Front matter (continued 3)

You tell him of Canaan on the other side the Jordan—of the land which floweth with milk and honey—of the Lamb in the midst of the throne, and of all the glories which God hath prepared for them who love Him; and you see his dull eye light up with seraphic brightness, "his heaviness" is all gone, and the language of his heart is—

The anticipation of the coming glory and happiness fills him with "joy unspeakable."

Changefulness.

How varied is the experience of the believer in his spiritual life! What changes there are in the weather of his soul! What bright sunlight days! What dark, cloudy nights! What calms, as though his life were a sea of glass! What terrible trials, as though his life were a tempestuous ocean! One time we find him crying, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me," and anon he sings, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless His holy name." One hour we hear him sigh forth, "I sink in deep mire where there is no standing," and then we find him exulting, "The Lord is my light, and my salvation, whom shall I fear: the Lord is the strength of my life, of whom shall I be afraid." How wondrously he rises to heaven, and how awfully he dives into the deeps! Surely we who have known anything of the spiritual and inner life do not marvel at this, for we have felt these changes. Alas! what a contrast between the sin which doth so easily beset us, and the grace which gives us to reign in heavenly places. How different the sorrow of an abject distrust which breaketh us in pieces as with a strong east wind, and the joy of a holy confidence which bears us on to heaven as a propitious gale! What changes between walking with God to-day, and falling into the mire to-morrow, triumphing over sin, death, and hell yesterday, and to-day led captive by the lusts of the flesh and of the mind. Verily, we cannot understand ourselves, and a description which would suit us at one time, would be ill-adapted at another time. Changeable, indeed, is our experience; but oh, what a mercy that Christ does not change! Varied as our experience may be, His grace is varied to meet it, for He has grace to help us in every time of need, and with infinite and unfailing good-will supplies us in the strength proportioned to our day.

Thoughts of Christ.

Jesus! what infinite sweets in His name! Our impressions on surveying Him may be compared to some of those lenses you have seen, which you may take up and hold one way, and you see one light, and another way, and you see another light, and whichever way you turn them you will always see some precious sparkling of light, and some new colors starting up to your view. Ah! take Jesus for your theme; consider Him; think of His relation to your own soul, and you will never get through that one subject. Think of His eternal relationship to you; and also of your known and manifest relationship to Him since you have been called by His grace. Think how He has become your brother; how His heart has beaten in sympathy with yours; how He has kissed you with the kisses of His love, and His love has been sweeter to you than wine. Look back upon some happy, sunny spots in your history, where Jesus has whispered, "I am yours," and you have said "My beloved is mine." Think of some choice moments, when an angel has stooped from heaven, and taken you up on his wings, and carried you aloft, to sit in heavenly places where Jesus sits, that you might commune with Him. Or think of some moments, when you have had what Paul sets so much store by—fellowship with Christ in His sufferings—when you have felt that you could die for Christ, even as you have in the rich experience of your baptism, died with Him, and risen with Him. Think of your relationship to Christ which is to be developed in heaven. Imagine the hour to have come when you shall "greet the blood-besprinkled hand on the eternal shore," and when the Lord Jesus shall salute you as "more than a conqueror," and put a crown upon your head more glittering than the stars. Oh! take Jesus for your constant theme, and you will every day find fresh thoughts arise out of His grace, His beauty, His glory. In Him you have an unfailing subject of delight, object of attraction, and centre of love.

A Lesson of Humility.

When Jesus sent forth His seventy disciples, endowed with miraculous powers, they performed great wonders, and naturally enough were somewhat elated. In their words, "Behold, even devils were subject to us," Jesus marked their tendency to pride and self-congratulation. And what was the sacred lesson He taught to prevent their being exalted above measure? "Nevertheless," said He, "rejoice not in this, but rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven." The assurance of our interest in Christ will tend to keep us humble in the day of our prosperity; it will act as a secret ballast to us to know that we have something better than these earthly blessings, therefore we must not set our affections upon the things of earth, but let our hearts be where our greatest treasure is. Better than any lancet to spill the superfluous blood of our boasting—better than any bitter medicine to chase the burning fever of our pride, is this most precious and hallowed wine of the covenant—a remembrance of our safety in Christ. This, opened up to us by the Spirit, will suffice to keep us in that happy lowliness which is our true position. But when at any time we are cast down with multiplied troubles, the very same fact which kept us humble in prosperity will preserve us from despair in adversity. For the apostle Paul was surrounded by a great fight of affliction; and yet he could say, "Nevertheless I am not ashamed." But what is it which preserves him from sinking? It is the same truth which kept the ancient disciples from overweening pride. It is the sweet persuasion of his interest in Christ. "For I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day." Then let us seek earnestly to obtain this full assurance of faith, for it will help us in all states of experience. Let us not rest content till we can say with Paul, "I know whom I have believed."

Promises and Precepts.

If thou wouldst have the promises fulfilled to thee, look to it that thou dost comply with the precept annexed to the promise. Follow the example of Moses. Moses knew that there was a promise given to the people of Israel, that they should be the world's blessing; but in order to obtain it, it was necessary that he should practise self-denial, therefore he "refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter; choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season." If the promise commands thee to deny thyself, thou canst not obtain it without. Do it, and thou shalt have its fulfilment. Or suppose that the promise requires courage—use courage. Or does the promise require obedience—be obedient. Remember how Rahab hung out from her window the scarlet line, because that was the test of her faith. So do thou. Whatsoever Christ hath said unto thee, do it. Neglect no command, however trivial it may seem. Do what thy Master tells thee, asking no questions, for he is an ill servant who questions his Lord's command. Doubtless thou too, like the Ethiopian eunuch, shalt go on thy way rejoicing when thou hast been obedient. Or is the promise made to those who bear "a good report" of the land? Remember, Caleb and Joshua were the only two who obtained the promise, because they alone honored God. So do thou honor God. Let a scoffing world hear thine unvarying testimony that thy God is good and true. Let not thy groanings and thy murmurings make men suspect that thou hast a hard master, and that His servants have no joys, no comforts, no delights. Let it be known that He whom thou servest is no Egyptian task-master; His yoke is easy; His service pleasure, His reward unspeakable. "Them that honor Me, I will honor." Be thou careful to obey the precepts, and God will fulfil to thee the promises.

Sweetness in Sorrow.

Do you not feel, in looking back upon seasons of affliction, that they have been times when, notwithstanding the trials, you have had unusual peace and happiness in your heart? There is a sweet joy which comes to us through sorrow. The bitter wine of sorrow acts with a tonic influence upon the whole system. The sweet cup of prosperity often leaves a bitterness in the taste; but the bitter cup of affliction, when sanctified, always leaves a sweet flavor in the mouth. There is joy in sorrow. There is music in this harp with its strings all unstrung and broken. There are a few notes we hear from this mournful lute which we never get from the loud-sounding trumpet. We obtain a softness and melody from the wail of sorrow, which we never get from the song of joy. Must we not account for this by the fact, that in our troubles we live nearer to God? Our joy is like the wave as it dashes upon the shore—it throws us on the earth. But our sorrows are like that receding wave which sucks us back again into the great depth of Godhead. We should have been stranded and left high and dry upon the shore, if it had not been for that receding wave, that ebbing of our prosperity, which carried us back to our Father and to our God again. Blessed affliction! it has brought us to the mercy-seat; given life to prayer; enkindled love; strengthened faith; brought Christ into the furnace with us, and then brought us out of the furnace to live with Christ more joyously than before.

Little-faith.

One inconvenience of "little-faith" is, that while it is always sure of heaven, it very seldom thinks so. Little-faith is quite as secure for heaven as Great-faith. When Jesus Christ counts up His jewels at the last day, He will take to Himself the little pearls as well as the great ones. If a diamond be never so small, yet it is precious because it is a diamond. So faith, be it never so little, if it be true faith, is "like precious" with that which apostles obtained. Christ will never lose even the smallest jewel of His crown. Little-faith is always secure of heaven, because the name of Little-faith is in the book of eternal life. Little-faith was chosen of God before the foundation of the world. Little-faith was bought with the blood of Christ; ay, and he cost as much as Great-faith. "For every man a shekel," was the price of redemption. Every man, whether great or small, prince or peasant, had to redeem himself with a shekel. Christ has bought all, both little and great, with the same most precious blood. Little-faith is always secure of heaven, for God has begun the work in him, and He will carry it on. God loves him, and He will love him unto the end. God has provided a crown for him, and He will not allow the crown to hang there useless; He has erected for him a mansion in heaven, and He will not allow the mansion to stand untenanted forever. Little-faith is always safe, but he very seldom knows it. If you meet him he is sometimes afraid of hell; very often afraid that the wrath of God abideth on him. He will tell you that the country on the other side the flood can never belong to one so base as he. Sometimes it is because he feels himself so unworthy; another time it is because the things of God are too good to be true, he says; or he cannot think they can be true to such a one as he. Sometimes he is afraid he is not elect; another time he fears that he has not been called aright, or that he has not come to Christ aright; anon, his fears are that he will not hold on to the end, that he shall not be able to persevere; and if you kill a thousand of his fears, he is sure to have another host by to-morrow; for unbelief is one of those things which you cannot destroy; you may kill it over and over again, but still it lives. It is one of those ill weeds which sleep in the soil even after it has been burned, and it only needs a little encouragement, or a little negligence, and it will sprout up again. Now, Great-faith is sure of heaven, and he knows it. He climbs Pisgah's top, and views the landscape o'er; he tastes of the sweetness of paradise even before he enters within the pearly gates; he sees the streets which are paved with gold; he beholds the walls of the city, the foundations whereof are of precious stones; he hears the mystic music of the glorified, and begins to smell on earth the perfumes of heaven. But poor Little-faith can scarcely look at the sun; he very seldom sees the light; he gropes in the valley, and while all is safe, he always thinks himself unsafe.

"To be with Christ."

"To be with Christ." Who can comprehend this but the Christian? It is a heaven which worldlings care not for. They know not what a mass of glory is crowded into that one sentence: "To be with Christ." But to the believer the words are a concentration of bliss. Take only one of the many precious thoughts the words suggest—the sight of Christ. "Thine eye shall see the King in His beauty." We have heard of Him, and can say, "Whom having not seen we love." But then we "shall see Him." Yes, we shall actually gaze upon the exalted Redeemer. Realize the thought. Is there not a heaven within it? Thou shalt see the hands which were nailed to the cross for thee; thou shalt see the thorn-crowned head, and with all the blood-washed throng, shalt thou bow with lowly reverence before Him, who bowed in lowly abasement for thee. Faith is precious, but what must sight be? To view Jesus as the Lamb of God through the glass of faith, makes the soul rejoice with joy unspeakable; but oh! to see Him face to face, to look into those eyes, to hear that voice—rapture begins at the very mention of it! If even to think of it is so sweet, what must the vision be when we shall talk with Him, "even as a man talketh with his friend"—for the vision of Christ implies communion. All that which the spouse desired in Solomon's Song, we shall have, and ten thousand times more. Then will the prayer be fulfilled, "Let Him kiss me with the kisses of His mouth: for Thy love is better than wine." Then we shall be able to say, "His left hand is under my head, and His right hand doth embrace me." Then shall we experience the promise, "They shall walk with me in white, for they are worthy." And then we will pour out the song of gratitude, a song such as we have never sung on earth, tuneful, dulcet, pure, full of serenity and joy, no discord to mar its melody; a song rapt and seraphic. Happy day, when vision and communion shall be ours in fulness—when we shall know even as we are known!