of this life as but the lowest form of the school into which they have been entered. And in regard to activity, while modes of service must vary with the bodily condition, we are bold to maintain that innumerable Christians now living are, in advanced life, impressing the whole engine of human affairs with as momentous a touch as at any previous stage of existence. If there is wisdom, the proper jewel of age and divine grace in its manifold actings, there need be no lack of influence. They still lift up the eagle pinion, and soar in such greatness as belongs to their nature. But the point to which we would ask more marked attention is this, that the aged believer, so far from being selfishly dead to what is going on in the world, is more vigilant and more in sympathy with all than even in his days of youth. Blessed be God, we have seen this again and again. The man who waits on God, the man of faith and hope, the man of melting benevolence, looks through the loopholes of retreat upon a world whose vast and often terrific revolutions interest him chiefly as included in a cycle of providential arrangements calculated to develop and exhibit the glory of grace. His heart beats responsive to these. The news of Christ's kingdom is as dear to him as when he was vehemently active in the field. He looks down the ages by the lamp of prophecy, and beholds events which will take place when he shall have been long in Paradise. This connects him with the cause of Christ on earth, and redeems him from that miserable, dungeonlike seclusion of soul which wastes away the aged worldling. So far is it from being true that these portraitures are figments of religious imagination, that we have been led to the choice of the subject by knowledge and recollection of this very paradox in actual example, to wit: extreme old age made light, strong and happy by community of interest in the progressive triumphs of philanthropy and missions. When, according to the Talmudic fable, the eagle soars toward the sun, he renews the plumage of his former days. As the serene disciple withdraws himself from any personal agency in the entangling plans of life, he studies more profoundly what his Master is weaving into the web of history. No longer young, he has a heart which gushes in sympathy with the young, and he cheers them on. He places the weapons in their hands. He takes from the wall his sword, shield and helmet, and rejoices that God still has younger soldiers in the field. He lives his life over again in their achievements, and pictures to himself more signal victories after he shall have gone. Like the wounded hero Wolfe, he could even die more happy if the shout of victory should arouse his failing perception. Far from being shut up in morose, neglectful selfishness, he glories that God's cause still lives and must prevail. Sojourning as at an Inu. A. D. F. RANDOLPH. I LOOK abroad upon the verdant fields, All that seems good and fair, That still is mine or for a time hath been, Now teach me I am but a pilgrim here, Without a home, and dwelling at an inn. Not always has the outlook been so clear ; by; Nights when my wearied heart was full of fear, And God seemed farther off than stars and sky; Yet then, when grief was nigh, My soul could sometimes cry, Out of the depths of sorrow and of sin, That at the worst I was but pilgrim here, With home beyond, while dwelling at an inn. Now I complain not of this life of mine, And I, his will undone, Have changed his countless blessings into sin; As I forgot I was but pilgrim here, Homeless at best, and dwelling at an inn. Look on me, Lord! Have I not need to pray Serve not to lead my steps so far astray Nay, rather let me see Beyond this life my happiest days begin; And singing on my way, a pilgrim here, Rejoice that I am dwelling at an inn. Dear Son of God! by whom the world was made, Yet homeless, had not where to lay thy head, |