“lovely things”—where inspiration surges joyously from the Psalmist’s lips, the application becomes too clear to admit of serious discussion: “King’s daughters were among thy honorable women.” And then with echoes from the Book of Ruth, coming thick and fast, “Hearken, O daughter, and consider; incline thine ear; forget also thine own people, and thy father’s house; so shall the King greatly desire thy beauty: for He is thy Lord, and worship thou Him.” Again and again we have those unspeakably tender passages in the prophetic Scriptures, where the Almighty deigns to represent Himself as bearing the same relation to His Church which the spouse bears to the betrothed. Especially is it to be noticed that, in the Hebrew Canon, the concise and pathetic Hosea comes next after the Canticles. In a series of unmistakable allusions, the faithlessness of the actual Israel is put in contrast with the love of the ideal Israel. In Hosea the Song of Songs is given back in sighs. This view of a large portion of the Old Testament makes it in the highest degree probable that when we come to a song, of which we are told that it is Solomon’s, and “the most excellent of songs,” and of which we know that it alone has been preserved out of a thousand and five, it should be intended for the Divine song of a Divine love. Bishop W. Alexander.

1. I AM a rose of Sharon, A lily of the valleys.

2. As a lily among thorns, So is my love among the daughters.

3. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, So is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, And his fruit was sweet to my taste.

4. He brought me to the banqueting house, And his banner over me was love.

5. Stay ye me with raisins, comfort me with apples: For I am sick of love. His left hand is under my head,

6. And his right hand doth embrace me.

7. I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes, and by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awaken love, Until it please.

8. The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh, Leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.

9. My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: Behold, he standeth behind our wall, He looketh in at the windows,

He sheweth himself through the lattice.

10. My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.

11. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone;

12. The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

13. The fig tree ripeneth her green figs, And the vines are in blossom, They give forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

14. O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the steep place, Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

15. Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vineyards; For our vineyards are in blossom.

16. My beloved is mine, and I am his: He feedeth his flock among the lilies.

17. Until the day be cool, and the shadows flee away, Turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart Upon the mountains of Bether.

1. TAKING up the king’s thought (1 : 17), the bride replies: “And I am like a lovely wild flower springing at the root of the stately forest-trees.” (Chap. 2 ought to have begun at

1 : 15, or chap. 1 to have been continued to 2 : 7.)

Lily of the valleys. The lily is the favorite flower of the Song, and is mentioned seven times.

2. The king resumes, taking up the bride’s comparison: “As the lily excels in beauty the thorny shrubs among which it grows, so my friend excels her companions.”

3. As the apple-tree.** The bride’s answer closing the gentle strife: “As the ’tappuach’ with its fragrant fruit excels the barren trees of the wild wood, so my beloved his associates and friends.” The bride continues speaking to the end of v. 7. (From 3ᵇ, “I sat down,” to end of v. 5, she enlarges the thought of 3ᵃ.)

4. His banner;** or, “standard.” Compare Num. 1 : 52; 10 : 14, 18, 22, 25, where the same word is used of the great military ensigns which preceded the tribes on their march through the wilderness. The standard is the rallying point and guide of the individual soldier, giving to each encouragement and confidence in the weariness of the march, or the extremity of conflict. Hengstenberg.—So the bride, transplanted from a lowly station to new scenes of unwonted splendor, finds support and safety in the known attachment of her beloved. His “love” is her “banner.” The thought is similar to that expressed in Moses’ altar-name, “Jehovah nissi” (Ex. 17 : 15). T. L. K.

Among the choice things of the prepared banquet, the chief is rest. It is only the Gospel of Jesus Christ which has the exclusive prerogative to give a man rest. If there can be anything on this side of heaven worthy to be mentioned with that rest—the feeling of a forgiven soul—it is intimacy with God Himself; the nearness, and consequently the acquaintance with God’s mind, into which the Christian is at once, though it be progressive, yet at once admitted; as soon as he obeys the drawings of the spirit and comes near to God. It is the actual presence of Christ which becomes dear to an advancing Christian. He has had His grace, but He wants Him. Therefore, more and more as a believer lives, you will find him meditating on the Person and the Being of Christ. J. V.

Find out what the Christian life is by living it. Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor heart conceived, the things that He hath prepared. The feast in the Christian’s heart, the antepast of heaven, is not understood by verbal pictures of it, but only as we ripen spiritually for the relish of it. When the bridegroom leads His spouse to the banqueting-house, there is no at attempted enumeration of the delicacies in store. It is only said, how finely! that “the banner over her is love;” leaving it for a growing faith to learn what He will give His people, whose own meat and drink it is to do His Father’s will. “Come and see.” “Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.” “Knock, and it shall be opened.” F. D. H.

6. His left hand, at chap. 8 : 3, is rendered as a wish or prayer, and so it ought to be here: “Oh, that His left hand were under my head, and that His right hand did embrace me!” Let Him draw me to Him with entire affection.

7. I charge you.** The bride concludes with an adjuration to the chorus, which has been variously interpreted. It should be rendered: I adjure you . . . by the gazelles, or by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up nor awaken love until it please. The affection or passion in itself, not its object, is here meant. The bride is still speaking, not the beloved, nor the sacred writer in his own person. This adjuration, three times significantly introduced as a concluding formula (2 : 7; 3 : 5; 8 : 4), forms, so to speak, one of the axes on which the whole composition turns. It expresses one of the main thoughts of the poem; namely, that genuine love is a shy and gentle affection which dreads intrusion and scrutiny (hence the allusion to the gazelles and hinds, shy and timid creatures), but dangerous in its strength and vehemence if heedlessly awakened. The complementary thought is that of chap. 8 : 6, 7, where love is again described, and by the bride, as a fiery principle, a lightning-flash from the Eternal One, “strong as death,” and tenacious as the grave in jealous hold of the object of possession.

The Visit of the Beloved. Vs. 8-17.

The bride relates to the chorus a visit which the beloved had paid her some time previously in her native home, situated in a garden or vineyard (like those described by modern travellers in the Lebanon), perched among rocks, and only to be reached by climbing a precipitous path (v. 14) leading up from the plain or valley. Here the beloved finds her on a fair spring morning, and solicits her company. The bride, immersed in rustic toils, refuses for the present, but confessing her love, and her delight in his companionship, bids him return at the cool of day and spreading out of evening shadows. It is a springtime of affection which is here described, still earlier than that of the former chapter, a day of pure first-love, in which, on either side, all royal state and circumstance is forgotten or concealed. The whole scene has been thought to represent the communion of a newly awakened soul with Christ, He gradually revealing Himself to her, and bidding her come forth into fuller communion. (Bossuet.) T. L. K.

8. The voice of my beloved! better, sound. Not a voice, but the sound of approaching footsteps is meant. (Compare Isa. 13:4, where the same word is rightly rendered “noise.”) The beloved does not speak till v. 10. The mountains, or hills over which he bounds, are mentioned again at chaps. 2:17 and 8:14, as if they were His favorite haunts. So the bride elsewhere speaks of herself as hieing to the hill of myrrh and frankincense (4:6). T. L. K.

9. Like a roe or young hart. These lovely harts are very timid, and descend at night to the plains to feed among the lilies until the daybreak and the shadows flee away (v. 17). We shall meet these graceful gazelles all through Syria and Palestine, and the more you see of them the greater will be your admiration. Persian and Arab poets abound in references to them. W. M. Thompson.

10. My beloved spake, and said. Some find a difficulty in this clause, as being inconsistent with the dramatic character of the poem elsewhere carefully maintained. The right interpretation of the whole passage (2:8-17), as a monologue of the bride narrating a past event, disposes of this difficulty. Reporting the invitation addressed to her by the beloved, she is obliged to indicate that she is giving his very words.

Rise up. Arise, my friend, my beautiful one, and come away. A stanza of eight lines (vs. 10-13) begins and ends with this refrain, in which the beloved invites the bride to come forth with him into the open champaign, now a scene of verdure and beauty, and at a time of mirth and mutual affection. The season indicated is that of spring after the cessation of the latter rain in the first or paschal month (Joel 2:23), i.e., Nisan or Abib, corresponding to the latter part of March and early part of April. Six signs of the season are given. T. L. K.

11-13. Here is a charming spring picture, with more exact and accumulated allusions to the beauties of nature than often occur together in sacred books. It is the more engaging from the strict concident fitness of all of them to express the time of year. The Hebrew poet has followed nature closely, and with the most gratifying results to the taste and imagination.

We can see something of this; but how much stronger must have been the aspect of natural truth thus imparted to the poem, in the eyes of those whose personal observation and periodical experience made them intuitively conscious of the truthfulness of all these details! The passage relating to the singing of birds is highly interesting, being, with a single exception (Psalm 104:12) the only allusion to the song of birds in the Bible. Kitto.

Their fragrance. That the blossom of the vine may give a fragrant smell in hot countries is shown by the practice of the ancients, who used to put the dried flowers of the vine into their new wine in order to give it fragrancy and a pure or flosculous spirit. Bishop Percy.

14. The beloved proceeds in another stanza of four lines still to urge the bride to come forth from her seclusion in her rock-girt home, in which she is hidden dove-like from the world. T. L. K.

All this is true to nature. Hearts that really love delight to make the loved one happy. The feeling is that all life is dull and all pleasure tasteless unless enjoyed as well by the object of our tender affection. Every earthly good becomes tenfold more a joy to us when we may share it with those we love. These principles of our social nature are beautifully set forth in this song, and with them yet another—viz., that the beauties and charms with which God has enriched the realm of nature—the music of birds, the fragrance and beauty of flowers, the countless charms of spring after the winter is over and gone—have a wonderful sympathy with the pure love which the same Great Father has provided for in the social nature of the sexes in their mutual relation to each other. The thing to be specially noted here is that the inspired author of this song seizes upon this beautiful exemplification of wedded love to illustrate the deep and pure affection which exists in such richness and power between God and His redeemed people. God would assure us of the strength and tenderness of this love on His part, and would call forth responsive love on our part in return. Blessed are they whose hearts do respond with overflowing soul! H. C.

15. The beloved has asked to see her countenance and hear her voice, and the bride answers by singing what appears to be a fragment of a vine-dresser’s ballad, insinuating the vineyard duties imposed on her by her brethren (1:6), which prevent her from immediately joining him. T. L. K.—The Shulamite does not accept his invitation; she does not show herself.

The beloved likens her to a dove hiding in the clefts of the rocks. If she cannot follow him, at least he begs to see her face, to hear her voice; he asks her for a song. She replies by a song in which she reminds him of the commands of her brothers, which oblige her, as well as her younger sister perhaps, or other young girls, to guard the tender shoots of the vine against the depredations of the little foxes. Thus do we hear echoing on through the ecstasies of the Shulamite all the emotions, pleasing or painful, of her past state of watching. Godet.

Little foxes that spoil the vineyards. We learn from Dr. Shaw, that “jackals of the lesser kind eat roots and fruits and frequent the gardens every night.” So Haselquist says, “There are many of these animals near the convent of St. John in the desert, about vintage time; insomuch that the owners are obliged to set guards over the vines to prevent these creatures from destroying them.” These, then, are clearly the animals which are here meant. Fragments to Calmet.—The little foxes get through or over the most closely constructed hedge which encloses the vineyard. They not only filch the fruit and devour the grapes, but what is far worse gnaw the branches and roots, and so destroy the vines. Smaller creatures still, those of the insect tribe, are referred to in the Bible as having and using a consuming and destructive power. It speaks of the ravages of the palmer-worm, the locust, the canker-worm, and the caterpillar. Most frequently it alludes to the moth, an insect common to every clime, that penetrates every dwelling, that makes its insidious, unseen way into the smallest, most hidden and closely shut recesses, where with sharp but invisible tooth it cuts into and consumes the carefully laid garments, hiding itself from view by the very process of ravening and fattening upon the juiceless thread. The “little foxes,” as these smaller destroyers also, suggest the truth that by far the greatest amount of moral evil among men is wrought by sins that are hidden, that act subtly and insidiously because so gradually and with such small seeming force. As moral character is mainly formed by the aggregate of minute influences, human and Divine, so the evil effects wrought upon character are wrought mainly through the instrumentality of little sins. Character is most seriously damaged, most effectually destroyed, by gradual, unnoticed yieldings to selfish temper and unregulated desire, by slight but repeated deflections from truth and right, or omissions of duty. B.

There are no little sins. There was a time when all the evil that has existed in the world was comprehended in one sinful thought of our first parents; and the evil now is the numerous and horrid progeny of one little sin. J. Howell.—Little lies are seeds of great ones. Little treacheries are, like small holes in raiment, the beginnings of large ones. Little dishonesties are like the drops that work through the banks of the level; a drop is an engineer; it tunnels a way for its fellows, and they, rushing, prepare for all behind them. Anon.

It is common to be conscientious in great, without being so in small matters. Many there are who would not steal or tell a downright falsehood; who would perhaps endure the extremest sufferings before they would relinquish some cherished opinions, and whom probably nothing on earth could tempt to commit any great or glaring offence against real or conventional proprieties; yet they will daily, hourly, without scruple—apparently without the consciousness of doing wrong—be guilty of certain little dishonesties, things that will not perhaps be productive of direct or positive injury to any one, but nevertheless are as truly the result of imperfect or dormant conscientiousness as if they involved the loss of much coin. Robert Chambers.

Although we must fight against great temptations with an invincible courage, and the victory gained against them be extremely profitable, yet it may happen that we may profit more in resisting small temptations. It is very easy to forbear stealing other men’s goods, but hard not so much as to covet or desire them; very easy not to bear false witness in judgment, but not easy to avoid detraction in conversation; very easy not to be drunk, but hard to be sober; very easy not to desire another man’s death, but hard not to desire some inconvenience to him; easy to forbear defaming our adversary, but hard not to despise him. De Sales.

Little things are unforeseen; they return every moment; they come in contact with our pride, our indolence, our haughtiness, our readiness to take offence; they contradict our inclinations perpetually. It is, however, only by fidelity in little things that a true and constant love to God can be distinguished from a passing fervor of spirit. Anon.

There is a sort of continued attrition, resulting from our necessary intercourse with the world, which of itself deadens the movements of the soul; there is, moreover, a continued temptation to yield in little points, under the notion of conciliating; to indulge in little things, to forego little strictnesses, to omit little duties; and all with the idea that what looks so light cannot be of real moment. And by these littles, thousands stumble and stumble on, getting more and more careless, nearer and nearer to indifference, lowering the Christian standards, suffering religion to be peeled away by inches, persuading themselves that they can spare without injury such inconsiderable bits, and not perceiving that in stripping the bark they stop the sap. Melvill.

The worst sin is not some outburst of gross transgression, forming an exception to the ordinary tenor of a life, bad and dismal as such a sin is; but the worst and most fatal are the small continuous vices, which root underground and honeycomb the soul. Many a man who thinks himself a Christian is in more danger from the daily commission, for example, of small pieces of sharp practice in his business, than ever was David at his worst. White ants pick a carcass clean sooner than a lion will. A. M.

The special peril to the honesty of business men is this, that qualified methods of doing business, of securing bargains, of influencing markets, will come gradually, silently, and universally into vogue, governing with so absolute and ubiquitous a control the interchanges of all mercantile life, that any nonconformist must go out of business or out of the world; which methods are not grossly dishonorable, but when thoroughly sifted and strictly tested by the immutable principles of justice and truth, are found to be off the track, oblique to the straight and true course; and that each trader, each artisan, each producer, will in his own walk yield, point by point, the little deviations about which he cannot help the consciousness of some scruples, which he is almost afraid to look at in too clear a light, but which are so sanctioned and sustained by this common law, that how to draw out of the sweep of the current he cannot see. Dare any man confidently affirm that a rigid application of the Divine law, the precepts of Christ, to this sphere of life, would not necessitate a recasting of much of the standard code? Oh, will not Christian men beware how these slight departures, these trivial but gainful obligations get currency with them, and to plead before the world the sanctity of Christian indorsement? “Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines.” A. L. Stone.

It is curious to notice that the very characteristics which commonly earn for a sin the name of little are often just the characteristics which in reality enhance its sinfulness, and render it pre-eminently worthy of being called great. For example, an ingenious prevarication would be usually considered far less sinful than a downright awkward falsehood. But the kernel of truth which it contains makes it more sinful, not less. It shows its perpetrator to be a cultivated liar. Judged, too, by its effects, it may often be discovered to be a lie of surpassing magnitude. . . . Little sins not only cause a vast amount of suffering, but they have the most fatal effect upon character. A great sin, severely punished and bitterly repented of, is not all likely to be repeated. The sins which seem to be little, just for that very reason, and also because they are generally unpunished, are likely to be first of all ignored by a man, and then repeated, till at last their total effect may be to render his character hopelessly and irretrievably bad. A number of very little sins will make a very great sinner. Our so-called little sins, too, have the most fatal moral effect upon the characters of others. They are just the sins which others will be likely to imitate. The average man is more likely to be infected by such a sin as scandal than he is to be infected by such a sin as theft. Therefore these little sins do the most widespread moral mischief in society. If we desire to form for ourselves a perfect character, a studied avoidance of little sins is of the first importance. Our habits depend upon the way in which we comport ourselves; not in great and startling emergencies, but rather under the simple, common circumstances of our common daily life. Everything we do or say leaves us somewhat different from our former selves, and is productive of good or evil to numbers of our fellow-men. Every action we perform, every word we utter, every thought we think, has wide-spreading, far-reaching effects—effects that will eternally endure. Stand in awe and sin not. A. W. Mome-rie.

It is only man’s littleness which discovers no importance in trifles. Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle. The most deplorable failures in Christian consistency and uprightness may, generally, be traced back to a very small departure from duty. Little sins are as wrong as larger ones, and in the end come to the same thing. Among these little sins which mar happiness or hinder usefulness may be reckoned a sour and crabbed temper; the giving way to ease and self-indulgence; dishonesty in our ordinary dealings, and jealousy, a weakness which few would confess that they have yielded to, and yet multitudes are made miserable by its evil influence. In religious character there is nothing unimportant, and the smallest inlets of sin should be carefully closed. Earnest prayer and diligent effort should be employed, that the work of the Holy Spirit in our hearts may be more thorough and pervading. J. N. Norton.

The avoidance of little inconsistencies, little weaknesses, little follies, little indiscretions and imprudences; little indulgences of self and of the flesh; little acts of indolence or indecision, or slovenliness or cowardice; little equivocations; little touches of shabbiness or meanness; little bits of covetousness and penuriousness; little indifferences to the feelings or wishes of others; outbreaks of temper or crossness and selfishness or vanity—the avoidance of such little things as these go far to make up at least the negative beauty of holy life. And then attention to little duties of the day and hour in public or private dealings, or family arrangements; to little words and looks and tones; little self-denials and self-restraints; little plans of kindness and thoughtful consideration for others; to punctuality and method and true aim in the ordering of each day—these are the active developments of holy life, the rich and Divine mosaics of which it is composed. It is of small things that a great life is made up; and he who will acknowledge no life as great save that which is built up of great things will find little in Bible character to admire or copy. Bonar.

God made the soul to be a mirror to reflect toward Himself and upon others His truth and purity, His goodness and love. Each little sin puts a trifling spot upon the surface, and it is the aggregate of these little flecks which gradually film over the whole surface and prevent the designed reflection of the Divine beauty. He formed each soul to be a member of a vast system of spiritual worlds, and set for it a place and an orbit wherein it might revolve in harmony with all, around His own central light. And not more certainly would the most trifling aberration of a world of our planetary system start it forth from its course upon another and disastrous one, than does the least sin, if not mercifully counteracted by Divine interposition, tend to impel the sinning soul away from its sphere of light and safety into one of darkness and destruction. B.

16. Man has nothing to do with any creature but as with a loan. The heart that holds and the treasure that is holden are only upon a lease. The man who calls anything his own will wake up to-morrow and find it gone. Christ is the property, the only property a man has or ever can have in any world. God never revokes that. And Christ carries with Him the universe, and carries with Him all that is of real value in this life. “My beloved is mine, and I am his.” J. V.

17. “Until the day breathe,” literally; or, “till the day blow fresh.” There is peculiar beauty in this expression; in those warm climates the dawn of day is attended with a fine refreshing breeze, of the most delightful kind. Bishop Percy.—Until the fresh evening breeze (so well known as an object of expectation to the inhabitants of Eastern lands) spring up in what is called (Gen. 3:8) “the cool” or breathing time of the day. And the shadows flee, meaning that they lengthen out, and finally lose their outlines with the sinking and departure of the sun (compare Jer. 6:4). As the visit of the beloved is most naturally conceived of as taking place in the early morning, and the bride is evidently dismissing him till a later time of day, it seems almost certain that this interpretation is the correct one which makes that time to be evening after sunset. The phrase recurs in chap. 4:6. T. L. K.

She is obliged to defer until the evening the walk to which she is invited. But her heart is none the less united to her friend; and when evening comes, and she will have finished attending to her rough work, she expects to see him coming toward her with eager steps, that they may enjoy the last hour of the day together. Did ever any poetry surpass the dazzling brilliancy of this picture? Godet.—He spends the day with his flocks in the cares of shepherd life. Her yearning heart awaits his return at nightfall, and thinks of him as gracefully overleaping the hills in the ardor of his warm love to greet her in their rural happy home. So the Christian heart delights to meet and commune with Jesus when the day and its labors are over and darkness shuts off the outer world and invites us to soul-communion with those we love. H. C.

Until the day be cool, and the shadows flee away. Whatever the first use and intent of this phrase, it describes a waiting and a joy to come. And so the words answer well the purpose of suggesting the truth, that there are many things in life and destiny that are to be awaited. We wait for the full perfecting of character. We are keyed, not to attainment, but to the hope of it by struggle toward it. And it is the struggle, and not the attainment, that measures character and foreshadows destiny. We wait the renewal of sundered love. Love may suffer an eclipse, but it is as sure as God Himself that human love shall again claim its own. We wait for the mystery to be taken off from life. Mystery may remain, but it will be harmonious mystery. The accusing doubt, the seeming contradiction, the painful uncertainty, will pass away, and we shall see “face to face,” and know even as we have been known. We wait for full restoration to the presence of God. T. T. Munger.

It was Christ’s arising in the world that made the day break and the shadows fly away. The types and shadows of the law were then abolished. It was his light that dispelled the mists of ignorance and idolatry; and he alone delivers the soul from the night of sin and the misery produced by it. All the stars, and the moon with them, cannot make it day in the world; this is the sun’s prerogative; nor can nature’s highest light, the most refined science and morality, make it day in the soul; for this is Christ’s. Leighton.

The prayer of one that waits: Only let my Beloved vouchsafe His gracious presence with me, and enlighten me more and more, till we have a full knowledge of Him and of His will, and the light of it scatter all the shadows of the law. Let my Beloved also make haste to succor and relieve me in all difficulties and distresses; and show the same readiness for my preservation that He did (v. 9) for my first salvation. Bishop Patrick.

Live as the king hath said. Then life may be like the wind, but through it God shall be as near to us as to Elijah at Mount Horeb. It may be a shadow, but behind that shadow is the substantial honor of an immortal destiny. It may fly like a post, but it bringeth glad tidings of great joy. It may come forth like a flower and be cut down, but its fruits shall evermore abide. It may be swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, but from its loom shall come our wedding garments of imperishable white. It may be a tale that is told, but it shall be like an Arabian tale, full of the movements of superior intelligences; and these not genii and fairies, but the Sacred Three. It may be a vapor that vanisheth away, but in its parting it shall be like the clouds of the sunset, and shall be merged at last in the heavenly sea, whose tides majestic ebb and flow forever. It may be like a dream when one awaketh, but it shall be a dream of the glory of celestial courts; and, upon awakening, the reality shall exceed the dream; for when the day breaketh and the shadows flee away, behold we are with Him. H. C. Stanton.

In that day the capacities of our being shall attain their perfect development and complete satisfaction in the vision of God. In the heavenly country “the Lord Himself is her everlasting light,” and the light that is in Him streams forth upon the children of light in one unending day. Blessed permanence of that unending day, that undecaying light! There is no night there! It is not advance and retrogression, but one unchanged progress; it is not the interchange of happiness and misery, but one unending song of the children of the day, rejoicing in the Everlasting Light. It is toward such a life we are pressing—a life where humanity shall be beautified with the beauty of God; a life where humanity shall be glorified with the glory that is reflected on it from the Everlasting Light. It is a life in which the powers of humanity are perfectly developed, and thus developed are fully satisfied; a life the very instinct of which is the service of God; where temptation is unknown and weariness no more besets our path; a life of one unending day, of one unclouded happiness, of one unceasing joy. G. Body.

For that day we all are, or ought to be, preparing. Some in the struggle of life here on earth, some in the silent calm of the world beyond the grave—we all have to look forward to the Great Day. Not in the Church militant here on earth, not in the Paradise of waiting souls, is the perfection of the new creation of God. For that day our work in this life is meant to fit and prepare us. No true labor is in vain; no pure aim or noble purpose really fails; no trial or suffering need be fruitless; all are to have their outcome, their fruition, their satisfaction in the perfected life, in the vision of God. J. W. Hicks.