But all around him were multi-
tudes of these little flowers ; they had been growing and
blooming there for years. He thought this showed the
order of intelligence, and that the mind that ordained it
was God. And so he shut up his book, and picked up
the little flower, and kissed it, and exclaimed, " Bloom
on, little flowers ; sing on, little birds; you have a God,
and I have a God ; the God that made these little flowers
made me ! "
THE SERVICE OF WAITING.
0 Lord, Thy servants all about I see,
In faithful service working as they may ;
1 stand here idle, doing nought for Thee,
And poor, unprofitable, seems my day.
Will fruitful labor bless me, even late ?
" They also serve who only stand and wait. "
This is Thy answer. Give me patience, then,
And help me all the while I waiting stand
To know that every service had of men
Is by Thy providential wisdom planned.
So shall I feel, though waiting may be sore,
That Thy great goodness hath reward in store !
And so may I of patient service give
That my own being shall more fruitful grow,
And I shall in my waiting learn to live
A better life than haply I might know
If, in the press of busy doing, I
Should miss, at times, the Master standing by !
0 Lord, I thank Thee I may serve at all !
What need hast Thou of service such as mine ?
1 thank Thee that Thy benedictions fall
Alike upon all laborers of Thine !
I thank Thee for this comfort sweet and great —
•' They also serve who only stand and wait ! "
CHRISTIAN LIFE.
"For me to live isCHRisT."
Paul said that, years and years ago. The preacher
took up the words this morning, and turned them over
and over until their fullness stood out strong and clear
to our apprehension.
Going back to the initial point, — -what is life, any wav,
to you and to me? For us to live is — what? Gain, pleas-
ure, personal ease, ambition gratified, tastes indulged,
passion pandered to (God forbid !), in a word, self!
Alas ! too often these, or a portion thereof.
Paul meets us with an exemplary declaration which
we should ever keep in mind — a declaration which only
persistent self-discipline could have enabled him truth-
fully to make — and in the face of it we must acknowledge
how far short of real nobility our life comes. Christian-
ity is a daily being and doing; not an 'impulse, not the
gratification of selfish desires, or the occasional following
out of purer promptings, but the actual living of Christ.
Which is to say that the underlying motive of being and
doing must come from Christ — that we must allow
Him to fill us, and inspire us, and uplift us.
Paul came to what he could truly say through much
of struggle and conquering. In the natural condition
of things for man to live is #<?/ Christ, but man's self.
CHRISTIAN LIFE. 55
Paul had grown out of this condition, — had gone be-
yond it, as we must go beyond it if ever we do — over the
ruins of much prized selfish things. Have we the heart
for such discipline ? It must come in the street, at the
desk, in the daily duty, in the home. Our hours of
labor must be full of it ; in the restful seasons into which
we now and then retire it must not be forgotten.
So the real CHRiST-life is more than a passing enjoy-
ment. It is a perpetual self-crucifixon. Is there then
no pleasure in it? Paul testified how much it was to him,
albeit he had sorer trials than often \?isit us. Since his
time thousands have taken up the testimony and empha-
sized it, in every clime. Men count pleasure differently.
But the highest pleasure satisfies most and longest, and
the CHRiST-life means satisfaction longer and more com-
plete than that arising from any other source. Does it
not? Even with our little taste of it can we not give affir-
mative answer ?
As we give the best we have, we get the best we can
have. The most unmistakable illustration of this gener-
al truth is in its highest application. The rarest dona-
tion any one can offer is himself in the completeness of
his nature and and possession, to Christ ; and when
this is done he receives in return the choicest blessing he
can appropriate, the filling of himself with God.
CHRIST'S ABIDING,
"Abide with us ! " was the prayer of our Saviour's
disciples on a memorable occasion.
It was toward evening ; the night was coming on ;
their hearts had burned within them while talking to-
gether by the way, and it would be more pleasant with
such a guest after the day's ending.
It is toward evening with ns all, perhaps. Sooner
than we think may the night fall upon us, dark and
dreary. If not the night of death, then such a night
as settles down only too often upon every life, when it is
thick darkness all about. And we need to pray earnest-
ly for Christ to abide with us.
For when there is no comfort, shall we not need the
Comforter? When all that is bright and gladsome seems
shut out, shall we not long intensely for the brightness
and sweet cheer that might be ours ? Such times will
come ; they come to each one of us. They are inevit-
able. Nights must complement the days, in the common
order of nature. Whosoever is sensitive to pleas-
ure is surely sensitive to pain, and the one will come as
truly as will the other. "Much must be borne that it is
hard to bear, " said one once, and each heart will echo
the truth of that saying.
But thank God that for the Christian there is never a
night without its stars ! Since the early morning, so many
CHRIST'S ABIDING.
57
years agone, when that star rose in the East, all who have
sincerely acknowledged the Babe of Bethlehem as a
wcild's Reedemer, have seen some ray in every deepen-
ing gloom, and have felt rare comfort when life were else
quite comfortless.
We may not hope that Christ will walk with us as He
walked with the disciples of old, yet may His presence
be to us as sure a reality as it was to them. Aye, even
more. The incarnate God was not so much a fact to
those who listened to His preaching, and enjoyed His
companionship, as He is now to us. He has been more
to us than He ever was to them, because in a certain
sense we have all that He has been to mankind through
these eighteen hundred years.
"Abide with us!" Breathe forth your prayer, O sin-
sick heart ! Your evening is not far off at the most.
Even if Christ fail at once to answer, He will return
presently, and you shall know exceeding joy.
THE PURE IN HEART.
'• The pure in heart are blest," He said,
Who on the mountain taught,
Ere on the Cro^s His blood He shed,
And our salvation wrought.
O blessed words that blessing gave !
I hear their echo yet,
And all their promised good I crave
Who evil would forget.
58 THE ENDLESS DAY.
Yet can the blessing e'er be mine ?
I question, full of fear ;
I am so far from all divine,
To all of earth so near ;
There crowds into my life so much
To blacken and degrade ;
Sin jostles with so rude a touch
Each holy help and a\d !
An answer comes with comfort sweet
My troubling fear to still,
" All promises fulfillment meet
For those who do My will ;
That which you long for, pray for, seek,
Is somehow now possest,
The words are certain that T speak —
The pure in heart are blest ! "
THE ENDLESS DAY.
Scripture silence is never more marked thaa in regard
to our future state. There is little in the way of definite
information touching our hereafter, to be found in- the
Bible. Much is said in a figurative sense, and this is
indeed a solace. Just how much of it is figurative, who
can tell?
Of the few explicit statements made about heaven,
theie is nothing more beautiful and satisfying than this,
— " There shall be no night there.'' There is so much
THE ENDLESS DAY. 59
night here ! So often the shadows come down over us,
snd shut us in like a shroud ! So somber grow the even-
ings, and so few the stars ! It must be a radiant country,
where it is daylight forever and forever.
"Neither sorrow nor crying." Nights bring sorrow,
frequently. Sorrow makes night, whenever sorrow comes.
Many are the mornings bright and golden which
hav* turned into darkest night ere the noon-tide. Thank
God, all ye sorrowing ones, that there is coming a morn-
ing which shall be dimmed by never a cloud ! which
shall never fade into evening ! wThich shall shine on
through the ages of eternity unchanged, unchanging.
There may be no gates of pearl, — no streets of gold,
— all this may be figurative as regards that heaven most
of us hope for, but let us still believe that in heaven
there will be an endless day. Ye image-breakers who
would spoil our prettiest pictures of the beyond by de-
claring all revelation only figurative, spare us this as lit-
eral. Literal our inner natures declare it. All who
sorrow and weep would go wild with despair in their
sorrowing and weeping, did they not have faith in an
actual freedom from grief and tears by-and-by. And that
which is so fully borne in upon our deeper natures is
generally true. By some subtile prescience wre see some-
what of the hidden in a manner we cannot explain. So
let us comfort ourselves in the belief which is tender and
comforting as words of peace can be, — "There shall be
no night there ! "
THE ANGEL OF HEALING.
O, all of our life we lie beside
Some pool of Bethesda here,
And wait for the angel its waves to stir
With waiting that has no cheer ;
For never the angel appears to us,
The waters are always still,
The healing we ever impa ient wait
Comes never with healing thrill.
And so by the waters we sit and sigh,
Our being a sad complaint,
The hope of the morning growing dim,
The heart of our manhood faint ;
But miracles never are wrought, to-day,
And though we are faint and sore,
T'is idle to linger the pool beside,
The waters will stir no more !
The angels of heaven are all abroad,
We meet them in busy marts,
They enter the plainest of humble homes.
They visit the poorest hearts ;
But silent they come, and silent work,
And all unheeding are we,
Tho' needed the gift that they bring to us.
Whatever the gift may be.
Not always the want we feel the most
Should fully for us be met :
THE DEEPER REST. 6j
God knoweth our need — our need of needs —
And He will never forget !
Then why should we sit in complaining mood,
In hope that is half a fear ?
Unseen, but ready to minister,
The Angel of God is near !
THE DEEPER REST.
"I trusted too little, and reasoned too much/' said
one, referring to a great mistake in life. "I should have
reasoned less, and trusted more."
Many of our mistakes grow out of this lack of trust.
It is human to rely on reason, on self. It is hard to
wait patiently on the Lord. Is a way clearly pointed out
to us ? we hesitate to walk therein until we see reasons
for the going. Is a difficult thing plainly set before us
for accomplishing? we falter, and cast about for convin-
cing proof that do it we must.
And how often we argue with God ! How often we
utterly let go of Trust, and hold only to Reason ! Yet
it is harder to dispute with Providence, than to accept
every leading unhesitatingly. Harder, if so be to trust
has become a little natural to us. Harder, any how, as a
matter of fact. Where God leads, it is easy going, if
one go believing. When reason goes against God, the
way is steep at the end, if smooth and pleasant first, —
62 THE DEEPER REST.
steep and rough, and it comes out among brambles that
vex and make sore.
Is absolute trust possible? To those who really rest
in Christ, yes. Now and then some one speaks of a
deeper rest than the many know, and such testimony is
gratifying. What does this deeper rest signify? Ruth
was reading in a little book entitled "The Rest of
Faith/7 this afternoon, and here the story of such a rest
was told. We have listened to the telling, orally, by
another who struggled through much of doubt and ques-
tioning into perfect trust. Such trust is not attained to
in an hour. It is the fruit of long-suffering in spirit and
repeated cross-bearing. It is the answer to burdened
prayer.
"Come unto me all ye that labor, and are heavy laden
and I will give you rest." There is more here than a
promise, though as a promise, the words are sweet and
strong. There is- an implication, inferentially a state-
ment, that those without rest are away from Christ.
And beycmd question the implication is true. We lack
the rest because we are afar off. Do we feel troubled, and
distressed, and doubtful of the future? Then surely we are
not near to God. To us, especially, is it said, "Come.''
Unto whom ? Faith knows, even the little faith we have.
Faith believes on Him, and takes to itself, in a measure,
the promise He has made. Yet it is only a half faith.
It will, by-and-by, doubt, and step aside for reason, until
shall come the deeper rest, wherein not a doubt is harbor-
ed, no questioning put forth, but all is serenity and peace
— the peace of God.
TO WARD SODOM.
The preacher's theme this morning grew out of that
sad story of Lot — a story full of lessons for us all.
You know when Lot divided the land with his cove-
tous relative, he "pitched his tent toward Sodom."
Why? Because self-interest, as he believed, centered
there. He did not go as a missionary ; he had no hope
of purifying that pool of iniquity. He went there for
gain. Doubtless the Sodomites knew it, and laughed at
any moral suasion he may have attempted. The result is
familiar to all.
And there are many men to-day pitching their tent to-
ward Sodom. Men of politics, who make use of un-
worthy means to accomplish ^political success ; to whom
party gain is greater than the dominance of principle.
Men of trade, who. indulge undue desires to get on, and
who get on unduly — who sacrifice strict probity on the
altar of mercantile success. All sorts of men, who in any
form ignore right and just dealing and doing, and look
first to selfish ends, last to the means which win them.
Toward Sodom ! Sodom was laid in ashes, yet Sodom
exists even now. In ruins centuries ago, it is still to
thousands of people a delightful city of gain and all good
things, wherein every desire shall be satisfied. Men go
toward it as toward a Mecca. They dwell in it, amid its
64 DAY BY DAY.
vice, its varied evils, and are content. And when comes
the cry of "Up ! Get thee out ! " they pay little heed.
Toward Sodom ! ' ' Every road leads to the world's
end, " read an old legend. It were sad indeed, if many
were to reach the world's end through Sodom ; if selfish-
ness were to overrule all other considerations, until they
should become veritable Sodomites of a later day, only to
perish as miserably as perished the Sodomites of old.
DAY BY DAY.
We should live as though doing days' works for God.
There is no contract for long service. It is day by day,
and day by day. Our master may have need for us
further on ; He may not. It is not ours to question.
Good and faithful service, now, is the thing asked. And
to strengthen us for the day's work we should be given
our daily bread. The prayer for it so brief, so simple,
covers every human need. It means bread for the body
and bread for the soul ; physical and spiritual nourish-
ment. Is our prayer an earnest and honest one ? Do we
really crave of God our daily food? Or are we seeking to
satisfy human cravings from some other source? "Give
us this day our daily bread." How many pray thus in
the truest sense, as Christ taught?
"ONE WITH THE LORD."
«.
"One with the Lord !" Will the day of my dying .
Bring me so glad and so sweet a reward,
For all of my waiting, my sorrow and sighing,
As that of the making me "one with the Lord?"
Here there is little of good in communion ;
Little of sweets with my life interblend ;
I long in my loneliness e'er for the union
Which through an eternity never shall end.
" One with the Lord ! " Dare I hope for such blessing?
Hope for a crowning so royal as this ?
Shall such at the last be my certain possessing?
Shall such be the sum of my infinite bliss ?
Recompense lesser would pay me for waiting ;
Sorrow might smile for a reason less sweet ;
My heart might believe it were heav'n antedating
To thrill with a joy not the half so complete.
Often I miss the dear face of my Saviour ;
Often I wander away from His side ;
Between us, too often, my sinful behavior
Creates separation despairingly wide.
There in the glow of the glory so golden,
There in the mansion preparing for me,
Henceforth, from all wanderings ever enfolden,
O " One with the Lord ! " let me finally be !
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER,
Going out to do battle against the Ammonites, Jeph-
thah, the newly elected Captain of Israel, made a vow.
It was his ambition to conquer a peace and reign long
over the Israelites. Moreover, he hoped to leave his
family in direct succession to the rulership. To giatify
his ambitious desires, he was ready to make any sacrifice.
So he *' vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, If thou
shalt without fail, deliver the children of Ammon into
my hands, then it shall be that whatsoever cometh forth
of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in
peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the
Lord's, and I will offer it up for a burnt-offering."
It was a rash vow, and a thoughtless one. The Lord
gave him victory, and returning to Mizpeh in triumph
the first person to greet him was his only daughter — his
only child. Here was a shock, indeed ! To what a
strait had his unwise vowing brought him ! In obedience
to the vow made to obtain the object of his ambition,
that must be done which would utterly crush his fondest
hopes.
We may not say of a certainty in what precise manner
Jephthah's vow was fulfilled. His daughter wTas allowed
to go away for two menths among the mountains, and
bewail her virginity; and from this fact some reason that,
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 6 J
instead of being literally offered up as a burnt-offering,
she was merely doomed to a life of celibacy. But even
this was considered a sad fate indeed among Israelitish
women, for they all held to the hope of being, by mother-
hood, placed in the line of the Messiah which was to
come. And it was especially sad for Jephthah, as it
would give the rulership into other lineage upon his
death, which occurred six years thereafter.
The lesson of this Old Testament narrative is a vital
one to-day. We see Jephthahs everywhere about us,
sacrificing all that which is dearest and best for ambition's
sake. To accomplish one fond desire they make vows
as foolish and reckless as was Jephthah's vow of old,
and that bring as sad and fearful results in the end. The
very law of human life at present seems in a lamentable
sense the law of sacrifice. It is the giving up of the
sweetest and tenderest affections for something which
profiteth not at all. It is the ignoring of those most
purifying influences and aspirations, for the unsatisfying
peace of an outward success. Over all merely worldly
victories some shadow of JephthahY vow and sacrifice
should rest, to teach what such victories, gotten at such
a cost, leally mean. They are the bitterest of Dead Sea
apples, and have proved so to more Jephthahs than we
can number.
THE HYMNS OF HOME.
Our Sabbath Evening is not alone a season of quiet,
restful reflectiveness, but a season of sacred song. In
the gathering twilight one softly intones, "Sweet hour of
prayer, sweet hour of prayer, '" and we all take up the
tender words, and they tremble into a chorus, and so we
sing ourselves into prayerfulness and pray on in melody
with bowed hearts. "Jesus, lover of my soul," another
voice begins, later on, and every word of that dear hymn
touches us to a deeper penitential love, and a sweeter
trust in that Refuge for all our kind.
Mayhap there is silence for a little, when the final
cadence has died away, and we sit musing upon the
goodness of God in giving us songs so satisfying. Then,
presently, — out of yonder corner where the home-mother
sits — rise the strains of "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me/'
and musing swells into gladness in Toplady's fine old
hymn. After the hymn is over, and while we still sit
here in the twilight, we think of this man whose hymn
we have sung, and fancy it would be pleasant to die as
he died.
In the pleasant county of Devon, England, and in one
of its sequestered passes, with a few cottages sprinklep
over it, mused and sang Augustus Toplady. When a
lad of sixteen, and on a visit to Ireland, he strolled into
THE HYMNS OF HOME. 69
a barn, where an illiterate layman was preaching recon-
ciliation to God through the death of His Son. The
homely sermon took effect, and from that moment the
gospel wielded all the powers of his brilliant and active
mind. Toplady became learned, but it was not so much
his learning that blessed us all, as his hymns.
During his last illness he seemed to lie in the very
vestibule of glory. To a friend s inquiry he answered,
with sparkling eye, "Oh, my dear sir, I can not tell the
comforts I feel in my soul — they are past expression.
The consolations of God are so abundant that they leave
me nothing to pray for. My prayers are all converted
into praise. I enjoy a heaven already in my soul.'"'
And within an hour of dying he called his friends, and
asked if they could give him up ; and when they said
they could, tears of joy ran down his cheeks as he added,
'•Oh, what a blessing that you are made willing to give
me over into the hands of my dear Redeemer, and part
with me ; for no mortal can live after the glories which
God has manifested to my soul ! " And thus he passed
awav.
I
/ SHALL BE SATISFIED.
I NEVER here may know content,
Or feel a full, a perfect bliss ;
May never climb the long ascent
And find the joy that here I miss ;
But somewhere, in the years to be,
Beyond the portals opening wide
Across the lowly vale, for me,
At length I shall be satisfied !
Be satisfied ! O, faith so sweet
That helps me onward day by day I
That guides my weak and blinded feet
Along the upward tending way !
It is the star that bright and clear
Shines downward thro' my clouded night,
That has a tender, holy cheer
Within its steady burning light.
Be satisfied ! Fly quickly, years,
&nd bring that day of days the best,
When all the sickening doubts and fears
Shall vanish from my anxious breast !
And waiting moments, whisper low.
As far away these days recede,
Of purer pleasures I shall know, —
Supplies that fill my every need.
Have patience, O my throbbing heart !
The moments will not slowly creep ;
PENALTIES FOR SIN J I
And life is only here a part
Of one long, fitfuL troubled sleep.
I shall awake sometime, Ah, yes !
This slumber shall be put aside,
And in my Lord's fair comeliness
I shall be fully satisfied !
PENALTIES FOR SIN.
The law of compensation is just, and it is wide-reach-
ing. There is nothing born out of naught ; there is no
good or ill but has its recompense. Patience hath its
reward sooner or later ; continuance in well-doing
finally works out an abundance of joy ; and persistence
in wickedness wins, sooner or later, the penalties which
it woos.
In so far as men accept grievous woes as penalties for
their transgressions, rather than as dark and incompre-
hensible afflictions, will they be profited and made better
thereby. Losses and crosses, and trials and tribulations
are common to each of us, and they are not purposeless.
They are so common, indeed, that we forget what their
purpose may be, and are content only to weep over them.
We call them "dispensations of Providence, " but with so
vague an idea of what a dispensation really is that the
term signifies nothing, and our recognition of it implies
simply that trust which receives because it cannot reject.
J 2 PENALTIES FOR SIN.
Dispensations of Providence are God's distributions of
justice to men ; and as justice abides ever in the law of
compensation, each dispensation unto us is but our just
due. The laborer is worthy of his hire ; if he doeth evil
his wages will be of evil. It is but natural, perhaps,
that when some dearly-prized treasure, is taken away from
us, we should murmur in sore bitterness of spirit, and
cry out against the great Dispenser. It is but natural,
because we are human, and love for our kind is the deep-
est instinct of our humanity. But when we get a little
way removed from our sorrow, — when it has become a
thing of yesterday, as thank God sorrows will ! — we shall
see how the crushing of our love was altogether right
and how fully, by pride, or worldliness, or neglect of
duty, or indifference to divine callings, we had earned
what we have received.
We shall see this ? Not certainly, but we ought to.
We shall, if through saving grace our Christianity is not
a name, but a breathing vitality, — if by the logic of love,
spiritual and refining, and tending heavenward, we come
to lecognize Divine conclusions as altogether wise and
righteous. And if we do not, — if for the treasure lost,
and the hope unattained, and the joy taken from us, we
continue to lament bitterly, — if, instead of a prayer, our
soul sends up daily a plaint, and says to its God ' ' Thou
art unjust, and deal in vengeance rather than justice," — -
then this our new and oft repeated sin will, of a certain-
ty, bring its reward ; either here, or in the long hereafter,
we shall pay the penalty.
AT THE LAST. '
' l So He bringeth them at last into their desired haven. "
These were the words of the preachers text one week
ago to-night. Ruth says them over now, with a kind of
gladness in her voice — dear, good, matronly Ruth, who
does weary sometimes, as we all do, of the work done
and to be done.
' ' I was disappointed with that sermon," she remarks.
"I hoped it would be restful to us all : but it made so
much of the struggle and storm of life, and so little of
the calm and peace at the last. I would rather think of
the peace. '
"But we must think of the way to that, dear heart?"
4< ' So He bringeth them ' is all the thought Ave need/''
she makes reply. "I care not what the way may be,
with my hand in His ; I am surely safe, whatever storms
may aiise, with Him as pilot. I will not doubt that we
shall reach the haven in His own good time. "
" And you know what your ' desired haven ' is to be ? "
"No, I do not," and she grows more thoughtful of
countenance. "I am willing to trust that also, to Him.
I am just a poor ignorant mariner, sailing an unknown
sea for a port 1 never saw. I hail no vessel outward
bound. None who sail thither ever come back. And
yet I am certain it is a lovely country, because my God
dwells there ! "
74 AT THE LAST.
" But God dwells also here on the earth?"
"Yes; and earth is lovely, when we see Him. The
trouble is we only catch glimpses of Him, here ; there,
we shall behold Him ever face to face ! "
She stops talking, and out of the silence, presently,
some one sings :
Face to face ! O Hving Lord !
This the sweetest, best reward
Thro' the future aye shall be —
Face to face, to gaze on Thee !
Face to face ! my longing eyes
Waif the wondrous, glad surprise.
Here the visions fade or tire,
Grant me there, my one desire !
Weak and tempted, faltering, faint,
Hush my murmuring and complaint ;
Look in mercy here on me,
That I there may look on Thee !
It is not enough that man be saved from final death,
in the future. He needs salvation from himself in the
present, — salvation from all those belittling influences
within which may not send him to perdition at the last,
but which cramp his Christianity, and dwarf his useful-
ness, and eat out all his manly nobleness.
EARTH'S TWILIGHT TIME,
Again the twilight tender breathes
Along the hillside slopes,
And earth in dreamy vestment wreathes
Her promises and hopes ;
But through the gathering eventide
A sweet voice sings to me —
" Let Faith through all the night abide,
And wait the gocd to be.
There comes a day with dawn sublime :
The present is earth's twilight time ! "
The song sinks deep my heart within ;
I catch its inner thonght ;
And all the years of darkest sin
Are with new meaning fraught.
I see them as a misty haze,
In which we blindly go,
With only stars above the maze
We journey to and fro ;
And glad I sing — ■' A dawn sublime
At last will crown earth's twilight time ! "
O doubt that brood eth over all !
O wearing unbelief !
O woes tliat on the peoples fall !
O universal grief !
Ye reign awhile, but not for long ;
Our freedom comes at last,
And hearts will shout a victor's song
O'er dangers haply passed.
Your night will wane ; a dawn sublime
Awaits beyond earth's twilight time !
A MOTHER 'S PRA VERS.
That was a very touching little recital which one lady
made in the prayer-meeting, a few evenings since. They
had been talking of prayer — its efficacy and power.
'*My father is a man of seventy/'' the lady said. "All
his life he has been skeptical about religious things.
He has been strictly moral, but yet more or less a skeptic.
The other day I received a letter from him, saying he had
changed his views of the Bible, and trusted he was now
a follower of Christ. It was his mother's prayers, he
declared, that brought him at the very last to God. They
had always haunted him. He could never get quite free
from their influence. And yet his mother died when he
was only ten years old. "
There is a sort of everlastingness about prayer — about
prayers. Many a petition goes a lifetime unanswered,
which finds its answer at the very close. The prayers of
a mother live on in the life of a child. He may go far
into sin, but he never can get wholly away from memory
and the past. If in childhood he heard his mother plead
with Christ for her loved one's soul, he will always feel
his soul is worth caring for.
Ah, mothers ! let your children hear you pray ! If there
be burdens to carry, and they press and weary you,
and you faint utterly, do not forget to pray, even then.
THE UNDERLYING HOPE. J J
You may tire of players never answered ; you may grow
impatient with God because of long delay; but think of
this man of three score and ten, brought into Christ's
love, after sixty intervening years, by the power of a
mother's prayers. In God's good time all answers come.
THE UNDERL YING HOPE.
Other people than Christians ha^e hopes, — hopes
that are sweet and tender, and fondly cherished. This is
not a hopeless world. There is some great good to
come, for us all. There is a universal blessing some-
where in store : let us believe it and be glad.
But the tenderest and sweetest hopes, outside the one
Great Hope of the Christian, are fleeting. How they
come and go — sweet in their coming, sad in their going.
How they fade into dreams, and are only remembered
with a sigh. How they lead us up to some great height
of happiness, and then drop us into the depths.
Only in the underlying Hope is there steadfastness.
It never deceives. It never fails. They who build upon
it have a firm foundation. It is broad as the needs of
the broadest life ; it is deep as the eternities. It includes
love undying, repose that no untoward influences can
disturb, expectations that will by-and-by be fully met.
It means so much more than we can understand : so
78 THE UNDERL YING HOPE.
much more than now, with our limited capacities, we
can enjoy !
Blessed, indeeed, are they who have this Hojk. In
their night seasons they shall see light. In their sorrows
there shall be cheer. When the night comes down on
those without this Hope, how dark it is ! And the
nights come, to all. It is day with us now, mayhap, but
as surely as the day shines, the shadows will lengthen.
We can not always be at the noontime. Do we love ? — ■
the ones we love will die. Do we possess ? — our posses-
sions will slip from our grasp. Do we aspire ? — we shall
faint and fall, and the fever of aspiration will burn out,
leaving us weak and helpless as a sick child.
Yes, the night seasons must come. They are among
the inevitables. But they cannot absolutely darken the
life of those who build upon the Underlying Hope.
Ever since that sorrowful evening when Christ suffered
in Gethsemane, for all who believe on Him there have
been stars in the night, and a glad glimmer as of the
dawn. Do Christians ever give up in despair ? Then it
is simply because they shut out the light, and close their
eyes to its comfort. There is for them no need to be
groping in the dark. All the cheer of all the ages is
theirs to enjoy if they will. The Hope that upheld a
Paul, and strengthened a Stephen, and sweetened the
nature of a St. John, is ours now as it was theirs then,
FEED MY LAMBS.
'• Lovest thou me ? " He asked, of old,
Who loved all men with a love divine.
Over and over the love was told,
And over and over He named a sign.
** Feed my lambs, " was the one command ; —
This of love was the sign and test;
For through the work of a willing hand
Will throb the warmth of a loving breast.
" Feed my lambs! " There were lambs unfed,
Though then the flock it was young and small ;
And though to but one the words were said,
They were meant for us, they were meant for all.
And now far over the pastures wide
His sheep are scattered — the weak and strong —
And some have never a shepherd guide,
Are weak and worn, and the way is long.
" Lovest thou me ?" He asks to-day,
Of many who walk unheeding by :
" Yea, Lord, Thou knowest it," still we say :
" Then feed my lambs ! " is His warning cry.
And still they faint in the noontide's heat,
Still amid hunger and thirst they go, —
Shepherd of Love, in Thy care complete,
Lead them to fields that no hunger know !
CHRISTIAN PATIENCE.
"It is hard to wait! "
Ruth has been reading again the little poem /we read
a few evenings since, entitled "The Service of Waiting.''
' ' I want to see results. I want to know my life means
something to God, by seeing He uses it. I am willing
to do, but what has God for me ? "
There are many who feel as Ruth feels. The natural
longing of us all is for results. The common cry of the
Soul is, "What has God for me? "
Because we are all possessed of the belief that we are
to do and accomplish visible things. We all like to
think there is before us some work ordained of God,
which, with God's help, we are to perform. Very few
look upon a life without results upon the world as worth
living.
And we mistake, often, in waiting for what will never
come. Having fixed our mind on some definite thing,
come certain line of doing, we come to think God means
no work for us because He does not provide as we expect.
We ask the question, "What has God for us?" with a
complaint. What we most desire has not come up for
careful effort and accomplishment ; we are disappointed
and would find fault.
But we must be patient. We must exercise genuine
Christian patience. Well, how does Christian patience
CHRISTIAN PA 'HENCE. 8 1
differ from patience in general ? First of all, in having a
hope in it — the Great Hope, that is to gladden the world.
Having a hope, it is not a patience of philosophy, of
willing to endure, of hardened stoicism. It is a patience
of trust. Faith lights it up continually.
Superadded to this, it is a patience of searching. The
heart in close sympathy with Christ will wait patiently
for the GoD-appointed work, but it will not wait idly,
complainingly, and say ' ' God brings naught for my
doing." It will search ^every day, to see if perchance, in
some unlooked-for manner, the mission has not come
unannounced, unsuspected. It will refuse no offered
opportunity. It will accept, in all earnestness, the
proffered service, and serve as patiently as it had waited.
O Lord, is heart of mine like this ? —
In careful search lest ii should miss
The labor Thou wouldst ask of me ?
Or do I wait and long to see
Some special work before me set,
And fold my hands while I forget
That in this waiting of to-day,
And in this that I call delay,
The Master's voice is sounding near,
" \Nhy idly are ye standing here ?"
CONVERSION TO CHRIST.
11 Saul s agony should not be waited for nor desired,
if God gives one Lydia's open heart/'
Thus said the preacher this morning, speaking of the
manner of conversion, and in the saying he touched very
wisely a point which has troubled many souls.
The being born again seems so hard a thing. But
why? Because we make it so. We magnify its difficul-
ties. We see more to get over than really exists. We
hold change of heart to be a most marvelous transition,
when in fact it is very simple — surprisingly simple, some-
times.
There are few cases like that of Saul. Few indeed
are there who from midnight gloom, impending days to-
gether, emerge into supreme splendor of light. It is
seldom that God meets a man so suddenly on the way as
He met Saul ; and none should expect to realize Saul's
remarkable experience in their own history.
Lydia furnishes an excellent example for all such as
await some profound, agonizing conviction. She waited
for nothing ; she simply believed, with her whole heart,
nd this heart-felt belief was the being born again. The
new birth is a change, certainly ; but it is a change from
unbelief and doubt to perfect trust and faith. There
can be no change without faith. The man's withered
SELLING OUR BIRTHRIGHTS. 8$
arm was not restored until it was stretched forth. A
belief that Christ can heal the soul, alone makes the
healing possible. And when we have this belief it is idle,
unwise, to wait long and anxiously for some harrowing
sense of pain and sin. A degree of self-smiting there
must be, but the degree differs in intensity in different
cases.
So the preacher did well to mention Saul and Lydia
to us in the same breath — to show us how widely separa-
ted in character conversions may be, and yet be each
acceptable in the Divine sight.
SELLING OUR BIRTHRIGHTS.
There are many Esaus. Of the multitudes of men
who go up and down among us, how many are there
who have not sold their birthrights?
Notwithstanding the fall, there is a birthright for every
one. Manhood is the noblest heritage which can accrue
to being. Purity, honor and truth were not all upyield-
ed when the first man sinned. In these each man has
still a share. Of these, alas ! thousands are daily selling
their portion for a mess of pottage !
Esau and Jacob of old were types of two great classes
that were to exist long after, — the one wreak, lustful and
foolish ; the other sharp, far-sighted, grasping. And so
84 SELLING OUR BIRTHRIGHTS.
long as Esaus remain, there will be Jacobs to profit by
their weakness, their improvident. So long as one man
stands ready to make over all that is best and truest in his
life and character, his fellow will* be at hand eager to re-
ceive the trust and to use it to his own selfish advance-
ment.
But are we all sufficiently generous to give up self ut-
terly for the sake of others? Is our generosity wise?
Just such spiritual loss as was Esau's may not be ours, in
selling our birthrights, for there is no Messiah to come in
our genealogical line; but there is an awful loss, never-
theless. And what is the gain ? Your mess of pottage
may be for the moment very tempting; does its flavor
last? Partaking of it, do you see your birthright pass
into the hands of another and feel satisfied?
Oh, these messes of pottage ! They are of Satan's own
mixing. They stand ready everywhere. What are they?
We cannot tell. Some delightful dalliance may make
up one ; some lustful indulgence may savor forth in an-
other ; some unholy amusement, some selfish propensity/
some secret sin, some open -transgression, some destroy-
ing desire, may comprise another. But at their best they
are only pottage, and miserable compensation for that
which they purchase. Is it not a little strange that men
ordinarily keen at a bargain make such a losing thing of
it in selling themselves?
THE SONG OF MIRIAM.
Of all that singers e'er have sung
Since singing first began,
No strains have gladder, clearer rung
From human heart, from human tongue,
Than where the Red Sea ran —
Where horse and rider fierce and wild
By God were overthrown :
Where He upon His children smiled,
And swift their foes to wreck beguiled
By waves His breath had blown.
" For He hath triumphed gloriously V
And " Sing ye to the Lord ! "
The singer chanted by the sea :
And glad as anthem of the free
Rang out her clear accord.
Dear singer of the ancient time ! —
Her timbrel echoes still
Adown the ages. Sweet, sublime,
Above the din of doubt and crime,
We catch its hopeful thrill.
Within our Edom weary years
We wander sore beset ;
The host of Egypt oft appears ;
We yield at last to fate and fears,
To grieving and regret.
86 THE SONG OF MIRIAM.
But waiting there in doubt and dread,
Our own Red Sea beside,
Some ray of silver sunlight, shed
From God's clear sky, shines on our head,
And gloom is glorified !
And listning then we hear the song
They sang that time of old,
When God was faithful, swift and strong
To help the Right, to crush the Wrong ,
And faith finds deeper hold.
For God is God to-day, as then .
He minds His Israel :
Above all battlings fierce of men
He waits in patient power, as when
The host Egyptian fell.
Dear singer of that distant day ! —
Her Edom had its springs
Of bitter waters by the way :
And we by Marah's side may stay
Oft in our wanderings ;
But though tlie way be long and sore,
This side the Promised Land,
Some song of cheer forevermore
May thrill us, that we sang before
We came to desert sand.
Some yesterday of song we knew, —
Some hour of joy and praise
After a Red Sea's journey through
To peace ; and God to-day is true, ■
However dark the w?ys :
THE MASTER TRUTH. 87
And just beyond the wilderness
Our Land of Promise lies ;
Its plenty we shall soon possess ;
Its beauty shall our morrow bless
With comforting surprise !
THE MASTER TRUTH.
Truth has been master since the Master's first preach-
ing of it. It will be master in all time to come. It can
not be crushed. The defection of followers and suppor-
ters can not dangerously weaken it. It is upheld by liv-
ing divine grace.
What does it matter, then, if some one fall whom the
world has looked up to as eminently a disciple of Truth?
Falls are common. Men are but human, and the great-
est may be most human. The greatest may sink into
ways of sin and shame. But if one or a thousand great
upholders of Christ's Gospel lapse from the true path,
shall we be foolish enough to think that Gospel suffers
irreparable harm?
When this dear religion of ours had few supporters, it
stood up under defection and betrayal greater than can
possibly befall it now. There was Judas— one of the fav-
ored Twelve. A cruel blow was his; and yet the new
faith survived. There was Peter — he was tempted and
he fell ; and yet the new faith lived on, and grew marvel-
ously in the hearts of men.
8S THE MASTER TRUTH.
A man may have much of the grace of God in his
heart, and for all this he may yield to sudden tempting.
A man may profess love for Christ, and kiss him to be-
trayal. Is he the annihilator of our faith ? Far from it.
He falls ; but honest men everywhere will simply pity his
weakness or scorn his falsity. They will not say that
Christ is a myth, or His Gospel a fiction. And if they
were to say it, what then ? Fools have said the same
these hundreds of years, and men have fallen from purity
time and again, and yet Christ is not a myth, and His
Gospel is not a fiction, and people go on believing.
It is sad — very sad — to see any one betray his faith.
The influence of such betrayal may be wide-reaching,
and the injury done may be great. But to say that be-
trayal is terribly disastrous, is idle talk. There can never
be a worse, a more awful betrayal than that of Judas ;
and doubtless the weak and troubled disciples thought it
disaster dire. Instead, it held the world's hope. It
wrought out the best that life can know. It was a never-
ending blessing just begun.
Shall we then excuse betrayal and palliate a fall, be-
cause irretrievable ruin does not come of it ? By no
means. To fall is to sin ; to betray is criminal. Truth
is sinned against in either case. Judas betrays himself
when he betrays and turns against his Christ. He must
pay the penalty. If only himself be hurt, even, there is
no excuse, since no man may excusably sin against him-
self. And always the sin reaches past the sinner, past the
second party sinned against, and harms community.
That it is not a fatal harm, matters not, though it is the
CHRIST'S COMPASS/OX. 89
one comforting thing Christians should remember ever —
that no man's weakness mortally weakens the church of
Christ. Such has never been the case ; such never can
be the case. The church of Christ is not founded upon
man ; does not depend upon man for its continuance,
and can not be overthrown bv man.
CHRIST S COMPASSION.
Perhaps there is no more really comforting thought,
in relation to Christ's compassionate love, than that it
was discriminative. "Christ loved men in the mass,"
said the preacher this morning; "but He also loved
men as individuals.''
We have numerous illustrations of this discriminating
regard. Among them all, none is so sweetly tender as
that of the widow of Nain. Christ was upon the high-
way, accompanied by many followers. He met another
company, and their errand wras evident. They were go-
ing to a burial. It was not an unusual thing to meet
such a sad procession.
Yet to our Saviour it was an unusual case, common
as it might seem to all about Him. Here was a woman
following a loved one to the grave ; and this was sad in-
deed, and in a general wray was sufficient to call forth
sympathy. Bnt it was worse than this. "She was a
9°
CHRIS T ' S CO MP A SSION.
widow." She had followed a bier, before. She had
wept for her companion ; now, alas ! she must weep for
her sole support — her only son ! and this was saddest of
all.
It was, indeed, a case where discriminating comfort
would not fail of expression and endeavor. The great
heart of Jesus went out in tender compassion. His Di-
vine power found manifestation in the command ! ' Arise ! '*
And the sorrowing mother found a Friend where least
she expected one, a Helper when to human ken help was
no longer possible. What a joy was hers ! How she must
have gone back rejoicing, who had come from her home
in tears !
It is ever with the needy, whose faith is strong, as it
was with the widow of Nain. Christ will not fail in His
discriminative compassion. On the highway of life He
meets men and women now, as He met them ages ago,
and knows their peculiar want. We like to believe that
when blind Bartimeus called out to Him from the road-
side, "Thou son of David, have mercy on me!" our
Saviour knew him for the sightless man he was, and not
simply as one of the common mass, voicing a common
need. To the blind of to-day His ear is open still, and
He will not fail to hear. Hearing He will not fail to
bless, and blessing, the needy shall go forth rejoicing,
who now weep on the way.
CHRIST'S HUMANITY.
It is an evening for tears. One year ago to-night — or
was it two, or three, or five? — you wept over a dear face
waxing cold, and dropped a hand out of yours from
which love's answering pressure had fled. How well
you remember it ! Will you ever forget ? Would you
ever, if you could ? Would you even now put from you
these memories so sadly sweet, that bring dimness to
your eyes and fresh sorrow to your heart ?
You thought the first pang of separation hard ; you
feel scarcely different after all these months or years of
loneliness. And yet you have now none of those bitter,
fault-finding feelings against God which took possession
of you at the beginning. You have come 'to realize
somewhat of God's kindliness even through His afflict-
ing— samewhat of His great overbrooding love and wide-
reaching sympathy.
In the first overwhelming of your grief you thought
hard things of your Creator, hard things of your Saviour.
You said in your heart — "He is but an indifferent Sav-
iour who does not save me from this depth of woe. "
You know now how much you wronged Christ. In-
different? You could hardly say that of Him again,
though you stood by another open grave. Indifferent ?
You read one little verse in your Bible, as you have read
92 CHRIST'S HUMANITY.
it many times of late, and you acknowledge how very
human our Saviour was — how His heart went out in a
common sorrow with those who were sorrowful.
' ' Jesus wept. "
Thank God that there is such a verse in the Book of
books ! Jf Christ had been divine alone, we might
never have had it. But those two words tell the whole
story of His humanity. Because weeping is such a com-
mon lot, it was necessary, so it seems, that Christ
should weep also. If not necessary, it was iitting. And
the fact that our Saviour wept with those who wept,
brings Him nearer to us all evermore. No proof is
needed to establish Christ's divinity, even though men
have thought it their duty to write books full of argu-
ment; there might have been call for proof to substanti-
ate His humanity, without this fact.
So you accept the story so briefly told, as it is accept-
ed by many another, and your sorrow is not so sharp a
thing as once you held it. Because Jesus wept, weeping
is somehow sanctified. Grief is not so crushing since
you know that He felt it, even in the very phase so famil-
iar to you. And through your tears you are thankful for
a tearful Saviour, and you feel that God who gave such
an one must be, and indeed is, very good, though He
smite you.
THE FA THER'S VOICE.
O stubborn heart of mine, be still \
God speaks to you, to day ;
In silence wait His holy will —
In silence Him obey.
Your sore complaint forget awhile,
Your longing and your pain ;
And in the sweetness of His smile
A perfect peace obtain.
So near to Him, O heart of mine !
That we His voice can hear :
Our being is a thing divine,
With love its heavenly cheer.
For love is in His every tone,
And in His presence shines ;
He speaks in love, and love alone
His every act inclines.
Then listen to His loving call,
O heart of mine, I pray !
"Let doubt that broodeth over all
By Him be chased away!
Let Faith a cherished guest abide,
Where unbelief has dwelt,
And patience tarry by her side,
And Love all discord melt.
94 AN APPROPRIATING FAITH,
And so as pass the waning days,
At length, O heart of mine !
Your song shall be a psalm of praise,
Where song is all divine !
AN APPROPRIATING FAITH.
'•It was a good sermon from a good text/' says Ruth
to-night, referring to the morning's discourse. " f The
Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want/ I was glad when
the preacher chose such words as these, for a hope and a
comfort. I was gladder yet, even, when he showed how
David's was only like what every follower should feel
now — an appropriating faith. The Lord was more than
a shepherd to Israel's king — his shepherd; He is more
than a shepherd to you and to me — even our shepherd.
And because He is ours, in this sense of personal appro-
priation, we shall not want. "
Ruth's face is not visible, in the twilight, but we fancy
gladness glows upon it, and we know that her voice
tiembles with a thrill of joy.
Ah, yes ! The faith of the Psalmist should typify our
faith to-day. It was as sweetly personal as if David knew
he and God made up the world. The same individual
trust and acceptaticn should dwell in us. Why not?
Has the Lord changed in all these years ? No ; He is
the Everlasting. Have our relations to Him altered? No;
AN APPROPRIATING FAITH. 95
we are His people to the end of time, — His people,
and the sheep of His pasture. As He led those of old,
so likewise shall Fie lead us. The still waters, the pas-
tures green — lo ! these are unchanging as the Eternal
Father, and to them we shall as surely come as came the
weary ones who knew them at last henceforth and for-
evermore.
And it was a rare assurance that grew out of David's
appropriating faith — "I shall not want. " Here was no
shadow of doubt, no thought of questioning, nothing
but a strong, sweet certainty, to^ rest upon and be up-
held by. The same certainty may be appropriated- and
enjoyed by us. Why not? Since God is our God — since
a risen Saviour rose for us, as well as for the great world
at large — since we are individually responsible for taking
hold or letting go of a faith that binds us to an individ-
ual Lord — so should we realize that all the fruits of a
personal faith are ours as truly as though none other ever
shared them, as though in God's clear vision no other
mortal stood.
There is a blind, • helpless faith, that believes without
tasting, or testing, or knowing, — a vague trust in abstract
truths, and a weak recognition of comprehensive Omnis-
cience without any positive comprehension at all. It con-
fesses God as the Supreme Ruler, but knows nothing of
Him as the Shepherd who knows His sheep. It prays
to God as a wise and beneficent Creator, but never ten-
derly supplicates Him as the one Father and Friend
who sees every heart, appreciates every want, is lovingly
mindful of each individual need- David's was a faith
9 6 IMPE TUO US CHRIS TIA NI TV.
wiser and more helpful. If our faith be truly wise, and
of the best type, we shall appropriate and know God as
none other exactly can, and He shall be to us, in some
subtle sense, what He is to no other trusting soul.
IMPETUOUS CHRISTIANITY.
Peter was the impetuous apostle. We all know how
his impetuosity cropped out, at times, — how he was
most ready to declare love for his Master, then the first
to deny Him. It was an inherent fault in his nature.
He flared up at a spark. As susceptible to sleep on that
memorable night of the Agony as his fellow disciples, he
was prompt enough on the succeeding morning to cut off
the ear of one of the band whom Judas led to the be-
trayal. His acts were as impetuous as his faith, and this
came near to causing his death on an occasion familiar to
all.
And Peter the impetuous was the type of a large class
of Christians to come after him. Faith, belief, devotion,
action, were with him a matter of impulse ; and they are
so still with very many. Perhaps the proportion of im-
pulsive faith, belief, devotion and service is as great to-
day among Christ's followers as it was in the day of His
ministry. Warmed by an atmosphere of loving nearness
to God, thrilled by the prayers of faithful ones, many are
IMPETUOUS CHRISTIANITY.
97
eager to declare their fervent affection, — to asseverate
stoutly that a denial of their Lord is impossible. But
out amid the scorners, where Christ is jeered at and
mocked, where to cling to Him may be to suffer con-
tempt and ill-treatment, the impulse of denial is as ready
as any other, and the denial is most emphatic.
Impulsive service is a poor service, at best. Its good
effects are neutralized by the cold seasons intervening,
when all devotion is forgotten, all faith apparently dead.
But is impulsive service rare ? Is it not part of almost
every Christian life ? — the bane of every Christian church ?
We draw the picture strong, possibly ; but it does seem
to us that Christian endeavor is largely characterized by
impulse. We do much for a little time, when strongly
moved, then relapse into inertia and discontent, if not
utter carelessness. Our charity flows out to bless the
needy only when melted to a white heat by external fires.
Giving is not a matter of principle, but of impulse ;
doing springs not from an underlying purpose to serve
God and our fellows, but is the result of outside influen-
ces, bearing so powerfully upon us for the time being
that we cannot resist.
All good impulses should be cherished, — all will con-
cede that. But life should not be all impulse, — nervous
and uncertain. And our following after Christ should
not be like unto Peter's, "afar off/'
7
UNREST.
O.God of peace ! soothe me to inner calm !
This wearying unrest
So racks and wounds my breast
I long for Thine own sweet anointing balm !
To feel Thy fingers touching all my care
To tenderness of peace,
Would make my longings cease :
0 Father ! bend Thine ear and hear my prayer !
1 hold so much of every earthly bliss
I should not e'er complain ;
And yet I pine in pain
For some dear blessing that I want, and miss.
I can not name it, Lord ; I do not know
If it should come to me
That I could clearly see
It was the blessing I had prayed for so.
So blind am I ; so vaguely and so dim
Is my desire defined
As yet within my mind ;
And yet I fancy it is known to Him !
Then fill, 0 Lord ! my emptiness of heart ;
M-y weary longings still
With Thine own holy will,
And grant that peace which shall no more depart !
COURTING SIN
We cannot avoid being tempted. In some form or
other the spirit of evil comes to us every hour of our
lives, with his magnificent promises. If we listen to
them, half smilingly, are we not really courting sin ?
To go voluntarily to baleful influences, and put ourselves
in their power, is little worse than to give ourselves over
to those influences, without effort to the contrary, when
they come to us. There is no excuse for half the defeats
we meet with while endeavoring to walk uprightly. We
surrender to temptation with never an arm upraised in
defense. With not even a whispered "Get thee behind
me, Satan/' do we meet the tempter. And yet we be-
moan our sinfulness ; we make weak resolves to stand up
more manfully in the future. All this is well. Repen-
tance is very essential. But unless we cease tacitly cour-
ting sin by receiving it kindly when it visits us, of what
avail are all our bemoanings, our tears, and our resolu-
tions? Our visitois measure their stay by the character
of their reception, and sin is no less sharp-sighted than
they.
Then it is wiser to put sin behind us, always, rather
than let it stand before us as an equal. The language
our Saviour used, when tempted, has a deeper signifi-
cance than we are wont to give it. He said " Get thee
IOO COURTING SIN
behind me." And why behind P Was it not to be wholly
out of sight ? Sin is hardly ever without a glamour over
it, concealing its deformity, oftentimes rendering it abso-
lutely beautiful. Satan may have a cloven foot, and the
et ceteras commonly credited to him, but he is frequently
exceeding fair to look upon. And the heart receives its
impressions too often through the eyes. On that account
it is dangerous, in the extreme, long to look evil in the
face. Unless we voluntarily bid it get behind us, away
from our seeing, it may become as an angel of light,
blinding our vision completely.
And alas ! how often our thought plays truant, and
goes off kite-flying, like the veriest idler, in beautiful
fields wThere all beauty hides a secret sting ! Into those
lovely reaches we follow, no longer waiting for sin to
come to us that we may be won, but going out after it,
though we scarcely realize this, and wooing it in its own
chosen haunts. And we go, and go again, until the way
becomes worn and familiar, and the beauties throw off
their outward seeming and pierce us with their sharp, bi-
ting realities. Then, wounded and sick at heart, we feel
that it is not enough to pray " Lead us not into tempta-
tion/' but that we must continually and in all earnestness
declare ' ' Get thee behind me, Satan ! "
"AND THEN?"
We remember reading, years ago, of a man who was
so sparing of his words that he seldom uttered more than
two consecutively, and consequently was known as "Two
Words." Favorites of his, and most often made use of,
were these, short and questioning, — lcAnd then ?"
Every man, woman and child utters them frequently, —
they are indeed the text of many a hope, many a promise,
many a prayer. Childhood will grow out of its childish-
ness, and then — all the joys and successes of manhood
will gladden it. Youth will step out from its youthful
annoyances, and then — will come only halcyon days, full
of sunlight and song, and glad fulfillments. Manhood
will brush away the clouds that envelop it, and then — the
long awaited rewards will surely be realized in maturer
years. Manhood's prime may wear itself out in noble
endeavors, but Old Age will reap the fruits, and then —
content will render the hours peacefully sweet. Old Age
will be ended by-anc^-by, and then —
And then — what ?
It is not enough that we dream over the two words, —
that we use them as pleasant agencies to conjure up
brightness for the future. To paint beautiful pictures of
the "Good time coming" is well, because none have a
right to shut the sunlight out of their lives, and the sun-
102 "AND THEN."
light streams in ever through the open door of To-mor-
row ; but to shut our eyes to our possible destiny, — to
look resolutely away from a destiny that must be inevit-
ably ours, — that is not well. It is the height of folly, or
else the climax of cowardice.
Thousands are dancing through life thinking lightly of
the morrow, with "And then" upon their lips, but never
repeating it in its deep and solemn suggestiveness. Poor
fools, that make a minuet of the week, and glide down it
careless and unconcerned, for them, as for all others,
there will come a Saturday night with its silent hush, and
the sun will go down, and the stars will come out, and
the soul will remember itself — and then —
As we have each our by-and-bys, that we fill wiih those
things we love best, so is there for all one great common
By-and-By, and it is surer than those little ones wre think
most of. Who says ' ' by-and-by " with a thought of all
its meaning ? We hang upon being as by a thread, and
yet we plan with an "I will" as though the future were
ours to do with as we please. And some day we shall
see our mistake. Some day we shall say "I will," and
our wills shall be as mere breaths ; and it shall be then,
O Father, "as Thou wilt;" and we shall close our eyes
to all around us and go out somewhere by a way we
know not — and then P
"COME UNTO ME!"
" Come unto me ! " I stand far off and lonely,
And hear the words so sweet.
Dear Saviour ! but to meet Thy greeting only
Grant me swift feet !
" Come unto me ! " The air is full of voices
That call me loudly hence. •
Help me to feel that most Thy call rejoices
With recompense.
I see before me, onward ever luring,
The prizes rich and rare ;
But each shall fade. Thine only is enduring,
Beyond compare.
Thine only. What Thou freely givest ever,
The thing no man can earn ;
For which no pain, nor any long endeavor,
Can make return.
Thine only — now ; but when I fly to meet Thee,
In love, as Thou dost call,
Then as with tender, broken heart I greet Thee,
My own, my all !
Thy Rest ! Dear Saviour, make me for it eager,
And never satisfied
With all that I may win, so poor and meager,
From Thy dear side !
KNOWING GOD.
As we sit in the twilight, a solemn silence falls upon
us all.
"Be still, and know that I am God !" Ruth by-and-
by quotes. And then she adds :
"Is silence just another name for submission, I won-
der ? Last evening Mrs. Bird came in, and we talked of
her great loss. The dear boy she buried a year ago lives
freshly yet, in her grief. She can not give him up.
She will not believe that the Lord did well in taking him
awTay. It grieved me to hear her talk, and I have been
troubled about it all day."
"She is not an obedient scholar in the school of sor-
row," one of us makes reply. "'Be still and learn,1
might be said wisely to her. We hear many things in
our moments of quiet, which miss us in the hours of our
speech. We can not both speak and hear at once. "
"True," answers Ruth, "but have you quite caught
the meaning of those words I quoted? As I see it, we
are not left to learn that God is God ; we are simply to be
still and know. There is something fairly divine in the
assumption which this command implies. In twilight
times, or times of darkness coming over the soul, we may
just keep silent and rest in a sure knowledge. In our
submissive stillness we shall know what by no common
process of accquirement could we learn. To be restful
KNOWING GOD. I05
before God, as I take the thought into my heart, is ab-
solutely to know Him.
" And the knowledge will never make us glad, I fear/'
she continues, " if we do not feel subdued to perfect
peace. Nobody can find out God by searching, or by
scientific investigation, or by noisy discussion. He is
not revealed to men through visible demonstrations. It
is only in soul-quiet that the soul, looking upward,
grows wise. We have so much turmoil in life, and we
spend so many days and years in perpetual unrest, no
wonder we fail to know God as we ought. I prize the
twilight hours more than once I did, for their quietude,
and their holy intimacies. God does come near to quiet
souls, I am certain. We can know Him if we will but
be still, and let Him visit us in blessed recognition."
"You hold, then, by your personal relation to Him?"
"Why not ? If I am to know Him, it must be a per-
sonal knowledge, made possible through a personal inti-
macy. For me to know God is to know Him for myself,
and of myself, and not to become a mere partaker of an-
other's knowledge. I may not profit by another's obe-
dient silence, while my own soul cries out in doubting
complaint. I could not teach Mrs. Bird of my happy
knowledge, when she cherished the turmoil of her grief,
and would not be still that she might know. Whoever
believes may enjoy the blessed certainty of knowing, but
before knowing, in the truest, sweetest sense, he must
hush all his strivings of soul, quiet all his troubling fears,
and come, so, before knowledge, into peace. And the
best of it is that God will help him to do this, that so
doing he may know ! "
PATIENCE WITH SELF.
In the prayer meeting the other night we were consid-
ering the subject of Patience. And one brother remark-
ed that we ought to be more patient with ourselves — that
having done a wrong thing, and properly confessed to
God and self that it was wrong, we should not continue
to upbraid self, and be miserable. Then he cited the
case of a little child, in illustration.
The little one had been guilty of some misdeed. She
had asked her father's forgiveness, and it had been freely
granted. Still she seemed a little ill at ease. " Have
you told God how you feel about it?" her father asked.
No, she had not, but she went away by herself, and
pretty soon returned, satisfied, her countenance all aglow.
"Is it all right now? " the parent inquired. "O, yes ! "
was her answer.
She had confessed the fault, and she lost no time in be-
ginning again. She did not go about with a sober, dejec-
ted countenance, bewailing her sin, making her life mis-
erable on account of it. Even so should we be patient
with ourselves. We sin often. If, after the sin is con-
fessed and repented of, we go around for hours or days
together reproaching ourselves, encouraging impatience
toward ourselves, we sin again. We should lose no time
in reproaches, which ought to be spent in beginning a new
PATIENCE WITH SELF. \0*]
course of life. It does not mend the wrong to put our
souls in perpetual penance for it. Better that we atone
for it by a speedy setting about the course of right. Bet-
ter that we take up a vigorous line of good conduct,
than that we sit down idly and sorrow over the unhappy
slip-
There is a lesson here which many should heed.
Healthful Christian life is not promoted by brooding
over, and doing mental penance for, the sins of the
past. Before us there is a work to be done. Let us do
it. What though we failed once, or even many times?
The failures do not excuse us from fresh attempting.
The bitterest reproaches we can heap upon self will not
expiate for faults or failures of the days gone by. Let us
be good to ourselves, then, and having properly and
freely repented of that which we can not recall, let the
dead bury its dead. So shall we live happier lives. So
shall we be better fitted for all that each day brings.
Religion is belief in God and His revelations ; an ac-
ceptance of the Divine as ruling over the Human ; a faith
in the spiritual as working in and through the material.
And to be religious is to acknowledge God's power and
man's weakness, human need and Divine helpfulness;
and to confess, in heart and life, that the sin of the fall is
only annulled in the expiation of the Cross.
THE TOUCH OF FAITH
0 Lord ! Thou walkest in this earthly press,
As once Thou dids't before ;
Thy presence hath the same sweet power to bless
That it possessed of yore.
Then let me come anear, O Lord, I pray !
Nor my one wish condemn ;
Let me, like her of old, approach to-day,
And touch Thy garment's hem '
My deepest want Thy healing grace can m^et, —
0 grant that grace to give !
My poor unfinished life Thou shalt complete
If I but touch and live !
1 faint amid the many striving sore ;
1 fear me lest I fall ;
O turn Thine ear. dear Saviour, I implore
And hear my pleading call !
0 touch of faith ! I feel its healing power !
My weakness groweth strong !
1 rise renewed in life, this favored hour ;
I praise Him in my song !
Dear soul-sick ones, behind Him closely press !
He gladly healeth them
Whose faith can see Him through all earthliness
And touch His garment's hem !
PSALMS IN THE NIGHT.
The singing hearts are ever a blessing unto themselves.
A song is joy-giving. He who can sing sweetly in the
undertone of his inner nature, carries a rare pleasure with
him always. Hard things appear to him easy ; heavy
burdens seem light ; sorrow knocks often, it may be, but
often goes away, seldom enters.
And when it does enter — when the clouds come and
the sunlight is hidden — when the soul walks down into
the night and sees never a star ; what then ? Ah ! then
thrice blest is the singing heart. If it can sing psalms at
such a time, the stars will shine. Dawn will quicker
come, the sunlight sooner re-appear.
Sweetest of all songs are the psalms in the night.
David sang with the most touching tenderness when in
the gloom of deepest affliction. The heart may wail a
misererz over its dead or its dying, but even that will be
sadly sweet, and will have a hope in it. The saddest
song is better than none, because it is a song.
Every song soothes and uplifts. It is just possible that
a song is as good as a prayer. Indeed, a song of the
pure kind recognized in Scripture, is akin to a petition,
while it is also in the spirit of thanksgiving. The " sweet
singer of Israel " wedded his sincerest prayers to melody,
and wafted them upward on the night air from his throb-
bing heart.
HO "NO I/IGHT THERE."
Through God's grace we can all sing psalms in the
night. Whatever brings the shadows, we need not be
wholly surrounded by them. We can sing under the stars ;
or, if they be hid, until they come out and smile down
upon us, and cheer us to a gladder strain. There are
dark nights for us all ; we are in them now, or have just
found the dawn, or, perchance, are just entering the twi-
light. But there is a psalm for every over-creeping
gloom • and if the heart but take it up and chant it, the
dreariness will surely vanish, and there will come in its
stead hope and light and cheering warmth, and we shall
grow glad again with the morning.
"NO NIGHT THERE:'
O dreariness of earth ! O mocking pain !
O day to darkness going !
You hold but little in your empty showing ;
The end of all will be my greatest gain.
There is within my limited foreknowing
For all your want and woe a kindly bane.
The w^ays cf earth are dark ; the sunset lies,
Unrobed of all its beauties,
A shadow black and chill o'er all our duties,
And shutting out the smiling of the skies.
Our better nature in the shadow mute is,
Or speaks but faintly through some quick surprise.
"NO NIGHT THERE." Ill
At intervals, perhaps, may clearly shine
The stars, in friendly gleaming,
As if to woo forgetfulness in dreaming,
And drown the earthly in the half divine ;
Yet memory sleeps only in our seeming,
And consciousness breathes on, but makes no sign.
Our souls beneath the darkness sit alone
In solitary places,
And keenly scan the few by-passing faces,
In hope some newer light has outward shone ;
But find thereof no sweetly cheering traces,
For yet is the all-perfect day unknown.
It waits somewhere beyond the evening hills, —
That day without an ending.
Pray God our steps are thither ever tending !
Its glory on our vision bursts and thrills,
The rarest radiance through the darkness sending,
As dreams of dawn appear when fancy wills.
0 endless day ! O triumph over night !
0 radiant glory rarest !
Of earthly dreams thou art the best and fairest,
And I shall drink of thy supreme delight !
1 know that God for all my being carest ;
1 know His sunshine yet shall bless my sight !
"" No night there ! " Shall I ever sadly miss
The stars above me glowing?
What answer has my limited foreknowing?
Some subtle prescience tells me only this :
The stars within my crown, effulgence throwing,
Will satisfy me through an endless bliss !
MATERIALIZING HEAVEN,
Now, when the tendency of all things earthly is ma-
terialistic, it is perhaps not strange that there exists a de-
sire to materialize spiritual things, and to make of
Heaven only another earth, possessed of every circum-
stance known here except sin. But there is danger in
this attempted materializing ; and if such speculation be
carried too far, resuks may prove sad indeed. However
much we may want to know what lies beyond the grave,
and just what that Heaven is like to which many of us
hope sometime to go, curious queryings concerning it
will avail us nothing. To human knowledge God has
set a limit. "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther," is
the limitation ; and the ' ' thus far " is the grave. Through
the green curtain of the sod we may not peer. Whatever
awaits beyond that, — whatever of detail or surroundings,
— we shall know only when the green curtain swings out-
ward for us to enter.
And yet God has given us some beautiful foreshadow-
ings of Heaven, — some outlines of the picture, to be filled
in hereafter. They are sufficient for faith ; they ought to
answer all doubtful speculations of every kind. "For
we know that when He shall appear we shall be like
Him." It is possible to see in these words an existence
quite different from that some recent writers presume the
MATERIALIZING HEAVEN. II3
good will enjoy when they have put aside mortality. It
is diffcult to believe Him as taking part in very material
pleasures; and if we are to be "like Him, " we shall
hardly cling to what we here count our chief joys. The
peace and gladness of Heaven may spring from the using
of earthly appliances, with our natures purified, and the
using thereby rendered spiritual ; but we prefer to sup-
pose that in the Better Land there will be found better
agencies of happiness, and that, taking on immortality,
we shall take on immortal surroundings.
"I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy likeness."
Here is the only picture of Heaven that is necessary to
our trust while yet on earth. "J shall be satisfied! "'
This, with nothing added, would indeed be Heaven, —
satisfaction. No more vague unrest ; no more anxious
longings after something out of reach ; no more doubt,
no more pain. The promise of a full and final content
should be our sweet assurance through all smugglings, —
all inclinations to doubt, or speculate upon, the life im-
mortal. Let us not wonder whether the content will
come through one means or another. It is enough that
it will come ; and that in it and of it we shall find heaven-
ly rest, and that joy which shall compensate for every
earthly ill.
" VANITY OF VANITIES:'
Ruth read the first chapter of Ecclesiastes aloud, this
afternoon, and kept on until she read the- whole book
through. When she had finished the reading, one of us
said —
' ' After all, Solomon was wrong. Life is not merely
a vanity and a vexation of spirit. The wise man spoke
unwisely. He had not gwen life a fair test"
Now, as the twilight deepens, we think over the Preach-
er's words, and say quietly to ourselves, Yes, Solomon
was wrong. His sweeping declaration, " Vanity of Van-
ities, all is vanity," is not true. Life is more than a
vanity.
And one of the reasons why we think Solomon was
wrong, lies in the fact that a later Preacher taught so dif-
ferently. There was born a babe, in Bethlehem of Judea
— born not of the purple, but cradled in the manger,
and brought up amid the disciplines of life. His youth
was not passed in the enervating atmosphere of luxury.
He knew what manly labor was. Doubtless he stood at
the carpenter's bench at least a part of those thirty years
before his preaching began.
And when at length he spoke to that narrow Judean
world, and through that to the wide brotherhood of man,
what a different ring had his words from those of the wise
" vanity of vanities:' I I 5'
man of old! "Blessed are the poor; blessed are they
that mourn ; blessed are the meek ; blessed are they that
do hunger and thirst ; " blessed, blessed, blessed — in
what ? In that which was only vanity ? We can not be-
lieve it Blessed in some life to come? That also, be-
yond question ; but before that, blessed here. The
present life is but a preparation for the life hereafter.
Think you the preparation would be all vanity, when the
ultimate end is to be so real it can never know ending?
"Man dies as the beast dieth," said the complaining
king. " I am the resurrection and the Life !" said one
who was greater than he. Solomon was wrong, and
Jesus Christ was right.
How many tributes Christ paid to the worth of life I
Would He have stood in the way of that widow's sorrow
with His "I say unto thee, young man, arise ! " if it had
been raising one up to vanity ? Standing at the tomb of
His dead friend in Bethany, whom He loved, would He
have bidden ' ' Lazarus come forth ! " to nothing more
than vanity? Never! For the sick whom He healed,
for the dead whom He restored to life, He saw better
possibilities. And ever since Christ lived, life is some-
how sanctified for all. Motherhood is a tenderer thing,
because Christ was born of a woman. Brotherhood is
worthier and nobler, because Christ lived as our Elder
Brother. Fatherhood is more loving and sympathetic,
because Christ was the son of man and the son of God.
Cares are less perplexing, because Christ bore bmdens.
Sin is less to be feared, because even Christ was tempted,
and overcame. Grief is less bitter, because "Jesus wept ! ,y
AT THE ALTAR!
0 Lord ! what sacrifices can I render.
Unless I give Thee here
A broken heart, a spirit bowed and tender,
A faith that knows no fear \
1 bow before Thine altar, lowly kneeling,
And raise my sins to Thee ;
1 know that from Thee there is no concealing ;
For Thou canst all things see !
In mercy look, my many sins beholding, —
In mercy look, I pray,
Upon my soul its sinfulness unfolding,
And wipe all sin away !
O Loid ! I thank Thee that Thy love fails never,
And while I longing wait
Give me to know that all my own endeavor
Must fail me soon, or late ;
Give me to feel Thy love so warmly shining
Within my hardened heart,
That all my life, as by some new divining,
Shall into gladness start ;
Give me to sense that, broken-hearted, living
Has henceforth something worth, —
That in my loss of sin some wondrous giving
Sprang sudden into birth ;
AT THE END. 117
Give me to see that through an humble spirit,
Along a lowly way,
The blest shall come to that which they inherit, — ■
Thine own Eternal Day !
AT THE END.
An old Italian proverb says: — "Every road leads to
the world's end." It says truly. All ways of life run on
to the same place — the place of graves — the end of the
world.
But the end of the world is not alike for all, and we
shall find it pleasant and kind or the reverse, according
to the manner of our approach. With what a difference
do men approach the close of life ! Content and joy
abide with some ; wretchedness of spirit sits heavily upon
many others.
We pity the Solomons, who have come nigh to the end
with doubling and complaint, and only a calm religious
philosophy for comfort. We are glad for the Davids,
who, not having grievously sinned, or having sincerely
repented of their sin, can say in all the earnestness of
undoubting trust — "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall
not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures ;
He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my
Il8 AT THE END.
soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for
His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the val-
ley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil ; for Thou
art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me/'
Beside the way of Gods leading there is more than
canity. To such as walk in the paths of righteousness
an abiding vexation of soul never comes. The rod and
staff of the Great Shepherd are a sure comfort, to such
as find them a comfort at all. They who are led by
"the still waters" come to an end of the world that is
pleasant as the green pastures of their earlier finding,
and in which are only tender revelations of love and
care, and sweet surprises of song.
Ah ! if such were but the world's end for all ! Alas
for the many who draw nigh to theirs in fear and tremb-
ling, and feel a twilight's shadows enveloping hope and
trust in gloom ! Alas for the many who are absolutely
without hope, — who have never learned the dear lesson
of trust that is so faithful in blessing^— who come nearer
and nearer to the end with indifference or recklessness,
and pass beyond affrighted and dismayed ! Happy in-
deed are they whose faith is fixed, whose expectations
are properly based, — to whom the end of the world is as
peace after battle, as gain after loss, as fruition perfecting
hope, as wages after toil, as reward after waiting, — whose
hearts have never a complaint, but are full of glorying,
and who go out of life as into a great joy !
HAVING AND HOLDING.
Our title to things in this world is poor, at the best.
And yet how many of us act as though a warranty deed
covered all possessions — as though what we hold we have
beyond any power to dispossess.
"Shrouds have no pockets/' is a sermon full of pith.
It strikes right at the root of selfishness. Accumulating
for the mere love of it is smitten sharply by the one sen-
tence. To accumulate for worthy purposes is right
enough ; to accumulate that one may take pride and
pleasure in the fancied having is quite another matter.
The family must be provided for — and to that end ac-
cumulating is well. But to heap up for the love of it —
to store away because it is pleasant to think one has and
holds — this is not well.
"Give it to the poor" was one time a test of personal
Christianity. Did the Christian stand such test? Alas !
no; "the young man went away sorrowful, for he
had exceeding great possessions." And to-day, as
then, the voluntary giving up of acquired riches troubles
men more than any one thing beside. " I have ; I will
hold," impiously declares the rich man. "It is not my
fault that want is abroad in the land. I have made my
own money; others must make theirs."' So the rich
man clasps his purse more closely, and congratulates
120 THE HILLS OF GOD,
himself that mortgages are not perishable property and
his possessions are secure.
"I have ; I will hold." Poor falsehood ! How ill it
will serve in the end ! " I have ; I must lose," would be
the truer rendering, and ''I will give away and so will
keep," the best rendering of all. For it is only that
with which we bless others that really blesses ourselves.
THE HILLS OF GOD.
' T is like a narrow valley-land,
This earthly way of mine ;
Before me, clad in glory grand,
I see the hills divine —
Those heights the saintly long have trod-
The Hills of Hope, the Hills of God !
Though mists of doubt enfold me in,
Though through the dark I grope,1
The upward path my feet may win
That mounts the heavenly slope ;
And walking through this lowland here
I know the Hills of God are near.
Unto them oft I lift mine eyes,
That oft with tears are wet,
And through the mist they calmly rise
Where sun no more shall set.
To me forever grand and fair
The Hills of God— my Help is there !
OUR LITTLE ILLS.
The little ills that flesh is heir to, — how they crowd
into oui life ! How they chafe us ! How they rob love
of its sweetness, happiness of half its joy, sunlight of its
clearest brightness, and glad content of its peace ! How
they tire us with dull sounds, how their endless repeti-
tions cut deep into our very being ! Ah, these little ills !
When life becomes a dreary thing, and we stumble by
the way, it is often not because of any great burden
which we bear, but because of many little ones.
And it is strange how we will persist in taking them
up needlessly, — how we search for them, as it were, and
are surprised almost if perchance we find them for a time
slipped off. The most serious drawback to our enjoy-
ment is this, — that we will not be happy when we can, —
that we go about continually hunting after some petty,
goading thing to prick us into unrest. So when we
might possess our souls in peaceful patience we are fret-
ting and worrying all the day long, and besides being
wretched ourselves are the cause of miserableness in
others.
The relative heed paid to little ills is astonishing, when
we come to think of it. A man will bury his wife with
real Christian resignation, though he loved her fondly,
who would fume about the house like a mad lion were
122 OUR LITTLE ILLS.
one' of the children to misplace his cane or spectacles, or
did his excellent companion chance to neglect his shirt
buttons. And a good mother, fond of her children as
any mother could be, will bear the death of one with
noble, womanly fortitude, when to find that her thimble
is missing, or that the servant has allowed a loaf of bread
to burn, will set her into a high-voiced complaint fearful
to listen to.
We have known very fair Christian people to fly into a
violent passion because they did n't happen to agree on
some little point of argument ; and we have seen those
whose cieed was "swear not at all" get very near cursing
because some thoughtless person left a door open, or trod
on their toes, or said some keen, biting word on purpose
to annoy. Yet they thought themselves very exemplary,
and in many respects they were. But they were not
heroes. They never would be, though they should do
some deed worthy of fame. The Christian hero governs
himself. He bears daily vexations without wincing. The
little ills which none can avoid he laughs off, and in so
doing grows the stronger to grapple with those which
must be grappled. And if there were more such we
should see more smiles in the world, and the days would
be glad with a brightier cheeriness.
MY MANNA.
Dear Lord, I hunger ! feed me, here,
As Thou didst feed Thy Israel !
And let me hear The words of cheer
That on Thy waiting servants fell !
The bread of Heaven were sweet to me ;
No longer let me hungry be !
I eat of other food, and faint —
It does not all my want supply ;
My soul in plenty makes complaint,
Is famished, and must eat or die !
Dear Lord ' a little manna send,
That I be strengthened till the end !
Alas that I so long have fed
Upon the husks of empty pride !
That of Thy sweet and living bread
My soul its portion has denied !
Alas that thus so late I plead
My hunger and my bitter need !
Yet, Lord, Thou hearest, even late !
Forgive the pride that would delay ;
And while in weakness here I wait,
Give me my manna by the way !
So shall I eat, and stronger be
Because my food was had oi Thee !
"BY THEIR FRUITS."
"Ye shall know them by their fruits/' the Saviour said
in His wonderful sermon on the Mount. And henceforth
this was to be the test of Christianity everywhere. Is
it not a just one? Can there be anymore reasonable
judgment of aught that was intended to be useful, than
that which is here implied?
" Every good tree bringeth forth good fruit ; " but O,
the evil trees, how thickly they are scattered about ! Out
in our gardens we have trees that look well, — are thrifty,
luxuriant even, in their growth. Every spring they open
a wealth of blossoms, and every summer or fall they are
barren of all fruit. We, ourselves, are not unlike them.
We show a wealth of blossoms in good intentions, pur-
poses and promises, but these seldom mature into the
rich, ripe fruit of fulfillments and performances.
A tree that blossoms and bears no fruit, is as worthless
as one that does neither. Just so with our lives ; they
may bloom very beautiful with promises, and yet be as
valueless as though never a bud of a promise had beauti-
fied them. Blossoms are sweet, in themselves, but far
sweeter for that which is hidden within. They are glad
prophecies of the golden harvest. Good intentions, pur-
poses, and the like, are very pleasant things, but pleasant
only because they contain a promise. If the promise
HUMANITY'S DANGER.
125
fail, then are they as chaff blown lightly before the wind.
Let us be frank writh ourselves, and ask how many of
our blossoms become fruit. It will not do to trust that
they may ripen in a season far ahead. There will be a
harvest time, by-and-by : so much is certain. It may
find us with never a promise realized. And then ? " Every
tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and
cast into the fire. " Is the answer sufficiently plain ?
The season of the ingathering of grain and other prod-
ucts should be an impressive sermon to us. It breathes of
fulfillments, on every passing breeze. Through it the
voice of the year is sweetly saying, — f'In the seed-time
I gave you my promises ; behold how they are redeemed. ,T
Let us listen to the earnest lesson. Let us nurture the
blossoms of good with tender care, that the harvest of
fruit may prove a bountiful one.
HUMANITY'S DANGER.
Sin is degrading, and its consequences are terribly sad.
In its manifold forms it is telling fearfully against the weal
of mankind. It can not be too zealously crushed out.
It can not be too faithfully fought at any time and at all
times.
Yet the great danger of humanity is not in sin. The
most dangerous danger of all that beset the human heart
is in unbelief. Sin drove the first pair out of Paradise ;
126 HUMANITY S DANGER.
sin banished Lucifer from Heaven ; but there is a paradise
to-day for all who will seek it, just as surely as though
sin had never existed, and they can find Heaven just as
certainly as though no sinner had ever been expelled
therefrom.
There has been atonement for sin, and what remains is
for all to accept that atonement. In the way of such ac-
ceptance stands unbelief. It takes possession of all
hearts. Secretly, or with a bold front, it dominates over
nearly all lives. In ways subtle as varied it is spreading
its baleful influence abroad, and is seeking the overthrow
of all truth. Preached from popular pulpits, disseminat-
ed through popular periodicals, it is gaining an establish-
ed foothold in Christian communities.
Open infidelity is not half so fatal in its effects as this
vague, subtle unbelief. Men shrink in alarm from
atheistic denials of God, who dally willingly with ques-
tionings which in the end lead to something not a whit
better. "The fool hath said in his heart there is no
God ; " many accounting themselves wise have asserted
throughout life, " There is no Saviour — for me," and
have finally met the fool's fate. Sin did not work their
condemnation, — neither sin in the abstract, nor any par-
ticular sin, save the sin of unbelief. Faithful believing
would have gained them that, the existence of which
they so unwisely denied.
"How oft would I have gathered you," was said of
those stubborn and rebellious of old. It is a live saying
to-day. Under the wings of protection and preservation
we may be gathered, if we will. But will we? Do we
LITTLE BY LITTLE.
127
so much fear an end past all hoping as to accept the kind-
ly offer ? Or are we stiff-necked and obstinate in our
unbelief, and do we utterly refuse all tenders of mercy
because, in our short-sightedness, we may not see clear-
ly just how those tenders come to us, 01 just what is the
character of Him by whom they are made ?
LITTLE BY LITTLE.
Little by little the skies grow clear ;
Little by little the sun comes near ;
Little by little the days smile out
Gladder and brighter on pain and doubt ;
Little by little the seed we sow
Into a beautiful yield will grow.
Little by little the world grows strong,
Fighting the battle of right and wrong ;
Little by little the wrong gives way,
Little by little the right has sway ;
Little by little all longing souls
Struggle up nearer the shining goals !
Little by little the good in men
Blossoms to beauty for human ken ;
Little by little the angels see
Prophecies better of good to be ;
Little by little the God of all
Lifts the world nearer His pleading call I
BELIEF IN CHRIST.
That was a golden text of the preacher's this morning
— "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be
saved."
And what the preacher said in relation to it was all
worth remembering. Especially did some portions of
his sermon seem pregnant with vital truth. He consid-
ered the character of this enjoined belief, and gave hints
touching the same that it were well for us to think over
often.
Saving belief is not a belief in fact, not belief in the-
ology, but belief in a person. The searching question
Is not "On what have I believed ? " but " On whom have
I believed?" Christ has Himself declared — "But I, if
I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me. " It is not a
creed that saves, not a doctrine, but a vital personality.
Thousands of men believe in Christ as a historical
fact, who have yet no saving belief. Something more
than this is needed. Christ in history is a crucified
man ; Christ in the heart is a risen Redeemer. And it
is this accepted, indwelling and personal Christ that
saves men. He saves those who trust in Him, not those
who simply acknowledge Him as one who can save.
Acknowledgment is not enough, in the abstract ; be-
lief is not enough, in theory. The acknnowledgment,
BELIEF.
I29
the belief, must be practicalized in an act of absolute
trust.
Soul-saving is purely a business transaction between
the soul-saved and the Saviour. There must be an ac-
tual transfer of the soul, the life, to the Saving One.
This cannot be made as an experiment. There can be
no contingent upyielding that is of any avail. Self yields
itself for all time, or the transfer is of no use. If we go
to Christ savingly, we must go with singleness of pur-
pose, desiring nothing but to be made His forever.
Then it is a personal belief in a personal Christ.
" And Thou shalt be saved/' the text has it. Let us note
that. "Thou" Here is the promise for each. There
is no restriction. It is as much for the vilest as the most
moral. It holds as good for the thief on the cross as for
Nicodemus. Thank God that He sent His son into the
world to preach so sweet a personal gospel !
BELIEF.
O doubting heart ! cling still to your believing !
There is no sweeter way,
No solace that so surely soothes your grieving,
No dearer hope, to-day ;
Nothing, when death is yours,
That so endures.
9
i.3°
BELIEF.
All creeds of men are straws to clutch at, only,
- When comes the final end,
And leave us cheated, at the last, and lonely,
Without a saving friend :
But full and firm belief
Stops every grief.
O doubting heart ! these are not idle phrases,
Nor pretty tricks of speech ;
Beyond our present, with its winding mazes,
The truth in them does reach ;
Let us accept it here,
And prove it dear !
For prove it must we all. There comes an ending
To every earthliness ;
Time spares not any in its final sending
Away from earthly press ;
How early we must go,
We can not know.
Then doubting heart, give doubting over, ever,
And to your trusting cling !
For faith is better than is man's endeavor,
And sweet reward will bring ;
God says give Him your trust,
And God is just !
EVERY-DAY PHILOSOPHY.
There are silent educators in every life. Each new-
experience is a teacher ; each old and familiar experience
but repeats an old and familiar lesson with a new em-
phasis. And the intent of all this is wrhat? To take
away the superfluous in our natures ; to crush out certain
inordinate desires ; to displace impatience and over-
anxiety with a quiet, calm philosophy wThich can meet
all disappointments with resignation, and which is a more
sure guarantee of happiness than any outward circum-
stance.
More than any other influence does the Christian re-
ligion conduce to this every-day philosophy. Skepti-
cism, in exceptional cases, may w-ear a peaceful, unim-
passioned front, and may manifest less impatience over
the daily vexations than the average Christian does ; but
in the majority of instances unbelief is ever troubled at
heart, is not at peace with itself, and so cannot be at
peace with ordinary surroundings. Moralism may sur-
round itself writh an air of serenity, but the first storm-
breath disturbs it, and all the outgrowths of its being
sway to and fro like young tree-tops in a storm.
And yet greatly as a fervent Christian faith tends to
give placidity to one's nature, there are many more than
passable Christians who have no particle of this excel-
x32
E VER Y-DA Y PHIL OSOPH Y.
lent philosophy of which we are speaking. At the least
trifle they are off their balance. At a word they fret,
scold, worry, fume. A disappointment sets them nearly
wild. A great sorrow makes them frantic with grief.
A deep wrong maddens them with pain. They are the
touch-me-nots of the human family, and fly all to pieces
at the slightest provocation.
Are there excuses for such ? Doubtless. Nature is
responsible for their unfortunate condition in a large
measure. But nature can be greatly made over ; one
must blame one's self mainly for any lack in self-disci-
pline. Moreover, love of Christ in the heart is the
power wThich re-moulds the natural man, and which if
but aided in its work will accomplish noble things. In
most cases the lack of every-day philosophy arises simply
through personal carelessness. Men don't try to check
natural impulses. The first thought of the mind, the
first promptings of the heart, are yielded to. Afterwards
the penitence may be deep, even unto tears, but it brings
no fruit. That is the trouble. To err and then repent
of it is the daily experience of every one who fails to ac-
quire Christian philosophy, and it is sorrowful to think
that such experience, repeating its teachings, impresses
no lasting lesson.
IT IS WELL,
The air has home some tender words,
As sweet as melodies of birds,
And benedictions soft and clear
Have trembled on the waiting ear ;
But never sweeter accents fell
Than Faith has uttered — " It is welL"
Hope sits through each to day and waits
The opening of to-morrow's gates,
And Patience wearily abides
The veil that each to-morrow hides ;
But whether good or ill foretell,
Faith sweetly whispers — " J t is well."
Alas for him who never hears
The words that quiet doubts and fears ;
Who, bent with burdens, plods along
With never any heart for song ;
Who murmurs, come whatever will
To bless or chasten— '/ It is ill ! "
How dark the night when shine no stars !
How dull and heavy being's bars
When through them Faith can never see
Green fields beyond, and liberty !
How sad tve day when wailing knell
Is louder than the '• It is well ! "
As soothing as a soothing balm,
A grand and yet a tender psalm
134 COMPLETENESS OF FAITH.
Is floating ever on the air,
Is blending with the mourner's prayer,
And saddest plaints that ever fell
Find answer in the " It is well ! n
COMPLETENESS OF FAITH.
Only the other day, at the burial service of one famous
the world over, a famous singer sang " I know that my
.Redeemer liveth." He over whose coffin the melody
was breathed forth, had murmured the same words, in
one of his last lucid intervals, as though they held rare
comfoit.
And do they not? Spoken in the completeness of
faith which they really illustrate, they have all the com-
fort words can have. ' ' I know that my Redeemer liveth. "
There is no doubt whatever, here. It is absolute knowl-
edge. The "I know" covers all questioning. Others
may doubt, " I know." Others may be in the dim dark-
ness of unbelief; here in faith's clear sunlight "I know"
and am content.
" I know that my Redeemer liveth." Here is the sweet
individuality of the utterance, which makes it most com-
forting. It is my Redeemer that lives, not simply anoth-
er's. He is as much mine, as though in all this wide
world no other person lived, or had in Him an interest
THE TWO MALEFACTORS. 1 35
and a faith. That He is the Redeemer of other men I
know, but my rare blessing lies in the knowledge that
He is my Redeemer.
"I know that my Redeemer liveth" That He died,
we know ; that He rose again we are certain ; that He
lives "I know " also, and in the knowing I am supreme-
ly glad. He lives, and I may see Him by-and-by.
Thank God that life has its variety of emphasis — that
new meanings lurk under the old forms of words, that
now and then we catch glimpses of clearer light and
broader beauty ! In the completeness of a faith which
takes hold of all emphatic expression, and makes it its
very own, let us go bravely on, until the knowledge of
faith shall find its culmination in the knowledge of sight,
and " we shall see Him as He is."
THE TWO MALEFACTORS.
When Christ was crucified, two thieves died with
Him, on the cross. In their death was a lesson for all
the world. What was the lesson ?
One gave up his long held faith of the Jews — gave up,
with it, the sympathy of all his fellows when sympathy
would have been sweet indeed — gave up his past of sin
and crime — gave up himself, and died recognizing and
recognized by the Son of God.
I36 THE TWO MALEFACTORS.
The other railed at Christ, scoffed Him, doubted
Him, and died as he had lived — a wretch, with sin in his
heart and reviling on his lips.
Here were two men, both of whom had been far from
the Saviour in life, both of whom were confessed crim-
inals before the law, both of whom were meeting a just
end at the hands of the law's executors. One came so
near Christ, even at the very last, as to feel His touch of
divine tenderness — to find joy and rest in His saving
love. One, though at the Saviour's very side, within
sound of His voice, within sight of His forgiving treat-
ment of those who maltreated and insulted Him, remain-
ed a doubter, continued his scoffing, and went straight to
perdition.
There are others who live as did these malefactors —
careless, sinning, wretched lives. They meet Christ as
did those two, at the .very gate of death. For some it is
a lesson of hope that one malefactor's ending teaches.
They may hold aloof from saving grace and love until
the very last, and then come as near it as did he — so near
as to feel it, to yield to it, to be saved by it. For some
others there is a sadder lesson. They may find in their
final nearness to Christ a nearness of judgment. They
may die reviling, as he died, — unsaved, as was he.
"This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise" said our
Saviour to one malefactor. The other heard no such
tender promise addressed to himself. Wickedly he had
lived ; wickedly he died. And many have died in like
manner. How many more will die as the fool dieth?
LOST LITTLE ONES.
I sometimes look beyond the gateways golde*n,
When sleep comes silently,
And there within the Saviour's arms enfolden,
The little ones I see —
The little ones that in the glad time olden
Were kissed by you and me.
I see no longing in their tender faces,
Upon their dimpled cheeks
No touch of care has left its tearful traces,
No pain for pity speaks ;
They laugh and sing in happiest of places,
Through all the Sabbath weeks.
I wonder if amid their gleeful singing
Perchance they ever miss
The mother's soft caress around them clinging,
Her frequent; loving kiss ;
Or if they wait her coming for the bringing
Of yet a sweeter bliss.
And then, when sleep has fled, and with it dreaming,
I lie with open eyes,
And weep to find so real a thing was seeming,
In sorrowful surprise,
Till thro' the darkness there does come a gleaming,
From out the smiling skies.
And softly then a voice sayith to my weeping,
" 'Twas not a dream you had,
1^8 IS THERE A SAFER TRUST?
Your little ones are safe within My keeping,
So wherefore, then, be sad ? "
And o'er my heart a holy joy comes creeping,
That makes me strangely glad.
IS THERE A SAFER TRUST?
Now that skepticism, in so many varied forms, is as-
sailing our Christian religion, it is eminently proper for
all mankind to inquire, — Is there anything more certain
and sure in which to trust ? The wish to trust some-
thing or some power outside of and apart from itself, is
inherent in the human heart. To throw aside all trust is
to blot out any hope in the future, and limit existence to
mere mortality. Few will be satisfied by so doing.
Almost every individual's future, self-sketched, has in it
something beyond mortality's boundary, and is contin-
gent upon some kind of religious belief. That belief
which promises most certain fulfillment is the one most
earnestly desired.
And while the enemies of Christ seek to do away
with all faith in Him as the personal Saviour of humani-
ty, and sneer at that grand plan of salvation which has
the Crucified Son of God as its central figure, do they
offer any faith better and more desirable, any scheme
which shall hold a surer guarantee of redemption ?
Claiming Jesus the Nazarene to have be^n but the car-
IS THERE A SAFER TRUST? 1 39
penter's son, only human, though a man of exceeding
cleverness, do they present for our consideration any
mediator between the All-Father and ourselves more di-
vine than He ? Is there, in the whole range of skeptical
philosophy, any theory, promise or hope to which, turn-
ing away from God and the Redeemer we believe He
sent into the world, the soul can cling with more of sat-
isfaction and peace ?
These questions can not be easily answered in the
affirmative. Skepticism, trying to tear down the truest
and most vital part of Christian faith, has never offered
to build up a truer and worthier one, — has never develop-
ed any rock upon which mankind may rest with the as-
surance that it will prove more solid and enduring.
Skepticism, atheism, deism, infidelism, and all other
isms preaching aught beside Christ and Him crucified,
have as yet failed to do what the simple Christian faith
has done, — hold out a hope of eternal life and sustain
the believer through manifold afflictions until the hope
lose itself in fruition. The Tom'Paines, professing to
consider God a myth, and the future life a delusion, have
approached the grave in most abject fear, saying of death
— "It is all a leap in the dark." To all mankind, then,
the fact that no safer trust is offered especially commends
itself. To weak and doubting believers it should be a
source of peculiar comfort. Doubtings will come at
times ; the faith will grow faint ; the enemy will come in
like a flood ; and for a little while unbelief will obtain
the mastery. Yet not for long, if only we remember
that unbelief yields no more cheering harvest, — that
I40
IN SHADOW.
when we give up our hopes in Jesus Christ we gain
nothing more steadfast and abiding, — that outside of
His blood and righteousness we find no surer prophecy
of everlasting joy. There is no clearer light for our feet
on earth than that which His gospel sheds ; no brighter
ray of promise illuminates the tomb than that His pres-
ence therein lent to it ; and nowhere can we receive a
sweeter assurance of final resurrection than in His victory
over death and the grave, and His ascension to the
Father's presence.
IN SHADOW.
My heart is dumb, to-night.
I sit beneath the shadow of affliction,
And hear no whisper of a benediction
Upon the heavy air ;
I can not speak to God, His face is covered
By this thick cloud that o'er my life has hovered,
I can not breathe a prayer, —
My heart is dumb, to-night.
My heart has found its speech !
I saw the shadow parting just above me,
And saw the face ot Him who once didst love me-
Who loves me even still ;
He spoke to me, so lovingly and tender
That all my doubt was lost in faith's surrender, —
"Thine, Lord, and not my will ; " —
My heart had found its speech !
CHRISTIAN INDIGNATION,
It behooves us to bear patiently with much that we
could wish corrected, but much else demands righteous
indignation on our part, and if it be not manifest we are
recreant to our duty as Christians.
Certain forms of sin are becoming popularized, which
should not be conceded the courtesy of silence. Things
of little moment in themselves, but far-reaching in their
influence and wide-expanding in their development, are
constantly coming up, against which we should declare
emphatic protest. Christian duty, more often than we
seem to think, requires of us Christian speech — speech
earnest with hearty indignation.
The great agent against evil is, and will be, public
opinion. How is public opinion to be what it should be,
if the best part of the public make no effort to purify it?
If as Christians we fear possible allegations of cant, and so
refrain from saying what we believe in regard to certain
social phases, have we any right to cry out against popu-
lar sentiment in secret ? Society is sadly tolerant of abu-
ses and tendencies that disgrace and shame our enlight-
enment ; has our individual Christianity done all it can
to reform these ?
Reformative work is individual work. It must begin
with individual declarations, proceed individually, and
end in the betterment of individual life. This process pu-
I42 OUR SAMSONS.
upon his liberty. He could xesist the men of Philistia ;
rifles the mass. Every Christian, then, should be a re-
former. That which we believe unworthy, or degrading,
we should instantly rebuke. Against that which tends to
work evil, we should earnestly declare. We should, in
fact, cultivate such a loathing for all sin, that we can not
keep silence before it. Christian indignation has its spe-
cial duty to perform, and if that performance be not fre-
quently met there is something vitally wrong.
OUR SAMSONS.
Samson of old had splendid opportunities. Set apart
for a noble work from his birth, and gifted with power
to perform that work, he might have been the Deliverer
of his people, and made for himself a history grand in-
deed. But what were the facts? Relying on his own
wonderful strength he dallied with sin. He made a jest
of life. He *set himself about nothing profoundly earn-
est, and worthy his attention.
Voluntarily he put himself in his enemies' hands, con-
fident that he could escape at will. In gratification of
his lusts he entered Gaza, the stronghold of the Philis-
tines, and went out only by taking the gates with him.
Later, still following out his lustful pleasures, he tarried
with Delilah, and amused himself by permitting attempts
OUR SAMSONS.
43
but a woman's blandishments compassed his ruin. An
overwhelming faith in his own might was the mischief
underlying all. Though he broke the green withes, and
the new rope, and escaped with the web woven in his
hair, he fell at last, weakly, miserably.
His life and his death have their counterparts every-
where. There are men with possibilities hardly less than
were Samson's, — with powers unlike his, yet equal to
them, — whose lives are not less a miserable failure than
his. Gifted, they use their gifts to no purpose praise-
worthy ; strong in their own consciousness, their strength
serves them for a time, but proves the veriest weakness in
some unexpected moment, and they go down before the
enemy of all good, and are wrecked forever.
These Samsons whose powers all go for naught, — what
a melancholy spectacle they present ! And what is the
lesson ? That we should not put ourselves in the way of
temptation, fondly believing we can withstand it and
come off unscathed. That we can not recline in the lap
of any Delilah of sin, however gentle its nature, with a
certainty we shall not be shorn of what is our pride and
glory. That gifts misapplied and perverted will bring us
only bitterest reward ; and that without an earnest aim
our life will darken into woe most fearful. Shall we
make the lesson ours, and profit by it?
MY WILDERNESS.
Weary and worn on the mountain-side dreary,
Fainting, an hungered, with sadness opprest, —
Worn with long watches, with laboring weary,
Tempted and troubled, but finding no rest ;
Saviour of Men ! by the pain of Thy bearing
Oft am I strengthened, in weakness, to-day ;
Often the thought of Thy wilderness faring
Helps me along on my wilderness way
Bleeding and torn in the battle of being ;
Hearing the tempter who speaks to allure ;
Saviour of Men ! in Thy merciful seeing,
Grant that I fail not, but bravely endure !
Tempted and troubled, I know that Thou nearest
All that my soul in temptation would say ; —
This the one thought that my loneliness cheerest—
Saviour of Men ! Thou didst faint by the way !
Unto me Satan comes, pleasantly smiling,
Rich in his proffers of bounty in store ;
Saviour of Men ! Thou hast known his beguiling,
Proffers of wealth he hast made thee before.
There on the mountain-side, knowing Thy trial
Waited before Thee — the cross, and its pain,
Thou didst deny him, and in that denial,
Saviour of Men ! was humanity's gain !
Fainting, an hungered, the tempter beside me,
Onward I go o'er the mountains of life ;
MAN'S NEED.
Saviour of Men ! let no evil detide me
Let me not fail in the midst of the strife !
Thou who wast weary and worn with Thy faring,
Tempted and tried on the wilderness way —
Saviour of Men ! — by the pain of Thy bearing
Strengthen me now in the strife of to-day !
H5
MAN'S NEED.
The desire for sympathy exists in every human heart
We all feel that we need some one to whom we can go
in the fullest confidence, who will sympathize with us —
who will bear a part of our burdens by becoming ac-
quainted with them. There may be stoics — men who
appear wholly indifferent to the concern of their fellows
— who go about apparently giving no sympathy and ask-
ing none — but somewhere and at sometime in their lives
they prove insufficient to themselves, and long for sweet
and tender sympathies with the deepest longings humani-
ty knows.
With the distrust which man naturally feels for his
kind, the desire for and the real need of sympathy is sel-
dom quite satisfied through any human agency. Friend-
ly regard, and the affection of kindred, do much toward
satisfying, it is true, but they do not always do enough.
In a sense which many who read this will understand,
they fall far short. Every heart has, now and then, cer-
146 MAN'S NEED.
tain vague, half-denied hopings and aspirations which
it shrinks from imparting to even the nearest and dearest.
Many have weary, sickening burdens that they never allow
human eye to look upon. Many more have convictions
of duty, questionings as to labor, doubtings as to an
hundred things in life, that cannot be properly compre-
hended by any sympathy not divine and Omniscient.
Man's need, then, is of that sympathy which only can
be found in a heart having divinity within it, and yet
possessing perfect knowledge of humanity's longings and
besetments. The Christian finds this need fully met in
the great heart of his Redeemer. If he be sorrowing,
and in deep grief, he can speak of it to the "Man of
•sorrows and acquainted with grief," and be comforted.
If he be tempted, Christ's sympathy is complete, for He
was likewise teirqt.d. In every contingency which
weak human nature may chance upon, the sympathy open
to the Christian is perfect, and contains a blessing.
Human sympathy, even when it is most sincere, most
freely given and most satisfying, satisfies in but a meager
way. It lacks something, we often feel, sweet as it may
be — much as it is craved. But the divine sympathy is
wonderfully full of consolation and cheer ; it possesses a
power over the heart that may not be measured. — that can
be felt, but can not be described. He leads a poor life who
keeps aloof, in the main, from all sympathetic associa-
tions with his fellows ; he leads a life poorer, far poorer
still, who shuns the outreaching of that Divine Heart,
whose sympathies, if received and welcomed, would hap-
10
BY THE WAY. 1 47
pify and ennoble the hearts of all mankind. Such an one
misses the great joy that might otherwise gladden his life,
— goes searching through the years for what he can never
find, — and comes, finally, to believe that existence is a.
fearfully dull, unhappy thing. His need to-day, will be
his need to-morrow, because what would fill it is shut
out, and what is useless only is sought after. The hunger
for sympathy never can be satiated upon husks.
BY THE WAY.
A weeping widow walked beside the bier
Whereon her son lay dead ;
And one who sought the city's gate drew near,
And words of comfort said.
How swift His sympathetic soul to see
Her deep and bitter grief !
How swift and sure as ever then was He
To give His glad relief !
Perchance she stood in sorrowful amaze
When first His voice she heard ;
Perchance sad wonder went before her praise,
To hear His wondrous word.
Perchance they grew impatient at His speech,
The burden dear who bore ;
Perchance they marveled vainly, each with each,
Who would the dead restore.
I48 BY THE WAY.
A stranger He ? ah, yes ! but one whose heart
Went out to every woe ;
In whose great love all suffering souls have part,
Where'er they weeping go.
" I say to thee "— O, marvelous surprise
That in His saying spoke ! —
" I say to thee, young man/' — blest word — " Arise !
A.nd straight the youth awoke.
Awoke and rose from out the saddest sleep
That mortals ever take,
O'er which we bend our bleeding hearts and weep,
And wonder where they wake !
Awoke and walked. And He who met him there
Went on His lonely way,
But ever meets with the same wondrous care
All weeping souls to-day.
Did e'er so sad a journey see an end
So marvelously glad ?
To-day the same all-wise and tender Friend
Awaits all souls as sad.
Who goes to bury something all his own —
Some hope his only stay —
May marvel much to hear that tender tone
Beside the weary way.
He sought and found the city's gate who said
J' I say to thee Arise ! "
But for all hearts who weep beside their dead
He has His glad surprise !
THE GATE BEAUTIFUL.
Ruth has been reading of that poor unfortunate who
used to wait at the gate that wras called Beautiful, to receive
alms from those who went up to the temple to worship, —
the one whom the disciples blest not with silver or gold,
but with the gift of bodily strength and vigor, through
the name of Christ.
Do noc wTe all wait at some Gate Beautiful through the
years, expectant of good gifts to be doled out to us ?
Alms of a kind foitune we would receive,— the silver and
gold of some hoped-for blessing. Perhaps it is given,
but w^e never have enough. Every day we are carried by
ambition, by hope, by greed, mayhap, to the place of
passing, and there we tarry, never so fully blest that we
would not go again.
Perchance we never think, as very likely the unfortu-
nate alms-taker never thought, that there is a better bles-
sing possible to us than the one we wTait for. Perhaps
wTe never recognize that good can come to us apart from
this one line in which we are accustomed to its coming.
But the better blessing is possible ; the greater good may
gladden us ; and from our idle waiting we may rise to a
life of active work — to a being and doing so much nob-
ler and worthier than the old that we should seem new
men indeed.
I50 THE SUMMER IS ENDED.
All disciples may find a profitable lesson at the Gate
Beautiful. Here was a man in need. They might have
said, as they did say, "Silver and gold we have none/'
and considering this a sufficient excuse they might have
passed on unhelping. Yet they did not. Though they
could not do for the man according to his desire, they
could do for him after all. They improved their oppor-
tunity. Would that all disciples of the Master were as
willing as they ! All have not their power to heal ; but
true discipleship carries some power with it, which may
be exerted to human good. The power to uplift, and
help on, in one way or another, belongs to each of us,
even if there be no pence in the purse. We may be
something better than alms-givers, if we will make use of
opportunities .offered. Shall we not ?
THE SUMMER IS ENDED.
"The harvest is passed, the summer is ended." Thus
read Ruth a few minutes since, before the twilight fully
deepened.
And sitting here now, the words come up again for
our meditation. The summer is ended — the summer of
rest, of relaxation, of recuperation, for many; the sum-
mer of idleness, of fashionable folly, of wickedness and
dissipation for many more. Back from the cool nooks,
THE SUMMER IS ENDED. 1 5 [
the quiet resting places, come those who went for their
bodily good ; back from haunts of fashion and foolish-
ness, of sin and shame, hie those who sought there only
excitement and feverish waste of time.
The summer is ended. To all, what has it taught ?
Are any rested in spirit? — calmed by the peace of Nature
and made glad by holy communion through Nature
with Nature's God? Are any strengthened in their re-
solves to be more earnest in the wTork of the future — to
help on God's purposes with a firm heart and an unfalter-
ing hand? Are any (would they all were!) sick of all
the glitter of gold, the shams of folly, the sins of fash-
ionable unrest, and ready to cry out in the anguish of
remorse because the summer is ended and their souls not
saved ?
Summer's passing should bring much of sober reflect-
ion, of serious resolves, of quickened spirituality. If
there be one time more than anothei when man gets
nearer his Maker, it surely is the summer time, when
God speaks daily in the tender rustle of leaf and branch,
in pleasant breezes, and by the rippling water-brooks.
And whoever hears the " still, small voice" through day
after day of happy idleness should return to labor profi-
ted. Whoever hears not the voice so still, — whoever
listens most for speech of fashion only, — should return to
autumn walks, and sigh for opportunities lost, for good
ungained, and being all unblest
BLESSED ARE THE MEEK.
They go forevermore unblest
Who cherish closely in their breast
The pride of earth ; all goodly things
Fly past their reach on silent wings,
And worthless is the prize they seek ;
But ever " Blessed are the 'meek !"
The forms that walk erect and proud,
And trumpet their own praises loud,
Shall fall at last ; but those bowed down
Shall win at length the victor's crown,
However humble they, and weak,
For ever " Blessed are the meek ! "
God's promises are always just.
All dust of earth is only dust,
And vanishes and leaves no sign.
The lowliest is most divine,
And in its lowly being feels
A grace humility conceals.
The sweetest fragrance born of bloom
By modest mound or lowly tomb
Breathes faintly out upon the air ;
The surest answer granted prayer
Is granted unto those who seek
Believing " Blessed are the meek."
O God of love ! look down, I pray,
Upon my haughty heart to-day !
CHRIST IN THE HOME. 1 53
Let meekness with me e'er abide
A treasured guest, in place of pride ;
And let this truth be to me known,
Thai 4i Blessed are the meek " alone !
CHRIST IN THE HOME.
That story of Jesus in the little home at Bethany !
Ruth read it through again, before the twilight. While
she read, we listened. Now we think it all over, and
find a delight in thus considering what Jesus was in one
domestic circle.
There were only three of them. "And Jesus loved
Martha and her sister, and Lazarus " — all three of them
— each of them. Just here comes in the best thought
about it — it was a personal, individual love which Christ
gave. It was not that He loved the family, as a family,
but that He loved each member of that family.
Was it only a one-sided love ? Ah, no ! Mary and
Martha, and Lazarus, each loved Him. And in the
homes of to-day there may be the same reciprocity of
individual love — may be, and must be, if there is to be
in the end an individual salvation. Jesus Christ does
not save families. He does not in any way deal with or
do for men in the mass. He may come into a home and
love, and be loved by, one or two, or more members of
the home circle, without coming into loving, near and
tender relations to all the members.
154 CHRIST IN THE HOME.
When Lazarus died, how the weeping sisters mourn-
ed. When Christ declared that Lazarus should rise
again, how blind they were. "We know that our
brother shall rise again at the last day," the}' said. They
had faith to believe that in the general resurrection He
should have a part, but that Christ had power then and
xhere to breathe new life into one long dead, they did
not yet comprehend. Unto their slow comprehension
Christ made a sublime revelation. "I am the resurrec-
tion and the life/' said He. And to our own slow, halt-
ing trust the same declaration comes this hour.
Are any whom we love dead in sin ? In Christ there
may be immediate resurrection. Are we ourselves as the
dead? "Whosoever believeth," said Jesus, and the
"whosoever " means us. As Christ came into the little
home at Bethany, loving each one there by name and in
character, so He waits to enter, if He has not already
entered, every home on the broad earth. For the living,
His love is full of ministry. For the dead it brings a
resurrection. For the living He is a Friend and a Help-
er, making glad with sweet affections, and sympathizing
in every grief. For the dead He is a Saviour, raising up
to newness of life and putting aside the dust and ashes of
the grave.
There is no more touching picture of Christ than this
which shows Him in the home, loving, and sympathiz-
ing, and comforting. There is none which more perfect-
ly demonstrates His power than does this — none which
more clearly sets before us an important lesson of faith.
The belief that Christ can help now, that He can save
HIS COMING. J 55
and restore now, was what those two stricken sisters need-
ed, and it is what many need at this time. A vague,
general notion that Christ will help in some distant to-
morrow, possesses almost every one. A live, honest,
unshaken belief in His strength for present exigencies is
the great lack. Why should the lack exist? Why
should not this belief be universal ?
HIS COMING.
" The Bridegroom cometh ! " In some night to be,
Out of the darkness dim
This cry shall sound ; and some glad souls shall see
The glory hid with Him !
Shall I be one of these ? Or shall I lie
Asleep in sin's embrace,
And heedless of the welcome, warning cry,
Fail to behold His face ?
" The Bridegroom cometh ! " To each waiting soul
The cry is made to-day.
Where waves of deepest, blackest darkness roll,
He would make light the way.
Into each life He would some glory shed,
Some gladder blessing bring, —
To all who weep above their early dead
A psalm of peace would sing.
156 DEMONIZED MANHOOD.
" The Bridegroom cometh !" Pause awhile and hark,
With ali-expectant ear !
For you the cry, resounding through the dark —
The Bridegroom He is here !
DEMONIZED MANHOOD.
The text this morning was that story of the demoniac
of Gadara, from whom Christ cast out the devils ; and
the preacher drew many excellent lessons from it.
That man of Gadara has many a counterpart even now.
To-day there are thousands demonized by sin — held by
its wretched power — all their better nature in complete
subjection thereto. Sin maddens them, torments them ;
they are bruised by it ; their lives are most miserable be-
cause of its terrible presence.
How sadly true this is, we all know — some of us by
painful personal experience. And how sweet the thought
that our Saviour healed the Gadarene ! The demons
possessing the man were strong, but Christ was stronger
even than they. All his life long the Gadarene had suf-
fered from their indwelling ; now he was clothed, and in
his right mind. There were no more roamings of the
hills by day, no more nights among the tombs, no more
bruisings. Thenceforth he was free !
Are we free? Has any demon of sin still a lodgment
in our hearts? Or do we hold to one or more, even
DEMONIZED MANHOOD.
157
yet ? Has the Saviour come to us as He came to all
those in Gadara, and are we praying Him, as they pray-
ed Him, to depart out of our coasts? Would we beseech
His departure for the same reason that they besought it
— because, forsooth, in the healing of demonized souls a
few swine may have suffered, and others — ours, perhaps>
may suffer?
Verily there are men in the world, and their name,
like that of the devils possessing him of Gadara, is le-
gion, who think more of their swine than they do of
human beings. No matter what becomes of the souls of
men, so that their swine are saved. Swine or souls — is
there not a choice ? Ask the dram-seller, the gambler, —
any whose pockets are lined with the hearts and hopes,
and possibilities of their fellows. What is their answer ?
"Souls? — what are souls to us? The bestial nature is.
ours ; do not meddle with it. On the swinishness of
those around us we fatten — hinder us not."
Among all sad facts there is not a sadder one than
this, — that men should so weigh in the balance their
paltry self-interest against the eternal welfare of immor-
tal souls. And it is a fearfully significant lesson taught
in the last portion of that story of the Gadarene — a les-
on so significant that it seems as if no lover of gains
could put it lightly aside — the men of Gadara never saw
again the form of Him whose presence might so richly
have blessed them.
"AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER?'''
" Am I my brother's keeper?" As of old
The question comes from lips of murderous Cain.
Through lustful passion, or through greed of gold,
Is unsuspecting Abel foully slain,
And Conscience parries, with a feigned surprise,
The query where the sin of murder lies.
" Am I my brother's keeper ? " Yesternight
A life went out in darkness and despair ;
Fiends mocked and jeered and jibbered at its flight,
And curses left no room for breath of prayer ;
What recks the Cain who stands with visage grim
And fills the glasses to their damning brim ?
*' Am I my brother's keeper ? " Day by day
With luring smiles the weak to death are led ;
With trustful steps I hey walk the tempting way, —
Their Wood be on the smiling tempter's head !
O Cains ! too many die who weakly trust ;
But God lives on, and God is true and just !
Aye, God Hves on ! His patience lingers long,
His mercy through the weary years can wait ;
And Right may suffer at the hands of Wrong,
But recompense is coming, soon or late !
" Am I my brother's keeper ? '*' God of Right,
Hear, Thou, and answer in Thy righteous might !
THE DIVINE HEALING.
"Wilt thou be made whole?"
On a week-day evening not long ago the preacher took
up these words, and now in this Sabbath twilight they
come back to us, with a xemembrance of the thoughts,
he deduced from them, and a bit of sober meditation
suggested by that remembrance.
"Wilt thou be made whole?" The question implies
unsoundness. And who of us is sound ? — sound in
moral nature ? Do we not all need a physician ? Are
not some of us sick unto death ? Though many will
confess to no great burden of sin, there are few who do
not feel a sense of imperfectness — a longing for some
influence filling in and rounding out, and making beau-
tiful, their lives.
What a sad array of sick souls ! They look out wear-
iedly from eyes wont to gaze upon glitter and show —
they sigh in ever increasing unrest amid the follies of
wealth and pride of social position. Sick unto death,
some of them; and there is only One Healer. "Wilt
thou be made whole?" He questions. There is per-
sonality in the questioning. It is "Wilt thouV It
comes home to each one of us with as much significance
as it came home to the heart of the well-nigh hopeless
invalid by Bethesda's pool.
Ah, we are all by the pool of blessing, watchful for
l60 THE DIVINE HEALING,
the troubling of the waters, — desiring to step in and find
our sickness fled. And what keeps us back ? Some of
us have been here as long as was the invalid of old beside
Bethesda, and like him, we are still unhealed. And now
Christ comes to our very side, and the opportunity to be
made whole is ours beyond any human power to take it
away. Any ? Not so. Our own will may lose us all
" Wilt thou ?" The healing is a thing of the present.
All the invalid had to do was to say "I will," and the
Divine healing found its consummation. " Wilt thou be
made whole ? %i
0 Healer, hear my cry !
I would be whole, to-day !
Pass me not waiting by, —
Nor let me longer lie
Where all the sin-sick lay !
1 would be whole this hour ;
O Saviour, show Thy power !
SANCTIFYING TOIL.
Back from his summer's vacation, our preacher had
not altogether gotten away from its atmosphere and sug-
gestiveness. * He had been fishing, and so he chose for
his morning text those wonderful words of the Master to
some fisher-folk of Galilee — " Henceforth ye shall be
fishers of men." It was a rare scene, of course, that
sunrise hour on the Lake of Gennesaret, when the men
SANCTIFYING TOIL. l6l
of nets had toiled all night in vain, and were worn out
with fruitless endeavor. A rare scene, and the carpen-
ter's Son stood forth the rarest figure in it, as with sym-
pathy quick and power certain he entered into the work
those fishers performed. His part in it was not large
but what results it brought 1 He told them where to
cast their net, and gave a miraculous draught as reward
for their obedience.
" It is a pleasant thought" says Ruth now, as we talk
it over in the twilight ; "a pleasant thought, that Christ
sought out the very lowliest when about to commission
His disciples. Taking men from the humblest calling,
entering into the real spirit of that calling before such a
choice, He thus sanctified all effort. No wonder Simon
Peter recognized Him there at once, as super-human,
and fell down before His divine presence."
" And yet that was a strange prayer of Peter's/' some
one remarks, " ' Depart from me, for I am a sinful
man. ' "
' 'Yes," is the answer : " because Peter was sinful, the
more need for Christ to tarry with him and bless him.
But Simon was always doing wise things in an unwise
way. The Master had come here into Peter's plain every-
day life, and had wrought a miracle. Touching, so, the
man's actual, ordinary being, Christ's own being was
now clearly revealed. There had been another miracle
only a day or two before ; the woman sick of a fever had
been restored ; but the surprise on account of Christ's
power does not appear to have been so great as now.
Perhaps it is always so. Perhaps we never so thoroughly
ii
1 6 2 SA NOTIFYING TOIL .
understand the Master's nature as when He comes into
our daily toil and shines out upon it with marvelous
strength.
■'And when do we need the presence of Christ more
than, or so much as, in the daily being and doing of our
lives ? We toil all the night long often, and our work
avails us nothing. We grow discouraged. The heart
and the flesh fail us. What shall we do that we have not
done ? Then if happily Christ speak to us, as the day
breaks — and it is mostly day-break when He does speak
— and if we respond in ready faith which says ' Neverthe-
less at Thy word we will, ' we shall surely find that which
wq seek. For if the Saviour sanctified all labor, as I
believe He did, He, in a sense at least, gave surety that
labor shall bring its blessing. If not to-night, then to-
morrow ; if not on the morrow, then some near day in
the By-and-By. I wonder what people did without a to-
morrow that was certain before Christ came into the
world.
" Blessed be they that work, for they shall not wait
without promise ! I fancy we are all disciples, somehow,
and that often the Master stands by our side, when we are
faint and heart-weary and utters His glad ' Henceforth/
But before that comes a ' Fear not/ and wisely too, since
we grow troubled for the end so often and so soon, and
are ready to give up. Is it night now where any tired
soul stands ? The morning is near at hand, and when it
dawns our pitying Lord shall speak the one dear word of
comfort. "
THE EVER ABSENT.
I CAN not think her dead : I see her yet,
Her smile a sudden glory shining through,
As if her life could never quite forget
A gladder being that it sometime knew,
And all the memory warmed within her face
With catching glimpses of some olden grace.
Her smile — it had a radiance all its own,
Though possibly the angels bask in such ;
And haply her sweet face had somewhere known
The added sweetness of an angel's touch,
And this was what it ne'er forgot, the while,
But thought upon serenely in her smile.
For somewhere angels do their impress lend,
Upon the faces that we dearest prize, —
Somewhere, sometime ; and then when comes the end,
And those we love, despite our moaning cries,
Go outward from us where we may not see,
And leave behind them but a memory,
Methinks the angels call them fondly thence,
To see if vestige of their touch remains,—
To see if, mid the waiting and suspense,
The carping care, the perils and the pains.
A trace of signet holy lingers there ;
And afterwards their presence can not spare !
164 GOD'S LEADING.
And so I think she went. She heard the call,
And said " I come," with that rare smile of hers,
Leaving the earth, — its many beauties all,
Her. pets that were her willing worshipers,
Her friends that clasped her close and prayed her stay,-
And sweetly walked along the unknown way ;
Till, seeing through the darkened way she went
The glory of her smile so radiant shine,
The angels met her, lovingly intent,
And led her up the wearying incline,
And finding nothing of their impress fled,
Forever choose that we should think her dead !
GOD'S LEADING.
"He leadeth me in green pastures, and beside the still
waters ! "
Blessed picture of that rest we yearn after and which
seems commonly so far away ! Does God lead ? If the
green pasture-land is not yet opened to our tired eyes — if
the way is yet hard and stony to our wearied feet — shall
we come out into all the comfort and restfulness of lovely
fields and pleasant paths by-and-by ? So we question ;
and God will forgive the question, and answer it in His
own good time, if, though heart-sick and discouraged,
we press on and fail not.
GOD'S LEADING. 165
But let us not forget, meanwhile, that God's leading
implies a willingness to be led. We can go our own
way. He will not compel us. We can seek for the
green fields of our hope, asking no help, relying upon
no guidance. When God through His son said " Come
unto me and I will give you rest," it was not as a com-
mand, but as an invitation, to be- accepted or refused.
We may refuse, — alasj how many do ! We may walk on
and complain that the still waters of peace flow far be-
yond human finding. Yet still the placid waters do flow,
and some good souls walk beside them and complain not
all the day long.
God's leading ! It is twilight ; and yet the way never
darkens. It is thick night ; and yet we stumble uot.
Tender Shepherd ! all the way,
With Thy leading, is as day ;
Twilight dim, or deepest night.
Darkens not Thy watchful sight ; _
Led by Thee, my willing feet
Soon may find Thy pastures sweet ;
Lead me, then, by waters still,
In Thine own Eternal will !
Men have died poor, who all their life long revelled in
wealth ; men have gone out of the world rich beyond
measure, who had small earthly possessions, and all be-
cause they had given themselves away to Christ, and
been bountifully given to of God's love in return.
TRUSTING.
"He that believeth shall not make haste," was the
morning's text, and the preacher drew from it excellent
lessons for us all.
God's ways seem very slow, sometimes. What we
would see done waits long for the doing, and we grow im-
patient. But if we believe in God we should possess
our soul in patience. In His own good time everything
will come right.
Men forget, often, that the Creator still controls the
world. In the midst of the anti-slavery agitation, when
those who believed the slave bitterly wronged saw only
darkness ahead, certain ones held a meeting, and Fred-
erick Douglass made a speech. It was terribly earnest
in behalf of his people. As he was proceeding with an
appeal to all friends of freedom to rise at once in their
might, and strike off every shackle, a tall, gaunt negress
— Sojourner Truth by name — arose in the assemblage,
and fixing her eyes searchingly upon the speaker said —
' ' Frederick, is God dead ? "
She was a living exemplication of the truth—" He
that believeth shall not make haste." And to all such
God is not dead. He is a veritable Presence, and in
His hands all human affairs can be trusted.
There are little things often, that trouble us, and that
ALONG THE WAY. 1 67
render us impatient of the end. Yet God is as much
alive to these as to those of greater magnitude. Let us
trust Him, then, in these. The fret and the worry of
soul concerning them, in which so many indulge, is idle.
Worse than that, it is sinful, and works harm.
ALONG THE WA Y.
Whom have I, Lord, within Thy heaven but Thee ?
And there is none beside,
On all the earth so wide,
That can to me both Friend and Helper be.
Forsake me not, I pray,
Throughout the lonely way,
But kindly walk my dubious path with me !
Of old Thou wast the present Helper, Friend,
Of holy men who trod
Appointed ways of God ;
To me Thy gracious presence henceforth lend,
Though I have sinned so sore ;
Nor leave me evermore,
But cheer and comfort grant me till the end!
Thy son, our own dear Elder Brother,came,
And sorrowed, suffered, bled,
For us His life-blood shed,
And died at last a death of deepest shame.
Now for His sake I cry ;
Nor canst Thou e'er deny
The prayer put up to Thee in His dear name !
1 68 THE POVER'IY OF RICHES.
Then hear me, Lord, I pray, and let me know
That Thou, indeed, hast heard
My every prayerful word,
By going with me wheresoe'er I go !
No way with Thee is dark ;
And with Thee I shall hark
For speech of Thine, so tender, sweet and low,
Amid the noises jarring on my ear,
So full of fret and pain,
So vexing and so vain,
Thy still, small voice I fain would ever hear !
Speak to me, day by day,
Along the troublous way,
So shall 1 know that Thou art always near !
THE POVERTY OF RICHES.
i ' For riches take wings and fly away. "
Was Ruth reading, or syllabling her own thought,
when she uttered these words? We could not tell.
Finally, after a little pause, she said :
"Yesterday I read an account of the late panic in
Wall street, and it seemed very sad. Some men were
rich in the morning, and at night had not a dollar.
What a sudden change for such ! It must be hard to
feel so poor after enjoying wealth."
Then we were silent a while, and full of thought. At
THE POVERTY OF RICHES. 1 69
last one of us — was it the home-heart, from her easy-
chair ? — broke the silence again.
' ' Yet is there poverty even in riches. "
Ah, yes ! Poorest of all God's poor are many who
own houses and land, and know no earthly want. God's
poor ? Nay ; for the poor of God have an abundance
that fails not. Of their wealth the rich know nothing.
Their treasure is safe. Banks may break, but they are
secure. Public confidence may falter, they have no fear.
For God's poor was it spoken — " Blessed are the poor,
in spirit."
Souls may suffer while bodies roll in luxury. The
poverty of riches is beyond all common cure. Millions
for the signifying, — but no real joy. Carriages and dia-
monds,— but no peace. Mortgages and coupons, — but
no enduring comfort. Poverty ! It is hard to go an-
hungered ; it is hard to feel pinched and hemmed in ; it
is hard to want beautiful things, — to long for much and
have little ; it is hard to go on and on amid deprivation
and care, and know no satisfying of the merely human
needs. Ah, yes ! But is it not harder to hunger for
what jio money can buy ?- — to go forever athirst ? — to
long for something which shall fill the heart full, and
make the whole being glad ? Verily it is. They are not
always rich who seem blessed of Plenty. They are not
always poor who want.
OUR THANKSGIVING.
Through the twilight silence we have spoken no word.
What each has been thinking of, who shall say ? It is
Ruth who, as usual, is first to speak.
" It is hard to be thankful amid want, and distress,
and great discouragements. I wonder how many will
feel on next Thanksgiving Day that it is simply impos-
sible ? "
Ruth is always wondering about the hard things of
life. Well, so are many others. The hard things are
plenty, and there is always enough to wonder over.
"It is easy, now, for us, to offer thanks. We feel
very grateful to God for His goodness unto us. But I
have seen people who thought God not very good to
them, and I could'nt help feeling that I might think just
so, too, if I were in their place."
We ponder awile upon Ruth's words. Are there, then,
some who seem neglected of God ? Is it indeed true
that to any soul God is not good? Beyond question
there are many not good to themselves. They sin, and
find joy in sinning ; they forget the Maker's claims and
remember only self; they in no proper degree recognize
God and live for Him. That God withdraws His bles-
sings from such is but natural. That they often abide in
*. want, and lack much, is not strange. That they distrust
O VR THA NKSGIVING. I 7 1
supreme goodness, and are devoid of all gratitude, is but
the logic of their course and character.
Gratitude is the child of faith and love. Our thank-
offerings measure the love we enjoy. Do we love any
one much ? Then we are grateful for small favors extend-
ed by them. There is great danger, it is irue, that we
come to take every gift as but our due, and so receive
whatever is tendered with indifference and ingratitude.
It is just here that we sin most. God is our father, we ad-
mit, and He is bound to mete out according to each
necessity. But we err. His fatherhood does not bind
Him for our needs. Life itself was His free gift. Every ad-
ded pleasure, or benefit, or help, is likewise a free gift,
and in no degree whatever ours by right. For the small-
est favor granted we stand debtor.
And there are none who go on through the years un-
helped. The poorest pauper of all has been given of
God. In some manner he does not heed, God has cared
for him. In some way he does not suspect, God is doing
for him. The very fact that he is a pauper does not es-
tablish anything against God . The gift of life was his ;
he might have made of it ail that another did make of a
gift similar. Why he failed is not for any to say. God
knows. God permitted the failure, though He did not
cause it. God is not Fate, and for this let us ever be
thankful.
For all that we may be, let us thank Him to whom we
are indebted for the possibility. We may never attain to
it. We may go through the years poor in possessions,
lean in soul, and never satisfied ; yet for the possibilities
I72 THA NKSGIV1NG.
we are debtor. It is better to praise God for the Might
Have Been, than sigh over it. It is better to see in what
is, a hope, than always to complain because it is not a
fulfillment. God gives the hope, and we make our own
fulfillment.
Ruth doubts this, and says thers are persons, of the
very best intentions, whose endeavors have been well put
forth, who nevertheless have failed, and see no occasion
to thank God for failure.
True, but even these may feel glad that it is no worse.
Very few get to the lowest deep of want and failure.
Then again, one should be thankful for others' joy and
success. Is there not a selfishness of gratitude? To give
thanks only for what is received in person is most meager
thanksgiving indeed. In the great world, one is a little
atom of a great mass. If the thousands are blest, let us
rejoice, though we sit in poverty of being forevermore.
THANKSGIVING.
Some days of sweet content are mine ;
Some days of waiting sore
For joys I can but half divine,
So far they go before ;
Some days of doubt, some days of cheer,
Some days so sweet and strong
They bear me on an atmosphere
Of trusting faith along,
THA NKSGIVING. I 7 3
Till on tue mountain-lops I stand
And view the welcome Promised Land !
And for these days my thanks are due —
Accept them, gracious Lord !
For all these days, of every hue,
That with my life accord.
Each day within it holds a good
Of some diviner kind
Than any, dimly understood,
My consciousness can find,
And for the good I can not see
My thanks go out, O Lord, to Thee !
I know that all about my life
Some unseen blessings wait, —
That through the deafening din of strife
Some sweet songs palpitate ;
That God is good, howe'er it seems,
And doing richly worth ;
That in the brightest sunlight beams
His angels visit earth,
And in the shadows walk they still,
Fulfilling His own holy will !
For all I am my thanks I give ;
For all that I might be !
The life is mine I do not live —
My gift, O God, from Thee !
I thank Thee for its brighter days
That some time I may know,
And ask Thy guidance through the ways
That to it haply go ;
And so with thanks for blessings mine
I wait the leading all divine !
DOUBTING CHRIST.
Blessed is he whosoever shall not be offended in
me."
This was the preacher's text to-day. Christ spoke the
words in partial answer to that doubt of John the Bap-
tist which sent his disciples to the Saviour to ask of Him
concerning His identity.
Ever since John's time there have been doubters, even
among those who believe most in Christ. It is natural
that men who have accepted Him should sometimes feel
their faith shaken. Because Christ's ways are not our
ways. This was what troubled John. Jesus came not
as John had expected Him to come. The manner of His
administration was hardly that of a kingly Messiah. In
everything, this One whose coming John had preached
was in marked contrast to the ideal previously conceived.
And so it is with us. We conceive of a Saviour who
shall appear thus and thus — who shall deal with us after
our own peculiar notions of justice and expediency — who
shall help us through certain agencies with which we are
familiar. We accept the Saviour, and behold we are
grievously disappointed, for He is far different from our
conception of Him. His dealings with us are not at all
as we desired, and do not accord with our views of jus-
tice and expediency — the ministering agents He employs
suit us not. So we are offended in Him. Misgivings
DOUBTIXG CHRIST.
175
enter into our minds, and we cry out distrustfully, "Is
this the Christ ? "
There is hardly a sweeter beatitude in the Sermon on
the Mount than this text of the preacher's. It means
much for us all. Blessed is he who murmurs not though
he be smitten ; blessed are they who accept all divine
dealings as wisest and best ; blessed are such as be not
impatient under long withholding ; blessed are all whose
will is humbled, whose pride has frequent fallings, whose
life is unsatisfying, yet who give not over to doubt and
despair : it is as though Christ had said all this in detail,
and very much more.
There was ever a mine of meaning in the speech of
Jesus. Men have thought upon single sentences of His
until they became part and parcel of their beings, grow-
ing more and more fruitful as these broadened towards
completed growth. And this blessing — has it not special
significance for us all ? Are we never offended in Christ?
Do we never question when sudden affliction smites, or
coveted wishes fail of fulfillment, "Is this He ? "
THANK-OFFERINGS. '
How meager ours are, often ! We take so much that
comes to us of good and comfort as a matter of course !
Perhaps we do not really feel, but we seem to, that God
only does His duty by us at the best — that He is bound
to provide for us all that is provided ; and some will even
complain because His provision is not more full and
satisfactory.
Sitting here now, in the firelight, thinking of the
Thanksgiving so soon to come — a day which will be to
so many fuller of feasting than of thanks — we call to
mind the words of a preacher to whom we often listened
in the years gone by, who had a way of putting things
very striking. It was in a prayer and conference meet-
ing, of an evening like this, when thankfulness seemed
to be most the subject of thought, and one gentleman
had remarked upon his own lack of gratitude to God for
mercies enjoyed. The time for closing the meeting had
come, as he sat down, and eccentric Dr. M — closed it
in a way we shall never forget.
" That is always the fact/' said he, as he leaned back
meditatively in his chair, "ingratitude is our greatest
sin." Then, his face lightening up as it was wont when
a new conceit flashed upon him, he continued — "We
are not half thankful enough for the blessings we receive,
IN THANKFULNESS. 1 77
and so we don't receive half as much as we might, often.
You take a little pitcher to the well, and you get your
little pitcher full. You take a great pail to the well, and
you get your great pail full. But you mus'n't expect to
carry a little pitcher of gratitude to God, and take away
a great pail full of blessing ! " And, rising suddenly, he
said, in his abrupt way " Take that and go home ! " and
this was our benediction.
The little pitcher of gratitude — how many carry it L
It is borne in our prayers daily, perhaps — prayers that
only dimly recognize God's goodness, and have little of
real heart-thankfulness within them. And shall we carry
only the little pitcher in days to come, especially in that
day which is set apart for one great thank-offering of ihe
people ? He who gives us all things deserves better of
us all. What comes to us comes not as a mattar of
course. It is a free gift. Let us fill our largest vessels
full of gratitude, and mayhap we may carry them away
from God's altar overflowing with blessing.
IN THANKFULNESS.
I fold my hands in idleness, to-day ;
My heart is yielding its thank-offering.
44 Of little worth am I, O Lord ! " I say ;
44 And little can I to Thine altar bring,
Ij8 IN THANKFULNESS.
But that I fain would give to Thee always ; "
And in my heart I chant a psalm of praise.
I backward look upon my life, and see,
Above it, through the years, a Presence bent,
And know what came, of good or ill to me,
Was by that Presence in all kindness sent ;
And if some joys I want, in thankfulness
My heart goes out for those I do possess.
The skies above me wear a sunny smile ;
The clouds may come — it will not wholly fade ;
And sunshine creeps into my life, the while,
With warmth such as but it and love e'er made.
My finer being feels a thrill divine
As on my way the pleasant sunbeams shine.
There may have been some cherished blessings lost-
I may have felt some momentary pain ;
My will, by God's, may often have been crossed ;
But losing much has only been my gain ; —
And thankful for the lost, as for the won,
I fold my hands and say 4< Thy will be done ! "
To-day is mine. To-day is very broad ;
It has the fullne&s of the Infinite.
It reaches from my narrow life to God,
And holds within it a supreme delight.
It has the work, and partly the reward —
The rest will come to-morrow, praise the Lord !
OUR HEART-OFFERING.
"Give thanks unto the Lord for He is good."
Thus read Ruth, on Thanksgiving evening. Some-
thing in her voice touched the words with a meaning
new and sweet.
"For He is good" she repeated. " How many who
have to-day listened to those words, really emphasized
them in their hearts ?"
We all fell to thinking. In the hush that followed,
our hearts sent up anew an offering of thanks. God's
goodness was growing in our sight.
"For His mercy endureth forever," Ruth chanted
softly.
His mercy ! From the heart of the great world at
large should go up to God an offering of thanks for His
mercies. If God were good alone, and not merciful, sad
would it be for many. Because God is good and merci-
ful both, let us rejoice.
"I read, once," said Ruth, after a little, "of a min-
ister whose child died. At the grave, when clods had
fallen heavily upon the coffin where beauty and love lay
buried, the father spoke. 'My friends/ said he, 'it has
been my lot to stand by the graves of many whom you
loved and mourned. In your sorrow I have told you of
God's goodness and tender mercy, and you may have
thought me wrong. In your grief you may have thought
l8o A CHRISTIAN HABIT.
me mistaken. But now, standing here by the grave of
my own loved one, I can say to you that all I have ever
spoken about God's goodness and mercy is true. God is
good, and loving, and kind/ I wonder if all mourning
hearts have felt like this to-day ?" Ruth queried.
And we thought of the dear friends who miss so much
from their life — of one loving woman who is companion-
less on a journey which two began together — and with
our thank-offering went up a prayer for suffering souls.
In the twilight's silence, from the corner where the
mother-heart sits, a tremulous voice breathed out a
word of comfort so tenderly that we could have wished
every mourner to hear :
(( Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord
pitieih them that fear Him."
A CHRISTIAN HABIT
The very habit of godly life helps to keep one from
temptation and sin. There are times, perhaps, when
spirituality is at a low ebb in the heart, and little of Gqd's
sweet love seems to have place therein. Then this habit
of correct living — a habit acquired through years of
watchful prayer and persistent purpose — holds the man to
circumspectness, and keeps him from many things that
might soil his soul.
As a saving feature the habit may be little worth, but
A CHRISTIAN HA BIT, 7 I 8 I
as a strong cord, holding evil tendencies in check, its
value is very great. Satan rarely tempts with his wicked-
est pleasures, those who go straight on in their daily life,
upheld by a habit strong and strengthening. He dallies
with such as are uncertain of themselves, being the crea-
tures of their own impulsive promptings, and swayed
hither and thither by the power of their own passions.
Passion habitually held in check, is never harmful ; but
let it now and then rise to the mastery and all safety is
gone by.
For safety lies only in a correct habit, not in an inten-
tion to be correct in the main, but to grant self certain
indulgences as inclination may prompt. Just here is
where sad mistakes are made. Young and old alike
make them. Men are continually saying to themselves
— "This indulgence will not work me harm. My life
shall be mainly correct ; my self-discipline shall be
rigorously maintained, with some slight exceptions ; I
will abide by what my conscience dictates as a rule ; but
every rule has its exceptions. " And yet there are rules
of being and doing which ought to have' no excep-
tions— which can not admit of exceptions without abso-
lute danger.
It is the exceptional lapses from Christian circumspect-
ness that impair the Christian character, and weaken the
Christian faith. If not too often occurring, their in:
fluence may not be so readily discovered, but it is not the
less an influence, and it is not the less an influence for
the bad. In essential quality it is precisely the same
as though it were more plainly marked but its degree is
l82 THE STAR DIVINE.
not so great. Occasional sinnings may not utterly warp
the nature over, but they leave their impress, and it may
never be quite eradicated. If the habit of life wholly
forbid these, how much better in the end. — how much
better even now ! We do not argue for perfectionism,
for we believe men will always fall far short sf sinless
living ; but we argue for a complete shutting out of the
grosser sins that lure so many to final ruin through occa-
sional yieldings. Nothing short of divne grace, and a
rule of life which will admit no exceptings, can save men
from these.
THE STAR DIVINE.
I sit beside my window here,
And through the winter atmosphere
I see the hills of evening rise
Against the fading sunset skies.
As one by one the stars outshine,
I think how in this heart of mine
When darkness comes, through fear and doubt,
The star of love shines clearly out.
It brighter still and brighter glows,
As deeper night my being knows,
'And looking steadfast on its ray
I half forget the vanished day.
THE STAR DIVINE. ^ 1 83
0 Star of Love divine, so blest,
Shine on forever in my breast,
That never night may come to me
So dark I can no comfort see !
The clouds are often o'er my way
So dense I walk in twilight gray,
But in thy light, O star divine,
1 see my Master's face outshine !
And seeing this I walk along,
Upon my lips a grateful song ;
Within my heart a grateful prayer
That God will make all shadows fair.
Then Faith contends He ever will,
And Faith recites with tender thrill
That for a moment dims my sight —
"At evening-time let there be light ! "
You have heard of the man who, when he ate a cherry,
always put his spectacles on, that it might seem the larger
to him ? It were better, seemingly, in some such way to
magnify our hope, than continually to depreciate it. It
is possible for such depreciation to work a serious harm.
We think it often does. These men with small hopes
seem shrunken in their Christian growth, and they actu-
ally are shrunken. It is better, vastly better, to cherish
and nourish a hope, than to starve it.
NEWNESS OF LIFE,
What does newness of life mean ? A new life must
be antedated by a new birth : so much we know. A new
birth is a being born into new things, and a new life is
a continuance therein. Then, as Christians, have we al-
ways newness of life ? Do we continually walk in the
way entered upon when the old things of sin and de-
basing worldliness were renounced ? Or is there daily a
lapsing away into habits that hurt, and indulgences that
tell sadly against our soul's present and future well-being ?
We may not argue that Christian living becomes old,
and that therefore newness of life is impossible to one
past his early Christian experience. All Christian feeling
and desire is renewed day by day. it is fresh with every
morning's freshness. New things are opening up to the
Christian's recognition constantly — new things in the line
of God's goodness and human want, of the Creators
marvelous bounty and the creature's capacity to receive
and be blest. All that is great and glorious in nature, all
that is sweet and tender in revelation and experimental
knowledge, is baptized anew with divine grace so often
that it can not become stale.
The soul has its longings and its answers, and in these
is newness of life yet further exemplified. WThat we live
upon to-day will not sustain us to-morrow. The same
"JESC7S WEPT." 185
in kind may satisfy, yet it is different in fact. It is some-
how changed. That which we pray for to-day and re-
ceive, we may pray for next week, and again receive, yet
it is not the same; it is new, it meets our want, it helps us
on. God pity those to whom nothing fresh comes, —
whose being is but an existence, — whose one complaint
is that all things have become old !
There are some such, who claim the Christian's title}
who walk in Christian fellowship with their compeers.
Theirs is the old life, over and over again — the week-day
routine, the Sabbath church-going. New things made
their hearts glad once, but there is no longer anything
new. They pray the same prayers, they feel the same
faint aspirations, they cling to the same weak faith, as in
earlier years. How meager it all is ! New life is new
faith, new aspirations, new askings. May this newness
of life make us all to rejoice !
"jjesus wept:1
Christ's humanity is touchingly pictured in the two
words which comprise the shortest verse in the Bible. In
the same chapter wherein is found the sublime declara-
tion— " I am the resurrection and the life," it is recorded,
"Jesus wept." Divinity speaks forth in the declaration ;
humanity sorrowfully manifests itself in the brief, simple
record.
i86 " jesus wept:*
Though, as we read the Gospel narrations, we can
readily believe the Saviour to be "a man of sorrows and
acquainted with grief," we never realize how closely His
nature is allied to our own until we see Him weeping in
sympathy with others over a friend dead. Christ healing
the sick, making the blind to see, causing the lame to
walk, and performing all those GoD-like miracles which
so clearly prove His superior power, wins our most de-
vout worship ; Christ sorrowing as we sorrow, stricken
in heart with a grief so common to us all, calls out our
deepest and warmest love.
Human grief is so very human that it moves us with a
strange control. We cannot look upon it in', idle indiff-
erence. Griefs are of many kinds, however, and not all
move us alike. Sorrow born of death has the strongest
influence. Speaking of this sorrow one said once, in
our hearing, — "When a friend dies it is not so much
that one we loved is dead, but that a part of our life is
wanting." And so when we see stricken ones mourning
over the part of their life which they miss, our hearts
respond in sincere sympathy. When the Redeemer
weeps over Jerusalem, because of its wickedness, we are
touched, but in only a slight degree ; when, with Mary
and Martha, He weeps over the dead friend and brother,
we can scarcely do other than add our tears to His.
Perhaps in no other portion of the inspired narrative
is the marvelous union of the divine and the human, in
the person of Christ, so clearly shown as in this eleventh
chapter of John. Jesus wept not as we weep when those
we love are taken from us. His humanity asserted itself
MY THANKFUL THOUGHT. 1 87
for a moment, but had He not said to the sorrowing
Martha — *'Thy brother shall rise again?" What need
that He should be long troubled in spirit ? Only a mo-
ment later, and He could say ' ' Lazarus, come forth, n
and the tomb would yield up its dead. Blending with
the tears of the man was the wonderful power of the All-
Father, which should bring joy to the bereaved but be-
lieving sisters, and faith to the doubting Jews.
And still Christ is troubled in spirit because of hu-
manity's griefs ; still He is saying to all — "I am the res-
urrection and the life ; " still is the human in His nature
reaching out to human natures everywhere, to draw them
up towards the divine. We do not realize this enough.
We think of Christ too much as one who was crucified
for our sakes, but having been crucified is forevermore
disassociated from us, and from everything allied to hu-
manity. We need to appreciate more clearly that He is
still our elder brother, — sympathizing with us, sorrowing
with us, and even interceding for us.
MY THANKFUL THOUGHT.
The Master on the Mountain, the disciples on the sea !
I sit within the twilight, and a picture comes to me —
A vessel tempest-driven, tossed in anger by the wave ;
A company despairing, seeing none to help and save ;
A lonely watcher praying on the lonely mountain side,
The entrance-door to Heaven by His prayers thrown open wide I
J 88 MY THANKFUL THOUGHT.
And now the thought of thankfulness supreme above the rest
That surge and swell for utterance within my thankful breast,
Is this : that though the waters rage, and though the tempest sweep
Around me as I sail along, or waking or asleep,
The Master on the mountain waits and He will come to me,
As I shall need Him, walking as of old, upon the sea !
There is so much to thank Him for who gave so much to each,
That my poor heart is oftentimes too full of thanks for speech,
And so 1 sit in silence oft, and make no sound or sign,
And yet I think my silence our dear Master can divine,
Who waits upon the mountain as He waited there of old,
Whose arms from every danger His disciples will enfold.
But now I am not silent, though my speech is faint and low,
Because a flood of feeling fairly makes the tears to flow ;
Yet through my silence only speaks this thankful thought su-
preme—
That in my peril and my pain, when skies the darkest seem,
My life ahall know its blessedness, my being find its cheer,
My heart grow warm with gladness, in the Master's coming near !
O Master on the mountain ! surely heaven's door did ope
To prayer of Thine ingoing, and, outcoming, our great Hope I
The entrance into heaven is our gateway out of sin
Beyond its shining portal shall the Perfect Peace begin,
But here amid the striving, 'mid the storm and tempest sore,
A hint of heaven's holding shall Thy coming bring before !
THE CHRIST-CHILD.
It has been said that no other religion than the Chris-
tian ever had a child in it ; and the fact as stated is not
more curious than significant. That Jesus Christ came
into the world as a little child, means much for us all.
He began His humanity at the very beginning. There-
fore there is not an experience He can not understand,
not one with which He can not sympathize most keenly.
And is not the fact of such near and complete svmpathy
most blessed to us ?
Then as He came to us as a little child, like little chil-
dren must we go to Him. Manhood is hardened and
unyielding ; childhood is trustful and yields readily.
Manhood is full of doubts and questioning ; childhood
is trustful and questions not. Manhood stands upon
rights ; childhood claims none, but is willing to receive
and be glad. And so we must be pliable, trustful, will-
ing to receive Christ's rare blessing undoubting, if we
would receive it at all.
Christ came so very near humanity in His earth-life,
that it should be an easy thing for us to come very near
Him in return. Yet it is harder than we might imagine ;
and it is hard simply because we insist upon holding our
manhood and womanhood, our foolish lessons of the
years. "Are we not men and women?" we ask our-
190
THE LAND OF MOAB.
selves, ' ' shall we not maintain our manly dignity and wo-
manly reserve ? Must we sacrifice individuality to win
Christ?"
O miserable questioning ! How much better is the
wise trust of the child ! The trusting has its reward ;
the questioning never. The peace of salvation never
was born of questions, but of faith and prayer. It is not
a product of the intellect ; it springs up, and grows, and
bears fruit deep in the heart. The wisest may question
and find no answer ; the weakest may trust and be answer-
ed to the uttermost. And all because on a morning
years ago, in Bethlehem of Judea, a babe was born whose
name was Jesus Christ.
THE LAND OF MOAB.
The theme of the morning was Ruth's Choice.
What sweeter narrative is there, in all the Bible, than
this of Ruth ? Here were three women — Naomi and
her two daughters, Orpah and Ruth. The first had de-
termined upon a return to the kingdom of Israel ; and
would these go also ? Many years had Naomi been in
Moab, but the special tie which had bound her there was
severed ; she longed with an inexpressible longing for
rest in old age among the people of God.
They had come with her, these two women, some dis-
THE LAND OF MOAB.
19I
tance on her journey. Now they must stop,~or go with
her altogether. Which should it be? Should they con-
tinue on, or go back? On the one hand was Moab,
with its pleasures, its prosperity, its associations, its bright
promises for the future ; over against it was Judah, des-
olate, lonely, with no prospect of worldly gam or joy.
It was heathendom and its offerings, or the kingdom of
the living God without these. Which r
Orpah chose to go back. The shining hills of Moab
held more for her than Judah could hold. But Ruth?
She, too, was tempted. It may not have been easier for
her to forsake Moab than for Orpah. She may have
been as strongly attached to its associations, as was her
sister. Yet her choice was the wiser choice, and through
these hundreds of years its sweet language has been read
and sung by Christian humanity the world over — "Entreat
me not to leave thee, or to return from following after
thee: for whither thou goest I will go ; and where thou
lodgest, I will lodge : thy people shall be my people,
and thy God my God ; where thou diest, will I die, and
there will I be buried."
And to-day some of us have come, as Ruth and Or-
pah came, to the parting of the ways. Friends whom we
love we have followed to the very edge of Moab's Land.
As with those two girls, so with us, — a choice must be
made. Shall we stay in Moab ? It holds for us all that
it held for them — social joys, worldly advancement, ease
and pleasure ; it lures us with all the beauty of its shining
hills, and all the sweet grace of its many charms. Over
yonder is the sacrifice, the discomfort, the loneliness, the
I92 THE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS. 4
unpleasantness, of Judah. It is life for self, wheie seff
may find its greatest gains ; or life for God, where there
may be only the gain of God's favor and eternal rest.
Shall we choose as Ruth chose? Why should we not?
Often has it been proven that Moab can not satisfy till the
end. Why prove it yet again ?
THE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS.
We wait the Blessed Thousand Years !
The present with its hopes and fears,
Its longings all unsatisfied,
Looks through the portal opening wide
To let the Future in, and waits
Its coming through the portal-gates.
O Future ! near and yet so far —
Where shines the bright millenial star —
Haste thy approach ! The days are long
Till Right shall triumph over wrong,
Till Morn shall chase away the Night,
And faith be verified in sight !
We wait the Blessed Thousand Years !
Dim, undefined, as through our tears
We forward look, there seems to rise
A newer earth, with brighter skies
Than those which beam erewhile on this,
Where hope attains to fullest bliss ;
THE BLESSED THOUSAND YEARS.
Where all the fret, the din and moil,
That round these weary days of toil,
Shall find completest recompense ;
Where, unrestrained, our soul and sense
Shall feed and ripen on the food
Gleaned from the fields of perfect good ;
Where every pampered lust shall be
Unknown and man be fully free ;
Where buds of promise know no blight,
And pure desire brings pure delight ;
Where all discordant noises cease,
And only echo songs of peace !
Blest Thousand Years ! O righteous God,
The thorny paths the world has trod
Are wearying its heart and strength —
Methinks they weary Thee, at length !
Bring, then, the paths that lead erewhile
Through blooms which hide no secret guile !
We wait the Blessed Thousand Years !
We wait and labor. He who hears
A people's prayer for nobler things,
Will give the good time swifter things :
While that for which we long and wait
Our faith and works may ante-date !
n
:93
POWER OF PRAYER.
The preacher's theme this morning was a common
one. We have all thought more or less of the power of
prayer ; we have all heard much in regard to it. Yet the
morning's discourse presented one or two points in a
comparatively new light, and these are just the points
upon which many stumble and doubt.
God is not a God of uncertainties. His purposes are
not yielding and pliable, so as to be changed by this one's
request, or that one's pleading. "Then why pray?"
asks some one. " If God's designs are already deter-
mined, why waste breath in prayer ? " Because prayer is
a part of God's plan. It is ordained in the divine econ-
omy that petition shall prelude bestowal. Anything
worth having is worth asking for, is the common rule.
Prayer is spirit-born, God-willed. It is the human
want, grafted on to the divine purpose. "Ask and
you will receive, " is the promise. It is not, however,
a miscellaneous promise, made without any limitation.
There are many things which we have no right to ask
for — the granting of which would work us harm rather
than good. It is only as touching those things the
granting of which is predetermined, that the promise
holds secure.
For what, then, shall we ask? Can we ever know thct
ABILITY TO GIVE.
*95
we ask aright? The Holy Spirit moves to right asking ;
if we have that as an indwelling presence we shall seldom
err. There are certain vague, restless stirrings of the
soul, when a sense of personal need presses upon us as a
burden. In times like these we are moved to prayer, and
our prayer is available. Petitions of the lips are wasted
words ; the prayer of the heart, inspired by the spirit of
God, is a certain power.
ABILITY TO GIVE.
It is the time of giving gifts. Has not this season a
deeper significance than we are accustomed to think
upon ?
Life, primarily a free and splendid gift to us, was
meant to be, secondarily, a benefit to men at large. Is
the meaning fulfilled ? How much of the wealth of
being do we give to those about us ?
" But I am very poor," says one. '' I am not rich in
anything which the world needs. Others can bestow of
their endowments, or of what they have acquired, but I
must be only a recipient. I have nothing to give."
So might those disciples have talked, who chanced up-
on that helpless man who waited by the Gate Beautiful.
They had no money, and he was there for alms. They
might have made a seemingly reasonable excuse, and left
I96 ABILITY TO GIVE.
him unhelped. They might have said to him" We, too,
are penniless ;" and he would not have expected a far-
thing.
" Silver and gold we have none," they declared, "but
such as we have give we unto thee. In the name of
Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk." Was not
their gift of the very best and most valuable ? And hav-
ing it in their power to bestow so generously, would any
excuse suffice for them to withhold the bestowing?
" Such as we have" — herein lies the secret of it all. In
our poverty we have yet something which some wayfarer
needs. At many a Gate Beautiful lies a waiting one,
whose life we may make glad.
Weak, are we, and unable to work effectively in and
of ourselves ? So were those disciples. But there is a
hint for us in their declarative command. "In the
name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, " they did what they
did, and gave what they gave. In Christ's name we
also must work and give. If, as ieal disciples, we stand
at the Gate Beautiful, we shall fail not in giving, for the
spirit will be ours, and to us will be given the means.
Are we daily passing by the waiting souls ? Then a
truer discipleship is needed. Are we all our life long
withholding what men want, in mistakenness or selfish
greed ? Then, by-and-by, from us will be taken that
which we have, and it shall be given to him who hath
not.
GOD'S TIME.
The sun goes down, and the light fades out—
" God has forgotten the world ! "
Over the heavens come dark and doubt —
" God has forgotten the world ! "
The darkness deepens — in gloom we grope—
" God has forgotten the world !"
Hidden forever the stars of hope —
44 God has forgotten the world ! "
But see ! there's a gleam in the midnight sky !
44 God will remember the world ! "
Stars do shine in the By-and-By —
44 God will remember the world ! "
And see ! there's a glow on the eastern hills !
44 God will remember the world ! "
The glad day dawns when the good God wills ! M
44 God will remember the world ! "
Ruin and death are abroad to-day —
God has gone out of the world !
What does it profit to preach and pray ?
God has gone out of the world !
Truth is futile, and Right is weak —
God has gone out of the world !
Vainly we listen to hear Him speak —
Has He forgotten the world ?
I98 GOOD GIFT'S.
No ! He liveth, He heeds, He hears !
God is alive in the world !
Faith can see Him through pain and tears-
God is alive in the world !
He will help in His own good time —
God is aliye in the world !
Right shall win in a day sublime —
God ivies on in the world !
GOOD GIFTS.
11 If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts
unto your children, how much more shall your Heaven-
ly Father give good things to them that ask Him." Thus
did Ruth repeat the text of the morning.
At every hearthstone, in this holiday time, some token
is given and received, telling of kindly regard and affec-
tion. Parents remember their loved ones; the parents
in return are remembered. All this giving of gifts is
beautiful and works out a benefit. Apart from the added
nearness it imparts to domestic life — setting aside its
salutary influences in the way of strengthening family
ties — it is most beneficial.
Who so receives a testimonal will, if he be studious of
himself, consider how little he has merited it, how much
his life and thought and companionship should be im-
GOOD GIFT'S.
199
proved, to be worthy of such regardful manifestation.
And in the gift there is an incentive to better motive,
purer action, ambition higher and nobler. With the
gift's abiding abides the incentive influence, and while it
abides the being grows nearer what it should be. Good
gifts, to thoughtful souls, have in them more than the
world sees, more than the donors apprehend.
God cares not for the race simply as a race, not for hu-
manity simply as humanity, but for each individual as
His own child.
11 How much more ! " You are tenderly considerate
of your own ; you would not insult your little one's un-
doubting faith by putting a stone in the stocking expect-
antly hung ; how much more careful for His own is your
Heavenly Father, than any earthly parent can be ! We
may never fathom the " much more. " It covers breadths
we can not span, it sweeps vastness we can not look across.
It comprehends the difference between the finite and the
Infinite- God ministers to the individual want. His
love and care are all embracing, yet they distinguish as
individually as any human love and care can distinguish —
yea, " how much more! ' But the gifts must be asked
for. Things come that are not asked for, perhaps, but
rarely the things we need most. When they do come
unasked, they are as the exceptional surprises of the
holiday time. All that our being daily requires should
be sought for in daily asking. All the good gifts of every-
day being and doing — the loving spirit, the patience, the
trust, the hope, the willing service— must be earnestly
prayed for. While we see universal illustration of earthly
200 WHEN THE END COMETH.
gift-giving, why should we doubt the willingness and
ability of our Heavenly Father to give us all we need?
The Divine is richer than the human. The One who
created all holds ever in His hand more than any creature
can possibly claim title to. Of this great holding our
blessing is born. But it is begotten of our faith. "Ask
and ye shall receive, ' is the promise. The promise never
fails. Perhaps it sometimes seems to, but 'tis only in the
seeming. Each heart, with a faith in it, can say with
Phcebe Cary, that
— spite of many broken dreams,
This have I truly learned to say —
That prayers I thought unanswered once,
Were answered in God s own best way*
WHEN THE END COMETH
However careless-minded we may be, there will come
in our soberer moments, questionings as to what awaits
us when the end shall approach — the end of this little
fragment of being which we call life. Just so suie as
the days steal by, shall we come, sooner or later, to some-
thing new and strange, and of which we cannot fore-
judge. We all feel this, more or less deeply ; and we all
question within ourselves if we are ready to welcome this
new and strange something into our lives. For we all
believe that the end of which we speak is not really an
WHEN THE END COMETH. 201
end ; that there is more beyond ; that further away into
the forever than we can conceive, our beings are to reach,
— that there is no absolute death.
Men may drive away these questionings, in a measure,
and may perhaps delude themselves for a time into the
belief that they have to deal only with the present. But
is it wise to do this? Is it prudent to say "Soul, take
thine ease ? " It is not doing away with the grave fact of
the coming change. When the end cometh, — and the
end, as we term it, will come, — we shall be obliged to
face — what ?
In our whole catalogue of words there is nothing like
that brief " forever," — brief, as a word ; longer than finite-
ness can measure* as a time. When the end cometh, the
forever will begin. Here we can count upon nothing as
lasting, but in that unending forever all things will be as
unending as the forever itself. We shall joy on or sor-
row on, with never a pause — never a summons to cease.
Here we may be glad for a season and then sad for a
season — the forever knowrs neither season nor change.
Here we may do evil, if we will, and satisfy conscience
by a promise of better deeds by-and-by, — in the forever
we must reap the bitter fruits of our evil-doing, or the
sweet rewards of doing well. Ah, that incomprehensible
forever ! There are men whom the word haunts like a
very demon, — men whose living is blackened by sin and
crime ; who pretend utter recklessness of the future, but
in whose mind the little word echoes and re-echoes like
a never-dying reproach.
And there are others who whisper it sweetly to them-
2o2 GOD'S MORROW.
selves— for whom it is the refrain of a song that makes
music in their hearts from morning until evening. To
them it is suggestive of eternal gladness. Their full ac-
ceptance of salvation through Christ makes of the for-
ever, for them, a long Sabbath of Rest. They feel that
when the end ccmeth, there will also come Peace.
When the end cometh. — It may be next year, or next
week, or — to-morrow. It cannot be far off, at the most.
It may be nearer than we think ; our short to-day may
even now be illuminated somewhat by the light of the
never-ending to-morrow. Only a little while, and we
shall greet the end wrhich is but the beginning, and shall
take into our hfe an eternal joy or sorrow.
GOD'S MORROW,
0 God ! in the night of my sorrow
Shine Thou with the light of Thy morrow ! —
That day of sweet rest for the weary, of peace for the tronbled
ones sore —
That day of glad sunlight so cheery,
Whose smile on the world-desert dreary
Shall quicken rare buds to their blooming, in beauty of bloom
evermore.
1 wait, in the dark, its appearing,
Impatient the while it is nearing,
For, e'en though the stars may be shining, uncertain and dim is
the v. ay ;
"AS THE LEAF:' 203
Perplexities past my divining
My feet from the path are inclining, —
I follow my Saviour like Peter, and go even further astray.
0 God ! the dim twilight is chilling !
Send soon Thy bright morrow, all thrilling
With warmth that shall melt me to loving intenser, unshadowed
by fear !
1 long for faith's full-fruited summer,
With doubting no more an incomer,
The sunshine of peace all about me and Jesus the Christ ever near!
"AS THE LEAF."
1 4 We do all fade as the leaf. " Thus the soul whispers.
And mayhap the soul sighs a little, and looks back to
the bud and the blossom with somewhat of regret. For
fading is sad. And yet if fading be fulfillment, then it is
not sad. Has not the leaf fulfilled its mission? All
through the summer it has drunk the tree's juices, draw-
ing them up through the tree's wonderful cells that the
tree might grow and work out its destiny. Now its labor
is over. The growing time lapses into patient waiting.
Then what can the leaf do but fade? — fade gracefully, as
becomes a goodly leaf whose fulfillment is attained.
So if we all do • ' fade as the leaf, " it is a blessed fading.
If we fade because our mission is wrought out, our labor
all ended, our opportunity filled full, surely there can be
204 HUMAN SYMPATHY.
no more glorious conclusion. In our sober second
thought we question, Do we ? No leaf drops from its
stem in this bright autumnal season, which, as a leaf, has
not done its perfect work. Alas ! how many human
leaves drop down to dust with their work all unwrought,
their opportunity all unimproved, their mission a failure !
HUMAN SYMPATHY.
"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."
It is as true now as ever it was. Forget it often as we
may, the fact will find its reminder in some hour we think
not. A new life warms within when love is born. That
new life thrives and grows when love abides ; and human
love, which was born with our humanity, will abide while
its existence is recognized and approved. With its abid-
ing, abide better times for all mankind.
Such human love strengthens our love for things di-
vine. We can trust God more completely when we put
large faith in our fellows. Our hearts broaden toward
Deity when they reach out widely to embrace the world.
That man's Christianity ought to be best, whose human-
ity is most far-reaching. And so this is the precious les-
son of a great woe : we are brothers all, at the last. We
have common affections, and, thank God ! common
hopes. And knowing all. sympathizing with us in all,
A PSALM OF PRAISE. 2O5
we have an elder Brother, even Jesus Christ, in whose
humanity we see an example for every human being, in
whose divinity is our sure promise of that which is to
come.
A PSALM OF PRAISE.
O'ER all November's dreariness;
And all the waning year's complaint,
Through smoky haze
Of summer days
That fill the skies
With sweet surprise
When earth in splendid vesture lies,
There comes a peace my soul to bless,
And calm me, though I inly faint.
It steals upon me like a dream, —
A tender dream, as softly kind
As ever blest
A soul at rest ;
And one by one
Each morning sun
Is kissing me, as it has done
With magic in its golden beam
Since Youth its garlands for me twined.
I live again each morning o'er ;
I breathe again each morning's air,
Each fancy sweet
Again repeat ;
206 A PSA L M OF PRAISE.
Each gladsome thrill
At dreaming's will
Asserts that it has power still ;
And joys that long have gone before
Another yield of pleasure bear.
Where I had sung a psalm of praise,
Again the praiseful psalm I sing ;
Where sad I sighed,
Or moaning cried,
I sigh no more
With sadness sore,
But know the fruit that sorrow bore
Is blessing all my brief to-days,
And so a peal of joy I ring !
As one by one the days go by,
# I see my Lord's dear presence near
*, His touch I feel
In woe and weal,
And day by day
He leads my way,
From morning till the evening gray ;
And gladly thankful then am I
To hear His voice of holy cheer.
I bless Thee, O Thou righteous God !
That yesterdays Thou gavest me !
That they were mine,
And I was Thine !
And Thee I bless
In thankfulness
For the to-day that I possess :
And when the way of life I 've trod
May I the past recall with Thee !
THE RENDERING OF GRATITUDE.
Here on this Sabbath evening, which with its holy si-
lence waits upon the New Year's dawning, what is more
fitting than that we think of all God has done for us in
the twelve-month gone, of all He may do for us in the
time to come ? What more becometh us than heartfelt
gratitude for all His mercies ?
But is the rendering of gratitude so simple a thing ?
Is it indeed, so universal a thing? Grateful, are we?
Very likely ; but not always in the way we should be.
As gratitude is a personal rendering, so should the ren-
dering be to a personal God. It is not enough that we
feel a sort of gratitude to nature, to law. In nature and
in law we must see a living God, — a God of love and to
be loved, — and to Him must be rendered the service of
our hearts.
The beginning or the ending of any year may be really
no more than other times to us, yet it is well that we
consider such beginning or ending as a way-mark in life,
a sort of stopping place, where we may pause to look
back — where, in the midst of all our hurry and worry,
we may stop to be glad. For we are too rarely glad.
Those things which would cause regret and sorrow seem
to us far more numerous than those other things whereof
we should rejoice. But full to overflowing of happy hap-
penings is our life, all the rounded weeks.
2o8 BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.
Happenings ? Call them not so. There is no chance
with Him to whom we owe all that we have and are.
Nothing merely happens, with God, therefore nothing
merely happens with us. We may use the word, if only
we use it with the right meaning underneath. And be-
cause there is no happening — because all that comes to
us of being and having is wisely foreordered — our grati-
tude should go out perpetually.
BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.
" Blessed are they that mourn ! "
Ah, many there be, then, blest !
No day its beauties complete hast worn
Till evening lighted the West.
Some hour grows dark with woe
Though bright soever the dawn,
Some bitter regret each heart must know
For treasures too early gone.
We sorrow, alas ! how much !
Our eyes grow weary of tears,
As pain comes closer with cruel touch
Through all the pitiless years.
We sorrow, and weakly trust
Through sorrow we may grow strong,
Yet sorrowing pray to the Good and Just —
u How long, O our Lord, how long ? "
BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.
There comes to our human cry
Response that is all divine,
And whether we heed it, or pass it by,
' T is equally yours and mine.
As sweet as a psalm of peace
It echoes along the air,
And grief has ever its full surcease
In this one answer to prayer.
How long shall we mourn ? Alas !
The answer has naught of this ;
The night of our sorrow may quickly pass,
Soon pain may be turned to bliss ;
Or never may come the dawn,
And peace to the throbbing breast,
We never may chance on the gladness gone,-
But they that do mourn are blest !
This, this is the answer heard
In response to our human cry ;
God breathes no tenderer healing word
To hearts that must hear or die.
Though sorrow has crushing weight,
And leaves us bleeding and torn,
Reward for tears will be sweet and great,
For ''Blessed are they that mourn I"
209
CHRISTIAN EXPRESSION.
" There could have been no silent Redeemer, and be-
lieve me, my friends, He can have no expressionless
representatives."
So said the preacher this morning, and to-night Ruth
calls up the saying, and we ponder it.
"Months ago/' she remarks, "we read on one of our
Sabbath Evenings a poem about 'The Silent Christ/ I
shall always remember it. It spoke of the Saviour's boy-
hood, and young manhood — of how He walked Judea's
hills and gave no sign of the divinity within Him — and
always since then I have seen at times the picture that
poem drew of my Redeemer's silent years. It must have
t>een a true picture ; and yet the preacher did not declare
amiss. Christ was not silent after His redeeming mis-
sion began. All His life then was just a wonderful
speech. How men listened to it ! How they are listen-
ing still ! "
" But if His followers be not voiceless, " one asks, "do
they echo their Master's speech ? "
"Not often enough," is her answer. How can they ?
They are not divine. They are very human. They
speak out of human difficulties, and human besetments,
and the ten thousand surroundings that annoy and per-
plex. They are fretted, and harassed, and borne down
CHRISTIAN EXPRESSION. 21 1
Their tongues are Jed astray, and they utter sad com-
plaints. Their lives are warped by evil, and give sad
testimonies. But they do somehow give expression.
They are not dumb. Representing Christ before men,
they speak for Him or against Him, whether they will or
no. And the world listens, moved for good or ill."
" Would it not be better if we were voiceless for
Christ, since we can not always give testimony in a wise
way ? "
" No. We must learn the wisdom of testifying. We
must seek to live right, that our expression may be help-
ful, and true to Christian faith. Ours is not a testimony
of the lips — that amounts to little — but of the life, and
this amounts to much. Though we be dumb as statues,
we may speak so that many shall hear and heed. • It was
not in His words alone, marvelous and profound as they
were, that Christ spoke loudest to those around Him.
He was eloquent for humanity in every act. No tributes
of speech could have so tenderly sanctified human being,
with all its possibilities, as did He sanctify the same
wherever He Walked and wrought. "'
"But we can not do as He did ? "
" Certainly not. We can not raise the dead, — saving
dead purposes to live nobly and unselfishly, and dead re-
solves to be pure of common sins ; we can not heal the
sick, and bless the blind, and make a present heaven for
those of perfect faith. Yet we can imitate the Master's
life, and thus in some faint degree echo His abiding
speech. We can look at His modest denial of self, and
be more unselfish. We can see how He loved men, and
2 12 BEFORE THE SERVICE.
be more forbearing. We can remember how He suffered
for the world, and be more patient as in the world we are
made to suffer. We can see how He trusted in the very
deeps of darkness, and be more trustful when clouds of
trouble come. "
Ah, yes. We can give a truer testimony that Christ
did well so to speak and die for us all. And men will
note it if we do, and will ask what such living speech
can mean.
BEFORE THE SERVICE,
Dear Lord and Master, Thou who went
Apart from men so oft to pray,
Give me a calm and sweet content,
Communing here with Thee to-day !
I leave the world of sin behind,
I turn to Thee my eager face,
All that I want in Thee to find,
Within this hallowed, holy place.
My poverty its need forgets :
Before Thy will my longing fails ;
The mi&t of murmuring and regrets
Beneath Thy loving smile exhales.
My sinful self no more I see ;
Forgot is all that I have been ;
IN SIGHT OF THE CITY. 213
The veil between my soul and Thee
Is lifted, and I enter in —
Within a holier than this —
The temple of Thy love divine —
And foretaste have of heavenly bliss,
And know that endless joy is mine !
IN SIGHT OF THE CITY.
There is an old legend of a soldier who journeyed to-
ward Jerusalem, to make crusade against the heathen who
held it. His hopes were high, and he went on bravely
day by day, till looking from a mountain-top at length
he saw the city's walls and gleaming roofs, and thought
his victory near at hand. Bnt then he sickened, and
there he died — died in sight of the glories he never
should enjoy.
Are we not all journeying toward Jerusalem? The
Pilgrim's lion Gate is before us each. It must open, if
ever we pass through into tbe beauties beyond. Like
the brave Crusader, we may die in sight of the city's
walls — may, yes, we must. It is given none to reach the
goal, except they yield up life. But we are more blessed
in our pilgrimage than the soldier was in his. To him
death came with stern pathos, at the end of all his hopes
and aims. There was the city, gleaming in the cloudless
2T4 LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED.
sun, but he should not set his foot therein. All his toils
had been for naught. For us, however, the city will
smile a welcome, when we come in sight, and we shall
know if we be but wise in time, that the curtain of death
lets down between it and us only to rise on brighter
glories when the Glad Day dawns.
"LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED!"
" Let not your heart be troubled ! "
No sweeler words of cheer
The Master spake for their dear sake,
Whose love was full of fear.
" Lo, I am with you always ! "
Glad thought of lonely ones ;
Through dreary way by mght and day,
The silvery sentence runs !
" Let not your heart be troubled ! "
What troubleth thine, my friend ?
Do you not know that Christ can go
No more to painful end ?
Do yot not feel His comforting
Amid your trials all ?
No bitter loss by cruel cross
Can on your loving fall.
" Let not your heart be troubled ! '*
The springs of life are sweet
If you but drink at the fountain's brink
SHALL HE BE SAVED 1
That flows by Jesus' feet.
In Him the doubt of being
Its full assurance knows ;
In Him all fret and fear are met
By full and sweet repose.
2I5
SHALL HE BE SAVED?
We read the other day of a man buried in a well.
The well was deep and he could not extricate himself.
Through a small opening beside the pump he could be
communicated with, and could secure a little fresh air,
enough to prevent suffocation. How friends rallied to
save him ! Through all the neighborhood ran the cry of
danger to a life. They worked with a noble will — rela-
tives, neighbors, and those to whom the victim was only
a man, in need of humanity's service. They called to
him encouragingly, they plied shovel and pick, they for-
got all else on that quiet Sabbath afternoon, but this
man's great need and their great obligation. Again and
again, as his deliverance seemed at hand, did the earth
cave in once more, and bury him more completely ; again
and again did they bend all their energies to the gener-
ous task. They sank a pipe to him, and forced air down
through it ; they built a curb, to prevent the earth from
pressing too heavily upon his head ; they toiled on, al.
210 SHALL HE BE SAVED 1
most without thought of tiring, putting more and more
of plan and system into their work, vieing with each
other in doing man's duty to man.
The day waned, but still they rested not. The mer-
chant, the minister, the professional man, labored right
on through all those weary hours, side by side with the
humblest toiler from the ditch. Before the great stress
of that awful time all class conditions vanished. They
were simply all men, loyal to a common manhood, and
zealous in a common cause. Darkness came on, the
long hours of night wore away ; but yet they wavered
not. Morning dawned, and still was their brother in
peril, discouraged, faint, perhaps dying. Only one or
two could labor, as the end was neared, and these at the
risk of their own lives. All were exhausted with their
waiting and their work. Then the fire-bell rang out its
warning of danger. To property ? Ah, no ! to a hu-
man life ! Fresh hands must toil that any hands might
save.
And they did toil, as bravely as their fellows had done.
They toiled, and they won. A few hours more and the
man was saved — weak, bruised, half-unconscious, but
saved ; and from all hearts went up a great throb of joy,
while cheers of victory rent the air.
Down in the pit of intemperance a man has fallen.
He is somebody's father, somebody's husband, some-
body's friend. Let the cry run through all the commu-
nity. Let it set the bells of alarm to ringing ; let hu-
manity be aroused ! Shall he be saved ? Into deeper
and more dangerous depths never man fell. If he get
THE LONELY LAND.
217
out at all it must be by the help of friendly hands, and
the merey of God. Are your hands outstretched ? Are
you answering the call ? Will you forget self and selfish
interests, and toil freely for this brother in distress ? — will
you save a soul? " Unto the least of these, my little
ones/' said the Master. His words were very broad, and
they reach over and include all duty, and all doing.
Wherever there is human need, there must humanity go
to help and to save. They must answer for their sin, who
walk selfishly by on the other side.
THE LONELY LAND.
A lonely land !
Beneath an Eastern sun
It sleeps in dreary peace till day is done.
Along the sandy reaches pilgrims go
From lands far-lying, searching to and fro
For signs of that old life the ages knew
When earth was young, and men their nurture drew
So free and pure it beat through cycles long
In patriarchal pulses firm and strong.
A lonely land !
Its mountains calmly lift
Their faces sunward, but they see no thrift
Upon their slopes, and hear no busy hum
2l8 THE LONELY LAND.
From valleys busy. To them seldom come,
As early came, the saintly devotees
With plaint and prayer their pain of soul to ease.
They sit in silence, in a silent land.
As if they waited some Divine command.
A lonely land !
As kingly and serene
Fair Tabor rises, looking o'er the scene,
The dreamy hushes round about it thrill
To no glad being ; Esdraelon isf still
As if it never felt the heavy tread
Of conquering legions ; all the past is dead
To present seeing ; on the dreary plains
No hint of fading Yesterday remains.
A lonely land !
The slope of Olivet
Is haunted by a ghost of old regret,
And in its silence ever seems to wait
The echo of some footfall missed of late ;
The paths that climb the hills of Nazareth
Are dull and somber as the walks of death,
And Bethlehem looks out of sober eyes
On all the peace that round about it lies.
A lonely land !
Uncertain Galilee
Is always but a patient, lonely sea,
In storm or calm, and rests amid its hills
Remembering ever, with a thought that thrills
To sweeter murmurs, touch of Godly feet,
And words of Masterhood when fierce it beat,
And sighing always for the men who came
And swept its bosom in the Master's name.
LOOKING BACKWARD.
A lonely land !
For out of it went Christ !
And time and need have never yet enticed
His glad returning. Waiting till He come,
The sweetest speech of vale and hill is dumb ;
The deepest breath of holiest Mount is stirred
For longing ear no more by healing word ;
The silent peace of all this silent land
Re-echoes never a Divine command !
A lonely land !
And yet the solitudes
Are full and prescient with a Life that broods
Above the present, as it pulsing went
Throughout the past, — a Life that sweetly bent
To bear the world's great burden, bore it then
From vale to mountain-top, and gave to men
The Life Immortal, from the Crown and Cross,
And left them rich, though lonely for their loss !
219
LOOKING BACKWARD.
As we sit. here in the firelight, on this final evening of
December, a fair face hangs before us on the wall. Be-
hind us, looking down upon the paper as we write, is a
portrait of dear old Whittier, the Quaker poet, who
seems to be thinking of his vis-a-vis opposite, the sweet;
fair face with eyes turned sidewise into distance — as he
2 20 LOOKING BACKWARD.
thought years ago of another imaginative form, — as the
11 Angel of the Backward Look ! "
For the ideal head that hangs above our desk is Retro-
spection ; and the meditative womanhood it pictures is
looking backward, as so much meditative womanhood
and manhood beside is looking backward, on the time
gone by. Now while the year grows old, and we are so
soon to turn the last page of our liie-volume and read
"Finis" again, what vision more fit than this retrospec-
tive one ?
We have come a toilsome way, perhaps ? Then let us
turn and gaze upon it, with hearts a little saddened for
the hurts it gave us, and the weariness it knew. We
have lost some tender things out of our days, may be?
Then let us muse upon them in that sweet, sad silence
which is too holy for speech. We have stumbled
over the pitfalls of our own wild passions and desires,
perchance? Then let us look back over failures, and
sore bruises, and grow stronger amid regrets.
This angel of the Backward Look may be best com-
pany for every one, if only what she sees shall be wisely
turned by us to our account. She is a Presence certain
as the life within. She may hide herself, often, but she
rarely quite forsakes. She walks with us all, day by day,
even as the ideal face looks always away into the past,
here in the quiet of our peaceful home. She is meant
to be — let us trust she is — an angel of blessing; if she
were to prove otherwise, some might come to think her
almost a fiend.
Men should sometimes turn and look back, that thev
AT EVEN-TIME. 221
may find a clearer vision for the way before. These ret-
rospective pauses in life are full of happy advantage, — or
ought to be. Our to-day should be wiser for our yester-
day ; our future should prove richer for our past. We
need the recession of distance to judge wisely what we
were and what we did. Impulse cools, passion lapses,
prejudice dies out, error sees less blinded, every faculty
of being trims itself for truer use. Our present can not
be correctly known, until we put it from us, and view it
retrospectively. There can be no perspective except as
we have light and shade, and these will appear to every-
one who looking backward dwells alike on sad and glad
things, seeing equal grace in each.
AT EV£N^ TIME.
O Lord ! the way is dark and lone :
I grope about, uncertain long ;
No gladness that my life has known
Flows forth in happy thrills of song.
My sky with gloom is dull and drear ;
No stars smile out with beauty bright ;
But through the dark these words I hear —
" At evening time there shall be light !
My midday sun has hid his face, —
I can not see the glory round ;
If God should seek me in this place,
222 AT EVEN-TIME.
And make to me no sign or sound,
I should not know His presence near,
I should not wonder at the sight ;
But in this promise is my cheer —
" At evening time there shall be light ! n
O Lord ! in weariness I pray
That Thou wilt come and walk with me,
As Thou of old didst walk the way
With shining face, that I may see !
Or give me patience, till appear
Some cheering rays, to bide the night,
And let me never cease to hear —
" At evening time there shall be light ! "
Life's little day will reach its close ;
The dreary way will find an end ;
To worn and weary sweet repose
Will come as comes the dearest friend.
O Lord ! I pray Thee, grant that this
Shall be my song when comes the night,
And day's dark gloom fades into bliss —
" ' T is evening time, and there is light ! "
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