How to Be Fully and Forever Satisfied

ur Lord Jesus Christ Himself tells us how

each one of us can be fully satisfied and satisfied for ever., Turn in roe Bibles to John 4: 14: “But, eve

There is a matchless music in “these words, I ‘remember how, as a boy, before I had any thought of becoming a Christian myself, I would come back to this verse again and again, and read it over and over. There was to me a fascination in those words that almost no other utterance of our Lord possessed. I did not understand their meaning at all, but they seemed to me like a marvellous strain of music from some far away, heavenly world. But when I came to understand their meaning and to experience for myself the great truth they set forth, there was in them a preciousness that I cannot put into words. You will recall the circumstances under which the words were spoken. Our Lord Jesus had been taking a long and tiresome journey afoot, covering the entire day. He had started out in the early morning with His disciples, and they had trudged along the whole day through, apparently without anything to eat, and about sunset had reached the outskirts of the village of Sychar. It was formerly thought that the “sixth hour” was noon-time, but it was later discovered that in Ephesus, where John wrote this Gospel, time was reckoned as it is with us today, — fror midnight till noon, and from noon till midnight, — and the sixth hour was therefore six o’clock in the afternoon. So “about the sixth hour” was six o Gea: in the evening.

-curb. The dictiples went into the town near-by to get something to eat, but apparently He was too tired to accompany them. Ina little while, as He sat thus upon the well-curb, looking up the road, He saw a woman of evil character coming toward the well to draw water. Immediately a new thirst took possession of Him — not a thirst for water for His body, but a thirst for the salvation

of that outcast woman’s souly As soon as she aprecicheaey within speaking distance Jesus, seeking an approach to her oul, said: “Give. Me to drink;” not so much that He

wished water for His thirsty body (though He sorely needed that), as that He wished to win that woman from ‘her sins into the possession of eternal life which He alone ‘could givesy Instead of letting ‘down the jug she carried into the well to draw water, she meanly and contemptuously said: “How is it that Thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a Samaritan woman?” Our Lord does not notice the insult, but replies: “If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give Me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of Him, and He would have given edieriaioe eel Immediately the

woman said to Him: “Sir, Thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast Thou that living water?” Pointing down into that well, at which so many generations of men and cattle had slaked their thirst, Jesus replied: “Every one that drinketh of this water shall thirst again.”

How true that is of every earthly fountain of satisfaction or joy; no matter how deeply one drinks, he soon thirsts again. For example, drink as deeply as you will of the fountain of wealth, you are not satisfied for long: you soon thirst again. Drink of the fountain of worldly fame or honour or power, how long will you be satisfied? You soon thirst again. Drink as deeply as you will of the fountain of worldly pleasure, you will not be satisfied for long: you soon thrist again. Drink as deeply as you I will of the fountain of human knowledge, of the fountain y of science, or philosophy, or literature, or at the fountain

Sof that most nearly divine of all human fountains, the fountain of human love, you soon thirst again. Not one of these things fully satisfies, neither do they.satisfy for long. Then our added the wonderful words of our text: Cf W yet,.shall drink of the water that I shal give him shall never thirst; or to translate more literally: “shall not thirst forever;” “But the water tha

i Le santegey: if zone of us could sit and ponder those words in silence by ourselves till their full meaning and full force took entire possession of our minds and hearts. Drinx

But what is the water that our Lord Jesus gives? If you look at the commentaries on John 4:14, you will find a great many different answers to this question. But the Bible itself answers the question and tells us plainly just what this water is that the Lord Jesus gives. You will find this answer in John 7: 37-39: “Now on the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto Me and drink. [He that believeth on Me, as the Scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.

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our joy is in our eerie or in our possessions we cannot by any possibility be always happy; for sometimes our environment is just what we would have it to be, and sometimes it is just what we would not have it to be. When our environment is pleasant, then we are happy, but when it is unpleasant we are miserable. If our joy is in our possessions, — that is, in our possessions outside of ourselves — we cannot by any possibility be always happy, for sometimes we have them, and sometimes we lose them. When we have them we are happy, but when they are gone we are utterly miserable. We are happy when we are rich, but we are miserable when we are poor. We are happy when we are well, but we are miserable when we are sick. We are happy when men speak well of us, but we are miserable when they speak evil of us. We are happy when we have our friends with us, but plunged into the depths of sorrow and despair when they are taken from us by death. But. if our source of. joy a ountain sptinging up within us,..then. we are enti independent of our surroundings, our circumstances our possessions or Jack o possessions, We are joyful when ‘we are rich and equally joyful when we are poor; we ‘are joyful when things go just right, and equally joyful a ‘when they go “dead wrong;” we are joyful when we are — well, but equally joyful when we are sick; we are joyful — »when men speak well of us, but equally jovitl when they i speak all manner of evil against us; we are joyful when

the dearest friend we have on earth is taken from us;

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‘comes, § sooner or - later, to. every one of us, when for the ) last time we look into the face of some dearly loved one lying cold and still in death, what possible comfort is — there in anything that this world can give? Is there any -surcease for our sorrow in such an hour to be gained by going to the theatre, the opera, the card-party, the dance? No, those things would only add to our sorrow. We do not think of going to them at such an hour. But from this fountain within us, which the indwelling Spirit has become, gushes up at at such 1a time as that “joy unspeak-

‘able aad full of glory.”

How well I remember such an experience in a time of apparently overwhelming sorrow that came to my wife and to me years ago. We had a lovely daughter, about nine years of age, a most winsome child. One Saturday afternoon Mr. Jacoby, the redeemed man of whom I spoke to you yesterday, came to our house, as he did every Saturday afternoon, to take the children with him out to Lincoln Park. When they returned that evening about six o’clock, our little Elizabeth said: “I don’t think Til eat any supper tonight; I don’t feel real well.” We thought little of it, considering it simply a bilious attack. But the next morning when she came down to breakfast she said: “TI don’t think I’ll go to church this morning; my head aches.” We still thought it was simply a bilious attack. But Monday morning, when she came to the breakfast-table, she said: “I don’t feel real well yet; I don’t think I’d better go to school today.” It seemed rather long for a bilious attack to stay with a child, and yet it seemed nothing serious. She was around the house all day, not feeling really well, but apparently not very sick. Tuesday morning, when she arose, she said: “I am well today and I’m going to school.” But she added: “I have a strange feeling in my throat!” Her mother looked into her throat and saw the tell-tale white patch, and, of course, we sent for a physician at once. When he came and had carefully examined the child he said: “There is nothing to be anxious about. It is not diphtheria; it is only tonsilitis. But I will keep a close watch.” The next morning he came again and gave her another examination, and then said: “Well, it is diphiheria, but not a serious case at all. There is nothing to be alarmed about.”

The other children were sent away from home, so that they might not be exposed. Our Elizabeth seemed to be better all that day. That night I slept down-stairs to avoid exposing others whom I might have to meet during the following day, and her mother stayed up-stairs with the little child. The next morning, long before daylight, her mother ran to the top of the stairs, calling: “Archie, come up, quick!” I rushed up-stairs and saw Elizabeth choking. I ran at once for the physician. He came back with me; but Elizabeth was apparently very much better. The choking had all passed away; indeed, she seemed well on the road to recovery. The doctor said: “For some reason or other I don’t feel like administering anti- {oxin; but keep a close watch on her, and if she gets any worse telephone me at the Medical College and I will leave my classes and come at once.” But she seemed to rapidly grow better rather than worse; indeed, she said to her mother: “Mother, I am well; I want to get up and dress.” In the meantime, a trained nurse had come, and her mother came down-stairs to talk with me. We were very happy in the thought that our little girl had been spared to us, and I had written letters to Mr. Moody and other friends saying how the crisis was past and Elizabeth was well on the road to recovery. Suddenly, right in the midst of our talk with one another, the nurse ran to the top of the stairs and called: “Come up, quick!” We rushed up-stairs, Elizabeth’s eyes were closed. She was breathing rapidly, not choking, but the little heart was giving out. There was no time to send for the doctor. JI dropped on my knees to pray. I had hardly time to begin when the spirit of our little one had taken its flight from the mortal body. It was so sudden, so unexpected, it was almost crushing. The health officers came in and ordered that we should bury the body at once. Of course, no one was allowed to come to the funeral. We had to have the service all alone, with the exception of the presence of Mr. Jacoby, who insisted on coming and accompanying us to the grave. Even her brother and little sisters could only stand across the street and look at the house where lay the body of their sister, whom they would never see again until the resurrection. We carried the little body to the cemetery. It was raining pitilessly, and as the little body was lowered into the grave and the rain poured upon the box that contained the casket, my wife turned to me and said: “Archie, I am so glad that Elizabeth is not in that box!”

When we returned home the health officers demanded, very wisely, that after being fumigated we should leave the house to them and go to a strange hotel for the night. All that night there was the most prolonged thunderstorm, except one, that I ever passed through. It seemed to be one unceasing flash of lightning and crash of thunder, and we could not sleep.

The next morning, as I went, thoroughly worn out, to the Bible Institute to meet my classes, as I passed around the corner of Chestnut Street and La Salle Avenue, I could contain my grief no longer. There was no one on the street, and I cried aloud: e Oh, Elizabeth! Elizabeth!” And justthen

eart broke forth with such power as I think I had never y possess before, and it was the most joyful moment that I had ever known in my life!

Oh, how wonderful is 5 the joy. 0: of the 1e Holy G Chost! It is an unspeakably glorious t thing to have your joy, not in things without you, not even in your most oe loved friends, but to have within you a foun; inging up, springing up, springing up, always springing up, three hundred and sixty-five days in every year, E pringing Up under all circumstances into everlasting life.

Itisalso.agreat thing that you can haye.a.fountain. hat. you. can, take with you wherever. you.g0..) A good many years ago I was walking along the Winchester Road in Northfield with George Needham, the celebrated evangelist. We went over the state line into New Hampshire. On our return, when we had reached a place about five minutes north of where the Auditorium now stands, we passed by a hill. Mr. Needham said to me: “Torrey, I believe that if we go up to the top of that hill we will get a fine view.” So up to the top of the hill we went, and it was a wonderful view! At our feet lay the Northfield Seminary grounds in all their beauty. Then across the road, the meadows leading down to the Connecticut River, that ran like a broad silver band between the gentle slopes of green on both sides of the river. Then one tier of hills and then another a little higher, then another, then another — five, six, seven tiers, ending in the Green Mountains in the distance, and all bathed in the golden light of the setting sun! It was a scene of marvellous beauty. J turned to Mr. Needham and said: “I am going to buy this hill and build a house right where we are standing!” So the next day I went to the farmer who owned the land; he named his price, and I paid it. The following spring I began to build my house. My friends who drove along the foot of the hill would call to me, and when I would go down would say: “What are you building ’way up there for?” I would reply: “Because I wish to see out.” “But,” they said, “you will have no water up there!”

That is where they were mistaken; for before a spade was put into the ground to dig the foundations, in walking over the place with the farmer from whom I had purchased it, I noticed a little depression in the ground, perhaps fifty or seventy-five feet from where I had intended to build the house. I said to the farmer: “I think if we should dig there we would strike water.” He replied: “I don’t know; it looks as if you might.” I sent for a well-digger. He dug a hole four or five feet across and eight feet deep — and the water came bubbling in. There were soon five feet of water in that eight-foot-deep well, and such water! Clear as crystal — so clear that when you looked into the well, even when there were five feet of water in it, it looked sometimes as if there were none, the water was so clear and transparent. And water soft and cold and pure and never-failing We had many dry seasons after that and many another well ran dry; but not our well, up on the hillside. There was always plenty of water in that spring and many would come there to drink.

But there was one grave trouble with that well — a fatal fault — I could not take it with me when the call came for me to go elsewhere. During the Spanish-American War I was with the soldiers at Chickamauga Park, and we had a prolonged drought; for weeks and weeks no rain; and with sixty thousand troops marching and counter-marching, and artillery wagons running across the field, the dust filled the air day and night — dust thirty feet high! We ate dust, we drank dust we slept dust, and we drempt dust! And no water anywhere fit to drink. There was a well to which the officers of Major-General Brooks’ command had access, and it looked good and tasted good, but drink it and in a short time you would be flat on your back. And oh, how thirsty I got, and how often I would think of that well of mine up on the hill at Northfield! But it did me no good, for it was many hundreds of miles away.

Then the call came for me to go to China, and while in China we decided to visit Canton. Cholera was raging in Canton at the time. People were fleeing from the city in fright. When we boarded the boat at Hong-Kong to go up to Canton, they said to us: “Be sure and drink no water on the boat. A member of the French Legation went up last week and drank water on that boat. He was at breakfast with his family, but died with cholera before lunch.” I remembered the warning on the way up, but after a few days in Canton, when we were going back on the steamer, as I sat down to dinner I read on the menu card: ‘Corned beef and cabbage.” That looked good to an American who had been eating all kinds of foreign concoctions. Without thinking of what it would do for me, I ordered corned beef and cabbage. But I soon found what it would do for me! In the evening I began to get very thirsty. I was about to start for the water-tank when I remembered the warning: “Be sure and drink no water on the boat. A member of the French Legation went up last week and drank some water on the boat. He was with his family at breakfast and died with cholera before lunch!” So i drank some of the various soft-drink concoctions as long as [I dared, and then lay all night suffering from thirst and thinking of the well on the hillside at Northfield, so many thousands of miles away. But I had another Well that I had brought with me, and while my body thirsted, my soul was satisfied: the Holy Spirit within was springing up, springing up, springing up, into everlasting life and joy!

Please note another thing: when cne has this fountain isentir - ’ ie ‘S: joy.”y What does he Feare for the dance, or th e card-party, or the theatre, or any other kind of learitily satisfaction? Who would go to an old green, slimy pool to drink when he had right at hand a clear crystal spring? Oh, the world with its allurements has no power over the one who has this fountain within!

I often think there is little use in telling young Christians: You must not dance; you must not play cards; you must not go to the theatre; you must not do this, that and the other thing. There is a far better ahs (

he 9 receive the Holy Spirit, and let. Him ha full right of way within, and the will have no. aegee: or.

hthings — they will stay away from the theatre and the dance, and the rest, not merely because they ought, but because they will not desire to go. Who that knows of a clear, crystal spring will sneak off to some green, slimy pool to drink?

When Mr. Moody was holding meetings in Philadelphia, a lady came to him one day at the close of one of his meetings and said: “Mr. Moody, I don’t like youl i “Why?” he asked. “Because you are so narrow.” “TIT didn’t think I was narrow,” Mr. Moody replied; “why do you think Iam narrow?” “Because you don’t believe in the dance, you don’t believe in cards, you don’t believe in the theatre, you don’t believe in anything nice!” “Let me tell you something,” he said, “I go to the theatre whenever I want.to.” ‘ What!” she exclaimed, “you go to the theatre whenever you want to? Oh, I do like you, Mr. Moody! You are much broader than I thought.” “Yes,” he replied, “I go to the theatre whenever I want to, I Don’t WANT To!”

Some days later another lady came to him and said: “Mr. Moody, I did not understand what you meant when you said you went to the theatre whenever you wanted to, but I understand now. I was converted in your meetings and a few days ago, after my conversion, my husband asked me to go to the theatre with him. I did not care to go, but went to please him. We had hardly taken our seats when the curtain rose and just a little while after the curtain rose something was said on the stage that grated on this new life that I had in my heart. I turned to my husband and whispered: ‘ Husband, I can’t stand this!’ He whispered back: ‘ Stay through this play and I will never ask you to come again.’ I straightened up and the play went on for a little while longer, and again something was said or done on the stage that grated on this new life in my heart. Again I turned to my husband and whispered: ‘ Husband, I really can’t stand this; I must go!’ My husband whispered back: ‘ Don’t make a scene. Stay through this play and I’ll never ask you to come again.’ Again I straightened up and tried to endure it. But soon something else was said or done that jarred upon this new life that I had in my heart, and I turned to my husband and said: ‘ Husband, I really can’t stand it any longer!’ He whispered back: ‘ Don’t make a fool of yourself!’ I replied: ‘ Husband, I have been making a fool of myself for thirty years, and I am not going to make a fool of myself any longer!’ And I got up and left.”

Oh, if you have this fountain within, you will not want these things. The pure crystal spring of the Holy Spirit in the heart will make it impossible for you to ‘seek to slake your thirst at the green, slimy pools of this world’s pleasures,

But someone will ask: Why is it, then, that so many Christians do run after these things? The answer is very simple: It is either because they never have really received the Holy Spirit as an indwelling fountain of life and joy and satisfaction, which is doubtless true of many, professing Christians; or else the fountain has become ( choked. You know it is quite possible to choke a fountain.

I was born in the city and brought up in the city. Occasionally, in the summer, our family would take a vacation in the country. But in the heart of the great city was where we lived. When I became ten years of age I was thoroughly tired of the city, as any healthy boy would be. My two brothers, who were both older than I, were also tired of the city, and we went to our father and said: “Father, buy a home in the country.” He was born in the country and was, I suspect, more tired of the city than we were, and, though he was only forty-three, he made up his mind that he would retire from business and would buy a home in the country. He went to Geneva, N. Y., about twenty miles from where he was born. Oftentimes, as a young man, he had noticed a beautiful place on Seneca Lake where he thought he would like to live when he had money enough to make it possible. It was just outside Geneva, across the lake, the grounds running down to the lake. But, on reaching Geneva, he found that the owner did not wish to sell the place. He went to an old friend, an elder in the Presbyterian Church, Captain Joe Lewis, and said: “Joe, I came out here to buy the Swan place but they don’t wish to sell it. I am greatly disappointed!” “Reuben,” he replied, “I think I know a place that would suit you — the Colonel Sherrill place. The colonel was killed in the war, and his widow wishes to sell the place.” He took my father out, and they soon agreed upon the terms and my father bought the place.

Geneva is a beautiful city lying at the foot of Seneca Lake, one of the most beautiful sheets of water in the world, forty-two miles long and from two to five miles wide. The man who had originally built the place had spent a great deal of money upon it. It was half a mile from the lake and part of the city lay between the place and the lake. But the man wished to see up the lake. So he had three hundred teams to work for many weeks building an artificial hill, so that they could see over the lake and up the lake twenty miles, Then he laid out his lawns and gardens and sent to different parts of this country and, I think, also to England, to get large trees to set out. But when the trees were set out and the house and barns and stables built, and the orchards planted, though he could see twenty miles up the lake the man was not satisfied, because of the water supply. There was a good well, but it was a long ways from the house, and he wished to have a well near at hand where he could pump water through the house. He sent for well diggers and set them to digging a well not very far from the house. They dug and dug and dug; it seemed as if they never would strike water. But one day they struck water and struck altogether too much, They struck a “gusher” and the water came pouring in until they were afraid it would undermine the foundations of the house. He sent for the fire department; they pumped the well out, and while still pumping they lowered a man in a basket down into the well with a rag carpet in his hand. He found the great orifice where the water was pouring in and shoving the rag carpet in stopped the flow of water. Then they piled in rocks on top of it, and the well was perfectly safe. But it was also perfectly useless,

One day, standing by that expensive hole, the man said to himself: “I put a lot of money into that hole and I am going to have that water!” They took out the rocks that had been piled in, then curbed the well up with stone from the bottom to the top; and then he sent for the fire department again. Again they lowered the man into the well. In one hand he held a cord with which to pull a bell to signal them when he got hold of the carpet. He took hold of the carpet with one hand and with the other rang the signal, and they pulled him up, dragging the carpet with him. And the water poured in again, but now it was perfectly safe.,

For years we drank of that well, and wonderful water it was. But in the course of time my father and mother died, and the place passed into other hands. I never revisited the place after my father’s funeral for twenty-two years; I did not want to see it. But one time I had to pass. through Geneva to go to Cornell University to speak at a meeting there. On returning through the place I thought I would get off and visit the old place. The station of the Lehigh Valley railroad was right on our old place, about a quarter of a mile back from where the house had stood. A street-car line passed right over the spot where the house had been located. I got off and looked to see if I could find anything that reminded me of the old home. The house had been taken down, brick by brick and stone by stone. Many of the finest trees had been cut down. The lawns and gardens and orchards were now laid out in city lots. I thought at first I was to find nothing that belonged to the old home. But passing by a house I noticed a well right in front of the front porch. I thought to myself: ‘‘ What a strange place to have a well, right in the front yard and in front of the porch;” and then it occurred to me that it was the old well! Leaving the old home place, I went down town. The Presbyterian minister met me on the street. ‘‘ Oh,” he said, “have you been up to the old place?” I replied: “I have.” He said: “You didn’t find anything of the old place left, did you?” “Yes,” I said, “just one thing — the old well. But what a strange place for a well — right in front of your front porch! I should think they would fill it up.” He replied: “They will never fill that well up — it’s the best water in Geneva!” Do you see the point? — the best water in Geneva! and yet it had been plugged up for a long time with an old rag! If you have ever received the Holy Spirit as an indwelling source of joy, you have had in your heart, not “the best water there is in Geneva,” but the best water there is in the universe. And in many of you the well is plugged up by some old rag of sin or worldly conformity. Let’s pull out the old rags today! What do you say?

When I was holding meetings in Melbourne, Australia, I used this illustration one day at a meeting for business and professional men in the town hall. There was a Church of England clergyman in my audience who had Known the joy of the Holy Spirit in his earlier life in England, but in coming out to Australia the fountain had become choked. As he heard me that day a great unrest came into his heart; he longed for the old joy. He spent the whole afternoon at the Cathedral in prayer (the Cathedral was kept open all day for prayer). But when night came on he had not got the old rag out yet. He called upon Father Kent, a godly Anglican clergyman, and told him of his trouble, and Father Kent helped him to get the old rag out, and he was filled with even greater joy than he had known before. He came to me the next day and told me of the experience. When we went to Geelong to hold meetings there, this man, whose parish was fifteen miles from Geelong, brought a wagon-load of people down every night to the meeting and took them back again after the meeting was over. He was the most useful worker we had in Geelong.

Oh, if you have ever known this joy and have lost it, find out today what it is that stops the well and have it out, and you will know not only as great but very likely a greater joy than you knew before.

When I was holding meetings in Bristol, England, in the Coulston Hall, I spoke one afternoon on this same subject. At the close, as I stepped into my carriage to go to my hotel, another Anglican clergyman came up and said: “I am going to ride to the hotel with you,” and stepped into the carriage with me. We had not gone far when he said: “I once knew this joy of which you have been speaking today, but the fountain is now plugged, and I know what plugs it — it is a plug of tobacco! I am zoing to give it up today.”

What is it that stops the fountain in your heart? Do you know? If so, put it away today. But perhaps you do not know what it is. You know you once had that joy and you know you have lost it. Well, you can know, Ask God to show you what it is that stops the foun ain’ and promise Him that if will show you what it is

ouwill give it up.§& He will show you if you are really bINCeTe

But perhaps some of you never knew the joy of the Holy Spirit. You can know that wondrous joy today. The Lord Jesus stands here today, all unseen, but neverttheless here, holding out the golden goblet that contains he living water, and saying: “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never aa but th

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see back in the chapter the Lord tsi says (in fvs. 10): “If thou knowest the gift of God and who it is ithat saith to thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of Him, and he would have given thee living water.” Just ask of the Lord Jesus, but be sure, when

you ask, that you really mean. it, and that you reall long G: irit,. ‘at. any price ‘and that your, wi ist

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