Life

Human Kindness. — I like Luther with a wife and children. I like to see him with his family and a Christmas-tree, making music with little Johnny Luther on his knee. I love to hear him sing a little hymn with the children, and tell his pretty boy about the horses in heaven with golden bridles and silver saddles. Faith had not taken away his manhood, but sanctified it to noblest uses. Luther did not live and move as if he were a mere cleric, but as a brother to our common humanity.

True Wisdom. — Copernicus declared the truth that the earth and the planets revolve around the sun. His opponents replied that this could not be true, for if the planet Venus revolved around the sun, she must present the same phases as the moon. This was very true. Copernicus looked up to Venus, but he could not see those phases, nor could any one else, nevertheless he stuck to his statement, and said, “I have no reply to give, but in due time God will be so good that an answer will be found.” Copernicus died, and his teaching had not yet been justified; but soon after Galileo came forward with his telescope, and on looking at Venus he saw that she did pass through exactly the same changes as the moon. Thus wisdom is justified of her children. Truth may not prevail to-day or to-morrow, but her ultimate victory is sure.

Known by Our Deeds. — “Ye shall know them by their fruits” But how am I to know a man’s fruits’? By watching him one dayt I may, perhaps, form a guess of his character by being with him for a single hour; but I could not confidently pronounce upon a man’s true state even by being with him for a week. George Whitefield was asked what he thought of a certain person’s character. “I have never lived with him,” was his very proper answer.

Idle Dreams. — Rowland Hill said to a lady, who knew she was a child of God, because she dreamed such and such a thing: “Never mind, ma’am, what you did when you were asleep; let us see what you do when you are awake.”

A Wasted Life. — Your sins cannot keep you from the jaws of death. I say, sinner, I want thee to look at Christ’s sepulchre, too, for when thou diest it may have done thee great good to think of it. You have heard of Queen Elizabeth, crying out that she would give an empire for a single hour. Or have you heard the despairing cry of the gentleman on board the “Arctic,” when it was going down, who shouted to the boat, “Come back! I will give you £30,000 if you will come and take me in.” Ah! poor man, it were but little if he had thirty thousand worlds, if he could thereby prolong his life: “Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath, will he give for his life.” Some of you who can laugh this morn ing, who came to spend a meriy hour in this hall, will be dying, and then ye will pray and crave for life, and shriek for another Sabbath-day. Oh! how the Sabbaths ye have wasted will walk like ghosts before you! Oh! how they will shake their snaky hair in your eyes! How will ye be made to sorrow and weep, because ye wasted precious hours, which, when they are gone, are gone too far to be recalled. May God save you from the pangs of remorse.

Light Needed for the Feet. — Some people make use of Christ’s gospel to illuminate their heads, instead of making use of it to illuminate their hearts. They are like the farmer Rowland Hill once described. The farmer is sitting by the fire with his children; the cat is purring on the hearth, and they are all in great com fort. The plowman rushes in and cries, “Thieves! thieves! thieves!” The farmer rises up in a moment, grasps the candle, holds it up to his head, rushes after the thieves, and, says Rowland Hill, “he tumbles over a wheelbarrow, because he holds the light to his head, in stead of holding it to his feet.” So there are many who just hold religion up to illuminate their intellect, instead of holding it down to illuminate their practice; and so they make a sad tumble of it, and cast themselves into the mire, and do more hurt to their Christian profession in one hour than they will ever be able to retrieve.

The Blessedness of Old Age. — Some time ago, I stepped up to an old man whom I saw when preaching at an anniversary, and I said to him, “Brother, do you know there is no man in the whole chapel I envy so much as you!” “Envy me,” he said, “why, I am eighty-seven.” I said, “I do, indeed; because you are so near your home, and because I believe that in old age there is a peculiar joy, which we young people do not taste at present. You have got to the bottom of the cup, and it is not with God’s wine as it is with man’s. Man’s wine becomes dregs at the last, but God’s wine is sweeter the deeper you drink of it.” He said, “That’s very true, young man,” and shook me by the hand. I believe there is a blessedness about old age that we young men know nothing of. I will tell you how that is. In the first place the old man has a good experience to talk about. The young men are only just trying some of the prom ises; but the old man can turn them over one by one, and say, “There, I have tried that, and that, and that.” We read them over and say, “I hope they are true,” but the old man says, “I know they are true.” And then he begins to tell you why. He has got a history for every one, like a soldier for his medals; and he takes them out and says, “I will tell you when the Lord revealed that to me: just when I lost my wife; just when I buried my son; just when I was turned out of my cottage, and did not get work for six weeks; or, at another time, when I broke my leg.” He begins telling you the history of the promises, and says, “There, now, I know they are all true.” What a blessed thing, to look upon them as paid notes; to bring out the old checks that have been cashed, and say, “I know they are genuine, or else they would not have been paid.” Making Our Own Epitaph. — When the Eastern Emperors were crowned at Constantinople, it is said to have been a custom for the royal mason to set before his majesty; a certain number of marble slabs, one of which he was to choose to be his tombstone. It was well for him to remember his funeral at his coronation. I bring before you now the unwritten marbles of life: which will you have, holiness, or sin, Christ or self? When you have chosen, you will begin to write the inscription upon it; for your life’s works will be your memorial. The Frailty of the Human Body. — Paul was accustomed to make tents. I do not suppose he ever manufactured any very large or sumptuous ones — probably he did not own capital enough for that, but he was a tent worker and mender. The use of tents was common enough among the Roman people in Paul’s day. The gentry delighted in bright pavilions which they could set up at pleasure, but the commoner folk found pleasure in spending a part of their time under canvas. Whilst he was sitting writing this letter it is most likely that Paul had a tent or two to repair lying near his hand, and this suggested to him the language of the verse before us. When a tent is newly placed it is but a frail structure, very far removed from the substantiality of a house; in that respect it is exactly like this feeble corporeal frame of ours, which is crushed before the moth. Paul felt that his body would not need any great force to overthrow it; it was like the tent which the Midianite saw in his dream, which only needed to be struck by a barley cake, and lo! it lay along. A house of solid masonry may need a crowbar and a pick to start its stones from their places, but feebler tools will soon overturn a tent and make a ruin of it. The body is liable to dissolution from causes so minute as to be imperceptible — a breath of foul air, an atom of poisonous matter, a trifle, a mere nothing, may end this mortal life. I hope that you and I duly remember the frailty of our bodies.

Frailty of Human Life. — I saw the other day an encampment of gipsies out upon the common; many of this wandering race were sitting under a coarse covering sustained by sticks, I should exaggerate if I called them poles; and I could not help feeling that such an abode was all veiy well on a warm day, but not at all desirable when the east-wind was blowing, or a shower of sleet was driving along, or a deluge of rain descending.

The Loneliness of Life. — Samson was not hunting for wild beasts; he was engaged on a much more tender business. He was walking in the vineyards of Timnath, thinking of anything but lions, and “behold,” says the Scripture, “a young lion roared against him.” It was a remarkable and startling occurrence. He had left his father and mother and was quite alone; no one was within call to aid him in meeting his furious assailant. Human sympathy is exceedingly precious, but there are

LIFE i?3

points in our spiritual conflict in which we cannot expect to receive it. To each man there are passages in life too narrow for walking two abreast. Upon certain crags we must stand alone. As our constitutions differ, so our trials, which are suited to our constitutions, must differ also. Each individual has a secret with which no friend can intermeddle; for every life has its mysteiy and its hid treasure. Do not be ashamed, young Christian, if you meet with temptations which appear to you to be quite singular: we have each one thought the same of his trials. You imagine that no one suffers as you do, whereas no temptation hath happened unto you but such as is common to man, and God will with the temptation make a way of escape that you may be able to bear it. Yet for the time being you may have to enter into fellowship with your Lord when he trod the wine-press alone, and of the people there was none with him. Is not this for your good? Is not this the way to strength? What kind of piety is that which is dependent upon the friendship of man? What sort of religion is that which cannot stand alone? Beloved, you will have to die alone, and you need therefore grace to cheer you in solitude. Uncertain Tenure of Life. — Have you not been startled by the news that a neighbor or acquaintance, with whom you chatted a day or two ago, is dead? “Dead!” you said. “Why, he was in my shop only a few days ago! Dead! Why, he seemed to be in good health, strong in body, vigorous in mind, full of plans and projects; I should have thought of any man being dead sooner than he!” Do not you recollect the time when you heard the bell toll for a near relative, and when you stood over the open grave? Ah, then, when the dust fell upon the coffin-lid, and the words were uttered, “Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” each of those thundering morsels said, “I have a message from God unto thee,”