London can boast of no burialplaces that are comparable with Woodlawn
and Greenwood; but this is one of the most attractive. It lies upon a side hill. Entering
the gateway-guarded by a man in the everlasting gilt-band and buttons-we found the
tombs huddled very closely together. One of
the first we came to bears the fragrant name
of-" James Hamilton, D.D., the Beloved Pastor
of Regent Square Presbyterian Church." In
that grave lies the finest poetic genius that has
graced the London pulpit during the present
generation. It startled us to discover, a few
rods off, the tomb of Tom Sayers the pugilist,
with the effigy of a huge stone bull-dog lying
beside it! Whose tablet is that one set in yonder wall under the trees? We drew near and
read on it the name of Michael Faraday.
He was a Sandemanian in his theology; as devout in his faith as he was brilliant in his scientific discoveries. We walked on, under the
hot sun, towards the foot of the hill, and came
upon a dark granite obelisk about seven feet
high, standing amid a small bed of purple
flowers. It bore this inscription-" Here lies
the body of'George Eliot' (Mary Ann Cross).
Born Nov. 22, 1819-Died Dec. 22, 1882." If the
piety of James Hamilton could be combined
with the rare genius that wrote Adam Bede
and Middlemarch, a splendid ideal would be
realized.       izd J




























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f_...   ~-~~~~~~~~~t: —f-....~-~~(,,~~~.......




THE ROYAL PREACHER.
Letrtnrs nn ~rrIciuastmi
BY
JAMES HAMILTON, D.D., F.L.S.,
AUTIOR OF "LIFE IN EARNEST," "MOUNT OF OLIVES," "HAPPY HOMEL"
L LIFE OF LADY COLQUHOUN," ETC. ETC.
NEW YORK:
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
No. 285 BROADWAY.
1852.




TIIOMAS B. SMITII, STEREOTYPER,  ROBERT CRAIOHEAD, PRINTERF
216 WILLIAMI STRlCT. N. Y.    112 FULTON STREET, N. Y.




LECTURE                            Page
I. THE PREACHER..            1
II. THE SERMON......   12
III A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.... 42
IV. THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY..  60
V. THE MUSEUM.......  80
VI. THE PLAY-HOUSE AND THE PALACE.. 12
VII. THE MONUMENT..... 123
VIII. THE CLOCK OF DESTINY,....  135
IX. THE DUNGEON......158
X. THE SANCTUARY......  17
XI. THE EXCHANGE......190
XII. BORROWED LIGHTS FOR A DARK LANDING-PLACE 204
XIII. A GOOD NAME..... 222
XIV. THE POWER OF PATIENCE....  230
XV. DEAD FLIES.... 235
XVI. BLUNT AXES; OR, SCIENCE AND GOOD SENSE 251
XVII. BREAD ON THE WATERS....    273
XVIII. BRIGHT MOMENTS ON THE WING..  286
XIX. OLD AGE.......  299
XX. THE WICKET GATE.....        319
XXI. GREEN PASTURES...... 336








IN the form of translations, expositions, and
literary parallels, there is now connected with
each book of the Bible a very extensive authorship; and we might fill a little volume
with a historical review of the illustrations of
Ecclesiastes, from the Commentary of Jerome
to the illuminated edition of Owen Jones.
Jerome tells us that his work originated in
an effort to bring over to the monastic life a
young Roman lady, Blesilla. This object gives
an ascetic tone to every chapter, and many of
his interpretations are so fanciful that alongside of them any modern Cocceius would be
deemed sober and literal. For instance, applying to the Saviour the language of the second chapter, the "slaves," or men-servants
there mentioned, he thinks are Christians afflicted with the spirit of bondage; the " great




ViUi              PREFACE.
and small cattle," are the simpletons and
drudges of the Church,-its "sheep and oxen," who, without exerting their reason or
studying the Scriptures, do as they are bidden,
but are not entitled to rank as men, &c. His
own reason the learned father freely exercised
in his scriptural studies; and he takes care to
apprise his readers that his version is the result of his independent research.* For this he
has been curiously rewarded.   The Council of
Trent has declared his version "authentic,"
and has virtually decreed that henceforth Jerome's private judgment must be the judgment
of Christendom. The most painful thing in
his writings is the tone of litigious infelicity by
which they are pervaded. It is a sort of formic acid which flows from    the finger-points
not of our good father alone, but of a whole
class of Divines; and, like the red marks left
by the feet of ants on litmus-paper, it discolors
all his pages. But although we cannot sub* "Nullius autoritatem secutus sum;" "nec contra conscientiam meam, fonte veritatis omisso, opinionum rivulos
consectarer."




PREFACE.               iX
scribe to every rendering of the Latin Vulgate,
and must demur to its author's principles of
interpretation as well as his spirit,-the zeal
and industry of Jerome, and the curious information which he has transmitted, must always secure for his name a prominent place in
the history of Biblical literature.
To the monk of Bethlehem, we have a curious contrast in Martin Luther. " Fathers and
doctors have grievously erred in supposing
that in this book Solomon taught contempt of
the world, as they call it, meaning thereby
contempt of things ordained and created. The
creatures are good enough, but it is man and
man's notions which Solomon pronounces vanity. But his expounders, forsooth! make it
out that the creatures are the vanity, and that
they themselves and their dreams are the only
solidity! And thus, from the Divine gold of
our author they have forged their own abominable idols."  And then, in that spirit of genial life-enjoyment with which the "Table
Talk" and Merle D'Aubigne's History have
made us so familiar, he states it as the true




X                  PREFACE.
scope of Ecclesiastes: "Solomon wishes to
make us tranquil in the ordinary on-goings
and accidents of this existence, neither afraid
of future days nor covetous of remote possessions;* as St. Paul says,'careful for nothing.'"
And then in a strain very different from that
which sought to decoy Blesilla into a convent,
and like the uncaged captive, which he really
was, the Saxon swant goes on to celebrate the
joys of Christian liberty.
Since that period, versions and commentaries have appeared sufficient to store a little
library. In one thing they all agree. They
all allow that Ecclesiastes contains many things
hard to be understood.   " Mea sententia inter
omnia sacra scripta liber longe obscurissimus,"
says Mercer, the learned Hebrew professor in
Paris University; " le plus difficile de tous les
livres de l'Ecriture," re-echoes his still more
learned countryman, Calmet.   "Of all the Hebrew writings, none present greater obstacles
* "Sine cura et cupiditate futurorum."
f Luther's crest was a swan, as those will remember who
recall the narrative of Huss's Martyrdom.




PREFACE.               X1
to the expositor," is the preliminary remark
of one of the most intelligent English translators, G. Holden; and even German clairvoyance acknowledges " Finsterniss" and " Dunkelheit." " Zwar hat das Licht der neuern Exegese die dunkle Wolke zertheilt, aber sie doch
noch nicht in villige Klarheit aufgelost," was
the confession of Umbreit thirty years ago, and
it is still repeated by most of his critical successors.
There is another respect in which these commentators are all agreed, and in consequence
of which their productions remarkably vary.
Unconsciously they transfer to their authors
their own subjectivity, and Solomon is made
to assume a sanguine or atrabilious aspect, or
he becomes a poet, a logician, a satirist, or a
penitent, according to the mood of his interpreter. As meteorologists employ a cyanometer for ascertaining the depth of azure in the
atmosphere, so we once thought of preparing a
physiognomic scale, where the academic learning and sober sense of Bishop Patrick might
have served as a medium between the dry se



Xii                 PREFACE.
verity and point-splitting precision of Broughton* at the one extreme, and the good-natured
excursiveness and hazy idealism of Greena
wayt at the other.     But remembering how it
has fared with the inventors of dangerous instruments, from the days of Lord Morton downwards, we have thought it better to leave ouI
criticometer incomplete for the present.
Not to enumerate the older works of Desvoeux, (1760), L. Holden (1764), and Hodgson
(1790), and the well-arranged and scholar-like
publication of G. Holden (1822), two very good
English translations of Ecclesiastes have lately
appeared. Of these, the most elaborate is by
the Rev. T. Preston, of Cambridge, and is accompanied by the ingenious Commentary of
* See " The works of the great Albionean Divine renown'd
in many nations for rare skill in Salem's and Athens' tongues,
and familiar acquaintance with all Rabbinical learning, Mr.
Hugh Broughton." London, 1662.
t In Greenaway's curious medley the only unity is indignation, not wholly unmerited, at Houbigant. The very index reads," Houbigant, tolerable, 190; intolerable, 61; impertinent, passim; his spiteful and scandalous attempt to
wound the Sacred Text, 67; disgusting, 197; correcting
Virgil, 234."




PREFACE.             Xti
Rabbi Mendlessohn (1845). The other by Dr.
Noyes of Boston, U. S. (1846), with less show
of erudition, is clear and straightforward; but,
like Mendlessohn, the American professor
gives to the book an air of theological tenuity,
and mere worldly wisdom, which carries neither our conviction nor our sympathy.
In the " Presbyterian Review" (Edinburgh),
for October, 1846, there was inserted a brief
but interesting paper on this book, ascribed,
we believe correctly, to our friend, the Rev.
A. A. Bonar. Full of fine fancy and delicate
insight, its only fault is its shortness; and although we have taken another view of the
book's purport and ground-plan, we could
wish that its text were illustrated by a mind
so rich in Eastern lore and Christian experience.
Our own labors were nearly ended before
there came into our hands the " Biblical Repository" (New York) for April, 1850, containing a Lecture by Professor Stowe, of Cincinnati. The plan of Ecclesiastes, as given by
this ingenious expositor, is so nearly akin to




xiv              PREFACE.
that which will be found in the subsequent
pages, that we feel bound to transcribe it:
"The method of the writer is the most vivid
and effective that can be conceived. Instead
of describing the various processes of thought
and feeling through which Solomon passed in
the course of his eventful life, the whole heart
of the king is taken out and held up before our
eyes, with everything it contains, both good
and bad. The secret chambers of his soul are
thrown open, and we see every thought and
feeling as it arises in the mind, and in the exact shape in which it first presents itself, without any of those modifications by which men
soften down the harder features of their first
thoughts before they give them utterance to
their fellow-men."  "Solomon.... seeking
happiness in the things of earth,.... is disappointed and disgusted; and instead of repenting of his errors, he becomes dissatisfied
with the arrangements of Providence, misanthropic, and skeptical. His conscience, however, is not entirely asleep, but occasionally
interposes to check his murmurings and re



PEEFACE.              XV
prove him for his follies. In this state of mind
he is introduced, and in the character of Koheleth, gives full and strong utterance to all
his feelings. Hence, inconsistent statements
and wrong sentiment are to be expected in
the progress of the discourse; and it is not till
the close of the book that all his errors are
corrected, and he comes to'the conclusion of
the whole matter,' a humbled, penitent, believing, religious man."
Of those older commentators who are hortatory rather than explanatory, Reynolds is by
far the best. The "Homilies" of Thomas
Cartwright, and the " Expositions" of Granger
(1621), and Nisbet (1694), contain many pious
and useful reflections; but they are not likely
to find many modern readers. In our own
day, Dr. Wardlaw has published two volumes
of Lectures, which are distinguished by richly
scriptural illustration and faithful enforcement
of truth on the conscience, conveyed in language remarkable for its clearness and elegance, and which promise long to retain a firm
hold of the public mind.




Xvi                  PREFACE.
Two poetical paraphrases of Ecclesiastes
have been written by authors whose opposite
fortunes are striking illustrations of their
theme. One is entitled,'" The Design of Part
of the Book of Ecclesiastes: or, the Unreasonableness of Men's Restless Contentions for the
Present Enjoyments, represented in an English
Poem."* It was the maiden effort of William
Wollaston, afterwards sufficiently known
through " The Religion of Nature Delineated."
He published it in all the gaiety of his spirits,
when, from being an ill-paid schoolmaster, he
found himself suddenly the heir of a rich kinsman, and when with his newly-married wife,
also an heiress, he had settled in a handsome
* London, 1691. It is anonymous; but the Preface is
signed " W. W." It is now very rare. The author afterwards wished to suppress it. See Biogr. Brit. 4304.
Amongst other bibliographical curiosities connected with
this portion of Scripture may be mentioned, " King Solomon
his Solace. Containing (among many thinges of right worthy request) King Solomon his Politie, his true Repentance,
and finally his Salvation. [By John Carpenter.] London,
1606." It is a dialogue between Zadoc and Solomon's chief
lords, filling a black-letter quarto. It is quaint and ingenious; but owing to its tediousness, its rarity is neither to
be wondered at nor regretted.




PREFACE.                Xvii
house, and surrounded himself with a splendid
library in Charter Iouse-square.    The other
is " Choheleth; or, the Royal Preacher, a Poetical Paraphrase of the Book of Ecclesiastes;
printed for J. Wallis, at Yorick's Head, Ludgate-street, 1768."  It was probably written
within a few yards of Wollaston's former mansion; for its author died a pensioner in the
Charter House, January, 1795, aged eightyeight years.  "He was at the time of the earthquake a considerable merchant at Lisbon, and
narrowly escaped with his life, after seeing all
his property swallowed up.    Some time after
his arrival in England he lost his eyesight,
when Her Majesty was pleased to give him her
warrant for the comfortable asylum he enjoyed
till his death.  He was well versed in different
languages, and was the author of several detached publications."*  What an example of
* From a MS. note appended to our copy of " Choheleth."
We have not been able to find any notice of Brodick in print.
His paraphrase was reprinted at Whitchurch, Salop (1824),
"With Supplementary Notes, by Nathaniel Higgins;" but
the editor does not appear to have known even the name, of
his author...:                2o




Xviii             PREFACE.
the " time to get and the time to lose!" The
fagged' schoolmaster transformed in a few
months into the full-blown gentleman, and admitted to courtly circles with his beautiful
heiress; and the prosperous merchant seeing
his wealth in a moment engulfed by the earth
whence it came, and then losing the eyes that
beheld it, and thankful for a home in a public
hospital! Brodick's Paraphrase indicates considerable poetical talent, and, although too copious, it is so good a transfusion of the original
that the Commentary of the learned Dr. Clarke
in a great measure consists of extracts from it.
On the score of neither versification nor fidelity is Wollaston's poem   entitled to  equal
praise; and by treating Solomon as a satirist
he has evidently misapprehended his character; but as the book is now seldom seen, we
may give a short sample of the opening chapter:" Here Mocher bustles in a thronged shop,
That swallows all his hours to feed his hope;
And pants, by business elbow'd every way,
Within the narrow limits of the day.




PREFACE.
There sails a Tyrian by some distant star,
Bolder than fits of men in deep despair:
While Iccar keeps within his native sphere,
Always at home, yet, too, a traveller:
For daily tramping o'er his spacious fields,
He views their state, and what each of them yields;
O'erlooks his flocks, o'erlooks his men, that plough,
Or (his own emblem) corn and fodder mow;
While sweat, the curse, that vanquish'd all our race,
In pearly drops does triumph on his face.
But Oh, that here the catalogue might close I
For still worse ends men to themselves propose;
And still worse roads to reach their goals they choose.
Methinks I see the crafty Gilonite,
Broke from the cords of duty and of right,
Within his study (forge of treasons) sit,
And scratching prompt his head and stir his wit,
Seeking through policy and state essays
Himself, tho' by his master's fall,'to raise.
While Absalom (what pity't should be he!)
The fairest youth e'er blotted family,
A more compendious rebel strives to be;
Through David's and his father's breast would bore
A purple passage to the sovereign power."
An effort of a much higher order than either
of the above is Prior's " Solomon." However,
being neither a paraphrase nor an independent
poem, but a monologue composed of materials
which Ecclesiastes supplies, wit, learning, and
melodious verse fail to sustain the interest of




xX                 PREFACE.
the huge soliloquy through its three successive
books.   And we are inclined to think that the
spirit of our author has been as happily caught
and his design as successfully carried out by
sundry productions which neither profess to
translate nor to imitate him.. Among these
literary parallels we would name Johnson's
"Vanity of Human Wishes;" Hannah More's
"Search after Happiness;" and Tennyson's
"Two Voices;" and above all, "Rasselas."*
May we not add the sadly beautiful " Consolatio Philosophize," in which the last of the
Romans has given us everything except the
grand conclusion?
Having gone over two books of the New
Testament, the author selected Ecclesiastes as
the subject of a congregational lecture.    He
chose it because it is a book of the Old Testament, and because it is peculiarly adapted to
* "The first sentence of Rasselas would serve equally
well as an introduction to Ecclesiastes:'Ye who listen with
credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness
the phantoms of hope: who expect that age will perform
the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present
day will be supplied by the morrow, attend,"' &c.-PaoF
STOWE.




PREFACE.                xi
the present wistful and restless times. He also
hoped that its illustration might promote, especially among the younger members of his
flock, the intelligent and expectant study of
the sacred Scriptures. With a similar hope he
now publishes a portion of these lectures.*
The space which it would occupy has compelled him to forego any attempt at detailed
exposition, and he has felt constrained to omit
many important texts; but he trusts that the
friendly reader may be able to glean a few of
the Royal Preacher's lessons from the following fragments; and he is sure that in gratitude
for brevity every reader will forgive an occasional abruptness. And, although he cannot
claim the attention of the theologian, yet he
trusts that the following hint may assist some
readers who, revering the Word of God, regret
that they peruse it with little zest or imperfect
understanding.
One pleasant use of a preface is that it enables a writer to record his obligations. To
* The series extended to forty discourses, of which the
half are now published, most of them somewhat condensed.




Xxii            PREFACE.
his learned co-presbyter, Professor Lorimer,
the author is indebted for the use of many
German commentaries, some of which were
unknown to him even by name. To his kind
friend, Sir William J. Hooker, he sent an inquiry on behalf of the artist who designed the
accompanying vignette, and received an answer
which will be read with much interest by students of Bible botany:-" I have thought much
and read what botanists have written on the'lily' of Matt. vi. 28; as I have lately been
reading a learned dissertation on the mustardseed of Scripture. But I grieve to say, the
more I read on such subjects the more I doubt
the possibility of coming to satisfactory conclusions on such points. They may amuse the
understanding, but cannot convince the judgment. I remember at one time being satisfied
that the Amaryllis lutea was the lily of Scripture. I think Sir J. Smith first maintained
that, in his pamphlets entitled,'Considerations
respecting Cambridge,' and'Defence of the
Church,' &c., and in'Flora Grxca,' vol. iv. p.
10, where he says: —' Hec (Am lutea) est apud
i  _..~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ __  j~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




PREFACE.              xxiii
Atticos planta coronaria, et etiam ad Turcorum
sepulchra, amoris ac pietatis causa, frequentius
plantatur, Flores ejus, splendore aureo et vere
regali, campos varios Europse, sole fervidiori
illustratos, messe peracta, pulcherrime ornant.
Iinc liliis agrestibus Evangelii, longe melius
quam lilia candida hortorum, nunquam in Syria sponte crescentia, proculdubi6 respondent;
quod nomine Grseco ("''Ayeo xlva 1,',yelo;AEs, potius lato;, hodie) confirmatur.' Kirby
replied to this in a little dissertation, published
in the "Christian Remembrancer," 1819, or
thereabouts. He knocks this pretty hypothesis on the head, by saying this plant could not
be used forfuel,-and that our Saviour' begins
his exhortation with an emphatical word
(xTaoaoresE), which enjoins particular attention
to an object so as to know it well, implying
that an individual must be studied,' &c. Thus
he gives his verdict in favor of Lilium candidum (not L. Martagon*), the xelvov of Dioscorides, the withered stems of which are very
* "L. Martagon is rather a northern plant-middle of
Europe and Siberia."
~~~~~~~______~~~~~________________________________  i




Xxiv            PREFACE.
likely to be'cast into the oven.' Smith had
maintained that this was not a native of Palestine:-but it is clearly ascertained to be so, and
of several parts of Syria, Persia, &c. Were a
similar comparison to be drawn in our country
at the present day, how would a commentator
1800 years hence, determine what was the'Lily' alluded to,-a term applied to a hundred kinds, varying in beauty, and other qualifications, from the magnificent'Victoria Water-Lily' to the humble'Lily of the valley?'
In the case in question, I rather agree with
Kirby, than with Smith, and the former has
brought more learning to bear on the subject."




LECTURE I.
K8rj T2rrurjtr.
"I the Preacher was King over Israel in Jerusalem."ECCLES. i. 12.
THERE is no season of the year so exquisite
as the first full burst of Summer: when east
winds lose their venom, and the firmament its
April fickleness; when the trees have unreefed
their foliage, and under them the turf is tender; when, before going to sleep, the blackbird wakes the nightingale, and night itself is
only a softer day; when the dog-star has not
withered a single flower, nor the mower's
scythe touched one; but all is youth and freshness, novelty and hope-as if our very earth
had become a bud, of which only another
Eden could be the blossom-as if, with all her
green canvass spread, our island were an ar1




2               LECTURE I.
gosie, floating over seas of balm to some bright
Sabbatic haven on the shores of Immortality.
With the Hebrew commonwealth, it was the
month of June. Over all the Holy Land there
rested a blissful serenity-the calm which follows when successful war is crowned with conquest-a calm which was only stirred by the
proud joy of possession, and then hallowed
and intensified again by the sense of Jehovah's
favor. And amidst this calm the monarch was
enshrined, at once its source and its symbol.
In the morning he held his levee in his splendid Basilica-a pillared hall a hundred cubits
long.* As he sate aloft on his lion-guarded
throne, he received petitions and heard appeals, and astonished his subjects by astute decisions and weighty apophthegms, till every
case was disposed of, and the toils of kingcraft
ended. Meanwhile, his chariot was waiting in
the square; and, with disdainful hoofs, the
light coursers pawed the pavement, impatient
* See 1 Kings vii.. Josephus' Antiquities, Bk. viii. chaps.
5-7; and Fergusson's "Palaces of Nineveh Restored," (1851,)
pp. 225-232.




THE PREACHER.             3
for their master; whilst, drawn up on either
side, purple squadrons held the ground, and
their champing chargers tossed from their flowing manes a dust of gold. And now, a stir in
the crowd-the straining of necks and the jingle of horse-gear announce the acme of expectation; and, preceded by the tall panoply
of the commander-in-chief, and followed by a
dazzling retinue, there emerges from the palace, and there ascends the chariot, a noble
form, arrayed in white and in silver, and
crowned with a golden coronet; and the
welkin rings, "God save the King;" for this
is Solomon in all his glory. And, as through
the Bethlehem gate, and adown the level
causeway, the bickering chariot speeds, the
vines on either side of the valley give a good
smell, and it is a noble sight to look back to
yon marble fane and princely mansions which
rear their snowy cliffs over the capital's new
ramparts. It is a noble sight, this rural comfort and that civic opulence-for they evince
the abundance of peace and the abundance of
righteousness. And when, through orchards




4               LECTURE I.
and corn-fields, the progress ends, the shouting
concourse of the capital is exchanged for the
delights of an elysian hermitage. After visiting his far-come favorites-the "apes and the
peacocks,"-the bright birds and curious quadrupeds which share his retirement; after wandering along the terraces, where under the
ripening pomegranates roses of Sharon blossom, and watching the ponds where fishes bask
amid the water-lilies,-we can imagine him retiring from the sunshine into that grotto which
fed these reservoirs from its fountain sealed;
or in the spacious parlor, whose fluttering lattice cooled, and whose cedar wainscot embalmed the flowing summer, sitting down to
indite a poem, in which celestial love should
overmaster and replace the earthly passion
which supplied its imagery. Dipping his pen
by turns in Heaven's rainbow, and in the prismatic depths of his own felicity, with joy's
own ink this Prince of Peace inscribed that
Song of Songs which is Solomon's.
It was June in Hebrew history-the toptide of a nation's happiness. Sitting, like an




THE PREACHER.              5
empress, between the Eastern and Western
oceans, the navies of three continents poured
their treasures at her feet; and, awed by her
commanding name, the dromedaries of Midian
and Ephah brought spontaneous tributes of
spice, and silver, and precious stones. To
build her palaces, the shaggy brows of Lebanon had been scalped of their cedars, and
Ophir had bled its richest gold. At the magical voice of the Sovereign, fountains native to
distant hills, rippled down the slopes of Zion;
and miraculous cities, like Palmyra, started up
from the sandy waste. And whilst peace, and
commerce, and the law's protection, made gold
like brass, and silver shekels like stones of the
street, Palestine was a halcyon-nest suspended
betwixt the calm wave and the warm sky;
Jerusalem  was a royal infant, whose silken
cradle soft winds rock high up on a castle
tower: all was serene magnificence and opulent security.
Just as the aloe shoots, and in one stately
blossom pours forth the life which has been
calmly collecting for a century, so would it




6              LECTURE I.
appear as if nations were destined to pour forth
their accumulated qualities in some characteristic man, and then they droop away. Macedonia blossomed, and Alexander was the
flower of Greece; fiery and effeminate, voluptuous in his valor, and full of chivalrous relentings amidst his wild revenge. Rome shot
up in a spike of glory, and revealed Augustus
-so stern and so sumptuous, so vast in his
conceptions, so. unquailing in his projects, so
fearless of the world, and so fond of the sevenhilled city-the Imperial nest-builder.  Mediaeval, martial Europe blossomed, and Godfrey and Richard were the twin-flowers of
chivalry —Godfrey the captor of Rome and
King of Jerusalem; Richard of the lion-heart,
Richard of the hammer-hand. And modern
France developed in one Frenchman, the concentration of a people vain and ambitious, restless and rapid, brilliant in sentiment, and brave
in battle; and having flowered the fated once,
the Gallic aloe can yield no more Napoleons.
So with Palestine at the time we speak of.
Half-way between the call of Abraham and




THE PREACHER.              7
the final capture of Jerusalem, it was the high
summer of Jewish story, and Hebrew mind
unfolded in this pre-eminent Hebrew.  Full
of sublime devotion, equally full of practical
sagacity; the extemporizer of the loftiest litany in existence, withal the author of the pungent Proverbs; able to mount up on Rapture's
ethereal pinion to the region of the seraphim,
but keenly alive to all the details of business,
and shrewd in his human intercourse; zealous
in collecting gold, yet lavish in expending it;
sumptuous in his tastes, and splendid in costume; and, except in so far as intellectual
vastitude necessitated a certain catholicitythe patriot intense, the Israelite indeed: like a
Colossus on a mountain-top, his sunward side
was the glory toward which one Millennium
of his nation had all along been climbing,-his
darker side, with its overlapping beams, is still
the mightiest object in that nation's memory.
You have seen a blight in summer. The
sky is overcast, and yet there are no clouds;
nothing but a dry and stifling obscuration-as
if the mouth of some pestilent volcano had




8              IECTURE I.
opened, or as if sulph ur mingled with the sunbeams. "The beasts groan; the cattle are oppressed." From the trees the embryo fruits
and the remaining blossoms fall in an unnoticed shower, and the foliage curls and crumples. And whilst creation looks disconsolate,
in the hedgerows the heavy moths begin to
flutter, and ominous owlets cry from the ruin.
Such a blight came over the Hebrew summer.
By every calculation it ought to have been
high noon; but the sun no longer smiled on
Israel's dial. There was a dark discomfort in
the air. The people murmured. The monarch wheeled along with greater pomp than
ever; but the popular prince had soured into
the despot, and the crown sat defiant on his
moody brow; and stiff were the obeisances,
heartless the hosannas, which hailed him as he
passed. The ways of Zion mourned; and
whilst grass was sprouting in the temple-courts,
mysterious groves and impious shrines were
rising everywhere: and whilst lust defiled the
palace, Chemosh and Ashtaroth, and other
Gentile abominations, defiled the Holy Land.




HIE PREACHER.             9
And in the disastrous eclipse, beasts of the forest crept abroad. From his lurking-place in
Egypt Hadad ventured out, and became a lifelong torment to the God-forsaken monarch.
And Rezon pounced on Damascus, and made
Syria his own. And from the pagan palaces
of Thebes and Memphis harsh cries were heard
ever and anon, Pharaoh and Jeroboam taking
counsel together, screeching forth their threatenings, and hooting insults, at which Solomon
could laugh no longer. For amidst all the
gloom and misery a message comes from God:
the kingdom is rent; and whilst Solomon's
successor will only have a fag-end and a fragment, by right Divine ten tribes are handed
over to a rebel and a runaway.
What led to Solomon's apostasy? And
what, again, was the ulterior effect of that
apostasy on himself? As to the origin of his
apostasy the Word of God is explicit. He did
not obey his own maxim. Ile ceased to rejoice with the wife of his youth; and loving
many strangers, they drew his heart away
from God. Luxury and sinful attachments




10             LECTURE I.
made him an idolater, and idolatry made him
yet more licentious: until, in the lazy enervation and languid day-dreaming of the Sybarite,
he lost the perspicacity of the sage, and the
prowess of the sovereign; and when he woke
up from the tipsy swoon, and out of the swinetrough picked his tarnished diadem, he woke
to find his faculties, once so clear and limpid,
all perturbed, his strenuous reason paralyzed,
and his healthful fancy poisoned. He woke
to find the world grown hollow, and himself
grown old. He woke to see the sun bedarkened in Israel's sky, and a special gloom encompassing himself. He woke to recognize all
round a sadder sight than winter-a blasted
summer. Like a deluded Samson starting
from his slumber, he felt for that noted wisdom which signalized his Nazarite days; but
its locks were shorn; and, cross and self-disgusted, wretched and guilty, he woke up to
the discovery which awaits the sated sensualist; he found that when the beast gets the better of the man, the man is cast off by God.
And like one who falls asleep amidst the lights




THE PREACHER.            11
and music of an orchestra, and who awakes
amidst empty benches and tattered programmes
-like a man who falls asleep in a flower-garden, and who opens his eyes on a bald and locust-blackened wilderness,-the life, the loveliness, was vanished, and all the remaining
spirit of the mighty Solomon yawned forth
that verdict of the tired voluptuary: —" Vanity of vanities! vanity of vanities! all is vanity I"




LECTURE II.
(n    I trmnn.
" The words of the Preacher, the son of David, King of Jerusalem. Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of
vanities; all is vanity."-ECCLES. i. 1, 2.
THERE are some books of the Bible which
can only be read with thorough profit, when
once you have found the key. Luther some
where tells us, that he used to be greatly
damped by an expression in the outset of the
Epistle to the Romans.  The apostle says, " I
am not ashamed of the Gospel; for therein is
the righteousness of God     revealed."   By
righteousness" Luther understood the justice
of God-his attributes of moral rectitude; and
so understanding it, he could scarcely see the
superiority of the Gospel over the Law, and
at all events, his troubled conscience could




THE SERMON.             13
find no comfort in it. But when at last it was
revealed to him that the term here alludes not
to an attribute of God, but to the atonement
of Immanuel-that it means not justice, but
God's justifying righteousness-the righteousness which God incarnate wrought out, and
which is imputed to the sinner believing-the
whole epistle was lit up with a joyful illumination; and the context, and many other passages which used to look so dark and hostile, at
once "leaped up and fondled" him with
friendly recognition: and to Luther ever after
the Gospel was glorious as the revelation and
the vehicle to the sinner of a righteousness
Divine. To take another instance: many read
the Book of Job as if every verse were equally the utterance of Jehovah; and they quote
the sayings of Bildad and Zophar as the mind
of the Miost High; entirely forgetting the
avowed structure of the book-forgetting that
through five-and-thirty chapters the several
collocutors are permitted to reason and wrangle, and "darken counsel by words without
knowledge," in order to make the contrast




14              LECTURE II.
more striking, when at last Jehovah breaks
silence and vindicates his own procedure. But
when you advert to its real structure-when
you group the different elements of its poetic
painting-when, under the canopy of a dark
cloud, you see the patriarch cowering, and his
three friends assailing him with calumnious
explanations of his sore affliction; but above
that cloud you see Jehovah listening to his
loyal servant, and to his pious, but narrowminded neighbors-listening with a look of
fatherly fondness, and from heaven's cornucopia* ready to shower on his servant's head the
most overwhelming of vindications-the blessings twice repeated, which Satan snatched
away: when you see this, and when you know
that Jehovah is to be the last speaker, instead
of nervously striving to torture into truths the
mistakes of Bildad and Zophar, and of Job
himself, you feel that their mistakes are as
natural and as needful to the plan of the book,
as are all the cross-purposes and contradictory
colloquies of a well-constructed drama. And
* Jf b. xlii. 14, Keren-happuch; i. e., Horn of Plenty.




THE SERMON.               15
when so understood, you feel that all the
rather because of the misconceptions of the
human speakers, the book is eloquent with Divine vindication, and teaches what Cowper
sings so touchingly:"Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
"Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain."
Perhaps no portion of Holy Writ more
needs a key than the subject of our lecture.
On the one hand, Ecclesiastes has always been
a favorite book with Infidels. It was a manual
with that coarse scoffer, Frederick the Great
of Prussia; and both Volney and Voltaire appeal to it in support of their skeptical philosophy. Nor can it be denied that it contains
many sentiments at seeming variance with the
general purport of the Word of God.     "Be
not righteous overmuch; why shouldst thou
destroy thyself?"  "All things come alike to




16             LECTURE II.
all: there is one event to the righteous and to
the wicked; to him that sacrificeth, and to
him that sacrificeth not." " There is a time
for everything. What profit hath he that
worketh in that wherein he laboreth?"  "As
the beast dieth, so dieth man. Do not both
go to one place?" "A man hath no better
thing than to eat and drink and be merry."
These texts, and many like them, are quoted
by the moralists of expediency; by the fatalist,
the materialist, the Pyrrhonist, the epicure.
On the other hand, many able commentators
have labored hard to harmonize such passages
with the sayings of Scripture; I may add,
they have labored hard to harmonize them
with other sayings of Solomon, and other
passages of this self same book. But I cannot
help thinking they have labored in vain. For
the moment, and when reading or listening to
some eloquent exposition, you may persuade
yourself that such texts are, after all, only peculiar and paradoxical ways of putting important truths; but when Procrustes has withdrawn his pressure, and the reluctant sentence




THE SERMON.                  17
has escaped from the screw and lever, it
bounds up elastic, and looks as strange and
ungainly as ever. Therefore, others have met
the difficulty by suggesting that, like Canticles,
Ecclesiastes is a dialogue; and into the mouth
of an imaginary objector, they put every sentiment which they deem unsuitable to an inspired penman. For such interpellations, however, there is no foundation in the context,
where nothing is more obvious than the continuous identity of the speaker; and like another exegetical stratagem which would invert
the meaning of such passages by turning them
into interrogatories, you feel that it is a clever
evasion rather than a conclusive solution.*
You would prefer a straightforward exposition
which would maintain the unity of the book
and the analogy of Scripture, whilst it took
the words as they stand.
* As specimens of the interrogatory subterfuge, the reader
may compare with the original or with the authorized version
the following:-" Shall there then be no remembrance of past
or future events? Shall there be no memorial of them
among those who shall come after us?"-i. 11. "For cannot
that which is crooked be made straight? Cannot that which




18                LECTURE TI.
This is the sentence with which Ecclesiastes
closes: "Let us hear the conclusion of the
whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.
For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be
good, or whether it be evil." This is the conclusion of the matter, and a wise and wholesome conclusion, worthy of IHim who said,
"Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added
unto you." But what is the " matter" of which
this is the "conclusion?"     To ascertain this
we must go back to the beginning. There you
read, " I the preacher was king in Jerusalem,
and I gave my heart to search out by wisdom
concerning all things that are done under heaven.  Then I said in my heart, Go to now, I
will prove thee with mirth: therefore enjoy
is wanting be supplied?"-i. 15. "Shall I therefore hate life,
because anything wrought under the sun becomes a grievance unto me? Shall I hate my labor which I take under
the sun, because I must some time leave it to the man who
shall succeed me?"-ii. 17, 18. (Barhamn's Corrected Translation.) Surely the sense is too feeble to justify such a
forced construction.




THE SERMON.              19
pleasure," &c. In other words, you find that
this "matter" was a long experiment, which
the narrator made in search of the Supreme
Felicity, and of which Ecclesiastes records the
successive stages. But how does it record
them? By virtually repeating them. In the
exercise of his poetic power the historian conveys himself and his reader back into those
days of vanity, and feels anew all that he felt
then: so that, in the course of his rapid monologue, he stands before us, by turns the man
of science and the man of pleasure, the fatalist,
the materialist, the skeptic, the epicurean, and
the stoic, with a few earnest and enlightened
interludes; till, in the conclusion of the whole
matter, he sloughs the last of all these "lying
vanities," and emerges to our view, the noblest
style of man, the believer and the penitent.
This we believe to be the true idea of the
book. We would describe it as a dramatic biography, in which Solomon not only records
but re-enacts the successive scenes of his search
after happiness; a descriptive memoir, in
which he not only recites his past experience,




20             LECTURE II.
but in his improvizing fervor becomes the various phases of his former self once more. He
is a restored backslider, and for the benefit of
his son and his subjects, and, under the guidance of God's Spirit, for the benefit of the
Church, he writes this prodigal's progress. He
is a returned pilgrim from the land of Nod,
and as he opens the portfolio of sketches which
he took before his eyes were turned away
from viewing vanity, he accompanies them
with lively and realizing repetitions of what
he felt and thought during those wild and joyless days. Our great Edmund Burke once
said that his own life might be best divided
into "fyttes" or "manias:" that his life began
with a fit poetical, followed by a fit metaphysical, and that again by a fit rhetorical; that he
once had a mania for statesmanship, and that
this again had subsided into the mania of philosophical seclusion. And so in his days of
apostasy, the soul intense of Solomon launched
out into a fit of study, succeeded by a fit of
luxury. He had fits of grossness and refinement, a mania of conviviality, a mania of mis



THE SERMON.             21
anthropy. He had a fit of building, a fit of
science, a fit of book-making; and they all
passed off in collapses of disappointment and
paroxysms of downright misery. And here,
as he exhibits these successive tableaux, these
facsimiles of his former self, like a modern
lyrist on St. Cecilia's day, he runs the diapason
of departed passion, and, in the successive
strophes and antistrophes, he feels his former
frenzies over again, in order that, by the very
vividness of the representation, we may be all
the better " admonished."*
"The preacher was king over Israel, and,
because he was wise, he taught the people
knowledge. He sought to find out acceptable
words, and that which was written was upright,"t a true story, a real statement of the
case. "And by these, ny son, be admonished."'Do you, my son, accept this father's
legacy; and do you, my people, receive at
your monarch's hand this "Basilicon Doron,"
this autobiography of your penitent prince.
These chapters are " words of truth; revivals
* Chap. xii. 12.  f Chap. i. 12; xii. 9, 10.




22             LECTURE II.
of my former self-reproductions of my reasonings and regrets-my fantastic hopes and
blank failures, during that sad voyage round
the coasts of vanity. "By these be admonished." Without repeating the guilty experiment, learn the painful result-listen to the
moans of a melancholy worldling; for I shall
sing again some of those doleful ditties for
which I exchanged the songs of Zion. Look
at these portraits-they are not fancy sketches
-they are my former self, or rather, my former selves: that lay figure in the royal robes,
surmounted first by the lantern-jaws of the
book-worm, now exchanged for the jolly visage of the gay gourmand, and presently refining into the glossy locks and languid smile of
the Hebrew exquisite: now chuckling with
the merriment of the laughing philosopher,
curling anon into the bitter sneer of the Cynic,
and each in succession exploding in smoke;
not a masque, not a mummery; not a series of
make-believers, but each a genuine evolution
of the various Solomon-look at these pictures,
ye worldlings, and as in water face answers to




THE SERMON.             23
face, so in one or other of these recognize your
present likeness and foresee your destiny.'
" All Scripture is given by inspiration of
God," and it is not the less " profitable" because some of it is the inspired record of human infirmity. The seventy-third Psalm is a
lesser Ecclesiastes. There Asaph tells us the
workings of his mind when he saw the prosperity of the wicked. "Behold, these are the
ungodly, who prosper in the world. Verily, I
have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed
my hands in innocency." And he was so full
of resentment and envy that his " feet were almost gone." He had " well nigh slipped" into
utter apostasy: when a timely visit to the
sanctuary intercepted his fall. There two forgotten verities flashed upon his mind:-the
coming retribution, and the all-sufficiency of
the believer's portion. " Nevertheless, I am
continually with thee: thou hast holden me
by my right hand. Thou shalt guide me with
thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory.
Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there
is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.




24             LECTURE II.
My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is
the strength of my heart, and my portion forever. For lo, they that are far from thee shall
perish: thou hast destroyed all them that go
a-whoring from thee. But it is good for me to
draw near to God: I have put my trust in
the Lord God, that I may declare all thy
works."  And just as Asaph's heart for a time
was " grieved,"-" So foolish was I, and ignorant: I was as a beast before thee,"-so Solomon's feet actually slipped, and in this book
he gives us his various reasonings whilst still
a backslider. And just as Asaph's "conclusion of the whole matter" was the blessedness
of piety and the certainty of righteous retribution,-" It is good for me to draw near to God:
they that are far from thee shall perish,"-so
Solomon's conclusion is identical; " Fear God,
and keep his commandments: for this is the
whole of man. For God shall bring every
work into judgment, with every secret thing,
whether it be good, or whether it be evil." It
need, therefore, in no wise surprise us if we
find in these chapters many strange question



THE SERMON.             25
ings and startling opinions, before we arrive
at the final conclusion. Intermingled with
much that is noble and holy, these " doubtful
disputations" are not the dialogue of a believer
and an infidel, but the soliloquy of a " divided
heart"-the debate of a truant will with an
upbraiding conscience. As we listen to the
inward colloquy we could sometimes fancy that
we hear a worldling and a skeptic contending
with an Abdiel. But, after all, it is only the
fitful meditation of one who once knew better,
and who, by bitter discipline, is learning anew
the lesson of his youth. We know not to what
better to compare it than a labyrinthine journey underground. Impatient of the daylight
-quitting those pastures green and paths of
righteousness in which he had walked with his
saintly sire-tired of religion and its simple
pleasures, he dives into a subterranean avenue
which is to end in a Goshen of central lighta poet's paradise with emerald turf and flaming
flowers. And the first portion of his fantastic
path is lighted by radiance from the entrance
-the re-collected knowledge of his wiser days.




26              LECTURE II.
But that dim twilight fades, and the explorer
quickly finds that even Solomon is not phosphorescent, and, stumbling on, he souses into
a fetid quag. Struggling through the slough
of sensuality, he reaches a brilliant cave, where
stalactites of crystal glorify the beams transmitted through the fissured roof, and where
the very stones are musical; and, for a season,
the royal pilgrim expatiates in a temple sacred
to architecture and each fine art. But, wearied
with its splendor, shivering at its frosty elegance, he presses on again; and, except when
now and then a shaft overhead lets down some
light into the dreary tunnel, all benighted,as on the rugged roof he strikes his brow, or
on the flinty splinters wounds his feet,-we
can overhear the muffled voice which execrates
the vexation and the vanity. And when, at
last, with sullied robes and grisled locks he
emerges to the spot from which he started, he
grudges so long a journey, and a route so
painful, back to his better self; and, resuming
his old position, though scarcely regaining his
original cheerfulness, he advises us to be con




THE SERMON.             27
tent with his experiment and to begin with
his "conclusion." If, therefore, we remember
the real structure of the book, and as a lamp
to its dim passages take the light from its
final landing-place, much of its obscurity will
flee away; and we may listen without disquiet
to the darkest queries and most desperate
declarations of Solomon benighted, when in
Solomon recovered we expect the answer and
the antidote.
There is little difference in men's bodily
stature. A fathom, or thereabouts-a little
more or a little less-is the ordinary elevation
of the human family. Should a man add a
cubit to this stature, he is followed along the
streets as a prodigy; should he fall very far
short of it, people pay money for a sight of him,
is a great curiosity. But, were there any exact measurement of mental statures, we should
be struck by an amazing diversity. We should
find pigmy intellects too frequent to be curiosities. We should find fragile understandings
to which the grasshopper is a burden, and
L _       __ __ _




28             LECTURE II.
dwarfish capacities unable to grapple with the
easiest problems: whilst, on the other hand,
we should encounter a few colossal minds, of
which the altitude must be taken not in feet,
but in furlongs-tall, culminating minds, which
command the entire tract of existing knowledge-minds whose horizon is their coeval
hemisphere; or, loftier still, prophetic minds,
on which is already shining the unrisen sun
of some future century.
Such a mind was Solomon's. His information was vast. He was the Encyclopaedia of
that early age. He was an adept in the natural sciences:-" He spake of trees, from the
cedar to the hyssop; he spake also of beasts,
and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of
fishes," as the sacred historian simply words
it; or, in modern terminology, he was a botanist, and acquainted with all departments of
zoology, from the annelida up to the higher
vertebrata. His wisdom excelled the wisdom
of all the children of the East country, and all
the children of Egypt. And then his originality was equal to his information. He was




THE SERMON.              29
a poet: his " Songs" were upwards of a thousand.  A nd a moralist: his proverbs were
three thousand. He was a sagacious politician; and as the chief magistrate of his own
empire, he was famous for the equity and
acuteness of his decisions. He had a splendid
taste in architecture and landscape-gardening;
and his enormous wealth enabled him to conjure into palpable realities the visions of his
gorgeous imagination; whilst, to crown the
whole-unlike Moses and many others, men
of stately intellect, but stammering speechthe wisdom of Solomon found utterance in
language like itself; and whilst the eloquence
still lived of which the Bible has preserved
some examples, crowned students and royal
disciples came from the utmost parts of the
earth to lwear the wisdom of Solomon.
Now, this man, so mightily endowed; if
you add to his intellectual elevation the pedestal of his rare good fortune, mounting the
genius of the sage on the throne of the sovereign-this peerless man, this prime specimen
of humanity-it would appear that Providence
i __________________  ___________________________________




30             LECTURE II.
raised up, for this, among other purposes.
From the day when Adam fell it had been the
great inquiry among men, Where and how to
find the true felicity? And though the Most
High assured them that they could only find
it where they had formerly enjoyed it-in unison with Himself, and in his conscious friendship: of this they were quite incredulous. It
was still the problem, Apart from infinite excellence, how shall we be happy?  Though
blessedness was not far from any one of them,
in delirious search of it, men burrowed in gold
mines, and rummaged in the rubbish-heaps,
drilled deep into the rock, and dived deep into
the sea. And though none succeeded, few despaired. There was always an apology for
failure. They had sought in the right direction, but with inadequate appliances. They
were not rich enough; they were not strong
enough; they were not clever enough. Iad
they been only a little wealthier; had they
been better educated; had they possessed
more leisure, talent, power-they were just
about to touch the talisman: they would have




THE SERMON.             31
brought to light the philosopher's stone. And
as it is part of man's ungodliness to believe his
fellow-sinner more than his Creator, the Most
High provided an unimpeachable testimony.
He raised up Solomon. He made him healthy
and handsome-wise and brilliant. He poured
wealth into his lap, till it ran over; he made
him absolute monarch of the finest kingdom
which the world at that time offered; and, instead of savages and pagans, gave him for his
subjects a civilized and a religious people.
And that he might not be distracted by wars
and rumors of wars, he put into his hand a
peaceful sceptre, and saved him from the hardships of the field and the perils of the fight.
And thus endowed and thus favored, Solomon
commenced the search after happiness. Everything except godly, he devoted himself to the
art of enjoyment.  And in carrying on his
own experiment he unwittingly, but effectually, became God's demonstration. Into the
crucible he cast rank and beauty, wealth and
learning; and, as a flux, he added youth and
genius; and then, with all the ardor of his




32             LECTURE II.
vehement nature, he urged the furnace to its
whitest glow. But when the grand projection
took place, from all the costly ingredients the
entire residuum was, Vanity of vanities! And
ere he left the laboratory, he made ink of the
ashes; and in the confessions of a converted
worldling, he was constrained to write one of
the saddest books in all the Bible.
His first recourse was knowledge. Communing with his own heart, he said, "Lo, I
am come to great estate, and have gotten more
wisdom than all they that have been before
me in Jerusalem: yea, my heart had great experience of wisdom and knowledge. And I
gave my heart to know (more) wisdom, and to
know madness and folly (that is, mirth and
satire): I perceived that this also is vexation
of spirit. For in much wisdom is much grief:
and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth
sorrow."  And, as he adds elsewhere, "Of
making many books there is no end; and
much study is a weariness to the flesh."
No, no. Carpe horan. Life is short, and
learning slow. Quit that dingy study, and out




THE SERMON.            33
into the laughing world. Make a bonfire of
these books, and fill your reed-quiver with
bird-bolts. Exchange the man of letters for
the man of pleasure. And so he did. "I
gave myself to wine, I made me great works,
I builded me houses, I planted me vineyards."
But here, too, he was destined to disappointment. For the coarse pleasures of the carouse
and the wine-cup his cultivated mind had little
affinity; and when next morning revealed the
faded chaplets, the goblets capsized, and the
red wine-pools on the floor of the banqiuethall; when the merry-making of yesternight
only lived in the misery of the morning, he
exclaimed, "Such laughter is mad; and such
mirth, what doeth it?" And so of the more
elegant pastimes-the palace, the fish-pond,
the flower-garden, the menagerie,-the enjoyment ended when the plan was executed; and
as soon as the collection was completed, the
pleasure of the collector ceased.  "Then I
looked or. all the works that my hands had
wrought, and on the labor that I had labored
to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexa3




34             LECTURE II.
tion of spirit, and there was no profit under
the sun."
But there still remained one solace. There
must be something very sweet in absolute
power. Though the battle has been going on
for six thousand years, and the odds are overwhelming-a million resisting one-yet still
the love of power is so tremendous,-to say to
one, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Do
this, and he doeth it-the right to say this is
so delicious, that sooner or later, the million
lose the battle, and find the one their master.
Now, this ascendency over others Solomon
possessed to a rare degree. "The Preacher
was king in Jerusalem."  He was absolute
monarch there. And to flatter his instinct of
government still more, surrounding states and
sovereigns all did homage at Jerusalem. But
no sooner did he find his power thus supreme
and unchallenged, than he began to be visited
with misgivings as to his successor-misgivings for which the sequel showed that there
was too good reason. " Yea, I hated all the
labor which I had taken under the sun, be



THE SERMON.             35
cause I should leave it unto the man that shall
be after me. And who knoweth whether he
shall be a wise man or a fool? Yet shall he
have rule over all my labor wherein I have
labored, and wherein I have showed myself
wise under the sun. This is also vanity."
And I need not say how the experience of
most worldlings has been Solomon's sorrow
repeated, with the variations incident to altered circumstances, and the diminished intensity to be expected in feebler men-vanity
and vexation of spirit all over again. And as
we are sometimes more impressed by modern
instances than by Bible examples, we could
call into court nearly as many witnesses as
there have been hunters of happiness-mighty
Nimrods in the chase of Pleasure, and Fame,
and Power. We might ask the statesman,
and, as we wished him a happy new year,
Lord Dundas would answer, "It had need to
be happier than the last, for I never knew one
happy day in it." We might ask the successful lawyer, and the wariest, luckiest, most selfcomplacent of them all would answer, as Lord




36             LECTURE II.
Eldon was privately recording when the whole
Bar envied the Chancellor,-" A few weeks
will send me to dear Encombe, as a short
resting-place between vexation and the grave."
We might ask the golden millionaire, "You
must be a happy man, Mr. Rothschild." " Happy!-me happy! What! happy, when just
as you are going to dine you have a letter
placed in your hand, saying,'If you do not
send me ~500, I will blow your brains out?"'
Happy! when you have to sleep with pistols
at your pillow? We might ask the clever
artist, and our gifted countryman would answer of whose latter days a brother writes, " In
the studio, all the pictures seemed to stand up
like enemies to receive me. This joy in labor,
this desire for fame, what have they done for
him? The walls of this gaunt sounding place,
the frames, even some of the canvasses, are
furred with damp. In the little library, where
he painted last, was the word'Nepenthe?'
written interrogatingly with white chalk on
the wall."" We might ask the world-famed
* Memoir of David Scott, R.S.A.




THE SERMON.               37
warrior, and get for another answer the " Mis.
erere" of the Emperor-monk,'- or the sigh of a
broken heart from St. Helena. We might ask
the brilliant courtier, and Lord Chesterfield
would tell us, "I have enjoyed all the pleasures of the world, and I do not regret their
loss. I have been behind the scenes. I have
seen all the coarse pulleys and dirty ropes
which move the gaudy machines; and I have
seen and smelt the tallow candles which illuminate the whole decorations, to the astonishment of an ignorant audience."    We might
ask the dazzling wit, and, faint with a glut of
glory, yet disgusted with the creatures who
adored him, Voltaire would condense the essence of his existence into one word, " Ennui.
And we might ask the world's poet, and we
would be answered with an imprecation by
that splendid genius,t who
"Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump
Of fame; drank early, deeply drank; drank draughts
That common millions might have quenched-then died
Of thirst, because there was no more to drink."
* Charles V.            t Byron.




38             LECTURE II.
But without going so far as these historic
instances, I make my appeal to all the candor
and self-knowledge here present, and I ask,
Who is there. that, apart from God's favor,
has ever tasted solid joy and satisfaction of
spirit?  You have perhaps tried learning.
You have wearied your flesh acquiring some
branch of knowledge, or mastering the arcana
of some science; and you promised yourself
that, when once you were an adept, it would
introduce you to a circle of transcendental
friends, or would drown you in a flood of golden fame. You won the friends, and, apart
from this special accomplishment, you found
them so full of petty feuds and jealousies, so
cold-hearted or so coarse-minded, that you inwardly abjured them, and vowed that you
must follow learning for its own rewards; or
you won the fame-you secured the prizeyou caught the coveted distinction, and like
the senior wrangler,* you found that you had
" grasped a shadow."   Or you tried some
course of gaiety. You said, "Go to now-I
* Henry Martyn.




THE SERMON.            39
will prove thee with mirth; therefore enjoy
pleasure." You dressed-you took pains with
your appearance; you studied the art of pleasing. But even self-love could not disguise
that some rival was more dazzling, more graceful and self-possessed, and had made a more
brilliant impression: and you came home mortified at your own sheepishness and rustic
blundering; or, if content to mingle passively
in others' merriment, tattling with the talkers,
and drifting along the tide of drollery, was
there no pensive reflection as, late at night,
you sought your dwelling?-did you not say
of laughter, "It is mad? and of mirth, What
doeth it?"  Or, perhaps, at some pleasant time
of the year, you made up a famous ploy. And
the excursion went off, but the promised enjoyment never came up. Mountain breezes
did not blow away your vexing memories, nor
did the soft sea-wind heal your wounded spirit.
In the rapid train you darted swiftly, but at
the journey's end you were mortified to find
that your evil temper had travelled by the
same conveyance. And though it was a clasL ________-___________^               _________




40             LECTURE II.
sic or a sacred stream into which you looked,
not even Arethusa nor Siloah could polish
from off your countenance the furrows of carking anxiety, or the frown of crossness- which
wrinkled there. The truth is, all will be vanity to the heart which is vile, and all will be
vexation to the spirit which the peace of God
is not possessing. When you remember how
vast is the soul of man, and also what a mighty
virus of depravity pervades it, you might as
well ask, How. many showers will it need to
make the salt ocean fresh? as ask, How many
mercies will it need to make a murmuring
spirit thankful and happy?  You might as
soon ask, How many buckets of water must
you pour down the crater of Etna before you
convert the volcano into a cool and crystal
jet-d'eau? as ask, How many bounties must
Providence pour into a worldling's spirit before it that spirit will cease to evaporate them
into vanity, or send them fuming back in complaint and vexation?" Attempt how vainWith things of earthly sort, with aught but God,




THE SERMON.                    41
With aught but moral excellence, truth, and loveTo satisfy and fill the immortal soul!
To satisfy the ocean with a drop;
To marry immortality to death;
And with the unsubstantial shade of time,
To fill the embrace of all eternity'"*
* Pollok's " Course of Time " book iv.




LECTURE III.
J O&ratr tlnn      lumnn.
"The Queen of the South.... came from the uttermost
parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon; and,
behold, a greater than Solomon is here."-MATT. xii. 42.
IT was autumn with the Hebrew commonwealth. Like withered leaves from the sapless tree, the Jews easily parted from the parent Palestine, and were blown about, adventurers in every land; and like that fungous
vegetation which rushes up when nobler plants
have faded, formalism and infidelity were rankly springing everywhere; and it was only a
berry on the topmost bough-some mellow
Simeon or Zacharias-that reminded you of
the rich old piety. The sceptre had not quite
departed from Judah, but he who held it was
a puppet in the Gentiles' hand; and with ship



A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.       43
less harbors, and silent oracles, with Roman
sentinels on every public building, and Roman
tax-gatherers in every town, patriotism felt too
surely, that from the land of Joshua and Samuel, of Elijah and Isaiah, of David and Solomon, the glory was at last departing. The
sky was lead, the air a winding-sheet; and
every token told that a long winter was setting
in. It was even then, amid the short days and
sombre sunsets of the waning dynasty, when
music filled the firmament, and in the city of
David a mighty Prince was born. He grew
in stature, and in due time was manifested to
Israel. And what was the appearance of this
greater than Solomon? What were his royal
robes?  The attire of a common Nazarene.
What were his palaces?  A carpenter's cottage, which He sometimes exchanged for a
fisherman's hut. Who were his Ministers and
his Court attendants? Twelve peasants. And
what was his state chariot? None could He
afford; but in one special procession He rode
on a borrowed ass. Ah! said we so? His
royal robe was heaven's splendor, whenever




44             LECTURE III.
He chose to let it through; and Solomon, in
all his glory, was never arrayed like Jesus on
Tabor. His palace was the heaven of heavens; and when a voluntary exile from it, little did it matter whether his occasional lodging were a rustic hovel, or Herod's halls. If
fishermen were his friends, angels were his servants; and if the borrowed colt was his triumphal charger, the sea was proud when, from
crest to crest of its foaming billows, it felt his
majestic footsteps moving; and when the time
had arrived for returning to his Father and
his God, the clouds lent the chariot, and obsequious airs upbore Him in their reverent hands.
Solomon's pulpit was a throne, and he had an
audience of kings and queens. The Saviour's
synagogue was a mountain-side-his pulpit
was a grassy knoll or a fishing-boat-his audience were the boors of Galilee; and yet, in
point of intrinsic greatness, Solomon did not
more excel the children playing in the marketplace, than He who preached the Sermon on
the Mount excelled King Solomon.
Looking at Solomon as a Teacher, the first




A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.        45
thing that strikes us is, that he was a great
querist. Next to the man who can answer a
question thoroughly, is the man who can ask
it clearly. Our world is full of obscure misery
-dark wants and dim desiderata: like a man
in a low fever, its whole head is sick, and its
whole heart faint; but it can neither fix exactly on the focus of disease, nor give an intelligent account of its sensations. But in this
respect Solomon was the mouth-piece of humanity. Speaking for himself, he has so described the symptoms, that a whole ward-an
entire world of fellow-sufferers-may take him
for their spokesman. " These are exactly my
feelings. I have experienced all that he describes. I am just such another fitful anomaly
-just such a constant self-contradiction. One
day I wish time to fly faster; another I am
appalled to find that so little remains. One
day I believe that I shall die like the brutes;
and, frantic in thinking that a spirit so capacious is to perish so soon, I chafe around my
cage, and beat those bars of flesh which inclose
i captive so god-like; I try to burst that cell




46             LECTURE III.
which is ere long to be a sepulchre: anon I
am content, and I say,'Eat, drink, and be
merry, for to-morrow you die:' and no sooner
is the carnival over than I start up, conscious
of my crime-descrying the forgotten judgment-seat, and aghast at my own impiety in
embruting an heir of immortality. One day I
deny myself, and save up a fortune for my son
and successor; another, it strikes me he may
prove a prodigal, and I fling the hoard away.
Now it seizes me that I must needs be famous;
and then I grow disgusted with the praise of
fools. What will cure a broken heart? What
will fill an abysmal gulf? What will make a
crooked nature upright?  What will restore
his Creator unto man, and man unto himself?"
And Jesus answers: "Believe in God and
believe in me, and that faith will heal hearttrouble. Hunger after righteousness, and your
craving spirit will be filled. The words that I
speak unto you are spirit and life: imbibe
them, ponder them, delight in them, and they
will satisfy the vastest desires of the most eager
soul. What will make the crooked upright?




A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.        47
Be born again. What will restore the Creator
to revolted man? God so loved the world,
that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should have eternal
life."  And thus, one by one, the great Evangelist answers the queries of the great Ecclesiastes. And if the sage has done a service,
who, in articulate words, describes the symptoms of the great disease, how incomparably
greater is the service done by the Saviour,
who prescribes the remedy! After all, Solomon
is only an eloquent patient; Jesus is the Divine Physician.
Again: Solomon's teaching is mainly negative. Five centuries later, it was the business
of the wisest Greek to teach his brethren
knowledge of their ignorance. And so dexterously did he manage his oblique mirrorsso many of his countrymen did he surprise with
side-views and back-views of themselves; so
much fancied knowledge did he confute, and
so many Athenians did he put out of conceit
with themselves, that at last the Athenians lost
conceit of him, and killed the mortifying mis



48              LECTURE III.
sionary. And, like Socrates, Solomon is an
apostle of sincerity. His pen is the point of
a diamond; and as it touches many of this
world's boasted jewels, it shows that they are
only colored crystal. His sceptre is a rod of
iron, and as it enabled him to command all
pleasures, so it enables him to prove their nullity; and before his indignant stroke they
crash like potsherds, and dissipate in dust. But
more sincere than Socrates. His tests, his
probes, his solar lamp, the Greek employed
for his neighbors' benefit; such an awful earnestness had God's Spirit enkindled in the
Hebrew sage, that his grand struggle was
against self-deception: and the illusions on
which he spends his hottest fury are the phantoms which have befooled himself. Socrates
gossips; Solomon communes with his own
heart. Socrates gets his comrade to confess;
Solomon makes his own confession. And so
terrible is his intensity, that if it be well for
our modern idoloclasts and showers-up of
shams that there is no Socrates now-a-days to
show them to themselves, it will be well for




A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.       49
us all if we take a pattern from Solomon's
noble fidelity, and if we strive after his stern
self-knowledge. And yet the result was mainly
negative. He had dived deep enough into his
nature to find that there was no genuine goodness there; and from the height of his stately
intellect he swept a wide horizon, and reported
that within his field of view there was perceptible no genuine happiness. If he was taller
than other men, he was sorry to announce that,
far as he could see, no fountain of joy now
sprang in this desert: no tree of life grew
here-away.  If he was stronger than other
men, he had bad news for them: he had tried
the gate of Eden, and shoved it and shaken
it: but he feared no mortal shoulders could
move it on its hinges, nor any human contrivance force it from its fastenings.
But if Solomon in his teaching was mainly
negative, Jesus was as mainly positive. Solomon shook his head, and told what happiness
is not: Jesus opened his lips, and enunciated
what it is.  Solomon said, "Knowledge is
vanity. Power is vanity. Mirth is vanity.
4




50              LECTURE III.
Man and all man's pursuits are perfect vanity."
Jesus said, " Humility is blessedness. Meekness is blessedness. Purity of heart is blessedness. God is blessed for evermore, and most
blessed is the creature that is likest God. Holiness is happiness."  "We labor and find no
rest," said Solomon. Jesus answered, "Come
unto me, all ye that labor, and I will give you
rest."  "All is vanity," sighed the Preacher.
"In the world ye shall have tribulation, but
in me ye shall have peace," replied the Saviour.
"What is truth?" asks Ecclesiastes.  "I am
the truth," returns the Divine Evangelist.
Solomon was tall enough to scan the most of
earth and see an expanse of sorrow; the Son
of Man knew all that is in heaven, and could
tell of a Comforter who fills with peace unspeakable the soul immersed in outward misery. Solomon could tell that the gate of bliss
is closed against human effort. Jesus has the
key of David, and opens what Adam shut;
and into the Father's propitious presence He
undertakes to usher all who come through
Him. Solomon composed Earth's epitaph, and
__ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ ___   _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ I




A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.        51
on the tomb of the species wrote, All is Vanity.
Accustomed to date men's history from their
death, Jesus substituted, All is Heaven or
Hell.*
Nay, so positive was the Saviour's teaching,
that, in order to understand him rightly, we
must remember that he was not only the
Prophet, but the doctrine; not only the Oracle
uttering God's truth, but his very self that
Truth. Other prophets could tell what God's
mind is: Jesus was that mind. "The law"a portion of God's will-" was given by Moses;
but grace and truth"-the gracious reality, the
truthful plenitude of the Divine perfections,
" came by Jesus Christ."  He was the express
image of the Father. He was the Word Incarnate. And to many a query of man's wistful spirit, He was the embodied answer. Is
there any immortality to this soul? Is there
any second life to this body? "In my Father's
house are many mansions. I go to prepare
a place for you, and I will come again and re* Matt. v. 3-12; xi. 28-30. John xvi. 33; xiv. 6, 16, 17.
Rev. iii. 7.  John x. 9; vi. 37.  Luke xvi. 19-31.




52             LECTURE III.
ceive you to myself."  " I am the Resurrection
and the Life: he that believeth in me shall
never die: I will raise him up at the last day."
Is there any mediation betwixt man and his
Maker?-is there any forgiveness of sin? "I
am the way. Whatsoever ye shall ask the
Father in my name, He will give it you. Go
in peace: thy sins are forgiven thee." Is there
any model of excellence exempt from all infirmity?-any pattern in which the Most High
has perfect complacency? " He was holy and
harmless, separate from sinners."  "This is my
beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased:
hear ye Him." Solomon was wise; but Jesus
was Wisdom. Solomon had more understanding than all the ancients; but Jesus was that
eternal Wisdom of which Solomon's genius
was a borrowed spark-of which the deep flood
of Solomon's information was only an emitted
rill.
To which we only add the contrast in their
tone. Each'had a certain grandeur. Solomon's speech was regal. It had both the imperial amplitude and the autocratic emphasis,




A GREATER TIAN SOLOMOON.      53
-stately, decisive, peremptory. But the Saviour's was Divine. There was no pomp of
diction, but there was a God-like depth of
meaning; and such was its spontaneous majesty, that the hearer felt, How easily He could
speak a miracle! And miracles He often
spake; but so naturally did they emerge from
his discourse, and so noiselessly did they again
subside into its current, that we as frequently
read of men astonished at his doctrine, as of
men amazed at his doings. But though both
spake with authority-the one with authority
as a king of men, the other with authority as
the Son of God-there is a wonderful difference in point of the pervasive feeling. Like a
Prometheus chained to the rock of his own remorse, the Preacher pours forth his mighty
woes in solitude, and, truly human, is mainly
piteous of itself. Consequently his enthroned
misery-his self-absorbed and stately sorrow,
moves you to wonder, rather than to weep;
and, as when you look at a gladiator dying in
marble, in your compassion there is not much
of tenderness. But though greater in his sor---   1 --   -. ----------------




54             LECTURE Ill.
rows, the Saviour was also greater in his sympathies; and though silent about his personal
anguish, there is that in his mild aspect which
tells each who meets it, If his grief be great,
his love is greater. And whilst Solomon is
so king-like that he does not ask you to be his
friend, the Saviour is so God-like that le solicits your affection, and so brotherly that he
wins it. Indeed, here is the mystery of godliness-God manifest in flesh, that flesh may see
how God is love; and that through the loveliness of Jesus we may be attracted and entranced into the love of God. O melancholy
monarch! how funereal is thy tread, as thou
pacest up and down thy echoing galleries, and
disappearest in the valley of Death-shadow,
ever sounding-Vanity of vanities! 0 Teacher blessed! how beautiful are thy feet on the
mountains, publishing peace! How benign
th3y outstretched hand, which, to the sinner
weeping over it, proves God's golden sceptre
of forgiveness, and which then clasps that
sinner's hand and guides him to glory! O
Thou greater than Solomon! "let me see thy




A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.       55
countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet
is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely."
A greater than Solomon. The cedar palace
has long since yielded to the torch of the
spoiler; but the home which Jesus has prepared for his disciples is a house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens. Thorns
and thistles choke the garden of Engedi, and
the moon is no longer mirrored in the fishponds of Heshbon; but no brier grows in
the paradise above, and nothing will ever
choke or narrow that fountain whence life
leaps in fulness, or stagnate that still expanse
where the Good Shepherd leads his flock at
glory's noon. And Solomon-the wonder of
the world-his grave is with us at this day;
his flesh has seen corruption; and he, too,
must hear the voice of the Son of Man, and
come forth to the great account: but Jesus
saw no corruption. Him hath God raised up,
and made a Prince and a Saviour; and hath
given him authority to execute judgment, because He is the Son of Man. And, reverting
to the allusion of our outset: Solomon efflor



56             LECTURE III.
esced from his country's golden age; a greater
than Solomon appeared when miry clay was
mixing with its age of iron. Solomon was,
so to speak, an effusion of his age, as well as
its brightest ornament: the Son of Mary was
an advent and an alien a star come down to
sojourn in a cavern-a root of Deity from our
earth's dry ground. But though it was the
Hebrew winter when he came, he did not fail
nor wax discouraged.  He taught, he lived,
he fulfilled all righteousness-he loved, he
died. It was winter wheat: but the corn fell
into the ground ungrudgingly; for as he sowed
his seeds of truth, the Saviour knew that he
was sowing the summer of our world. And,
as, one by one, these seeds spring up, they
fetch with them a glow more genial; for every
saved soul is not only something for God's
garner; but an influence for mankind. Already of that handful of corn which this greater Solomon scattered on the mountain-tops of
Galilee, the first-fruits are springing; and byand-by the fruit shall shake like Lebanon, and
the Church's citizens shall be abundant as




A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.        57
grass of the earth. On the wings of prophecy
it is hastening towards us; and every prayer
and every mission speeds it on-our world's
latter summer-burst, our earth's perennial
June-when the name of Jesus shall endure
forever, and be continued as long as the sun:
when men shall be blessed in Him, and all nations shall call him blessed.
So great is this Prince of prophets, that the
least in his kingdom is greater than Solomon.
The saint is greater than the sage, and discipleship to Jesus is the pinnacle of human dignity. In Him are hid all the treasures of wisdom, and all the germs of undeveloped goodness. He is the true theology, the perfect ethics,
the supreme philosophy; and no words can limit the mental ascendency and moral beauty to
which that young man may aspire, who, in all
the susceptibility of an adoring affection, consecrates himself to the service and society of the
Son of God. My brothers! is it a presumptuous hope that, even whilst I speak, some of
you feel stirring within you the desire to join
yourselves to blessedness by joining yourselves




58            LECTURE III.
to Jesus? Is it too much to hope that some
of you, who are Christian young men already,
are wishing and praying that God would make
your characters less commonplace, and render
your influences in your day more abundant and
benign? Is it too much to hope that, even
from this rapid survey, some shall retire with
a happy consciousness,-Blessed be God! I
belong to a kingdom which cannot be moved,
and am embarked in a cause which cannot be
defeated? Is it too much to hope that some
one who has found, in regard to godless enjoyment, "All is vanity," may now be led to exclaim, with the gifted youth to whom our poetlaureate has inscribed " In Memoriam," " Lord,
I have viewed this world over, in which thou
hast set me; I have tried how this and that
thing will fit my spirit, and the design of my
creation, and can find nothing on which to
rest, for nothing here doth itself rest; but such
things as please me for a while in some degree,
vanish and flee as shadows from before me..Lo! I come to thee-the Eternal Being-the
Spring of Life-the Centre of Rest-the Stay




A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.          59
of the Creation-the Fulness of all things. I
join myself to Thee; with Thee I will lead my
life and spend my days, with whom   I am to
dwell forever, expecting, when my little time
is over, to be taken up into thine own eternity."*
* From a deeply interesting account of Arthur H. Hallams,
in the "North British Review," for February, 1861.




LECTURE TV.
Ilr    rsttihultr  f   atnitq.
READ ECCLES. I. 2-11,
"Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities 
all is vanity."
ECCLESIASTES is Solomon the Prodigal, reexhibited by Solomon the Preacher.      The
wisest of worldlings here opens a window in
his bosom and shows us all those fluctuating
emotions and conflicting passions which whirl
and eddy in every heart whose currents run
opposite ways.
In this separate enclosure, so unlike the surrounding Scripture; such a contrast to the joyous parterre which blossoms beside it,* the
traveller has planted the wormwood and the
rue, all the bitter herbs and the lurid which he
* The Song of Solomon.




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.        61
gathered in his grand tour of vanity; and he
has left them, at once, a memorial and a medicine-a record of his own painful experiences,
and a corrective to curious speculation and
sensual indulgence.
The right way to understand Ecclesiastes is
to read it alongside of the other Scriptures.
Obscure in itself we must take the daylight at
the end as a lamp, to guide us as we go; and,
for its duskier recesses, we may borrow the
bright lantern of prophets and evangelists.
We shall thus not only find its perusal safe
and profitable, but, as its dark sayings flash
into significance, and its negations are filled
up by counterpart verities, in its very sternness we shall recognize another feature of Revelation's symmetry. Solomon will tell us the
vanity of doubt; the rest of the Bible will tell
us the blessedness of a firm belief. Solomon
will tell us the misery of the selfist, who seeks
to be his own all in all; the evangelists will
tell us the blessedness of a true benevolence.
Solomon will tell us the vanity of the creature;
the rest of the Bible reveals the sufficiency of




62             LECTURE IV.
the great Creator. Solomon will tell us how
he amassed unprecedented riches, but found
no comfort in them: his shepherd sire will
answer by anticipation, "My cup runneth
over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow
me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell
in the house of the Lord forever." Solomon
will tell us how, in a palace and a crown, and
in imperial fame, he found nothing but chagrin: Jesus will answer, "In the world ye
shall have tribulation; but in me ye shall
have peace." Solomon the sage will tell us,
" Vanity of vanities; all is vanity."  Solomon
the saint will answer, " 0 Saviour, thy love is
better than wine. Draw me, and I will runafter thee. Tarry with me until the day break
and the shadows flee away."
This passage is the preamble to the book.
And it is an appropriate preface. Like sentinels of cypress, cold and glaucous, at a wintergarden's gate, like sphinxes of solemn stone
flanking the entrance of the Silent Land, this
prologue is a fit introduction to the mournful




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.        63
story we are about to read, and ushers us at
once into its realms of dreariness.
As much as if he said, "It is all a weary goround. This system of things is a perpetual
self-repetition,-quite sickening. One generation goes, another comes. The sun rises, and
the sun goes down. That was what the sun did
yesterday, and what I expect it will do tomorrow. The wind blows north, and the wind
blows south; and this is all it has been doing
for these thousand years. The rivers run into
the sea, and it would be some relief to find that
sea up-filling; to perceive the clear waters
wetting the dry shingle, and brimming up to
the green fields, and floating the boats and
fishes up into the forest: but even that inconvenient novelty is denied us; for though the
Nile and many a river have been tumbling a
world of water into it, this tide will not overstep its margin; the flood still bulges, but still
refuses to cross its bounds.  Words* themselves are weariness, and it would tire you to
enumerate those everlasting mutations and
* bg'le, so rendered by Knobel and others.




64             LECTURE IV.
busy uniformities which make up this endless
screw of existence. There are no novelties, no
wonders, no discoveries. This universe does
not yield an eye-full, an ear-full, to its occupant. The present only repeats the past, the
future will repeat them both. The inventions 
of to-day are the forgotten arts of yesterday,
and our children will forget our wisdom, only
to have the pleasure of fishing up, as new
prodigies, our obsolete truisms. There is no
new thing under the sun, yet no repose. Perpetual functions and transient objects,-permanent combinations, yet shifting atoms, sameness, yet incessant change, make up the monotonous medley.  Woe's me for this weary
world!"
In such feelings I think it possible that a
few of my hearers may sympathize. To you it
is very painful-this fugacity of time-this
flight of years and ages-this coming and going
of the generations. And to you it is very oppressive-this monotony of life-this constant
recurrence of the same small pleasures-and
this total absence of any magnificent enjoy.




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.      65
ment. You both want something of which
you may say, "See, this is new," and something of which you may feel, "Now this is
good-this is noble: here is something which
will never pass away: a joy that will be my
comrade through eternity-for neither it nor
I shall ever die." From such vexing thoughts
might you not escape by taking refuge in one
permanence and one variety to which the royal
Preacher does not here advert? I mean the
soul's immortality, and the renewed soul's perpetual juvenescence; that attribute of mind
which makes it the survivor of all changes,
and that faculty of regenerate humanity which
renders old things new, and suffuses with perpetual freshness things the most familiar.
It is true that, compared with many visible
objects, man is ephemeral. Compared with the
sun that shines over him-the air which fans
him-the ocean on which he floats, his " duration is a swift decay." And there is much
pensiveness in the thought of his own frailty.
To look out, as we were last week looking, on
the plenitude of summer,-to view the exu5




66                LECTURE IV.
berance of verdure in the woods, and the soft
warmth upon the waters-to inhale the fra.
grance of roses, mingling with earth's ripeness,
and think how soon our eyes must shut forever
on that landscape-how soon aromatic breezes
and blushing flowers shall stir no animation in
our tombs,-to think that there will be as much
of ecstasy in the season, but in that ecstasy we
shall be no sharers; or, as the poet has expressed it in his " Farewell to the Brook,"Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver;
No more by thee, my steps shall be,
Forever, and forever.
But here will sigh thine alder-tree,
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee, will hum the bee,
Forever, and forever.
A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee, my steps shall be,
Forever, and forever.*
In such contemplations there is a deep pathos,
and to surrender the spirit to their habitual
* Tennyson.




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.       67
mastery would be to live a life of constant
melancholy.
But, whatever may be the sensations of
worldlings, these ought not to be the feelings
of Christians. Jesus Christ hath brought immortality to light through the Gospel. He has
taught us that amidst all sublunary perpetuities,
the most perpetual is the soul of man. He
has assured us that the man who believes in
Himself shall never die, and that of all things
which ever tenanted this planet, the most enduring are Himself and those whom faith and
affection make one with Himself: the great
Alpha and Omega, and all the redeemed existence included in his own.
But more than that, have you thought, my
friends, on the immortalizing faculty of your
own immortal minds? The soul of man is not
only earth's true amaranth, but earth's only
antiseptic. It is only in that soul that this
visible creation will by-and-by exist at all. It
is only in your deathless memory that its fair
scenes and curious objects will, ere long, survive; but there they can never die. Already




68             LECTURE IV.
the face of things has entirely changed since
the days of Solomon. No limner has preserved
the aspect of Palestine as his poetic father
viewed it. But there are memories in which
it lives. The well of Bethlehem-its streets,
its houses, and its stables, as they stood a thousand years before the Saviour of the world was
born in one of them; the copse where the
young shepherd cut his crook, and the bazaar
where he bought his harp; the slopes tufted
with hyssop and elastic with thyme, where his
broad-tailed flocks cropped the herbage, and
the trees where they rested at noon; the muster of the Philistines on one side of the torrent,
and Israel's tents on the other-all these have
vanished from under the sun, but all these are
still vivid in the spectator's strengthened
memory. And there, too, are still depicted portraits which the artists of earth can only imagine;-Jesse's manly port as, with yeoman
pride, he stalked out and in among his thriving
herds and soldier sons,-Samuel's reverend
visage as he poured the anointing oil,-Goliath's mighty bulk as he fell over on the




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.      69
quaking turf,-Jonathan's tearful smile as he
bade farewell for that fatal Gilboa. And even
so, if you be the children of God, this earth is
your unfading heritage. Its best things will
subsist as long as you care to preserve them.
And, even after that earth and all its works,
all its present features and all its present productions have disappeared, there will be as
many records of creation as there are holy
recollections in heaven. When the aspen and
the alder, when the bee in the fox-glove, and
the roses round the bower, are extinct species,
or are only enshrined in the amber of celestial
reminiscence; you will still remember what
like earth's sanctuaries looked, and how its
summers shone. Or should even sun and
moon grow pale, their image will endure so
long as you remember the happy hour when
you gave yourself to God: so long as you remember the mossy bank where first, in the
Saviour's invitations, you read your title to a
mansion in the skies: so long as you remember the bright winter-night returning from the
country communion, when the peace of God
L     __  -   -________




70             LECTURE IV.
was a full tide in your bosom, and in the
melting admiration of redeeming love, you
looked up into the heavens and said, "What
is man, that thou art mindful of him?"'  Ah!
yes; the immortality of material forms is the
immortality of the soul of man.
And of these material forms it is the highest
function,-so to speak, it is their greatest privilege, to tell on man's immortality;-to get so
blended with man's being as to survive the
wreck of matter, and share that existence
which alone is undissolving. And though this
suggests some painful thoughts, though it is
sad to think how objects of cupidity and avarice, and how the incentives to unholy passion
may survive only in that self-accusing conscience which they'helped to make a child of
hell, boasting no monument beyond such miscreant memory: still there is a fitness, and
one feels happy in the thought that God's good
works shall be eternally embalmed in those
immortal natures which they have helped to
make good and beautiful, and shall never die
so long as those spirits live to whose growth in




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.       71
grace they once gave aliment. Generations
will cease to come and go. The earth in its
present arrangements, will not " abide forever."
It wil soon be burned up, along with all its
works. Its present races will be annihilated,
or only recognized as dim fossils in the calcined strata; and the very books which have
been engraven and painted to represent their
forms, shall perish in the mighty conflagration.
But even then there will be tablets of Nature
numerous as the spirits of the just made perfect; and what museums have failed to keep
will be still secure in the fire-proof cabinets of
saintly recollection. No eagle will then poise
in the vacant firmament, but its restful gyrations, its sunward aspiring, will still be present
to that mind which used to associate with it
the self-renovating efforts of prayer: "They
that wait upon the Lord shall renew their
strength: they shall mount up on wings as
eagles." And from another planet the pilgrim
coming would vainly search for Syria's farfamed lily: but its image still wlil linger
both in the memory and the character of that




72             LECTURE IV.
modest disciple to whom Jesus said not in vain,
" Consider the lilies, and be clothed like them."
There will then be no Jacob's well; but its
deep shaft and shady canopy will still be pictured in her memory, who, one summer afternoon, found resting there a stranger, and obtained from him water of everlasting life. And
there will be no Patwos then, but its creeks
and caverns will all be mapped in his affectionate fancy, who found it the open gate of
the New Jerusalem; and who will recall the
lizards on its cliffs and the little fishes in its
pools, with Apocalyptic light and Sabbath joy
around them.
There is another sense in which these material agencies are working a moral progress,
and so promoting the scheme of God. Looking up at the weather-cock, says the sage of
vanity, " Woe's me for this weary wind!
There, it was south this morning, and now it
is north! How many ways it blows, and never long the same! What's the use of all this
whirling? And if it were only to make the
vane spin round, the air as well might stag



THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.      73
nate: there were no need of such wasted power. But whilst the valetudinarian is looking
at the vane, the wind is careering over a continent, and doing the Creator's work in a hundred lands. It has called at yon city, fetid
with miasma and groaning with pestilence;
and, with its besom of brisk pinions, it has
swept the plague away. It has looked into
yon haven, and found a forest of laden ships
sleeping over their freights, and it has chased
them all to sea. And finding the harvest arrested in a broad and fertile realm-the earth
chapped, and the crops withering,-it is now
hurrying with that black armament of clouds
to drench it in lifesome irrigation. To narrow
observation or to selfishness that wind is an
annoyance: to faith it is God's angel,* forwarding the mighty plan.'Tis a boisterous
night, and Pictish savages curse the noisy blast
which shakes their peat-hovels round their
ears; but that noisy blast has landed the Gospel on St. Andrew's shore. It blows a fearful
tempest, and it sets some rheumatic joints on
* Ps. civ. 3, 4.




74             LECTURE VI.
aching; but the morrow shows dashed in pieces
the awful Armada which was fetching the
Spanish Inquisition to our British Isle. The
wind blows east, and detains James's ships at
Harwich; but it guides King William to Torbay. Yes, "the wind blows south and the
wind blows north; it whirleth about continually, and returneth again according to its circuits."  But in the course of these circuits the
wind has blown to our little speck of sea-girt
Happiness, the Gospel, and Protestantism, and
civil and religious liberty. And so, not of our
islet only, but of our globe entire, and its continuous population. So far as the individual
is concerned, so far as it affects the weatherindex in the wind, there may be little seeming
progress; nay, so far as it concerns any plan
which society proposes to itself, the favoring
gale may shift and shift again, and the story
of a nation be little better than the register of
a stationary vane pirouetting on its windy pivot; but so far as affects the scheme of God,
there is an aura in the universe which always
drives one way. Predestination is a vane




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.      75
which never vibrates, and Providence a wind
which never whirls about. The breath of
God's Spirit and the strength of God's purpose
are steadily wafting our world and all the
worlds in one mighty convoy towards God's
appointed haven in the distant future. So
cheer up, Solomon, and all ye sighing sages;
cheer up, you that complain of the sameness
and insipidity of mundane affairs. Cheer up,
you that pine for some grand disclosure, and
long for something that will fill your eye and
satisfy your ear. When in the harbor of God's
finished mystery, the sails of history are furled,
and the eternal anchor is dropped-when the
last generation falls in and the last holy intelligence comes home, you who have so often
asked, Is there anything whereof it may be
said, See, this is new? you will see "all things
made new;" you, whose eye has never been
satisfied with seeing, will be satisfied when
you see Him as He is; and you, whose ear was
never satisfied with hearing, will long for nothing fuller when responsive to the overture
which morning-stars sang so long ago, the
[__ _____~.____ ~  __.._________




76             LECTURE IV.
grand finale shall burst from  Infinitude exclaiming, " Blessing, and honor, and glory, and
power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the
throne, and to the Lamb, forever and ever."
If, as we have said, the immortality of material forms is only that which they achieve
through the immortality of the human soul;
and if the true glorification of matter is its
sanctifying influence on regenerate mind, we
may learn two lessons from our argument:
First, that there is no harm in a vivid susceptibility of those material appearances and
influences with which God has replenished the
universe. Some religionists would make contempt of the creation a test of piety; but they
greatly err. It was of the material universe
that six times over God said that it was
"good." And it was in that material universe
that the Son of God Incarnate evidently sought
refreshment for his eyes when weary with
viewing vanity. Yes, Jesus himself has taken
to heaven some of its relics of Eden:




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.        77
" Oh, Saviour, gone to God's right hand,
Yet the same Saviour still;
Graved on Thy heart is this lovely strand
And every fragrant hill."*
Secondly. But that susceptibility is good
for nothing if it be not sanctified. There is
an idolatry of nature. There are some whose
God is the visible creation, and not the God
and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. And
there is a voluptuousness in the enjoyment of
nature. There are some to whom the landscape and its ingredients are neither the recreation fitting them for more active duties, nor
the ladder of easy steps leading them up to
adoring and loving thoughts of God; but,
like the epicure over his viands, they sit down
to the banquet as if they cared for no higher
paradise. At this moment, when so many are
panting for a purer air, and preparing to migrate to other scenes in search of it, it may be
a word in season. Go, you that have worked
hard for it-go and enjoy your holiday. But
whithersoever you go, let all your religion go
* M'Cheyne's " Sea of Galilee."
I  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _




78             LECTURE IV.
with you. If you go among foreigners, instead of gruffness and hauteur, take with you
Christian complaisance, and do justice at once
to the good feeling of England and the courtesy of real religion. And whether among compatriots or foreigners, take with you the Sabbath-day. Keep its hours as sacred in the
hired lodging or the inn, as you keep them in
your own well-ordered home. Pray for the
places where you sojourn, and as seeds for the
eternal harvest, it were well if you could drop
some good words or arresting tracts as you
pass along. And then, when bursts of beauty
or surprises of grandeur come in upon your
soul, let the thought also come in of your
"Father," who "made them all." And thus
associated with the profitable books you read,
or the Christian intercourse you enjoyed, or
the efforts at usefulness you there put forth,places which to the vacant mind recall no
memories, and to the profligate are only identified with dissipation and riot,-will to you
be fraught with pleasant recollections; and,




THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.       79
thus beautified and sanctified, the resorts and
recreations of earth will be worthy of a mental
pilgrimage even from the bowers of Paradise
Restored.




LECTURE V.
READ ECCLES. I. 12-18.
"In much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth
knowledge increaseth sorrow."
SOLOMON'S first recourse was philosophy.
He was a king, and he could pursue his researches on a splendid scale. We know that
he collected natural curiosities from distant
countries, and it is likely that he attracted to
his court the learned of many lands. Nor is
it improbable that he attained an insight to
natural phenomena, possessed by none of his
contemporaries. To the present day Eastern
magicians invoke his name as if he were a
controller of the elements; a circumstance
from which some have very gratuitously inferred that he must have been a magician him



THE MUSEUM.              81
self. But the fact is interesting. It looks as
if tradition still preserved a recollection of certain prodigies which science enabled him to
perform, and it would suggest that he was an
experimenter as well as an observer.
But it was not only apes and peacocks,
cedars and hyssop, which he studied, and the
elements on which   he experimented; he
studied man. He looked at man's position in
this world. He examined his story in time
past. "He sought and searched out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under
heaven;" " he saw all the works that are done
under the sun."  And he did not confine himself to grave generalities; he did not read solely the stately history of kings. " He gave his
heart to know madness and folly," as well as
"wisdom;" nor was he so pedantic as not to
gather instruction from the frivolous and fantastic as well as from the august in human nature. His appetite for knowledge was omnivorous, and whilst hungering for the harvest he
was thankful for crumbs.
The result was, satiety without satisfaction;
6




82              LECTURE V.
or rather, it was the sober certainty of " sorrow."  "All the works done under the sun
are vanity and vexation of spirit."  Look at
this Mesech of mortality!  What a hot and
noisy hive it is, and how each insect hums out
and in on his consequential errands, till some
night Death, the grim owner, comes and stifles
all, and takes the honey. "I have seen all the
works done under the sun;" I know their object, I know their result. It is comfort, soulcontent for which the millions moil and bustle.
For this the clodpole delves in the stiff clay,
and the pearl-fisher dives in the deep lagoon.
From his fragrant woods the herbalist of Gilead would fain distil it, and from his royal
dainties the Asherite strives to confect it.
With its rich cargoes the ships of Tarshish and
the dromedaries of Midian have many a time
been laden; but when the time came to open
the bales, nothing was found save ocean-brine
or desert sand. All was transmuted into vanity and vexation of spirit. "This sore travail
hath God given to the sons of men."   The
very pursuit of knowledge is penal.   The
I  ~ ~ ~ ~~________________   ______   _________________.1i




THE MUSEUM.             83
search after happiness is itself a sore punishment. Here, like a gin-horse, has the world
been for ages tramping round and round, hoping to fetch up the golden bucket from the
deep shaft of thought and effort; but alas!
sin has cut the rope, and there is now no golden bucket at the end. Still, however, the blind
gin-horse limps and wheezes on, and jades
himself to death with this sore travail. I see
the misery; I see not how to mend it. "That
which is crooked cannot be made straight."
There is a twist in man's destiny, a bias in
man's will, a crook in man's constitution which
science cannot rectify. "And that which is
wanting cannot be numbered."
I have a list of those ingredients which constitute well-being, and which I am told that
man once possessed, e. g., peace of conscience,
elasticity of temper, health, contentment, exemption from death, faith in the future; and
I have made a survey of humanity and come
back with an inventory of mere desiderata.
These joys have vanished. The spoiler has
been here. The regalia are rifled, and the




84              LECTURE V.
onyx of Havilah has.been torn from the crown
which Adam wore in Paradise. And as the
upshot of all I say, " Much wisdom is much
grief, and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." Happier that beggar child
who can fancy his reed a sceptre, than that
gray-haired monarch who knows that a sceptre
is only gilded copper. Happier the fisher boy
who, with his kettle, hopes to bail the sinking
boat, than his wiser father who, through the
widening leak, already sees their watery grave.
Happier the peasant who fancies the magazine
inexhaustible, than the governor who knows
that it will be all consumed months before the
harvest. In a world like this much science is
much sorrow; for it is the knowledge of our
penury, —the statistics of starvation,-the assurance that our case is desperate. Therefore,
I break up my encyclopsedic elysium, and on
my temple of art inscribe, "Vanity and vexation of spirit: "
"Where ignorance is bliss;'Tis folly to be wise."*
* As Lord Byron has expressed it, with his usual mixture




THE MUSEUM.                  85
Unless it include the knowledge of the Living God, there is sorrow in much science; that
is, the more a man knows, unless he also knows
the Saviour, the sadder may we expect him to
become.    Of this we have an instance in a late
philosopher, who, like Solomon, united to ardor of physical research a thoughtful and
musing spirit, and who in his " Last Days of
a Philosopher," has bequeathed to the world a
manual of mournful "Consolations."        It was
not from any drawback in his outward lot, nor
from any disappointment of his hopes, that
Sir Humphrey      Davy took    leave of life so
gloomily. Of the sons of science few have
been so favored. In his grand discovery of
the metallic bases, and in his more popular invention of the safety-lamp; in the command
of a laboratory which opened a royal road to
of force and flippancy: "The lapse of ages changes all
things: time, language, the earth, the bounds of the sea, the
stars of the sky, and everything'about, around, and underneath' man, except man himself, who has always been, and
will always be an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of
lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead
but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet
been made have multiplied little but existence."




86             LECTURE V.
chemistry, and in the splendid crowds who
thronged to his lectures; from the moment
that he found a generous patron till he became
a Baronet of the United Kingdom, and President of the Royal Society, his whole career was
a series of rare felicities. Nor was he the anchoret of science, a lonely and smoke-dried
alchemist. He was a man of fashion, and, like
Solomon, mingled "madness and folly" with
graver pursuits.  Yet with all his versatile
powers,-orator, philosopher, poet; and with
all his distinctions glittering around him, his
heart still felt hollow, and in his later journals
the expressive entry was, "Very miserable."
What was it that he wanted? He himself has
told us: "I envy no quality of mind or intellect in others,-not genius, power, wit, or
fancy; but if I could choose what would be
most delightful, and I believe most useful to
me, I should prefer a firm religious belief to
every other blessing; for it makes life a discipline of goodness, creates new hopes when all
earthly hopes vanish, and throws over the decay, the destruction of existence, the most gor



THE MUSEUM.             87
geous of all lights, calling up the most delightful visions, where the sensualist and skeptic
view only gloom, decay, and annihilation."
Whilst the philosopher has here truly said
that nothing can fill the central gulf in man's
spirit, except a sound religious belief, he speaks
of its attainment despondingly; and probably
he felt, what many have expressed, that it is
not easy for a man of science to " receive the
kingdom of God as a little child."  It is possible that some one now present may be in the
same predicament. You wish to believe, and
are sorry to doubt; but you find that it is not
easy to be at once the votary of science and
the hearty disciple of Jesus Christ. When examining the evidence, or when reading the
Bible itself, you are convinced that it is the
Book of God. You recognize on its pages the
same autograph with which you have long
been familiar in the volume of creation, the
same inimitable style of majesty, wisdom, goodness, and power; and you own that to refuse
its authenticating credentials would be to set at
defiance all the laws of evidence. You believe
i__.______._~...__.__..___..._..~___~~_




88             LECTURE V.
the Bible as long as you are in its own society;
you love it as long as you commune with it.
Looking into its face you perceive the halo,
and tarrying in its precincts you are conscious
of the Divinity indwelling. But passing away
from it, and no longer warmed by its immediate inspiration; mingling with the cold materialisms which it is your province to explore;
handling the dry preparations, or the gritty
fossils, or the fuming retort,-the joy and the
fragrance, and the vital influence of that Bible
fade, and your devotion expires. Or, when
you bore into the strata, and find yourself
drilling down through cycles of unimagined
time; or, when you look up into the starry
vault, and find yourself transported into a
measureless abyss, and its unnumbered worlds,
-then all sorts of doubts and queries seem to
rise like dragons from the deep, or they come
trooping home like spectres from the dark immensity. You begin to feel yourself an atom
in creation, and this world a mere mote in the
universe, and you cannot help thinking revelation too great a boon for such an atom, and




THlE MUSEUM.            89
the Advent too great a wonder for such a
world. You catch yourself saying, not in
adoration, but in doubt, " What is man, that
Thou art mindful of him? Or, what the son
of man, that Thou shouldest visit him?"
Now I will not stop to suggest the cure for
all these cavils. I might say that the best cure
for nervous spectres or nightmare horrors, is to
get a light, or look at something familiar and
real; and the best cure for skeptic doubts is to
look at the Bible itself. And I might farther
say, that the mind is soundest and best constructed which receives all truth on its own
evidence, and which does not suffer every wandering chimera to disturb a truth thus ascertained. But as it is a difficulty embarrassing
to some thoughtful minds, we may just glance
a little at the religious doubts occasioned by
the extent of the universe.
Twenty years ago some English voyagers
were standing on a flat beach within the Arctic Seas. From the excitement of their looks,
the avidity with which they gazed into the
ground, and the enthusiasm with which they




90               LECTURE V.
looked around them, it was evident that they
deemed it a spot of signal interest. But anything outwardly less interesting you could
hardly imagine. On the one side, the coast
retreated in low and wintry ridges, and on the
other a pale ocean bore its icy freight beneath
a watery sky, whilst under the travellers' feet
lay neither bars of gold nor a gravel of gems.
but blocks of unsightly limestone. Yet it was
the centre of one of nature's greatest mysteries.
It was the reward of years of adventure and
hardship; it was the answer to the long aspirations and efforts of science; it was the Magnetic Pole. The travellers grudged that'a place
so important should appear so tame. They
would have liked that it had been marked by
some natural monument, a lofty peak or a singular rock. They were almost disappointed
at not finding an iron needle as high as Cleopatra's own, or a loadstone as big as Mont
Blanc.*
* " We could have wished that a place so important had
possessed more of mark or note. I could even have pardoned
any one among us who had been so romantic or absurd as to
expect that the magnetic pole was an object as conspicuous




THE MUSEUM.             91
One day, a few summers since, sailing up the
Rhine on a dull and windy afternoon, with little to look at but the sedgy banks and the
storks exploring for reptiles among them-the
vessel halted over against an old German town.
We were looking languidly at its distant spires,
and carelessly asked some one what town it
was?  "Worms." Worms! The battle-field
of the Reformation; the little Armageddon
where light and darkness, truth and error, liberty and despotism, the Son of God and the
Prince of Darkness fought together not so long
ago! Suddenly it seemed to swarm with Imperial troops and bluff old burghers; and had
we been near enough we should have glanced
up to the tiles on the house-tops, and in the
streets looked out for Luther; but though it
was the very spot where Protestantism gained
its decisive victory, the spot where modern
Europe threw off the cerements of the middle
age, and emerged to life, to enterprise, and
freedom, there was no outward sign to tell it,
and mysterious as the fabled mountain of Sindbad," &c.Ross's " Second Voyage."




92             LECTURE V.
a dreary German town on a swampy plainthat was all.
Thus is it usually with memorable places.
There is nothing external to arrest the eye; no
gigantic landmark nor natural sign to serve
for a Siste, viator: and the more refined and
reflective do not grudge this. They feel that
morally there is nothing so sublime as simplicity, and that it is God's way to work great
wonders, not only by means of the things
which are despised, but in despicable localities.
Man is a materialist, and he tries to give a material magnitude to memorable places; but
God chooses any common spot for the cradle
of a mighty incident, or the home of a mighty
spirit. Elbowing through Bread-street, amid
trucks and drays and Cheapside tumult, who
would fancy that here was the bower where
the bard of Paradise was born; or looking up
to that small window in the Canongate, who
would guess that from these narrow precincts
the spirit which new-created Scotland passed
away? Or, sailing along the deep, what is
there to tell you that this rock was the cage of




THE MUSEUM.             93
the captured eagle, the basaltic prison where
he chafed and pined and died; and yon, the
willow-tree, under which he quietly slept, the
Magor-Missabib of modern history? Or, floating on the soft AEgean, and looking up to the
marble cliffs, where the aconite grows and the
halcyon slumbers in the sun, what trace is
there to tell that heaven's windows once opened
here; that here the last' thrill of inspiration
was felt, and here the last glimpse of a glorified Redeemer vouchsafed? To the passing
glance or the uninstructed eye, they are mean
and inconspicuous places-so mean, that ascertaining the wonders connected with them, the
vulgar world declares them unworthy of such
distinction till otherwise distinguished, and exclaims, "Let us build a monument, a mausoleum, or a church." But to spirits truly great,
every place is great which mind or moral glory
has aggrandized. Patmos could not be improved though it were expanded into a continent; nor the house where a poet was born or
a Reformer died, though it were enshrined beneath a national monument.




94             LECTURE V.
There is another remark which we may make
regarding memorable places. They are usually
more interesting to strangers than to the regular residents. Had the Esquimaux seen Captain Ross and his party, they would have marvelled what brought a band of Englishmen
from their comfortable homes to that bleak and
barren shore. And, far from sympathizing in
their errand, they could hardly have been
taught to understand it. Food, not information, being their chief motive to exertion, they
would gladly have sold the magnetic pole for
a few pounds of blubber or a few pints of oil.
It was interesting enough to British science to
bring many at the peril of their lives; but to
the poor benighted natives it never had occurred
that there was anything more important in
that particular spot than in any other bend of
their frozen beach. And so of historic scenes.
You know more about Luther's bold appearance at the Imperial Diet than do most of the
people who now reside at Worms. The spot
where a great battle was fought, or where a
great hero breathed his last, is often interesting




THE MUSEUM.              95
to its inhabitants only as a source of gain;
and unless tlhey be men of congenial taste and
strong emotion, people will hurry daily past
the places consecrated by departed greatness,
without finding their step detained or their
spirit stirred. It is reserved for the far-come
traveller to stand still and wonder where the
incurious native trudges on, or only wonders
what it is that the stranger is gazing at.
Our earth is a little world. In bulk it is
little as compared with some of its neighbors.
Even the same planetary system contains one
world a hundred times, and another three hundred times as large; whilst, if suns be peopled
worlds, there are suns hundreds of thousands
of times as large. And there are races of intelligence and capacity far beyond our ownraces both fallen and unfallen, to which our
highest genius may seem a curious simplicity,
and our vastest information an interesting ignorance, even as we may smile at the wit and
knowledge of the Esquimaux. But this is the
little world, and ours the lowly race, which
God selected as the scene and the subject of




96              LECTURE V.
the most amazing interposition. Like its own
Bethlehem Ephratah, little among thousands
of worlds; like its own Patmos, a point in the
ocean of existence, our earth already stands
alone in the universe, and will stand forth in
the annals of eternity, illustrious for its fact
without a parallel. It is the world on which
the mystery of redemption was transacted; it
is the world into which Christ came. And
though lower than the angels, ours is the race
which Jehovah has crowned with one peerless
glory, one unequalled honor. It is the race
which God has visited. Ours is the flesh
which Incarnate Deity wore, and ours is the
race for whose sinners the Son of God poured
forth a ransom in his blood. This is the event
which over our small planet sheds a solemn
interest, and draws toward it the wondering
gaze of other worlds. And just as in traversing the deep, when there rises on the view
some spot of awful interest or affecting memory, you slack the sail, and passengers strain
the eye, and look on in silent reverence; so,
in their journeys through immensity the flight




THE MUSEUM.              97
of highest intelligences falters into wonder and
delay as they near this little globe. There is
something in it which makes them feel like
Moses at Horeb, "Let me draw near and see
this great sight,"-a marvel and a mystery
here which angels desire to look into. It is a
little world, but it is the world where God was
manifest in flesh. And though there may be
spots round which the interest gathers in most
touching intensity; though it may be possible
to visit the very land whose acres were trod
by "those blessed feet which our offences
nailed to theaccursed tree;" though you might
like to look on David's town where the advent
took place, and on the hills of Galilee where
his sermons were preached, and on the limpid
Gennesareth which once kissed his buoyant
sandals, and on that Jerusalem which He loved
and pitied, and where He died, and that Olivet,
from whose gentle slope the Prince of Peace
ascended, I own that with me it is not so much
Jerusalem or Palestine as Earth, Earth herself.
Since it received the visit of the Son of God,
in the eye of the universe the entire globe is a
7




98             LECTURE V.
Holy Land; and such let it ever be to me.
So wicked and sin-tainted that it must pass
through the fire ere all be ended, it is withal
so consecrated and so dear to heaven that it
must not be destroyed; but a new earth with
righteousness dwelling in it shall perpetuate to
distant ages its own amazing story. And
though an illustrious author wrote, "I have
long lost all attachment to this world as a locality,"* I do not wish to share the feeling.
I like it for its very littleness. I like to stand
on its lonely remoteness, and look aloft to
vaster and brighter orbs; and when I consider
the heavens, the moon and the stars, then say
I, "What is man that thou shouldest visit
him?" And, as in the voyage of the spheres,
I sail away in this, the little barque of man, it
comes over me with melting surprise and
adoring astonishment that mine is the very
world into which the Saviour came; and as I
farther recall who that Saviour was,-that for
Him to become the highest seraph would have
been an infinite descent, or to inhabit the
* Foster.




THE MUSEUM.               99
hugest globe a strange captivity,-instead of
seeking to inflate this tiny ball into the'
mightiest sphere, or stilt up this feeble race to
angelic stature, I see many a reason why, if an
Incarnation were at all to be, a little world
should be the theatre, and a little race the
object.
It would indeed give melancholy force to
the saying, " Much wisdom is much grief," if
much wisdom were fatal to the Christian faith,
and if he who increased his general knowledge
must forfeit his religious hopes. But whilst
science is fatal to superstition,-whilst fatal to
lying wonders and monkish legends, it is fortification to a scriptural faith. The Bible is
the bravest of books. Coming from God,
and conscious of nothing but God's truth, it
awaits the progress of knowledge with calm
security. It watches the antiquary ransacking
among classic ruins, and rejoices in every
medal he discovers, and every inscription he
deciphers; for from that rusty coin or corroded
marble it expects nothing but confirmations




100             LECTURE V.
of its own veracity. In the unlocking of an
Egyptian hieroglyphic, or the unearthing of
some ancient implement, it hails the resurrection of so many witnesses; and with sparkling elation it follows the botanist as he scales
Mount Lebanon, or the zoologist as he makes
acquaintance with the beasts of the Syrian
desert, or the traveller as he stumbles on a
long-lost Petra, or Nineveh, or Babylon; for
in regions like these every stroke of the hammer and every crack of the rifle awaken
friendly echoes, and every production and
every relic bring home a friendly evidence.
And from the march of time it fears no evil,
but calmly abides the fulfilment of those
prophecies and the forthcoming of those events
with whose predicted story Inspiration has already inscribed its page. It is not light but
darkness which the Bible deprecates; and if
men of piety were also men of science, and if
men of science would "search the Scriptures,"
there would be more faith in the earth, and
also more philosophy.
Few minds are sufficiently catholic. The




THE MUSEUM.             101
psychologist is apt to despise the material
sciences, and few mathematicians are good historians. But although there may be indiffer
ence, or rivalry amongst their votaries, there
is no antagonism between the truths them
selves. There exists a mind as well as a material universe, and there are laws of thought
as well as laws of motion; and although it
cannot be proved by algebra; yet it is pretty
certain that Julius Caesar invaded Britain, and
that George Washington achieved the independence of America. All truths are friendly
and mutually consistent, and he is the wisest
man who, if he cannot be an adept in all
knowledge, dreads none and despises none;
the Baconian intelligence to which the Word
and the works of the Most High are alike a
revelation, and to which both alike are faithful witnesses, though both are not alike articulate.
Be sages then, not sciolists. In the world
of knowledge be cosmopolite, and be not the
pedants of one department. Be historians as
well as mathematicians. Receive every truth




102                 LECTURE V.
on its appropriate evidence, and there is nothing to prevent your faith in the Gospel from
being equally strong with your faith in the
course of nature.    And although the Cyclops
of science may have an eye for only one half
of truth's horizon; although the bigot of
demonstration may jeer at testimony; although
the sectary of physics may repudiate history;
if your knowledge be really " general;" if it
be sufficiently comprehensive and catholic, and
correct withal,-the more you grow in knowledge the more will you be confirmed in that
most excellent of all knowledge,-a positive
and historical Christianity.*
But you say, the natural sciences are all
* Of how much skepticism has Bacon given the rationale
in his noted sentence, " A little philosophy inclineth man's
mind to Atheism; but depth in philosophy bringeth men's
minds about to religion." —EssAYS 16. And of how many
Freethinkers might the foolish boasting be silenced in the
words which Newton retorted on the infidel Halley, " I have
studied these things, and you have not." There are various
sources of unbelief; but next to the "evil heart," the most
fruitful is ignorance. It is easy for a sciolist to be a skeptic;
but it is not easy for a well-informed historian to reject the
records of faith.




THE MUSEUM.            103
certain; theology is all conflict and confusion.
Let us understand one another. If you say
that the phenomena of nature are all patient
and explicit, I reply, And so are the sayings
of Scripture. If candor and ingenuousness can
interpret the one, they may equally expound
the other. But if you say that, unlike the
Word of God, his works have never been
misunderstood, you surely forget that the " History of the Inductive Sciences" is just a history
of erroneous interpretations replaced by interpretations less erroneous, and destined to be
succeeded by interpretations still more exhaustive and true. If you smile at the Hutchisonian or Cocceian systems of exegesis; if
you quote the hostile theories which still linger
in the field of polemics, I ask, Is this peculiar
to theology? Have you forgotten how the
abhorrers of a vacuum abhorred Torricelli and
Pascal? Have you forgotten how the old
physiologists were vexed at Harvey for discovering the circulation of the blood?  Do
you not remember how the Stahlian chemists,
like a burnt-out family, long lingered round




104             LECTURE V.
the ashes of phlogiston, and denounced the
wilful fire-raising of Lavoisier and oxygen?
In early youth have you never seen a disciple
of Werner, and pitied the affectionate tenacity
with which he clung to the last plank of the
Neptunian theory?  Or would every worldmaker forgive Lord Rosse's telescope if it
swept from the firmament all trace of the nebular hypothesis?  Or, because there is still an
emission as well as an undulatory theory of
light, must we deny that optics is a science,
and must we hold that the laws of refraction
and reflection are mere matters of opinion?
Nature is no liar, although her " minister and
interpreter" has often mistaken her meaning;
and, notwithstanding the errors which have
received a temporary sanction from the learned,
there is, after all, nothing but truth in the
material universe; and, so far as man has sagacity or sincerity to collect that truth, he has
got a true science, a true astronomy, a true
chemistry, a true physiology, as the case may
be. And even so, whatsoever vagaries particular persons may indulge, or whatsoever false




THE MUSEUM.              105   |
systems may receive a transient support, there
is, after all, nothing but truth in the Bible,
and so far as we have sincerity or sagacity to
collect that Bible-truth, we have got a true
religion. Nay, the most important facts and
statements in that Word speak for themselves
and require no theory. And just as the mariner might safely avail himself of Jupiter's satellites, though Copernicus had never existed;
just as the gunner must allow for the earth's
attraction, whatever becomes of the Newtonian
philosophy; just as the apothecary would continue to mix his salts and acids in definite
proportions, even although some mishap befel
the atomic theory; just as we ourselves do not
close our eyes and dispense with light, until
the partisans of rays shall have made it up
with the advocates of ether,-so the Scriptures
abound in statements and facts on which we
may safely proceed, whatever becomes of human theories.  "God so loved the world, that
He gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him  should not perish, but
have everlasting life."  "This is a faithful say___~~~_____~~~__ _~__~~_ ___ _ _~~_ ~~~ __  __~~ __~~_____ __~~~_____ - - -------




106             LECTURE V.
ing, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ
Jesus came into the world to save sinners."
"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
shalt be saved."  "If any man be in Christ Jesus, he is a new creature:" so far as it is
founded on such sayings as these, religion is
not only the simplest, but, being immediately
from God, it is the most secure of all the sciences.
However, we must add one remark. In the
region of revealed truth, increasing knowledge
will not always be increasing conviction, unless
that knowledge be progressively reduced to
practice. If knowledge be merely speculative,
in extending it a man may only " increase sorrow;" for it is "with the heart that man believeth unto righteousness," and it is to the
"doers" of his Father's will that the Saviour
promises an assuring knowledge of his own
"doctrine."*  The mind needs tonics.   For
the body, next to wholesome food, the best
toning is vigorous exercise; and if long cradled in a luxurious repose, the penalty is paid
* Rom. x. 10; John vii. 17.




THE MUSEUM.             107
at last in so many imaginary ills as constitute
a real one. And just as the child of sloth is
haunted by visionary fears; as he dreads that
his pulse will stop or the firmament fall in: so
the man who arrests his moral activities and
lets his fancy wander at its will; the man who
is doing no service to God and no good in
the world, will soon become an intellectual
hypochondriac. Musing, day-dreaming, marvelling, he will soon believe the phantoms of
his own creating, and will not be able to believe the facts of God's revealing. And as
the meet recompense of his indolence and uselessness, if he be not given up to believe a lie,
his relaxed and pithless grasp will not be able
to hold fast a single truth: like an interesting
scholar, whose life we lately read, and who
during years of speculative inactivity, dwindled down from a devout and laborious clergyman to a slipshod and etiolated free-thinker,*
and like those voluptuous theologians of Germany who mope away their lives in selfish
* See the remarks at the close of Archdeacon Hare's
Life of Sterling."
__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




108             LECTURE V.
meditation, and who, never letting their brethren taste the fruits of their practical beneficence, are never themselves permitted to taste
the blessing of a sure belief. The true remedy
for this spiritual moodiness is a holy and
abundant activity. So deemed the Apostle
Paul. In the midst of a glowing argument,
and when refuting certain cavils against the
Resurrection which had arisen in the Church
of Corinth, he ejaculates all at once, "Be not
deceived; evil communications corrupt good
manners. Awake to righteousness and sin
not, for some have not the knowledge of
God."* Like a sagacious physician who finds
his patient haunted by fantastic fears, and who
orders him out into the open air, and compels
him to dig, or row, or wrestle; and after a few
days of this rough regimen the crystal arm
grows flesh and blood; and he who was afraid
that the sky might fall and smother him, begins to have faith in the firmament,-so the
apostle sounds a reveillez in the ear of these
drowsy reasoners.'Awake to righteousness 
* 1 Cor. xv. 83-35.




THE MUSEUM.            109
These doubts and difficulties are the fruits of
sloth. They are the hypochondriac fancies
which lazy loungers nurse in one another.
Evil communications corrupt good manners.
Rouse you!-Awake to righteousness. Bestir
you in the business o~ practical Christianity,
and these shadows will flee away!' And so
to any haunted or unhappy mind here present
we give the same advice. Do you admit the
Bible to be the Word of God, and yet are you
haunted with speculative doubts and evil surmisings as to any of its particular doctrines?
Then, awake to righteousness! Your doubts
are ridiculous, your fears are unfounded, and
each idle hypothesis might be easily refuted.
But the real remedy is, not reasoning, but
righteousness; not the arguments of others,
but your own practical piety. Awake, then,
to righteousness. Embody in your conduct
your present limited stock of conviction. Try
to pray more, or praise more; try to cure the
bad temper or the unholy passion; try to do
some good to your neighbors: and that very
effort will be the cure of some cavils. It will
I. ______________~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~




110            LECTURE V.
teach you, for one thing, that the heart is desperately wicked, and that if God does not
change it, nothing else can. And tlat discovery will prompt you to prayer, and that prayer
will procure an answer, and that answer will
deepen your trust in God; and thus item by
item your faith will grow exceedingly. Thus,
by the corrective of wholesome discipline and
by being confronted with realities, your foolish doubts will dissipate; and the doctrine
which was incredible to a lazy and dyspeptic
intellect, will soon be absorbed and assimilated
by a sound understanding, and become the joy
and rejoicing of a sanctified soul.'
Alas! for the knowledge which knows no
Saviour. Alas! for the science which includes
no Gospel. The most erudite of lawyers was
Selden. Some days before his death he sent
for Archbishop Ussher, and said, "I have surveyed most of the learning that is among the
sons of men, and my study is filled with books
and manuscripts on various subjects, yet at
this moment I can recollect nothing in them
all on which I can rest my soul, save one from




THE MUSEUM.            111
the sacred Scriptures, which lies much on my
spirit. It is this:'The grace of God that
bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men,
teaching us, that denying ungodliness and
worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world; looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God, and our Saviour
Jesus Christ; who gave Himself for us, that
He might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto Himself a peculiar people, zealous of
good works!'" Nor is it only at the close of
the pilgrimage that the hope full of immortality is a pearl of great price. Without it, life
is so transient that every invention is a melancholy plaything, and the vastest acquirements
are a laborious futility. But the student who
toils for immortality need never want a motive
in his work; and, however sad some of his
discoveries may be, the sage who knows the
Saviour will always have in his knowledge an
overplus of joy.




LECTURE VI.
READ ECCLES. II. 1-11.
Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth.".. "I said of
laughter, It is mad."... "I gave myself to wine, yet acquainting myself with wisdom."... "I made me great
works."... "Then I looked on all the works that my
hands had wrought: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit."
THIS passage describes a mental fever. The
writer tells how, by quitting the wholesome
climes of piety, his spirit caught a deadly chill,
and how, in the morbid excitement which followed, he tossed to and fro, and tried every
change,-burning in the breeze, and shivering
in the sun,-distracted till he gained his wish,
and disgusted to find that what he wished was
not the thing he wanted. First mad after wisdom, then came a surfeit of learning-a glut




THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 113
of information, and he denounced much wisdom as much grief. He would try frivolity.
He would take things easily, and, as far as
might be, cheerily. " Go to now, I will prove
thee with mirth; therefore, enjoy pleasure."
He would sip the surface of things, and snatch
the joys which divert the mind, but which do
not fatigue the brain:, he would be a wit, a
man of humor, a merry monarch. And he
was. But his own mirth soon made him melancholy. Like phosphorus on a dead man's
face, he felt that it was a trick, a lie; and, like
the laugh of a hyena among the tombs, he
found that the worldling's frolic can never reanimate the joys which guilt has slain and
buried. "I said of laughter, It is mad; and
of mirth, What doeth it?" So, after a moody
interval, he bethought him how to blend the
two. Philosophy by itself had failed, and
folly by itself had also failed. But how would
it do to combine them?-the sprightly with
the grave, the material luxury and the mental
vivacity, the wisdom and the wine?  Yes;
into his ivy-wreath he would twine the laurel,
8




114             LECTURE VI.
and the flat potions of philosophy he would
enliven with social effervescence. "I sought
in mine heart to give myself unto wine, (yet
acquainting mine heart with wisdom,) and to
lay hold on folly, till I might see what was
that good for the sons of men, which they
should do under the heaven all the days of
their life." But this also proved a failure.
"Wine, wisdom, wit," became a mutually destructive mixture, and the experimenter abjured them, in order to try the pleasures of
taste. Sculpture and painting were scarcely
known to the Hebrews; but in gardening,
music, and architecture, they were good proficients, and to these the sovereign now directed his sumptuous ingenuity. Like a petrified dream, the palace stood forth in all the
freshness of virgin marble, and in all the pride
of its airy pinnacles. In the wilderness waters
brake forth, and spreading their molten coolness over the dust of yesterday, artificial
lakes surrounded artificial isles; whilst from
the fragrant thickets of the terraced gardens,
the dulcet sounds of foreign minstrelsy de



THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 115
scended where the royal barge lay floating, or
through the lattice wafted into the banquethall their hints of superhuman glory,-till the
vessels of gold and silver sparkled like a galaxy, and the repast was enchanted into a Divine refection; and in proud apotheosis the
monarch smiled upon his guests from a godlike throne. "I builded me houses, I planted
me vineyards, I made me pools of water to
water the groves of trees. I gat me men singers and women singers, and musical instruments of every sort. And whatsoever mine
eyes desired I kept not from them; I withheld
not my heart from any joy. Then I looked
on all the works that I had wrought, and on
the labor that I had labored to do; and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and
there was no profit under the sun."
Solomon tried mirth and abjured it. And,
perhaps, the most melancholy life is that of
the professed merrymaker. You remember
the answer of the wobegone stranger, when
the physician advised him to go and hear the
great comedian of the day-" You should go




116            LECTURE VI.
and hear Matthews."7 "Alas! Sir, I am Mat.
thews'" Akin to which is the account of one
who for many years manufactured mirth for
the great metropolis, the writer of diverting
stories, and the soul of every festive party
which was able to secure his presence.* But
even when keeping all the company in a blaze
of hilarity, his own heart was broken; and at
one of these boisterous scenes, glimpsing his
own pale visage in the glass, he exclaimed,
I Ah! I see how it is. I look just as I amdone up in mind, in body, and purse,"-and
went home to sicken and die. And who can
read this passage without recalling one who was
sixty years ago the most dazzling speaker in
our British Parliament, whose bow had as
many strings as life had pleasures,-the wit,
the orator, the dramatist, the statesman, the
boon companion and the confidant of princes?t
But when "wine" had quenched the "wisdom;" when riot had bloated the countenance,
and debt had dispersed the friends of the man
of pleasure; when in splendid rows his books
* Theodore Hook.  t Richard Brinsley Sheridan.




THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 117
stood on the shelves of the brokers, and the
very portrait of his wife had disappeared,-on
a wretched pallet, trembling for fear of a
prison, the gloomy, forsaken worldling closed
his eyes on a scene which he was loth to quit,
but which showed no wish to detain himleaving "no profit under the sun," and without any prospect beyond it.
Nor can we promise a satisfaction more solid
to the godless virtuoso. Every other year the
public is startled with some grand explosion.
A great tower of Babel comes toppling down.
There is a tinkle in the belfry,-a premonitory
jangling of the crazy chimes,-a crackling of
the timbers, a thunderous down-pouring of
bricks and beams and tiles and plaster, and
through the dust and smoke the groans of the
crushed inmates are heard, stifled and soon
stilled: and then come the excavators,-the
collectors who carry off the curiosities to decorate other toy-shops, and the builders who buy
the bricks, in order to construct new Babels
elsewhere.
Not long ago a wealthy compatriot erected




118             LECTURE VI.
such a palace for his pride, and reared it with
such impatience that the workmen plied their
labors night and day. When finished, "a wall
nearly twenty miles in circumference, surrounded it. Within this circle scarcely any
visitors were allowed to pass. In sullen grandeur the owner dwelt alone, shunning converse
with the world around. Majesty itself was desirous of visiting this wonderful domain, but
was refused admittance.... Its interior was
fitted with all the splendor which art and
wealth could create. Gold and silver cups and
vases were so numerous that they dazzled the
eye; and looking round at the cabinets and
candelabra and ornaments which decorated the
apartment, was like standing in the treasury
of an Eastern prince."*  But a hundred thousand pounds a-year failed to support this magnificence, and the gates which "refused admittance to a monarch were thrust open by a
Sheriff's officer:" and whilst its architect pined
in unpitied solitude, the gorgeous structure
was pulled down by its new owner. More fre* "The Mirage of Life," a publication of the Tract Society.
[   ____~______    ____ _____ _____~_




THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 119
quently, however, it is the structure which
stands, and it is the architect who becomes the
ruin. Many of you have visited Versailles.
As you stood upon its terraces, or surveyed its
pictures furlong after furlong, or wandered
among -its enchanted fountains, did it strike
you, How fresh and splendid is Versailles;
how insignificant is now its author! Or did
you think of that gloomy day when in one of
its chambers lay dying the monarch who has
identified Versailles with his royal revelries,
and near the silken couch a throng of courtiers
lingered, not in tears,-not anxious to detain
his spirit, not sedulous to soothe the last moments of mortal anguish; but wearying till
their old master would make an end of it and
die, that they might rush away and congratulate his son and successor." And did you
think that thus it is with every one who layeth
up treasure for himself, and who is not rich
towards God? Did you think of him who
said to his soul, when he had built his larger
* See the death-scene of Louis XV. at the opening of Carlyle's " French Revolution."




120            LECTURE VI.
barns, "Soul, thou hast goods laid up for many
years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be
merry;'" and to whom God said, "Thou fool,
this night shall thy soul be required of thee:
then, whose shall these things be?"
What is it then? Shall we denounce learning, genius, wit? Shall we proscribe architecture and all the arts? For this some have
contended, and under pretence of piety they
have sought to become barbarians. But, 0
man, who hath required this at thy hands? It
is the work of God's Spirit to sanctify taste and
consecrate talent; and that alone is excessive
which is not given to God. In "walking
about Zion," we must ever admire the noble
"bulwarks" reared by Lardner and Butler, and
the other defenders of the common faith, as
well as the "towers" of orthodoxy erected by
the learned labors of Owen, and Haldane, and
Magee, and other mighty engineers; nor less
the "palaces" which at once adorn the city and
commemorate the genius of Watts, and Howe,
and Chalmers, and Vinet. Nor is there any
reason why wit should always be " mad." Re



THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 121
ligion may be sprightly, and dulness may be
undevout. A Home or a Cowper may be permitted to answer a fool according to his folly;
and when, with the tender precision of a Tell,
the polished shafts of Wilberforce split in twain
an opponent's argument, but never "hurt his
head,"* you could not wish fanaticism to destroy a weapon which religion guides so wisely.
Though pride may be the busiest architect, let
us not forget that piety and philanthropy have
been great builders also. And though sensuality may abuse the arts, let us not forget how
often to its youthful inmates music has helped
to endear the earthly home, and how much
devotion is indebted to " the service of song in
the house of the Lord." Let us not forget that
almighty Artist who, every spring, paints new
landscapes on the earth, and every evening
new ones in the sky,-whose sculptures are the
melting clouds and everlasting hills,-and
whose harp of countless strings includes each
* Ps. cxli. 5. See the sketch of Wilberforce. in Sir James
Stephen's "Historical Essays," and in Lord Brougham's
"Statesmen," first series.
j_    _




122            LECTURE VI.
note from a hare-bell's tinkle to the "organic
swell" of ocean's thunder.
What is it then? The "instrument of
righteousness" when not "yielded to God," becomes an idol; and every idol is at once a curse
and a crime.




LECTURE VII.
Atn 3VnIImunt.
READ ECCLES. II. 12-23.' There is no perpetual remembrance of the wise more than
of the fool." " Who knoweth whether his successor shall
be a wise man or a fool?"
THE noblest renown is posthumous fame;
and the most refined ambition is the desire of
such fame. A vulgar mind may thirst for immediate popularity; and very moderate talent,
dexterously managed, may win for the moment
the hosannas of the million. But it is a Horace
or a Milton, a Socrates or a Sidney, who can
listen without bitterness to plaudits heaped on
feebler rivals, and calmly anticipate the day
when posterity will do justice to the powers or
the achievements of which he is already conscious. And of this more exalted ambition it




124            LECTURE VII.
would appear that Solomon had felt the stirrings. When he looked on the temple and
the cedar palace, and still more when he
thought of his literary exploits, his songs and
his proverbs, and his lectures in science, the
Non omnis mortar was a thought as natural as
it was pleasing, and from the sense of flagging
powers and the sight of a failing body, he
gladly took refuge in the promise of posthumous immortality. But even that cold comfort was entirely frozen in the thought which
followed. From the lofty pinnacle to which,
as a philosophic historian, he had ascended,
Solomon could look down and see not only the
fallibility of his coevals, but the forgetfulness
of the generations following. He knew that
there had often been great men in the world;
but he could not hide it from himself, how little
these great men had grown already, and how
infinitesimal the greatest would become, if the
world should only last a few centuries longer.
And so far, Solomon was right. Few things
would be more pathetic than if we had some
micrometer for measuring great men's memoL....,._......... _._  _,,_._,~,_,  __,., __,,,,,. _,_,,




THE MONUMENT.              125
ries,-some means for ascertaining the decimal
of a second which those great names subtend
in our historic firmament, who filled their
living age with lustre. Even Solomon's own,
-intellectually the brightest of a bygone dispensation, and with all the advantage of the
Bible telescope to bring it near,-how little it
enters into the actual thought of this modern
world! What a tiny spark it twinkles through
the foggy atmosphere of this material time!
IHad a life in the hearts of future men been all
his immortality, how little worth the purchase!
and how much wiser than their philosophic
monarch were those "fools" in Jerusalem who
took no thought to add this cubit to their age!
So, brethren, it is natural to wish to be remembered when gone; and as a substitute for
the highest motive, or a succor to other motives, it is well to think of the generation following.  But, as it usually flatters worldly
men, this posthumous fame is a fallacy.*  "A
* " Are not all things born to be forgotten? In truth, it
was a sore vexation to me when I saw, as the wise man saw
of old, that whatever I could hope to perform must necessarily be of very temporary duration; and if so, why do it t




126              LECTURE VII.
living dog is better than a dead lion."  Amidst
the importunate solicitations of daily business,
many of us must accuse ourselves of unfaithfulness to the dead; and when tranquil moments call up their familiar images, we marvel
how   we can deal so treacherously with the
great and good departed. Vanished from our
view, expunged from our correspondence,
dropped from our very prayers, no longer expected as visitors in our homes,-it is marvellous how faint and intermitting their memory
has grown; and we upbraid our ungrateful
fancy that it preserves so little space for old
benefactors, and the once-cherished friends of
our bosom.    But the same fate awaits ourselves; we, too, are going hence, and when we
are gone,
"A few will weep a little while,
Then bless our memory with a smile."
Let me see! What have I done already? I have learnt
Welsh, and have translated the songs of Ab Gwilym; I have
also rendered the old book of Danish ballads into English
metre. Good   Have I done enough to secure myself a
reputation of a thousand years? Well, but what's a thousand
years after all, or twice a thousand years? Woe is me I I
may just as well sit still."-LAVENGRO.




THE MONUMENT.           127
One or two may cling to it with tender fondness, while existence lasts; but even with
friends affectionate and true, tenderness will
soon soften into resignation, and resignation
will subside into contentment, and contentment
will dull away into sheer forgetfulness; and it
will only be on some rare occasion,-some
wakeful night, when memory is holding a vigil
of all-souls, or when a torn letter, or an inscription in a book, or a name carved on the beechen
tree conjures up the past, "and a" spirit stands
before you," that the fountain of early love
will flow anew, and you will pay the tribute
of the long-suspended tear. But even that will
end. A race will arise that know not Joseph,
and to whom Joseph's friends will not be able
to transfer their attachment; and when a
fourth or a fifth generation comes upon the
stage, so dim will be the name, and so diluted
will be the interest in it, that the youth would
be more concerned for the loss of a favorite
hound than for the extinction of his grandsire's
memory.
But if this be the phantom for which the




128            LECTURE VII.
worldling toils and sighs, there is a posthumous fame which is no illusion. If there be no
eternal remembrance of the world's wise men
any more than of its fools, it is otherwise with
the wise ones of the heavenly kingdom. God
has so arranged it that "the righteous shall be
held in everlasting remembrance."  "They
that," in his sight, "are wise, shall shine as
the firmament, and they that turn many to
righteousness, as the stirs forever and ever."
Great men may covet admiration, but good
men crave affection. Admiration is the stateroom, formal and rarely used; but to be admitted into the affections is to be domiciled in
the heart's own home,-to live where lives the
soul itself. And into this inmost shrine of
good men's souls God admits all the holy;
nay, with reverence speaking it, He admits
them into his own. The love of Jehovah is a
sanctuary where every holy being has a home.
But not content with giving to the just made
perfect, the immortality of his own unchanging love, a gracious God secures them the attachment of congenial minds; and at this inI                                  i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




THE MONUMENT.           129
stant there is not in all the universe a holy being but God has found for it a resting-place in
the -love of other holy beings, and that not
temporarily, but for all eternity. The only
posthumous fame that is truly permanent is the
memory of God; and the only deathless names
are theirs for whose living persons He has
found a place in his own love, and in the love
of holy beings like-minded with Himself.
Many a casket has been broken, and the gems
of fine fancy have been scattered on the world,
and the name of the self-immolating genius is
now forgotten; but that box of ointment
which the weeping penitent crushed over the
feet of Jesus, will pour its fragrance through
all time; for wherever there is a Gospel the
Lord Jesus has secured that there shall be
spread the story. And so-war, wisdom, wit,
-these three have all made deep indentations
on the mind of man; and some deeds have
been so brave, and some inventions so beautiful, and some sayings so brilliant, that people
vowed they never would be forgotten. But,
alas it was the fragile imagination of sinful




130           LECTURE VII.
man, and it has long ago disintegrated. It
was the soft and viscid memory of selfish man,
and new interests and new objects have since
flowed in and filled up the oozy record. But
although we dare not say that any thought of
earth is so sublime as to merit a record in
heaven, on the highest authority we know that
no act of faith is so insignificant but it secures
a registration there. And although, fearful of
posthumous flattery, the dying Howards of our
species may direct, "Place a sun-dial on my
grave, and let me be forgotten," —they cannot
expunge their labors of love from the book of
remembrance, and they will never be forgotten
by God.
But even beyond posthumous fame, most
men would like to be perpetuated in welldoing and affectionate children. And here
again, a gloomy foreboding darkened the mind
of Solomon. He had greatly extended his
hereditary kingdom; he had amassed an unprecedented fortune; he had built such palaces
as only Eastern extravagance had dared to
I      _          _ ___   ___ __   _     _




THE MONUMENT.           131
dream; he had covered his name with glory
as a statesman and a lawgiver and a sage; and
all this glory-these palaces,-yon piles of
treasure,-that splendid empire,-the whole
was such a prize that if he felt sadness in leaving it, he also felt anxiety about transmitting
it. He had a son; but, from expressions here
escaping, it would almost seem as if Rehoboam
already betrayed the senselessness and arrogance which were afterwards to make him the
detestation of his subjects, and the butt of his
neighbors. The heathen marriages and the
on-goings of the father, at once unkingly and
ungodly, were destined to yield their bitter
fruits in the son; and it is possible that the
backslider already felt punished in foreseeing
all the mischief coming on the kingdom
through the pride and the blunders of this
wayward youth. "Yea, I hated all my labor
which I had taken under the sun; because I
should leave it unto the man that shall be after
me. And who knoweth whether he shall be a
wise man or a fool? Yet shall he have rule
over all my labor wherein I have labored, and
___                _.____              _~-J




132           LECTURE VII.
wherein I have showed myself wise under the
sun. This also is vanity."
Let those be very thankful who feel that
they are better off than Solomon. You have
not a sceptre, a title, a vast, income to bequeath; but you have well-doing children.
By their industry and mutual affection, above
all, by promising appearances of her personal
piety, you are encduraged to hope that those
who come after you will be an honor to your
name. What a mercy! Solomon would have
given his sceptre in exchange for your son.
But why should not this mercy be yet more
frequent? It is true that "grace does not run
in the blood, though sin does." But it is also
true that God makes his grace more gracious
by often causing it to run in the channel of
the natural affections. "The promise is unto
you, and to your children." And where there
is a pious affection, the best gifts will be those
we shall covet most earnestly for its objects.
Where parental affection is also devout, it will
prompt the prayer which David offered at once
for himself and for Solomon: " Give the king




THE MONUMENT.           133
Thy judgments, O God, and Thy righteousness unto the king's son." And in that pious
affection the Lord sympathizes, and such parental intercessions He delights to hear.
And although, when we think what sort of
life Solomon for a long period led; when we
reflect that Rehoboam's boyhood and youth
were spent in the lap of luxury, and amidst
scenes of the most extravagant revelry; when
we consider that a polygamist like Solomon
can never have a home, and a child like Rehoboam can have no such playmates as are found
in an undivided family; when we recall the
idolatry and impiety to which his early years
had been inured, and remember how bad was
the example which his own father had set him
-we can scarcely wonder that the son of Solomon proved a heart-break to his father and a
stigma on his line: still we are not the less
persuaded, that where there is faithfulness to
God as well as affection to one's children;
where there are earnest prayer and a corresponding pattern; and, especially, where both
parents are of one mind, and agreed as touch



134            LECTURE VII.
ing this thing, God will do it for them, and
the promise still hold true, "to you and to
your seed after you." The " entail of the covenant" is largely borne out by religious biography, and our Churches are mainly composed
of the pious children of Christian parents.
Happy they who, instead of a tablet in the
churchyard wall, are thus commemorated by
polished stones in the living temple!*
* Isaiah liv. 11-18.'-t~~~~~~cb~~~~ c~~~~O cl-rr~~~~~~~~~xm,,p~~~~~~~~~ — i~~~~~~~~-,,,,   ~ ~   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~




LECTURE VIII.
jrt Clnrk     nf Bstit,.
READ ECCLES. III. 1-15.
"To everything there is a season."....  In the heart of
everything God hath set its era."*
ACCORDING to the mood of the spectator the
same phenomena will exert a depressing or a
reviving influence; and according to the bias
of the reasoner the same facts will be adduced
for purposes the most opposite.   If we were
sure that in this passage Solomon was giving
the matured opinion of his latest and penitent
life, the text would be a lesson of resignation
derived from the absolute sovereignty and alicontrolling providence of God; but if, as we
have all along held, Solomon writes these
* Vs. 11, tobi eternity, duration, &c. LXX. atwv.
___________   ___ __ _                    __ _ __ _ _ __ _ _   I




136           LECTURE VIII.
verses somewhat in sympathy with his former
self; if he be recalling for wise purposes the
reasonings and surmisings of the days of his
vanity, we would be prepared to find intermingled with the sublime theology of this section a tincture of fatalism. Accordingly, in
the ninth and tenth verses we read, " What
profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he
laboreth? I have seen the travail which God
hath given to the sons of men, to be exercised
in it."' This universe is moving in a groove
of adamant. Man's activity is a make-believe,
an imposition on himself; for the wheel spins
round equally fast whether the blue-bottle
push it forward or backward. What profit is
there in human industry?  It is the unproductive travail to which the offended Creator
has doomed his sinful creature;-the ploughing of the sand, the weaving of the air, the
manufacture of elaborate nonentities.' And
yet, so true are the facts which this section 
notes, and so solemn the inferences from them
which forced themselves on the mind of the
royal reasoner, that few texts contain the germs
I_______ _______               ________________ I 




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.      137
of a grander theology. Passing over the impotence and helplessness of the creature, he
saw how glorious was that Omnipotence which
held in hand the guiding reins of ponderous
orbs and mighty incidents, and at the predestined moment would bring the chariot of his
sovereignty to its triumphal goal in the far-off
eternity. He saw how vast is that Wisdom
which from the beginning had planned the
great year o~fexistence, and planned it so couplete that nothing needed to be supplemented
nor superseded, but through its cycle inconceivable the universe moved on from the moment of its starting, ever waxing, ever waning,
and through its summer and winter of uncounted ages circling round to its successive
springs. "He hath made everything beautiful
in his time, and in the heart of everything He
hath set an eternity: so that no man can find
out from beginning to end any work that God
maketh-any process that God conducteth. I
know that whatsoever God doeth, it shall be
forever. Nothing can be put to it, nor anything taken from it. That which hath been is




I                     __
138           LECTURE VIII.
now, and that which is to be hath already
been: and God brings back the past."
"To everything there is a season, and a time
to every purpose under the heaven." As if
he had said, Mortality is a huge time-piece
wound up by the almighty Maker; and after
He has set it a-going nothing can stop it till
the angel swears that time shall be no longer.
But here it ever vibrates and ever advances,ticking one child of Adam into existence, and
ticking another out. Now it gives the whirr
of warning, and the world may look out for
some great event; and presently it fulfils its
warning, and rings in a noisy revolution. But
there! as its index travels on so resolute and
tranquil, what tears and raptures attend its
progress! It was only another wag of the
sleepless pendulum; but it was fraught with
destiny, and a fortune was made,-a heart was
broken,-an empire fell. We cannot read the
writing on the mystic cogs as they are coming
slowly up; but each of them is coming on
God's errand, and carries in its graven brass a
Divine decree. Now, however,-now that the




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.      139
moment is past, we know; and in the fulfilment we can read the fiat. This instant was
to say to Solomon, " Be born!" this other was
to say to Solomon in all his glory, "Die!"
That instant was to "plant" Israel in Palestine; that other was to "pluck him  up."
And thus inevitable, inexorable, the great
clock of human destiny moves on, till a mighty
hand shall grasp its heart and hush forever its
pulse of iron.
See how fixed, how fated is each vicissitude! how independent of human control!
There is "a time to be born," and however
much a man may dislike the era on which his
existence is cast, he cannot help himself: that
time is his, and he must make the most of it.
Milton need not complain that his lot is fallen
on evil days; for these are his days, and he
can have no other. Roger Bacon and Galileo
need not grudge their precious being, that
they have been prematurely launched into the
age of inquisitors and knowledge-quenching
monks,-for this age was made to make them.
And so with the time to die. Voltaire need




_   — _  __ — _   ___ —---
140           LECTURE VIII.
not offer half his fortune to buy six weeks' reprieve; for if the appointed moment has arrived it cannot pass into eternity without
taking the skeptic with it. And even good
Hezekiah-his tears and prayers would not
have turned the shadow backward had that
moment of threatened death been the moment
of God's intention. Yes, there is a time to
die; and though we speak of an untimely end,
no one ever died a moment sooner than God
designed, nor lived a moment longer. And so
there is a time to plant. The impulse comes
on the man of fortune, and he lays out his
spacious lawn, and studs it with massive trees;
and he plants his garden, and in the sod imbeds the rarest and richest flowers, or he piles
up little mounts of blossomed shrubbery, till
the place is dazzled with bright tints and dizzy
with perfume. And that impulse fades away,
and in the fickleness of sated opulence the
whole is rooted up, and converted into wilderness again. Or by his own or a successor's
fall, the region is doomed to destruction; and
when strangling nettles have choked the gerai__________




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.       141
niums and the lilies, and, crowded into atrophy,
the lean plantations grow tall and branchless,
the axe of an enterprising purchaser clears the
dank thickets away, and his ploughshare turns
up the weedy parterre. There is a time when
to interfere with disease is to destroy; when
to touch the patient is to take his life: and
there is a time when the simplest medicine
will effect a marvellous cure. There is a time
when the invader is too happy to dismantle the
fortress which so long kept him at bay; but
by-and-by, when he needs it as a bulwark to
his own frontiers, with might and main he
seeks to build it up again. Nor can any one
fix a date and say, I shall spend that day merrily, or I must spend it mournfully. The day
fixed for the wedding may prove the day for
the funeral; and the ship which was to bring
back the absent brother, may only bring his
coffin. On the other hand, the day we had
destined for mourning, God may turn to
dancing, and may gird it with irresistible gladness. Nor are earth's monuments perpetual.
The statue reared one day will be thrown into




142           LECTURE VIII.
the river another, and the trophy commenced
by one conqueror shall owe its completion to
his rival and supplanter. " There is a time
to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing." "There is a time when the fondness of friendship bestows its caresses, and receives them in return with reciprocal sincerity
and delight; and a time when the ardor cools;
when professions fail; when the friend of our
bosom's love proves false and hollow-hearted,
and the sight of him produces only the sigh
and tear of bitter recollection. We refrain
from embracing, because our embrace is not
returned."*  "There is a time to get, and a
time to lose." There is a time when every enterprise succeeds; when, as if he were a
Midas, whatsoever the prosperous merchant
touches, is instantly gold; then comes a time
when all is adverse,-when flotillas sink, when
ports are closed, and each fine opening only
proves another and a tantalizing failure. And
so there is " a time to keep, and a time to cast
away."  There is a time when in the cutting
* Wardlaw in loco.
|_       ~          




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.       143
blast the traveller is fain to wrap his cloak
more closely round him; a time when in the
torrid beam he is thankful to be rid of it.
There is a time when we cannot keep too carefully the scrip or satchel which contains the
provision for our journey; a time when to
outstrip the pursuing assassin, or to bribe the
red-armed robber, we fling it down without a
scruple. It was a time to keep when the sea
was smooth, and Rome's ready market was waiting for the corn of Egypt; but it was a time
to cast the wheat into the sea, when the angry
ocean clamored for the lives of thrice a hundred passengers.* There is " a time to rend,
and a time to sew:" a time when calamity
threatens or grief has come, and we feel constrained to rend our apparel and betoken our
inward woe; a time when the peril has withdrawn, or the fast is succeeded by a festival,
when it is equally congruous to remove the
symbols of sorrow. There is a time to keep
silence-a time when we see that our neighbor's grief is great, and we will not sing songs
* Acts xxvii. 88.
i    ___          _____ _ ~_______      ___




144           LECTURE VIII.
to a heavy heart;-a time when, in the abatement of anguish, a word of sympathy may
prove a word in season;-a time when to remonstrate with the transgressor, would be to
reprove a madman, or, like the pouring of
vinegar on nitre, would be to excite a fiery explosion against ourselves; but a time will
come when, in the dawn of repentance or the
sobering down of passion, he will feel that
faithful are the wounds of a friend. "There
is a time to love and a time to hate." There
is a period when, from identity of pursuit, or
from the spell of some peculiar attraction, a
friend is our all in all, and our idolatrous
spirits live and move and have their being in
him; but with riper years or changing character, the spell dissolves, and we marvel at
ourselves that we could ever find zest in insipidity or fascination in vulgarity. And just
as individuals cannot control their hatred and
their love; as the soul must go forth to what
is amiable, and revolt from what is odious,so nations cannot regulate their pacifications
and their conflicts. But just at the moment
i   ____           _    ____                   i




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.       145
when they are pledging a perpetual alliance,
an apple of discord is thrown in, and to avenge
an insulted flag, or settle a disputed boundary, or maintain the tottering balance of
power, wager of battle is forthwith joined;
and where early summer saw the mingled
tribes tilting in the tournay, or masquerading
on the fields of cloth of gold, autumn sets on
unreaped harvests, and blackened forests, and
silent villages. And conversely: when the
clouds of battle frown on one another, and
there is no prospect but long and sanguinary
campaigns, a magazine explodes, an heir-apparent dies, or two daring spirits of the opposing hosts transfer the issue to the point of
their single swords; and with the awful incubus so suddenly thrown off, the knit brows of
either nation relax into an expansive smile,
and the year destined for mutual extermination is spent in blended jubilee.
Such is the fact. Such are the unquestionable alternations in human affairs; and thus
accurately do occasions and events fit one
another. So much of mechanism does there
10




146           LECTURE VIII.
appear to be in the on-goings of mortality
and thus helpless seems man as the maker of
his own destiny. But lifting our eyes from
the mundane side of it, what shall we say concerning Him who is the Contriver and Controller of it all?
And should it not be enough to say that
God has so arranged it? To Him are owing
all this variety and vicissitude, and yet all this
order and uniformity. And is it not enough
that He so wills it? Shall the thing formed
say to Him who made it, Why hast thou made
me thus?
But not only has God made everything, but
there is a beauty in this arrangement where all
is fortuitous to us, but all is fixed by Him.
"He hath made everything beautiful in its
time; " and that season must be beautiful which
to infinite Love and Wisdom seems the best.
Amongst modern processes one of the most
beautiful is the art of taking sun-pictures. Instead of the artist copying the object, he lets
the object copy itself; and if the light were
profuse enough and properly adjusted, the pic



THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.       147
ture would be as true as noon, and as minute
as the original. Now, would not it be a cu
rious thing if, from a station high enough, one
could take a vast sun-picture of this city,this island,-this hemisphere?-showing precisely how at the self-same instant all its inhabitants are occupied?-where every one of them
is this moment posted, and what each one of
them is doing?  And would it not be very
curious if along with this there were preserved
a similar picture of the self-same people and
their employments, at a given instant ten or
twenty years ago? But most curious of all
would it not be, if some one could show a
photographic panorama of how it will appear
ten or twenty years hereafter?-projecting
every person in his proper place?-exhibiting
the groups which have meanwhile gathered
round him or melted from his side?-the
changes which have passed over himself, or
which he has been the means of inducing over
others? But, my friends, there is one repository where such pictures are preserved,-far
more exact and vivid than the finest sun



148           LECTURE VIII.
painting ever drawn; there is not a day in
our world's past history but its minutest image
lives in the memory of God, and more than
that, there is not a day in all the coming history of our world but its portrait precise and
clear is already present to the Divine foreknowledge. "Known unto God are all his
works from the beginning of the creation;"
and so to speak, each day that dawns, though
its dawning include an earthquake, a battle,
or a deluge,-each day that dawns, however
many it surprises, is no surprise to Him who
sees the end from the beginning, and who, in
each evolving incident, but sees the fulfilment
of his " determined counsel, "-the translation
into fact of one other omniscient picture of the
future.
And which is best? "A mighty maze and
all without a plan?"- a world whose progress
takes even Providence by surprise, and whose
future stands before even the Infinite Mind in
no clearer outline than those dim guesses and
dusky foreshadowings to which even shrewd
mortals attain?-or a world of which the suc.!~   ~      _ —.,j~__




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.       149
cessive epochs shall only be the outworking of
a purpose so wise and good from the first that
it cannot be changed for the better?-the realization in persons and actions and results of
that series of prescient maps or plans whose
aggregate will constitute the optimism of the
universe?-as we read in verse 11, " God hath
set its destined duration in the heart of everything." To every incident or event He has
not only given its immediate effect, but also its
remoter errand afar in the future. Each such
incident or event may be regarded as a mechanism wound up to travel so far or accomplish
so much, so that, till its course is finished, till
the beginning comes round to the end, no man
can say positively what was God's first purpose in it.
When the young German grew earnest, you
would have said there was some hope that he
might next be enlightened; but when the earnest youth became a monk, you would have
said, Farewell, light! farewell, all hope of the
Gospel! And yet Luther's entombment in the
Erfurth convent was to be the resurrection of




150           LECTURE VIII.
apostolical religion. In the heart of that little
incident God had set the Reformation. When
a king arose in Egypt who knew not Joseph,
and who hated and tormented the Hebrews,
you would have said, There's an end of the old
promise. This order to exterminate the Hebrew children will soon annihilate Abraham's
family. And any Jew who had been gathered
to his fathers at the time they were slaying all
the male-children, would have been apt to die
despairing of his nation's prospects. And yet
that murderous edict was to be the deliverance
of Israel. In the heart of that despot's decree
God had set the exodus. And to the sublime
theology of Solomon, the only addition we
would make is that Evangelic supplement:
"All things work together for good to them
that love God; to them which are the called
according to his purpose." Their path is thickly strewn with incidents. Of these, some are
for the present not joyous but grievous: nevertheless in their heart God hath set the peaceful
fruits of righteousness. They are seeds with a
thorny husk, and they hurt the pilgrim's naked




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.       151
feet; but when next he passes that way, or
when Christiana with her children follows
him, they have germinated into bright flowers
or cool, overshadowing trees. And they will
not perish. The incidents along the believer's
path are seeds of influence, scattered by the
hand of God. And sanctification of some sort
is the germ which He has set in the heart of
every one of them. Nor can they die till they
have thus developed. They cannot perish and
pass away till the Christian has set in his heart
the lesson which God has set in theirs.
The works of God are distinguished by opportuneness of development and precision of purpose. There is a season for each of them, and
each comes in its season. All of them have a
function to fulfil, and they fulfil it. To which,
verse 14, he adds that they are all of their kind
consummate,-so perfect that no improvement
can be made, and, left to themselves, they will
be perpetual. " I know that whatsoever God
doeth, it shall be forever; nothing can be put
to it, nor anything taken from it." How true
is this regarding God's greatest work, redemp



152           LECTURE VIII.
tion 1 What more could he have done to make
it a great salvation than what He had already
done? or what feature of the glorious plan
could we afford to want? And now that He
has Himself pronounced it a "finished" work,
what is there that man can put to it?-what is
there he dare take from it? And in doing it
Iie has done it "forever."  The merits of Immanuel are as mighty this evening as they
were on the day of Pentecost. Jesus is as able
to save us if we come unto God by Him now,
as He was to save Zaccheus and Legion, and
Mary Magdalene. It is into the same bright
heaven that these merits and that mercy will
take us as that into which the white-robed
company have already gone, and by a process
as swift as that which translated the dying
thief, these merits could transport any sinner
amongst us, from the verge of perdition to
Paradise.
Of these theological conclusions the 15th
verse is the last. "That which hath been, is
now, and that which is to be hath already been,
and God requireth,-God resuscitates and re



THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.       153
peats the past."  There is an uniformity in the
Divine procedure. True to itself, amidst all
the diversity of incidents which chequer an individual's history, there are certain great principles from which Infinite Wisdom never deviates. In the natural world there is always a
summer and a winter, a seed-time and a harvest, a day succeeded by the night. And in
the moral world sin will always be sorrow;
principle will, in the long run, always prove
the highest expediency; the sinner will always
sooner or later be filled with the fruit of his
own devices; and sooner or later there will always be a reward to the righteous. And
amidst all the diversities of national character,
and all the vicissitudes of civil history, there
is an essential identity,-variety enough to
spread romantic fascination over the page of
Thucydides or Robertson, but such identity
that the fifteenth Psalm, or a single section of
this book, is the abridgment of all history.
Nor will there be any material change till the
story is ended. Hundreds of millions may yet
be born, but they will all repeat the past. A




154           LECTURE VIII.
few may be more clever, and a few may be
more virtuous than any that have heretofore
been; and alas! a few may be more abandoned, more desperately wicked. But whether
for good or evil, they will all be human,-human in their goodness, human in their guilt.
There will not be a Gabriel among them all,
nor will there be a Lucifer; and in dealing
with that humanity the principles of the Divine
procedure will be as uniform as the material
itself. With the reprobate it will be calls and
refusals, warnings and resistings, startling providences and sullen stupor, momentary alarms,
followed by deeper slumber; and then, "he
who being often reproved, hardeneth his neck,
shall suddenly be cut off, and that without
remedy;" and, on the other side, the converse
process. " Whom He did foreknow He also
did predestinate. Moreover, whom  He did
predestinate, them He also called, and whom
He called, them He also justified, and whom
He justified, them He also glorified.">  And
thus, through all the operations of nature, prov* Rom. viii. 29, 30.




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.         155
idence, and grace, "that which hath been, is
now, and that which is to be hath already been,
and God repeateth that which is past."
One final reflection from the whole passage.
Some of you, my hearers, may read the description of mortality here recorded; and you
may give a vehement assent to its truth.
"Yes, it is all a masquerade of the same everlasting events wearing new vizors; it is all
mutation without novelty and change without
real variety. The world itself is a gourd whose
root the worm is already gnawing,-a palace
whose quicksand basis the flood is already
sapping.
"What is this passing scene 
A peevish April day!
A  little sun, a little rain,
And then night sweeps along the plain,
And all things fade away."*
So be it. But if so, how should it endear that
state where all is perfection, and all is permanence! To everything "under heaven" there
* Kirke White.




156           LECTURE VIII.
is a fixed but a fleeting season; but to those
who are in heaven the moments are not thus
precarious, nor the seasons thus short. And
still better, there are many of the things for
which there is a "time" on earth for which
there is no time there. To those who are born
into that better country there is no time to
"die."  Those that are "planted" in God's
house on high, shall never be "plucked up,"
but shall flourish there forever. There, there
is nothing to hurt nor to destroy, but perpetual "health," and lasting as eternity. There,
the walls of strong salvation shall never be
broken down. There, there is no time to
weep; for sorrow and sighing are forever fled
away: no "time to mourn;" for, when they
left this vale of tears the days of their mourning ended. There, it is all a time of "peace,"
and all a time to love. There, monuments are
never defaced nor overthrown; for those who
are pillars in the temple above, with the new
name written on them, shall go out no more.
There, in the sanctity of the all-superseding
relationship, there will be no severance; but




THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.      157
those friends of earth, who have been joined
again in the bonds of angelhood, will never
need to give the parting embrace; for they
shall be ever with one another, and ever with
the Lord.




LECTURE IX.
(4t BPngeun.
READ ECCLES. II. 16-22; iv. 1-3.
"Behold! the tears of the oppressed!"
WHEN composing himself for a contented
life, a shriek of anguish reached the monarch's
ear and startled his repose. It was a cry from
the victims of tyranny and oppression, and as
he listened it grew more articulate, and it filled
him at once with sympathy for others, and solicitude for himself. "I saw the place of judgment, that wickedness was there; and the place
of righteousness, that iniquity was there. I considered all the oppressions that are done under
the sun: and behold the tears of such as were
oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on
the side of their oppressors there was power;




THE DUNGEON.           159
but they had no comforter." How is it possible for a prince to "eat and drink, and enjoy
the fruit of his labor," whilst the wail of
evicted peasants and houseless orphans is
louder than all the music of his orchestra?
For a moment he felt relief in recalling the future judgment. "I said in mine heart, God
will judge the righteous and the wicked."
But what care they for the judgment? What
fear of God is before their eyes? So brutish
are they that they neither look forward nor
look up; but are content with their daily
raven. Yes, beasts, I half believe you. Your
grossness almost converts me to your own
materialism. I wish that God would manifest
you to yourselves, and show you how brutish
you are living, and how brute-like you will
die. Yes, tyrants and oppressors, you have
power at present; but you will fall like the
beasts that perish. You and they will all go
to one place,-will all resolve into promiscuous
clay; for " all are of the dust, and all turn to
dust again." And as for your very soul, so
unfeeling, so undevout as you have been, what
_____ ~ ~ _ ____  _~ ~_ _~___ _ ____ ____.1




160            LECTURE IX.
is there to mark your spirit more aspiring,
more empyrean, than the downward and dissolving spirit of the beast? No; there are
sharks in the ocean, and wolves in the forest,
and eagles in the air; and there are tyrants on
thrones, and there are tormentors in many a
cottage. It is painful to know the misery they
are daily inflicting, and, perhaps, I myself may
yet become their prey. But they must not
spoil this transient life-luxury; they shall not
fill me with vain compassion or fantastic fears.
After all, there is nothing better than to "rejoice in one's own works," and be, as long as
he can, oblivious of surrounding misery,-regulating his own movements and rejoicing in
his own resources. "For that is his present
portion; and who can reveal the future?"
Said I so? Ah  vain resolution and unavailing vow! That cry of tortured innocence is
in my ear again. I hear the groans of the
victim, and I see the tears of the oppressed.
And my heart grows sick, and I wish that I
were dead, or rather that I had never been
born into a world where all proceeds so sadly.
___ ~________________ __ ___~~ ___~________




THE DUNGEON.            161
Very ghastly is the picture which our world
presents when we look at it as the scene of injustice and cruelty; and very painful is the
view it gives us of our arbitrary and oppressive human nature. Could we only see what
God is daily seeing, and hear what God is
daily hearing, we would be apt to join with
Solomon in praising the dead who are already
dead, and who are past our pain or danger.
For, even now, in this noon of the nineteenth
century, which, in the ear Eternal, is the
loudest of earth's voices?-which is the loudest in the ear of History? Is it the psalm of
thanksgiving? Is it the harvest hymn of ripe
fruition and cheerful prospects? Is it the new
song of redeemed and regenerate adoration?
What is the speech which day utters unto day,
-the watchword which one terrestrial night
passes on to another? Alas! it is lamentation
and mourning. It is the music of breaking
hearts; it is the noise of the oppressor's millstone, whose grinding never waxes low. It is
the sighing of the prisoner whom the despot
has doomed; the groaning of the victim whom
11




162           LECTURE IX.
lucre has enslaved, or whom   superstition
means to immolate. That heavy plunge far
out on the moon-lit Bosphorus is the close of
one household tragedy; in that sudden shriek
and weltering fall on the Venetian pavement
ends another. These cries of horror announce
the funeral of some Ashanti prince, and the
wholesale slaughter which soaks his tomb;
whilst from Austrian dungeons and Ural
mines, the groans of patriots confess the power
of tyrants. And even if the modern surface
were silent, History cannot be deaf to the
voices underneath.  For, wheresoever she
sets her foot, there is a stifled sob,-that cry
which nothing can deaden or keep down,the quenchless cry of blood,-blood like
Abel's, blood like Stephen's, blood like the
Saviour's own; and as if the turf were all one
altar, and every pore a several tongue, she
hears the slain of centuries invoking heaven's
pity,-Bethlehem's innocents, Roman martyrs,
Bartholomew's victims; and the ground begins
to quake as the muffled chorus waxes louder:
"How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou




THE DUNGEON.            163
not avenge our blood on them that dwell on
the earth?"*
There are few deeds of kindness which are
not sufficiently notorious,-few acts of munificence or mercy which the world's right hand
has not hinted to its left. But when History
begins her sterner survey,-when from Popedoms and dynasties, and Republics even, she
lifts the gilt and purple canopy,-what sights
of paltry vengeance or ingenious cruelty offend the reluctant gaze! What secrets of the
prison-house do Bastiles and Inquisitions, San
Angelos, and London Towers disclose, as the
daylight of inquiry breaks in, and the earthen
floor gives up its slain, and the stone wall
gives out its skeletons  There are depths of
the ocean to which the plummet of the mariner, and the dredge of the naturalist, and the
exploring foot of the diver, have never travelled down; but even there, as she take-? her
telescope, History sees the bones thick strewn
of the hapless men whom the buccaneer, and
the pirate, and the flying slaver, have flu:,ig
* Rev. vi. 9-12.




164            LECTURE IX.
quick into the deep: and there are dim recesses
of old story from which no gleams of humanity or tenderness beam forth; but even thence,
by the light of Egyptian brick-kilns, and
Druid bale-fires, and Assyrian conflagrations,
we are reminded that the anguish of his fellow
has always been the amusement of the warrior
and the solace of the priest. So that, morally
regarded, and taking in the continuous survey
of all places and all time, green may be the
color of the globe, but red is the livery of
man. Babel may have split the dialects of
earth into a thousand tongues; but, amidst
them all, the old vernacular of anguish still
survives. And in the music of the spheres its
Maker may have given to our world its proper
note; but it is a minor tune which is ever sung
by its inhabitants, by neighbor nations, and by
the several classes of society, evermore to one
another, crying, Woe, woe, woe.
Such oppressions Solomon beheld, and more
especially judicial oppressions,-cruelty in the
cloak of law (iii. 16)-and from the contemplation his mind sought refuge in the Supreme




TIE DUNGEON.           165
Tribunal. "I said in mine heart, God shall
judge the righteous and the wicked." And
though, in the agitated state of his spirit, the
recollection did not long abide, the fact is true
and the consolation lasting.
The Lord has a bottle, and into that bottle
He puts his people's tears, and the tears of all
who are oppressed. When Joseph wept at
Dothan, and the Jews at Babylon, it was not
the sand of the desert nor the stream of Euphrates which intercepted the tear; but God's
bottle. When the poor man works hard, and,
coming for his wages, gets only rough words
or coarse ridicule; when, from the hapless
negro, his wife and children are torn by some
vindictive master, and sold into a distant State;
when, in her new mourning, the bewildered
mother goes to claim the scanty provision for
her babes, and finds that a cunning quirk has
left her not only a widow, but a pauper,man may mock the misery, but God regards
the crime. And whether it be the scalding
tear of the Southern slave, or that which
freezes in the Siberian exile's eye, God's bottle
i        _           _   _             ___-J




166               LECTURE IX.
has received them all; and when the measure
is full, the tears of the oppressed burst in vials
of vengeance on the oppressor's head.
So true is this that, whenever it foretells
retribution, poetry becomes prophetic:Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts;
Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair,
That monarchs have supplied from age to age
With music such as suits their ears,The sighs and groans of miserable men!
There's not an English heart that would not leap
To hear that ye were fallen."
So sang the bard of Olney in the hey-day of
the Bourbons; and a few years later the heart
of England did leap, for the Bastile was fallen.
And two centuries have passed sinee, like a
Hebrew seer, our Milton prayed:"Avenge, 0 Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold."
And there is not a succeeding age which has
not seen an instalment of the vengeance; and
our own is witnessing that fulfilment which
"the triple tyrant" most abhors,-the resurrection of their ashes in Roman Protestants
and Italian friends of freedom.
__      _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ ___      __   -_____      I~




THE DUNGEON.            167
This is a great principle, and not to be lost
sight of-the weakness of oppression, the terrible strength of the oppressed. I do not allude to the elasticity of the human heart,
though that is very great, and is apt, sooner
or later, to heave off despotisms and every sort
of incubus. I do not so much allude to that
-for elastic though it is, it sometimes has been
crushed. But I allude to that all-inspecting and
all-adjusting Power which controls the affairs
of men. And though Solomon felt so perturbed
by the prosperous cruelty he witnessed; though
he " beheld the tears of such as were oppressed,
and they had no comforter; for on the side of
their oppressors there was power;"-had he
bent his eye a little longer in the direction
where it eventually rested, he would have
found a Comforter for the oppressed, and would
have seen the impotence of the oppressor.
For "God shall judge the righteous and the
wicked" (iii. 17), or as the close of the book
more amply declares it, "God shall bring
every work into judgment, with every secret
thing, whether it be good, or whether it be




168            LECTURE IX.
evil."  And with two worlds in which to out.
work the retribution, and with a whole eternity to overtake the arrears of time, Oh! how
tyrants should fear for God's judgments; and
that match which themselves have kindled,
and which is slowly creeping round to explode
their own subjacent mine, in what floods of repentance, if wise, would they drench it! Had
they been wise enough to remember that "on
the side of the oppressed" there is always infinite "Power," Pharaoh would have dreaded
the Hebrew infants more than the Hebrew
soldiery, and Herod would have been more
frightened for the babes of Bethlehem than for
the legions of Rome. To David the most
dreadful of foes would have been the murdered Uriah, and to Ahab the hosts of Syria,
compared with the corpse of Naboth, need
have given no uneasiness. More than all the
might of Britain had Napoleon cause to dread
the blood of D'Enghien, and, beyond all foreign enemies, should modern nations tremble
for their slaves: FOR ON THE SIDE OF THE




THE DUNGEON.            169
OPPRESSED IS OMNIPOTENCE, AND THE MOST
DEATHLESS OF FOES IS A VICTIM!
My friends, the Gospel is the law of liberty.
Such an antagonist is it to all that is unfair
and arbitrary and oppressive, that it is only
where there is a reign of darkness that there
can be a reign of despotism. Even as it is,
every Christian is a freeman. His loyalty to
God is liberty. It is freedom from tyrannical
lusts and task-master passions. It is the bond
of iniquity broken. It is emancipation from
the thraldom of Satan. And if there were
two countries, one of which the Son of God
had made free,* and the other of which had
freed itself; in one of which Christians were
ruled by an absolute but God-fearing Dictator,
and in the other of which the slaves of Satan
ruled themselves,-we know very well where
we should find the greater freedom. But still,
the tendency of the Gospel is to do away the
pride and imperiousness and unfairness which
are here called "oppression;" and if there
were any land where these two truths were
* John viii. 32, 36.




170            LECTURE IX.
practically realized, " God is Light," and "God
is love,"-that land would be a land of liberty.
Still, liberty, or exemption from man's oppression, is a priceless blessing. And it may
be worth while to ask, What can Christians do
for its culture and diffusion?
And, first of all, yourselves be free. Seek
freedom from fierce passions and dark prejudices. If you are led captive by the devil at
his will, you are sure to become an oppressor.
In the greed of gain you will be apt to defraud
the hireling of his wages; and that is oppression. In the fury of affronted pride, you will
be apt to wreak disproportionate wrath on the
offender; and that also is oppression. In the
narrowness of sectarianism you will be ready
to punish men for their convictions; and such
persecution is oppression. He who governs
his family by fear is an oppressor. He who
tries to accomplish by force what can be effected by reason, is an oppressor. And if he
would only look, such a man might see the
tears of those whom he oppresses. He might




THE DUNGEON.            171
see the tears of the broked-hearted supplicant
who with case unheard and with a rude rebuff,
has been driven from his door. He might see
the tears of the conscientious laborer who has
been deprived of bread and bereft the maintenance for his family by refusing Sunday
work. He might see the tears of his dependant who, for attendence on some interdicted place of worship or for adherence to a
sect proscribed, has received his warning. And
though a tear be a little mirror, did he but behold it for one calm moment, it might reveal
the oppressor to himself, and save a multitude
of sorrows.
Beware of confounding liberty with license.
One of the greatest blessings in a state, or in a
Christian Church, is good government; but
from mistaken notions of independence, it is
the delight of some to "speak evil of dignities." They carp and cavil at every law, and
they set at defiance every regulation of the
powers that be, and one would almost fancy
that in their esteem rulers were ordained as a
target for public rancor, or a safety-valve for
_      _ _             __                -i




172            LECTURE IX.
national spleen. On the other hand, an enlightened Christian and patriot will always remember that a constitutional Government,a Government where himself and the rulers
have given mutual guarantees,-is too great a
mercy to be lightly imperilled: and he will
also remember that where obedience is order,
anarchy is pretty sure to end in oppression.
It was a noble sentiment, not only for a soldier but for a subject, "I like to be at my post,
doing my duty; indifferent whether one set
or another govern, provided they govern
well."* And like the hero who originally uttered it, the man who is thus magnanimous in
obeying is likely to be mighty in command.
And, finally, cultivate a humane and gentle spirit. Every master, every parent, every
public functionary, must, from time to time,
pronounce decisions or give commands which
cross some one's wishes or derange some one's
plans. But it will go far to propitiate compliance when it is seen that it is not in recklessness, but for good reason; or, perhaps, from
* "Life of General Sir John Moore," vol. ii. p. 14.




THIE DUNGEON.          173
a regretted necessity that the unwelcome order
is given; for where there is tenderness, there
never can be tyranny.  On the other hand,
wherever there is thoughtlessness there will
be tyranny; and wherever there is a hard or
cruel nature, it only needs that power be
added in order to make a Nero.
Here it is that the mollifying religion of
Jesus comes in as the great promoter of freedomn and the great opponent of oppression.
By infusing a benevolent spirit into the bosom
of the Christian, it makes him the natural
guardian of weakness and the natural friend
of innocence. And whether it be the savage
sportsman who gloats over the tears and
dying shudders of the harmless forest-ranger,
or who, shooting the parent-bird on her way
to the eyrie, leaves the callow nestlings to pine
away with slow hunger;-or the kidnapper
who carries off the struggling boy from his
mother's arms, or stows away in separate ships
bound for far-sundered shores, the young chieftain and his bride;-or the Moslem conqueror




174             LECTURE IX.
who hews his way from land to land through
fields of quivering slain;-or the
"Cowl'd demons of the inquisitorial cell,
The worse than common fiends from heaven that fell,
The baser, ranker sprung, Autochthones of hell;"-*
Whichever be the form of oppression which
nightmares our sympathies, or the, form of
cruelty which lacerates our feelings, we foresee
an end of it in the final triumph of the cross
We foresee an end of it when the Saviour asserts his rightful supremacy, and subdues all
things under Him. "For the earnest expectation of the creature waitethtor the manifestation of the sons of God:" and till then, in
every groan of the creature we must recognize
a pledge and a prayer that the Son of God
will be manifest once more, and that the disciples of Jesus will yet be numerous enough to
secure a reign of peace and justice in this sincursed world. And as we listen to these inarticulate groans of the burdened creation, we,
who are nature's interpreters and the world's
* Coleridge.




THE DUNGEON.           175
intercessors, must translate them into the petition, "Thy kingdom  come: Thy will be
done on earth as it is in heaven. Even so,
come, Lord Jesus."




LECTURE X.
61Ri  laurtarlREAD ECCLES. V. 1-7.
"Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of God."
VANITY of vanities: human occupation, human existence is all fantastic and foolish.
Verily, each man walketh in a vain show;
surely they are disquieted in vain. Like the
fly-plague in Egypt, every scene of mortal life
is infested by frivolity and falsehood; and it is
hard to tell which is the sorest vexation,-the
buzz and bewilderment of vanities still living,
or the noisomeness of those that are dead.
The cottage and the palace, the student's
chamber and the prince's banquet-room all
teem with them, and there is no secure retreat
from those vanities which on the wing are a
weariness, and, in the cup of enjoyment, are




THE SANCTUARY.          177
the poison of pleasure.'Nay, we have not
tried that temple,-we have not yet gone to
the house of God. There, perhaps, we shall
find a tranquil asylum. There, if anywhere, we
should find a heaven on earth,-a refuge from
the insincerity and unsatisfactoriness which
elsewhere abound.' Ah, no; the temple itself
is full of vacant worship. It resounds with rash
vows and babbling voices. It is the house of
God, but man has made it a nest of triflers, a
fair of vanity, a den of thieves. Some come
to it as reckless and irreverent as if they were
stepping into a neighbor's house. Some come
to it and feel as if they laid the Most High
under obligation because they bring a sheaf of
corn or a pair of pigeons; whilst they never
listen to the lessons of God's Word, nor strive
after that obedience which is better than sacrifice.  Some come and rattle over empty
forms of devotion, as if they would be heard
because of their much speaking. And some
come, and in a fit of fervor utter vows which
they forget to pay; and when reminded of
their promise by the " angel" of the church,



178            LECTURE X.
the priest or his messenger,-they protest that
there must be some mistake; they repudiate
the vow, and say " it was an error."
A thoughtless resorting to the sanctuary;
inattention and indevotion there; and precipitancy in religious vows and promises, are still
as common as in the days of Solomon. And
for these evils the only remedy is that which
he prescribes,-a heartfelt and abiding reverence. "Fear thou God;" " God is in heaven,
and thou upon earth;" " Keep thy foot when
thou goest to the house of God."
I. There is a preparation for the sanctuary.
Not only should there be prayer beforehand
for God's blessing there, but a studious effort
to concentrate on its services all our faculties.
In the spirit of that significant Oriental usage
which drops its sandals at the palace door, the
devout worshipper will put off his travel-tarnished shoes,-will try to divest himself of
secular anxieties and worldly projects,-when
the place where he stands is converted into holy
ground by the words, "Let us worship God."
Be "ready to hear."  We freely grant that




THE SANCTUARY.            179
dull hearing is often produced by dull speaking. We allow that there is a great contrast
when the sameness of sermons is set over
against the variety and vivacity of Scripture.
And so often is the text injured by its treatment, that we have often wished that some
power could give it back in its original pungency, and divested of its drowsy associations.
That passage of the Word was a burning lamp,
till the obscuring interpretation conveyed it
under a bushel. It was a fire, till a non-conducting intellect encased it, and made it like
a furnace in felt.  It was the finest of the
wheat, till a husky understanding buried it in
chaff. It was "a dropping from the honeycomb," till tedious insipidity diffused it and
drowned it in its deluge of commonplace.
And we allow that much of the impatience
and inattention of hearers may be owing to
the prolixity of preachers. But still, admitting that on the one side there is often the
fault of commonplace as well as "the sin of
excessive length,"* and conceding to every
* Bishop Shirley.
L___________________________  _ _ _____________  __ _~ _______________ _I




180            LECTURE X.
hearer the same right to exert his tasteful and
intellectual faculties when listening to a sermon as when perusing a printed book; you
will not deny that on the other side there are
often a langour and lukewarmness of which the
cure must be sought not so much in the greater
power of the preacher as in the growing piety
of the hearer. There are two sorts of instruction to which if we do not hearken we are
utterly without excuse. One is the direct instruction of God's Word; the other is truth
and earnestness embodied in a Christian
teacher. But how often are the lively oracles
read in public worship, and a relief experienced when the lesson is ended! and how
often does some fervent evangelist pour forth
appeals full of that rarest originality,-the
pathos of a yearning spirit,-and find no response save stolid apathy, or a patronizing
compliment to his energy!
Half the power of preaching lies in the mutual preparation. The minister must not serve
God with that which costs him nothing: but
it is not the minister alone who should "give




THE SANCTUARY.          181
attendance to reading, to exhortation, to doctrine."  There is a reciprocal duty on the part
of the hearer. He should come with a purpose, and he should come with a prayer. He
should come hopeful of benefit, and bestirring
all his faculties, that he may miss nothing
which is " profitable for doctrine, for reproof,
for instruction in righteousness." He should
come with a benevolent prepossession towards
his pastor, and with a friendly solicitude for
his fellow-hearers. And thus, as iron sharpens
iron, so his intelligent countenance would animate the speaker; and, like a Hur or an
Aaron, his silent petitions would contribute to
the success of the sermon.
Nor can aught be more fatal than a habit of
indolent hearing. Like one who glances into
a mirror, and sees disorder in his attire, or dust
on his face, and says, "I must attend to this,"
but forthwith forgets it, and hurries out on his
journey; or who, in the time of plague, sees
the livid marks on his countenance, and says,
"I must take advice for this," and thinks no
more about it till he drops death-stricken on




182            LECTURE X.
the pavement: so there are languid or luxurious listeners to the Word of God. At the moment, they say, Very true, or, Very good, and
they resolve to take some action; but just as
the mirror is not medicine,-as even a watery
mirror cannot wash from the countenance the
specks which it reveals, if merely looked into,
-so a self-survey in the clearest sermon will
neither erase the blemishes from your character, nor expel the sin-plague from your soul.
"Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every
man be swift to hear. And, laying apart all
filthiness and superfluity of naughtiness, receive with meekness the engrafted word, which
is able to save your souls. But be ye doers
of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving
your own selves. For if any be a hearer of
the word and not a doer, he is like unto a man
beholding his natural face in a glass: for he
beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and
straightway forgetteth what manner of man he
was. But whoso looketh into the perfect law
of liberty, and continueth therein,"-like a
man who seeing his bedusted visage in the




THE SANCTUARY.           183
mirror of that polished flood, loses not a moment but makes a laver of his looking-glass,
—'he being not a forgetful hearer, but a doer
of the work, this man shall be blessed in his
deed:"* he shall be saved by his promptitude;
or, if saved already, he shall become a more
beautiful character by his strenuous self-application.
2. In devotional exercises be intent and deliberate, vers. 2, 3. Like a dream which is a
medley from the waking day,-which into its
own warp of delirium weaves a shred from all
the day's enoagements: so, could a fool's
prayer be exactly reproduced, it would be a
tissue of trifles intermingled with vain repetitions. In all the multitude of words it might
be found that there was not a single sincere
confession, not one heart-felt and heaven-arresting supplication.
For such vain repetitions the remedy still is
reverence. "Be not rash,"' but remember at
whose throne you are kneeling; and be not
verbose, but let your words be few and em*James i. 19-25.




184            LECTURE X.
phatic, as of one who is favored with an audience from Heaven's King. It is right to have
stated seasons of worship; but it were also well
if with our acts of devotion we could combine
some special errand; and it might go far to
give precision and urgency to our morning or
evening prayer, if for a few moments beforehand we considered whether there were any
sin to confess, any duty or difficulty demanding special grace, any friend or any object for
which we ought to intercede. And when the
emergencies of life-some perplexity or sorrow, some deliverance or mercy, at an unwonted season sends us to the Lord, without
any lengthened preamble we should give to
this originating occasion the fulness of our feelings and the foremost place in our petitions.
3. In like manner, be not rash with vows
and religious promises, verses 4-7. In the old
Levitical economy there was large provision
made for spontaneous vows and votive offerings; and in our own Christian time there are
occasions for vows virtual or implied. It is a
vow  or a solemn promise which a pastor




THE SANCTUARY.           185
makes when he assumes an office in the Christian Church; and it is a virtual vow which every disciple makes when he becomes a member of that Church: equivalent to the oath of
fidelity which a citizen takes when he becomes a soldier, or a servant of the Crown.
And occasionally, for the carrying out of some
great enterprise, it may be expedient that likeminded men should join together, and covenant to stand by one another till the reform or
the philanthropic object is effected. But if
Christians make voluntary vows at all, it
should be with clear warrant from the Word,
for purposes obviously attainable, and for limited periods of time. The man who vows
to offer a certain prayer at a given hour for
all his remaining life, may find it perfectly convenient for the next six months, but not for
the next six years. The man who vows to
pious uses half the income of the year may be
safe; whereas the Jephthah who rashly devotes
contingencies over which he has no control
may pierce himself through with many sorrows. And whilst every believer feels it his




186             LECTURE X.
reasonable service to present himself to God a
living sacrifice, those who wish to walk in the
liberty of sonship will seek to make their dedication, as a child is devoted to its parents, not
so much in the stringent precision of a legal
document, as in the daily forthgoings of a
filial mind.
The glory of Gospel worship consists in its
freedom, its simplicity, and its spirituality.
We have boldness to enter into the holiest, by
the blood of Jesus; and we are encouraged
to draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith. We are not come to a burning
mount, nor to the sound of a trumpet and a
voice of terror; but we are come "to Jesus,
the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the
blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things
than that of Abel." The Father seeks true
worshippers, such as will worship Him in spirit
and in truth; and now that sacrifice and offering have ceased,-and now that burdensome
observances have vanished away, praise and
prayer and almsgiving are the ordinary oblations of the Christian Church. But surely the




THE SANCTUARY.           187
freedom of our worship should not abate from
its fervor; and because it is simple, there is
the more scope for sincerity, and the more
need that it should be the worship of the heart
and soul. But do we sufficiently realize our
privileged but solemn position as worshippers
of Him, to whom Seraphim continually do cry,
"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the
whole earth is full of his glory?" Do we sufficiently realize our blessedness as fellowworshippers with those who sing on high,
"Worthy is the Lamb that was slain?" In
the house of prayer, do we make worship our
study, and devotion our business?  Do we
" labor mightily in prayer," and do we " wake
up our glory to sing and give praise?" Or
are not many of us content to be lookers-on
at the prayers, and listeners to the psalmody?
and instead of "a golden vial full of odors,"
is not many a devotional act a vain oblation, a
vapid form; a tedium to ourselves and an offence to the Most High?
Beloved, let us bestir ourselves in worship.
Let us "make a joyful noise unto the Lord;"




188             LECTURE X.
let us "serve him with gladness."  Let us
sing his praises "with grave and sweet melody," and "with grace in our hearts." And
let us concentrate our thoughts, and join zealously in the confessions, the thanksgivings, and
the supplications of the public prayers. And
thus, like the restful activity of the temple
above, we shall find moments pass swiftly
which may now be a weariness; and refreshed
by the sacred exertion which enlisted our faculties, and which enlivened our feelings, we
shall retire sweetly conscious that it was " good
to be there."
Finally, my friends, amidst the assurance and
gladness of Gospel worship, let us take care
that we lose nothing of our veneration and
godly fear. " God is greatly to be feared in
the assembly of the saints, and to be had in
reverence of all them that are about Him."
"Thou hast a mighty arm; strong is Thy
hand, and high is Thy right hand. Justice and
judgment are the habitation of Thy throne;
nmercy and truth shall go before Thy face."
It is a poor religion in which reverence is not




THE SANCTUARY.            189
a conspicuous element; and, like Mloses in the
mount, if a man has really communed with
God, there will be something awful in the
shining of his face. And just as in a far inferior matter,-our relations to one another,just as you never respect the man who does
not respect the noble spirits and exalted intellects among his fellows; whilst you always
feel that wherever there is admiration of the
great and good there is the germ of principle,
the possibility of eminent excellence:-so be
it the homely peasant or the village patriarch;
be it the philosopher:, always pausing before
he uttered the Name Supreme, or Israel's
destined lawgiver, putting his shoes from off
his feet on Horeb's holy ground; —you always
feel that to realize heaven's majesty is itself
majestic, and that there is nothing in itself
more venerable than habitual veneration.
* Boyle




LECTURE XI
err fxrflnpgr.
READ ECCLES. V. 9-20; VI. 1-9.
"He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver.
THIS passage describes the vanity of riches.
With the enjoyments of frugal industry it contrasts the woes of wealth. Looking up from
that condition on which Solomon looked down,
it may help to reconcile us to our lot, if we
remember how the most opulent of princes
envied it.
1. In all grades of society human subsistence is very much the same. " The profit of
the earth is for all; the king himself is served
by the field."  "What hath the wise more
than the fool?" Even princes are not fed with
ambrosia, nor do poets subsist on asphodel.




THE EXCHANGE.           191
Bread and water, the produce of the flocks and
the herds, and a few homely vegetables, form
the staple of his food who can lay the globe
under tribute; and these essentials of healthful existence are within the attainment of ordinary industry. "The profit of the earth is
for all."
2. When a man begins to amass money, he
begins to feed an appetite which nothing can
appease, and which its proper food will only
render fiercer. " He that loveth silver shall
not be satisfied with silver." To greed there
may be "increase," but no increase can ever
be "abundance."  For, could you change all
the pebbles on the beach into minted money,
or conjure into bank-notes all the leaves of
the forest; nay, could you transmute the solid
earth into a single lump of gold, and drop it
into the gaping mouth of avarice, it would
only be a crumb of transient comfort, a cordial
drop enabling it to cry a little louder, Give,
give. Therefore happy they who have never
got enough to awaken the accumulating passion,
and who, feeling that food and raiment are the




192           LECTURE XI.
utmost to which they can aspire, are therewith
content.
3. It is another consideration which should
reconcile us to the want of wealth: that, as
abundance grows, so grow the consumers, and
of riches less perishable, the proprietor enjoys
no more than the mere spectator. " When
goods increase, they are increased that eat
them; and what good is there to the owners
thereof, saving the beholding of them witt.
their eyes?" It is so far well that rank in
volves a retinue, and that no man can be so
selfishly sumptuous but that his luxury gives
employment and subsistence to others.  On
the other hand, it is also well that riches cannot retain in exclusive monopoly the pleasures
they procure. A rich man buys a picture or
a statue, and he is proud to think that his
mansion is adorned with such a famous masterpiece. But a poor man comes and looks at it,
and, because he has the esthetic insight, in a
few minutes he is conscious of more astonishment and pleasure than the dull proprietor has
experienced in half a century. Or, a rich man




THE EXCHANGE.           193
lays out a park or a garden, and, except the
diversion of planning and remodelling, he has
derived from it little enjoyment; but some
bright morning a holiday student or a townpent tourist comes, and when he leaves he
carries with him a freight of life-long recollections. The porter at the gates should have
orders to intercept such appropriating sightseers; for, though they leave the canvass on the
walls, and the marble in the gallery,-though
they leave the flowers in the vases, and the
trees in the forest, they have carried off the
glory and the gladness; their bibulous eyes
have drunk a delectation, and all their senses
have absorbed a joy for which the owner
vainly pays his heavy yearly ransom.
4. Amongst the pleasures of obscurity, or
rather of occupation, the next noticed is sound
slumber. "The sleep of a laboring man is
sweet, whether he eat little or much; but the
abundance of the rich will not suffer him to
sleep." Sometimes the wealthy would be the
better for a taste of poverty; it would reveal to
them their privileges. But if the poor could




194                LECTURE XI.
get a taste of opulence, it would reveal to them
strange luxuries in lowliness. Fevered with
late hours and false excitement, or scared by
visions the righteous recompense of gluttonous
excess, or with breath suppressed and palpitating heart listing the fancied footsteps of the
robber, grandeur often pays a nightly penance
for the triumph of the day.       As a king expresses it, who could sympathize with Solomon:"How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep!
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness!
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
Then, happy, lowly clown!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."*
5. Wealth is often the ruin of its possessor.
It is " kept for the owner to his hurt." Like
that King of Cyprus who made himself so rich
* Henry IV., Second Part.




THE EXCHANGE.             195
that he became a tempting spoil, and who,
rather than lose his treasures, embarked them
in perforated ships; but, wanting courage to
draw the plugs, ventured back to land and lost
both his money and his life: so a fortune is
a great perplexity to its owner, and is no
defence in times of danger. And very often,
by enabling him to procure all that heart can
wish, it pierces him through with many sorrows. Ministering to the lust of the eye, the
lust of the flesh, and the pride of life, misdirected opulence has ruined many both in
soul and body.
6. Nor is it a small vexation to have accumu.
lated a fortune, and when expecting to transmit it to some favorite child, to find it suddenly
swept away. (Vers. 14-16.) There is now
the son, but where is the sumptuous mansion?
Here is the heir, but where is the vaunted
heritage?
7. Last of all, are the infirmity and fretfulness which are the frequent companions of
* Procul dubio hic non possedit divitias, sed a divitiis
possessus est; titulo rex insula, animo pecuniae miserabile
mancipium.- Valerius Maximus, lib. ix. cap. 4.




196            LECTURE XI.
wealth. "All his days also he eats in dark,
ness, and suffers anxiety and peevishness along
with sickness." You pass a stately mansion,
and as the powdered menials are closing the
shutters of the brilliant room, and you see the
sumptuous table spread and the fire-light flashing on vessels of gold and vessels of silver,
perhaps no pang of envy pricks your bosom,
but a glow of gratulation for a moment fills it;
Happy people who tread carpets so soft, and
who swim through halls so splendid! But,
some future day, when the candles are lighted
and the curtains drawn in that self-same apartment, it is your lot to be within; and as the
invalid owner is wheeled to his place at the
table, and as dainties are handed round of
which he dares not taste, and as the guests interchange cold courtesy, and all is so stiff and
so common-place, and so heartlessly grand,your fancy cannot help flying off to some
humbler spot with which you are more familiar,
and "where quiet with contentment makles
her home." Nay, how curious the contrast,
could the thoughts be read which sometimes




THE EXCHANGE.           197
cross one another! That ragged urchin who
opened the common-gate, and let the silvery
chariot through,-oh, "what a phantom  of
delight" the lady looked as in clouds of cushions
and on a firmament of ultramarine she floated
away! What a golden house she must have
come from, and what a happy thing to be
borne about from place to place in such a
carriage, as easy as a bird and as brilliant as a
queen! But, little boy, that lady looked at
you. As she passed she noticed your ruddy
cheeks, and she envied you. That glittering
chariot was carrying what you do not know-a
broken heart; and death-stricken and worldweary, as she looked at you, she thought, How
pleasant to have lived amongst the blossomed
May-trees on this common's edge, and never
known the falsehoods of fashion and the evil
ways of the world!
We have glanced at the sorrows of the rich;
some will expect that we should now descant
on the sinfulness of riches. And a certain
class of religionists, misunderstanding the Saviour's precept, "Lay not up for yourselves




198            LECTURE XI.
treasures on earth," have spoken of money as
if it were a malignant principle, and have canonized poverty as a Christian grace. Fully carried out, this theory would prohibit the flagon
of oil and the barrel of meal, and would reduce us all to the widow's cruse and handful;
for it makes little difference whether the hoard
be in kind, or packed up in the portable form
of money. It would justify the life of the anchorite who has no funded property except the
roots in the ground and the nuts on the trees;
and it would suit very well such a state of society as Israel spent in the desert, when no
skill could secure a week's manna beforehand,
and when the same pair of shoes lasted forty
years. But as it was not for a world of anchorites or ascetics,-as it was not for a society
on which the clouds should rain miraculous
supplies that the Saviour was legislating,-his
words must have another meaning.     And
what is that? Live by faith. Look forward:
look upward. Let nothing temporal be your
treasure. Whether your abode be a hut or a
castle, think only of the Father's house as




THE EXCHANGE.           199
your enduring mansion. Whether your friends
be high or low, coarse or refined, think only of
just men made perfect as your permanent associates.  And whether your possessions be
great or small, think only of the joys at God's
right hand as your eternal treasure. Lead a
life disentangled and expedite-setting your
affections on things above, and never so clinging to the things temporal as to lose the things
eternal.
Translated into its equivalent, money just
means food and clothing, and a salubrious
dwelling. It means instructive books, and rational recreation. It means freedom from anxiety, and leisure for personal improvement.
It means the education of one's children, and
the power of doing good to others. And to
inveigh against it, as if it were intrinsically sinful, is as fanatical as it would be to inveigh
against the bread and the raiment, the books
and the Bibles, which the money procures. It
would be to stultify all those precepts which
tell us to provide things honest in the sight of
all men; to do good and to communicate; to




200           LECTURE XIL
help forward destitute saints after a godly sort;
to make friends of the unrighteous mammon.
And as there is nothing in the Bible to prohibit the acquirement of wealth, there is much
to guide us in its right bestowment. Using
but not abusing God's bounties, the Christian
avoids both the wasteful and the penurious extremes, and is neither a miser nor a spendthrift.
With that most elastic and enlightened disciple, who knew so well how to be abased and
how to abound, the believer can say, "I have
learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to
be content. Everywhere and in all things, I
am instructed, both to be full and to be hungry,
both to abound and suffer need. I can do all
things through Christ who strengtheneth me."
It was a sultry day, and an avaricious old
man who had hoarded a large amount, was
toiling away and wasting his little remaining
strength, when a heavenly apparition stood before him. "I am Solomon," it said, with a
friendly voice; " what are you doing?" " If
you are Solomon," answered the old man,
"how can you ask? When I was young you




THE EXCHANGE.           201
sent me to the ant, and told me to consider her
ways; and from her I learned to be industrious
and gather stores."  "You have only halflearned your lesson," replied the spirit; " go
once more to the ant, and learn to rest the winter of your years and enjoy your collected
treaures."" And this lesson of moderate but
cheerful spending, nothing teaches so effectually as the gospel. Reminding the believer
that the life is more than meat, and the body
more than raiment, it also suggests to him that
meat and raiment are more than money; and
by saving him from the idolatry of wealth, it
emboldens him to use it: so that far from feeling impoverished when it is converted into
some worthy equivalent, he can use with thankfulness the gifts which his Heavenly Father
sends him. Within the bounds of temperance
and forethought, he subscribes to the sentiment
of our text, "It is good and comely to eat and
to drink, and to enjoy the good of one's labor;
for the power to eat thereof and to take his
portion is itself the gift of God."
* Lessing's Fables.;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_~~~!




202            LECTURE XI.
But Christianit'y teaches a lesson higher still.
" Remembering the words of our Lord Jesus.
how he said, It is more blessed to give than to
receive," the true disciple will value wealth
chiefly as he can spend it on objects dear to his
dear Lord. To him money is a talent and a
trust; and he will feel it a fine thing to have a
fortune, because it enables him to do something notable for some noble end.    And
whether, like Granville Sharpe, he spends it
in pleading the cause of the oppressed and the
friendless: or, like Howard, devotes it to reclaim the most depraved and degraded; or,
like Simeon, purchases advowsons in order to
appoint faithful pastors; or, like Thomas Wilson, multiplies places of worship in a crowded
metropolis; there is no fortune which brings
to its possessor such a return of solid satisfaction as that which is converted into Christian
philanthropy. Our houses tumble down; our
monuments decay; our equipages grow frail
and shabby. But it is a fine thing to have a
fortune, and so be able to give a grand impulse
to some important cause. It is a happy thing




THE EXCHANGE.           203
to have wealth enough to set fairly afloat an
emancipation movement or a prison reform.
It is a noble thing to be rich enough to provide Gospel ordinances for ten thousand people in a vast and world-wielding capital. It is
a blessed thing to be "a man to whom God
has not only given riches and wealth," but so
large a heart,-so beneficent, so brotherly, that
his fruition of his fortune is as wide as the
thousands who share it, and the reversion as
secure as the heaven in which it is treasured.
_____________-I




LECTURE XII.
v3nrnmruth   iglt0t  far n Bsrkt   ranaing-plnrt
"That which hath been is named already, and it is known
what man is: neither may he contend with him that is
mightier than he. Seeing there be many things that increase vanity what is man the better? For who knoweth
what is good for man in this life, all the days of his vain
life which he spendeth as a shadow? for who can tell a
man what shall be after him under the sun?"-ECCLES.
vI. 10-12.
You have ascended a staircase which, inside
the solid rock, wound up from       the sands of
the  sea-shore to   green   fields and   beautiful
gardens.    Somewhat of this sort is the structure of Ecclesiastes. And now we have reached
the half-way landing-place, the dimmest and
coldest station in the entire ascent; and very
mournful is the strain in which our moralist
reviews his progress.   " Fate is fixed, and man
is feeble; joy is but a phantom, and life a




BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.       205
vapor, and darkness veils the future." Truly,
we have need to borrow lamps and suspend
them in this dark place. We must send for
some brighter minstrel; for our hearts will
break if we only listen to the bard of vanity.
I. Fate is fixed. "That which hath been
or which is to be, hath been named already;
neither may man contend with him that is
mightier than he." All the past was the result of a previous destiny, and so shall be all
the future. Everything is fate. Such is the
sentiment of the third chapter, and such appears to be the import of this passage. "Since
fate bears sway, and everything must be as it
is, why dost thou strive against it?"*
Brethren, is there never such a feeling in
your minds? Do you never feel as if you
were the subjects of a stern ordination?  Do
you never say, "I must obey my destiny? It
is of no use contending with fate. Mine is an
unlucky star, and I can change neither my
nature nor my nativity; sol must abide my
time and take my doom." Do you never feel
* Marcus Antoninus xii. 13.




206           LECTURE XII.
as if you were driven along a path over which
you have no control, and as if the power propelling you were a blind and inexorable necessity?
Partly imbibed from the old classics, and
partly from a sound theology sullenly spoken;
and partly indigenous to the human heart,
which, even when it does not believe in God
and in Jesus, cannot believe in chance, the
feeling now expressed is far from rare; and
just as it seems to have visited Solomon in the
thoughtful interludes of his vanity, so the
more pensive and musing spirits are likely to
feel it most. As it contains a certain admixture of truth, on a principle which we have
frequently adopted in these lectures, we shall
go to a greater than Solomon in order to get
that partial truth corrected and completed.
In the outset, it must be conceded that the
Saviour assumed a pre-ordination in all events.
He was constantly using such language as this:
"The hour is come;" "The hairs of your
head are all numbered;" "Your names are
written in heaven;" " Many be called, but few




BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.       207
chosen;" "No man can come to me, except
the Father draw him;" " For the elect's sake,
whom he hath chosen, God hath shortened the
days;" "To my sheep I give eternal life."
But then, what sort of pre-ordination was it
which the Saviour recognized? Was it mechanical, or moral? Was it blind destiny, or
a wise decree? Was it the evolution of a dark
necessity, or " the determinate counsel and
foreknowledge of God?" Was it the fiat of
an abstract law, or the will of a living Person?
In one word, was it FATE, or was it PROVIDENCE?
Most comforting is it to study this doctrine
with the great Prophet for our tutor, and so
to see the propitious aspect which it bears
when rightly understood. As interpreted by
" the only-begotten Son from the bosom of the
Father," that pre-arrangement of events which
the theologian calls predestination, and which
the philosopher calls necessity, and which old
heathenism called fate, is nothing more than
the will of the Father,-the good pleasure of
that blessed and only Potentate whose omnis



208           LECTURE XII.
cience foresaw all possibilities, and from out
of all these possibilities whose benevolent
wisdom selected the best and gave it being.
And he alone can understand election, or exult
in Providence, who in right of the Surety can
look up to God as his Father, and so take the
same views of the Father's purposes as the Saviour took, equally revering the majestic fixity
of the firm decree, equally rejoicing in its
wise foresight and paternal kindness. "Fear
not, little flock; it is your Father's GOOD PLEASURE to give you the kingdom."  "I thank
Thee, 0 Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise
and prudent, and hast revealed them unto
babes. Even so, Father, for so it seemed good
in thy sight."  The hour is come, that the Son
of man should be glorified. Father, glorify
thy name." And just as you might imagine
some poor wandered child waking up amidst
the din and tumult of a factory, and cowering
half-delinquent, half-stupified, into his dusky
corner, —afraid lest this thunderous enginery
rush in on him and rend him to pieces, and
~_______i~_




BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.        209
still more paralyzed when he perceives in its
movements the indications of an awful order,
-the whole spinning and whirling, clashing
aud clanking, in obedience to a mysterious and
invisible power. But whilst he is watching
from his hiding-place, another child comes in,
of an age about his own; and this other walks
fearlessly forward, for his father leads him by
the hand, and shows him the beautiful fabrics
which are flowing forth from all the noisy
mechanism; or if there be some point in their
progress where there is risk to his child from
the flashing wheels, he speaks a word and that
portion stands still; for his father is owner of
it all. So to the poor waif of mortality, the
outcast child of apostate Adam,-to the godlesss pirit waking up in this world of rapid revolution and tumultuous resonance, there is an
awful aspect of fatality on the one side and a
crushing sense of impotence on the other. So
selfish is man and so cruel is the world; so
strange are life's reverses, and so irresistible
is the progress of events, that he momentarily
expects to be annihilated by the strong and re



210            LECTURE XII.
morseless mechanism;-when, in the midst of
all the turmoil he perceives one of like pas.
sions with himself walking calmly up and
down, and fearing no evil, for his Father is
with him, and that Father is contriver and controller of the whole. So, my friends, it depends on our point of view whether the fixed
succession of events shall appear as a sublime
arrangement or a dire necessity. It depends
on whether we recognize ourselves as foundlings in the universe, or the children of God
by faith in Jesus Christ,-it depends on this,
whether in the mighty maze we discern the
decrees of fate, or the presiding wisdom of our
heavenly Father. It depends on whether we
are still skulking in the obscure corner, aliens,
intruders, outlaws; or walking at liberty, with
filial spirit and filial security,-whether we
shall be more panic-stricken by the power of
the mechanism, or more enchanted with its
beautiful products. It depends on whether we
are spectators or sons, whether our emotion
towards the Divine foreknowledge and sove



BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.            211
reignty be, "0 fate, I fear thee," or, "0 Father, I thank thee."
II. Man is feeble.' It is known what man
is; neither may he contend with him       that is
mightier than he." And Christless humanity
is a very feeble thing. His bodily frame is
feeble. A punctured nerve or a particle of
sand will sometimes occasion it exquisite anguish; a grape-seed or an insect's sting has
been known to consign it to dissolution. And
man's intellect is feeble; or, rather, it is a
strange mixture of strength and weakness:"Go, wondrous creature! mount where science guides;
Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides;
Instruct the planets in what orbs to run,
Correct old Time, and regulate the sun;
Go, soar with Plato to the empyreal sphere,
To the first good, first perfect, and first fair;
Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to ruleThen drop into thyself, and be a fool! "
Nevertheless, redeemed      and regenerate humanity is only a little lower than the angels.
Its materialism was worn by the Son of God
Incarnate, and as He wore it, it was found a
* Pope's " Essay on Man," Ep. ii.
i                                         i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.




212           LECTURE XII.
shrine in which perfect goodness could exist,
and one from which not a few of its endearing
rays could emanate; and, celestialized, that
corporeity will find a place in the new heavens
and new earth where righteousness dwelleth.
And, sublime and sanctified, man's intellect is
fit for the noblest themes in the loftiest society.
Not to speak of Moses' meek sagacity, and
David's lyric raptures, and Solomon's startling
intuitions; there are sons of Adam who, here,
on earth, possessed no knowledge beyond simple apprehension or idiot ignorance, and who
are now the immediate pupils of the Bright
and Morning Star, and fellow-students with
the seraphim. And though it be madness in
man to contend with his Maker, it is man's
prerogative that his very weakness is a purchase on Omnipotence. Insane when contending with One that is mightier, he is irresistible
when in faith and coincidence of holy affection
he fights the battles of the Most High, and
when by prayer and uplooking affiance, he
imports into his own imbecility the might of
Jehovah. It is known what man is, and what




BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.      213
mere man can do. A Samson can rend the
ravening lion, and return to find his bleached
ribs a hive of honey. A Goliath can hold at
bay the embattled host, and with his beam-like
lance beat back a charging company. David's
three champions can hew their way through
the host of the Philistines, and from the well
of Bethlehem bear triumphant to the camp
their costly flask of water. And thus, the
potsherds of the earth can strive with the potsherds of the earth, and a strong one destroy
the weaker. But it is hardly known yet what
man can (do when his Maker contends for him
and fights through him; although the temptations which Joseph and Daniel have vanquished, and found their demolished strength
replaced by sweetness; the terror of God
which a solitary Elijah or John Baptist has
stricken into an idolatrous or hypocritical
generation; the water of life which Paul and
Silas and Timothy have carried into the midst
of a dying world through pain and peril,
through bitter mockings and daily deaths,although these moral triumphs and religious
I    _    _  _    _  _




214           LECTURE XII.
trophies are earnests and examples of what
may be done by man when, through Christ
strengthening, man is rendered superhuman.
III. Every joy is futile. It is only fresh
food for the life-wasting vanity; more fat kine
for the lean ones to devour and convert into
tenuity; more must poured into the working
vat in order to acidify and augment the brewage of vexation. "Seeing there be many
things that increase vanity, what is man the
better?" What the better is man of that reputation which only makes him more envied?
What the better is he of that wealth which
only makes him more obnoxious to plots and
dangers? What the better of that philosophy
which, like a taper on the face of a midnight
cliff, only shows how beetling is the brow
above him, and how profound the gulf below,
whilst he himself is crawling a wingless reptile
on the ever-narrowing ledge? What the better is acquirement, when, after all, man's intellect, man's conscience, man's affections must
remain a vast and unappeasable vacuity?
Here it is that the other Royal Preacher




BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.        215
comes forward, and, instead of echoing, answers the demand of Solomon. Jesus says,
" I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me
shall never hunger, and he that believeth on
me shall never thirst." Jesus is God manifest,
and, therefore, Jesus known is satisfaction to
the famished intellect. He is God reconciled,
and, therefore, Jesus trusted is comfort to the
aching conscience. He is God communicated,
and, therefore, Jesus loved is a continual feast
to the hungry affections. Incarnate, atoning,
interceding, Immanuel is the bread of life,the only sustenance and satisfaction of the immortal soul. And, 0 my hearers, if any of
you are hungry, make trial of this food. If
your conscience hungers, feed on some faithful saying till you find it as sweet as it is solid,
as refreshing as'tis true. "God loved the
world and gave his Son." " Christ Jesus came
into the world to save sinners."  "His blood
cleanseth from all sin." "Him that cometh
unto me, I will in no wise cast out." " Behold
the Lamb of God!" Dwell on such sayings
till they have sunk into your spirit's core and
__________          __i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




216            LECTURE XII.
spread through your consenting nature in real.
izations glad and blissful. Does your understanding hunger?   Do you pine for some
knowledge   absolute, conclusive,  positive?
Then no man knoweth the Father save the
Son, and he to whom the Son shall reveal
him. Look to Jesus. Study the Word made
flesh. In Him dwells all the fulness of the
Godhead bodily. In Him, the express image
of the Father, behold at once your Teacher
and your task; for Jesus is the true Theology.
Sit at the Saviour's feet, and listen to his
words; for God is all which Jesus says. Look
into his countenance, for God is all which
Jesus is. And do your affections hunger?
From the festivals of earth,-from its feasts of
friendship even, do you sometimes retire mortified and almost misanthropic? or, like the
reveller glancing up at the thread-suspended
sword, or gazing at the fulgorous finger as it
flames along the wall, have you misgivings in
the unhallowed mercies which you enjoy aloof
from God, or in the place of God, or beneath
the wrath of God?  Then, through the Medi



BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.       217
ator be reconciled to God. In Christ accept
Him as your Friend and Father. Enter into
his peace, and learn to delight in his perfections; and thus, whilst sinful pleasures lose
their relish, lawful joys will acquire a flavor
of sacredness, and the zest is a sweet security.
Or should the cistern break and the creature
fail, the infinite joy is Jehovah, and the soul
cannot wither whose roots are replenished from
that fountain unfailing.
IV. Life is fleeting. It is a "vain life," and
all its days a "shadow."  A  shadow is the
nearest thing to a nullity. It is seldom noticed. Even "a vapor" in the firmament,-a
cloud may catch the eye, and in watching its
changing hues or figure you may find the
amusement of a moment; and if that cloud
condense into a shower, a few fields may thank
it for its timely refreshment. But a shadow,the shadow of a vapor! who notes it? who
records it? As it sails along the mountain
side, with morning bright behind it, and summer noon before it, the daisy does not care to
wink,. nor does the hare-bell droop, nor does




218            LECTURE XII.
the bee suspend its labors; and at eve, the
shepherd-boy cross-questioned cannot tell if
any cloud there were. And the case is rare
where some panting traveller sighs, "Return,
0 shadow! Kind vapor, I wish you would
not vanish!"
But Jesus Christ hath brought immortality
to light. This fleeting life He has rendered
important as "a shadow from the rock eternity."  "I am the Resurrection and the Life:
whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall
never die." In his own teaching, and in the
teaching of his apostles, the present existence
acquires a fearful consequence as the germ, or
rather as the outset of one which is never-ending.  To their view, this existence is both
everything and nothing. As the commencement of eternity, and as giving its complexion
to all the changeless future, it is everything;
as the competitor of that eternity or the counterpoise to its joys and sorrows it is nothing.
" What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain
the whole world, and lose his own soul?"
"Fear not them who kill the body, but are not




BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.       219
able to kill the soul: but rather fear Him who
is able to destroy both soul and body in hell."
"Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and
eternal weight of glory; while we look not at
the things which are seen, but at the things
which are not seen: for the things which are
seen are temporal; but the things which are
not seen are eternal."  "How vain, then, are
men, who, seeing life so short, endeavor to live
long and not to live well!"*  How vain are
men who, pronouncing the present life a
shadow, neglect to secure the everlasting substance!
V. The future is a dark enigma. "Who
can tell a man what shall be after him under
the sun?"
Says Dr. Stewart of Moulin, "I remember
an old, pious, very recluse minister, whom I
used to meet once a-year. He scarcely ever
looked at a newspaper. When others were
talking about the French Revolution, he
showed no concern or curiosity about it. He
* Jeremy Taylor's " Works," vol. iii. p. 418.




220           LECTURE XII.
said he knew from the Bible how it would all
end, better than the most sagacious politician,
-that the Lord reigns,-that the earth will be
filled with his glory,-that the Gospel will be
preached to all nations,-and that all subordinate events are working out these great
ends. This was enough for him, and he gave
himself no concern about the news or events
of the day, only saying, It shall be well with
the righteous."" And although no man can
tell the conqueror how it shall be with the
dynasty he has founded; nor the poet how it
shall be with the epic he has published; nor
the capitalist how it shall be with the fortune
he has accumulated; it is easy to tell the philanthropist and the Christian how it shall be,
not only with himself, but with the cause he is
so eagerly promoting. And without quenching curiosity, it may quiet all anxiety to know
that when he himself is gone to be forever
with the Lord, Christ's kingdom will be
spreading'in the world. "Then said I, O my
Lord, what shall be the end of these things?
* Memoirs of Dr. Stewart, p. 336.




BORROWED LIGHTS, ETC.        221
And he said, Go thy way, Daniel; for the
words are closed up and sealed. Go thou thy
way till the end be, for thou shalt rest, and
stand in thy lot at the end of the days"
i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



LECTURE XIII.
X d&unnu Tiamr.
"A good name is better than precious ointment."ECCLES. VII. 1.
AT this point we come out into a purer-atmosphere; we emerge upon a higher platform;
and, if we have not day-spring, we have the
harbingers of dawn.
Hitherto the book has chiefly contained the
diagnosis of the great disease. Repeating the
successive symptoms as they developed in himself, the Royal patient has passed before us in
every variety of mood, from the sleepy collapse of one who has eaten the fabled lotus, up
to the frantic consciousness of a Hercules tearing his limbs as he tries to rend off his robe of
fiery poison. He now   comes to the cure.
He enumerates the prescriptions which he




A GOOD NAME.            223
tried, and mentions their results. Most of
them afforded some relief. They made him
"better."  But they were only palliatives.
There was something which always impaired
their efficacy; and it is only at the very end
that he announces the great panacea, and
gives us what is better than a thousand palliatives,-an unfailing specific.
The recipes contained in this and the subsequent chapters availed to mitigate Solomon's
vexation, but they failed to cure it. They mitigated it, because each of them was one ingredient of the great specific; they failed to cure
it, because they were only isolated ingredients.
Each maxim of virtue is conducive to happy
living; but the love of God is the vitality of
all virtue; and, in order to secure its full practical value, we must supply to each separate
maxim the great animating motive. A rule of
conduct which is " dead, so long as it abideth
alone," may be very helpful when quickened,
and when occupying its appropriate place in a
system of evangelical ethics.
Solomon's first beatitude is an honorable rep



224           LECTURE XIII.
utation. He knew what it had been to possess
it; and he knew what it was to lose it. And
here he says, Happy is the possessor of an untarnished character! so happy that he cannot
die too soon! " A good name is better than
precious ointment; and (to its owner) the day
of death is better than the day of birth."
A name truly good is the aroma from virtuous character. It is a spontaneous emanation from genuine excellence. It is a reputation for whatsoever things are honest and
lovely, and of good report. It is such a name
as is not only remembered on earth but written
in heaven. The names of Abel and Enoch
and Noah are good names, and so are all which
have been transmitted in that "little book of
martyrs," the eleventh of Hebrews: those
"elders" who not only obtained the Church's
good report, through faith, but who had this
testimony, "that they pleased God." But in
order to a good name something else is needed
besides a good nature. Flowers have bloomed
in the desert which were only viewed by God
and the angels; and there have been solitary




A GOOD NAME.           225
saints whose holiness was only recognized by
Him who created it, and by just men made
perfect. And so wicked is this world that
much excellence may have vanished from its
surface unknown and unsuspected. The Inquisition has, no doubt, extinguished many
an Antipas, and in the Sodoms of our earth
many a Lot has vexed his soul and died with
no Pentateuch to preserve his memory. To
secure a reputation there must not only be the
genuine excellence but the genial atmosphere.
There must be some good men to observe and
appreciate the goodness while it lived, and
others to foster its memory when gone. But
should both combine,-the worth and the appreciation of worth,-the resulting good name is
better than precious ointment.  Rarer and
more costly, it is also one of the most salutary
influences that can penetrate society. For,
just as a box of spikenard is not only valuable
to its possessor, but pre-eminently precious in
its diffusion; so, when a name is really good,
it is of unspeakable service to all who are
capable of feeling its exquisite inspiration
15




226           LECTURE XIII.
And should the Spirit of God so replenish a
man with his gifts and graces, as to render his
name thus wholesome, better than the day of
his birth will be the day of his death; for at
death the box is broken and the sweet savor
spreads abroad. There is an end of the envy
and sectarianism and jealousy, the detraction
and the calumny, which often environ goodness when living; and now that the stopper
of prejudice is removed, the world fills with
the odor of the ointment, and thousands grow
stronger and more lifesome for the good name
of one. Better in this respect, better than
their birth-day was the dying day of Henry
Martyn and Robert M'Cheyne; for the secret
of their hidden life was then revealed, and,
mingled as it is with the name of Jesus, the
Church will never lose the perfume. And in
this respect better than their birthday was the
dying-day of Dr. Arnold and Sir Fowell Buxton; for men could then forget the offence of
controversy and the irritation of party politics,
and could surrender to the undiluted charm
of healthy piety and heroic Christianity. And
_       _,.  _ _  ___ _~__~




A GOOD NAME.            227
better, thus regarded, was the dying-day of
Stephen and James and Paul; for every disciple could then forget the infirmities by which
some had been annoyed and the faithfulness by
which others had been offended, and could
treasure up that best of a good man's relics,
the memory of a devoted life,-the sweet
odour of an unquestioned sanctity.
Do not despise a good name. There is no
better heritage that a father can bequeath to
his children, and there are few influences on
society more wholesome than the fame of its
worthies. The names of Luther and Knox, of
Hampden and Washington, of Schwartz and
Eliot, are still doing good in the world. Nor
is there in a family any richer heir-loom than
the memory of a noble ancestor. Without a
good name you can possess little ascendency
over others; and when it has not pioneered
your way and won a prepossession for yourself,
your patriotic or benevolent intentions are
almost sure to be defeated.
And yet it will never do to seek a good
name as a primary object. Like trying to be
j~~~~~~_______________..._      _i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




228           LECTURE XIII.
graceful, the effort to be popular will make you
contemptible. Take care of your spirit and
conduct, and your reputation will take care of
itself. It is by "blamelessness and good behavior," that not only bishops, but individual
believers, are to gain " a good report of them
who are without." The utmost that you are
called to do as the custodier of your own reputation is to remove injurious aspersions. Let
not your good be evil spoken of, and follow the
highest examples in mild and explicit self-vindication. Still, no reputation can be permanent
which does not spring from principle: and he
who would maintain a good character should
be mainly solicitous to maintain a conscience
void of offence towards God and towards men.
Where others are concerned the case is
different. To our high-principled and deserving brethren, we owe a frank commendation
and a fraternal testimony. "To rejoice in
their good name; to cover their infirmities;
freely to acknowledge their gifts and graces;
readily to receive a good report, and unwillingly to admit an evil report concerning




A GOOD NAME.           229
them; to discourage tale-bearers and slanderers,"* are duties which we owe to our
neighbors; and good names are not so numerous but that the utmost care should be taken
of them. When Dr. M'Crie published the Life
of our Reformer, it was very noble in Dugald
Stewart to seek out the young author in his
humble dwelling and cheer him with his earnest eulogy. And when one of the Reformation heroes was maligned, it was fine to see their
advocate rummaging amongst the archives of
the Public Library, till the discrepant date enabled him to exclaim, "Thank God! our
friend was by that time safe in Abraham's
bosom!" It was a happy thing for Paul to
have so good a name among the Gentile
Churches, that his mere request was enough
to bring large contributions to the poor saints
of Jerusalem; but, if so, what a happy thought
to Barnabas to know that when Paul himself
was an object of suspicion to the Church at
Jerusalem,t his own good name had been the
new convert's passport and guarantee.
* Westminster Larger Catechism  f Acts ix. 26, 27.




LECTURE XIV.
tir    aUnmrr  Uf ^Ttiirnr.
"The patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit."ECCLES. V. 8.
TIHE lion was caught in the toils of the
hunter. The more he tugged, the more his
feet got entangled; when a little mouse heard
his roaring, and said that if his majesty would
not hurt him, he thought he could release him.
At first the king of the beasts took no notice
of such a contemptible ally; but at last, like
other proud spirits in trouble, he allowed his
tiny friend to do as he pleased. So one by
one, the mouse nibbled through the cords, till
he had set free first one foot and then another,
and then all the four, and with a growl of
hearty gratitude, the king of the forest acknowledged that the patient in spirit is some



THE POWER OF PATIENCE.        231
times stronger than the proud in spirit. And
it is beautiful to see how, when some sturdy
nature is involved in perplexity, and by its
violence and vociferation is only wasting its
strength without forwarding its escape; there
will come in some timely sympathizer, mild
and gentle, and will suggest the simple extrication, or by soothing vehemence down into
his own tranquillity, will set him on the way to
effect his self-deliverance. Even so, all through
the range of philanthropy, patience is power.
It is not the water-spout, but the nightly dew
which freshens vegetation. They are not the
flashes of the lightning which mature our
harvests, but the daily sunbeams, and that
quiet electricity which thrills in atoms and
which flushes in every ripening ear. Niagara
in all its thunder fetches no fertility; but the
Nile, coming without observation, with noiseless fatness overflows, and from under the retiring flood Egypt looks up again, a garner of
golden corn. The world is the better for its
moral cataracts, and its spiritual thunderbolts; but the influences which do the world's




232           LECTURE XIV.
great work,-which freshen and fertilize it,
and which are maturing its harvests for the
garner of glory, are not the proud and potent
spirits, but the patient and the persevering;
they are not the noisy and startling phenomena, but the steady and silent operations. They
are the Sunday-schools which line upon line
repeat the Gospel lesson, and keep alive in our
youthful millions some fear of God. They are
the good and loving mothers who begin with
cradle hymns, and who try to make the sweet
story of Jesus as dear and as memorable as
their own kind voices. They are the weekly
Sabbaths which softly overflow the land, and
which, when they ebb again, leave everywhere
the freshness and the fertilizing elements conveyed in their heaven-descended tide. Patience is power. In a thirsty land, one farmer
digs a pit, and as no water fills it he opens
another, and as that also continues, like the
well in Dothan, dry, he commences a third in
a spot more promising, and a fourth, and many
more, till he has tried all his territory without
saccess, and then, chafed and chagrined, he
I.




THE POWER OF PATIENCE.       233
abandons all effort in despair. His neighbor
chooses a spot, and begins. No water flows,
but he is not discouraged. The spade and the
mattock he exchanges for the drill and the
auger; and after hammering through the
flinty rock for days and weeks, at last the longsought fountain gushes, and at his threshold he
secures a perennial spring, which neither feels
the summer drought nor dreads the winter's
cold. And so, on behalf of some right object,
one man is anxious to enlist the good feeling
of humanity: and he brings his project before
one influential mind after another, and he is
mortified to find how drily it is received by
this celebrated philanthropist, and how many
difficulties are started by another,-till he is
ready to declare that benevolence is all a sham
and every patriot a hypocrite. But, strong in
faith and patience, another takes the Artesian
auger. He knows that deep under our hard
humanity there are tender feelings and kind
sympathies. Or if it be the Church on which
he seeks to operate, he knows that under all
its callousness and formalism there circulates a




234           LECTURE XIV.
conscience,-there flows a fresh current of
principle and love fed from the crystal river,
and he is resolved to reach it. He takes the
Artesian auger. "One thing I do."  Preserving his temper amid all rebuffs, and persevering amidst all impediments, he keeps urging
this one object,-and at last the vein is struck
-the fountain flows. Charles sees the Bible
Society organized, and Carey is sent to India.
Raikes sets his Sabbath-schools agoing, and
Naismith the City Mission. Sadler sees infant
emancipation become a popular movement,
and Agnew finds the Church at last aroused to
the claims of the Sabbath-day.




LECTURE XV.
uDead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send
forth a stinking savor: so doth a little folly him that is
in reputation for wisdom and honor."-ECCLES. x. 1.
THE people of Palestine dealt largely in aro-.matic oils, and it was a chief business of their
apothecaries to prepare them. A little thing
was enough to spoil them. Although the vase
were alabaster, and although the most exquisite
perfumes were dissolved in the limpid olive, a
dead fly could change the whole into a pestilent odor.
And so, says the Royal Moralist, a character
may be carefully confected. You may attend
to all the rules of wisdom and self-government
which I have now laid down; but if you retain a single infirmity it will ruin the whole.




236           LECTURE XV.
Like the decomposing influence of that dead
fly, it will injure all the rest and destroy the
reputation which you otherwise merit.
The principle is especially applicable to a
Christian profession; and the best use we can
make of it is to exemplify it in some of those
flaws and failings which destroy the attraction
and impressiveness of men truly devout and
God-fearing. Our instances must be taken
almost at random; for, like their Egyptian
prototypes, these flies are too many to be
counted.
Rudeness.-Some good men are blunt in
their feelings, and rough in their manners;
and they apologize for their coarseness by calling it honesty, downrightness, plainness of
speech. They quote in self-defence the sharp
words, and shaggy mien of Elijah and John
the Baptist, and, as affectation, they sneer at the
soft address and mild manners of gentler men.
Now, it is very true that there is a certain
strength of character, an impetuousness of feeling, and a sturdy vehemence of principle, to
which it is more difficult to prescribe the rules




DEAD FLIES.            237
of Christian courtesy, than to more meek and
pliant natures. It is very possible that Latimer in his bluntness, and Knox in his erect
and iron severity, and Luther in the magnificent explosions of his far-resounding indignation, may have been nobler natures, and fuller
of the grace of God than the supple courtiers
whose sensibilities they so rudely shattered.
But it does not follow that men who have not
got their warfare to wage are entitled to use
their weapons. Nor does it even follow that
their warfare would have been less successful
had they wielded no such weapons. The
question, however, is not between two rival
graces,-between integrity on the one side,
and affability on the other; but the question
is, Are these two graces compatible? Can
they co-exist? Is it possible for a man to be
explicit, and open, and honest, and, withal,
courteous and considerate of the feelings of
others? Is it possible to add to fervor and
fidelity, suavity, and urbanity, and brotherlykindness? The question has already been
answered, for the actual union of these things
9




238            LECTURE XV.
has already been exhibited. Without referring to Nathan's interview with David, where
truth and tenderness triumph together, or
Paul's remonstrances to his brethren, in which
a melting heart is the vehicle of each needful
reproof, we need only revert to the great example itself. In the epistles to the Asiatic
Churches, each begins with commendation,
wherever there was anything that could be
commended.    With the magnanimity which
remembers past services-in the midst of present injury, and which would rather notice
good than complain of evil, each message, so
far as there was material for it, is ushered in
by a word of eulogy, and weight is added to
the subsequent admonition by this preface of
kindness.* And it was the same while the
Lord Jesus was on earth. His tender tone
was the keen edge of his reproofs, and his unquestionable love infused solemnity into every
warning. There never was one more faithful
than the Son of God, but there never was
one more considerate. And just as rudeness
* Fuller on the Apocalypse, p. 16.




DEAD FLIES.          239
is not essential to honesty, so neither is rough
ness essential to strength of character. The
Christian should have a strong character; he
should be a man of remarkable decision; he
should start back from temptation as from a
bursting bomb. And he should be a man
of inflexible purpose. When once he knows
his Lord's will, he should go through with it,
aye, through fire and water with it. But this
he may do without renouncing the meekness
and gentleness which:wre in Christ. He may
have zeal without pugnacity, determination
without obstinacy. He should distinguish
between the ferocity of th6 animal and the
courage of the Christian. And whether he
makes the distinction or not, the world will
make it. The world looks for the serene benevolence of conscious strength in a follower
of the Lamb of God; and, however rude its
own conduct, it expects that the Christian
himself will be courteous.
Irritability.-One of the most obvious and
impressive features in the Saviour's character
was his meekness. In a patience which in



r'-     ---- ----  --  -  " — --- --- _ — - 
240           LECTURE XV.
genious or sudden provocation could not upset; in a magnanimity which insult could not
ruffle; in a gentleness from which no folly
could extract an unadvised word, men saw
what they could scarcely understand, but that
which made them marvel. Though disciples
were strangely dull, he never lost temper with
them; though Judas was very dishonest, He
did not bring any railing accusation against
him; though Philip had been so long time
with Him, and had not understood Him, He
did not dismiss him from his company. When
Peter denied Him, it was not a frown that
withered him, but a glance of affection that
melted him. And so with his enemies; it was
not by lightning from heaven, but by love
from his pierced heart, that He subdued them.
But many Christians lack this beauty of their
Master's holiness; they are afflicted with evil
tempers, they cannot rule their spirits, or
rather they do not try. Some indulge occasionally in fits of anger; and others are haunted
by habitual, daily, life-long fretfulness. The
one sort is generally calm and pellucid as an
-~~~~~~~~~~~~~__._._.. I.




DEAD FLIES.           241
Alpine lake, but on some special provocation,
is tossed up into a magnificent tempest; the
other is like the Bosphorus, in a continual
stir, and even when not a breath is moving,
by the contrariety of its internal currents vexing itself into a ceaseless whirl and eddy. The
one is Hecla-for long intervals silent as a
granite peak, and suffering the snow-flakes to
fall on its cold crater, till you forget that it is
a burning mountain; and then on some sudden and unlooked-for disturbance, hurling the
hollow truce into the clouds, and pouring forth
in one noisy night the stifled mischief of many
a year. The other is Stromboli, a perpetual
volcano, seldom indulging in any disastrous
eruption; but muttering and quaking, steaming and hissing night and day, in a way which
makes strangers nervous; and ever and anon
spinning through the air a red-hot rock, or a
spirt of molten metal, to remind the heedless
natives of their angry neighbor. But either
form, the paroxysmal fury, and the perennial
fretfulness, is inconsistent with the wisdom
from above, which is peaceable, gentle, easy
16




242            LECTURE XV.
to be entreated. Worldly men can perceive
the inconsistency, but instead of ascribing it to
its proper causes, they are more likely to attribute it to the insincerity of Christians, or
the insufficiency of the Gospel; and even the
more willing sort of worldlings, those who
have some predisposition in favor of the truth,
are very apt to be shocked and driven off by
the unhallowed ebullitions of religious men.
Suppose such an individual, with his attention
newly awakened to the great salvation-with
his mind impressed by some Scriptural delineation of regenerate character; his ear, it
may be, still charmed with a glowing description of the Gospel's magic power, making
wolfish men so lamblike, and teaching the
weaned child to play on the cockatrice den;
suppose such a man in the way of business, or
kindness, or spiritual inquiry, to approach a
stranger of Christian renown, and accosting
him in full persuasion of his Christian character, prepared for a cordial welcome, a patient
hearing at the least,-but alas! coming in at
some unpropitious moment, he is greeted with




EEAD FLIES.           243
a shout of impatience, or annihilated by a flash
from  his lowering countenance,-why, it is
like putting your hand into the nest of the
turtle-dove, and drawing it out with a long,
slimy serpent, dangling in warty folds, and
holding on by its fiery fangs. There is horror in the disappointment, as well as anguish
in the bite; and the frightful association cannot easily be forgotten.
Akin to these infirmities of temper, are
some other inconsistencies as inconvenient to
their Christian brethren as they are likely to
stumble a scoffing world. Some professors
are so whimsical and impracticable, that it
needs continual stratagem to enlist them in
any labor of usefulness, and after they are
once fairly engaged in it, nothing but perpetual watchfulness and the most tender management can keep them in it. In all your
dealings with them, like a man walking over
a galvanic pavement, you tread uneasily, wondering when the next shock is to come off,
and every moment expecting some paradox to
spring under your feet. In the Christian so



244            LECTURE XV.
cieties of which they are members, they constitute non-conformable materials of which it
is difficult to dispose.  They are irregular
solids for which it is not easy to find a place
in rearing the temple. They are the polyhedrons of the church, each punctilio of their
own forming a several face, and making it
a hard problem to fix them where they will
not mar the structure. Apostolical magnanimity they deem subserviency or sinful connivance; and simultaneous movements or
Christian co-operation they deem lawful only
when all conform to them. Like those individuals whose bodies are non-conductors, and
who can stop an electric circuit after it has
travelled through a mile of other men, sectarian professors are so positively charged with
their own peculiarities, that the influence which
has been transmitted through consenting myriads, stops short as soon as it reaches th:m.
Selfishness.-The world expects self-denial
in the Christian; and with reason, for of all
men he can best afford it, and by his profission he is committed to it. You are on a
L. -...___....,.,..__ _...__.._......._ __ __..._.. ~__  _:




DEAD FLIES.           245
journey, and because you have been distributing tracts or reading the Bible, or have made
some pious observations, your fellow-travellers
set you down for a Christian. By-and-by one
of your companions makes a civil remark, but
not being in a mood for talking, you turn him
off with a short answer. A delicate passenger would like your side of the carriage, but
you wish to see the country or prefer the
cooler side; so you make no movement, but
allow your neighbor to change places with
the invalid. And at last an accident occurs
which will detain you an hour beyond the
usual time; so you lose all patience, and fret,
and scold, and talk of hiring post-chaises,while some good-humored or philosophic wayfarer sits quiet in the corner, or gets out, and
looks leisurely on till the misfortune is mended,
and then resumes his journey, having lost
nothing but his time, whilst you have lost both
your time and your temper. In such a case
it would be better that you had left the tracts
and the Bible at home, for your inconsistency
is likely to do more evil, than your direct




246            LECTURE XV.
efforts are likely to do good. As a worldly
man you would have been entitled to indulge
your own indolence, your own convenience, or
your own impatience as much as you pleased;
but if you really are a disciple of Christ, you
owed it to Him to " deny yourself."
The subject is uninviting, and time would
fail did we speak of the parsimony, the indolence, the egotism, the want of intelligence, the
want of taste, by which many excellent characters are marred, and by which the glory of
the Gospel is often compromised. We would
not be accusers of the brethren. We only suggest a subject for self-examination, and we indicate an object to which the Church's energy
might be advantageously directed. We fear
that we have failed to cultivate sufficiently the
things honest, lovely, and of good report, and
that we have sometimes allowed ourselves to
be excelled by worldly men in those beauties
of character which, though subordinate, are
not insignificant. Attention to the wants of
others, care for their welfare, and consideration
for their feelings, are Christian graces for which




DEAD FLIES.            247
all Christians ought to be conspicuous. Christianity allows us to forget our own wants, but
it does not permit us to forget the necessities
of our brethren. It requires us to be careless
of our own ease, but it forbids us to overlook
the comfort and convenience of other people.
Of this the Lord Jesus was Himself the pattern. He was sometimes a-hungered, but in
that case he wrought no miracle. But when
the multitude had long fasted, he created
bread to supply them, rather than send them
away fainting. And though his great errand
was to save his people from their sins, none
ever saved so many from their sorrows. And in
this disciples should resemble Him. Although
they know that the soul is better worth than
the body, and the interests of eternity more
precious than those of time, they also know
that it is after these things that the Gentiles
seek; and, therefore, if they would win the
Gentiles, they must attend to their personal
wants, and temporal comforts. Nay, more, as
a system  of universal amelioration, Christianity demands our efforts for the outward weal




248            LECTURE XV.
of our worldly neighbors, and our delicate attention to the minutest comfort of our Christian brethren. It was on this principle that,
seeking the salvation of his peasant-parishioners, Oberlin felt that he was not going out of
his way as an evangelist, when he opened a
school for children, wild as their own rockgoats; when he taught the older people many
humble but useful arts hitherto unknown in
the Ban-de-la-Roche; when he set them to the
planting of trees, and clearing of roads; when
he established an agricultural society, and published a calendar, divested of the astrological
falsehoods with which their almanacs were
wont to abound. Oberlin's Christianity would
have prompted these humane and beneficent
actions even though no ulterior good had accrued from them; but first in the love of these
villagers, and then in their conversion to God,
he had his abundant reward. And it was on
the same principle that the apostolic Williams,
brim-full of sense and kindness, came down
like a cornucopia on his South Sea Islanders,
and startling them with. the prodigies of civili



DEAD FLIES.            249
zation, and enriching them with its inventions,
at once conveyed an idea of the bountiful
spirit of the Gospel, and conciliated their affection to its messenger. And it was on the
same principle that the benignant Wilberfbrce,
-himself the best "practical view of Christianity,"-was so studious of the feelings, and
so accommodating to the wishes of his worldly
friends,-so abounded in those considerate attentions to the humblest acquaintance, which
only a delicate mind could imagine, and a dextrous skill could execute,-and would subject
himself to all sorts of inconvenience in order
to "carry a ray of gladness from the social
circle into the sick man's cottage," or to temper with his own diffusive gladness the bitter
cup of some humble disciple. No disciple
can' resemble his Lord, who does not maintain
this benignant bearing to all around him.
Grace was infused into the lips of Jesus. None
in the guise of humanity was ever conscious of
such power within; none ever gave outlet to
inherent power in milder coruscations. His
gentleness made him great; and so engaging
i~~~ll-_-... —-._ —--—.-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-~~~.. —-.~~~~~~.~~~.-~~~~~~~ --—: -- -------------— ~ —------------------— ~- i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




250              LECTURE XV.
was his aspect, so compassionate his mien, that
frail mortality could lay its head securely on
his bosom, though a Shekinah slept within.
Believers should in this resemble Jesus. They
should be mild and accessible, and, like the
I Sun of Righteousness, should carry such healing in their wings, as to make their very
presence the harbinger of joy.   It was said of
Charles of Bala, that it was a good sermon to
look at him.   And so much of the Master's
mind should reside in each disciple as to make
that true of him which the old elegy says of
one of England's finest worthies:"A sweet attractive kind of grace,
A full assurance given by looks,
Continual comfort in a face
The lineament of Gospel-books;
For sure that count'nance cannot lie,
Whose thoughts are written in the eye."




LECTURE XVI.
l3unt Sxr.: ur, lairanc   nun (doDi Ernst.
READ ECCLES. ix. 13-18: x. 1-15.'If the iron be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, then
must he put to more strength; but wisdom is profitable
to direct."
LORD BACON said, "Knowledge is power,"
and during the last hundred years no aphorism has been so often quoted, nor has any been
so largely illustrated. In this little island, and
during the present week, machinery will be in
motion doing the work of five hundred millions of men; that is to say, the machines of
England and Scotland will this week weave as
much cloth and prepare as much food, and
supply the world's inhabitants with as many
commodities, as could be made by hand if all
the upgrown natives of the globe were labor_ _ i




252            LECTURE XVI.
ing night and day. Could you convert into
artificers and laborers every man and woman
in either hemisphere, and from the Caffres at
the Cape to the Peers in our Parliament, did
all agree to toil their utmost, and had they no
implements besides those which primitive man
possesses,-with all the expenditure of their
vital powers, with all the sweat, and waste of
fibre, and straining of eyesight, at the week's
end it would be found that they had not done
half the work, nor done that half so well as a
few engines peacefully revolving under the impulse of some hogsheads of water, or so many
tons of coal.
In the barbaric civilization of the old Mexicans, it was thought a wonderful exploit to
transmit intelligence at the rate of 200 miles in
four-and-twenty hours. As they had neither
horses nor dromedaries, in order to accomplish
this feat posts were established at intervals of
three or four miles; and snatching the despatch from one reeking messenger, the courier
burst away with it and flew over hill and valley till he reached the next station, and thrust




BLUNT AXES.           253
it into the hand of another express, who, in his
turn, bolted off and conveyed it farther inland,
till at last it reached the Emperor.  How
amazed one of these old Aztecs might be
could he revive from the slumber of three
centuries, and see the whole accomplished
without fatigue to a single human being!
How amazed did he know that without shortening the breath or moistening the brow of a
single messenger, communications could come
and go betwixt a king and his commander-inchief, a hundred leagues asunder, fifty times in
a single day!
We see that "knowledge is power," and we
constantly repeat the saying as if Bacon had
been the first who remarked the strength of
skill. But six-and-twenty centuries before the
days of Lord Verulam, King Solomon had
said, "A wise man is strong."  "Wisdom is
better than strength."  "Wisdom is better
than weapons of war." Perhaps it is owing
to the imperfect sympathies which exist between theologians and philosophers, that such
scriptural sayings and many others fraught




254           LECTURE XVI.
with great principles have received so little
justice. And hence it has come to pass that
many a maxim has got a fresh circulation, and
has made a little fortune of renown for its
author, which is, after all, a medal fresh minted
from Bible money: the gold of Moses or Solomon used up again with the image and superscription of Bacon, or Pascal, or Benjamin
Franklin.
The particular example which Solomon here
gives, will bring to your remembrance many
parallels, from the time when Archimedes
with his engines on the wall, sank the ships
of Marcellus in the port of Syracuse, down to
the gallant and successful defence of Antwerp
conducted by the old mathematician, Carnot.*
"There was a little city, and few men within
it, and there came a great king against it, and
besieged it, and built great bulwarks against
it. Now there was found in it a poor wise
man, and he by his wisdom   delivered the
city."  And surely science is never more sublime than when thus she wins and wears the
* Livii lib. 24, cap. 34. Alison's "Europe," chap.'18.




r                  -- _' —-_
BLUNT AXES.            255
civic crown. Or even should there be no invader at the gates, when a beneficent ingenuity is exerted to enhance the pleasures of
peace; when discovery chemical or dynamical
floods our streets with midnight radiance, and
bids clear water spring up in the poorest attic;
when it mitigates disease or multiplies the
loaves of bread; when by making them nearer
neighbors it forces nations to be better friends,
and by diminishing life's interruptions lengthens our span of probation and our power of
usefulness;-surely the "poor man" whose
"wisdom" thus enriches the species deserves
to sit among the princes of the people; and
whilst religion should render praise to that
Wonderful Counsellor who teacheth man such
knowledge, patriotism and philanthropy must
enrol the discoverers among the benefactors of
mankind.
" Wisdom is better than strength," and the
more that wisdom spreads the more human
strength is saved, and the more is comfort enhanced. The bird who is about to build her
nest next month will toil as long and work as




256           LECTURE XVT.
hard as the sparrows and swallows who frequented the temple in the time of Solomon,
and the building will be no improvement on
the nests of three thousand years ago. But if
Solomon's own palace were to be builded
anew, modern skill could rear it much faster
than Hiram's masonry; and there are few
houses in London which do not contain luxuries and accommodations which were lacking
in "the house of the forest of Lebanon." It
is the kindness of the Creator to the inferior
animal that he gives it instinct, and puts it
from the outset on a plan sufficiently good for
its purpose. But the prerogative of man is
progress. His instincts are faint and few;
whilst to reason and faith the vistas are boundless. And betwixt that "wisdom" which God
has directly revealed, and those expedients
which are constantly occurring to painstaking
intelligence, it is so arranged that the older
humanity waxes the lighter grow its toils and
the more copious become the alleviations of
its lot. Already a pound of coals and a pint
of water will do the day's work of a sturdy
[      ____ _______________         __________




BLUNT AXES.            257
man; and with a week's wages a mechanic
may now procure a library more comprehensive and more edifying than that which
adorned the Tusculan villa,-nay such a store
of books as the wealth of Solomon could not
command.
These statements meet a certain misgiving
of some truly Christian minds. They love the
Bible, because it is God's book. To some degree they love the landscape and the seasons,
because they are God's handiwork. They can
take pleasure in watching the proceedings of
the lower animals, because in the dyke-building of that beaver, or the nest-building of that
bird, they can mark evolutions of. the all-pervading Mind. But when they come to the
operations of the artisan or the architect, they
are conscious of an abrupt transition, and with
the poet they exclaim,
" God made the country, but man made the town."
Here, however, there is a fallacy. So far as sinful purposes may be designed or subserved il
their construction, the town and its contents
17




258           LECTURE XVI.
are the work of man; but the materials and the
skill which moulds them, are the good and perfect gifts of God. It is true that IHe has not
taught man to make palaces and railways instinctively, as He has taught ants to build hillocks and construct covered galleries; but He
has furnished the human mind with those faculties and tendencies which, under favoring
circumstances, develop in railways and palaces
as surely as beaver-mind develops in moles
and embankments, or as bee-mind develops
in combs and hexagons. And although it may
be very true that the artificer is often undevout,-perhaps a libertine or an atheist; and
although the curious contrivance or exquisite
elaboration may be designed for any end but
a holy one; when you separate the moral
from the mechanical,-the sin which is man's
from the skill which is Jehovah's,-in every
fair product, and more especially, in every contribution to human comfort, you ought to recognize the wisdom and goodness of God as their
ultimate origin no less than if you read on
every object, " Holiness to the Lord," and in




BLUNT AXES.             259
each artificer discerned another Aholiab or
Bezaleel.  The arts are the gifts of God; their
abuse is from man and from the Devil. And just
as an enlightened disciple looks forth on the
landscape, and in its beautiful features as well
as its curious ingredients, beholds mementoes
of his Master; so surveying a beautiful city,
its museums and its monuments, its statues and
fountains; or sauntering through a gallery of
arts and useful inventions, in all the symmetry
of proportions and splendor of coloring, in
every ingenious device and every powerful engine, he may discern the manifestations of that
Mind which is wonderful in counsel and excellent iri working; and so far as skill and adaptation and elegance are involved, piety will hail
the Great Architect Himself as the Maker of
the town.*
So Christian is art,-so truly a good gift of
the Father of lights, that, wherever the Gospel
proceeds, this companion should go with it.
* Those who are interested in such topics will find them
fully discussed in "The Useful Arts: their Birth and Development," edited by the Rev. S. Martin




260           LECTURE XVI.
When the missionary, Van der Kemp, was
setting out for Africa, passing one of the brickfields of London, he thought it would be such
a boon to the Hottentots if he could improve
their dwellings that he offered himself as a
servant to the brick-maker, and spent some
weeks in learning the business. And he was
right. It is not easy to live godly and righteously amidst filth and darkness; and although
the Gospel will not refuse to enter a Hottentot
hut or an Irish cabin, when once it is admitted
its tendency is to improve that cabin or hut
into a cottage with tiles on the floor and glass
in the windows. And, to the honor of Christian missionaries, it should be remembered
that wherever they have gone they have carried those useful arts which render godliness
profitable to all things. " In the schools of
Sierra Leone, the girls are taught to spin and
the boys to weave." In the South Sea Islands
the missionaries have taught the people smiths'
work and wrights' work; they have taught
them to build ships and boil sugar; to print
books and plant gardens. And even that race,




BLUNT AXES.             261
once so besotted that its claim to the common
humanity was disputed,-the Hottentots are
now excellent farmers and artificers, and in the
words of one of themselves, " They can make
everything except a watch and a coach."*
In concluding this part of the subject I
would only remark that the more things which
a Christian is able to do the better.  "If the
axe be blunt, and he do not whet the edge,
then must he put to more strength." A little
skill expended in sharpening the edge, will
save a great deal of strength in wielding the
hatchet. But, just as the unskilful laborer
who cannot handle the whetstone, must belabor the tree with a blunt instrument, and after
inflaming his palms and racking his sinews,
achieves less result than his neighbor whose
knowledge and whose knack avail instead of
brute force; so the servant who does not know
the right way to do his work, after all his
fatigue and fluster, will give less satisfaction
* Harris's Great Commission, pp. 196, 197. Tile industrial is admirably combined with the evangelistic in the
French Canadian Mission, and in the Home Mission of the
Presbyterian Church in Ireland.




262            LECTURE XVI.
than one who has learned the best and easiest
methods; the young emigrant who has no versatility must forego many comforts which
more accomplished comrades enjoy; and the
householder who knows nothing of the mechanic arts, or who knows not what to do
when sickness and emergencies occur, must
compensate by the depths of his purse, or
the strength of his arm  for the defects of
his skill. A blunt axe implies heavy blows
and an aching arm; coarse work with a blistered hand. But "wisdom    is profitable to
direct." Intelligence is as good as strength,
and a little skill will save both time and materials, money and temper.
Important, however, as is mechanic skill,
there is a wisdom still more profitable,-a wisdom which can turn to its own account the
mechanic skill of others. The clever engineer
who saved the little city was a poor man, and
so little understanding had his fellow-citizens,
that it was with difficulty he obtained a hearing for his project, and so little gratitude had
they that when the danger was past, "no one




BLUNT AXES.            263
remembered the poor man." And it is sad
when people have neither the skill to help
themselves, nor the sense to accept the services of others. It is sad when men have
neither the sagacity to devise the measures
which the emergency demands, nor can so far
rule their spirits as to keep " quiet" and listen
to what "wise men" say.   And next to his
wisdom who can offer good counsel, is the wisdom of him who can take it.
"A wise man's heart is at his right hand,
never off its guard."*  He is calm and collected, and is not easily taken by surprise.
Whereas, a fool's wits are at his left hand.
His presence of mind is posthumous. He sees
what he should have done when the mischief
can no longer be undone. He hits on the
very repartee he ought to have uttered when
his assailant is already out of hearing. He
suggests what would have saved the ship,
when they are already raising the wreck. But,
not only is it in ready resources that the fool
is deficient; there is a transparent shallowness
* G. olden.




264            LECTURE XVI.
in his vacant gaze, or self-conceited simper,
and instead of that "sustained sense and gravity,"  which marks the man of mind, his garrulous egotism and confidential childishness
are constantly letting out the secret of his silliness. Reserve is none of his failings. He is
as frank as he is foolish; and when " he walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and
he saith to every one that he is a fool."
One rare manifestation of good sense is magnanimity.  "If the spirit of the ruler rise up
against thee, leave not thy place; for yielding
pacifieth great offences."  If, acting as the
king's adviser, you incur his displeasure; if, in
obedience to conscience, or in concern for your
country, you are constrained to urge unpalatable counsel; and if your faithfulness proves
offensive, instead of retiring into some other
land, be patriotic, and keep your post. Instead
of obeying your offended dignity and returning spleen for spleen, await the propitious
season. For a soft answer turneth away
wrath, and self-control will conquer your sover* Chalmers.




BLUNT AXES.            265
eign. Nor is it only from the ministers of
despots that such sacrifice may be demanded.
It extends to every official person. If you are
a representative of the people, and if you are
sometimes vexed and worried with unreasonable demands or ungracious remonstrances:-if
you occupy some municipal station, and are
brought into conflict with foul tongues and
coarse natures:-if you are a member of any
court, civil or ecclesiastical, where you are frequently outvoted, and measures are often carried, which you utterly abhor,-the impulse is
to abdicate. Why should you serve heads so
thick, and hearts so thankless? Why should
you mingle with such a rabble rout, and submit day by day to have your good name kicked
along the kennel? And rather than be always making motions which are lost, and protests which are laughed at, would it not be
better to retire into private life, and spend
your influence on those who may both take
your advice and spare your feelings? True,
if it were the love of praise or the love of
power which put you in that post, now that




266            LECTURE XVI.
popularity is waning and influence lost, by all
means relinquish it. But if it were a higher
motive, let the motive which took you keep
you there. If it was the love of your country, or the zeal of the Gospel which drew you
into office, let neither reproaches nor rough
usage drive you out. Though the spirit of the
populace rise up against you,-though the
majority for the time overrule you, leave not
your place.  Calmness in the midst of contumely, equanimity under defeat will pacify
great offences: and if you do not live to carry
your point, when a subsequent age sees your
principles triumph, you will be commemorated
among the protomartyrs, who, when the cause
was forlorn, labored, and never fainted.
Then, after a parenthetical reference to certain infatuations of princes, having already described the patience of wisdom, he next speci.
fies its promptitude. "If the serpent bite before enchantment, what advantage has the
charmer?"   In the East, there have always
been persons who, by means of music and
legedermain, exert great influence over some




BLUNT AXES.            267
species of serpents; so that whilst under their
spell, the deadly cobra may be handled, as if
he were utterly harmless. But if the charmer
tread on the snake unawares, or be bitten when
off his guard, he will be poisoned like another
man. And to certain minds, God has given
ascendency over other minds, like the influence
of the serpent-charmer. Sagacious and eloquent, they are able to soothe the fury of fierce
tempers, and mould rancorous natures to their
will. Like David's transforming harp, as the
strain advances, it looks as if a new possession
had entered the exorcised frame, and a seraph
smiled out at those windows, where a demon
was frowning before. But alas for the harper,
if Saul should snatch the javelin before David
has time to touch the strings. Alas for the
wise charmers! and, alas for the good cause, if
the tyrant's passion towers up, or the decree
of the despot goes forth before a friendly counsellor has time to interpose.
" The words of a wise man's mouth-are gracious." It is a pleasure to hear him, and so enriching is his discourse, that to listen is to be;__. i_._.~..._ ~._... _-   -.*.._* —---   _




268            LECTURE XVI.
wiser and better. "But the lips of a fool will
swallow up himself." He is the sepulchre of
his own reputation; for as long as he was silent,
you were willing to give him credit for the
usual share of intelligence, but no sooner does
he blurt out some astounding blunder-no
sooner does he begin to prattle forth his egotism  and vanity, than your respect is exchanged for contempt or compassion. Nay, it
is not only himself that his lips swallow up:
for all unlike the " gracious" discourse of the
wise man, the gossip of the fool is heartless
or malignant, and often ends in "mischievous
madness."  From recklessness or from finding
that a tale of slander will secure an audience
even for a fool, he is constantly retailing calumny, and damaging other people's reputation.
The rest of his talk is mere word-rubbish.
" A man cannot tell what he shall be;" and,
"what shall be after him, who can tell?"
-such trite and irksome truisms he is retailing
all the day to the sore irking of some victim
ear. He is consistent. He is no wiser in deed,
than in word: but even the road to the mar



BLUNT AXES.            269
ket-so patent and so frequented, he continues
to miss; and in the evening he and his ass return to the farm with their unsold produce, because he had forgotten the way to the city, and
would not follow his wiser companion.
Speaking as unto wise men, I would say
that it is very important that Christians should
be men of high accomplishment. Crowded as
is the world, it has still abundant room for
first-rate men; and, whosoever would ensure
a welcome for society, has only to unite to
good principle eminent skill in his own calling.
But the day for stone hatchets and blunt axes
is past, and from the humblest craft to the most
intellectual profession, in order to succeed, it is
requisite to be clever and active and well-informed. Doubtless, sickness and other calamities may interpose; but assuredly, no one has a
right to quarrel with the world if it refuses to pay
for misshapen garments and unreadable poems.
And therefore I would say to my young hearers,
make diligence in business, a part of your religion. Add to virtue knowledge. Whatever




270           LECTURE XVI.
you intend to do, pray and study, and labor
till no one can do that thing better than yourself, and then when you enter on active life,
you will find that you are really wanted.
And, much as you have heard of glutted markets and a redundant population, you will find
that there is yet no surplus of tradesmen, or servants, or scholars, who with exalted piety combine professional excellence. Large as is the accumulation of people who through misconduct
have broken down, or who through indolent
mediocrity never can get on, you will find no
glut of talented goodness, or of intelligence in
union with principle. You will find that there
is room enough for all who are really able to
serve their generation.
It is especially important that those who are
trying to benefit others should possess the wisdom which is profitable to direct. Much good
has been defeated by the want of skill or practical wisdom in Christian professors. Many
children have grown up with gloomy notions
of religion from the mismanagement of pa



BLUNT AXES.              271
rents, who so enforced its authority as to obscure its attractions. Many amiable persons
have been repelled from the Gospel by the
long lectures of friends who were faithful
enough to reprove them, but not wise enough
to win them. Many a prejudice has been
created by the imprudence of one, which the
exertions of many have not suffered to countervail. And many a noble enterprise, when
almost safe in port, has at last been shipwrecked
by well-meaning wilfulness, or through that infirmity of vision which mistakes a house-lamp
for a lighthouse,-a denominational crotchet
for a Christian principle.
Nor is the cultivation of sound sense unimportant with a view to personal piety.
"That thou mayest injure no man, dove-like be,
And serpent-like that none may injure thee."*
In a world like this, and not least in a capital like this, there is frequent need for such
Christian sagacity; and wherever he lives a
conscientious man must often encounter problems in conduct which tax not only all his
* Matt. x. 16, paraphrased by Cowper.




272           LECTURE XVI.
principle but all his prudence. For such exigencies there is provided a great and precious
promise: " If any of you lack wisdom, let him
ask of God, that giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him." But,
like all the gifts of God, this talent grows by
trading; and he who prayerfully exerts his
understanding in order to maintain the rightforward path of duty, will soon be fit to guide
and counsel others.




LECTURE XVII.
o3rnhr nU tr wantfro.
" Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it
after many days."-EccLEs. XI. 1.
WERE yOU going at the right season to
Mysore or China, you would see thousands of
people planting the corn of these countries.
They sow it in the mud or on the dry soil, and
then immediately they turn on a flood of water, so that the whole field becomes a shallow pond. You would think the seed was
drowned. But wait a few weeks, and then
go and view one of these artificial lakes, and
from all its surface you will see green points
rising, and day by day that grass shoots taller,
till at last the water is no more seen, and till
at last the standing pool has ripened into a
field of rich and rustling grain. So that in its
18




274           LECTURE XVII.
literal sense the farmers of these lands are
every year fulfilling the maxim of the text.
For should the spring come on them, and find
their supply of rice-corn scanty, instead of devouring it all, they will rather stint themselves.
They will rather go hungry for weeks together,
and live on a pinched supply: for the bread
which they cast on the waters this spring
creates the crop on which they are to subsist
next autumn and winter; and they are content
to cast it on the waters now, for they are sure
to find. it after many days.
Or suppose that you are in the South Sea'
Isles, where the bread fruit grows,* and thatby chance or on purpose, you scatter some of
its precious bunches on the sea. At the moment you may feel that they are lost: but
should the winds and waters waft them to one
of those reef islands with which such seas are
thickly studded, the wandering seeds may get
washed ashore, and beneath those brilliant
suns may quickly grow to a bread-fruit iorest.
And should some disasters long years after
* The cultivated sort, however, has no seeds.




BREAD ON THE WATERS.        275
wreck you on that reef, when these trees are
growin and their clusters ripe, you may owe
your sustenance to the bread which you cast
on the waters long ago.
Such is God's husbandry. Do the right
deed. Do it in faith, and in prayer commend
it to the care of God.  And though the
waves of circumstance may soon waft it beyond your ken, they only carry it to the place
prepared by Him. And whether on an earthly
or a heavenly shore, the result will be found,
and the reaper will rejoice that he once was a
sower.
Dr. Dwight of America tells how, when the
country near Albany was newly settled, an
Indian came to the inn at Litchfield, and asked
for a night's shelter,-at the same time confessing that from failure in hunting he had nothing to pay. The hostess drove him away with
reproachful epithets, and as the Indian was
retiring sorrowfully,-there being no other
inn for many a weary mile, —a man who was
sitting by directed the hostess to supply his
wants and promised to pay her. As soon as
i        _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.  j~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




rF -   ______ - _ _ _ _- ___  -__  __ __276           LECTURE XVII.
his supper was ended, the Indian thanked his
benefactor, and said he would some day repay
him. Years after the settler was taken a
prisoner by a hostile tribe, and carried off to
Canada. However, his life was spared, though
he himself was detained in slavery. Till one
day an Indian came to him, and giving him a
musket, bade the captive follow him.  The
Indian never told where they were going, nor
what was his object; but day after day the
captive followed his mysterious guide, till one
afternoon they came suddenly on a beautiful
expanse of cultivated fields, with many houses
rising amongst them. "Do you know that
place?" asked the Indian. "Ah, yes-it is
Litchfield;" and whilst the astonished exile
had not recovered his surprise and amazement, the Indian exclaimed, " And I am the
starving Indian on whom at this very place
you took pity. And now that I have paid for
my supper, I pray you go home."
And it is to such h'umanities that the text
has primary reference; for the context runs,
" Give a portion to seven and also to eight;




BREAD ON THE WATERS.      277
for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon
the earth." That is, miss no opportunity of
performing kind actions. Though you should
have bestowed your bounty on seven,-on a
number which you might deem sufficient,should an eighth present himself, do something
for him also; for you know not what evil shall
be upon the earth. You know not in this
world of mutation how soon you may be the
pensioner instead of the almoner. You know
not how soon you may be glad of a crust from
those who are at present thankful for your
crumbs. Beneficence is the best insurance.
When Jonathan was young he was the heirapparent of the throne; and in those days
his favorite friend was a young Bethlehemite
whom they had brought to the palace to amuse
the monarch with his minstrelsy. The young
Bethlehemite was brave and high-hearted, and
Jonathan loved him for his genius and his
lofty piety, till he and the Prince Royal were
fast and firm as any brothers. At length one
morning Jonathan embraced a merry boy
some five years ol1, and donning corslet and




278           LECTURE XVII.
casque he followed his own sire to the battle.
Next morning their corses lay stiff on the
blasted heights of Gilboa, and the young minstrel was monarch of Israel. Years passed on,
and the new sovereign found himself in Saul's
old palace; and whichsoever way he looked
there rose upon his spirit touching memories.
Here was the very throne before which he had
often kneeled, harp in hand, and watched the
grim tyrant's features; and there was the
wainscot in which his furious javelin had hung
and quivered. And now he trode again the
terraces where he and Jonathan had paced together, and sworn eternal friendship as they
dreamed out a radiant future.  He visited
again the field in which they had set up their
target and contended in friendly rivalry. He
visited again the bower in which they took
sweet counsel, and where they sang "The
Lord is my Shepherd," and " Make a joyful
noise," while yet these psalms were new. And
everything brought back that pure and noble
friend so tenderly, that the whole soul of the
sovereign yearned for some living relic on




BREAD ON THE WATERS.        279
whom to lavish his regretful fondness. "And
is there none?" No, none; except this feeble
limping youth, the little boy that was, and who
dates his lameness from his father's funeral.
Yes, but fetch him! Fetch Mephibosheth.
He is all of Jonathan which now survives on
earth; and for his dear father's sake, he shall
have again all his patrimony, and, if he'must
not be the King, he shall never eat bread at
meaner board than mine. And as he looked
on the countenance so mnemonic of one yet
dearer; and as he rejoiced to see the poor
youth reinstated in that home of which he
was the natural heir; and as he eyed Mephibosheth filling in the banquet-hall the place
which Jonathan had filled, whilst as yet himself was but a menial, David could sing with
much significance, "I have been young and
now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous
forsaken, nor his seed begging bread. IHe is
even merciful and lendeth, and his seed is
blessed." And David's own son, when he saw
that sight,-when he saw Jonathan's old kindness requited in this princely provision for his




280           LECTURE XVII.
child,-Solomon might say, as here he says,
"Cast thy bread on the waters, and thou shalt
find it after many days."
Although so often exemplified in cases of
common humanity and kind-heartedness, the
maxim of our text is especially applicable to
the effects of Christian philanthropy. These
are pre-eminently amaranthine. There are seeds
which, after being borne on the current for a
few days or weeks lose their vitality; they rot
and sink and disappear. So is it with much
of human effort. So is it with many a worldly
scheme, many a plausible suggestion, many a
patriotic enterprise. It finds little favor in its
day; it cannot get deposited in a sufficient
number of appropriate minds; and so, ere
long, it becomes old and obsolete; the thought
perishes, the seed rots and disappears. But
not so with pious efforts. It is more than the
lucky thought of fallible and short-sighted
man; it is more than the well-meaning purpose of a feeble and sinful worm. It is a
thought suggested by God's own Spirit; it
is a purpose sustained and animated by One
i                                              i~-~~- c~r.-~U lD —-   ----




BREAD ON THE WATERS.        281
whose wisdom is infinite and who is alive for
evermore. And though the mind in which
that wish or effort first originated may long
since have passed from these scenes of mortality,-though forgetful of its cunning, the hand
which first launched on the tide of human
thought that project or that principle, may long
since be crumbling in the clay, a heavenly life
is at its core, and as it journeys on its buoyant
path a covenant God will keep alive its little
ark till it reach the predestined creek, and after
many days be drawn forth from the waters,the Moses of the mind.
So was it with the first Reformers. Searching in their Bibles they found truths of God
which had vanished from the memories of men,
-great truths and glorious, no longer current
in the vernacular of Christendom. But after
their own understandings and hearts had been
filled and expanded by them, they gave them
utterance. That it is through the justified
Surety that a sinner is just with God; that betwixt that sinner and that Surety nothing
mediates nor intervenes, neither Mary in




282           LECTURE XVII.
heaven nor mother Church on earth, neither
the sainted mediator of the Calendar nor the
sacerdotal mediator of the Confessional, but
that to his great High Priest, the God-man, Immanuel, the sinner may come boldly and may
come direct; that in order to receive the atonement and rejoice in Christ Jesus no preliminaries of penance, or pilgrimages, are requisite,
but that for this great salvation, sin is sufficient
fitness, and the Word and will of God sufficient
warrant; these and other golden truths, fresh
gleaned from the Bible, they published, some
preaching them from pulpits, some proclaiming
with their pens. And the hosts of darkness
took alarm. Wickliffe went to the dungeon;
Huss and Jerome to the funeral pile. But
though the witnesses perished the Word of God
could not be bound: the truth of God was
neither bound, burned, nor buried: but over
the troubled deep of a dark and stormy century
this bread of life, these seeds of saving knowledge floated on, till God the Spirit landed
them and planted them in minds prepared, and




BREAD ON THE WATERS.        283
from these rescued waifs there sprung the glorious Reformation.
It were only to tell the same tale a little
varied tp rehearse how once upon a time every
enterprise of Christian charity was once a
project in some solitary and prayerful mind;
and how when cast forth on the waters of
thought and opinion, it first halted and hovered and looked as if it would never get to sea:
and how, after touching at one point after
another, and finding momentary favor only to
be rebuffed again, some great gulf-current
swept it clean away, and its author hoped to
see it no more. And away it went; and it was
bandied on the billows and it was battered on
the rocks, and it was froze in the iceberg, and
it was roasted in the tropic, till at last the Eye
that watched it and the Hand that steered it
from above, conducted it to its sunny haven,
and safely landed on an honest soil, it burst
and bourgeoned and waxed a mighty tree.
So understood, the principle admits of boundless application; and should be very cheering 
to all who are engaged in labors of Christian




284           LECTURE XVII.
love. For instance, if you are engaged in
teaching your own children, or the children of
other people, and your great anxiety is to see
some good thing towards the Lord-some
dawn of pious feeling, some development of
personal earnestness; but notwithstanding all
the endearment which you throw into your
words, and all the prayer with which you follow up your instructions, you dare hardly say
that you perceive any hopeful sign. Never
mind. It is God's own truth, and if all your
heart be in it, it is living truth, and will blossom up some day. It may be in that soul's
salvation out and out. It may be in restraining it much from sin, or in urging it to duties
which it would otherwise have never thought
of doing,-and it may be after many days.
It may be after your own day altogether. It
may be on the shores of another continent. It
may be on the shores of another world. But
still, God's Word shall not go forth a living
power, and come back a vacant nullity. That
word shall never go forth without returning,
and when it returns it shall never be void.




BREAD ON THE WATERS.      285
" In the morning, then, sow thy seed, and in
the evening withhold not thy hand: for thou
knowest -not which shall prosper, this or that,
or whether both shall be alike good."




LECTURE XVIII.
Rnnm      ttq    V  rrci'r.
READ ECCLES. II. 24-26; III. 12, 13, 22; v. 18-20;
viII. 15; ix. 7-10.
"I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to
rejoice, and to do good in his life. And also that every
man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his
labor: it is the gift of God."
EVERY moment brings its mercy; why
should not mercies bring content?      To the
man who finds favor in his sight, God gives
"wisdom and knowledge."      He is conscious of
his comforts, and he has sense to use them.
But to the sinner God gives "travail."      He
has the toil of acquirement without the power
of enjoyment.    "There is nothing better for
a man than that he should eat and drink, and
that he should make his soul enjoy good in his
labor."




KNOW THY MERCIES.          287
Throughout the whole of the book language
like this -is constantly recurring. And, without pausing to enter a caveat against Epicurian
perversions of the sentiment, we may at once
proceed to its legitimate applications. Of all
philosophies the most eclectic is evangelical
Christianity; and many a sentiment which, isolated, would be an error, is not only innocent
but useful, when acting.as a tributary to this
master principle.
Even in the days of his vanity, Solomon
"saw" that there would be more happiness if
there were less hankering. He saw it in mankind; he suspected it in himself. Like the
November bee, with its forehead smeared in
the honey of the hive, and which, smelling
that deceitful lure, fancies that it is the nectar
of far-off flowers, and which still scenting
somewhere ahead a land of honey, flies farther
and farther a-field, till the evening mist enshrouds it and congeals upon its wings, and
drags it benumbed to the frozen furrow; so
Solomon had often seen his neighbors flying
__________   ________________   _______   ______J




288           LECTURE XVIII.
far into the winter in search of that honey
which they had left at home; and he said, It
would have been better that they had " eaten
and drunken," from the produce of their previous toil;-it would have been better if, instead of always laboring after more, they could
have halted, and enjoyed the good "of their
former labor."
And surely this principle is of extensive application. Without disparaging the pleasures
of hope, or seeking to quell the zeal of progress, are the cases not numberless where, for
all purposes of enjoyment, labor is lost, because coupled with the constant lust of farther
acquirement? or because of a strange oblivion
of his own felicity on the part of the favored
possessor?
Behold us here in Britain, near the middle
month of the nineteenth century, surrounded
with the broadest zone of peace and material
comfort to be found in all the map of history.
Looking at our temporal lot, we of this generation and this country, stand on the very pinnacle of outward advantage; in all our lives




KNOW THY MERCIES.         289
never once afrighted by the rumor of invasion; exempt from all the horrors of impressment and conscription; ignorant of martyrdoms
religious and political;-free, self-governed,
independent. Who knows it? Who remembers it? Who in these matters adverts to his
own happiness? As she presses to her bosom
her little boy, or parts on his open brow the
darkening hair amidst all her maternal pride,
where is the mother who praises God for her
young Briton's privilege? How many hearts
remember to swell with the joyful recollection,
Thank God, he may leave me if he pleases;
but he can never be dragged from me against
his will! He may become a More, among
lawyers, a Latimer among preachers, a Sidney
among statesmen, and need dread neither stake
nor scaffold. He may become the victim of
false accusation and malignant persecution;
but he will not languish, without trial, slow
years in a dungeon, nor by the rack befrenzied
into a false witness against himself. He may
turn out unwise, he may turn out unhappy;
but, thank God, the son of British sire can
19




290           LECTURE XVIII.
never feel the tyrant's torture in his limbs, nor
the brand of slavery on his brow!
Behold that home of yours! What an Eden
a thankful heart might make it! What a concentration of joys it will appear, as soon as the
Spirit, the Comforter, has revealed its brightness; or as soon as its little groups and its
daily scenes can only be viewed in the pictures of gold and ebony which furnish the
mourner's memory! And yet, how often does
your own peevishness embitter all its joy: and
how often, with foolish hankering, do you
quit its hoarded pleasures, and fly away to
clubs and crowded rooms, to theatres, or lonely
travel, in search of the honey you have left at
home!
Behold your position as a candidate for immortality! What could you desire which the
God of grace has not done for you already?
A salvation more complete, a Bible more plain,
a revelation more abundant? And yet, instead
of sitting down contentedly and thankfully to
this "feast of fat things," and abandoning
yourself to all the blessedness which is so




KNOW THY MERCIES.          291
freely given you, do you not usually find a
barrier of dilatoriness or distrust rising up betwixt you and the costly provision?  With
that Gospel spreading blandly before you,
there is nothing better for you than to eat and
drink of its mercies, and enjoy the good which
it brings you. Oh, study to realize your
amazing position, as one whom Jehovah allsufficient is daily inviting into his friendship,
and whom the wearer of a sinless humanity is
willing to call his brother. Fear not to think
it, that to you, poor tenant of the dust, a white
robe and a golden harp are offered. Fear not
to think it, all sin-laden and sin-pervaded as
you are, that to the fellowship of angels and
his own society, the Holy One invites you.
Fear not to think it, that as a believer in Jesus,
and so a member of his great ransomed body,
your very self is soon to be an inhabitant of
that world where there is neither sin nor sorrow, and a burgess of that city whose streets
are gold, and whose gates are pearl. Fear
not to think such things; but fear to forget
them. Fear not to believe such things; but




292          LECTURE XVIII.
fear to credit them in a cold and vacant manner. Fear to get into that habit which engulfs
any amount of God's mercies as the ocean engulfs the argosie, without feeling richer or
fuller, or giving any revenue back.
One great source of our prevailing joylessness is our inadvertency. Living in Rome, a
famous antiquarian and artist* tells us that he
gave himself half an hour every day to meditate on his Italian happiness. There was wisdom in the rule. Thousands have lived in
Rome, with the same pure sky smiling over
them  and the same articulate antiquity on
every side accosting them, and never been
aware of their felicity; just as there are thousands who growl and grumble through long
years of English life, and never bless God for
the greater mercy of being born in Britain.
Few of us need to be better off-we all need
to know how well off we are. We need to
meditate on our human happiness. We migcht
have been lost angels, of whose race no Redeemer took hold. We might have been cut
* Winkelman.




KNOW THY MERCIES.          293
off in our sins long ago, and now be in the
place where God forgetteth to be gracious.
We might have been born in dark or despotic
lands, where faith is a miracle, and where piety
is a martyrdom.   We might have labored
under those prejudices of education which
make belief in the faithful saying, as hard as
it is for a camel to pass through the eye of a
needle. Then absolutely: there is for our meditation, daily, hourly, life-long, God's chief
mercy,-that largess of unprecedented love
which is not the envied distinction of some
far'-off world, but is God's gift unspeakable
to you, to me. Oh, let us for once dwell
on our peerless prerogative, till we become a
wonder to ourselves,-till but for our faith in
God we would not be able to believe our own
distinguished blessedness. "This is the record
that God hath given to us eternal life, and this
life is in his Son."  "He that hath the Son
hath life."  "He that spared not his own Son,
but delivered him up for us all, how shall he
not with him freely give us all things?"'
"Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ




294           LECTURE XVIII.
that died, yea, rather, that is risen again, who
is even at the right hand of God, who also
maketh intercession for us." "Bless the Lord,
0 my soul, and all that is within me, bless his
holy name: who forgiveth all thine iniquities,
-who healeth all thy diseases,-who redeemeth thy life from destruction, - who
crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies."
Another source of depression is distrustfulness. Am I wrong, my friends? Are not
some of you in this predicament? You have
no particular evil to record against the past,
and yet you have great fears for the future.
If you be a Christian, on the whole your life
has been a happy one,-and yet with all that
past happiness, you are afraid that you cannot
be so happy hereafter. You are afraid that
grief is coming-all the more afraid that grief
is coming because so much joy is past. But
this is wrong. This is perverse reasoning. If
a child of God, your greatest happiness is coming yet. You are going up into a future
where mightier than the mightiest trial-a grief



KNOW THY MERCIES.         295
transforming, cloud-dispelling Friend awaits
you. If God be your chiefest good, and conformity to God be your great desire, the future
contains no real evil for you. In that future
there may await you some painful incidents.
The loss of this and that other loved one may
await you there,-the loss of your substance,
-the loss of your health may await you, and
they may not; sufficient unto the day is the
evil thereof. But whatever else is in store for
you, if you go piously and prayerfully forward
into that future, you will find that many sweet
mercies are there awaiting you,-many blessings at this moment unsurmised and unsuspected,-blessings, some of them,.which the
mourner only knows; and you will find that
in that future God awaits you, as present, as
powerful, and as kind as He has been in the
most favored past. So, summon up courage and go cheerfully forward.  "Hope in
the Lord; for with the Lord there is mercy."
And whatever else you limit, set no limits to
the loving-kindness of the Lord, nor to the
largeness of those petitions by which the needy




296           LECTURE XVIII.
suppliant honors the liberal Giver. Many indulge a complaining spirit who scarcely reflect
how wicked it is, and how provoking to the
Most High. They take up the Bible, and they
read the murmurings of Israel on the march to
Canaan, and they pity poor Moses, and they
do not wonder that, wearied with their petulance and peevishness, the Lord smote these
rebels, so that all their carcasses fell in the wilderness. And when they have read the narrative, they close the book; and the first member of the family that comes in their way, they
have ready a long lecture of rough reprimanding and perverse fault-finding; or the first visitor that arrives, they inflict on him the story
of their grievances; they tell how good and
meritorious they have been, but how severely
the Lord has frowned upon their wishes, and
how cruelly the Lord has baffled all their
plans. Yes, brethren, we marvel at old Israel,
because we are ignorant of ourselves. If, just
as Canaan was the prize of meekness, and a
single murmur was enough to forfeit it,-if the
Lord suspended any blessing on the same con



KNOW THY MERCIES.         297
dition,-if those only were to find next year
prosperous who never grumbled this one, and
those only were to get to heaven who never
murmured by the way, which of us,-who of
all the two millions of London, would be the
modern Joshua and Caleb? And yet, as it is,
who would not try? Who is there that would
not court the panegyric which God pronounced
on the sons of Nun and Jephunneh? Who is
there that would not wish the perpetual feast
of a contented spirit, and the perpetual ornament of a praising one? Let us, brethren,
combat our natural fault-finding, and our no
less natural foreboding. Let us rejoice in the
present, and let us trust for the future. Let
us pray and strive till our frame of mind is
more in unison with the Lord's kindness; and
in the fulfilment of any wish and the disappointment of any fear,-in the kindness of
any friend, and in the answer to any prayer,
-in every gracious providence, and in every
spiritual mercy bestowed on ourselves or others
dear,-in all these let us recognize the merciful kindness of the Lord, and let us acknowl




298          LECTURE XVIII.
edge what we recognize. "It is a good thing
to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing
praises unto thy name, 0 Most High: to show
forth thy loving-kindness in the mornling, and
thy faithfulness every night; for thou, Lord,
hast made me glad through thy work: I will
triumph in the works of thy hands."
i.         _              I —



LECTURE XIX.
READ ECCLES. XII. 1-7.
"Remember thy Creator,..  while the evil days
come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say,
I have no pleasure in them."
A DISSIPATED youth is sure to be followed
by a cross and joyless old age. During the
years of his ungodliness, Solomon had been a
fast liver, and, most likely, he now felt creeping over him the jejune and dreary feelings
which foretell a premature decline. No dew
of youth survived to create a green old age,
and having forestalled the reserve of strength
and spirits, he had failed withal to lay up
against this time a good foundation of faithful
friends and pleasant memories. The portrait
1




300             LECTURE XIX.
is general; but an old worldling seems to have
supplied the original.
Of his last years this old man says, " I have
no pleasure in them." Once on a time existence was a joy, and the exuberant spirits overflowed in shouts and songs and hilarious ditties.
So abundant was the joy of life that, like the
sunbeams in a tropic clime, it was needful to
shade it, and with a Venetian lattice of imagined sorrows and tragic tales the young man
assuaged the over-fervid beams of his own felicity.
"In youth he loved the darksome lawn,
Brushed by the owlet's wing;
Then twilight was preferred to dawn,
And autumn to the spring.
Sad fancies did he then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To his own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness." *
Now there is no need of such artificial abatements. It is not easy for the old man to get
a nook so warm that it will thaw the winter in
his veins. To say nothing of a song, it is not
* Wordsworth.




OLD AGE.              801
easy for him to muster up a smile; and as he
listens with languid interest to the news of the
day, and, in subtle sympathy with his own
failing faculties, as he disparages this modern
time and its dwindled men, it is plain that, as
for the world, its avocations and amusements,
its interests and its inhabitants, he has little
pleasure in them.
It adds to the evil of such days that the
pleasures of expectation are constantly lessening. Old age is a Terra del Fuego,-a region
where the weather never clears. Once when a
trivial ailment came, the hardy youth could
outbrave it, and still go on with his daily duties.
But now, every ailment is important, and they
are never like to end. The cough is cured
only to be succeeded by an asthma, and when
the tender eyes have ceased to trickle, the ears
begin to tingle. Once upon a time a few
drops might fall into the brightest day, like a
settling shower in June; and there were apt
to be hurricanes, equinoctial gales, great calamities, drenching and devastating sorrows. But
now, the day is all one drizzle, and life itself the




302            LECTURE XIX.
chief calamity, and there is little space for hope
where the weather is all either clouds or rain.
Then in the third and three following verses,
there is given an allegorical sketch of the infirmities of age. "The keepers of the house
tremble." Those arms once so brawny wither.
The Priam who could have cleft a brazen panoply, can now fling a spear with scarce an infant's force,-and the David who could hurl his
pebble straight into the centre of Goliath's
brow, can scarcely carry to his own lips a cup of
water. In either arm the sturdy champion
used to feel that he had two stout defenders,
-two trusty keepers of the castle; but now
that he is old, any one can bind them and
carry him whither he would not. "And the
strong men bow themselves."  Those active
limbs can do no more. The pedestrian tells
how once on a time he walked his hundred
miles in four-and-twenty hours, and then, as
he gets up to give a specimen, he stumbles on
the carpet. That other disciple who outran
Peter can no longer creep from his couch to
the sanctuary, but is fain to be carried in his




OLD AGE.             303
chair. Be thankful, Asahel, that you die so
soon, or none would believe that your feet
were once swifter than a roe. Be thankful,
Samson, that you perish in your prime, or it
would not have been easy to believe that these
bending legs of yours once bore the gates of
Gaza. "The strong men bow themselves, and
the grinders cease because they are few." The
daily meal is itself a drudgery; for the teeth
have fallen out, and the masticating process
is a fatigue and a trouble. And, still sorer
privation, the eyes are dim. "Those that
look out of the windows are darkened."  The
landscape is a blot,-the very world is misty.
The writer's inkhorn is allowed to dry, and
the virtuous woman who clothed all her household with scarlet,-her needles now rust in
the unopened case. And whatever may have
been the pleasure derived from works of information or of fancy, that pleasure has faded;
for, except in the brief winter's noon, the eye
can no longer decipher the wavering lines, and
even though by reading aloud, friendship endeavors to supply their failures, the effort is
i      __             _. _  




304            LECTURE XIX.
defeated by the dulness of the ear.  "The
doors are shut in the streets." Soft sounds no
longer get in; and though by bawling lustly,
a son or a daughter may ask or answer some
occasional question,-poor substitute these volleyed and intermitting utterances,-poor substitute for the whispers of affection, and the
sweet accents of familiar voices, and that calm,
effortless participation in all the passing converse which were the privilege of happier days.
But, not only is the door of audience closed, the
door of utterance is also shut. "The grinders
have ceased," and with lips collapsed and organs all impaired, it is an effort to talk; and
bending silently in on his own solitude, the veteran dozes in his elbow-chair the long summer
hours when younger folks are busy. But if
he dozes in the day, he does not sleep at
night. At the voice of the bird, at the crowing of the cock, although he does not hear it,
he can keep his couch no longer. He rises
whilst industry is still locked in needed slumber, and even before the sleep-cloud has melted
from the eyes of infancy. He rises, but not




OLD AGE.             305
because he has any work to do, or any pleasure
to enjoy. "He is afraid of that which is high,
and fears are in the way." He has neither enterprise nor courage. Once it was a treat to
press up the mountain side and enjoy the majestic prospect. Now, there is no high place
which is not formidable; and even to the temple it is a sad drawback that it stands on Zion,
and that it is needful to "go up."  "The
almond-tree flourishes, and the grasshopper is
burdensome." Tease him not with your idle
affairs. In that load of infirmities he has encumbrarite enough to carry, and though it be
not the weight of a feather, do not augment
his burden, who totters under the load of
many years. For "desire has failed."  You
can grapple with heavy tasks,-you can submit to severe toil and protracted self-denial,
for you have a purpose to serve-you have an
end in view,-you have an inducement which
countervails toil and cheats the self-denial.
But with him there is no inducement, for there
is no ulterior. "Desire has failed." "Barzillai,
come and live with me at the palace," says
20




306           LECTURE XIX.
David. And, answers Barzillai, "I am this
day fourscore years old; can I discern between
good and evil? Can thy servant taste what I
eat or what I drink? Can I. hear any more
the voice of singing men and singing women?
Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back, that I
may die in my own city, and be buried in the
grave of my father and of my mother." Yes,
that is all of " desire" that now remains,-the
desire to die at home, and be buried in the
family grave. And it is presently fulfilled.
For now the old man goes to his long home,
and his funeral walks the streets. The other
morning his children came and found nothing
but the ruin. The silver cord by which it was
suspended had worn out at last, and the lamp
of life was fallen to the ground,-the lights extinguished and the golden bowl which fed
them broken.* The pitcher was shattered
beside the fountain, and the cistern wheel demolished. The eye was glass. The heart was
still. And now dust goes back to dust,-for the
soul has already gone to the God who gave it,
* Noyes.




OLD AGE.             307
This description gives great emphasis to the
exhortation of the outset.  Remember thy
Creator in youth-for if you do not remember Him then, your next leisure will be old
age, and now you see what sort of leisure that
is. How foolish to calculate on a time which
not one youth in ten ever sees! How fatal to
calculate on a time which, were it really come,
you could turn to no account! Suppose that
by an interposition of Omnipotence, you were
lifted over the interval of years.  Suppose
that you, who are this day fifteen, were to
awake to-morrow and find yourself fourscore.
You know what it is to be very sleepy, and
how tiresome it is to have people talking to
you when you can scarcely keep open your
eyes. You know what it is to be very sad,
and when your heart is breaking, you know
how painful it is to be obliged to go about
your daily tasks, and how little progress you
make in this disconsolate diligence. You
know what it is to be very sick; and if, when
you cannot lift your head from the pillow,
your little sister were bringing in lilies of the




308           LECTURE XIX.
valley or new wall-flowers of the spring, you
would look languidly at it, and soon put it
away; or if they asked you to rise and take a
ride, you would feel that they were mocking
you. So is it with old age. It is drowsy, and
sad, and full of infirmity; and to go to an old
man who has never minded religion in his
youth-to go to him and ask him to mind it
now, would be like singing songs to a heavy
heart; it would be like telling stories to a
sleepy man; it would be like showing pictures
or presenting nosegays to a tortured invalid.
And were you now waking up to a sudden old
age, you would find all over you a strange stupor: the windows darkened, and the streetdoors closed. And you would find yourself
very dull. These are days when you would
say, "I have no pleasure in them." And like
a man constantly in a dim disease, you would
feel as if you never were hale enough to throw
all your heart into the subject. And when
pious friends pressed you and entreated you
to think of your soul, you would pray them,
"I cannot attend. Everything fatigues me




OLD AGE.             309
now. The grasshopper is a burden. I know
that the subject is awfully important.  So
much the worse for me-for I cannot take interest in anything. Desire has failed. My
heart is weary-my soul is dim. Oh, leave
me, leave me to repose!" O my dear young
friends, give the Saviour your heart whilst
you have a heart to give. Listen to his voice
whilst your feelings still are fresh, and give
Him your affections before your natures grow
dry and arid.
For this is our next lesson: The Creator
remembers in their old age, those who in youth
remember Iim. This is a woful picture, but
some of the features would scarcely be recognized in an old disciple. At least it cannot be
truly said by an aged Christian, "I have no
pleasure;" and though there may be "clouds,"
he has also long and sunny intervals, and beyond this cloudy region he has blessed prospects. The peace which the Saviour gives to
his people, is a well of water springing up unto
everlasting life; and there is nothing which
keeps the feelings so fresh and youthful as a




310           LECTURE XIX.
perennial piety. "Even the youth shall faint
and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall." The young men of this world
must grow old; and a few years hence the
young man rejoicing in his youth shall be
leaning on his staff for very feebleness. "But
they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their
strength." And if you want to know the difference between animal and spiritual youth,
just compare that young spendthrift who
bows his head like a bulrush, because he is
conscious of debt and dishonesty and the disrespect of all around; compare him with that
old, but frugal and contented saint, who carries
his head erect as the palm-tree, and who, like
the palm-tree, has constant sunshine on it.
Compare that young profligate who, after a
night of riot, is now dragging his reluctant
steps to his hated post, and with bleared eyes
and throbbing temples, is yawning forth his
vacancy, or ejaculating his chagrin;-compare
him with yon serene and cheerful Christian
who, now that life's working-day is over, is
resting from his labors for a little before he
-j




OLD AGE.              311
passes to his reward, and whose evening is so
bright that the youngest are glad to come forth
and bask in its beams. Compare that young
skeptic who has half persuaded himself into
the disbelief of God and hereafter,-and whose
forced unbelief is often interrupted by intrusions of unwelcome conviction,-compare him
with Paul the aged in prison, writing, "'I know
whom I have believed. I am now ready to be
offered, and the time of my departure is at
hand; I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.
Henceforth, there is laid up for me a crown
of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day."
It is not very long ago since the lives of two
veterans appeared so simultaneous as almost to
compel the contrast.  Their declining days
were somewhat similar. When getting old
and feeling frail, they lost some of their dearest friends, and each lost his fortune. In these
circumstances Sir Walter writes, "I used to
think a slight illness was a luxurious thing....... It is different in the latter stages-the




8312       LECTURE XIX.
old post-chaise gets more shattered at every
turn; windows will not pull up, doors refuse
to open, or being open, will not shut again.
There is some new subject of complaint every
moment-your sicknesses come thicker and
thicker; your sympathizing friends fewer and
fewer. The recollection of youth, health, and
uninterrupted powers of activity, neither improved nor enjoyed, is a poor strain of comfort.
Death has closed the long dark avenue upon
loves and friendships; and I look at them as
through the grated door of a burial-place filled
with monuments of those who were once dear
to me, with no insincere wish that it may
open for me at no distant period, provided such
be the will of God. I shall never see the
threescore and ten, and shall be summed up at
a discount. No help for it, and no matter
either."*  Recovering from a similar slight
illness, Mr. Wilberforce remarked, "I can
scarce understand why my life is spared so
long, except it be to show that a man can be
as happy without a fortune as with one." And
* "Scott's Life," Second Edition, vol. ix. pp. 60, 61.




OLD AGE.                 313
then, soon after, when his only surviving
daughter died, he writes, "I have often heard
that sailors on a voyage will drink,'Friends
astern,' till they are half-way over, then' Friends a-head.' With me it has been'friends
a-head' this long time."*
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the
death of his saints; and God's kindness to his
aged servants is often displayed in their gentle
dismissal. In view of advancing years it has
been sweetly and cheerfully sung by an English poetess:"Life! we've been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather.'Tis hard to part when friends are dear,
Perhaps'twill cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not good night, but in some happier clime,
Bid me good morning."
And the boon has oft been vouchsafed to the
mature and Simeon-like disciple. Many of
you remember " Father" Wilkinson, who
preached the Golden Lecture so many years
* " Wilberforce's Life," vol. v. pp. 326, 328.
t Mrs. Barbauld.




314           LECTURE XIX.
in London. One evening he told his daughter
that he had long dreaded dying in his sleep,
and that he had nightly prayed that it might
not be so: "But this night," he added, " I have
withdrawn that petition, and will leave this
and all my matters in God's hands." It was
the last link of bondage broken: the last fibre
-of self-will uprooted; and having thus completed his meetness, the Lord surprised his
servant into blessedness that self-same night.
Last week we read a similar instance of a
veteran's gentle home-going. In the days of
Gallican persecution, Pastor Faber sat at the
table of the Queen of Navarre one afternoon,
when some other Protestant refugees were present. He was looking sad, and when they
asked the reason he replied with tears, "I am
now a hundred years old, and when many
young men are sealing their testimony with
their blood, here have I, the craven, saved
myself by flight." The Queen and her friends
assured him that in consulting his own safety
he had only fulfilled his Lord's command;
and by-and-by he brightened up, and said,




OLD AGE.             315
"Then nothing remains but that I go back to
God; for I perceive that He calls me. But,
first, if you please, I shall make my will."
Then turning his eyes on the Queen he said,
"I constitute you my executrix and residuary
legatee. My books I bequeath to M. Gerard,
the Preacher. My clothes and whatever else
I have I give to the poor. The rest I commit
to God." At which the Queen smiling, asked,
"Yes, but, James, what will revert to your residuary legatee?"  "The charge of dispensing
to the poor," he answered.  "And I," exclaimed her Majesty, "accept it, and I vow
that it is to me a more grateful heritage than
if my royal brother had bequeathed to me the
kingdom of France." Thereupon the old man,
saying that he wanted rest, bade the guests
a cheerful good-night and retired into an adjoining chamber. They thought that he was
sleeping, and so he was. He had fallen asleep
in a palace, and he awoke in heaven.*
My young friends, let me claim your kindness for the old. They are well entitled to
"Witsii Miscellanea Sacra, tom. ii. p. 184.




316            LECTURE XIX.
your sympathy. Through this bright world
they move mistily, and though they rise as
soon as the birds begin to sing, they cannot
hear the music. Their limbs are stiff, their
senses dull, and that body which was once
their beautiful abode and their willing servant,
has become a cage and a heavy clog. And
they have outlived most of those dear companions with whom they once took sweet
counsel.
"One world deceas'd, another born,
Like Noah they behold,
O'er whose white hairs and furrow'd brows
Too many suns have roll'd."*
Make it up to them as well as you can. Be
eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame. On
their way to the sanctuary be their supporting
staff, and though it may need an extra effort
to convey your words into their blunted ear,
make that effort;-for youth is never so beautiful as when it acts as a guardian angel, or a
ministering spirit to old age. And should extreme infirmity or occasional fretfulness try
* Young.




OLD AGE.             317
your patience, remember that to all intents
you were once the same, and may be the same
again;-il second childhood, as in first, the
debtor of others' patience and tenderness and
magnanimity.
And, my aged friends, let me commend you
to the sympathy of the Saviour. The merciful High Priest knows your frame. The dull
ear and the dim eye are no obstacles to intercourse with Him; and the frequent infirmities
prayer can convert into pleas for his compassion. "What are you doing?" said a minister,
as he one day visited a feeble old man, who
dwelt in a windy hovel. "What are you
doing?" as he saw him sitting beneath the
dripping rafters in his smoky chamber, with
his Bible open on his knee. "Oh, Sir! I am
sitting under his shadow with great delight,
and his fruit is sweet to my taste!" That is
dainty food which even Barzillai might discern. Feed upon its promises; draw water
from its wells of salvation. And when one
sight after another fades away from your darkening eyes, look more and more to Jesus;L -___________




318               LECTURE XIX.
for if He be your joy, your hope, your life, the
faster you are clothed with the snows of eld,
the sooner will you renew your youth in the
realms of immortality.
"In age and feebleness extreme,
Who shall a helpless worm redeem?
Jesus my only hope Thou art,
Strength of my failing flesh and heart;
0, could I catch a smile from Thee,
And drop into eternity P'




LECTURE XX.
et wtirhkt-gatf.
"Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear
God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole
of man."-ECCLES. II. 13.
GOD is Almighty. Some beings concentrate
in themselves a large amount of power. Some
of our fellow-mortals have possessed so much
vital energy,-minds so inventive and vigorous
as to leave their impress on a realm or on a
continent; and when you ask, Who engineered this road? who devised this law? who
erected this monument? you are amazed to
find everywhere the trace of one imperial intellect. But ascend into Heaven or plunge
into Hades,-take the wings of the morning
and visit the farthest isles of Immensity, and
there is one Presence which will still rivet




320           LECTURE XX.
you, and one great footstep which still you
must fail to measure. Who made this worm
which grovels in the clay? who made yon
seraph who hovers round the Light of lights?
Who lit the glow-worm's taper? who filled
with bright millenniums the sphery lamp of
yonder sun?  Who gives this dancing atom
its afternoon of life? who is it that has kindled
immortality in the soul of man? Who is it
that fills that hive with industry, that home
with peaceful joy, that heaven with adoring
ecstasy? The Alpha and Omega, the first and
the last, who is and was and is to come, the
Almighty.
God is all-wise. When as yet nothing existed except the great I Am, to his infinite
understanding all combinations of existence
were present. They stood forth so many beautiful and Divine ideas, and from this panopticon of all the possible his holy wisdom chose
the best, and willed that universe which is.
And now that alongside of all the past his
boundless comprehension includes the farthest
future, each evolving incident owes its being




THE WICKET-GATE.          321
to that Providence which is particular because
it is universal; and nothing comes into existence which is a surprise to Omniscience, or
which does not instantly find its place prepared in the glorious whole: so that from the
falling sparrow to the dying martyr, and from
the fortunes of some poor human family to the
events of an incarnation, all history is an anthem ascribing "to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, THE ONLY WISE GOD," "honor
and glory forever and ever."
God is all-holy. He is the infinite Excellence. That river of pleasures which makes
glad the celestial city, is just so much of his
goodness as God is pleased to reveal; but the
full fountain remains in Jehovah himself,-an
ocean which Gabriel's line cannot fathom, and
athwart which the archangel's wing cannot
traverse,-an abyss of brightness of which immensity alone is the margin, and of which each
holy intelligence is but a sparkling' drop. Yet,
little as our searching can find out God, we
know that his name is just the highest name
for goodness and blessedness. We know that
21




322           LECTURE XX.
his is the mind to which evil is the supreme
impossibility. We know that he is the God
of truth, and without iniquity: just and right
is He. Amidst the multitude of promises
which his munificence has prompted him to
make, we know that not one good word hath
failed, but every yea has found its Amen.
Amidst the multitude of creatures over which
his sovereignty extends, we know that there
exists no instance of unkindness, or neglect, or
oppression.  And amidst the multitude of
thoughts and emotions which make up the
joys of Deity, we know that there is not one
malevolent affection; but all is condescension
to his creatures, care for their well-being, and
delectation in their joy.
But if God be the only good and the all-inclusive joy, a creature's blessedness must consist in a right relation and a right emotion
towards Him. To be separated from the supreme felicity, must itself be misery; and to
entertain unkind or hostile feelings towards
infinite excellence, must itself be the deepest
depravity.
j  ____~___. ____ _~  _  _ _ __ ~ ____ __~~~_____ I




THE WICKET-GATE.         323
What then is a right relation to God? It is
that coincidence with his good pleasure, and
that compliance with his revealed will which
Solomon calls " keeping his commandments."
He is our Creator, or whether we will or will
not, we must be his creatures. But he is also
the King of the universe, and we ought to be
his loyal subjects. And in Christ Jesus he is
prepared to become our Father, and we should
reciprocate the matchless condescension, and
with wonder and astonishment exclaiming,
"Our Father which art in heaven," we should
become the sons and daughters of the Lord
God Almighty.
And what is the right feeling towards God?
Almighty and all-wise, we should devoutly
adore Him. Our righteous Ruler, we should
with cheerful submission acquiesce in his disposal, and with strenuous activity should
fulfil his commands. Our kind and merciful
Father, we should give him unhesitating love
and confidence without reserve. And altogether, did we realize his perfections and our




324           LECTURE XX.
own position, it would become our "chief end
to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever."
Many, however, will feel that the great difficulty lies in getting into this right relation.
Allowing it to be the creature's blessedness to
glorify and enjoy the Creator, how shall a
sinful creature begin to taste this blessedness?
How shall I assure myself that the Most High
is no longer offended with me? And how
shall I bring myself to that state in which my
Creator shall be able to regard me with habitual complacency? Is the process very arduous and very long? Must I relinquish my
present calling and give myself wholly to the
business of working out my peace with God?
Had I not better retire into a desert or a hermitage? And how long will the ordeal last? In
how many months or years may I begin to
hope that God is propitious, and that heaven
will be mine?
Some people once lived in a Happy Isle,
but for their misdeeds they had been banished.
Their place of exile was a cheerless coast; but
it lay within distant sight of their former home.




THE WICKET-GATE.         325
Soon after their expulsion a message had come
from their injured Sovereign, offering to all
who pleased an amnesty. Few minded it.
They had grown sour and sullen, and they
tried to persuade themselves that the earthholes in which they burrowed, were more
comfortable than the mansions of his land, and
that the mallows among their bushes were
more nutritious than all the fruits of his gardens. One man, however, was of a different
mind. He was a musing, thoughtful person.
Often might you have seen him pacing the
beach when the rays of evening shone on the
Happy Isle, and whilst the sea-bird wailed
over his head and the wrack crackled under
his feet, from his own dreary prison he wistfully eyed the forests on its coast, and the
mountains of purple streaked with silver
which sate enthroned on its interior; and as
he fancied that he could sometimes hear faint
murmurs of its joy, he wished that he was
there. One morning when he awoke it struck
him that the opposite shore was unusually
nigh, and so low was the tide that he fancied




326            LECTURE XX.
he might easily ford it, or swim across. And
so he hastened forth. First over the dry
shingle, then over the sad and solid sand from
which, with scarce a ripple, the sea had
smoothly folded down, he hurried on till he
reached the damper strand, where streams- of
laggard water still were trickling, and then
was astonished at his own delusion; for it was
still a mighty gulf, and even whilst he gazed
the tide was rising. But another time he tried
another plan. To the right of his dwelling the
line of coast stretched away in a succession of
cliffs and headlands, till the view was bounded
by a lofty promontory which seemed to toucl
the farther side. To this promontory he resolved to take a pilgrimage, in the hope that it
would transport him to the long-sought realm.
The road was often a steep clamber, and for
many an hour the headland seemed only to flee
away. But after surmounting many a slope
and swell, at last he reached it. With eager
steps he ran along the ridge, half hoping that
it was the isthmus which would bear him to
the blessed isle. Ah, no! He has reached its




THE WICKET-GATE.          327
extremest verge, and here is that inexorable
ocean still weltering at its base. Baffled in
this last hope, and faint with his ineffectual
toil, he flung himself on the stones and wept.
But, by-and-by, he noticed off the shore a little
boat with whose appearance he was quite
familiar. It used to ride at anchor opposite
his own abode, and had done so for ever so
long; but, like his neighbors, he had got so
used to it that it never drew his notice. Now,
however, seeing it there, he looked at it, and
as he looked it neared him. It came close up
to the rocks where he was seated. It was a
beautiful boat with snowy sails and golden
prow, and a red cross was its waving pennon.
There was one on board, and only one. His
raiment was white and glistening, and his
features betokened whence he came. " Son of
man," he said, "why weepest thou?"  "Because I cannot reach the blessed Isle." "Calst
thou trust thyself with me?" the stranger
asked. The poor wayfarer looked at the little
skiff leaping lightly on the waves, and won
dered, till he looked again at the pilot's kind




328            LECTURE XX.
and assuring countenance, and then he said,
" I can." And no sooner had he stepped on
board than, swift as a sunbeam, it bore him to
the land of light; and, with many a welcome
from the pilot's friends, he found himself
among its happy citizens, clothed in their
bright raiment, and free to all their privileges
as now a subject of their King.
The happy isle is peace with God,-that
position which man occupied whilst innocent.
The dreary land is that state of alienation and
misery into which fallen man is banished. The
little skiff denotes the only means by which
the sinner may pass from nature's alienation
over into the peace of God. It is a means not
of the sinners devising, but of God's providing. It is the ATONEMENT, and He who so
kindly invites sinner's to avail themselves of
it is the Lord Jesus Himself.
I may suppose the case of a hearer who
longs for acceptance with God. At present
you feel like an exile looking at a distant Eden
with a gulf between. You feel that between
you and God's favor there rolls a tide of tres



THE WICKET-GATE.         329
passes and sins which all your efforts cannot
get over. Sometimes, like the poor outcast on
that bright morning, you have flattered yourself that the separating interval had narrowed,
and if all went favorably you did not despair
of finding yourself ere long in the climes of
ascertained salvation. But even then, like a
broad and powerful tide, the current of worldliness set in again, and the interval betwixt
God and your own soul again grew vast as
ever; or, the dark stream of guilt began once
more to roar and deepen. Therefore, ceasing
to hope that your soul's salvation would come
about spontaneously, you set to work on purpose to achieve it.  Like one who would
bridge across the mighty channel; or rather,
like one who sets out on pilgrimage to yon inviting promontory,-you go about to establish
a righteousness of your own. You resolve to
read so many chapters and to pray so many
times a-day. You determine that you will
henceforth never more be angry, nor deceitful,
nor neglectful of your trust. You try to think
holy thoughts and make your own mind spir



330           LECTURE XX.
itual. And in this way you hope to go on by
degrees till you are really good,-so good that
you may be at last forgiven. But how far must
the traveller march round the coast of Europe
before he arrives in Britain? And how many
things must the sinner do in a state of nature
before he finds himself in a state of grace?
They that are in the flesh cannot please God,
and instead of being good in order to be forgiven, you had need to be forgiven as the first
movement towards becoming good. The separating gulf is too deep for the tallest specimen
of human virtue to ford, and too wide for the
sincerest repentance or the most faultless morality to bridge over; and were you confronting the realities of the case you would find that
Christless painstaking is only a pilgrimage
along a sea-girt promontory. Peace with God
is not a boon which it requires good deeds to
purchase or prayers to ensure; but peace with
God is a gift from God, already come from
heaven and awaiting your acceptance. And,
just as the vexed wanderer lifted up his eyes,
and in the boat, with its benignant pilot, rec



THE WICKET-GATE.         331
ognized the little skiff which had so long
hovered unheeded near his own abode; so,
were the Spirit of God to make you earnest
now,-were He convincing you of sin or of the
futility of your own exertions, you would see
your salvation in some thrice-told tale,-some
text with which you have been familiar long
ago. "Eternal life is the gift of God." "God
hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in
his Son." "To as many as received Him
Jesus gave power to become the sons of God,
even to them that believe on his name." " The
Son of man must be lifted up, that whosoever
believeth in Him may not perish, but have
eternal life." "Look unto me and be ye saved
all the ends of the earth." Like some dim object anchored near your dwelling, texts like
these are associated with your earliest memory.
These texts are gospels. Any one of them is
such'a faithful saying," that fully realized
and implicitly credited it would carry your
soul to heaven. Any one of them is an ark
of salvation with none less than the Friend of
sinners in it; and you have only to be per



332            LECTURE XX.
suaded of its good-will and its trustworthiness,
so as to transfer your immortal interests to the
Saviour's keeping, and you will soon discover
that TRUST IN CHRIST IS PEACE WITH GOD.
A justifying righteousness is not a privilege which you buy, but a present which you
receive. It is not a result which you accomplish, nor a reward which you earn, but it is a
gratuity which you accept.  It is the "gift
of righteousness,"-a gift promiscuous to sinners of our race,-a gift as wide as the human
"whosoever;" a gift outstanding which was
within the reach of your earliest intelligence
had you been so disposed, and which is not
yet withdrawn,-a gift which it needs neither
prayer to bring nearer nor a price before or
after to make surer, but which it only needs
your open hand, your open heart to make
your personal possession;-not a bargain, but
a boon; not an achievement, but an acquiescence; the gift of righteousness;-the righteousness of God which seeks, not that we
deserve it, but that we " submit" to it. Being
justified freely by his grace through the re



THE WICKET-GATE.          333
demption that is in Christ, God's righteousness is declared through the remission of sins
that are past. And being justified by faith
we have peace with God, through our Lord
Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift!
Thus is it that the right relation between
God and the sinner is established; a relation
which borrows all its security and blessedness
from the sinner's substitute, God's own Son.
Our redemption is in Christ, and it is in the
Beloved that we are accepted. Our safety is
all in the Saviour whom we trust. He is our
peace. Immanuel is the door. It is by Him
that we enter into the fold and become the
sheep of his Father.
And when once the right relation is brought
about, the right affection must follow.  It
could not come before. It did not come whilst
the portion of goods held out, and amidst his
riotous living the prodigal was jeering at the
decorum and dulness of his Father's house.
And it did not come when the penniless outcast was envying the swine, and yet was too




334            LECTURE XX.
proud to go home. And it did not come when
crushed and crest-fallen the runaway bent his
steps towards the forsaken threshold, and all
his thought was how to propitiate an angry
father, and how, if he could only get a hearing, he might get leave to labor for his food,
and so, from an out-door menial, gradually
work his way back to the hearth and the family board. But when, instead of an angry and
upbraiding stranger, he found a yearning parent; and, instead of the menial's garb, saw
himself invested in the honored guest's best
robe; and instead of the meanest hireling's
place, was installed at a sumptuous festival;
when he saw these eyes suffused with all the
love of delighted fatherhood, and still felt on
his neck where that father's tears had fallen,then it came-the filial affection came; the
long dormant instinct of sonship revived, and
the love of a fervent gratitude mingled,-so
that in all the Holy Land the fullest heart
that night was the restored and forgiven
prodigal.
And even so, that filial emotion which here




THE WICKET-GATE.          335
and throughout the Old Testament, is often,
called "fear;" that blended emotion of reverence, trust, and affection, can only arise where
the spirit of sonship reciprocates God's revealed aspect of compassionate and forthgoing fatherliness. It matters little whether
we call the affection fear, or, with the first and
great commandment, call it love. In that fear
which realizes God's fatherliness, there cannot
be terror; and in the love which recollects
that its father is GOD there cannot be petulant
boldness.
Fear God, therefore, for this is the great
duty of man. To love Him with all the heart
and soul and strength and mind, is the first
and great commandment; and till once Jehovah is supreme, an orderly and respectable life
is only rebellion without violence, and even
benevolence without godliness is only a beautiful impiety.




LECTURE XXI.
d0rrn   ^nshm.
"'Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Feat
God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole
of man."-ECCLEs. xII. 13.
"THIS is life eternal, to know Thee, the
only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou
hast sent." To get this knowledge is to enter
into blessedness. Reconciliation to God is like
entering the gate of a beautiful avenue, which
conducts to a splendid mansion.  But that
avenue is long, and in some places it skirts
the edge of dangerous cliffs; and therefore, to
save the traveller from falling over and being
dashed to pieces, it is fenced all the way by a
quick-set hedge. That hedge is the commandments. They are planted there that we may
do ourselves no harm. But, like a fence of the
fragrant brier, they regale the pilgrim who




FGREEN PASTURES.          337
keeps the path, and they only hurt him when
he tries to break through. Temperance, justice, truthfulness; purity of speech and behavior; obedience to parents; mutual affection;
sanctification of the Sabbath; the reverent
worship of God; —all these are righteous requirements, and in keeping them there is a
great reward. Happy he who only knows the
precept in the perfume which it sheds, and
who, never having kicked against the pricks,
has never proved the sharpness of its thorns!
In its happy influence, religion, or a filial
compliance with the will of God, includes
"the whole of man." It is self-contained felicity.
A new heart itself is happiness. The rain
as it falls from the firmament is never poisonous; but by the time it filters through strata
filled with lead or copper, it may become so
pernicious that whosoever drinks of the water
dies. The juice of the grape, as it flows from
the fermenting vat, is generous wine; but if
the wine-skin which receives it is old and
musty, or if it be poured into a jar of acidu22




338           LECTURE XXI.
lous pottery, it soon grows sour.and vapid.
Gifts as they come from God are always good
and perfect; but by the time that they have
distilled through our murmuring spirits, they
assume a different character. From the way
he speaks of them, you would fancy that the
worldling's joy had all been drawn from
Marah; or that, however carefully he had covered over his own cistern, the star Wormwood
had dropped into it, and changed the whole to
a deadly bitter. The truth is, his mind is its
own Marah, and his morose and murmuring
nature is the wormwood which renders acrid
to the taste the mercies of God. But Christianity is a new creation. The Gospel renovates
the soul; and, putting a right spirit in the
man, it makes him a blessed being by making
him a RIGHT RECIPIENT. When the water is
as clear as was the well of Bethlehem; or
when the wine flows as rich as the vintage of
Lebanon,-all that is needful is a pitcher of
crystal or a goblet of silver, which by infusing
no new element, will preserve its freshness and
purity. And when gifts are so good as the




GREEN PASTURES.          339
Gospel and the promises;-so good as our
kindred and friends;-so good as the flowers
of the field and the breath of the new summer,-it only needs an honest heart which
takes them as they come, and which tastes unaltered the goodness of God that is in them.
This is what the worldling wants; this new
heart is what the God and Father of our Lord
Jesus offers to you, to me.
The very faculty of joy is the gift of the
Holy Ghost. There is a canker in the heart
of man which hinders happiness even when
the materials are most abundant; and it is
mournful to observe how little gladness is felt
even when corn and wine most abound. In
the midst of affluence still anxious, the munificence of the Creator cannot give contentment
to worldlings and worldly professors; but whilst
the green pastures re-echo their grumblings,
they may see their peevish faces reflected in
those quiet waters to which their kind Shepherd has led them. It needs more than good
and perfect gifts to awaken melody and praise:
and unless the Spirit of God made it a thanki_                              __        ___




340             LECTURE XXI.
ful heart, the providence of God cannot make
it a happy existence. But when the Comforter
is come, he gives a new heart, and creates a
right spirit. He heals the canker of the churl
and sweetens the bitterness of the misanthrope;
and, by imparting the faculty of joy, he has
often exalted life into a jubilee and made a
very humble dwelling ring with hallelujahs.
Ever since it was broken at the fall, the heart
of man is a cracked pitcher from which happiness runs out with amazing rapidity; and the
finer the fluid-the more subtle the element
of joy-the faster does it trickle through; and
often it is not till the last drop is oozing,-it is
not till the latest film is regretfully vanishing,
that the soul knows it ought to have been
happy, and is sorry for not knowing it sooner.*
Far otherwise is it with the Christian's pleasures. He who has made him a new creature,
has given him   a new capacity of receiving
*  "The sweetness that pleasure has in it
Is always so slow to come forth,
That seldom, alas, till the minute
It dies, do we know half its worth."
Moore's Melodies.




GREEN PASTURES.          341
and retaining joy. The new heart does not
leak; at least, there is one gladness there
which will abide to all eternity, and which,
even when it has for a season disappeared,
needs nothing but the jolts of sorrow to shake
it up again in all its sparkling zest and fragrant
exhilaration. The soul into which God has
put the gladness can never be empty of all
joy; for the "joy of salvation" heals the broken heart, and so long as itself remains it
makes it possible for other joys to stay.
A devout disposition is happiness. It is
happiness, whether outward things go well
or ill. A comfortable home, fond kindred,
health, a successful calling, are sweet mercies
when you accept them direct from God,-thus
rendering dearer to yourself, at once the giver
and the gifts. But these mercies may, one by
one, withdraw. Lover and friend may be put
far from you, and your acquaintance may vanish into secret; your house may dilapidate;
your industrious efforts may be defeated; and
your prosperous state may be exchanged for
penury. But "although the fig-tree shall not




342           LECTURE XXI.
blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the
labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall
yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from
the fold, and there shall be no herds in the
stalls; yet you will rejoice in the Lord, and
will joy in the God of your salvation." With
shattered constitution you may find yourself
confined to your couch or your chamber, and
in pain and depression you may miss that
presence which would have been a " sunshine
in this shady place." But lonely and languid
you can say, "Whom have I in heaven but
thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee. My flesh and my heart
faileth; but God is the strength of my heart,
and my portion forever." Public affairs may
take a sombre turn, and in the growth of pauperism, or in the wider gulf that sunders the
classes, there may be prognostics of uproar
and anarchy; or in one of those fits of infatuation which occasionally seize society, you
may stand aghast at educated men flinging
away their human rights and their reason, and
surrendering to a grim superstition which puts




GREEN PASTURES.         343
out their eyes and binds them in the fetters of
Babylon;* or under the spurring hoof of some
colossal despotism, you may hear human hearts
crushing, as the sea-weed crackles under the
school-boy's wanton heel, and in vain sympathy you may burst your own; or, as in volcanic reaction, pent-up indignation at last
explodes, and thrones and altars are hurled
through mid-heaven, whilst civilization is
overwhelmed beneath the fiery tide, like grass
under lava, and as it spirts into the air, the
gory geyser tells where the earth has opened
her mouth, and swallowed alive a weltering
multitude;-in moments like these, when the
most hopeful philanthrophy is paralyzed, and
"men's hearts fail them for fear," the believer
can sing, "God is our refuge and strength, a
very present help in trouble. Therefore will
not we fear, though the earth be removed, and
the mountains be carried into the midst of the
sea:" and beyond all the crash and the turmoil, his purer ear can catch the cadence of
heavenly harpers, and through all the smoke
* 2 Kings xxv. 7.




344           LECTURE XXI.
of burning mountains quenched in boiling
seas, his penetrating eye can glimpse the tokens of a bright Epiphany: and from the reeling soil, he lifts up his head, knowing that redemption draweth nigh. Oh brethren! in
those solemn conjunctures which prefigure
final judgment; in those awful conflicts where
man appears not so much the combatant as the
arena; in those Armageddons where man cannot look to man, for the contending powers
are Jehovah and Apollyon,-how blessed to
have a friend in Omnipotence, and a citadel
within the tabernacle of the Most High!
A benevolent disposition is happiness. The
first and great commandment is, " Thou shalt
love the Lord thy God with all thy soul; and
the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy
neighbor as thyself." To keep these two commandments is the whole of man. The two
feelings are very different.  It is with an
adorning complacency that you love the everblessed, desiring that his glory should be advanced, and that his will should be the mind
of the universe. It is.with an affectionate. _. 




GREEN PASTURES.          345
good-will that you love your fellow-creatures,
desiring that they should be happy in loyalty
to God. The one love is simply outgoing;
the other ascends. The one is kindness; the
other is full of worship. The one is filial devotion; the other is paternal fondness.
When a rose-bud is formed, if the soil is soft
and the sky is genial, it is not long before it
bursts; for the life within is so abundant that
it can no longer contain it all,-but in blossomed brightness and swimming fragrance it
must needs let forth its joy, and gladden all
the air. And if, when thus ripe, it refused to
expand, it would quickly rot at heart, and die.
And Christian charity is just piety with its
petals fully spread, developing itself, and making it a happier world. The religion which
fancies that it loves God, when it never evinces
love to its brother, is not piety but a poor mildewed theology,-a dogma with a worm in its
heart.
Benevolence is blessedness. It is God's life
in the soul, diffusing in kind emotions, and
good offices, and friendly intercessions; but,




346           LECTURE XXI.
unlike other expenditures, the more it is diffused, the more that life increases of which it
is the sign, and to abound in love one towards
another, is to abound in hope towards God.
This was Solomon's calamity. In his auspicious outset he lived for others. To make
Jehovah's temple exceedingly magnificent and
to see his people prosperous, were the great
desires of his forthgoing patriotism and piety.
But in a mysterious moment he was forsaken
by God's Spirit. To his introverted egotism
his own interest became more urgent than all
the universe, and the saint and the patriot became a selfist. The lily crept back into its
bulb. It said, I am myself the summer. Yon
sun shines, because I am to be seen. This air
is balm, because it encircles me. I will go
down into myself, and what a self-contained
Eden it will be when all my glory is reserved
for Solomon! And down it went; but though
its disappearance left less of summer in the
world, nothing but winter was found below.
And it was not till he took another thought,
L.__                   _          __.._     I




GREEN PASTURES.           347
and resolved once more to keep these two commands that aught of his old glory came again.
Benevolence is blessedness; and if the present age is happier than some that have gone
before it, a chief reason is because its heart is
kinder. Doubtless, the amount of material
comfort is amazingly increased; but this is not
enough. Man is not a dormouse; and however warmly he lines his nest, and however
snug the pose of orbicular self-complacency
into which he rolls himself, he cannot become
his own all-in-all. Material comforts multiply;
but these alone have not made it a happier
age. It is happier because it is kinder. We
would rather convert the Turks than    kill
them. We would rather see France virtuous
and God-fearing, than see it subject to Britain.
We would rather teach the Jews the Gospel
than torture from them their money hoards.
This is the age-which wishes well to the slave,
and has paid a great price for his freedom.
This is the age whieh wishes well to the
Heathen, and is paying, if not a great price,
yet a greater than was ever paid before, for
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  ___ _ _ _ _ _




348            LECTURE XXI.
his Christian civilization. This is the age
which wishes well to the poor and the outcast,
and which is taking great pains to enlighten
his mind and exalt his condition. God forbid
that we should boast. Human nature is the
same now as ever; but if the Father of mercies
has somewhat softened the spirit of this age,
let us not forget to bless his holy name. We
think he has. We think on the whole that
the world is happier, because of late the Lord
has made it somewhat kinder. And its happiness will advance in proportion as it learns
to realize that object of the advent,-" on
earth peace; good-will towards men."
Malevolence is misery. It is the mind of
Satan. He is the great enemy,-an outcast
from all joy, and an opponent of all goodness and all blessedness. His mind is enmity
against God; enmity against angels fallen and
unfallen; enmity against man both redeemed
and reprobate; and, because thus hateful and
hating, utterly unhappy. And the carnal
mind is so far Satanic because it is enmity
against God; just as the misanthrope is so far




GREEN PASTURES.          349
Satanic because he is enmity against his fellows. On the other hand, benevolence is happiness. It is the mind of God, whose tender
mercies are over all his works, and who joys
in the joy of his creation. And hence it
comes   ) pass that some who have never
tasted 1 ne full blessedness of piety, have enjoyed many sweet satisfactions in the exercise
of benevolence. "Oh world," says the Emperor Antoninus, "all things are suitable to
me which are suitable to thee. Nothing is too
early or too late for me which is seasonable for
thee. All is fruit to me which thy seasons
bring forth. Shall any man say, O beloved
city of Cecrops! and wilt not thou say, O beloved city of God." "And you, my brothers,"
exclaimed the German Richter, after he had
spent some years in severely satirizing men
and manners: seized with a sudden compunction, or rather yielding to a genial visitation,
" And you, my brothers, I will love you more.
I will create for you more joy. I will no
longer turn my comic powers to torment you;
but antasy and wit shall be united to find con



350            LECTURE XXI.
solation and cheerfulness for the most limited
of life's relations."* He kept his'word. Moroseness and moodiness fled away, and from
that period onward, there are few lives not
saintly, on which care's shadow sits more
lightly. But if there be such a solact in mere
benevolence; if there be such a Divine delightsomeness in drying tears and diffusing
happiness; if some have passed a very pleasant
life who were only kind-hearted without being
Christian;-how incomparably more blessed
are those who unite the two,-whose brotherly
kindness is the fruit of faith, and whose charity
is a devout benevolence! the John who, basking in the rays of uncreated love, returns into
the midst of our mortality with a glow which
ever since has raised the temperature of time!
the Paul who, catching the spirit of his Master, in the daily medium through which
heaven's kindness finds its way to the heart
of our humanity, and whose very soul, like a
libation on a sacrifice, goes up a sweet savor
to God, and leaves on earth a grateful memory I
* Richter's Autobiography, vol. ii. 196.




GREEN PASTURES.          351
Brethren, seek loving thoughts of God.
Pray for them. Cherish them. Strive to realize his true character.  Look not at the
distortions drawn by the lurid fancy of superstition; look not at the dark pictures sketched
by your own guilty conscience. But look at
the Bible revelation. Look at Immanuel. Behold the brightness of the Father's glorybehold the word incarnate, full of grace and
truth. Surrender to the manifestation. Let
your aspect towards Jehovah be the reciprocal
of his aspect towards you.  Look towards
Jesus, and with the pleasant countenance
wherewith he views his beloved Son, he will
behold you, oh looking transgressor! I should
rather say, oh justified believer! And by
praise, and by bright obedience, and cheerful
trust, seek to augment your love to your
heavenly Father.  When happy thoughts
come into your mind, let the thought of God
come with them; and when you go into beautiful or attractive scenes, let the reconciled
Presence go with you; till at last earth is suffused with heaven, and with the immortal




352               LECTURE XXI.
morning spread upon the mountains death is
done away and the oak valley superseded.
And seek, as a fruit of the Spirit, love.  As
a Christian principle cultivate a broad benevolence, and by-and-by you will come to feel
it as a delightful and spontaneous instinct.
Having, in virtue of your redeemed relation,' a covenant with the beasts of the field and
with the creeping things of the ground," you
will come to share the creature-ward complacency of that kind Creator whose tender mercies are over all his works, and perhaps may
realize the description with which you have
sometimes been charmed:
"In the silence of his face I read
His overflowing spirit. Birds and beasts,
And the mute fish that glances in the stream,
And harmless reptile coiling in the sun,
And gorgeous insect moving in the air,
The fowl domestic, and the household dogIn his capacious mind he loved them all.
Rich in love
And sweet humanity, he was himself,
To the degree that he desired, beloved."*
But even this creature-ward kindliness will
* Wordsworth's " Excursion," book 2.




GREEN PASTURES.         353
profit you little unless it be combined with
that sublime love towards your immortal fellows which constitutes Christian charity. Love
man as man. Fallen and sinful, he is still your
brother. Pity the sinner even whilst you
abhor the sin; and, in order to deepen and
purify your compassion, let it assume a practical form. Ask yourself, what am I doing to
make it a holier and so a happier world?
And if you find that you are doing nothing in
this Divine direction, be not surprised that
there is still a crook in your lot and a discomfort in your spirit. Existence will only run
smooth when you learn to be a fellow-worker
with God. And love the believing brethren.
Rejoice in their increase. Rejoice in their
prosperity. Glorify the grace of God in them,
and be so heartily solicitous for their progress
and improvement as really to help them forward. And loving without dissimulation, you
will soon find yourself the centre of much
affection in return, and whatever joy you diffuse you will find it all returning with increase
into your own bosom.








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Edward Irving came to London
in 1822, and James Hamilton in 184. Dr. -Iamilton was another man than his predecessor, yet
with an individuality of his own as marked; exquisitely unique, richly ton ched with humour
and pathos, not at all daring, more balanced,
though milder, temperament, and larger kIno
ledge of varied themes; therefore, calmer, wl
not at all so lofty or impassioned as Irm
But Hamilton also had in common wi'.h lrl
his one best gift of grace and of a graciou o
use his own word, winsome-holy i   dt j too,
belongs, if not to the heroes, yet, its of
ll tires; and few men were mQ         than
he was of the tendencies of his own period.
Coming back to its Divine origin and work in the
world, this period is marked by the way, in which
the Church strove to assertt aid embody the ri.
This took three directions. The first may be
called  the  upward. Therein  the  Church
rose to a definite and passionate conviction
of its dependence on God, and node else.
From this sprang three distinct movements.
First, that of the Voluntary controversy, with
its principle of the correlation of two independent powers-the Church and the State-and
of these as working best when each works independently. The second was the Disruption controversy, which asserted that whatever the relation of the Church and the State it should not
by a hair's-breadth touch the independent life
and inalienable functions of the Church. Hence
the greatest modern deed of faith which has
added a new demonstration to the Divine origin
and independence of Christianity breathed a
higher temper in all Churches, and has as its
monument the Free Church of Scotland. That
noble struggle has also, after many fortunes,
brought us together, through its sundering of
old ties, into a new and happy united Church.
But, again, and thirdly, there was the beginning
of the Oxford Tractarian movement, asserting
the claims of an independence in the Church,
true in its deepest principle, but entangled with
and raising into power many old and dangerous
errors, especially that Popish extreme of the
Church in which every other human society is
treated as a blind slave, and not as a free and
intelligent ally of the spiritual power.  The
second great movement taking an inward direction-that for union in the Church rising out of
the quickened sense of its independence-threw
into consciousness, and activity its essential
harmony within itself. Hence began the period
of aiming at closer, more declared union in many
forms. James Hamilton, following his great
master, Thomas Chalmers-one of the greatest
heroes of modern times, near whose centenary
year we meet-as well as his own generous
spirit, was the very apostle of union; and let us
not forget that to none of the dead do we owe our
gathering to-night as a united Church more than
to James Hamilton. / 
/r7/f