Sunset on Mount Zion

“Fain would I catch a hymn of love
From the angel harps which ring above,
And sing it as my parting breath
Quiver’d and expired in death,
So that those on earth might hear
The harp-notes of another sphere,
And mark, when nature faints and die a,
What springs of heavenly life arise,
And gather from the death they view
A ray of hope to light them through,
When they should be departing too.”

—Edmeston.

“Now those be the last words of David A Ithmiirh my house be

not so with God; yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure: for thi?. is all my salvation, and all my desixe, although he make it not to grow.” — 2 Sam. xxiii, 1, 5.

If we treasure, with peculiar fondness, the last sayings of great men, shall we not, with devout interest, contemplate the closing days of the sweet Singer of Israel — the great Minstrel of the universal Church, — whose hymns have been chanted for three thousand years, gladdening and consoling and comforting millions of aching hearts — and hear his “last words,”* the last cadence of his lyre? Let us watch the shadows gathering over the Hebrew mountains, as this glorious orb in the old hemisphere hastens to his setting; — as a prince in Israel — poet! warrior! king! saint! all in one — is about to expire.

We can imagine the aged David, like another Jacob, seated on his death-couch, or, at all events, with death nigh at hand. The grandeur of earthly empire is fast waning and fading from his view. The pulse, that once beat so manly and strong, is quickly ebbing. His harp had long been laid aside; but, now that he has climbed the hill Beulah and got the first glimpse of the heavenly plains, its melodies must once more be awakened; — his wrinkled hands must again sweep the strings, ere he takes u) the nobler minstrelsy of the skies. In notes full of comfort, full of joy, not unblended with warning and sadness, thus he sings: — ‘’ Although my house he 71 ot so with God; yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all tilings, and sure: for

* 2 Sam. xxiii. 1, this is all my salvation, and all my desire, although he make it not to grow.”

Let us, then, open this dying will and testament of “the man after God’s own heart.” Let us examine (as he repeats them) clause by clause, article by article, in good old David’s dying confession of faith; or (to retain our first figure) let us hearken to the successive notes of this remarkable deathsong, as these are carried to our ears. Oh that we may make the better part of them, at least, our own, when we come to a similar hour!

The first note from the harp of the dying King is a note of sadness. He begins on the minor key —” Although my house he not so loith God.’

His heart is filled with rapturous joy, standing as he is at the very gate and threshold of glory; but bitter tears will force themselves to his dimming eye. At that moment a ray of memoiy darts across the j)ast; gloomy anticipations, not regarding himself but others, come looming through the future. With faltering voice he begins his song — “Although my house he not so with God.’’

An old commentator makes the quaint remark on this verse — “There is an * although’ in every man’s life and lot.” Paid was the mightiest of yreachers, the noblest of spiritual heroes, but he had his “although;’’ for “a thorn in the flesh luas sent to huffet him.” Jonah was “exceeding glad because of his gourd,’ hut, a vile insect lurked unseen at its root. Ezekiel soared, as few prophets did, with bold, wing, amid the maonifjcent visions of Providence and Grace, but he was brought down to the dust with wings collapsed, — for “the desire of Ms eyes luas taken aiuay with a stroke.” Ah, dissemble it as we may, this world is a chequered scene, its joys are mingled ^oy, and much oyyears to bo, joy which is not. Many a heart and countenance wears a semblance of gladness, only to conceal its deep sorrow. We cannot always judge of a man by what he seems. Looking at the sea of life, we see it studded over with white sails and gay pennons an<l siDarkling waves; we forget its eddying whirlpools and treacherous reefs and brooding storms. How little do God’s ministers know, in lookino- down from their pulpits, on apparently bright and sunny faces, gay attire, and undimmed eyes, how many breaking hearts there are; — sorrows, too deep for utterance, with Vvhich a stranger dare not intermeddle! No, we cannot let all that looks happy, pass for unmingled joy. It is often the reverse; like the wretched singer on the street, who passing from door to door, struggles to warble her gleeful songs. Singing!! It is a poor counterfeit of crushing sorrow. Singing! The tones are joyous; but little does the passer-by know of the long tale of woe, — the widow’s agony, the orphan’s tears, the desolate hearth, — which is muffled and dissembled under that apparent “glee.” Pass from pew to pew in our churches, or from door to door in our streets, and how few bosoms indeed would be found in which there is not an “altJiough.” “I am strong and vigorous,” says one; “I have health of body and activity of mind, but, I am doomed to chill penury! ““I have wealth,” says another; “my cup is full, kind fortune has smiled upon me; but, I am condemned to drag about with me a suffering frame; my golden treasures are often a mockery to me, for I cannot enjoy them!” “I have both

118 SUIsSETS ON THE HEBREW MOUNTAINS.

health and wealth,” says another; “but, yonder grave has plundered me of what wealth and health never can purchase back. Mine is the saddest of all ’ althourjhs; ’ mine the bitterest ‘crook, in the lot; wealth mny come back again; health may again smile upon me; but my children! my children! These treasured barks in the sea of life that have gone down, no power can raise them up again, or bring them to my side!”

Reader! is this not a true picture? We know it is. Be assured it would not be well were it otherwise. Were all bright and sunny and joyous, you would be apt to “settle on your lees.” “The tuicked have no changes,’’ says the Psalmist, “therefore they fear not God.” If the bark were not tossed, the mariners would be asleep. >If the thunder were not sent, the air would remain unpurified. If the earthly lamp were not put out, you would never lift your eye to Heaven. These “althouglis” are like the rustling among the leaves, which you have seen causing the timid bird to hop upwards, and still upvrards, from branch to branch, and from bough to bough, till, attaining the top of the tree, it wings its flight away to a securer shelter!

Let us proceed to the second clause in the dying confession of David. He passes now from the jDlaintive minor key, to hai3pier notes and a happier theme. “Yet,” — although my house be not so with God, —” Yet!’

We may pause for a moment over that little word. It bears its own message of comfort. It tells us that there are always solaces in our trials. The “althoughs” of life are generally quaUfied by some “yet’’ There is something to balance our crricfs — some counterpart comfort, — so that we can say with the Psalmist, in an earlier period of his life,” In the multitude of my tlioiiglits {or sorrows) within me, thy comforts delight my soidJ’ Listen to his testimony in one of the sorest and saddest experiences of his life. He was never more sad; — an outcast from his throne — wandering beyond Jordan amid the bitter memories of departed glory. “Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me. Yet! the Lord will command his loving-kindness in the day-time, and in the night his song shall he with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life.’’” / will sing of meecy and judgment,” says he, in another psalm. Oh, how many can utter the same in the midst of their trials! Mark the order. He sings of Judgment, but :lieecy comes first. Our mercies are always greatest The ‘’yets” outbalance and or(??’balance the “a thoughs.” The prophet Habakkuk mourns over the “fig-tree without blossom,” vines withered and “fruitless.” But amid pining herds and famished flocks, and fields blackened with dearth and pestilence, “yet,” he adds, “will I glory in the Lord and rejoice in the God of my salvation.”

And is it not so with all God’s true people? Tried believer! are there no yets in thy night-song? — no mitigating circumstances in thine afiliction? — no “tempering of the wind to the shorn lamb?” — no “staying of God’s rough wind in the day of His east wind? “The bitter cup has its sweet drojDS ; — the dark night has its clustering stars of consolation and solace; — the ‘’ Valley of Baca” has its wells of joy; — the v.arm and green and sunny spots in the wildernesSjoutniinibor the dreary.

120 ST7NSETS ON THE H[!:r,:iEV/ IlrOUXTAINS.

But David now passes from these introductory notes, to a full and very glorious burst of gospel triumph.

We have been speaking hitherto of the “yets,” — as contrasting earthly sorrows with earthly solaces; but hei’e is the greatest of all consolations, — a sinner turning to the overwhelming contemplation of a great Saviour. Having touched one tuneless and broken string, he proceeds from the others to extract a sweet melody. *’ Yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure: for this is all my salvation and all my desire.’’

Let us mark each successive note in this rich anthem. The theme of it is, “the Everlasting Covenant.”

He speaks, first, of the Author of the covenant.” He hath made!’

“He,” my father’s God, the God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, — the God who found me amono; the sheep-cotes in Bethlehem; — (happy days! when the pastoral staff was my mimic scej)tre, the pastoral reed my simple harp, and the starry firmament my tem2:)le and palace roof;) — “He,” “the Lord my Shepherd,” hath made a “covenant” with me! It was He who nerved my arm for empire, and tuned my lips for song; — led me to the green pastures of grace, and who has brought me now to the gates of glory!

Never let us forget that it is God, the Eternal Father, who is the Author of our covenant mercies. That it was He, who from the depths of a past eternity, planned that covenant. “Yea, I have loved you with an everlasting love.” * “God 80 loved the world.” When the temple of fallen humanity

* Jer. xxxi. 3.

iay prostrate in the dust, it was He who resolved on the work of reconstruction; — ‘’Behold, I lay in Zion for a fowflr dation, a stone, a tried stone, a jyrecious corner-stone, a sure foundation.” * When the vessel of our eternal destinies was wrecked and stranded; — it was a tide flowing from the sea of His own infinite love which set it once more floating on the waters. He might have left us to perish. He might have put a vial into every angel’s hand to pour down vengeance on an apostate race; — or He might have commissioned His Eterual Son to cast the earth into “the wine-press of His wrath.” He might have “awoke” the sword of Justice from its scabbard to be bathed in the blood of the guilty! But “God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.”

Let us listen to another note in this covenant song, — another article in this covenant deed. The departing monarch’s personal interest in it next engages our thoughts. “With me.” “He hath made with me.”

Blessed assurance! Vain would all its wondrous immunities and privileges have been, unless David, in opening the charter deed, had seen his own name in living letters there.

There is nothing that will impart true joy to the soul, but a believing, personal appropriation of the blessings of salvation. It is not enough for the sick man to knoio of a physician — he must make personal application to him for a remedy. It is not sufficient for the faint and thirsty traveller to reach a fountain, or to hear the murmur of the limpid stream, — he must partake of it to be refreshed. The brazen serpent was

* lea. xxviii. 16-
rZ2 SUNSETS ON THE HEBREW MOUNTAIXS.

within sight of the thousands of Israel as they rolled in the desert sand, gasping in agony; — a look saved them — but unless they looked, they perished! The city of refuge was open to the man- slayer; — if he fled thither he was safe; but if he lingered even one footstep without, — the avenger would cut him down! Seek to lay hold, each individually, of the blessings of the gospel covenant, and to be able to say with the appropriating faith of the great apostle, “He loved me, and gave himself for me;” or, with the Church in the Canticles, “My Beloved is mine, and I am. his,” *

And what is there to hinder us from making every blessing of the covenant our own? Not God, for He hath justified! “not Christ, for” He hath died! ‘’ We cannot say with the king of Nineveh, “Who can tell if God luill turnt” He will turn. He has turned. To each individual sinner He declares, “I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth.” He seems to take each of us by the hand, leading US to the patriarch’s dying pillow, and saying, in the words He puts into the mouth of Isaiah, “/ will make an everlasting covenant with YOU, even the sure mercies 0/ David V Are we ready to reply,” Come and let us join ourselves to the Lord in an everlasting covenant that shall not he forgottenV

But this suggests the next strain in the dying man’s song. It is the peiyetuity of the covenant — an “everlasting covenant.”

Everlasting! What a contrast was that word to the whole former experience of the dying king! He had known of human covenants, and how little worth they were. His past

* Cant. ii. 16.

history and life was a fitful and changeful one — a tangled web of vicissitude — a long April day — showers and sunshine.

And so it is, and so it ever shall be, with the ways and works of man. He builds his Babel towers; and in a few centuries, the bleak winds, as they sweep over the deserted ruins, ask in bitter derision, “Where are they?” He rears his hundred-gate cities. Their name has perished. They Isave become the wild beast’s lair; or the sea- waves moan over their dismantled bulwarks!

But it is dijfferent with God’s works, and with this “work of all works.” Amid the changes of a changing world, that covenant remains, “an everlasting covenant.”

It is from everlasting! Wing your flight back to the ages of eternity when it originated. How blessed to think that, then, God the everlasting Father loved you! Christ the everlasting Son had your name ready to write on His breastplate! God the Holy Spirit was waiting to utter over the moral chaos, ‘’Let there he light!’’

And if it hQ from everlasting, it is to everlasting. Earth’s future, like the past, is full of uncertainty. Look, in these our times, at many of the poor covenants of earth, — unstable as water, they cannot endure; — delusive ropes of sand! — nations alternatley becoming friend and foe — the ally turning the aggressor, and the aggressor the ally, — proud ambition trampling in the dust the sacredness of international compacts. But here is the covenant of the everlasting God. It is a oolden chain, stretchino; in unbroken links from the eternity that is past, to the eternity that is to come!

Reader! if you be a saint of God, — if you can say with David “He hath made with me,” — what a security is yours I

Your title-deeds nre from everlasting. “Predestinated unto the adoption of children;” — “heirs of God ard joint-heirs with Christ “■ — you can utter the unanswerable challenge. “Who shall separate me from His love?”

And observe, just in passing, an incidental clause in the dying patriarch’s confession regarding this covenant, — that he was already in possession of it.

‘’He HATH made!’’ Not that he was standing then at the gate of heaven, about to have that charter put by angels into his hand, and his name for the first time engrossed in it. It was a compact in which he was already personally interested. He had rested on it during many a weary and forlorn hour in his bypast pilgrimage. ‘•’ 0 Lord, thou AET mij God,’’ had often made “the wilderness and solitary place glad.” It was not some far-distant shelter whither he had to flee when the storm overtook him. He was there already. He had long sat under the shadow of this “great Rock in a weary land!”

Christian! think of your present safety and security. If you have closed with God’s offers of mercy in Jesus, you are even noiu within the bonds of this everlasting covenant. You can now look up to Him with a child’s confidence and trust, and utter the endearing name, — “My Father!”

But, to hasten to the remaining words of the dying minstrel regarding this covenant; observe nea)t, “It is ordered,”

— “ORDERED.”

Which of the works of God are not pervaded by a beautiful order? Think of the succession of day and night.

Til ink of the revolution of the seasons. Think of the stars as they walk in their majestic courses, — one great law of harmony “binding the sweet influences of the Pleiades, .... and guiding Arcturus with his sons.” * Look upwards, amid tlic magnificence of night, to that crowded concave, — worlds piled on worlds, — and yet see the calm grandeur of that stately march; — not a discordant note there to mar the harmony, though wheeling at an inconceivable velocity in their intricate and devious orbits!

These heavenly sentinels all keep their appointed watch-towers. These Levites in the upper firmament, light their altar-fires “at the time of the evening incense,” and quench them again, when the sun, who is appointed to rule the day, walks forth from his chamber. “These wait all upon thee.“f” They continue this day according to thine ordinances, for all are thy servants!’ X

The same wondrous order obtains in the covenant of Grace. We see every attribute of God constellating in beauteous harmony around the cross of Jesus; — Mercy, Truth, Holiness, Justice, casting a reflected glory on the central throne, and each throwing a lustre on the other. The claims of the law have been fully met. It is not a salvation founded on some shadowy, indefinite trust in God’s mercy, but it is a salvation based upon everlasting righteousness. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit have combined to make every stone in the covenant building secure. God points us to the everlasting mountains, — the great bairiers of creation, nature’s mightiest types of immutability, — and says,” Th<i,

* Job xxxviii. 31, 32. + Ps. civ. 27. X P^- cxix. 91.

mountains shall depart, and the hills he removed; hut my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace he removed’’ *

Again, it is ordered” in all things’*

Not a want, believer, you can have, but what is supplied here. Christ is your Prophet, Priest, and King; God is your Father; the Holy Spirit is your Sanctifier, Guide, Comforter; the blessings of the covenant, — justification, adoption, sanctification, peace in life, support in perplexity, triumph in death, grace here, glory hereafter; — all the events of your life — its incidents, its accidents, its vicissitudes — are the ordeied “all things “of this well-ordered covenant. God —” the God of all grace “— promises to give you all” all -sufficiency in all things.” ‘’No good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.” f

The next note in the dying song is, that this covenant is” sure!*

What is sure or abiding under the sun? Our health’^ The strong frame may in a moment be bowed, and the hectic glow mount to the cheek of manhood. Our wealth? It may breed its own worm, and take wings and flee away. Our friends? A word — a look — may estrange some; — the grave, in the case of others, may have put its impressive mockery on the dream of earth’s immortality. Our homes? Tli’j summons comes to strike our tent, and leave behind us the smouldering hearths of a hallowed past, — so that “the place that once knew us, knows us no more.”

* Isa. liv. IQ. t Ps. lxxxiv. 11.

But here is one tljiiig su7’e. Here is a covenant wliicli has the pillars of immutability to rest upon. Castin.i:^ your anchor within the veil, you will outride the storm; the golden chain of covenant grace links you to the throne of God! That cuvenant is as sure as everlasting truth and power and 1 ighteousness can make it. The blood of Jesus purchased it, and the intercession of Jesus secures it. Mark, it is not ‘• I have made with Him” — (that would be a poor security; how the brittle reed would bend to every storm!) — but it is “He hath made with me.’ The saint’s watchword and gualantee is this —” Nevertheless, I am continually luith thee.”” Ttiou hast holden me by my right hand!’ *

“This’* he adds, as the closhiQ- note of his sono- — “this is all my salvation.”

He needed no more. He had sung a short while before, ill that beautiful 72d Psalm, of the glories of the Messiah’s kingdom. He hal seen wdth the eye of faith that kingdom extending from pole to pole, and from shore to shore. He had heard with prophetic ear, the gospel strain chanted ‘• from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth.” He seems to have felt at the time, as if with these glowing anticipations he could put aside his harp for ever — that such would be a befitting close to a minstrel life; — “Amen, and amen,” he said; “the prayers of David, the son of Jesse, are ended.”

But no! As he is now really drawing near the end of his pilgrimage, the spirit of the old man “revives.” He had sweetly sung of Christ as the Saviour of a woeld. But he

* Ps. Ixxiil 23.

128 suinSets on the hebeew liountains.

is now himself about to pass through the swellings of Jordan; — lie must again take down that harp to sing of Him as his oiu)i Redeemer. ‘He is all my salvation!” Oh, what a word for a dying man and a dying hour! Christ ‘’ all in all.” He had no other trust. He needed no other.

Reader, it is on a dying couch, be assured, you will be led most deeply to experience the preciousness of an undivided trust in the Saviour. All other cobweb confidences shall then be swept away. It has been the signilicant, triumphant utterance of a thousand death-beds, ‘’Neither is there salvation in any other.’’ Surely if any man could have felt otherwise, it was David. True, he had great sins; presumptuous sins; but he had great and manifold graces also; — manifold subjects for glorying in, to which many at least would have been inclined to cleave. As a King, he had served faithfully his day and generation. He had raised the covenant nation and people to a high pitch of prosperity. He had the materials collected for a majestic Sanctuary for his God. He had prepared for unborn ip.illions the noblest of liturgies. But, see his last deed! He hangs his harp on the cross of Calvary, saying of a Saviour “whom, having not seen,” he “loved” — “He is all my salvation!”

“Other refuge I have none:

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee!”

Once more; he adds, “He is all my desiee,” (or “my deligJit,” as that word may mean.) In comparison with this, (his covenant God,) all earthly objects had lost their attractions. The stars that helped to light up the Valley of Tears, were now dimming before a Brighter Sun; the false glitter of the world, and the magnificence of empire, were fading

before the rays of heavenly glory. He could say, with a iiic;ming his own words never had before, — “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee”

We, too, shall come, some day, to see the false and fascinating joys of earth in their true light; — like the bubble on the stream, dancing its little moment on the surface, and then vanishinoj for ever! Ah! how cheerless will old ao-e be, if it know no better than earthly delights, wherewith to fill the aching void of the jaded spirit; how helpless, if it find the world’s scaffoldinoj removed, and no higher and nobler prop in its place to bear the sweep of the storm! Take God as •’ the strength of your heart,” that He may be “your portion for ever;” — yours in a living hour, that He may be yours in a dying hour. “He is all my delight!” Nothing else — nothing less, can satisfy the cravings of an immortal spirit. All other happiness is a mimic happiness — a wretched counterfeit of the true; — a base alloy, on which Satan may have stamped the currency of heaven — but it is “of the earth, earthy,” and upon it Death will put an extinguisher for ever!

We could almost have wished that the strains of the sweet Singer of Israel had ended here, — that his had been a glorious, unclouded “sunset.” But this “bird of Paradise” mounting upwards, and singing so joyously as he nears the golden eaves of heaven — utters, just as he is almost lost from our sight, one other wailing note. We dare not pass it unnoticed, for it is an instructive one, full of solemn monition. He repeats his opening sentence —” Although he make it not

130 SUNSETS ON THE HECLiEW MOUNTAINS,

to groiu*’ It was a sentence the departing monarch must have littered through his tears.

His happiness would have been complete could he have left the world Vvith the joyous thought,” God is my covenant God — my salvation — my delight — my desire. I am soon to bask in His presence; and, what augments these glorious prospects, is the assurance that I am not alone; — that ’ my house,’ my family, are also ’ so with God; ’ — I can bid earth farewell, knowing that my harp will be swept by the hand of my children’s children, — that they will rejoice to follow their father’s steps, and share in his incorruptible crown. This God shall he their God for ever and ever.’’

But, alas! they are far different thoughts which, for a moment, choke the utterance of the dying king. That covenant, in their case, is “not to grow.” It is (so far as earth is concerned) a sad farewell; for more than one of these his own children have embittered his life. They are to dishonour his name, desecrate his grave, and forsake his God.

And worse than all is the self-interrogation, yVhy all this? Ah! conscience could not fail to recall his own sin, as the sad and humiliating cause of family degeneracy. The words of Nathan, planted a thorn in that dying pillow. He was himself guiltily res2:>onsible for his house being “aliens to the “{spirituaJj)” commomuealth of Isiael, and strangers to the covenant of promise.” Keader, see to it, that you do not embitter your death-bed with the agonizing reflection, that by your own sins, or by the force of evil examyle, you bequeath a heritage of woe to those that come after you, and with anguish like that of David your gray hairs ‘’go down with sorrow to the groove”

On this we shall not dwell. Let us not mar those notes.’)f joy by dwelling on this closing dirge of sorrow. Let us rather contemplate a house that “is so with God.” Let us vaiher picture the beautiful spectacle of a whole family, linked in the indissoluble bonds of the one ‘’everlasting covenant,” treading the same pilgrim pathway, and anticipating the same pilgrim rest; — a father and mother bending their knees in prayer for their little ones, — themselves living a life of higlitoned consistency — their children rising up and calling them blessed: — in affliction resigned; in provocation meek; in sickness sympathising; and the epitaph on the family gravestone, written by man and ratified by God — “These all died in faith.” “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

Are we prepared to lie down on our death-beds, and to exult, as David did, in hopes full of immortality? Can we omit the only note of sorrow in his song, and make the words of the dying warrior our own? Can we sing it in life amid all its changes? Can we sing it in affliction, amid all its tears? Can we sing it as we wlalk through the valley of death-shade? Can we take it with us, as our passport at the golden gates? —” He hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure: for ilm is all my salvation, and all my desire!