Pithy Sayings
A GREAT part of our labor lies in seeking out attractive illustrations, parables, and choice sayings, by which we may coax men to attend to their own interests; and even then we fail unless a higher power intervenes. We would be content to preach didactic truth with unvarying solemnity if the multitude would but hear us, but they will not. What then? If the healing medicine is nauseous to the child, we must sweeten the draught or gild the pill. If our words will not run by themselves, we must put them on wheels and so set them in motion. Our object is, “if by any means we may save some;” and since men will not believe without hearing, and will not hear unless we make the word pleasant and attractive to them, we dare not do otherwise than indulge them in this respect, and woo them to instruction as children are enticed to learning by stories and pictures. — C H. Spurgeon.
A CERTAIN American divine, of C2tlt2ire and unbounded liberalism, went to hear Mr. Spurgeon. Immediately he placed the doughty preacher in his crucible, reduced him to a given quantity, carefully analyzed his parts, and announced the result to the world. Here it is: “Spurgeon is a man of more bowels than brains.” Thus the clever assayer, with a condescending wave of the hand, dismissed the ignorant London pastor, with his boorish flock, to the dark shades of oblivion.
Yet here we are, with daring temerity, placing the dissected pastor on a pedestal, to be viewed again by the public eye. A strange phenomenon, this — that, after so patent a proof of incapacity and incapability, he continues to this day, “witnessing both to small and great,” apparently undisturbed by the philosopher’s discovery. Nor has he even noticed our friend’s experiment, — if indeed, he ever heard of him.
Like Father Taylor, ]Ir. Spurgeon never loads his musket to shoot a mosquito. A certain Dean, of nobler proportions than our high-art critic, did once decry Spurgeon, and deplored “that so much notice has been taken of his railings.” He pitied him because of “his entire want of acquaintance with theological literature,” and ignored him with the plea that “to hold a controversy with him upon the subject would be to as little purpose as to attempt to hold a logically constructed argument with a child unacquainted with logical terms.”
The doctrines preached by ]Ir. Spurgeon called for a vindication, and the man minus brains replied: “x-ldmitting the witness of the venerable Dean to be correct, and that the young minister is inexpert in logic, I am not therefore ashamed, — far otherwise; ‘I will glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me ‘, for ’ when I am weak, then am I strong.’ Take, O ye great ones of the earth, every profit that can be made out of your belief in my utter, total ignorance, and your own profound and extensive learning, and then go your ways and learn what this meaneth: * Thy wisdom and thy knowledge, it hath perverted thee; and thou hast said in thine heart, I am, and none else beside me. Therefore shall evil come upon thee; thou shalt not know from whence it riseth.’”
However, this was in days gone-by; and perhaps since then, like Topsy, Mr, Spurgeon has ‘* growed,” ,^
But we recur to the remark that the London pastor has bowels. That is the expression of sympathy, and this power of sympathy was recognized by Paul: “Put on, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies We read of our Lord having compassion on the multitudes. They ever followed Him and testified, “Never man spake like this man.” No doubt Spurgeon possesses his Master’s spirit, and practises his Master’s work. He has compassion on the multitude, and gives them heavenly bread to cat.
It is a little curious to observe, that the charge of ignorance has been generally made by men who do not like the positive truth he preaches. As for brains, somehow he has a way of showing that there are plums in his pudding. The woven cloth bespeaks a loom; and he who has been spinning wise and witty sayings during a whole generation must have something beside sawdust under his scalp.
If compliments were worthy of notice. Pastor Spurgeon can find them as thick as blackberries. Here is a specimen.
Nos. 268, 269, and 270 of “The New Park Street Pulpit” are filled with an’account of” the ceremony of kiying the first stone of the new Tabernacle,” which ceremony was performed by Sir S. M. Peto. “In the bottle which is to be placed under the stone we have put no money,” remarked the pastor; “for one good reason — we have none to spare. We have not put newspapers; because, albeit we admire and love the liberty of the press, yet that is not so immediately concerned in this edifice. The articles placed under the stone are simply these: the Bible, the Word of God; we put that as the foundation of the Church. Upon this rock doth Christ build the ministration of His truth. We know of nothing else as our standard. Together with this we have put the old Baptist Confession of Faith, which was signed in the olden times by Benjamin Keach, whose name is in this book. We put also the Declaration of the Deacons which you have just heard read, printed on parchment. There is also an edition of Dr. Rippon’s Hymn-book, printed just before he died; and then, in the last place, there is a programme of this day’s proceedings.”
One of the speakers present at the evening meeting was Judge Payne, who, as a cnatter of course, composed a tail-piece, besides indulging in some sensible wit. “Now what does C. H. S. mean?” he asked, glancing at one of the decorations. “Why, it means, first, Charles Haddon Spurgeon; but I do not mean that. C. H. S. means a Clear-Headed Speaker, who is Clever at Handling Subjects in a. Cheerful-Hearted Style. He is a Captain of the Hosts of Surrey; he is a Cold-Hating Spirit; he has Chapel-Heating Skill; he is a Catholic Humbug-Smasher; he is a Care-Hushing Soother; he is a Child-Helping Strengthener; he is a Christ-Honoring Soldier; and he is a Christ-Honored Servant.”
To which we may add that in disposition he is Cheerful, Hopeful, Sanguine; is a Careful, Humble Shepherd; a Conscientious, Honest Scripturist; and a Capital Heresy-Squelcher.
It is not unusual for young men in their sophomore experience to speak disparagingly of their superiors, and like chattering monkeys be proclaiming themselves. Even college parrots have prated about Mr. Spurgeon’s lack of mental equipment.
On a particular occasion, when Dr. Binney was visiting one of the Independent colleges for the purpose of giving a lecture, he happened to overhear some silly remarks concerning Mr. Spurgeon from certain of the students. The lecturer asked them to be quiet, to listen to what he himself had to say on the matter, and addressed them in some such words as these: ‘’ I myself have enjoyed some amount of popularity; I have always been able to draw together a congregation; but in the person of Mr. Spurgeon we see a young man — be he who he may, and come whence he will — who, at twenty-four hours’ notice, can command a congregation of twenty thousand people. Now, I have never been able to do that, and I never knew of any one else who could do it.” Mr. Spurgeon could do greater things than all the efforts of the students combined, and on that account there was wisdom in remaining quiet, and withholding railing words.
What Mr. Spurgeon reads he assimilates, and reproduces with consummate skill, a sure proof of great mental ability.
“One by one he has taken up various sciences, — astronomy, chemistry, zoology, ornithology, and others, — not merely with a desire for information, but to supply his mind with new images. The movements of the planets and their disturbing influences, the mysteries of chemical affinity, the structure of animals and birds, with reference to the conditions of their existence, habits, and idiosyncrasies, have all delighted Mr. Spurgeon by turns, and have all helped to enrich his fund of illustration.... He is a strong believer in the theory of ventilating the mind, — of pouring a stream of new ideas constantly through it, — to preserve its freshness, and prevent the stagnation not unfrcqucntly brought about in a strong intellect engrossed in one pursuit.”
But know, O Reader, he cares little for the sneering critic, and human praise weighs light with him. This is very odd, and like that other characteristic of his, which allows all abuse and attack to sail by unchallenged. “Not even the statement in print that he had poisoned his own mother would provoke the shadow of a reply.” Only indeed when the claims of the Gospel demanded it, or the good of the Church could be advanced thereby, has he troubled himself about any reference to his personal character. Blessed is every one who knoweth the secret that ‘* all things work together for good to them that love God.” And thrice-blessed they who refrain their lips from evil-speaking, and give no offence by a tongue “set on fire of hell,” or a “pen dipped in gall.”
Mr. Spurgeon’s printed “Sermons” at the close of the year (1883) will number 1800; his books on the Psalms cover 2,744 pages, while “The Sword and the Trowel” has reached Vol. xx. All this, besides a host of books, pamphlets, tracts, essays, and prefaces, issued by this man of infinitesimal brain, who is on the morning side of fifty.
That Mr. Spurgeon is alive to what is going on around him cannot be questioned. He comments as he pleases, yet his silent contempt of learned fools reveals his penetration and wisdom. He has little time and few words for certain philosophies and their advocates. A discriminating remark, like the following, and such subjects are peremptorily dismissed. ‘* To our feeble apprehension, modern philosophy is just now in the primitive stage of protoplasm, a mass of jelly; and its loose ideas will probably take as many aons to develop into solid facts as the interval they compute between chaos and cosmos.” On reviewing a pamphlet against the American champion of free thought, he remarks: “We neither care for Ingersoll, nor the answer to him. There is enough to do in England with cutting up our own brambles; nine out of ten of our people know nothing of this American brier, and there is no need they should.”
Hear him on vivisection; how repugnant to his compassionate heart is this cruel science. “Our heart bleeds, and our soul writhes in horror, as we read descriptions of the unutterable cruelties practised upon animals, not by the old-fashioned demons of the olden times, but by educated mortals in black coats. And now to think that all this hideous business should be proved to be useless! All this cutting and torturing to go for nothing! O Lord, how long! We shall have a round of letters from doctors, but we cannot help it. If ever we go mad it will assuredly be through reading such papers as come from the pens of certain M.D.’s, who dare to watch the agonies of rabbits, dogs, and other animals. Can it be? Is it not all a dream? Did men who had mothers and wives perpetrate those accursed deeds?”
Here comes something of another sort. It is not by simple silence or guesses at random that his views on sin’s awful penalty are known. On this important question he is outspoken and emphatic.
Mr. Edward White, the earnest and able advocate of the doctrine of Conditional Immortality, says: “No one yields to me in hearty admiration and affection for the Rev. Charles Spurgeon; but his refusal to listen to the doctrine of Life in Christ has formed a more serious obstacle to its popular diffusion than that of any other living man during the last twenty years.”
To which Mr. Spurgeon replies: —
“We are fully prepared to take all the responsibility of the conduct ascribed to us, and only trust that we may have power to be a more serious obstacle still. With the most profound regard for Mr. White, and something more tender than regard, we cannot help mingling our regret that he should be teaching such mischievous doctrine, and that so many should follow him in it.”
He has been handled severely by certain ecclesiastics for refusing the prefix “Rev.” Having received a letter addressed ‘’ To the Very Rev. C. H. Spurgeon,” he replied:
‘* I very much demur to the commencement, ‘To the Very Reverend C. H. Spurgeon,’ for no reverence is due to me. Romaine used to say that it was very astonishing to observe how many Reverend, Right Reverend, and Very Reverend sinners there were upon the face of the earth. Assuredly reverend and sinner make a curious combination, and as I know that I am the second, I repudiate the first. To me it is surprising that such a flattering title should have been invented, and more amazing still that good men should be found who arc angry if this title be not duly given to them,”
Our American fondness for titles readily confers degrees on him. But thus he dashes the D.D.’s behind him: —
“Many times we meet in American newspapers with our own name adorned or disfigured with a doctor’s degree. In a periodical we see month after month an extract from
The Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, D.D.
“We like ile prefix quite as well as the affix; that is to say, we detest them equally. Robert Robinson wrote in his journal: ‘Wondered how any man could be so silly as to call me Reverend.’ Shall we not all wonder, in some more rational condition of our brains, at a great many things which we now admire?”
In cutting irony and bold outspokenness he declaims against falsity in the ministry: —
“Mrs. Partington uttered more of the truth than she thought when she said: * Dear me, nothing don’t do me so much good as to go to church Sunday morning, and hear a precious minister dispense with the gospel! ‘Yes, dear soul, that is exactly what some of them do; they give us anything and everything but the glad tidings of salvation, and then they wonder that their chapels become empty. Yet it does not do to say as much, or you will have a hornet’s nest about your ears. Of course they preach gospel, that is to say a gospel if not tJie gospel. What is the difference? Only the indefinite for the definite article, only sand instead of rock, only opinion in the place of truth.
‘’The worst of it is that hearers now-a-days put up with it. There seems to be little left in the land of the discriminating spirit. Men tolerate error in their ministers, grumbling at first and consenting to it afterwards. Many do not know chalk from cheese in these times; and so long as the language is musical and the ideas are pretty, their preacher may teach anything short of atheism, and they will drink it in. What a clapping a man gets at a public meeting if he will only harp on the string of liberality, and say that we are all alike, and that our views are only different aspects of the same truth; black is a shade of white, and white a milder tone of black! In times gone-by, a few sermons without the gospel in them would have brought down a storm about his reverence’s head; but now he is admired as a man of fresh thought, and takes leave to make up his theology as he goes along. No one challenges him; or if a bold brother does so, he is called a bigot, and snuffed out.
*’ Surely this state of things cannot last. Some one will bear his protest and create a stir, or else the whole thing will rot into contempt. If there be a gospel let us have it, and nothing else. There are not two gospels; which is the genuine article? This we demand. This we would have not now and then, but always, as the standing dish, the daily provision of the House of the Lord. If any man shall withhold the truth, or give us the counterfeit of it, he shall answer for it to his God; for by trifling in this matter the souls of men are placed in jeopardy, and the Kingdom of Christ is hindered.
“Blessed is he who dispenses the gospel, but cursed is he that dispenses with it.”
Professional ministers, who care little for their flocks, having their eye on “Number one,” and who make the hearts of the King’s children sad, are often reprimanded by this London Pastor. Surely such as are described in this extract merit the honestf indignation of every true man: —
“Here is an account of a pretty little fix for a cargo of passengers by a mail-coach. The anecdote may be found in Anthony Trollope’s Editor’s Notes, in the chapter devoted to the literary adventure of Mrs. Brumby: — ‘There is, however, nothing more difficult to achieve than the expulsion of a woman who is unwilling to quit the place she occupies. We remember to have seen a lady take possession of a seat in a mail-coach to which she was not entitled, and which had been booked and paid for by another person. The agent for the coaching-business desired her with many threats to descend, but she simply replied that the journey to her was a matter of such moment that she felt herself called upon to keep her place. The agent sent the coachman to pull her out. The coachman threatened with his hands as well as with his words, and then set the guard at her. The guard attacked her with inflamed visage, and fearful words about Her Majesty’s mails, and then he set the ostlers at her. We thought the ostlers were going to handle her roughly; but it ended by their scratching their heads, and by a declaration on the part of one of them that she was “the rummest go he ‘d ever seen.” She was a woman, and they couldn’t touch her. A policeman was called upon for assistance, who offered to lock her up, but he could only do so if allowed to lock up the whole coach as well. It was ended by the production of another coach, by the exchange of the luggage and passengers, by a delay of two hours, and an embarrassing possession of the original vehicle by the lady.* We give the above because it has its parallel in certain ministers who cannot be induced to move, although everybody is eager to see them gone. One by one, deacons, subscribers, and friends withdraw; but the ministerial old ladies stick to the empty coach, as if it were part and parcel of themselves, as much as its shell is an integral portion of the snail. Hence the new chapel which springs up, and makes two churches where one would have been quite enough, if it had not been for the adhesiveness of an individual. It is a great sorrow that churches
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should be ruined because worthy men cannot see that the time is come for a change. But what is the use of our writing this? We shall only put removing into the head of some brother who ought to stay where he is, while those whom it behooves to move will stick like limpets.”
Every editor has his share of worry from Poetic Effusionists. It is not reasonable that the editor of “The Sword and the Trowel” should escape. But he seems equal to the occasion, and mercifully waves his red flag of warning: —
“The late James T. Fields, while an active partner in the firm of Ticknor and Fields, was waited upon by a young sugar-merchant who had poetic aspirations. The mercantile man complained that his manuscript poems had been rejected by the firm, and he wanted to know the reason why, inasmuch as all of his friends had heard the verses read, and unanimously declared them to be accessions to American literature. * Our reader decides that,’ said ]Ir. Fields, in his blandest tones. ‘Then I would like to see the reader.’ Always the personification of amiability himself, the pubhsher took the merchant upstairs to the reader. That mighty personage sat at a desk heaped high with manuscripts; he carefully read a few pages of each package, then dropped it into a basket at his side. Occasionally he became more than ordinarily interested; in that case he placed the package inside his desk. ‘Why, he goes through ’em just as I sample sugar! ’ exclaimed the would-be poet in amazement. ‘That’s because he’s familiar with literary wares as you are with sugar,’ rejoined Mr. Fields. ‘I ‘m satisfied, let us go,’ said the merchant. They went; and the disappointed bard gave up verse-making, but he made a large fortune in sugar.
“We cut this from the ‘Chicago Standard.* It is a revelation of the horrors of our own editorial chamber; our waste-paper basket is always in full use, and it has a singular tendency to devour rhymes which writers call stanzas. Poetical effusions are for the most part prosy delusions. Good poetry charms us, but limping verses worry us, and we are often worried. Let true poets sing all day and all night, but let pretenders hush. How glad we should be if this paragraph would wean some minor poet from rhyming, and inspire him with love to his drapery, grocery, carpentry, or bakery! The retail trade is far more useful than wholesale poetizing. Guessing at the dates of prophecy, and making poor verses, are two of those unprofitable devices which we rank with getting blood out of gate-posts and extracting sugar from bitter aloes. We mean this scrap to act as a warning. TRESPASSERS BEWARE! A WASTE-BASKET IS KEPT ON THESE PREMISES.”
The rain of poesy evidently continues to fall, and the good man fears the shower. With bellows pointed towards the clouds he again discourses: —
“Our table groans with Cowpers and Tennysons in an embryonic condition.
A San Francisco paper, having been driven desperate by voluntary poetical contributors, sounds this note of warning: ‘We don’t know exactly how newspapers were conducted at that distant period, but during some recent excavations in Assyria a poem on the Silver Moon was dug up. It was engraved on a tile, and close beside it were lying a large battered club and part of a human skull. You may draw your own conclusions.’
*’ We are led to quote this as a warning to the many small poets who send books of verses for review. Happily in our case no club is kept on the premises, and we are most gentle in temper; but, really, we are tried up to the boiling-point by the poetic coals which are heaped upon us. Still, Job is our patron saint, and we are resolved to endure unto the end. If any verse-maker does not find his poem, or her poem, mentioned in these notices, it is because we do not like to cause pain by saying what we think about the precious compositions. Please do not write to say that your poetry must have been overlooked; for the fact is we have looked it over, and think it the wisest course to be silent. Perhaps the work is too sublime, too elevated in thought, too superb in diction, for our grovelling taste. Pray think so, or think anything else, so long as you are happy.
“For the most part these minor poets are our affliction; and if they would be so good as to take offence, and never send us another specimen of their wares, we would bless them in our heart of hearts. Dear good souls that they are, we cannot bear to criticise their productions according to justice; and yet we must do so if we speak upon them at all, for we never wittingly entice our readers into the purchase of a book which is not worth buying.”
On Mr. Spurgeon’s trials we cannot here enlarge, only to add that, in common with other public men, he shares in the vexations of curious visitors, and appeals from various sources for a speech, a lecture, a sermon, or a subscription. In order to shield himself he mildly rejoins: —
“It is probably a waste of effort to ask again that we may be spared the pain of refusing applications for sermons, addresses, lectures, &c., which it is quite out of our power to grant; but we will repeat the substance of what we said in the magazine not many months ago. Our own legitimate work has grown so enormously that it is as much as we can possibly accomplish without being laid aside; and we have lately proved once more that it is the extra, outside services that bring about such sad breakdowns as the one we have recently experienced. If, therefore, there are chapels or bazaars to be opened, anniversaries to be celebrated, debts to be removed, tea-meetings to be held, schools to be built, or blue-ribbon missions to be inaugurated, and the question is put, Shall we ask Mr. Spurgeon to come? we beg beforehand to furnish the answer — Don’t! Most gladly would we serve all our brethren to the utmost, if health permitted; but repeated warnings convince us that the wisest course for us is to use the strength given to us for the work which rightly claims our first attention, and leave all other efforts to those who have been entrusted by God with greater physical force. It is a great sorrow to be shut up to this, but what else can we do?”
We do not wonder that he seeks to ward off inane curiosityseekers, and troublesome querists who have sent many good men to a premature grave. Hear his bugle-blast: —
“Turner, the artist, said to one who interrupted him with a question, * There! you have made me lose fifty guineas! ‘Sir Walter Scott says in his diary: ‘Various visitors began to drop in. I was sick of these interruptions. God send me more leisure, and fewer friends to peck it away by teaspoonfuls.’ Others besides Sir Walter have had to breathe this prayer. People call on a well-known minister out of the idlest curiosity, and invent the most perverse excuses for dragging him away from his work. One would think we were wild beasts, to be stared at. Just as a sermon is shaping itself, in comes a pasteboard from an old lady who has nothing on earth to do but to call round on everybody she knows, and rob them of their time, — wretched thief that she is. We have seen her; and lo! another knock. No message can be sent in, the party must see the minister himself, as his business is strictly private; that means begging. Here’s another, whose pretended errand is to ask if we knew the Rev. Mr. Jones, of Llwwfh, for he was her mother’s uncle’s cousin by marriage. Why should we be thus at every mortal’s beck and call, and have neither space for meditation, nor time for devotion? People do not call on doctors or lawyers at this rate, and our time is quite as precious as theirs. We cannot protect ourselves by fees, and yet if we do not see every one, there will be such an outcry. All we can say is — they must cry, for we cannot neglect our Master’s business to play lackey to everybody who is moved by the powers of darkness to call us away from the Word of God and prayer.”
In handling gospel themes, and discoursing on the Bible and Christian experience, we find Mr. Spurgcon most at home. He is a born preacher, in whom is found a pastor’s heart. The brilliant thought, the polished sentence, the silver speech, the tongue of fire, do not make the preacher. Bowels of compassion, love of souls, faith in the message taken from the Book, an humble yet assured confidence in the Spirit of God kindling all other natural and acquired gifts, are the great essentials. Spurgeon’s splendid gifts are forgotten in his faculty of comforting human souls. He discourses on the sublime with personal exultation, and others learn to rejoice in his joy. Divine things are his chiefest study, Bible doctrines his great delight. His trite and homely sayings are swallowed up in deeper depths, and he is known, loved, and honored as a preacher of righteousness. The reality of Christ to his soul, as his Saviour and Lord, is the impelling motive of his life; therefore to him all sciences, all philosophies, all laws, are subservient to Christ. And that theory which leads not to Christ and submits not to Him who is Lord of all, is a pirate in the eyes of Charles Spurgeon.
The Bible view of the Lord Jesus is his view; and for the glory of the Son of God will he battle to his dying day. For his royal ]Master he bears many a cross, and shrinks not from the shame. His Words for Jesus have the ring of current coin, with heaven’s stamp upon them. They are words of life, and leap out of a loyal heart. We heartily commend the following Sermonettes from his eloquent lips: —
0)1 Cross-Beariug.
What an honorable position was that of Simon the Cyrenian, to be cross-bearer to Jesus Christ! We could almost weep that we were not there that we might have had the honor of carrying Christ’s cross for Him. But we need not weep, for we shall have His cross to carry if we are His people. There are no crownwearers in heaven who were not cross-bearers here below. There shall be none among the throng of the glorified who had not their cross on earth. Hast thou a cross, believer? Shoulder it manfully! Up with it! Go along thy journey with unshrinking footsteps and a rejoicing heart, knowing that since it is CJwist’ s cross it must be an honor to carry it; and that while you are bearing it you are in blessed company, for you are following Him.
Ch rist” A I together Lovely.”
Ix calling the Lord Jesus ‘’altogether lovely,”. the Church asserts that she sees nothing in Him which she does not admire. The world may rail at His cross and call it shameful; to her it is the very centre and soul of glory. A proud and scornful nation might reject their King because of His manger-cradle and peasantgarb, but to her eye the Prince is glorious in this poor apparel. He is never without beauty to her; never is His visage marred, or His glory stained. She presses His pierced feet to her bosom, and looks upon their wounds as jewels. Fools stand by His cross and find full many a theme for jest and scorn: she discovers nothing but solemn reason for reverent adoration and unbounded love. Viewing Him in every office, position, and relationship, she cannot discover a flaw; in fact, the thought of imperfection is banished far away. She knows too well His perfect Godhead and His spotless manhood, to offer a moment’s shelter to the thought of a blemish in His immaculate person; she abominates every teaching that debases Him; she spurns the most gorgeous drapery that would obscure His beauteous features; yea, so jealous is she of His honor that she will hear no spirit which doth not witness to His praise. A hint against His undefiled conception or His unsullied purity would stir her soul to holy wrath, and speedy would be her execration, and relentless her execution of the heresy. Nothing has ever aroused the ire of the Church so fully as a word against her Head. To all true believers this is high treason, and an offence which cannot be treated lightly. Jesus is without a single blot or blemish, “altogether lovely.”
Untiritig Delight.
Who ever called the sea monotonous? Even to the mariner, travelling over it as he does, sometimes by the year together, there is always a freshness in the undulation of the waves, the whiteness of the foam of the breaker, the curl of the crested billow, and the frolicsome pursuit of every wave by its long train of brothers. Which of us has ever complained that the sun gave us but little variety? What though at morn he yoke the same steeds, and flash from his car the same golden glory, climb with dull uniformity the summit of the skies, then drive his chariot downward, and bid his flaming coursers steep their burning fetlocks in the western deep? Or who among us would complain loathingly of the bread which we cat, that it palls upon the sense of taste? We eat it to-day, to-morrow, the next day; we have eaten it for years which are passed; still the one unvarying food is served upon the table, and bread remains the staff of life. Translate these earthly experiences into heavenly mysteries. If Christ is your food and your spiritual bread; if Christ is your sun, )’our heavenly light; if Christ is the sea of love in which your passions swim, and all lour joys are found, it is not possible that you, as Christian men, should complain of monotony in Him. ‘* He is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever; “and yet He has the ‘* dew of His youth.” He is like the manna in the golden pot, which was always the same; but He is also like the manna which came down from heaven, every morning new. He is as the rod of Moses, which was dry, and changed not its shape; but He is also to us as the rod of Aaron, which buds and blossoms, and brings forth almonds.
The Fulness of Christ.
At our very best we are strangers to much of the incomparable sweetness of Christ. We shall never exhaust His goodness by our praise; for He is ever so fresh, and has so much of the dew of His youth, that every day He has a new song to sing. We shall find Him a new Christ every day of our lives, and yet He is ever the same; His surpassing excellence and unexhausted fulness thus constantly renew our love. O Jesus! none can guess how great is the least of Thine attributes, or how rich the poorest of Thy gifts.