Third Sunday.

WAITING UPON GOD.

The

'My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning."-Ps. cxxx. 6. THIS is the language of the godly man, and it is language which comes from the heart. Heartlanguage is naturally very simple language; it seems to be only such as a very simple mind, that of a child, might use, and to mean very little. But there are usually great depths in it, and a meaning which is often exhaustless. A little child throws its arms round its parent's neck, and says, "My own mamma; my own papa!" Simple words, which the thoughtless call childish, infantile! But what a power is in them; what revelations of the deep, mysterious bond that links parent and child; what a depth of concentrated loving trustfulness they unfold; and how much have such simple, artless, innocent words of the heart to do with that mighty, though invisible, power that forms society into not a congeries of separate atoms, but a vast living organism, the individual elements of which are so incorporated that none can say to another, "I have no need of thee." Heart-language is like the stream that runs still and smooth, but in which there may be unsunned depths, and whose volume of waters has in it a force which needs only to be quickened into energy to carry all before it; or like one of those fissures in an Alpine glacier, which are so narrow that one can easily stride across them, but which go down to fathomless depths, and widen as they descend, so as to give scope for the passage of a raging torrent that is hastening to pour its waters on distant fields, and carry its refreshment to faraway homes.

The Bible says much of waiting on God. The Psalter is full of references to this. Perhaps there is more about this in proportion, in the Old Testament than the New. And though this may seem strange at first sight, a little reflection will show that it is only what might naturally be expected. former dispensation was one of expectancy: its whole spirit was one of waiting. The Old Testament saints had not received the promise. The chief part of their religion consisted in looking for the good thing that was to come. The habit of waiting on God, therefore, was one which, as it were, came naturally to them. It was the proper expression of their religious life; their piety found scope in this especially. The duty, however, is one not confined to the times of the preparation of the gospel; it is for all times, and the cultivation of the habit has much to do with the growth of the Christian life, and the happiness and welfare of the Christian himself.

The heart-language of piety, like all true heartlanguage, is simple, but deep. There is ever more in it than it seems to express. It is the language of the child to the heavenly Father, and it has in it the vastness and the power of that unutterable relation. How much is there suggested in the few words before us! "My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning." What visions of conflicts, and trial, and change, and patient endurance do they conjure up-earth's experienced emptiness; heaven's realized fulness the soul turning sated from all that is seen and temporal, to seek rest and satisfaction in what is unseen and eternal- severe trials of faith and patience-hope deferred that has often made the heart sick-clouds and darkness around the Throne that had almost at times hid it from the view, and made all around seem dark as night; and then the true heart rising above all this uncertainty and turmoil; fixing itself on God, the living God; feeling that all was safe with Him, "the Father of lights, with whom there is no variableness nor the shadow of turning;' and taking into its joyful embrace, for its own comfort and establishment, the full glory of a revealed and condescending God, even as they that waited for the morning took in with rejoicing eyes the glory of the sun, as his orient beams flashed on the crests of the mountains that "were round about Jerusalem."

What is the true idea of the phrase "waiting upon God?" "Waiting" expresses a state or habit which is the result of a combination of desire, expectation, and patient submission. We cannot be said to wait for anything we do not desire; at least, when the word is used strictly and properly; for when so used, "waiting" implies volition, choice, and that, of course, involves desire. Nor do we ever wait for what we do not, on some ground supposed by us to be good, expect. Nor do we wait when the object desired comes to us without in any way tasking our patience. "If we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it," says the Apostle. A reasonable expectation, and a patient endurance of unavoidable delay in the fulfilment of it, are the essential elements of all wise waiting. Horace laughs at the rustic who sits waiting on the bank of a river till the stream should flow past. The Apostle commends the husbandman who waits with patience for the fruits of the earth. Why the difference? Because, though both exemplify patient expectation, the expectation of the latter has reason in it, while that of the former has not.

"Waiting on God" is thus the patient expectation of results which God has promised to secure, results which are in themselves desirable, and which God has given us reason to believe will be realized. It implies the exercise of self-control, a meek acquiescence in the divine arrangements, a confident assurance that God will do what He has promised, and show himself in full accordance with all that He has revealed himself to be. It is opposed to impatience and self-will: impatience that kicks against providential restraints, that would hastily and immediately snatch at results, that is fretted and angered by delay; and self-will that refuses to bend to the will of God, and seeks rather what is its own than what comes from Him. From all such manifestations and tempers, the spirit of the man is far removed who can look up unto God, and truly say, "My soul waiteth for the

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Lord more than they that watch for the morning
I say, more than they that watch for the morning.'
And is not this the proper attitude for the child
of God who has learned experimentally that the
Lord is gracious and faithful? Ought he not, in
respect alike of the business and the discipline of
life, to wait upon God, who alone can give success
to creature effort, and who has promised to make
all things conspire to his people's benefit? Should
we not find our spiritual interests promoted rather
than hindered by the events of our daily life, if we

met all these in a spirit of simple dependence upon God? And should we not, in respect of the higher experiences of the divine life, be richer and more blessed if we constantly waited on God, that out of his fulness we might receive, and grace for grace? "Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: but they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up on wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint."

Fourth Sunday.

THE EVER-ENDURING NAME.

him in the revealing light of eternity, or as a record of it is preserved in the mind of the Omniscient! And then, of that which is preserved in human history, how much is there that is anything but to the honour of the individual; how much of folly, vanity, or viciousness do even the most friendly biographers let drop as having marked the life of the party who is the subject of their book! So that the conclusion to which such a person as we have supposed would naturally come, would be, How vain after all is earthly reputation! What an empty thing is posthumous fame! How few men are remembered after they are gone! How many of those who are remembered are so for their crimes or their cruelties! And of those who are held in reputation, how many are there who are best known by acts or attributes which, were they now to return to the earth, they would be the first to renounce and deplore! Truly in this respect all is indeed "vanity and vexation of spirit!" (Comp. Eccles. ii. 16.)

"His name shall endure for ever; his name shall be continued as long as the sun."-Ps. Ixxii. 17. WERE a person not much acquainted with litera- | upon the individual's memory, to be deciphered by ture to take a survey of a large and well-stored historical library, he would possibly be very much struck with the vast multitude of books in the department of Biography, which he would find in such a collection. Or, let him turn over the pages of a biographical dictionary, and he would certainly be struck with the immense number of persons of whom something could be told, and whose standing in the world has been such that it is found worth while to perpetuate their memory in biographical narrative. But whatever might be the feeling which would be excited in his mind by such a survey, it would probably occur to him to reflect, and that with an emotion of pensiveness, on the enormously larger number of persons who have lived and died on this earth, of whom nothing, not even their names, remains to be told, and who have apparently passed away without leaving any permanent impression of their existence on the world. He would be led to think, that numerous as are the persons of whom one can read in books, they form but a hardly expressible fraction of the whole number of intelligent and accountable beings who have inhabited this earth; nay, but a mere fraction of the men of their own age; nay, but a very small portion even of their own countrymen; and that, whilst much remains, incalculably more has been lost that appertains to the history of man upon earth. He would be led also naturally to ponder the exceedingly limited number out of those whose names have been preserved, of whom the mass of mankind knows anything at all; and in prosecuting his researches, either in the library or in the dictionary, nothing would surprise him more than the multitude of persons whose life and character have been put on record, but of whom he had never so much as heard. And then this idea would probably also occur to him, that of those whose names are best known in the world, and of those whose biographies are most fully written, how little after all is known, compared with what is irrecoverably lost concerning them. You take up, perhaps, a thick octavo volume, and you say, "Dear me, what a huge book to be all about one man!" And yet what a mere driblet does all that this volume contains form of the whole amount of that man's actual life-his thoughts-his feelings -his experience-his actions-all, in short, that makes the man. Alas! the greater part is lost for ever, except as traces of it may be written

Amidst such reflections, how delightful to turn || to such an announcement as that in the verse placed at the head of this paper. Here is One whose || memory shall be held in universal respect, "for all men shall call him blessed." Here is One from whose excellence no detraction can be made, and whose fame the finger of calumny shall never sully, for "men shall be blessed in him." Here is One who shall never be forgotten, for "his name shall endure for ever; his name shall be continued as long as the sun."

He of whom this is said is the Messiah, He whose name is Immanuel, God with us, Jesus the Saviour, Jehovah our Righteousness, the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last. In these names there is a preciousness and a power which secure their immortality. In them is proclaimed that which is for the healing of the nations; and unto Him who bears them shall the gathering of the nations be. They that know these names rejoice to publish them; voice catches up the sound after voice; they that dwell afar off, and in lonely places, hear and prolong the joyful notes; ere long His fame shall encircle the globe, and be uttered in all tongues; and amidst the jubilee of the nations one shout shall be heard above all others, "Blessed be his glorious name for ever. And, Let the whole earth be filled with his glory. Amen and Amen!" W. LINDSAY ALEXANDER.

THE RELIGION OF LIFE.

ILLUSTRATED AND APPLIED.

BY THOMAS GUTHRIE, D. D.

CHAP. III-TEMPTATION: ITS SOURCE AND CONSEQUENCES.

prayer. Thrown into the scale, that decides the battle; drawing on Divine strength, that makes little Davids more than a match for giant sins. What devil is there but may be cast out by prayer and fasting?

he is converted. No sooner is peace with God, if he goes about it aright. It turns much on through Christ, settled, than war is proclaimed; and the man involved in its arduous and life-long struggles. I have seen one that had grown grey in the army, and yet had never been under fire; or seen the serried bayonets glance, but on parade. The Captain of our salvation has no such soldiers; his have given and suffered many wounds; and have all a sore fight of it. This conflict begins with conversion, and if I might borrow an illustration from heathen fables, the infant Hercules has to strangle serpents in his cradle. So soon as a man is new-born, and turns his face heavenward, he has hell to confront and fight with. And, besides the devil and his angels, besides the world and its seductive influences, in passions that he has lodged in his breast, and fed by long indulgence into strength, it may be said that "his enemies are the men of his own house." And such in number and in power are the temptations with which a good man has to contend, that no Christian will think the language of David extravagant: "They compassed me about; they compassed me about like bees. My soul is among lions; and I lie even among them that are set on fire." Nay, there are times, and terrible temptations, when, in the language of a psalm, part, and some suppose all, of which our Lord repeated on His cross, he may be ready to cry, "Many bulls have compassed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round. They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion. I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint, my heart is like wax. My strength is dried up like a potsherd: thou hast brought me into the dust of death; for dogs have compassed me. O Lord, my strength, haste thee to help me. Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog. Save me from the lion's mouth; hear me from the horns of the unicorns."

If these figures are appropriate, how formidable are our temptations! It might seem impossible that victory could crown our arms in a war waged against enemies that swarm thick as bees; that are strong as bulls, and fierce as ravening lions. Yet, hear what God says: Thou shalt tread on the lion and adder; the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under foot; and hear Paul, as, calmly descending into the vale of death, he goes, singing, like a brave old warrior-"I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Hereafter, there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day." Nor is that all proclaiming equal triumphs through the same grace to others, he adds, "and not to me only, but to all who love his appearing." Let the good man be assured that his victory over temptation is certain,

Yet, prayer is not enough. Like our fathers when they conquered the English at Bannockburn, or the English when they conquered the French at Cressy, we are to rise from our knees; to stand up and fight; to quit us like men; "having done all," to stand. We are to put on the whole armour of God; and, since we know neither when, nor where the adversary may assault us, we are never to put it off. Live and die in harness-using such precautions, as some say Cromwell did against the assassin's dagger-his dress concealed a shirt of mail: and in the council-chamber, at the banquet, in courts as in camps, he wore that always. To his workshop, the counting-room, the social circle, the market, the place of business, the scenes of his most innocent enjoyments, let a good man go, as the peasant of the east goes to his plough. With larks singing in blue skies above his head, and daisies, bathed in dew, springing at his feet, and feathered flocks from sounding shore and noisy woods wheeling round, and feeding in the furrows behind him, our ploughman, void of care, and fearless of danger, whistles at his work; but yonder, where fiery Bedouins scour the land, and bullets whistling from the bush may suddenly call the peasant to drop the ox-goad and fly to arms, the sun glances on other iron than the ploughshare-a sword hangs at his thigh, and a gun is slung at his back. To pray, to fight, are important; but not less important if we would have no man take our crown, and, resisting, overcome temptation, is a right understanding of its springs and sources. The physician is most likely to cure disease who has discovered its seat and nature; while the patient dies in the hands of him who prescribes for the head, when it is the heart that is diseased. To save a ship from sinking, we must find the leak, Temptations, like noxious weeds, are best killed by putting the knife to their root; nor will the stream of our thoughts, and wishes, and desires ever be sanctified till the salt, as at Jericho, is cast in at the spring. Let us see, therefore, where the springs and sources of sin lie.

The source of temptation is not in God. The Apostle James is clear on this point. He says, "Let no man say, when he is tempted, I am tempted of God; for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man."

In the mountains of the Black Forest an extraordinary appearance is occasionally seen. With the sun just rising at your back, you look across the valley on the curtain of mist that, hung from

Yet what many would not directly, they in- If you apply a magnet to the end of a needle directly lay at God's door-in the attempt to excuse that courses freely on its pivot, the needle, affected themselves, accusing Him. Look, for example, by a strange attraction, approaches as if it loved at Adam's answer to the question, Hast thou | it. Reverse the order, apply the magnet now eaten of the tree? Summoned from his hidingplace, standing beside the blushing partner of his guilt, overwhelmed by strange terrors, trembling in every limb, the prey of anguish and remorse, had his tongue, cleaving to the roof of his mouth, refused to do its office, we should not have been astonished. But he replies; and his answer betrays cunning rather than confusion. How mean and dastardly, how base and selfish and hateful, has sin made this once noble creature! How are the