November 13

Lord, and disregarding his judgment she yokes herself to an unbeliever, and is deprived of her religious freedom: if he has assured us that to walk surely is to walk uprightly, and by fleshly wisdom we have our conversation in the world: If he commands us to cease from man, and we will make flesh our arm;—Why should we wonder at the results which he foresaw and foretold? Having sown tares, why should we think it strange that we do not reap wheat? Or marvel that we cannot gather grapes from the thorns or figs from thistles? All would be as plain as the day, were we to say, "I have erred."

We frequently expect too much from Providence. We wish it to act preternaturally, instead of conforming to its established laws and rules. We seem to rely upon it not only to assist us in our difficulties, but to countenance us in our mistakes; to free us from responsibility when we act freely; and to afford us impunity in imprudence. But if he places us in the way, and clearly directs our goings, and tells us to look straight on, and to ponder our steps; and we close our eyes in raptures, or fix them among the stars in speculation; Is God's providence to be accused because an angel does not come to keep us from striking against a stumblingblock, or falling into the ditch? And are we to lie bruised or bemired, complaining that clouds and darkness are round about him—instead of crying, "I have sinned; what shall be done unto thee, O thou Preserver of men?"

But see the temper of Job while in this trying condition. He is restless; he is after God in every direction—No quarter is unexplored: "Behold, I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him: on the left hand, where he doth work, but I cannot behold him: he hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see him." The righteous are "the generation of them that seek him." But they do not seek him whose "strength is to sit still." Their wishes are "the desire of the slothful which killeth him because his hands refuse to labour." Our disposition is to be judged of by our exertions and our sacrifices. A good man may be at a loss for God, but he cannot be satisfied without him. He loves him, he needs him, he has tasted that he is gracious; and therefore when God hides his face from him he is troubled. For he is always enjoying God or searching after him. The latter is as much a proof of grace as the former: yea, many who are now holding communion with him have less powerful desires than some who are lamenting after him.

NOVEMBER 13.—"Cast thy burden upon the Lord."—Pealm lv. 22.

ALL men are not exercised in the same way, but every one has something trying and oppressive in his condition that may be called his burden. And we may make one remark concerning this universal experience—We are commonly prone to reduce the burdens of others, but to magnify our own. Each sufferer is ready to say, "Behold, and see if ever there was sorrow like unto my sorrow." But this is the language of ignorance as well as of self-importance. How little do we know what thousands of our fellow-creatures en-

dure! Indeed no one can judge perfectly concerning the burden of another. For the whole of that burden, which may seem inconsiderable to you, is never known, and often a small part of it only appears. The weight too is relative: a burden which a strong man can carry would crush an infant or an invalid. It may be also increased by imagination, in which case, though there may be only fancy in the fact, there is reality enough in the feeling—"The heart only knoweth his own bitterness."

But if all are not equally unhappy, all have somewhat that bears upon the mind: "Full bliss is bliss Divine." And if the question was addressed to a number of persons individually, What is thy burden? One would answer, My burden is made up of care and anxiety. An event is before me that perplexes me by day, and holds my eyes waking by night. It is a movement in life. I know how much depends on a wrong step, and I wish to be found in the path of duty: but when I would determine, I seem equally poised by claims and difficulties on either side, and I know not the way I should take.—Another would say, My burden is made up of malignity and calumny. I wish not only to approve myself unto God, but to stand fair with my fellow-men: yet they misrepresent my motives, and vilify my actions, and cast out my name as evil—And if all manner of evil is spoken of you falsely, it is the very thing your Saviour told you to look for; and the same affliction has befallen your brethren who were before you in the world. Yet we wonder not that you feel. The Apostle throws in "cruel mockings" among the severest sufferings of martyrdom; and the Saviour said, "Reproach hath broken my heart."—A third says, My burden is outward trouble; disappointments, losses, and embarrassments in my worldly substance and circumstances. My purposes are broken off, my schemes and dependences have failed,

"And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course."—

I wish to provide things honest in the sight of all men, but with growing demands I have diminished resources, and often look at the state of my family, and ask, "What shall they eat, and what shall they drink, and wherewithal shall they be clothed?"—A fourth says, My burden is bereavement. How have I been stripped and peeled! I had a child, I had a parent, I had a friend who was as my own soul, I had a companion with whom I took sweet counsel. Now I sit alone, and am as a sparrow upon the house-top. Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness.—Another says, My complaint is bodily indisposition; disease threatens me, infirmity weakens me, shattered nerves and broken spirits often deprive me of the privileges of the sanctuary, and discolour as the medium all my views even of Divine things.—Another says; My age is labour and sorrow. The days are come of fading eyes, and ears dull of hearing, and trembling limbs; fears are in the way; the grasshopper is a burden, and desire fails.

"My vitals, with laborious strife, Bear up the crazy load; And drag the dull remains of life, Along the tiresome road."

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Another says, I could bear every thing else if all was clear, and calm, and inviting at the end. But there is death—at the sight of which my peace flies, and my comforts are embittered. O how shall I ever meet the king of terrors! Ye departed saints! you have passed the event; death is behind you; but it is before me, and it is ever before me. I hear some talk of their departure with confidence and joy; but I am always subject to bondage through fear of death—

Well, I want not to hear what constitutes thy particular burden—Be it what it may, “Cast,” says David, “thy burden upon the Lord”—Not upon creatures, not upon good men, not upon ministers. It is true, in a sense we are all to be burden-bearers: “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.” And “a friend is born for adversity.” But when wanted he is not always to be found. And he may not enter into your views and feelings. And if his sympathy be kind, it may not be efficient. He may pity, but be unable to relieve. Men at their best estate are nothing without God. Cease, therefore, from them, and say with the Church, “Therefore will I look unto the Lord, I will wait for the God of my salvation, my God will hear me.”

“But how can I cast my burden upon the Lord?” By faith. When you believe that he can be found, that he is near, that he is a very present help in trouble, that the very hairs of your head are all numbered, that all your ways are before him, that he is pacified towards you by the blood of the Cross, that he who spared not his own Son will also freely give you all things, that he invites you to come and put your trust under the shadow of his wings, that he careth for you, and will make all things work together for your good; then the spirit is freed, relieved, composed; and the promise is accomplished—“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed upon thee, because he trusteth in thee.” It is also done by prayer. “Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.” “Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Prayer is therefore not only a duty, but a privilege. It is good for us to draw near to God. It not only relieves us by diverting our sorrow, but by soothing and reducing it. Prayer opens the heart, and lets out grief; and opens heaven, and lets down grace. It succours us not only by its exercise, but by its success. God answers prayer by acting for us and in us. To deny this is to explain away the constant and express language of the Scripture—But we must enter into the spirit of prayer. If we pray carelessly and formally the burden will remain still pressing us down. Hannah was full of anguish, and prayed, but “she prayed in her heart.” And what was the result? “When she had poured out her soul before the Lord, she went her way, and did eat and drink, and her countenance was no more sad.”

Some have not yet found their way to this relief in their trouble; but the Church says, “A glorious high throne from the beginning has been the place of our sanctuary”—