And now what lesson can we learn from the prison-house at Rome? We can learn this, that this world in which we live is in one sense a prison-house to all. It is a prison-house of hard work. In our great cities the roar of traffic, the rattle of machinery, the shriek of the steam-whistle, the eager crowds flocking to office and bank and exchange all mean one thing—work. Every man's talk is of business; he is in the prison-house, and he is chained to his work. Next, this world is a prison-house of sorrow and trial. Every one who has lived any time in the world can show you the marks of his chain. Every one whom we meet is wearing a crown of thorns. It is hidden under the scanty white locks of the old, and the sunny tresses of youth. It is covered by the soldier's helmet, or the peer's coronet, or the widow's cap; but the crown of thorns is there. Specially is this world a prison-house to those who strive to do their duty, and help their fellow men. For them in all ages there have been prison bars, and chains of persecution. Joseph resists temptation, and he is cast into prison. But the iron of his chain made his soul as iron, and changed the spoiled darling of his father into the wise ruler of Egypt. He was the prisoner of the Lord, and this suffering was the way to glory. Truly says a great poet (Milton), "who best can suffer, best can do." If we would look on some of the greatest teachers, philosophers, and benefactors of mankind, we must look for them in a prison-house. Socrates, when seventy-two years old, was a prisoner, and condemned to drink poison, because he taught higher lessons than the mob could understand. He died discussing the immorality of the soul, and his farewell to his judges was full of quiet dignity. "It is now time," he said, "that we depart—I to die, you to live; but which has the better destiny is unknown to all, except to God." Bruno was burnt at Rome, because he exposed the false philosophy of the day. When Galileo, an old man of seventy, taught the truth about the earth's motion, they cast him into the dungeons of the Inquisition, and after death the Pope refused a tomb for his body. And so for many others who dared to do their duty and to speak the truth,—reformers in religion, in science, in politics,—there was a prison-house, there was a chain. But the stone walls could not confine the mind; the iron chain could not bind the truth. Some of the most glorious works in literature were composed in prison. The prison-house at Rome has given us some of those Epistles of S. Paul which have gone far to convert the world; and the finest allegory in the English language was written in Bedford gaol. "If we suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are we." If we are the prisoners of the Lord, let us welcome the chain of trial, of sorrow, of self-denial, of persecution. There are prisoners who are not the Lord's. There are some fast bound in the misery and iron of bad habits, and habitual sin. These are lying in the condemned cell, bound hand and foot with the devil's chain. The drunkard, the impure man, the unbeliever, these are prisoners, but not the Lord's. I do not speak now of them. I speak to you, my brothers, who are trying to live a godly and a Christian life, the life of duty. And I tell you that you will often find this life a prison-house, where you must give up your own will, deny yourselves, learn to endure hardness, and to bear the chain which suffering, or neglect, or ignorance put upon you. If you are indeed the prisoners of the Lord, the iron of your chain will make you brave to suffer and be strong. The same hope which sustained Paul the aged long ago will sustain you now; the glorious certainty that after a while the Lord looseth men out of prison, and receives them into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.



SERMON LIII.

FIRM TO THE END.

(Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity.)

1 COR. i. 8.

"Who also shall confirm you unto the end."

Steadfastness is one of the most important characteristics of a Christian. Perhaps you will tell me that love, and self-denial, and patience, and faith are the chief marks of Christ's followers. And I answer that these things are useless without steadfastness. It will not avail us to be very loving, and self-sacrificing, and patient, and trustful for a little while, and then to fall away, and be selfish, and impatient, and faithless. It is not the best regiment of soldiers which makes the most headlong charge, but which can stand firm against the enemy. The Spartans of old were forbidden by their laws ever to flee from a foe. In the Pass of Thermopylae stands a monument to Leonidas and his followers, bearing this inscription—"Go, stranger, and tell at Lacedaemon that we died here in obedience to our laws." My brethren, what we want, as soldiers of Jesus Christ, is not so much zeal, or enthusiasm, or outward profession, as firmness to the end, steadfastness to die, if need be, for the laws of our God.

We find plenty of people ready to make professions, to be very zealous in the service of God, but after a time the fire of their zeal dies out into dead ashes; they have no staying power; like the seed on the rocky ground they wither away, because they have no root. Such unstable religion as this is useless. We must be firmly rooted and established in the faith. We must endure to the end, if we would be saved. We must, for our part, hold fast to the truth as it is in Christ Jesus, and He, for His part, will confirm or strengthen us unto the end. Every period of the Church's history has had its special dangers and temptations. The Corinthians had theirs long ago. We have ours to-day. Let us see what some of the special dangers of the Church are now, and how Jesus provides means to confirm us to the end.

First among these dangers we may place the restless spirit of the age. This is the result of various causes. The spread of education is one cause. Men are taught to cultivate their heads at the price of their hearts. Children are sent to schools where God is almost shut out. Many people get that "little learning" which "is a dangerous thing," and which makes them doubtful and uncertain in the faith. The growth of cheap literature is another cause. The printing press which gives us a cheap Bible and Prayer Book, and a vast amount of pure, useful reading, also sends out much that is dangerous, and positively wicked. The most holy mysteries of the Christian faith are held up to mockery and ridicule, and treated as old wives' tales; and the restless spirit of the age leads people to read these things, and to have their faith shaken and their ideas confused. Thus we find nowadays people arguing and doubting about doctrines which at one time were taken for granted. One says, perhaps we shall rise again after death; another wonders if there be such a place as Hell. One thinks that God answers prayer, another is doubtful about it. Now we do not find S. Paul and the other Apostles talking in this way. We do not find the early Church talking in this way. They could say, "I know in whom I have believed. I believe, therefore will I speak." The fact is, some of us in these days are getting too clever. We have got a few drops of learning, and we fancy that we can pour the whole great ocean of knowledge into our poor little bottle. Education is a great and glorious blessing, but, like every other blessing, it may be put to a wrong use. And when we find shallow young men and women, who have just mastered enough subjects to be able to pass an examination, sneering at the Bible, and calling religion superstition and folly, we can only wish that they had drunk deeper, or not tasted, of the water of knowledge. True education makes us humble, because it shows us our ignorance. My brothers, what are the doubters and the unbelievers going to give you in exchange for what they rob you of? They can perhaps rob you of your faith in Jesus Christ as a Saviour. But what then, they cannot make you forget that you are a sinner. You know better, your own heart tells you the truth. They can take away the Saviour, and only leave you your sins. The doubter may scoff you out of believing in the resurrection. But can he laugh you out of believing in death? When your little child dies, and you look at the loving eyes closing for the last time, what comfort has your doubting friend to give you? Not a word. He leaves you alone with your dead, and he has robbed you of the only hope which makes death bearable—the resurrection unto eternal life. You come to your own dying bed; is there one of these doubting, scoffing faith-destroying friends who can bring peace or calm to your last hours? Will it be any comfort to you to hear them say that "there is nothing new, nothing true, and that it does not signify?" They tell you one fact, which you know already, that you are dying. But beyond that they know nothing, hope nothing, believe nothing.

My brothers, do not let these people, with their shallow talk and shallow books, rob you of your peace, cheat you out of your birthright. Look at the lives of these doubters, and then look at the lives of Jesus and His saints. See which example is the purer, the more noble. Which is better, to imitate the life of self-sacrifice which Jesus led, to copy the dauntless faith of S. Paul, the loving gentleness of S. John, the humble penitence of Augustine, the fearless courage of Savonarola, or to sit at the feet of those who spend a selfish life in trying to describe a world in which there is no God?

Another of the dangers of the day is a constant desire for something new, and, if possible, sensational. There are some who would have their religion as full of novelties as their newspaper, or their amusement. The old paths which God has given us to walk in have become too commonplace for such as these; and they run eagerly into any new way, however fantastic. And, above all, these people want a religion which is made easy for them. They have no objection to being saved provided that the process is quick, easy, and costs them nothing. They turn away from the thought of self-denial, of keeping under the body, of fasting and prayer, of watchfulness and self-examination. They must be made good all at once, and be admitted into the front rank of saints, without having fought and suffered in a lower place. My brethren, beware of this mushroom religion, which grows up suddenly, and as suddenly vanishes away. The best fruit is not that which ripens most quickly, and the best Christian certainly does not come to maturity all in a moment.

There is a fable of the Persians which tells us how a gourd wound itself round a lofty palm-tree, and in a few weeks climbed to its very top. The quick-growing gourd asked the palm-tree its age, and the tree answered, "an hundred years." Then the gourd answered boastingly that it had grown as tall as the palm in fewer days than the tree could count years. "True," answered the palm-tree, "every summer has a gourd climbed round me, as proud as thou art, and as short-lived as thou wilt be."

These, then, are some of the special dangers of the time—an unfixed, unsettled faith, leading men to question, and argue, and doubt, when they should believe; and next, a restless desire for something new and exciting in religion. And, besides these, there are special dangers peculiar to ourselves, arising from our position, or temperament. This is a specially busy age, when men must work if they would eat bread. Every walk of life is crowded, and the competition in every calling and business is most keen. Now there is great danger in all this to a man's spiritual life, if he has not God with him in his work. He will become selfish, unscrupulous, and determined to gain a place, and make money at any cost. He will think only of himself, and God is not in all his thoughts. There are some who would have us believe that religion is one thing and business another, and that the two must be kept distinctly apart. Never believe that false doctrine, my brothers. A Christian man may not take part in any work on which the name of God may not be written. Whatever business he may engage in, a Christian must always remember that he must be about his Heavenly Father's business. The great merchants of old times used to begin their ledger and business books at the new year by writing "Praise be to God" on the top of the first page. I would that all men of business could honestly do the same now. Consecrate your work to God, so that you need not be ashamed to pray about it, to study the Bible about it, to write Praise be to God on all your business transactions. And last of all, a word as to the means by which Christ will confirm or strengthen you unto the end. I can tell you nothing new about this, I would not if I could. The old wine of the Gospel is better than all the new inventions with which some men would poison the cup of religion. God confirms you by the gift of the Holy Ghost, given by His Word, and Sacraments, and means of grace. Let no one laugh you out of believing in the Bible; let no one argue you out of trusting in that Book which has been the guide, the teacher, the comforter of tens of thousands. The followers of new creeds would like you to exchange your Bible for their books. They will offer you the gospel of selfishness, the gospel of pride, the gospel of hopelessness, the gospel of money-making; turn away from them, and hold fast to the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. Hold fast to the Sacraments of the Church. Let the scoffer sneer, let the proud man refuse to bend before the Altar of his Lord; but let nothing drive you from the Blessed Sacrament of Christ's love. Hold fast to prayer. Let no crowd of difficulties, or worries, or troubles keep you back from Jesus. Press through the crowd like that woman of old, and touch the hem of Christ's garment, in prayer. Only hold fast to your Bible, to your Altar, to your prayers, and "the Lord Jesus shall confirm you unto the end, that you may be blameless in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ."



SERMON LIV.

SCHOLARS OF CHRIST.

(Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.)

EPHESIANS x. 20.

"Ye have not so learned Christ."

Education is a very prominent feature in the England of to-day. Schools are among the most conspicuous of our public buildings, and competitive examinations are thronged by eager crowds; and, seeing all this, it seems almost impossible that a few years ago most of our poorer brethren could neither read or write. I am not going to speak to you now about the blessings and the evils of the present state of education; I want you to think of another school, and another kind of lessons, which are far more important than all else in the world. The time comes when the schoolboy can lay his books by, and when the young man quits college, they have finished their education. But it is never so in Christ's school, about which I am going to speak. As long as we are here in the world we must go to school. And when we come to die, our education is not finished, but we go to a higher class, as it were, to learn such lessons as we never could master on earth.

In the school of Jesus Christ it is not always the oldest or the cleverest who are the best scholars. There are white-haired old men who are only just learning the alphabet of Christ's religion, in the lowest place; and there are little children, so pure and white-souled, that they have already mastered some of the hardest lessons. In other schools the scholar must be naturally clever, or, at least, most industrious, if he is to gain a high place, and win a prize. In Christ's school there is a place, and a prize, for the dullest, and he will succeed very well if only he wants to learn. I have known many people who, as they said, "were no scholars," and yet they were not very far from the kingdom of Heaven. Brethren, some of us have never yet been to Christ's school. We have been playing truant, or altogether taken up with the lessons of that great, selfish, public-school—the world. I want you all to come to Christ's school to-day, old and young, clever and dull, and to hear some of the lessons which that school teaches. I think that if we examine ourselves honestly in these lessons, we shall find how little we really know, and we shall begin with shame to take the lowest place. And we must remember this, that in Christ's school we shall have to unlearn a great deal which the world's school has taught us. The world will have instructed us to take care of ourselves, at the expense of others. One of the favourite mottoes in the great world school-room is—"every man for himself." The world will have taught us that to make money, and to be successful, are the highest aims possible. And there are many similar lessons which are being daily learnt in the world school. Now, when we become scholars of Christ, we have to unlearn a great deal of this. Instead of finding the text, "every man for himself," placed conspicuously before us, we see another, and quite opposite command—"No man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto himself." We were taught in that other school outside that to make money and to succeed were the greatest good. Here we are instructed differently. "Lay not up for yourselves treasure on the earth, where rust and moth doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal." One of the chief things which we learnt in the world's lesson-book was to mistrust our fellow men, and to be ready to resent an injury when discovered. In Christ's school the lesson is quite different, we are told to love our neighbour as ourself, and more than this, to love our enemies. There are some here to-day, perhaps, who are very old scholars of the world's school. They have got all its lessons by heart, they can repeat its selfish maxims, and practise its hard teachings. My brothers, God grant that you may find out how greatly your education has been neglected! God grant that you may learn, before it is too late, how little you know about the things which concern your peace. You, who have grown grey in the great world school, learning its sordid, selfish lessons, grinding away at its daily tasks, adding up your sums of addition, and interest, scanning the money table with eager eyes, practising your skill in profit and loss, and daily writing as your one copy—make money, and be rich—to you, I say, come into Christ's school to-day, and see whose teaching is the better: that of the world, or that of the Son of God. There comes to every school a day of breaking up, when the scholars go home. One day a man is missed in the great world school. His place is vacant. The shutters are up at the shop, or office, the servants at the place of business speak in smothered whispers. They miss the sound of the master's voice, the echo of his step upon the stair. He has learnt his last lesson in worldliness, and his schooling is over. The world has broken up, as far as he is concerned, and he has gone home. But where? He knew nothing beyond the world's lessons, he never provided for another home. "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"

Briefly, then, let us look at some of the chief lessons which we must learn in the school of Jesus Christ.

First, we must learn to hate our old sins. Like David, like S. Peter, like every penitent, when we think of the past we abhor ourselves, and sit down among the ashes of humiliation. Like the Prodigal, we cry, "I am no more worthy to be called Thy son." If you find yourself taking pleasure in the thought of former sin, boasting of your evil deeds, be sure you are yet in your ignorance, you have never learnt the alphabet of Christ's lesson.

Next, we must learn to know our own weakness, and our need of a Saviour. The world will not give us that lesson. The world will tell us to make our own way, to trust to ourselves, to our cleverness, and sharpness. In Christ's school we shall be taught our weakness, and shall learn to say, "Lord, save me, I perish."

Another of the lessons we must learn is to conquer ourselves. The world gives a great many instructions about conquering difficulties, beating down obstacles, overcoming enemies; but it is Christ's school alone which can show us how to conquer ourselves. You have probably noticed the change in a young country lad after he has enlisted for a soldier, and gone through his drill. Whereas he was a high-shouldered, slouching, ungainly figure, now he has learnt to carry himself like a soldier, he has conquered the old bad habits which he acquired by lounging in the lanes, or plodding along the furrow. My brethren, we have all got our bad habits, our ugly tempers, our sharp tongues, our discontented feelings, and it is only the drill of Christ's soldiers, and the teachings in Christ's school, which will make us get the better of them. Christ's school will make a radical change in us. Jesus—our Master—says, "behold I make all things new," and we know that they who are in Christ are become new creatures, old things are passed away. We may be quite sure that if we are Christ's scholars we shall be changed people. S. Paul tells us, as he told the Ephesians, some of the marks of this change. We shall learn to speak, and act, the truth. "Putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour." We shall learn to control our temper,—"be ye angry, and sin not. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." We shall learn to work, and to work honestly,—"let him that stole steal no more; but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good." We shall learn to control our tongue,—"let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying." We shall learn to be kind and gentle to our neighbours,—"let all bitterness and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil-speaking, be put away from you, with all malice." The great world school will teach us to practise these things, but not the school of Jesus. There we shall learn "to be kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ's sake hath forgiven us."

And we shall learn in Christ's school to be brave. The world school can teach us a certain kind of courage, but not the highest, nor the best. The world can teach us how to resent an injury, not how to forgive one. It is in Christ's school only that true heroes are made. The world can make such soldiers as Caesar, or Napoleon, but the school of Christ alone can make a Havelock or a Gordon. I have read of a poor boy who came to school with a patch on his clothes. One of his schoolmates singled him out for ridicule and insult; and the boy answered—"do you suppose I am ashamed of my patch? I am thankful to a good mother for keeping me out of rags, and I honour my patch for her sake."

All the noble army of martyrs, of every rank and kind, learnt the secret of their courage in the school of Christ, and have left us an example to follow.

"By all the martyrs, and the dear dead Christ; By the long bright roll of those whom joy enticed With her myriad blandishments, but could not win, Who would fight for victory, but would not sin; By these our elder brothers, who have gone before And have left their trail of light upon our shore, We can see the glory of a seeming shame, We can feel the fulness of an empty name."

My brothers, it may be there are some here now who have not so learned Christ. Who have been in the world's school from the beginning, and have grown weary of its selfishness, and its hollow maxims. If it be so, pray now that Jesus, the Great Teacher, may give you a new heart, and a new mind, bow the proud head, and bend the unwilling knee, say to the Lord—"Lord Jesu, make me as a little child, let me come to school to-night."



SERMON LV.

WARY WALKING.

(Twentieth Sunday after Trinity.)

EPHESIANS v. 15.

"See then that ye walk circumspectly."

Some people tell us that salvation is the easiest thing in the world. We have only to feel that we believe in Jesus Christ, and all is done. Now neither Jesus Christ Himself, nor the Apostles whom He sent to teach, tell us anything of the kind. On the contrary, our Saviour, whilst He dwells on the fulness and freedom of salvation, offered to all without money, and without price, tells us that many are called, but few chosen. He warns us in to-day's Gospel that when the King makes His Great Wedding Feast of salvation numbers make light of it, and go their way to their farm, and their merchandise. He shows us how, when the Bridegroom cometh suddenly. He finds half of the virgins in darkness, their lamps gone out, and He commands us to watch, because we know not the day nor the hour of the Lord's coming. He tells us also that the way of life eternal is a narrow way, and the gate of salvation a strait gate, whilst the road to eternal ruin is broad, and easy. Our Lord bids us strive to enter in at the narrow gate, and assures us that few there be who find it. Now all this does not put the Christian life before us as a life of idleness, and inaction; nor does it describe salvation as a very easy thing. Both Jesus and His holy Apostles tell us that we must strive, climb, fight, run the race patiently, walk circumspectly, watch, pray, arm ourselves, have on a wedding garment; a very different doctrine this from that dangerous, do-nothing creed, which some would have us accept. I think S. Paul had the narrow way and the strait gate in his mind, when he told his followers to walk circumspectly, looking around them, minding their steps, proceeding with care and caution. It used to be said of old that all roads led to Rome, because she was the capital of the world. And nowadays, in the most remote country place in England, you will find a road which leads to London. But all roads do not lead to Heaven. Some foolish people like to believe that they can travel anyway they please, and yet reach Heaven at last. They love to imagine that they can hold to any doctrine, however false and extravagant, and set up a gospel of their own, and yet find the way to Heaven. There are some who choose to walk in a way which seems right in their eyes, a way of selfishness, and pride, and obstinacy; they will have their own way, they tell us. Yes, but it is not God's way, and it does not lead to Heaven. There are just two roads from this life to the life to come, no more. The narrow way of God's commandments, ending in the strait gate which opens on Heaven; and the broad road of sin, terminating in the wide gate of Hell.

Let us think of some of the rules by which we must walk in the narrow way. We must walk humbly. It is a narrow way remember, and if we walk with our heads lifted up by pride, we shall miss our footing, and slip from the path. The gate, too, is strait, or narrow. It is like one of those low-pitched, narrow entrances which you may still see in old buildings, and which were common once in all our ancient towns. A traveller could not get through these gates unless he bent his head, and bowed his shoulders. So, my brothers, if we wish to enter into the gate of life eternal we must do so with bowed head, and with an humble, lowly, penitent, and obedient heart. Pride cast Satan out of Heaven, pride locks the door of life against many a man now. An unbeliever once asked, with a sneer, who made the devil. And he was answered that God made him what he was, and that he had made himself what he is. So is it with us all. God makes us His children, heirs of Heaven, and we too often, by our foolish pride, make ourselves into devils. Believe me, the gate of life eternal is far too narrow to admit us with the great swelling garment of pride puffed out on all sides of us.

Next, if we walk along the narrow way we must not overload ourselves. There are some burdens which we must bear, but the dear Lord, who laid them upon us, will give us strength to carry them. It is the burden of the world's making which will hinder us. We see a man who wants to walk in the right way, who hopes to pass through the narrow gate, who has so loaded himself with worldly things that he goes staggering along, till at length he slips off on to the broad road to destruction. He is like one escaping from a shipwreck, who tries to swim ashore with all his money bags, and is sunk to the bottom by their weight. Sometimes people, coming home from abroad, bring with them a quantity of smuggled goods, and their clothes are all padded with laces, and other ill-gotten gear. What happens? They are stopped at a narrow gate, and stripped of all their load before they are permitted to return home. So, my brothers, if you would pass the gate which leads home, to the rest which remaineth for the people of God, you must not overload yourselves with this world's gear. You must not fill up your thoughts with your business, and drag that burden with you to the very edge of the Churchyard mould. You are just blocking up the way to eternal life with your bales of goods, your manufactures, your business books. Some of you are blocking God's highway with the waggons of worldly commerce, others with the gay chariot of frivolous pleasure. Here is a woman trying to walk in the narrow way. She has a crowd of children hanging upon her skirts. She has tried to be a good mother, but she has let the cares and plans for her children draw her away from God, and we see her dragged from the narrow way by those whom she ought to have helped along it. Believe me, it is not open, notorious evil-doers who form the majority on the broad road to destruction. It is not the murderer, the thief, the drunkard, the adulterer, the unbeliever, who crowd that down-hill road. They are there with the rest, but they are outnumbered by those whom the world calls very respectable. Amid that crowd of all ages and ranks, there are those who have attended our Church Services, and knelt at our Altars, some of them do so still. They have no vulgar vices, they never swear, or exceed moderation in food and drink, they have wives and families, and they pay their way like respectable householders. And yet,—Oh! the pity of it—they are travelling on the broad road. It is not open; disgraceful sin which has placed them there, but just worldliness. The dust of the world has filled up every corner of their life, and they have no room for God. The windows of their soul are so begrimed with the dust and cobwebs of this life that the sunshine of God's Holy Spirit cannot shine through them. One is so taken up with his farm that his heart and soul seemed buried in the soil of it. The Gospel message rings in his ear, but he makes light of it. Another is so occupied with his merchandise, with making, and getting, that he has no time to see how it stands with his soul, no time to think of the account to be rendered to God when all earthly accounts are closed for ever. One is so eager to obtain a good position for himself, or his children, in the world, that he utterly neglects to fit himself, or them, for a place in the world to come. With some the idol is work, with others pleasure, but in either case they worship an idol, and not God. There are women whose minds are so taken up with the latest fashion, and the newest dress, that they have neglected the white garment of holiness, and forgotten the old, old fashion—death. My brothers, my sisters, take heed. It is not so much the coarse vices of the brutal and ignorant which ruin souls, as the selfish worldliness of those who ought to know better. If you are living for self, for work, for pleasure, for society, for anything but God, then, in spite of your respectable name, and your outward forms of religion, you have slipped from the narrow way which leads to life eternal. If you are determined to make this world your Heaven, you must not be astonished if you are shut out of Heaven in the world to come.

If these poor worldly folk could only see the end, could only understand now how hollow and worthless, and disappointing, the things of this world are at the last, they would cast aside every weight, and strive to regain the narrow way of God's commandments. History is full of instances of those who found, some too late, that the pleasures of the world are worthless. How melancholy is the declaration of one who says, "I have dragged on to thirty-three. What have all those years left to me? Nothing except three and thirty." Diocletian the Emperor tells us that he is happier planting cabbages at Salona, than ruling the world at Byzantium. Another Emperor, Severus, declares that he has held every position in life from the lowest to the highest, and found no good in any. Look into the history of France, and see what the world gave to Madame de Pompadour at the last. She had sacrificed virtue and honour for the glitter of the court of Louis XV. And now in the latter days she tells us that she has no inclination for the things which once pleased her. Her magnificent house in Paris was refurnished in the most lavish style, and it only pleased her for two days! Her country residence was charming, and she alone could not endure it. They told her all the gossip of the gay world, and she scarcely understood their meaning. "My life," she says, "is a continual death." At last the end came. And as they carried her to her burial, the king, who had once professed to love her, said with utter unconcern—"The Countess will have a fine day." This is what the world gave to Madame de Pompadour.

My brethren, I have been striking the old notes to-day, and re-telling an oft-told story. But sin and sorrow are ever the same, and the one great concern of your life and mine is the same as when Jesus died for us on Calvary. Let us take heed to our ways, and see on which road we are journeying. If we have gone out of the way Jesus will bring us back, if we want to come back. Ask Him, brothers, ask Him now. Pray as perhaps you never prayed before.

"True prayer is not the imposing sound Which clamorous lips repeat; But the deep silence of a soul That clasps Jehovah's feet."

"Strive to enter in at the strait gate. For wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leadeth to destruction, and many there be who go in thereat."



SERMON LVI.

STRONG CHRISTIANS.

(Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity.)

EPHESIANS vi. 10.

"My brethren, be strong in the Lord,"

A weak and cowardly soldier is a pitiful object, but a weak-kneed, cowardly Christian is still more so. S. Paul told the Ephesian Christians to be strong in the Lord, and in these days especially we need strong Christians, strong Churchmen. I do not mean that we want men to presume on their strength, to repeat the sin of the Pharisee of old, and talk of their righteousness, or condemn their neighbours. I do not mean that we must be noisy and violent, and quarrelsome in our religion. None of these things are a proof of strength. A giant of power is ever the gentlest, having the hand of steel in the glove of silk. So the stronger a Christian is the more humbly he bears himself. A writer of the day says very truly, "if the world wants iron dukes, and iron men, God wants iron saints." Much of the unbelief and indifference of these days is caused by the weakness of professing Christians. When a man can point to a soldier of Christ who has deserted his post, and fled from the battle, it is no wonder that he hesitates to join an army which has such weak and cowardly warriors. When the enemies of the Church can show us unprincipled Churchmen, who have no firm faith in the doctrines which they profess, who have drifted away from their moorings, and, like ships without ballast, are blown about by every wind, it is not surprising if these enemies still remain outside the Church. Can we marvel that some should sneer at Holy Baptism, when they can name those who have tried to wash out the sign of the Cross with every kind of sin? Can we marvel that they make light of Confirmation, when we have so many who have been confirmed going back from holiness, forsaking their Church, and joining the world, the flesh, and the devil? Or need we wonder that they neglect the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, and try to keep others from it, if they lay their finger on the Communicant whose life is bad? My brothers, we need to set our own house in order, we of the Church are as a city on a hill, men look at us, and woe unto us if the light within us be darkness. What we want are strong Christians to set a strong example. Teaching, argument, may do much with a careless world, but the example of a consistent, holy, life will do far more.

Brethren, be ye strong, first of all, in Faith. Be quite sure that you do believe; be quite clear what you believe, and then show your faith strongly. Our faith is not built on sand, but on a rock. It is not founded on such words as—perhaps, I suppose, I hope. No, the Creed of the Church says, I believe. There are crowds of people outside who will all tell you what they do not believe. There is the infidel who says he does not believe in God. There is the man who says he believes in God, but not in the Blessed Trinity. There is one who tells you that he believes in Jesus Christ, but not as God, only as Man. Then comes another and declares that he does not believe in eternal punishment. One says that he does not believe we are born again in Holy Baptism, another will not believe in the Baptism of infants. Some will not believe in Bishops, and others refuse to credit any sect but their own. But the Church says plainly and boldly, I believe. The Faith once delivered to the saints, the Faith which Jesus taught to the first Apostles, the Faith which S. Paul preached, and for which he died, is ours. Let us hold fast to it in unity of spirit, in the bond of peace, and in righteousness of life. Be ready to give a reason for the faith that is in you. There are mysteries which none of us can understand, but, thank God, we can believe. And we must show this faith of ours not only by believing in the doctrines of the Church, but by putting our full trust and confidence in the mercies of God. Where is the use of talking about our faith if we are poor, fearful, unhappy people? If our faith is not strong enough to let us trust God for to-morrow it is not worth having. It is the melancholy, over-anxious, troubled about many things Christian, who is always anticipating misfortunes, who does so much harm. Brethren, trust God all in all, be strong in the Lord, be strong in your faith.

Next, brethren, be ye strong in your language. Now, do not misunderstand me. I do not mean that you are to copy those who, in pulpit and on platform, declare their favourite views and theories in words of the most violent and intemperate kind. But I do mean that when the time comes to speak out, you should speak boldly and plainly. Let the world know that you do believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and the doctrines of His Church, and that you are not ashamed to own it. Never be afraid to show your colours, or to declare the name of your Leader. When Lord Nelson was going into his last battle, they wished him to cover, or lay aside, the glittering orders of victory which adorned his breast. But the hero refused, and perhaps his refusal cost him his life. Well, let us never hide the marks of our profession as Christian soldiers, even if we have to suffer, let men know that we bear about in our bodies the marks of the Lord Jesus Christ. Oh! we want these strong Christians in shop, and factory, in omnibus, and railway carriage, in soldiers' barrack-room, in schoolboys' dormitory, in servants' bed-chamber,—Christians who speak out strongly for Jesus.

Again, brethren, be strong in self-sacrifice for Jesus. We must not forget our cross. The surest mark of a Christian is a willingness to deny ourselves for the sake of others. Let me tell you the stories of two simple servant maids who, under very different circumstances, gave up their life for the life of little children. The scene of the first story was in America, nearly five and twenty years ago; that of the second story was in London, only a few weeks since. A young English girl had taken service in a family going to America, and her special duty was the charge of the three motherless children of her widowed master. One cold day in December they all embarked in a great Mississippi steamboat bound for the far North West. Day after day they steamed through the swollen river, where pieces of ice were already showing, past dark and gloomy shores, lined with lonely forest. One night, near the end of their voyage, the girl had seen her charges, two girls and a boy, safely asleep, and now, when all the other passengers had retired, she was reading in the saloon. Suddenly the silence was broken by a terrible cry, which told the frightened passengers that the steamboat was on fire. The captain instantly ran the vessel for the shore, and ordered the people to escape as best they could, without waiting to dress. The faithful servant had called her master, and then carried the children from their beds to the crowded deck. Quickly the blazing vessel touched the muddy bank, and the father placed the shivering children and the servant on one of the huge branches which overhung the river. A few other passengers, fifteen in all, reached other branches, the rest went down with the burning steamer. But what hope could there be for the children, just snatched from their warm beds, and now exposed unclad to the bitter December night? Their father had no clothing to cover them, and, as he spoke of another steamer which would pass by in the morning, he had little hope of his children holding out. Then the servant maid declared that if possible she would keep the little ones alive. Clinging in the darkness to the icy branches, she stripped off her own clothing, all but the thin garment next her body, and wrapped up the shivering children. Thus they passed the long, dark hours of that terrible night. I know not what prayers were spoken, but I know that Jesus, who suffered cold and hunger for our sakes, made that servant girl strong to sacrifice herself. During the night one of the children died, but in the morning, when the first light came, the little girls were still alive. Then, when her work was done, the freezing limbs of the brave girl relaxed their hold, a deadly sleep fell on her, and she dropped silently into the rushing river below. Presently a steamer came in sight, and the two children, for whom she had died, were safe.

Only quite lately there was a great fire in London. In the burning house were a husband and wife, their children, and a servant maid. The parents perished in the flames, but the servant appeared to the sight of the crowd below, framed, as it were, in fire, at a blazing window. Loudly shouted the excited crowd, bidding the girl to save herself. But she was thinking of others. Throwing a bed from the window, she signalled to those below to stretch it out. Then, darting into the burning room, she brought one of the children of her employers, and dropped it safely on to the bed. Fiercer grew the flames, but again this humble heroine faced the fire, and saved the other children. Then the spectators, loudly cheering, begged her to save herself. But her strength was exhausted, she faltered in her jump, and was so injured that death soon came to her. My brothers, no one will raise a grand monument to Emma Willoughby, and Alice Ayres, who passed, the one through water, the other through fire, for Christ's dear sake. But surely in God's great Home of many mansions their names are written in letters of gold.

Lastly, brethren, be strong in fighting the battle. You know that life is a great battle-field. And you know, too, that as Christians yours is the good fight. Put on, then, the whole armour of God. Do not trust to any newly-invented weapons. Take the same armour in which S. Paul, and many another veteran soldier of Christ, fought and conquered. "We wrestle not against flesh and blood." No, our battle is with Satan and his hosts. One of old says that we must strip if we would wrestle with the devil. We must cast aside every weight, strip us of all the hinderances, and worldly cares, which weigh us down; and be clad in the spiritual armour of God. Hold fast to the old armour, the shield of faith, the breastplate of righteousness, the sword of the Spirit. Be strong in the strength of the Holy Ghost, for your strength shall be made perfect in weakness. Stand, as Christ's soldiers, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with your faces to the foe. When Napoleon retreated from Moscow, and the main body had passed by, the mounted Cossacks hovered around the stragglers, who, overcome by cold and fatigue, could only force their way slowly through the snow. Many a weary Frenchman thus fell beneath the Cossack lances. Presently a band of these fierce horsemen saw a dark object on the snowy plain, and dashed towards it. They were face to face with a small body of French who had formed into a square to resist them, their bayonets at the charge. The Cossacks rode round and round, seeking for a weak place for attack, and finding none. At length they charged the square, and found it formed of frozen corpses. The Frenchmen had died whilst waiting for the foe. Brothers, may death find us fighting the good fight. "Be strong in the Lord."



SERMON LVII.

THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS.

(Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity.)

S. MATTHEW xviii. 28,

"Pay me that thou owest."

The Gospel shows us in a parable a picture of a king who called his servants to a reckoning. That King is the Lord God Almighty. We are His servants, and He calls us to account every day. All we possess we owe as a debt to God. Day by day He gives us our food, and supplies our wants by His good Providence. On every hour of our existence is written, Jehovah-Jireh—The Lord will provide. Day by day God takes care of us, and shields us from danger. He provides for our souls as well as for our bodies, and gives us the ministry of His Church, the grace of His Sacraments, the teaching of His Bible, the blessing of prayer. And all these blessings are a debt which we owe to God, and He is ever saying to us. "Pay Me that thou owest." And how can we pay? By doing what God bids us. By using our gifts in His service. We can give Him worship, not only worship in Church, but in all our everyday life and work, "doing all unto the glory of God." We can show forth His praise not only with our lips but in our lives. God has given us hands and brains to work with; and He says, "Pay Me that thou owest." That means that we must do good work, honest work, unselfish work, because we owe our power to labour as a debt to God. He has given us a voice, and He says, "Pay Me that thou owest." That means that we must use our voice to sing God's praise, to maintain His honour, to spread the truth of His Gospel, to comfort His people. We must devote our voice to speaking good words, and never defile it with vile language in the devil's service, because it is a debt which we owe to God. So with our health, our strength, our time, for all these God reckons with His servants. If we are misusing these things, wasting our time, devoting our strength to mere selfish, worldly pursuits, neglecting our opportunities, terrible will be the final day of reckoning when God will say for the last time, "Pay Me that thou owest."

We read in the parable of to-day's Gospel that one of the king's servants owed him ten thousand talents. This was so vast a sum that no man could possibly pay it. In that servant we see ourselves. We owe a debt to God which we cannot pay. The wages of sin is death, and as sinners we are like the servant, we owe a vast debt, and we have not wherewithal to pay. Nothing that we can do will put away our sin, or excuse us from the penalty. That servant in the parable prayed his lord to have patience, saying that he would pay all. We may think foolishly that we can pay the debt of old sins by leading good lives now. But it may not be. If a man owes money he is not excused the debt because now he pays his way. Our sins are the great debt of ten thousand talents. God's law is written in the ten commandments, and we have broken them a thousand times. We cannot pay. The king in his mercy forgave the servant. So God forgives us through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ. He paid the debt which we cannot pay, He bore our sins, the sin of Adam born with us, and the actual sins of our lives, on the Cross of Calvary. His Blood was the price which paid the debt. When we are baptised we are baptised into His Death, and the sin of Adam is forgiven. When we repent truly of a sin of our own committing, we are made partakers in the benefits of His Passion. When we come devoutly to Holy Communion our sinful bodies are made clean by Christ's Body, and our souls washed in His most Precious Blood, and our sins are forgiven us. But the parable not only teaches us our need of pardon, and the fulness of God's mercy, but the necessity of forgiving each other. The servant who owed the vast debt was pardoned. Yet he would not forgive his fellow servant who owed him a trifling sum. The story of the unmerciful servant is being repeated everywhere around us. We see men crying to God for mercy—poor, sinful, debtors, bankrupts, who have not wherewithal to pay. Every day we are obliged to confess that we owe a debt to God, and cannot pay it. And every day the Lord of mercy and love forgives us our debt. Yes, but only on certain conditions. God has Himself taught us to say, Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. If we are unmerciful servants, refusing to our fellow men what God gives us, He will treat us as He treated the servant of the parable. He had forgiven him all, but now He withdraws His pardon, and delivers him to the tormentors. A man with an unforgiving spirit, who nourishes hatred and revenge against a neighbour, is already possessed by a devil, and his future must be spent in the society of devils.

And now bring the matter home to your own individual cases. Are you nourishing bitter, unforgiving feelings against anyone who has injured you? Is there anyone whose success annoys you, and whose misfortune would give you pleasure? Are you thinking of some wrong done to you, some hard word spoken about you, some unjust judgment passed on you; and are you hoping that a day may come when the person who has so acted, or spoken, may suffer for it? My brothers, if so, you are just so many unmerciful servants, going through the world, and seizing your brother-sinners by the throat, and saying—"Pay me that thou owest." Give up calling yourselves Christians, give up asking God to pardon you, unless you can freely and fully forgive your brethren the little debts of this little world. A certain king of France said that nothing smelt so sweet as the dead body of an enemy. And there are people among us now who tell us that revenge is sweet. But it is false. To forgive is sweet, is blessed, to hate brings only the remorse of devils. But you tell me it is so hard to forgive sometimes. So it is, but the greater the pardon given the greater the blessing. And remember that forgiveness must not be measured, and stinted, but free, and full. We must not say, "I will forgive him this once, but never more." S. Peter asked Jesus how often he should pardon a brother's sin, and suggested seven times. The Jewish teachers said that after three faults men need not forgive. S. Peter was in advance of them, but the Lord's answer must have astonished him,—"until seventy times seven," that meant always, without stint, or measure. And remember also, that forgiveness must be real and true. We may not forgive with our lips, and bear malice in our hearts. Such sham forgiveness is only too common. A man was lying on his sick bed, and the clergyman by his side was urging him to be reconciled to some one who had injured him. After much persuasion the man said, "If I die I will forgive him, but if I live he had better keep out of my way." And again, our forgiveness must be willing, not forced from us. As says our greatest poet—

"the quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from Heaven, Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: Tis mightiest in the mightiest."

A boy, nearly broken-hearted with grief, stood by his mother's coffin. "Oh! let me see my dear mother once more, only once more," he pleaded. A man who was about to screw down the coffin-lid thrust him aside with brutal violence, and even struck the orphan child. Years afterwards that man stood in the dock, to be tried for his life as a murderer. He had no counsel to defend him, but just as the case commenced a young barrister rose in court, and offered his services to the prisoner. His speech for the defence was so eloquent, and so convincing, that the prisoner was acquitted. Outside the court he turned to thank his preserver. The stranger looked at him steadily, and said, "Do you remember years ago, driving a poor, broken-hearted boy from his mother's coffin with a curse and a blow? I was that boy." The man was overwhelmed with shame and confusion. "Why have you given me my life?" he asked. "To show you," answered the other, "that I can forgive."

Oh! my brothers, if we would find pardon for our many sins, let us ask Him who prayed for His murderers to teach us how to forgive.

"Walk with care 'mid human spirits, Walk for blessing, not for ban; 'Twere better never to have lived, Than lived to curse a deathless man.



SERMON LVIII.

THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY.

(Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity.)

PHIL. iii. 20.

"Our conversation is in Heaven."

People often fail to get at the meaning of this glorious text because they mistake that word conversation. Really the text means—our citizenship is in Heaven, we belong to the Eternal City. Once S. Paul declared with pride that he was a Roman citizen; and when the Chief Captain in surprise declared that he himself had purchased that privilege at a great price, the Apostle answered, "but I was free born." Every Christian has the right to call himself a citizen of Heaven, and to declare that he is free born. When in Holy Baptism we were born again of water, and of the Holy Ghost, the freedom of the City was given to us, and we were made a peculiar people, citizens of the Heavenly Jerusalem, with all the privileges, and all the responsibilities, belonging to such a position. Get this glorious fact into your minds, brethren, not that you are going to belong to Heaven, but that you do belong to it now. Here in earth you are foreigners, strangers and pilgrims. Here God's Israel is in exile by the waters of Babylon, Jerusalem on high, the Heavenly Sion, is yonder, and that is home. Heaven is yours now, if you forfeit it, if you lose your inheritance, it will be from your own fault, your own sin.

First, I think that the fact of Heaven being our home should make us love it. Sometimes we find people who have willingly settled in a foreign country, and done their best to forget the manners and language of their native land. But such cases are very rare. If you meet with an Englishman out in the Colonies, he always speaks of the old country as home. Even colonists who have been born in our foreign settlements, and have never seen England, speak of going home when they visit it. In many an Australian hut, or New Zealand farm, there is a swelling of the heart, or a glistening in the eyes, as the faded flowers drop from the home letter. The flowers are poor enough, and dead enough, but they once grew in a home garden, or blossomed in an English meadow. One of our great novelists tells us how two men in Australia walked many weary miles only to listen to the song of the skylark. That homely bird was precious in their eyes because it reminded them of home. I have read that when Swiss soldiers are abroad, they are not allowed to play, or listen to, their national airs. The music reminds them of their cow-bells ringing among the fair valleys and mountains of their native land, and under its influence some have deserted the army, and some even died of grief. The German loves to talk of the Fatherland, and has a word in his language which very strongly expresses home-sickness. Talk to a Scotsman about the beauties of Venice, or Rome, and he will tell you that you should see Edinburgh, or Aberdeen. Speak to an Irishman of the wonders of the tropics, and he will at once begin the praises of the Green Isle. The love of home is the very root and core of our nature. Well, if we love our earthly home, where we stay for so short a time, where, after all, we are but strangers and pilgrims, we ought still more to love Heaven, whose citizens we are. A child was once asked where his home was, and answered with eyes full of love—"Where mother is." Brothers, our home is where Jesus is.

Next, I think we ought to be proud of being citizens of so fair a city as Heaven. A Greek of old was proud to belong to a country which could boast of the learning of Athens, the wisdom of Plato, the courage of Leonidas. If a Roman in former days was asked to do a mean, or dishonourable action, it was enough for him to answer, "I am a Roman citizen!" A burgess of London City to-day is proud of the position which he holds, and of the rights and privileges gained by many an ancient charter of freedom. But what ought we to think of the privileges and glory of belonging to that City which is God's Home; of being fellow citizens with the saints in light; of claiming as our brethren that great multitude which no man can number? Each town and city of earth is proud of its most famous citizens, but what city can show such names as our City, Jerusalem on high? What streets are crowded with such a goodly company as the streets of Heaven? All that is great and good, glorious, pure, gentle, self-sacrificing, finds a place in Heaven. Mighty Preachers and Apostles, like S. Paul or S. Chrysostom; simple girls, like Naaman's maid, or Veronica, the farm-servant; brave women who died martyrs for Jesus in the Arena, and those who lived as witnesses for Jesus, like Grace Darling, and Florence Nightingale, and Sister Dora; these, and such as these, of whom the time would fail me to tell, form the company of Heaven. "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, think on these things." And think, too, "'Tis mine, 'tis mine, that country, if I but persevere."

We must remember, however, that a citizen has certain duties, as well as rights and privileges, and if he neglects the former he forfeits the latter. We, as citizens of Heaven, though exiles here in earth, have certain duties and responsibilities laid upon us; if we fail to perform them, we lose our position as God's people. When an Englishman goes abroad to a foreign country he is at once recognised. When the foreigner sees the reckless courage, the cool daring, the love of adventure, displayed by his visitor, he says at once, "that is an Englishman." We are here in a strange land, does the world take notice of us as those who belong to Jesus? Does the world recognise us, by our manners, and way of life, as citizens of Heaven?

Think of some of the duties laid upon us as those who have received the freedom of the City. We are bound, first of all, to keep ourselves, as far as possible, unspotted from the world. We must live in the world for a time, but we must not be of it. If an Englishman were compelled to live for a season among savages, whose habits were horrible and disgusting, he would take care not to become like them. He would think of himself as being a civilized man, to whom the manners of the people were revolting, and he would endeavour, whilst avoiding their example, to set them a better. So should a Christian man be in the world. He cannot avoid seeing and hearing much that is evil. But let him take care lest, like Israel of old, he mingles with the unbeliever, and learns their ways. Let him remember that he is a citizen of Heaven, and that he has no more right to take part in the frauds, and lies, and impurity of the world, than Lot had to join in the abominations of Sodom. A Christian man should stand above the waves of this troublesome world, as a lighthouse stands above the tumbling billows of the sea. And, like that beacon, he should give forth a warning light, clear, bright, and steady.

Next, as citizens of Heaven, we are bound to work for our Heavenly Master. No matter that we are in a foreign workshop here in this world, no matter that we are employed by earthly masters, one Master is ours, and He is in Heaven. We must be busy about our Father's business, we must do all, looking unto Jesus. Suppose that the Queen were passing through this parish, and were to stop at one of your homes, say that of a cabinetmaker. And suppose that she were to order him to make her a cabinet after a particular pattern. Well, the man would be very much flattered at the order, and you may be sure he would take the greatest pains to put good work into the cabinet. "You see it is for the Queen," he would say to his neighbour, in explanation of his extra care. Now, my brothers, whatever kind of work we have to do, we ought to do it as well as we can, saying to ourselves, "it is for the King of kings, you see." Oh! if men would only remember that, then there would be no more cheating, and swindling, and lying in trade; no more labourers and artizans scamping their work, putting in bad material, working short time, and committing the endless dishonest acts which disgrace a Christian land. Try to remember that whatever you have to do, you are working for God, you are a citizen of Heaven, and to your Heavenly Master must the account be rendered. There shall enter into Heaven nothing that maketh a lie. If our lives are not quite genuine and honest here, we are locking ourselves out of Heaven. Let us, as citizens of no mean city, keep aloof from the hypocrite, the teller or maker of a lie, and speak every man truth with his neighbour. Again, I think that as citizens of Heaven, we ought to take very good heed to our words. You know how our streets and lanes in this world are defiled and made hideous by vile language. Can you fancy that sort of talk in the streets of the Heavenly City? No, there shall not enter there anything that defileth, peace is upon her palaces. The swearing tongue, the impure tongue, the angry tongue, can find no place there. The cruel, slandering tongue talks many a soul into ruin, for they have no room for the scandal-monger in Heaven. Let us guard our speech, brethren, let us remember that, as Heavenly citizens, our lips should be sanctified by the fire of God's Altar. "Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue, keepeth his soul from troubles."

Once more, as citizens of Heaven, we must keep our home ever fresh in our minds. Here we are strangers in a strange land. You know how we English abroad always cling to anything which reminds us of home. The settler in the Australian Bush keeps Christmas Day beneath the burning summer sky exactly as he always kept it amid the snow and ice of an English winter. When letters come, how eagerly are they read if they come from home! Many a rough miner on the other side of the world grows gentler as he looks at the faded photograph, or the yellow note paper; they remind him of home. Well, here in earth, far from our Heavenly home, we have certain means of keeping its memory fresh. We can go to God's Holy Church, and there join with Angels and Archangels and all the company of Heaven in praise and adoration of our King. We can read our Bible, and then we gaze, as it were, upon the picture of Saviour Jesus, and upon the faces of our brother citizens who have entered by the gates of pearl. We can pray, and so send a message to our City, and get an answer back again, a blessing coming like a sweet flower sent from the fields of Paradise. When our soldiers do noble deeds abroad, their thought is—what will they say in England? Let us do our duty here in a strange land, thinking—what will they say in Heaven? My brother, my sister, let this thought help you to struggle against temptation—I must walk worthy of my vocation, I am a citizen of Heaven.



SERMON LIX.

THANKFUL SERVICE.

(Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.)

COL. i. 12.

"Giving thanks."

In one of our northern coal-pits there was a little boy employed in a lonely and dangerous part of the mine. One day a visitor to the coal-pit asked the boy about his work, and the child answered, "Yes, it is very lonely here, but I pick up the little bits of candle thrown away by the colliers, and join them together, and when I get a light I sing." My brothers, every day of our lives we are picking up blessings which the loving Hand of God has scattered around, every day we get the light, but how many of us sing?

I want to talk to you about the duty and blessing of thankfulness, and how it can be shown. Gratitude is the root of all true Christian service and worship. If we go to Church, and give money for religious purposes, only because we want to stand well with God, or to get something from Him, our service is mere selfishness. We are like people buying votes to get themselves into a charitable asylum. All we do in the service of God should be done from a motive of thankfulness. The thought should be, "What shall I render unto the Lord for all His benefits?"

If a man does the state some great service we give him a pension, or a statue. It is nothing very much, but we do what we can to show our gratitude. During the last American War a farmer was discovered one day kneeling by the grave of a soldier lately killed in battle. He was asked if the dead man were his son, and answered that the soldier was no relation: and then he told his story. The farmer, who had a sickly wife, and several children, was drafted for the army, and had no one who could carry on his farm, or take care of his family, whilst he went to the war. Whilst he was overwhelmed with trouble, the son of a neighbour came forward, and said, "I have no one depending on me, I will go to the war in your place." He went, and was killed in action, and the farmer had travelled many a weary mile to kneel beside his grave, and to carve on the headstone the words—"Died for me."

Brethren, what ought our gratitude to be to the Lord Jesus, who loved us, and died for us upon the Cross of Calvary? True gratitude is shown by deeds as well as words. We must try to show our thankfulness to God not only with our lips but in our lives. Too many people are content to get all they can from God, and never to give anything in return. They tell us that they are poor miserable sinners, who can do nothing, and give nothing, they must leave all to the mercies of Jesus. Now, brethren, this is very often mere selfishness. They do not want to give anything to God, they are not really thankful. It is not true to say that we can give nothing to God. We are bidden in the Gospel to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's. We can all give God worship, and we should give it in the best way possible, as a token of our thankfulness.

It is for this reason that we build beautiful Churches, and decorate them with stained glass windows, and rich carvings. Such Churches are thank-offerings, signs of our gratitude to Him who on earth was homeless, who was born in a stable, who had not where to lay His head. There are people who murmur at the expense of building and decorating such Churches. They say, "To what purpose was this waste?" They are very nearly related to Judas Iscariot of old, who asked the same question, and, like him, they love themselves, and the money bag, better than their Master. These people tell us that God does not care for handsome Churches and stately services. So they would give the Almighty a white-washed building, whilst they dwell in a fair and costly mansion. They would have fine damask and soft covering for their table, whilst they have dirty linen and a moth eaten cloth for the Altar of their God. They will drink out of cut-glass and silver at their feasts, and they leave the feast of Christ's dying love, the Blessed Sacrament of praise and thanksgiving, to be celebrated in vessels of base metal. Their houses are kept in excellent repair, and cleansed by careful hands, but they suffer the House of God to fall to decay, and allow His Presence Chamber to be defiled with dirt. And all this arises from a want of thankfulness to God. If we are thankful we do not grudge what we give, we feel that we can never do enough for Him who has redeemed us. But these people say, "God does not care for a beautiful Church, He loves simplicity." Where has God told us this? David believed just the opposite. He said that he was ashamed that he should dwell in a house of cedars, whilst the Ark of God dwelt among curtains. You know how he was prevented from building the Temple, and how Solomon did the work. Now, did Solomon act upon the mean principle of building a poor, cheap house for God, whilst he erected a gorgeous palace for himself? No! the Temple was one of the most glorious buildings ever seen, and those that were erected in later times were splendid also. We find our Blessed Lord attending the Temple services, and those services were beautiful and elaborate. There was nothing in the Temple or its worship to suggest that God prefers the ugly, white-washed building, and the slovenly, irreverent, service which some would offer Him.

If you love someone very dearly you do not visit him in your oldest and dirtiest garments, you do not send him the cheapest present you can buy, nor put up a roughly erected tombstone to his memory. You give him the very best you have. If you love God you will do the same to Him.

Again, we show our thankfulness to God by giving Him a hearty worship in His Church. I wonder how many people know exactly why they come to Church at all. Some say they come to get good. That is mere selfishness. Some say they come because it is respectable. Yes, but worthless, unless it means something more. Others would tell us, if they were quite honest, that they come to Church because they want to stand well in the good opinion of the Clergyman, or with the Squire. This is sheer hypocrisy. There is only one true reason for coming to Church,—the fact that we love God, and are grateful to Him for all His mercies, and want to show it. We should come to Church to worship God with the best member that we have; we should come with the feeling—"I was glad when they said unto me we will go into the House of the Lord;" "I love the place, O Lord, wherein Thine honour dwells." All slovenliness in the performance of the service, all irreverence, or signs of inattention, and indifference, are tokens of a want of thankfulness. We should get this thought fixed in our minds when we enter Church,—I have come here to-day mainly to thank God for His great goodness to me, and to all men. I have come also to ask for certain things, the forgiveness of my sins if I am truly penitent, the help and strength of the Holy Spirit to renew my life; I have come to ask for those things, which are requisite and necessary as well for the body as the soul, and I seek instruction in the lessons, the Gospel and Epistle, and the sermon. But the chief object of my presence here is the worship, the glory, the honour of God. And so I will give Him the best I have. If you once grasped that fact, my brothers, we should have no silent lips, no sleepy eyes, no lounging bodies, no irreverent conduct in God's Holy Church. Remember God is present in His Church, therefore we must behave with the greatest humility and reverence. In some Churches you will see the people obstinately sitting throughout the service, but if one of the Royal Family enters, they all rise up. Now, if we remember that the King of kings, and Lord of lords, the only Ruler of princes, is present, we shall stand up to do Him honour. It is defrauding God of the honour due to Him when we refuse to show Him marks of reverence. Do you know that in the House of Lords it is always the rule for members to bow to the throne, although it is empty, as being the seat of the Majesty of England. We bow to the Altar as being the throne of the Most High God, the place where He visits His people in the Blessed Sacrament. There we should honour and reverence God, in whose presence we are, with the best members that we have. Our heads should bow in humility before the God of Heaven and earth. Our knees should bend in adoration before Him who is worshipped by the Heavenly Host. Our eyes should be fixed upon our Prayer Books that they may not wander. Our thoughts should be centred on the fact that God is there with us, that we are in the presence-chamber of the great King. Our voices should be used to praise God in chant, and psalm, and hymn, and to offer prayer or thanksgiving. If we are silent we are defrauding God. God's Priest does not say, "let me pray for you," he says, "let us pray." We cannot worship God by proxy, we cannot give God what He asks by means of a choir, whilst the congregation is silent. Let us, each one of us, for the future, remember why we have come to Church, and that it is our individual business to worship God with reverence and holy fear. And in all you sing or say here, be in earnest, mean what you say. It is an insult to God to say words which you do not believe, or understand. Once in a certain Church, during Lent, an Easter hymn had been put down by mistake, and was sung very heartily by the choir. The choirmaster after service spoke to the singers, regretting that such a mistake should have occurred. And he was answered, "Oh, it does not matter, we only think of the tune, and do not trouble about the words." I am afraid that too many hymns are sung in the same careless fashion, but if so, they are not praise. "Sing ye praises with understanding."

One word more; we are bidden to render unto Caesar what belongs to him, and to God what is His. This world has certain claims upon us. Part of our time and our money must be devoted to our business and our position in the world. But not all of our time and money must be so given. God claims His share, and our gratitude for His mercies ought to make us gladly render unto God the things that are God's. He claims a certain part of our time for His public worship in Church. If we stay away from His House, or if, when there, we are careless, and indifferent, we are robbing God. God claims a certain part of our money, to be dedicated to the relief of the poor, or the maintenance of His Church. If we spend all our money on the world we are defrauding God of His right. May He grant us all more thankful hearts, for Jesus Christ's sake.



SERMON LX.

GATHERING THE FRAGMENTS.

(Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity.)

S. JOHN vi. 12.

"Gather up the fragments that remain."

The fragments that remain! What are they? Something more than the remnants of that miracle of feeding. We have come to the last Sunday of the Church's year, only a few more fragments, a few more days, remain, and then Advent will have come, and we shall begin a new year. Again we shall hear the warning cry—"Prepare to meet thy God." Brothers, are we ready to meet Him? We are one year nearer the day when we must render in our account; one year nearer the time when the Master will come to reckon with His servants; one year nearer the return of the Bridegroom. What of our lamps, are they burning? What of our talents, have they yielded interest? Another year gone—eternity nearer by twelve months; surely this is a solemn time for us all. Let us gather up the fragments of time that remain before Advent. Do not put off making resolutions, or giving up bad habits, till next Sunday. We know not how few fragments of our life remain. As says a Bishop of our Church, "they who dare lose a day are prodigals, but those who dare misspend it are desperate. Time is the seed of eternity, the less that remains the more valuable it becomes. To squander time is to squander all." The events of one brief day have often influenced a whole life, aye, a whole eternity. The flight of a bird determined the career of Mohammed; a spider's spinning that of Bruce; and a tear in his mother's eye that of Washington. Voltaire, when only five years old, committed to memory an infidel poem, and grew to live and die an unbeliever; whilst Doddridge, as a child, studied the Bible from the pictured tiles at the fireside explained by his mother. Use the moments, the fragments, that remain, and so begin this Advent season rightly, your lamp burning, the works of darkness cast away, the armour of light girded on. But not only must we look forward, the end of the Church's year is a fitting time for looking back. Some of us can do so joyfully, thankfully, peacefully. Week by week the teachings of Holy Church have shown them the life of duty, and they feel that they have tried to live that life by the help of God's Holy Spirit. The first half of the year's teaching showed us God's love for us, the second half taught us how we can show our love to God. Last Advent told us of the battle of life, the good fight of the faith, and the love of God strengthening us in the conflict, and promising the crown of victory. Christmas brought us once more the dear, glad, tidings that Jesus is our brother, bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh. Epiphany showed us our Saviour manifested in our work, in the changed character of a believer who out of weakness is made strong, in the cleansed sinner whose leprosy is healed, in the storm of life made calm. The star of Epiphany led us to Jesus, to hope, to rejoicing, and gladly we offered our gifts, to the King our gold, to the Great High Priest our incense, to the Crucified our myrrh. Lent showed us the sterner side of the life of duty, and brought its lessons of self-denial and self-restraint. Those of us who went out into the wilderness of this world with Jesus, "glad with Him to suffer pain," resisting the tempter, found their reward at the glad Easter-tide. The sorrow which had endured for the night of Lent gave place to the joy which came with Easter morning. And so in every Sunday of the year we trace the golden thread of God's loving mercy lying along the narrow way, the path of duty. If we have tried to keep in that path, then we can look back joyfully over the year that is gone, and for the future we can, like S. Paul, "thank God, and take courage."

They tell us that the fishermen of Brittany, when going forth on a voyage, offer this prayer—"Save us, O God, thine ocean is so large, and our little boat so small." That may well be our prayer as we begin another year. "Gather up the fragments." For some of us that will be a sorry task; we are like children crying in the midst of the broken pieces of some costly vase, shattered by our carelessness. The fragments that remain! How many remain of the lessons and warnings of the past year? How much of the good seed remains undestroyed by the choking thorn? Some of us made good resolutions last Advent, we started well with the beginning of the Church's year, we girded on our armour, we determined to make a fight for the true faith, and we took a firm stand on the promises of the Gospel. And now nothing remains of those good resolutions except the broken fragments to witness against us and upbraid us. As for the good fight, we have fled from the battle beaten, our shield has been left disgracefully behind, we have turned ourselves back in the day of battle. My brother, what is that dark stain upon the white robe of your purity? It was not there a year ago. Last Advent you could look father and mother, aye, the whole world, in the face. And now you have a guilty secret spoiling your life. You may cry with Macbeth—

"Had I but died an hour before this chance I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant, The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left."

You cannot wash away that stain, even though you could "weep salt oceans from those eyes." To look back mournfully will not help to undo the past. To lament over the fragments of a misspent year, or the memory of broken resolutions, vows unfulfilled, and chances lost, will not bring back "the tender grace of a day that is dead." The thought would be maddening if we did not believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. The knowledge that we cannot recall one lost day, nor alter one past page in our life's story, would bring a remorse cruel as the fabled vulture which ever fed upon the vitals of the chained Prometheus. But thanks be to God, Jesus says, "He that sitteth upon the throne saith, Behold, I make all things new." Dear brothers and sisters, some of us need to turn over a new leaf, to make a fresh start, how shall we do it? Let us take our secret sin, our secret sorrow, to Jesus now. Let not the sun go down and find us impenitent, unpardoned. Let us no longer go through life like galley slaves, chained and labouring at the oar. Jesus waits to strike off our chains, He came to preach liberty to the captives. Think of that, you who are yet prisoners, slaves of some sin. Jesus will set you free. As long as you hide your fault you are a slave, you are torn and bitten by remorse, the worm that dieth not, the fire that is not quenched. Tell the story of your sin to Jesus now. Never mind how sad, how shameful it is. He is the same Jesus, remember. The same who cleansed the Magdalene, who pardoned the adulteress. Can you, will you, say to-day—

"We come to Thee, sweet Saviour, With our broken faith again; We know Thou wilt forgive us, Nor upbraid us, nor complain.

We come to Thee, sweet Saviour, Fear brings us in our need; For Thy hand never breaketh Not the frailest bruised reed."

"Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost." Let Advent find us once more fighting the battle from which some had retreated. Let the marks and scars upon our armour teach us our danger, and help us to fight more watchfully, more humbly. Let the mistakes, the weaknesses, the negligences, the ignorances of the past, be warnings to us for the future.

"Saint Augustine, well hast thou said That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame.

Deem not the irrevocable past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain."

Do you remember the Eastern story of the magician, who gave a ring of vast beauty to a certain prince? Not only was the ring set with priceless gems, but it had this wonderful quality. If the king indulged in any evil thought or wish, or devised any sinful act, the ring contracted on his finger, and warned him by its painful pressure. My brothers, does the ring of conscience press no finger here to-day? Is there no one here now who says in his heart: "Would to God that I were as in years past?" If so, cling to the cleansing Hand of Jesus now. A well-known Scottish physician tells us that, during a terrible outbreak of cholera, he was summoned to a small fishing village where the plague had broken out. As they approached the place by boat, they saw a crowd of anxious watchers waiting for the doctor's arrival. Suddenly an old man, of great height and strength, dashed into the water, reached the boat ere it could reach the land, and seizing the doctor in his mighty arms, carried him helpless through the crowd to the bedside of his cholera-stricken grandson.

Brethren, if the plague spot of sin is upon you, seize upon the Hand of the Good Physician, clasp Him in your arms, cry to Him now: "wash me throughly [Transcriber's note: thoroughly?] from my wickedness, and cleanse me from my sin!"



SERMON LXI.

WHAT THE FLOWERS SAY.

(Children's Flower Service.)

PSALM ciii. 15.

"As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth."

Children, have you ever heard of the language of flowers? Now, of course, we know that flowers cannot speak as we can. I wish they could. I think they would say such sweet things. But in one way flowers do talk to us. When you give them some water, or when God sends a shower of rain upon them, they give forth a sweet smell; I think that the flowers are speaking then, I think that they are saying, "thank you." Let us listen to the preaching of the flowers to-day. What do they say to us? Well, some say one thing, some another; but there is one thing which all of them say—"trust God." God takes care of the flowers, and sends them dew, and rain, and sunshine, and fresh air, and they tell us that the same God who cares for the flowers cares also for us. And next, I think, all the flowers say to us, "thank God." See how the daisies in the meadow seem to look up thankfully to God. Someone says that God smiles on the earth, and that the earth smiles back again with its flowers. Is not that a pretty thought, children, that the flowers are the smiles of the grateful earth? Next, the flowers say to us, "be contented." They are quite satisfied to grow, and smell sweet, and look pretty, in the place where God puts them. Now, just as God plants the flowers in a certain place, some up high on the hills, others down low in the valley; some in the Queen's greenhouse, others in the cottager's garden, so He puts you children in your right place. Be quite sure, my children, that the best place for us is where God puts us. Have you ever noticed the sweet-scented wall flowers growing on an old stone wall? They have scarcely any earth for their roots, only a little bit between the stones, yet they make the old wall beautiful, and no flower smells sweeter. They teach us to be contented. They seem to say, we have no grand place to grow in, no carefully-prepared bed, only a bit of old wall for our home, but we are quite satisfied, and we mean to make home as bright and sweet as we can. Let us learn the lesson of the wall flower. Let us try to make home bright and happy, and sweet, no matter how poor it is. Another thing which all the flowers tell us is this, "remember that you must die." When the Autumn and Winter come we say the flowers are dead because we cannot see them. But the flowers are not really dead. They are sleeping in the earth till the Spring comes again. God has put them to bed in the warm ground, and when the proper time comes they will waken up. Just what God does to the flowers He does to us. One day He will send us to sleep, and take our soul to a safe place in Paradise, whilst our body is put to bed in the earth beneath the soft and pleasant grass. People will say that we are dead, just as they say the flowers are dead. One day the resurrection morning will come, it will be our spring-time, and God, who raised Jesus Christ from the grave, will raise us up again.

So you see, children, the flowers tell us not only that we must die, but that we must rise again. What else do the flowers say to us? I think they say, "keep in the sunshine, be happy." You always find that flowers are on the sunny side of things. So ought we to be. A plant cannot grow, and blossom, in a dark cellar. It must have sunshine. So if you want to be God's children, that is, good children, you must have sunshine in your hearts, sunshine in your faces. Look at the face of an innocent child, one who is gentle, obedient, loving, pure. You will see the face full of sunshine. But look at the face of a child who has done something wrong; who has told a lie, or done some cruel, mean, or dishonest act. There is no sunshine on that face. There is nothing but a dark heavy cloud. The ill-tempered child has no sunshine on his face. He lives down in a dark cellar. The discontented child has no sunshine on his face. He lives down in a black dungeon with Giant Despair. My children, ask God to keep you innocent; or if you have done wrong, ask God to forgive you for Jesus Christ's sake, then you will have sunshine, you will be happy.

There is another thing which the flowers say to us—"Be sweet." There is nothing so delicious as to go into a flower garden after a warm shower, and to smell the sweet scents. Well, God has sent you into the garden of this world to be sweet like the flowers. How can you be sweet? You can be sweet-tempered, sweet-mannered, sweet-spoken. Sometimes you hear people say that someone has a sweet face. Now that need not mean a pretty face; a person may be pretty, and yet not sweet. Those who are sweet-tempered show it in their faces. You know how a bunch of flowers in a room makes it sweet and wholesome. Now every good child in a home, or a school, is like a nosegay of blossoms, making the place sweet and wholesome; and every bad, vicious, unruly, child is like the smell which comes from poisoned water. When I used to visit the sailors in their ships to talk to them about God, I used to say to them, "Now I want one of you men to be a little pinch of salt in this ship, I want you to keep things sweet. Who will be the little pinch of salt?" You understand what I mean, children? I wanted a good man, who prayed, and read his Bible, to help the others, to try and stop bad talking, to keep things sweet, as salt does. Well, I want each of you children to be God's sweet flower, and to try to make your home sweet by your gentleness, your good temper, your love. Some children are regular stinging nettles in a home, or a school. They always make people uncomfortable. They sting with their tongues, and they sting with their looks and their tempers. Make up your minds, dear little ones, to be, by God's help, sweet flowers, not stinging nettles.

And now, before I leave you, let us think what one special flower teaches us. I told you that there is such a thing as the language of flowers, that is, that each flower has its special meaning. Well, what does the rose say? Surely the rose says, "love one another!" Do you know who it is who loves us best, and who has done most for us? Our Lord Jesus Christ. Yes, and it is for that reason, I think, that He is called in the Bible a Rose,—the Rose of Sharon. Whenever you see a rose, think of Jesus, the Rose of Sharon, and remember what He says to you, "Little children, love one another." I will tell you a story about a rose. A little brother and sister lived in a crowded court in a great city. It was a wretched, dirty, ugly, place, where scarcely any sunshine ever came, and where the people were often rough and wicked. Little Willie and his sister knew nothing about green fields spotted with daisies, they had never seen a flower. One day a kind friend took all the poor children living in the court for a drive into the country. I cannot tell you how happy Willie and his sister were when they saw the trees and hedges, which were all new and strange to them. Presently they passed a garden in which were growing some sweet-smelling red flowers. Willie had never seen anything half so lovely, and he was anxious to know what the flowers were called, so they told him that they were roses. Well, after a time, when the Winter came, little Willie fell ill. Day after day his sister sat beside him, holding his thin white hand in hers. Often they talked about that wonderful day in the country, where they had seen the roses. Often, too, they talked about Jesus, and the still more beautiful country where He lived. The children were very ignorant, but they had been to Sunday School, and learnt something about the dear Lord who loves children. One cold, dark day, little Willie was much worse, and he said to his sister—"Oh! I wish I could see a rose once more. I wish you would go and get me one of those roses we saw that day!" So the little sister, who loved him dearly, set out to walk to the place where they had seen the flowers. After a long and weary journey, she came to the field where they had played, and the garden where the roses grew. But the field and the garden were white with snow, and there were no roses there. The little girl was worn out with hunger and fatigue, and she dropped on her knees in the snow, and prayed, and this was her prayer—"Dear Jesus, send me one rose, only one, for little Willie." Just then a carriage came along the road, and the lady who rode in it had a beautiful red rose in her hand, which had grown in a greenhouse. She dropped it from the window, I suppose, by accident, but when the little girl saw it lying on the snow, she thought that Jesus had sent it to her, and took it up lovingly to carry to her brother. But she had no more strength to struggle through the cold night, and when the morning came they found her dead upon the white snow, with the red rose in her hand. That night little Willie, lying alone in the cold, dark, garret, also died. And the writer of this story thinks that when the brother and sister met in the Paradise of God, the sister, who gave her life for love, carried a beautiful flower in her hand, and said, "Willie, here's your rose." So thinks the writer, and I think so too.



SERMON LXII.

DAILY BREAD.

(Harvest Thanksgiving.)

PSALM lxv. 9.

"Thou preparest them corn."

"Come, ye thankful people, come," and let us thank God for another harvest. Once more the Father, the Feeder, has given bread to strengthen man's heart, and we turn from the corn stored in the garner, to God's own garner the Church, where He has stored up food for our souls.

And first of all, my brothers, let us be honest with ourselves. Are we quite sure that we are thankful to God for the harvest? We have decorated God's House with the first-fruits of the year, we have met together now to celebrate our Harvest Festival; but is there real meaning in all this? Are we thankful to God? if not our Festival is a mockery. Let me give you a few thoughts which may help you to be thankful. The first thought is this: the harvest is God's harvest, not yours. "Thou preparest them corn," is spoken of God, not of man. Corn is unlike any other kind of food, it is the direct gift of God to man in fully-developed state. Other fruits of the earth are given to man in a wild state, and he must improve them by care and cultivation, till the wild vine is turned into the rich wine-producing plant of the vineyard, and the sour crab into the delicious apple. It is not the case with corn. No one, says a writer, whose thoughts I am following, has ever discovered wild corn. Ages ago, when the Pharaohs reigned in Egypt, and the Pyramids were a'building, men sowed just the same corn that you sow to-day. Corns of wheat like our own have been found in the hands of Egyptian mummies which have been dead for thousands of years. The grain which Joseph stored in Pharaoh's granaries, and with which he fed his brethren, was precisely similar to the produce of your own fields. Geologists tell us that there is no trace of corn to be found in the earth before the creation of man. When God made man He created corn to supply him with food. The old Greeks and Romans had a dim perception of this when they thought that corn was the gift of the goddess Ceres. You know we call all varieties of corn cereals, after that same goddess. In these days there is, with some, less religion than ever the old heathen possessed. They would shut God out of the world of Nature, and see in a harvest-field only man's cleverness and energy. Let us rather humble ourselves before God, and see that it is His Hand which sendeth the springs into the rivers which run among the hills, where all the beasts of the field drink thereof, and the wild asses quench their thirst; beside them shall the fowls of the air have their habitation, and sing among the branches. Let us believe that it is God who watereth the hills from above, so that the earth is filled with the fruits of His works; that it is God who bringeth forth grass for the cattle, and green herb for the service of men, that He may bring food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make him a cheerful countenance, and bread to strengthen man's heart. Whilst the unbeliever, blinded by his self-conceit, is worshipping his own little stock of knowledge, and neglecting God, let us be singing our Te Deum—"We praise Thee, O God, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord."

Here is another thought which will help you to recognise corn as being specially the gift of God to man. It grows all over the world. Wherever man can live, corn of one kind or another flourishes. "From the bleak inhospitable wastes of Lapland to the burning plains of Central India, from the muddy swamps of China to the billowy prairies of America, from the level of the sea-shore to the lofty valleys and table-lands of the Andes and the Himalayas, it is successfully cultivated. The emigrant clears the primaeval forest of Canada, or the fern-brakes of New Zealand, and there the corn seed sown will spring up as luxuriantly as on the old loved fields of home." [1] All this should teach us to see in the harvest the result, not of our skill and cleverness, but of the good God's lovingkindness. Ask yourselves now, my brothers, whether you are truly thankful to God for this harvest: is your presence here to-day a real act of thanksgiving, or only an idle form?