ready with their sympathy and aid, and in some measure share the burden with him; but the sickness has depths which no human sympathy can fathom, and far beneath it all the man is face to face with his sickness, and has to battle with it alone. Alone, yet not alone, for the Father may be with him. There is no depth so vast that God cannot fathom. He is the inmost essence of the universe, and pervades it all; present not merely in the sick chamber, but in the sick heart of his people, cutting them off from all connection with the world, only that they may realize more fully his gracious presence in their souls. No heart is so sickly, no disease so infectious, but God can dwell in closest intimacy with it. In the depths of our trouble we may be without the cheering influence of earthly friends; but our Heavenly Father is ever with us to illumine our dark and sickly soul with a sense of his gracious presence.

Again, this may be our experience in the time of persecution. This was pre-eminently true of Christ, specially in those fiery persecutions in which his life of self-sacrifice terminated. No man stood by him; all forsook him and fled. He was alone, and yet not alone, because the Father was with him. So it has been in the case of the many martyrs who, from time to time in the world's history, have been seen to dare persecution and death for conscience' sake. "They were stoned, were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword; they wandered about in sheep skins and goat skins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented, of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth." Alone, yet not alone, for the Father was with them. And not to travel from our own land, have we not an example of the same, a very few centuries ago, in the case of the Covenanters, whose names and heroic deeds adorn the pages of Scottish history?-simple untutored men, but men strong in integrity, who, in defence of what they considered to be right, suffered themselves to be despoiled of their home and substance. And yet, in the midst of it all, they made the woods and wilds of Lanarkshire to re-echo with the songs of praise which in simple service they offered to God. Alone, yet not alone, because the Father was with them. The spirit of persecution still exists, not indeed manifesting itself in the same brutal form in which it once appeared, but in a still subtler guise, adapted to the refinements of the age, and calling for a larger measure of the spirit of the martyrs in order successfully to resist it. But if at any time more than another God is specially present with men, it is when, in defence of what they consider to be true and good, they have incurred the censure and persecution of the world. Then, surely, a heavenly

No. 15.

[Vol. 4.

Father's smile is all the better felt when brought into contrast with the frown of the world, and we ourselves all the more repose in his friendship.

Once more, this experience may be ours when labouring under conviction of sin. All men are liable at times to be visited by such convictions. Generally speaking, it is when we have experienced some shock in life that these convictions arise in all their terror. We have received some disappointment; the object upon which our thoughts and desires had been fixed is suddenly taken from us, or the friend in whom we long confided in an evil hour proves faithless and betrays his trust. Or, as we followed, intoxicated in the pursuit of some earthly prize, we suddenly find ourselves on the eve of committing some heinous sin in order to obtain it, and realize that we are standing on the very brink of destruction. On such occasions the soul is driven back upon itself. Without any intervening object to distract his attention, the man is brought face to face with self. He cannot fail to realize (how bitterly) his own exceeding sinfulness, and that while his thoughts had long been busy abroad, the home of his soul had been allowed to suffer the greatest neglect. And yet in this home he is now compelled to dwell; and as he sits brooding in the darkness, he is miserable and lonely. He cannot take refuge in the world; it has already disappointed him. Moreover, the sin from which he would fain escape he sees expressed in surrounding objects, which only serve, like so many fiends, to mock him in his misery. He need not flee to friends; they may have proved treacherous. At all events, they could not understand him. He is not the same as he used to be; they would pronounce him not himself. He cannot find satisfaction and rest even in the best of human helpers. They can only give instruction and good advice. They cannot remove the burden of self and sin that weigh so heavily upon his soul. Losing faith in himself, he loses faith in all besides. And so he drifts over the vast infinitude with an awful sense of solitariness. But if we have no faith in ourselves, or in our fellow-men, we may still have faith in God. The more faith we have in him, the more faith we shall learn to have in others. And if at times the sense of our sin and guilt threaten to overwhelm our souls, let us flee for refuge to the sin-pardoning and sin-removing Jehovah. The longer and the closer we look back into ourselves the more cause have we for sorrow and regret. It is only by looking away from self to God, by recognizing him as our Father, that peace and salvation are procured. We may require to loosen from our old moorings. Many of the fastenings indeed

may have given way; but our heavenly Father beckons us to a quiet haven of eternal rest in himself.

And, finally, this may be our experience at death. Men may live in company, but they must die alone. The lives of men are spent differently in this respect, but it is the same with all in the end. They must die alone. Friends come to the brink, but we must launch alone. What a wrenching there sometimes takes place between souls which are so intimately knit together as almost to form one soul! Fain would you keep the loved one beside you; or, if he must depart, you would wish to accompany him on his dark journey, feeling that he is half of yourself. But in vain. He hears a voice you cannot hear, and at its command he must bid adieu and depart alone. The loneliness of death appears to us all the more intense from the fact that neither the dying man himself, nor any of his fellowmen around him have ever experienced it. In other ills which a man may be called upon to endure, he may have the sympathy and experience of others who have borne the like. But it is not so with the last of all earthly ills-death. Many, indeed, have experienced it, but none ever return to give their experience on earth. It is wholly an unknown road the dying man has to traverse, unknown to us, unknown to himself. He is all the more lonely on this account; and yet he may not be alone, for the Father may be with him. Nothing is hid to God. The secrets of death and the grave are well known to him. And when, in their last great trial, they are bereft of the presence and sympathy of earthly friends, then is he specially near to his people. He illumines the dark valley by the light of his presence, and cheers their hearts with glimpses of glory. Alone, yet not alone, for the Father is with them.

The

There is one place, or thing, or whatever you may term it, in which the Father is not, and that is sin. At all times, and on all occasions, may we confidently expect the heavenly Father's presence, however much we may lose the presence of others, save in sin. The Father is not present there. Not, indeed, that God is not present in sin, for God is everywhere present but he is present not as the Father, but as the Judge; not in friendly communion, but as a consuming fire. wicked are made to feel this. They cannot sin but God makes his presence felt in heavy clouds of holy anger, which are reflected on their dark and troubled souls. And yet in connection with sin there is a loneliness deeper than that of death and the grave. For sin is a lawless thing. It cuts the sinner off from all communion and friendship. It acts as a wall round his heart, and at length becomes his prison. Man cannot rest in self. Hence his ceaseless strivings after wealth, honour, and

fame, in the hope of finding rest in them. It is all in vain. These are only shadows. They have no substance out of God. It is only in being united to God, the Infinite Spirit, that man, the finite spirit, can find peace and repose. And hence a chief element in the punishment of sin, indeed involved in it, is the feeling of loneliness-man waking up to the terrible reality that he has cut himself off by his sin from all union and friendship, and that he is compelled to dwell in his dark self for evermore. Happily for us the day of redemption is not yet past. You may have lived long, and mingled much in the business and pleasures of life; and yet in the highest sense of the term you are alone, because the Father is not with you. But God is even now inviting you into union with himself. He sent his Son on the mission of love and mercy, and the Divine Spirit renews the invitation-" Come unto me and I will give you rest." And now, with the Father's presence with us, we can never be lonely; but without his presence you would certainly be lonely, though you possessed the friendship of all the world besides. Loneliness may be felt in the crowd as well as in positive solitude. And amid a multitude of objects which a man may have at his command, but in none of which he can find perfect rest, he may be lonely and miserable indeed. Not so is it if we dwell in the light and love of the heavenly Father's presence. If the Christian finds God in all things, so he can find all things in God. He can afford to part with the smile of the world, and even encounter its frown, so long as he feels his Heavenly Father's smile beaming upon him. He can brave bereavement and persecution, and even boldly advance into the gloom and loneliness of death itself in the strength of his Divine Master, with whom he can confidently say-" Alone, yet not alone, because the Father is with me."

THE ORACLES OF GOD.

"For, in the first place, they were entrusted with the oracles of God."

Rom. iii. 2.

"THUS Saith the Lord, Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom; neither let the mighty man glory in his might; let not the rich man glory in his riches; but let him that glorieth glory in this, that he understandeth and knoweth me, that I am the Lord, which exerciseth loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness in the earth for in these things I delight, saith the Lord." What a sublime privilege for the Jews to have had in their midst the utterance of one such oracle! Yet unapproachable

by all merely human utterances as it is, not solitary but rivalled, it stands as on a peerless level with whole forests of revelations, communicated at " sundry times and in divers manners," bearing, with over-spreading richness, heavenly fruitage of life for the people so singularly honoured. Paul appreciating, as perhaps no man could do before or has done since, the Old Testament Scriptures, and, appreciating in them the Jews' peculiar advantages for becoming morally god-like, adduces them representatively as a foreclosing reply to the question propounded, "What, then, is the pre-eminence of the Jew?"as confirmatory also of the strong asseveration," Much in every respect." One grandeur, in the pre-eminence of privilege so transcending, for illustration, is brought forth "in the first place"; confessedly, without declining on a lower plane, another could not succeed. Entering thus by sympathy of apprehension into both the nature of the case and the apostle's feelings, we cease to wonder that the example specified should not, as the phrase "in the first place" anticipates, be augmented by any correlative. It must stand alone.

Over such continents of glory as the divine oracles open up, it is no marvel though one, traversing even by aid of the enlightened intellect, should, almost absorbingly occupied with great outstanding objects, miss sometimes the dingle in which, eddying sweetly, play unobtrusive currents of thought. Thus, for instance, how few readers reflect on the inestimable boon the Bible is even in so secondary a matter, seemingly, as the appropriating of names to that August Being who fills immensity, and through infinite time endures! What shall we call him? Conscious of ourselves as separate existences, there arises the necessity of differentiating him from all other beings whatsoever. In this case very specially the word will be an incarnation of the idea. As realized in consciousness, the conception and the naming in reciprocal influence go together. The idea will fill up the appellation, while it in turn sheds back light upon the idea. Than this, then, no problem touching deeper the soul's life may be proposed. Him, by what symbols shall we designate? Call him, say the oracles, "Jehovah," from everlasting to everlasting, the self-existent, absolutely self-sufficient One. Or let him be "Elohim," the almighty presence underneath, above, or in the spaces between the stars, one in essence, yet integrating plurality of personality, which the profounder fathoming of pure reason, countersigned by the inviolate authority of the divine propitiatory arrangement, shall ultimately determine as necessary to the unity in variety of living and true being. Or the circumstances of humanity being so peculiar as down-trodden by sin, his name is emblazoned