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  WRITINGS OF GEORGE MYLNE
  by George Mylne
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A collection of theological writings, sermons, and essays by George Mylne,
compiled for study and devotional reading.

  Chapters: 43

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS
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    1. 00.00. Mylne, George - Library
    2. 01.00. Lessons for the Christian's Daily Walk
    3. 01.000.     Preface
    4. 01.01.     Ecclesiastes 1
    5. 01.02.     Ecclesiastes 2
    6. 01.03.     Ecclesiastes 3
    7. 01.04.     Ecclesiastes 4
    8. 01.05.     Ecclesiastes 5
    9. 01.06.     Ecclesiastes 6
   10. 01.07.     Ecclesiastes 7
   11. 01.08.     Ecclesiastes 8
   12. 01.09.     Ecclesiastes 9
   13. 01.10.     Ecclesiastes 10
   14. 01.11.     Ecclesiastes 11
   15. 01.12.     Ecclesiastes 12
   16. 02.00. The Day of Bereavement
   17. 02.01.     Bereavement
   18. 02.02.     The First Break in the Family
   19. 02.03.     The Death of Parents
   20. 02.04.     The Death of a Father
   21. 02.05.     The Loss of a Mother
   22. 02.06.     The Death of Children
   23. 02.07.     The Loss of a Son
   24. 02.08.     The Loss of a Daughter
   25. 02.09.     The Death of Brothers and Sisters
   26. 02.10.     Widowhood
   27. 02.11.     The Death of Distant Relatives
   28. 02.12.     The Death of Intimate Friends
   29. 02.13.     On Sudden Death
   30. 02.14.     Man is Born to Trouble!
   31. 02.15.     The World, a Sorry Comforter
   32. 02.16.     No Solid Comfort in Mere Religion
   33. 02.17.     Teach Me What I Do Not See
   34. S.     Bereavement
   35. S.     Coming up from the Wilderness
   36. S.     Death of Children
   37. S.     Fear Not!
   38. S.     Man Is Born to Trouble!
   39. S.     Our Faithful Friend and Companion
   40. S.     Teach Me What I Do Not See
   41. S.     The First Break in the Family
   42. S.     The World a Sorry Comforter
   43. S.     What is Your Burden?

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  CHAPTER 1: 00.00. MYLNE, GEORGE - LIBRARY
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Mylne, George - Library Mylne, George - Lessons for the Christian’s Daily Walk
Mylne, George - The Day of Bereavement

S. BEREAVEMENT S. Coming up from the Wilderness

S. Fear Not S. Man Is Born to Trouble!

S. Our Faithful Friend and Companion S. Teach Me What I Do Not See S. The Death
of Children S. The First Break in the Family S. The World a Sorry Comforter S.
What is Your Burden?


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  CHAPTER 2: 01.00. LESSONS FOR THE CHRISTIAN'S DAILY WALK
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Lessons for the Christian’s Daily Walk

Devotional and Practical Meditations on the Book of Ecclesiastes George Mylne,
1859

[Editor’s note: This is the best devotional commentary on the book of
Ecclesiastes that we have ever come across! In each verse which he comments on,
George Mylne first views the verse just as Solomon intended — from the
perspective of mere human wisdom. That is, the book of Ecclesiastes is simply
God’s record of the rational conclusions of the wisest and most experienced man
who ever lived. In other words, Solomon seriously thought upon all of life, the
world and everything in it — and concluded that all are puzzling enigmas,
emptiness, vanity, meaningless, purposeless, futile, hopeless, vexatious,
unsatisfying, unjust, etc., etc.

Secondly, Mylne then views each verse from the Christian perspective — that is,
through the lens of the cross of Jesus. From this perspective, all the enigmas
are solved, all the meaninglessness and futility of life is removed, and all the
injustices are rectified. Only through the cross, does life become meaningful,
purposeful and satisfying!]


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  CHAPTER 3: 01.000.     PREFACE
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PREFACE

Reader, you know that "Scripture" comes from God. (2 Timothy 3:16.) One God
inspired it all. God spoke by Moses; God spoke by Solomon; God spoke in Christ;
nay, more, Christ spoke in Moses, and in Solomon too. One law, one code of
morals, is contained in all. The mind of God is one, and always one — not one in
Solomon, another mind in Christ. What Moses said, or Solomon taught — Christ
contradicts not, but confirms. That which was duty then, is duty now. The times
have changed — the precept is the same. The law could never justify. It was
meant to be, and to continue, the rule of life. The rule was founded on the will
of God — His sense of right and wrong. Can this be altered? Can God be changed?
What once was right, is always right. What once was wrong, is wrong forever. The
Gospel deepens and expands the rule, giving it infinite dimensions of truth, and
power. And thus Solomon’s writings may at once be turned to Gospel lessons. For
this, one thing is needful — that you know the Lord; that all be read looking to
Jesus and His cross. If thus you honor Christ, the Spirit will open your mind to
see the mind of God; and unfold the unity of Scripture truth, blending its every
portion into Jesus, Himself the sum and substance of it all. Reader, may
Scripture thus be opened, and thus the words of Solomon be blessed to you and I!


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  CHAPTER 4: 01.01.     ECCLESIASTES 1
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Ecclesiastes 1:1-18 "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" Ecclesiastes 1:2 My
soul, why seek your happiness below — here in this fallen world, where "all is
vanity?" Often have you tried it, anxious still to find some earthly good. As
often you have found Solomon, the Preacher, right, that "all is vanity." The
worldling, too, can say that all is vanity — and yet pursues it still. Be it not
so with you! Let all that is empty here on earth, lead you to what alone will
satisfy — -the grace of God, the love of God, the Lamb of God; to "Jesus Christ,
the same yesterday, today, and forever." (Hebrews 13:8.) Have you ever asked
yourself, "Where does all this vanity come from?" My soul, it comes from you —
and you received it from your father Adam! You and your fellows of the human
race, have caused it all.

Whence comes the tempest?

Whence come the earthquake, the pestilence, the shipwreck, the blighted crop?

Whence come sickness, famine, death?

Whence come bereavement, affliction, and sorrow?

Whence come murder, drunkenness, wars, and immorality?

Whence come all that is vile, and sad, and disappointing?

Whence comes the universal taint — the wrongs, the groans, the misery of all
created things? My soul, they come from you; from you in Adam, and from him in
you. The poison of sin that is in you, has poisoned all others besides. Since
you are sinful — all is out of course. Since you are vanity — all things here
are vain. The curse that fell on you — you have entailed on your children. My
soul, be humbled with the thought — consider and be wise!

Look over the Book of Nature. See all the troubles of this fallen world; see all
that is disjointed, vile, and fleeting; and say, "It comes from me!" My soul,
you say, "All is vanity!"

Oh, look within, for all is vanity there. How swift for evil! How dead to all
that is good! What rank corruption! What inbred sin! How weak your purposes for
good!

How faltering your course in holiness! How weak your purposes! How faltering
your course! If all is vanity without — it is tenfold vanity within! If all
around is vanity — then you are the master-vanity of all.

Bless, God, then, O my soul — in Jesus you have that which is not vanity. In
Jesus you have all that is solid, durable, and perfect! You have eternal riches,
strength, life, pleasure, comfort, peace! In Him, what have you not? You have a
sure foundation — a Rock that can never be shaken — an unfailing help!

"All is vexation of spirit!" Ecclesiastes 1:14 Who has not felt vexation? Who
knows not what it means? The infant in its cradle, the schoolboy at his play;
youth in all its freshness, manhood in its prime, and especially old age — all,
all have felt vexation! My soul, you know it well! Your sins, your fallen
nature, your infirmities — all lay you open to vexation.

How easily irritated you get!

How quick to feel offenses!

How swift to gather sorrows to yourself through your excess of sensitivity!

Often have you murmured at your lot, rising in mutiny against your Maker.

How often has your patience failed!

What trifles have often wounded you!

Some scheme of pleasure has been thwarted — and you were quite vexed! A rainy
day, or even some trifling inconvenience — has often ruffled your composure.

How often a kind reproof, a friendly warning — some imagined slight — a look — a
smile withheld, and yet with no intention of unkindness — has filled you with
vexation!

How often has wounded pride; a humbling sense of your infirmities; a deep
conviction of your lack of judgment; the fear of standing low in man’s opinion —
vexed you beyond expression! My soul, you are not singular in your vexation. Go
where you will, you will find it. The world is full of it. "All is vexation of
spirit!" This does not mean that . . . woes may lawfully be brooded over, or
sense of injuries be cherished in the soul, or that morbid feelings be indulged
in, or that moody silence, brooding vexation, and carking care, are healthful
for the soul! Oh, no!

If God is true, if Scripture precept has its weight, and promises their meaning
— vexation, O my soul, should have no part in you! Open you must be to its
trials day by day. But . . . where is your grace; where is your active holiness;
where is your consistency; where is your strength, your comfort, and your
steadfastness — if you are conquered by vexation? Have you, then, learned of
Christ, the lowly and the meek One, and not found rest for your soul? (Matthew
11:29.) Have you learned your lesson so badly? Go, learn it over again. Fight,
then, against this habit of vexation. Give it no place within you. Look to the
Comforter to help you. Taste the tranquility of God. Take every trial, as it
rises, to Jesus, your Savior-Friend. Then peace shall be your portion — not
vexation! Though faint, yet be pursuing, and you shall gain the victory still.
(Judges 8:4.)

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world
gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid!" John 14:27

"And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts
and minds through Christ Jesus!" Php 4:7 "All things are full of labor."
Ecclesiastes 1:8

Reader, how many things remind you what you are — a fallen creature! Not least
of these, the toil and trouble of this changing world. The sun and moon, and
planets in their course — the restless wind — the ever-flowing, never-tarrying
river — are pictures of the ceaseless toil of man. (Ecclesiastes 1:4-7.) The hum
of cities; the labor of the field; the crowded factory; the cottage loom; the
bread you eat; the clothes you wear; the house you live in; the fire on your
hearth — all speak of labor! How could you have them without labor, either your
own, or others? The ploughman and mechanic earn their bread with daily toil. But
there are other modes of labor — labor in thought, and speech, and action — not
the less trying to the human frame. My soul, envy not those who eat the bread of
idleness. God, in His love, has made the curse of labor, into a blessing! And
thus the greater the toil — the greater the blessing; the more the duties done —
the more advantage to the doer — if God is feared, and honored in them all.

Look at the household servant — how numerous her calls? Duties to God — to
master, mistress, kinsfolk, and friends; no time to call her own; hastily
summoned from her work, her meals, or her devotions. She takes her food — for
what? to give her strength to labor yet again! The toil of day is done; she lays
herself down — only to rise and labor on the marrow! How much to try the temper,
wear the body, vex the mind! Yet, if she keeps her soul in patience, and looks
to Jesus, not for salvation only, but for strength, for meekness, and a willing
mind — if thus she goes the round of daily duties, no station is more dignified
than hers!

Reader, whoever you are — whatever your calling — the greatest earthly blessing
I can wish you, is to have much to do, and health to do it. May all your work be
sanctified by prayer! In all your labor, remember Jesus! He, in a servant’s
form, once labored here on earth. You say that you are wearied — He was weary
too. (John 4:6.) Tell Him your every toil, and this shall comfort you. Lean on
His bosom. In His abiding presence, seek your rest. But if you know not Jesus —
what comfort have you in your labor! what comfort in repose? Have faith in
Jesus. Weary of sin — seek rest from sin in Jesus. Does an evil conscience
trouble you — seek rest from this in Jesus. Then shall the Spirit testify of
Jesus, and all your toil be rest.

"The eye is never satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing." Ecclesiastes
1:8 The senses are but servants to the soul. The soul desires to look — and sets
the eye to see. The soul desires to hear — and sets the ear to hearken. The soul
is never wearied. It listens to sweet music, and lingers, longing still for
more. When had the soul enough of a sweet flower? When was it ever filled to
overflowing with viewing the masterpieces of nature?

Nothing on earth can satisfy the soul!

It leaves its pleasures, with a craving for more.

It sighs to increase its satisfactions.

It grieves to think how limited are all its joys.

Oh, there is a longing in the soul; a restless appetite to see and hear, to
grasp, to understand; a stretching forth of thought; a yearning principle —
which spurns the restrictions of the senses. And yet (such is the tribute due to
sinful human nature) sense, in its feebleness, keeps down the soul. The soul,
with all its energy, cannot overpower sense!

How sad, how humbling the condition of fallen man!

Yet, child of God, you have no cause to mourn. Gifted by grace with higher
faculties, you have that with which to fill your soul to the full. By faith you
see, hear, and taste better things — you see Jesus on the throne of God. By
faith you see the "sea of glass," and hear "the voice of harpers harping with
their harps." You see Heavenly and eternal realities by faith! My soul, why
linger after the things of time — when better sights, and better sounds invite
you? Or why lament your straitened means — with heavenly powers so unlimited?

Then let your eye repose on Jesus! The more you look at Him — the longer will
you look. The more you look — the more will be your power to gaze upon Him. The
more you commune with Him — the sweeter shall you find His company.

Speak much to Jesus — you shall not speak in vain. The name of Jesus shall be to
you "as beds of spices, and sweet flowers." (Song of Solomon 5:13.) The whispers
of the Spirit, telling of grace and peace, shall ever and always refresh your
ear! My soul, these pleasures shall never fail you! Not like the music, that
was, and is not — with no hand to sweep the chords! Not like a feast of
yesterday — which is now gone forever! Not like the flowers that once were
fragrant — and now are fragrant no longer! Not like the beautiful landscape —
which you have left behind! Your Savior, Friend, and Comforter, is ever with you
— now and to all eternity the same!

"What has been — will be again, what has been done — will be done again. There
is nothing new under the sun! Is there anything of which one can say, ’Look!
This is something new’? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our
time!" Ecclesiastes 1:9-10 So spoke the Preacher. But "Stop," you say — "Solomon
never saw the railway’s iron road. The electric telegraph was then unknown. No
brilliant gas lamps converted night to day. And no balloon yet floated in the
air." My friend, was Solomon, then, wrong? Can we prove his saying false? Are
things, then, changed since Solomon? Can we say, "This is new?"

Ah, wisdom more than Solomon’s inspired the sacred Word; and One who, from the
first, knew all things that would happen to the end of time, still said, "What
has been — will be again, what has been done — will be done again. There is
nothing new under the sun! Is there anything of which one can say, ’Look! This
is something new’? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time!"
What does the Preacher mean, then? My friend, man is unchanged from Solomon —
yes, even from Adam — until now. His nature, feelings, appetites, his sins,
corruptions, and infirmities — are ever the same. The Railway carries the same
freight of selfish man — as traveled formerly in other ways. The Telegraph
conveys the messages of the same passions, enterprise, and avarice — as swayed
our forefathers. The Gas lights up the same abodes of sin. The aviator, from his
balloon, looks down on man — the very counterpart of all he was before.

Then, is there nothing new since Adam? My soul, is nothing new to you? Yes!
grace is new. Neither man, nor angels knew it at the first. And my soul, you
knew nothing of it, until God Himself enlightened you. No religious rite of man,
no power of education, no moral character — could give it; nothing but the
Spirit of the living God. My soul, if Christ is yours, and you are Christ’s — to
you all things are new indeed! A new heart, a new mind, a new birth, new tastes,
new faculties, new powers, new hopes, new fears; new prospects, new desires; new
company to keep, new friends to love, new brethren to cherish!

Yes, a new world to view — a new kingdom to inherit! All things in grace are new
— all unknown before. All things in nature are new — since you have seen them in
another light. New things you find in each promise, and in each precept of the
Word! Your God, your Savior, and your Comforter — are newest of all. By prayer,
by watchfulness, by meditation, stir up the heavenly gift; excite the new-born
taste — and at every turn, you will find all things new.

O you who lack variety — why seek it here in earthly mundane things? Come, O
come to Jesus, and then find all things new indeed!

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the
new has come!" 2 Corinthians 5:17 "That which is crooked, cannot be made
straight." Ecclesiastes 1:15 Do what you may, crosses are crosses still. No are
of man’s device can make the crooked, straight. The train, or ship, which bears
some dear friend away; the quiet sea, after a night of shipwreck; the rain that
robs you of a holiday; the broken pieces of some favorite vase — all say the
same, "The crooked must be crooked, do what you will."

Oh, there is anguish in the thought, as disappointment, stealing over the mind,
throws its dark shadows on the brow — that nothing can be done! The soul then
muses on its sorrow, and thinks again, "Remedy there is none! Truly this is a
grief — and I must bear it!" (Jeremiah 10:19.) Philosophy is useless then.

Stoic patience brings no real comfort with it. A smiling face, may hide a broken
heart; and lips will speak of resignation, when the worm of blasted hopes is
preying on the soul! Where, then, is comfort to be found? What, then, will make
the bitter, sweet; or the crooked, straight? Not the mere fact of looking at the
Word; nor yet in owning that your trials come from God. (Ecclesiastes 7:18.)
Cain owned as much as this — yet Cain was wretched still. (Genesis 4:13-14.)
And, reader, you will be wretched in your trials, if you can do no more.

Nothing but the Cross of Christ, makes other crosses straight! Do you know Jesus
Christ? By name you know Him, doubtless; but is He in your heart? Say, are your
sins forgiven? Are you at peace with God? Does the Holy Spirit dwell in you?
Does He instruct your soul? If not, then must your cross be crooked still. From
my heart I pity you, my friend! Bitter to you — must still be bitter, with
nothing to sweeten it. Full many a blast shall blow upon you — where then is
your shelter? But, oh, your soul! your precious soul! What will it be? Where
will it be hereafter!

But, child of God, you know what it is to have your crosses straightened. Often
have you brought them to the cross of Christ, and even rejoiced to have a cross
to bear. All things are precious, which bring you to the Cross. Tried by this
rule, your bitter things are sweet, and your crooked things are straight.

Believer, are you downcast at your cross? Oh, look again! Don’t you see Jesus
there? Can He not make it straight? Where, then, your patience? My friend,
where, then, your faith?

"That which is lacking, cannot be numbered." Ecclesiastes 1:15

How simple is the truth here spoken, yet how deep! Of wounded hearts, of
withered hopes it speaks — of losses, trials, and sorrows; some lighter, some
more serious; yet in them all, the truth is still the same. Your favorite flower
droops and dies; some keepsake gift is lost; some cherished member of the family
has died. How often it rends the heart — it always costs a pang — to count one’s
treasures over, and to find one lacking! Objects may still be found to fill the
vacant place. But ah! the missing one is gone, not to return again, and leaves
the heart to mourn its absence! But there is a blessed secret (to those who know
it) to fill such empty spaces with more than they have lost, and add ten
thousand fold to their diminished store.

Christian reader, whatever you have lost — put Jesus in its place. Fill every
blank with Jesus — and it shall be a blank no more! Have you lost a friend? Does
memory cling to the spot before occupied? You look, and look again — and he is
not there! No opening door brings back his well known form. Once you could
number him among your treasures, but now you number him no more.

Hasten to fill the blank with that which cannot fail you! Do not strain your
sight to gaze on emptiness, nor fill your mind with shadows of the past. Oh, fix
your thoughts on Jesus! Think of Him, as your best, your dearest Friend. Think
of His grace, His dying love for you. No living friend — no friend that is
departed — could love you, think of you, or watch you, as Jesus yes has done.
Though other friends are gone, yet you can "number" HIM. Though earthly goods
are lost, yet Jesus still is there. No blank can be a blank, when Jesus fills
the void. Your losses are but gains, when they bring Jesus to your soul. See
every blank through Jesus. All that you should forget — His form shall hide. All
that you may remember — you still shall see in Him. Memory shall thus be
chastened, and God Himself shall soften every woe. But reader, say — is Jesus
such to you, that the void places in your heart can thus be filled? Oh, if you
know Him not — if He is not your best, your bosom Friend — then it is vain to
speak to you as I have done. But I would ask you to think this matter over.
Before other friends are taken away, or other treasures gone; before life itself
is ebbing, and you are no more numbered here, oh seek and find that treasure
which never can be lost!

"In much wisdom is much grief; and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow."
Ecclesiastes 1:18 What kind of wisdom causes grief? What kind of knowledge is
it, that increases sorrow?

Perhaps it means the knowledge of the world, its vileness, its vanity, its
futility, its uncertainty — to have learned that all its show is vain, and all
its pleasure is fleeting. This causes grief to those who see its vanity. God’s
people mourn it. And worldlings oftentimes disgusted with themselves and all
around, and having nothing to sanctify the feeling — are filled with bitter
disappointment.

Also to know one’s own corruption, to catch a glimpse of SELF in all its
frailty; to see our sin, to taste its power — to dread the pains, and not to
know the remedy — this causes grief. Sorrow like this is turned to joy, when
sinners look to Jesus. Yet many saints forget the promises, and fill their souls
with bitterness, from lack of faith.

Again, wisdom may mean the education of the schools — the round of human
learning, and attainments in the arts. Here also grief is to be found. There is
much futility and many vexations — in searching after knowledge. The mind is
hampered by its limited capacity; and, having gone thus far, it sighs that it
can go no farther. How many a bright experiment, thus ends in grief; and man
discovers, to his cost, that human wisdom, after all, is vanity!

But, most of all, wisdom like this occasions grief, in that it tempts the soul
to rest in second causes, and thus to slight the Lord. It is true, there is
sometimes exquisite delight in following some cherished study; to trace the
hidden things of are and science — to bring to light some fact, or principle,
unknown before. But then, what of the eternal world to come! Are you prepared
for it? What of your sins? Are they forgiven? What will declining age — what
will your death-bed be? What is to be the end of all your labor? If all your
wisdom ends in misery; if all your knowledge only perverts your soul — is it not
sorrow, after all?

Reader, would you be saved? Then learn true wisdom in another school — the
school of Christ. There you will learn to know yourself. This is no trifling
part of wisdom. And, better still, there will you learn to know the Savior —
God, in Christ Jesus, forgiving sin, changing the heart, and bringing you to
eternal glory! This wisdom never grieves; this knowledge adds no sorrow. Taste
it, my friend — be happy and be wise!


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  CHAPTER 5: 01.02.     ECCLESIASTES 2
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Ecclesiastes 2:1-26 "I said of laughter: It is madness! And of mirth: What does
it accomplish?" Ecclesiastes 2:2 Of natural gifts none is more rare than
cheerfulness; that elasticity of mind, and buoyancy of spirit; that even temper,
and sunshine disposition — which cheers the man himself, and all who know him.
Cheerfulness, gilded with grace, and sanctified — savors most largely of the
mind of Christ. It speaks . . . of peace with God, of resignation to His will,
and freedom from sordid appetites and cares. Who would reprove the beaming
smile; or, in due season, the hearty laugh? In youth, especially, it is pleasant
to behold it — it were a somber thought to wish it gone. The cares of life will
throw their shadows soon enough across the mind, and we may wish again to see
some of that cheerful elasticity we were accustomed to chide. But this is not
the "laughter," nor the "mirth," that Solomon means. He meant the idle laughter,
the fool’s mirth; merriment followed as an object; the love of pleasure, as the
grand pursuit of life. "Laughter," like this, is "as the crackling of thorns
under a pot." (Ecclesiastes 7:6.) Empty in sound — it tells of emptiness within,
and savors of a mind unused to sober thought and healthy action. Who should be
cheerful as the child of God — as he, who has nothing to fear, whether on earth,
or in the world to come? But, oh, my soul, let not your cheerfulness assume an
air of levity. Laughter is good in moderation, and the cheerful interchange of
merry thought is often refreshing to a jaded mind. But, oh, beware how you
indulge it to excess, or slide unwittingly into the habit of unguarded mirth.
Such mirth as this must tell most hurtfully upon you. It will . . . mar the
spirit of prayer, unfit the mind for meditation, and eat away the taste for
heavenly things!

It is pleasing to a man to move his friends to laughter. The play on words, the
studied joke, the repartee; the are of mimicking another — his tones, his gait,
his actions; to see a company hanging on your words for merriment — all this is
captivating.

But, child of God, beware! This will not keep you at the feet of Jesus. Human
applause is dangerous, and much to be avoided. When tempted, therefore, to
exceed in mirth, and lose yourself amid its fascinations — fall back upon your
soberness. Remember Jesus, and the truths of Scripture; think of your past
experience, and forbear.

"The wise man’s eyes are in his head." Ecclesiastes 2:14 The worldling has no
spiritual sight; his eyes are gone. Thus blind he will remain — unless the Lord
should give him sight. He sees neither his lost condition, nor its remedy. To
him, sin is not sin — God is not God — Christ is not Christ — Heaven is not
Heaven — Hell is not Hell — because he walks in darkness. My soul, be it not
thus with you! If God has given you sight, are you not bound to use it to His
glory? Then, let your eyes be in your head — not, like the fool’s, "to the ends
of the earth." (Proverbs 17:24.)

You have an eye, if rightly used — will be quick to discern the Tempter’s snare,
however well concealed. If you have fallen into sin — whose fault is it? Why
have you eyes to see with, if you use them not? Say not, "I did not see it — the
Tempter was too subtle for me." This is to throw discredit on the gift of God.
You should have been more careful — then this grief would not have been yours.

Beware of dreaming, as you walk along, gazing on empty nothings — on your own
futile imaginings. In doing so, plain duties will be overlooked. Oh, my soul,
look well around you — see what your duties are. Look at them in the face. Turn
not away, because they are difficult, or because your eye is fixed on something
more inviting. Your wisdom is to keep your eyes at home. Home duties, and home
temptations — demand your earliest and best care. Keep these, then, in the
foreground of your vision — then may you safely look at what is beyond.

If you are given to abstract thought, and spend much time in study, oh, take
care! None should observe their steps, like star-gazers! Some sudden call to
active duties, some trifling interruption — something which tries your patience
— may prove a stumbling-block, over which you would not have tripped, if your
eyes had only done their duty. And you, my soul, keep you your eyes from
wandering in forbidden paths. When in the haunts of vanity, oh! keep your eyes
at home; hide them within the lids of watchfulness. Beware of looking
everywhere, not knowing what to look for! This leads to vanity. The showy
magazine! The mirthful attire! Walking temptations, mighty to allure! My soul,
you know them well. Make, then, a covenant with your eyes (Job 31:1); call in
your wandering energies; restrain the prying vision of your appetites! Think of
the grace of Jesus, and fix your eyes on Him!

"Therefore I hated life!" Ecclesiastes 2:17 So thought the prophet Jonah. So
thought Job and Elijah, Moses and Jeremiah. (Jonah 3:1-10; Job 6:9; 1 Kings
19:4; Numbers 11:15; Jeremiah 20:14.) But were they right — these men of old —
to rise in mutiny against their lives, and God’s corrective dealings? Not so the
great Apostle Paul. With all his sufferings, none had such cause to feel life
burdensome, as he. If ever man were justified in hating life, it was the Apostle
Paul. Yet, with all this, and a strong "desire to depart and be with Christ" —
he hated not his life. "To me," he said, "to live is Christ" — although he felt
that it was gain to die. (Php 1:21; Php 1:23.) To hate his life, would be to
hate the thoughts, the presence, and the smile of Jesus. To him these treasures
were intertwined with life itself. He could not breathe, but Jesus breathed in
him. He could not journey, but Jesus went with him. He could not suffer, but
Jesus suffered in him. In bonds, imprisonment, and stripes; in watchings,
weariness, and fastings; in perils by land, and perils on the seas — in these,
and such like visitations, what was his life? It was Jesus! Jesus in his
thoughts; Jesus in his heart; Jesus ever present to his soul. As long as life
lasted, it was the gift of God — the vehicle, for the time, of Paul’s existence
— that living state, on which was grafted, by the Spirit, the life of Jesus. How
could he, then, hate life, except he hated the thought of Jesus!

Reader, this is a lesson to you and I. Be it our aim to be with Jesus; to be
done forever with our sin and shame, and earnestly to long for glory; but never
to hate the life, which God has given to be a blessing.

Reader, before the worlds were made, the time of death, both yours and mine, was
settled, to a moment, in God’s eternal will; and when the moment comes, nothing
can detain us here on earth. Until then, God has a purpose in our length of
days; something or other to be done, or suffered — which purpose it is our glory
to fulfill. When God says, "Live!" then it is good to live. When He says,
"Friend, come up to Me!" then it is good to die. Then, Christian, whether in
sickness, poverty, or pain; in care, uncertainty, or sorrow — to you to live is
Jesus. Your life is precious, to the last breath and throb, because God gives
it; and because, in every throb and breath, Jesus lives in you. Hate not your
life; despise it not; but ever honor it for Jesus’ sake; and live by faith in
Him, who gave himself for you! (Galatians 2:20.) "There is nothing better for a
man, than that he should eat and drink." Ecclesiastes 2:24 Had Solomon’s wisdom
left him? Did he mean to say that, after all, the drunkard, or the epicure is
the happiest man? Not at all! The Preacher’s object was to ascertain which, of
all earthly goods, involved the smallest disappointment. The man of sensual
pleasures looks not beyond the moment. Present enjoyment is his sole pursuit. He
eats, and drinks, and, for the time, is satisfied. No distant calculations fill
his mind; no stretching into things unknown; no measuring of causes and effects;
no vast comparison of past and present science; no thought that carries him
beyond to generations yet to come, and, in its yearnings after knowledge, sighs
that it cannot live forever, in the fond pursuit!

Oh! what a thought it is! What a result of fallen nature! Apart from grace, the
more a man is raised above the brutes — the more he rises in refinement, and in
lofty enterprise — the more he is doomed to disappointment in the end! The world
may profit by his labors and applaud his work; but what will this avail him
after he is gone? Judged only with regard to earthly happiness — mental pursuits
excel the love of pleasure, as darkness is excelled by light. But — weighed
against eternity — sensual pleasure, and earthly wisdom, are merely on a par.
Each fails alike to give a taste for Heaven; to bring the sinner to the Cross of
Christ; to take the sting from death; or to regenerate the soul.

Christian, beware! We live in dangerous times, when human are and intellect are
worshiped by too many. Some, even of God’s people, are led away, and think that
cultivation of the taste, and mind, will fit them better for the joys of Heaven.
Others, by mental culture, would teach the ignorant to love human learning.
Alas! that men of God should so forget themselves! They do not consider that
even in its highest flights (compared with heavenly truth), philosophy is, after
all, a carnal thing. The things of earth are earthy; spiritual things are
Spirit. You cannot mix the two; therefore confound them not. The one will never
help the other; then try it not.

Nothing but "Christ crucified" will civilize the soul. Nothing else deserves the
name. Be satisfied with nothing short of this. The mind, the taste, the
intellect of man — are as much fallen as the body. Nothing which directs itself
to these, can cure his soul malady. Jesus, from first to last; God’s Holy Spirit
manifesting Christ; the drawings of the Almighty Father’s love — these, and
these alone, uplift the soul from earth, and nurture it for Heaven!


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  CHAPTER 6: 01.03.     ECCLESIASTES 3
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Ecclesiastes 3:1-22

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under Heaven: a
time to be born — and a time to die, a time to plant — and a time to uproot, a
time to kill — and a time to heal, a time to tear — down and a time to build, a
time to weep — and a time to laugh, a time to mourn — and a time to dance, a
time to scatter stones — and a time to gather them, a time to embrace — and a
time to refrain, a time to search — and a time to give up, a time to keep — and
a time to throw away, a time to tear — and a time to mend, a time to be silent —
and a time to speak, a time to love — and a time to hate, a time for war — and a
time for peace." Ecclesiastes 3:1-9

"There is a time for everything." That is, there is a divinely appointed time
when God ordains each varying circumstance to happen. Some things proceed
directly from his hand. In others, man is the agent — man’s love or hatred,
skill or power, mysteriously working the will of God. Thus human purposes are
over-ruled, and the worst passions of the heart are turned to good account. Thus
"wicked hands" fulfilled the "counsel" of Jehovah in nailing the Lord of glory
to the cross. (Acts 2:23.) The "time to kill" was "beautiful." It sealed the
covenant with blood — the blood of Jesus. The "time to hate" was "beautiful,"
when Shimei cursed David. (2 Samuel 16:10.) The sin was Shimei’s, the benefit
was David’s — the benefit, the beauty of sanctified affliction; the grace of
resignation to the will of God. The "time to scatter" was "beautiful," when Job
was stripped of all that he possessed. The patriarch confessed it beautiful, and
blessed God’s holy name. (Job 2:1-13.)

"Beautiful," with the Shunamite, the "time to weep." Her only child was taken:
yet she said, "It is well." (2 Kings 4:26.) And yet, no dint of human patience,
or of moral fortitude, gives beauty to affliction, or makes us recognize God’s
righteous hand. When you are told . . . of shipwreck, famine, pestilence, or
battle; of families left fatherless; of widowed mothers bereft of an only child;
of wealth in a moment turned to poverty; of loss in trade, or sudden fire. When
blood runs cold with what you see or hear; when sympathy is on the rack, when
bitterness pervades the soul; or when some act of Providence befalls yourself,
and lays you low — then can you say, "It is beautiful! It is the Lord. It must
be good — God Himself has done it!" (Isaiah 38:15.)

Ah, this requires a spirit taught of God, a mind renewed by grace; a heart at
peace with God. This requires one to have brought his sins to Jesus; and, in the
school of Christ, to have learned to look at all things with the mind of God.
Such wisdom comes from Heaven. It is not stoical. It hardens not the heart, nor
deadens it to tender sympathy. It is not a dogged resignation, nor cold
indifference. It is faith prevailing over flesh; hope smiling in its tears;
patience enduring to the end, and calmly triumphing over unbelief!

"God has set the world in their heart." Ecclesiastes 3:11

What does this verse mean? What world, what heart is meant? Truly the world is
in the heart of man — the world in all its vanity and sin. But was it God who
set this world there? The work was Satan’s. He set it there, and man, with
suicidal hands, finished what he began. This cannot be the world which the
Preacher means.

Then say, what do the words mean? Compare them with the context. You will see
that God has set the world — the world of all that happens here — in the
"heart," or midst, of all the times and seasons, which the Preacher names.
Survey his list of joys and sorrows, of purposes and events. (Ecclesiastes
3:2-8.) Is not "the world" — your world and mine, the world of all our history —
set in the "heart" of all the seasons, numbered there? The sailor’s "world;" his
voyaging to and fro, his storms and calms, his shipwrecks, and his prosperous
adventures; the whole is set in the heart of changing winds — east, west, and
north, and south encircling him with breezes foul or fair. The farmer’s world,
again, is "set" in the "heart" of varying seasons — sunshine and shadow, snow
and rain, and frost and thaw, working with seeming opposition, yet with secret
unison, the purposes of God, and good of man. What more uncertain than the wind?
What less to be relied on than the weather? So is it with the things of life —
sickness and health, prosperity and woe — giving each other place in quick
succession.

Life for a year, a month, a day, an hour — life for a moment! What is it,
reader? What has it been? What will it be to you? It is as it has been; it will
be as now it is — in length uncertain, and diverse in its hue. It is so
uncertain, that none can "find out the work that God works from the beginning to
the end." (Ecclesiastes 3:11.)

And, Child of God, is it not so with you? The frost and thaw — the sun and rain
— the calm, the storm, are not more needful to the soil — than varying
experience to you — to nourish grace, to nip evil in the bud, to exercise and
fructify the soul. Bless God for changes and uncertainties, whether in spiritual
frames or outward things. Seek not to have your "world" torn from the "heart" of
varying dispensations, but look to God, in Christ, to overrule them all.

"Concerning the condition of the sons of men, God tests them, that they may see
that they themselves are like animals." Ecclesiastes 3:18

It is well to be reminded of our origin; to see that out of the same materials,
were made both man and beast. He who made one — made both; from the same lump He
made them. "By the sweat of your face You will eat bread, until you return to
the ground — because from it you were taken. For you are dust — and to dust you
shall return!" Genesis 3:19

Reader, even now say to the dust, "You are my father;" and to the worm, "You are
my mother and my sister!" (Job 17:14.) Nay, take the potsherd on the dunghill —
and in it, greet your kindred dust. If you are brother to the worm — then you
are a "near connection" are you to the clay potter’s vessel. Who made you differ
from other forms of dust and clay? Not you yourself, but God! God’s image was in
man at first — His likeness was in soul, imparting to the outward man a godlike
form; the moral life, thus given, lighting humanity with godlike qualities.
Man’s nature was suffused with glory not its own. It was lent — to be recalled
at will — not permanently given. And when sin came in, God’s image fled — and
man became a fallen creature.

Reader, compare yourself with other animals. Say, which is better off —
yourself, or they? They are dust, and so are you. They are mortal — are not you
the same? The beasts have nothing godlike — by nature, what have you? Nothing
that is godly — nothing but what is fallen and corrupt. You are like the fallen
Angels — that is all. In death, do you have "preeminence" over the beasts? They
die, and so they end. If they have not bliss in the world to come — at least
they have no misery. If the spirit of the beast goes "downward to the earth"
(Ecclesiastes 3:21) — does yours go down to Hell? Will it indeed go "upward?"
Far better be a beast, and perish thus — than live eternally in misery. And you,
my soul, in your new nature, what do you have? Nothing but what you have
"received." (1 Corinthians 4:7.) It was not yours — God gave it to you. But for
His grace, you would have been more brutish than the beasts! This was your
nature; such is your nature still. God alone makes you to differ. Blinder than
Bartimeus — more dead than Lazarus — where have you light and life? Only in
Jesus! Only in the Comforter! See, then, your nothingness. Fear not to take it
to yourself. Yours is the sin — the righteousness is God’s. Yours is the
corruption — His is the glory. Grace gives you nothing of your own. It clothes
you, crowns you, fills you, with Jesus. Then be content. In self-esteem be
nothing; be everything in Jesus.

"All are from the dust, and all return to dust!" Ecclesiastes 3:20

What a mysterious thing is life! The moving, feeling, breathing, thinking!
Wherein consists the principle of being? Who can define it? Who can fathom it?
Who can analyze it? The powers, the tastes, perceptions of the mind — what are
they? The are of painting the works of nature — taking the form, the tints, the
softness of the landscape, and tracing it on canvas; the faculty of drawing from
the soul the combination of sweet sounds, and thus devising melody; the power of
searching and pursuing science — Reader, what is it? Say, in what corner of the
mind does it grow. What chamber of the brain does it inhabit? That immaterial
thing — the mind; acting, and acted on by matter, floating upon life’s surface
so mysteriously — what is it? Oh my soul, what is it — what are you?

And, then, the instinct of the brutes — the horse, the donkey, the dog, the
elephant! Those wondrous faculties! Intelligence, almost akin to human! What is
it? Where was it, before it came? Where is it, when it’s gone? It was, and is
not! Of all wonders — life is surely the greatest. But still it is a greater
mystery that life should be, and cease to be — that life be turned to death,
soundness to rottenness, and rottenness to dust! That man and beast should
mingle dust with dust, and none be able to discover which is which! My soul,
this leads you to conclusions, facts, and feelings, which are overwhelming to
your powers. It bids you to shelter beneath immortality; "mortality" that is
"swallowed up of life "mortality exchanged for incorruption. For a season you
have lived, and live still within an earthy frame; your energies called forth,
your feelings exercised, by earthly things. Hence your phenomena of heart and
mind; hence all the phases of your being; hence all the mysteries of which we
speak. Thus flesh and spirit dwell together for a time. As age advances, the
soul draws in its feelers. Its faculties shrink back within itself; its powers
thus fade, and fade away — until, lo! the curtain drops in death, and all is
veiled! Then earth returns to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. Man, and
four-footed beasts, and creeping things are then alike again. Who then shall
say, "This the philosopher’s dust — and this is the dog’s dust! This is fair
woman’s dust — and this is the worm’s dust!"

Reader, you will dwell in dust! In dust will you abide, until resurrection
sounds shall greet your ear — when the earth casts out the dead. Say, where
shall you appear?


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  CHAPTER 7: 01.04.     ECCLESIASTES 4
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Ecclesiastes 4:1-16 "But they had no comforter." Ecclesiastes 4:1

Poor sufferers! And was there none to comfort them? Not one of all their
brothers of the human race! Were they not brothers? Sprung from one father; by
the same God created; bound by the tie of blood! O sin, what havoc you have made
of all that is brotherly!

"They had no comforter!" Such are there still. Some have no comforter, because
they are friendless. Some, because none can understand their sorrows. Others,
because no human sympathy can reach their woes. Others, again, because they are
wild with sorrow. As far as comfort goes, they have nothing between them and
suicide, madness, or a broken heart.

Reader, have you no comforter? Are you too poor, too humble, too retiring, too
little like the world — that men should care for you? Or are your trials,
conflicts, and temptations — what few can understand? Are you thus solitary in
your sensibility? Are you tempted to despair? Ah, my friend, is there, indeed,
no comforter? None to pity! What! none to love! And none to comfort you! Where
then is Jesus? Do you not know Him? Where is God’s Holy Spirit? Does He not
dwell with you, abide in you? If not, no wonder you have "no comforter."

"Miserable comforters" are all earthly things. They play upon the surface; they
cannot reach the heart. They cannot take the poison from affliction, or draw the
arrow from the wounded soul. Such comfort you must seek, where alone it is found
— with Jesus! He came expressly as a Comforter. When upon earth, He comforted
his friends; and when He left them, whom did He say He would send? Another
Comforter! (John 14:16.)

Oh, my friend, what comfort do you need? Comfort for your sense of sin? Comfort
for sharp temptation? Comfort for warring conflict? Comfort for darkness in the
soul? Is it comfort for sickness, poverty, or sorrow? For loss of friends? For
loss of character? Oh! if you love the Lord, say not, "I have no comforter!" The
Lord is your comforter!

"No comforter!" Is there no comfort, then, in Jesus — in leaning on His bosom —
in telling Him your griefs? No comfort in His grace? No comfort in His love? Ah!
think again; and say not, "I have no comforter!" And you disconsolate! You who
know not Jesus! You who seek for earthly comforters alone! What shall I say to
you? Why, bid you also look to Jesus! Bring all your sins to Jesus! Seek for a
comforter in Jesus! If so, He will not dismiss you in your misery; but comfort
you indeed.

"The fool folds his hands and ruins himself!" Ecclesiastes 4:5

Simply on worldly principles, idleness is bad. In spiritual things it’s worse by
far. In earthly goods a man may have a store, and live upon it, while it lasts.
Not so in grace. There we can have no store — no stock to go to, laid up within
the soul for many days. The Christian’s glory is to live from day to day — to
know that in himself is emptiness — that all his "fresh springs" are in Jesus.
The Christian must daily to take his pitcher to the well of living waters; daily
to gather heavenly manna for his daily needs; nay, every moment to receive out
of Christ’s fullness, grace upon grace," (John 1:16.)

Living upon Jesus! The food is to be found, not in us — but in Jesus alone. If
it were in us, what need, then, to obtain more? Why does the laborer toil from
day to day? Because he cannot live upon himself. Food must be obtained; and for
it he must work. "No work — no food; no food — no life" is his daily rule. So is
it with the soul. Its only food is Jesus; and this from hour to hour, from day
to day, is always the same. Of itself, the soul is ever lean — ever in need of
food. It knows no plenty, but in Jesus; and every morsel of its sustenance is
drawn from Him! Oh! it is a miserable time when Christians live, or try to live,
upon their own resources; to treasure up the days gone by, and feed upon their
past experience. The man may be perfect in doctrine, rich in experience, versed
in the knowledge of the ways of God. But what is this? Neither doctrine,
knowledge, nor experience feeds the soul. They are but finger-posts pointing to
Jesus — to tell the pilgrim where to have a meal. The man who feeds on Christ,
can feed on nothing else but His sin-atoning work; His person; His love; His
presence; His words; His visits to the soul. He says, "Jesus is with me. With
Him I am happy — without Him I am undone. Health, strength, and peace, and
comfort, I have none, except in Jesus!"

It is thus, and only thus, that the soul is fed. Oh, then, my soul, fold not
your hands in indolence; feed not upon yourself. Seek daily strength for daily
needs in Christ, and Christ alone.

"Better one handful with tranquility — than two handfuls with toil and chasing
after the wind!" Ecclesiastes 4:6

TRANQUILITY! To many a weary plodder, how sweet the thought! Tranquility! Many
pursue you as a phantom — and few find you in the end, because, though love of
tranquility is great, the love of gain is greater. "Could I not increase my
business — enlarge my warehouse, or have a second business in another street?
True, my business is large enough already; my time and strength are already
largely taxed; but, then, my fortune will be sooner made; and I shall soon have
tranquility!" Thus often speaks the tradesmen.

How many more "join house to house," "lay field to field" (Isaiah 5:8) — all
meaning to have tranquility at last! Alas! at such a rate, will tranquility ever
come?

But, what is "tranquility!" Is it a cottage in a woods? A villa with a
pleasure-ground, and nothing to do! Ah! tranquility like this, is far from
tranquility. What weariness, what fretting emptiness! Time, in its very course,
becomes a labor; and listlessness corrodes the soul.

Then, there is the quiet of a large inheritance, with literary ease, or country
occupations — the farm, the chase, the garden, or the fond pursuit of nature’s
science. There is tranquility in these, it is true; but will it stand the test
of time? It is quiet on the surface — but is there tranquility within? The soul,
the conscience — is it quiet there? Does it disturb the tranquility to think of
death, and judgment, and eternity? If tranquility is thus destroyed, does it
deserve the name?

True tranquility consists in having peace with God — a quiet conscience — Christ
in the soul — the sense of sin forgiven. With tranquility like this, a handful
is enough; a pittance grows to plenty, and poverty to wealth. Oh! it is a
blessing to have enough to live upon; to have neither poverty nor riches; to be
fed with "food convenient" for our use. (Proverbs 30:8.)

While others are oppressed with wealth, and travail, and vexation — may true
tranquility be our lot! All this, and Jesus too! This tranquility! My needs
supplied! And comforts too! All this, and Jesus! My lonely dwelling lighted with
His presence! Each frugal meal made sweeter by His love! My walks, my works, my
solitude, my social moments — all graced with Jesus, and His company! Is not
this tranquility indeed! My soul, if greater wealth were yours, might not this
tranquility be in danger — and your ease be turned to travail? Know, then, your
true riches in Jesus — and be content.

"A threefold cord is not quickly broken." Ecclesiastes 4:12

Union is strength, whether with two or three, or more. Thus man was never meant
to be alone; and God provided him "a helper." (Genesis 2:18.) In Heaven, no
solitude exists; neither would earth have known it, had man continued holy. Sin
is the cause of all the desolation which pervades mankind. It needs an effort
now to escape it. To make friends, and to keep them; to float within the current
of society, and not be stranded by some eddy on the lonely shore — all this is
done by dint of effort. Without it few would have anything but solitude at last.
Our corporations, our societies, our friendly unions all say, "Union is
strength, and we must work to have it." But in communing with God, man must be
solitary. This is another consequence of sin. True, there is social prayer; but
in the heart prayer, there must be solitude. No blending there can be of soul
with soul, but for a season, and by an effort too. Sin has thrown up its
barriers between man and man. Each sinful body, each fallen mind, presents an
obstacle to union. The sense of union with the saints, must be an act of faith,
an effort — a flash of light, of more or less recurrence — and then it is dark
again. Unbroken union is reserved for eternity, when sin, with all its barriers,
gives way to glory.

Union is strength. A twofold cord is something; "a threefold cord is better."
Though union here on earth is faulty, yet, even here, much may be done by union.
If two or three agree together in the name of Jesus, their prayers are mighty.
How strong is this "threefold cord!" When those who live together, strive
jointly to resist and conquer sin, each knowing his own infirmities, each trying
to improve the rest — each practicing the grace of meek forbearance, and
humility — they weave a cord of many folds, and strong endurance. But if one or
other ceases to pray, to watch, to strive, and to forbear, how can the cord
maintain its unity, or keep its substance?

"A threefold cord!" But where can it be found in perfectness? Only in God — in
God, distinct in three persons, but in essence One — divers in office, yet in
purpose undivided — one God, one Lord, Jehovah; one, in Father, Son, and Spirit;
each, in the covenant of grace, before time began, pledged to redeem His people;
each bound by covenant to love, to keep, to bless, to perfect, them; all, in the
unity of wisdom, majesty, and power, acting in holy concert. The Three-in-One —
the One-in-Three — in mercy, grace, and truth — say, who can break the threefold
cord of Deity?


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  CHAPTER 8: 01.05.     ECCLESIASTES 5
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Ecclesiastes 5:1-20 "Guard your steps when you go to the house of God."
Ecclesiastes 5:1 The Preacher says, "Guard your steps!" A prophet says the same,
"Keep your feet from being unshod." (Jeremiah 2:25.) The advice is good. To walk
unshod is a sure way to pierce yourself with many sorrows. For slip-shod grace
will never advantage you — and never less so than in going to the house of
prayer. Leave not your Gospel shoes at home; nor lose them along the way. If so,
you will not find them when you come to worship.

What do you think of, and speak of, along the way to the house of God? If
earthly things engage the mind — the doings of the past or coming week; the
dress or manners of the passers by; the news you have heard; the letters you
have had — if thoughts like these are in your mind up to the very threshold of
the church door — this will hinder your devotions.

God’s worship must begin before you leave your home; your thoughts, your speech,
your eyes — must be focused on God. Fix them on Jesus — and then you will not
have them to bestow on other things. Make Christ your company along the way —
and He’ll accompany you in the house of God; then all its acts shall savor of
His presence. In private worship, or in social prayer, we cannot be dwelling on
worldly things — and then spring at once from earth to Heaven. Oh, there is a
preparation of the heart; a setting of the countenance heavenwards; a girding
the loins for fellowship with God; a deep conviction of His majesty; a pausing
on the threshold of His presence — that the first word of prayer may have His
blessing. If you would "guard your feet" in seasons of devotion, be sure you
keep them well at other times. As is your daily walk — your prayers will be. A
careless walk begets a wandering mind, unfit to gather in its thoughts, and
settle them in prayer. Prayer and the daily walk act, and react, on one another.
He who is much in prayer will guard his feet; and he who guard his feet
properly, be much in prayer.

Nothing feeds the soul like meditation — the habit of reflecting on our ways,
and Scripture truths. This leads alike to holiness, and converse with the Lord.
Then, child of God, at all times "guard your feet;" not only when you go to the
house of prayer.

"Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know
that they do wrong." Ecclesiastes 5:1 In converse with a friend, it is not one
alone who speaks, but two people; and of this converse, listening is as much a
part, as speaking. So is it in communing with God. Time was, my soul, with you,
when prayer was but a form, and nothing more. No thought had you of listening in
prayer; of watching for the breathings of the Spirit, telling you what to say to
Jesus, or whispering what Jesus said to you. Now, by God’s grace you have
learned to hearken. Dull is the prayer-time, when you hear not the voice of your
Beloved! Oh, if you can not feel that God is speaking to you, as you speak to
Him; His presence telling that He loves you, hears you, answers you — then your
prayer will be to you a "tinkling cymbal," or as "sounding brass."

Often have you sat before the Savior in silent devotion — on your part silent,
but not so on the part of Jesus — and found more eloquence in silence, than in
fervid utterance. But oh! to speak, and be the only speaker — the Spirit
bringing no response, no message from the throne! Oh then, my soul, you fall
back upon your emptiness, and are sad indeed. In prayer and devotions, be . . .
much alive in listening; quick to discern the voice of Jesus; and ready to obey.

Often has the Spirit beckoned you to prayer, and you have framed some fond
excuse — some imagined duty, or yet some occupation that pleased you better. How
often has some casual book — a journal — or a work of are, robbed you of
communion with the Lord! In every room — on every table — looking from every
window — there is danger, more than enough for your constancy — so beware,
beware!

Look for the Spirit’s movings, when you pray. Do not grieve Him; nor resist Him
in His promptings. Some word has quivered on your lips, and been withheld. And
why? It savored of some duty you had wished to shun; some heart-confession that
your pride refused to make; a prayer for one, for whom you did not wish to pray.
The Spirit urged it; your heart said, "Nay."

Say, is not this the sacrifice of fools? My soul, this should not be. Be more
ready, then, to hearken. Thus shall you hear what Jesus says — what Jesus
thinks. Thus shall the Spirit indite your thoughts, direct your prayers, and
nourish you for glory.

"Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know
that they do wrong." Ecclesiastes 5:1

OH what a tender thing is Prayer! How surpassing wonderful, is man’s fellowship
with God; and God’s fellowship with man! The motions of the Spirit, how refined!
How easily repelled! How lightly interfered with! How promptly thwarted in their
action!

Say, do you feel a sudden burst of prayer? Do tears flow fast? Are your lips
enlarged in speaking to your God? Beware, my soul, how you give up your prayer,
or break the current of adoring thought. True, it may be the time for reading.
The Word may be in hand — the place be open, where you are going to read. Or it
may be in midst of study, when thought has been in exercise, but not with
reference to prayer. Or yet you may be otherwise engaged — in secular pursuits,
that may be left without a breach of duty. Quench not the Spirit’s movings — He
is leading you to fellowship with God. There, in the bosom and the smile of
Jesus, you will find all that is needed for the time.

If you well-versed in Christian devotion, and know the lights and shadows that
attend it — you will learn to seize the moment, and lift your soul to Heaven
when you ca. In studying the Word, if anything is sent with power to your soul;
if thought flows quickly, and light is shed upon you from the door thus opened
into Heaven — turn not to other portions, as long as the Spirit keeps you there.
This were to dictate to the Spirit, to interrupt His actings, and tempt Him thus
to leave you to yourself. The treasures of the Word are His to unfold — His to
apply. And if He feeds you in this, or other pasture, He has prepared a blessing
for you there. You may have wished to read some other portion, as coming in its
course, or as better suited to your present need. Leave that with God. Be sure
that power, thus derived, will . . . give you strength for any trial; fit you
for any duty; and answer every end you had in view. The Spirit knows your daily,
hourly need, and He has given you what seemed Him good. Trust, then, the
Spirit’s leadings. Strive to discern His intimations. And thus increase in
wisdom, grace, and peace.

"Do not be hasty in word or impulsive in thought to bring up a matter in the
presence of God." Ecclesiastes 5:2 Of yourself, my soul, you are incapable of
prayer. By nature you are far from God, how could you pray? If something must be
said, your native powers can furnish words. But if the Spirit does not move you
— it is not prayer. None but the Spirit’s voice can speak to God. None but the
Spirit’s mind can reach his ear. "The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not
know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with
groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind
of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with
God’s will." Romans 8:26-27

Why does the Spirit dwell in you? To be the framer of your thoughts — the organ
of your speech — to God: that you in Him, and He in you, might think the
thoughts, and think the language of prayer. To pray without the Spirit, is the
same as thinking without a mind, or speaking without the power of speech. Bright
thoughts; well-rounded sentences; the flow of sentiment, and earthly sympathies
— what are they? They come not from the Spirit — and they do not lead you to
God.

What has the Spirit thought? What has the Spirit said, within you? Your life,
your heart, your thoughts — must be centered in the Spirit. In Him you pray. In
Him you praise. In Him alone you are a living thing. Without Him, while you
live, you are spiritually dead. My soul, whence all your waverings in prayer;
resolves half formed, and forthwith given up; playing with sacred duties;
uttering many things, but feeling not? Whence all your parleyings with
conscience; pleading for grace, yet half-afraid to have it; striving against
sin, yet longing to indulge it; praying against some idol, yet hugging it all
the while. Whence your discomfort after prayer; conscious of not having dealt
with God? Is it not this — the mind has thought — the lips have moved — without
the Spirit? Why did you speak without Him? Better be silent altogether — than
run before his motions. In private prayer, fret not, though waiting times be
long — though often you leave the throne, and not a word be spoken. What could
you say? The Spirit spoke not. You could not but be silent.

"God is in Heaven and you are on the earth; therefore let your words be few!"
Ecclesiastes 5:2

God is above in majesty and power. He hears your every word. He reads your every
thought. You may forget what you have thought or said. Not so with the
all-knowing and all-seeing God.

Beware of making vows to God. Who asks them of you? Make holy resolutions, if
you will; and pray for grace to keep them. Have deep convictions of your own
infirmity; trust only in the Spirit’s power for strength; think of the love of
Jesus; be daily crucified with Christ — and thus go forth, to meet the trials of
a fallen world. This will advance you more than all your vows. Do not rashly
prolong your times of worship, nor enter lightly on a course of self-imposed
pious duties. If these are followed for a time, and then be given up — it is
worse than if they never had been pursued. While yet your time remained, was it
not still your own? Who asked you to employ it thus? God goes to meet you at the
usual hour — will He not mark your breach of purpose?

Again, when prayer time is diminished, or study of the Word is hurried over —
does the Spirit say, "It was not always so!" Thus God is mocked, and you receive
injury. Retrograde habits speak of backward grace. Your only safety is in going
forward.

"Let your words be few!" Five minutes heartfelt prayer — is better than hours of
formal worship!

"Let your words be few!" Abhor the habit of empty prayer — praying for praying’s
sake, it may be to eke out the moments of a given time set apart for devotional
exercises. You words cannot be too many — when God is present with you. Does
Jesus ever think your words too many? Does He grow weary of your company? Did He
ever motion you to leave his presence? Your own infirmities cut short your
prayers — Jesus can never wish you gone. Speak often to the Lord, even though
your words are few. Thus moments of communion grow to hours of prayer.
Originating thus, your praying times are sweeter, than when they come from
formal words. Whole days may thus be spent in true devotion; in walking; eating;
communing with others; your every hour may be prayerful, and your every thought
may be sweet. Such seasons, oh! how precious, unutterably precious! My soul,
reckon not on their lasting. Cherish them while you have them. Be reluctant to
part with them. Thus, by God’s grace, they may return again.

"Do not let your mouth lead you into sin. And do not protest to the angel, (or
temple messenger) ’My vow was a mistake!’ Why should God be angry at what you
say and destroy the work of your hands?" Ecclesiastes 5:6

Angels appeared on earth in times of old, bearing God’s message to His people.
They heard the vows then made, and might have come to claim fulfillment. The
priests of God were called his "angels, or "messengers" (Malachi 2:7). And in
the Church of Christ preachers, and ministers, are called "angels", or
"messengers". (Revelation 1-3) Had vows been made before the priest, and then
excuse been offered for their non-performance — the priest would say, "While you
promised — was it not your own? Why did you vow — not meaning to fulfill your
vow? You have not vowed to man, but unto God!" (See Acts 5:4.) And is there not
One, greater than angel, minister, or priest, to claim performance of our vows?
I mean not formal vows, the solemn dedication of one’s self, or means, to God;
all these are very solemn, and, if broken, must pierce the soul with many
sorrows. But I mean the resolutions, whether of more or less determination, that
either flit across the mind, or assume a more enduring character. Have you been
sick, or afflicted in other ways? Has danger suddenly beset you? Before health
were scarcely returned, or danger gone — did thankfulness depart? Your vows of
service — your fervent resolutions — where are they? Where is your change of
life, solemnly pledged in the hour of need? Your former sinful books, your
sinful pleasures, your sinful companions — are they renounced? Say not before
the angel — still less before the living God, "It was an error; I did not mean
it so. Religion is good in sickness, but in health it is not befitting." My
friend, will God accept excuses such as these? Ask your own conscience — it
shall tell you true. And you, my soul, I have a word for you — a word for every
child of God: Think well before your resolutions. Even your passing thoughts are
known to Him. Harbor not the thought with marked self-satisfaction, unless
prepared to act upon it. Hold it far from you; let it not come within the range
even of slight resolve, until you can count the cost, and see if you have faith
to make the sacrifice. To break even passing resolutions unnerves the soul, and,
more or less, impedes its healthy action. Remember, then, with whom you have to
do, and be watchful of your vows!

"In the multitude of dreams there is also vanity!" Ecclesiastes 5:7 In telling
idle dreams, there is vanity. It must be so — the Scripture says it.

"What harm?" you say; "How can I wrong myself, or others, by telling them my
dreams?" The vanity is this: at best, it is needless to describe the nothings of
a dreaming hour, the fantasies of a dream world. The mind which deals with
Truth, thinks it a waste of breath to tell such vanities; to tread a ground, on
which it finds no standing; to breathe an air without an atmosphere: sight,
hearing, sound, perception, memory, all conjured up — for what? To tell the
phantom wonders of a dream!

Man’s waking thoughts are mostly vanity — mere shadows, and no more. If so, then
what are your dreaming thoughts, my Friend? Mere shadows of your vanity; the
shadow of your shadows; the mere reflection of your nothings. Dreams mostly
hinge on SELF. Their world is thus shut up within the dreamer. If you hate to
speak of self — then it is irksome to you to recount your dreams. It is but
another way of feeding vanity — to have the thoughts of others fixed upon
yourself.

If Christ is much the subject of your thoughts — then you will not have heart,
or mind, thus to employ your speech. If it is vanity to tell your dreams — then
is it not vanity to think of them; to have the mind disturbed because some
imaginings crossed it in its sleep?

Yet, Reader, I do not deny that God may be pleased to visit you in dreams, and
stamp his truth upon you in the night. Such dreams are not to be despised; they
savor of something better than yourself.

Some simple rules will tell you when a dream is good. Has it made you feel your
sin — and taught you that you need a Savior? Has it brought a sense of Jesus to
your soul? His love for sinners? His power to save? Have dreaming thoughts thus
done some good to your soul which waking thoughts had failed to do? If so, thank
God for your dream, and treasure it up; yet, not because it is a dream, but for
the sake of what it taught you.

God’s ways are various. Mostly He brings us to self-knowledge in our waking
hours; but it is as easy to him to do it in our sleep. Happy are they who,
waking or asleep, are brought to Jesus! To them, the world itself is one vast
dream. Their true, and only waking hours, are when they feel His love.

"For in the multitude of words there is also vanity!" Ecclesiastes 5:7

"When words are many, sin is not absent; but he who holds his tongue is wise!"
(Proverbs 10:19.) Can it be otherwise? Words are but thoughts made audible — the
inward man clothed in external form. And what is thought? It is but the working
of the heart within.

"The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked!"
How, then, can "many words" be free from sin? The larger the garden — the
greater the room for weeds; the more the words — the greater the room for sin!
The pride of speech is natural to man, and nothing delights him more than when
he is listened to. To SELF it is delightful, to be the best speaker — to give
the interesting discourse, while others hearken; to tell, for hours, what SELF
has thought and done. To worldly men the pleasure is unmixed; their conscience
tells them not it’s vanity, nor troubles them with sense of sin. But to the
child of God it is otherwise.

I ask, you, Christian reader, have you ever spoken largely, and, in
after-thought, had a sense of inner delight and vanity? Your speech has been of
doctrine — of Christian duty — of all that tends to edify the soul — we’ll grant
it. But has not SELF crept in; self-congratulation at having spoken well — SELF,
seeking to be praised for soundness, wit, or discernment? Have not the
promptings of the Spirit been outstripped — your lips gone faster than His
teaching? Have you not spoken often for speaking sake, reluctant to renounce the
charm of hearing self — unwilling to give way to others? Poor humanity! Alas!
Alas!

I pity you. Oh! it is a dangerous thing to have the gift of speech — the love,
and ability to speak well. It is well to know how we may hit the golden mean; to
steer midway between cold reserve, uncourteous silence, and the opposite
extreme; if need be, to speak much — if more expedient, to say little.
Frankness, and openness of heart, are pleasing: a readiness to impart knowledge,
experience, and information is admirable: to give one’s mite to cheer the social
circle with apt discourse is good. But be it ever done in meek submission to the
Spirit, with inward self-possession and with prayer; that self be crucified, and
God’s glory simply sought. Thus to possess the soul is glorious. Say, is not
this to have the mind of Christ?

"For in the multitude of words there is also vanity!" Ecclesiastes 5:7

Oh! what a power there is in "words!" On lightning’s wings they fly, bearing
their messages to heart and mind, telling invisibly, yet surely, on the hearers.
Who should be as guarded as the Christian in his speech? How often a thoughtless
word turns holy talk to controversy and vain jangling! How often, through a
word, some worldly theme is started, then eagerly pursued — while heavenly
things are disregarded! How often a single word stirs discontent, brings
injuries to mind long since forgotten, and sets men harping on their grievances!
How often a word kindles the smouldering embers of dislike, or fans the flame of
scandal! These, and like evils, might be much avoided, if we would only think
before we speak, and weigh the probable effect of what we are going to say.

It were a sad bondage to the worldly mind, forever to keep watch over its
thoughts and words. To careless saints the task is likewise hard. But, to the
heart well kept, Christ’s yoke is easy, and his burden light. (Matthew 11:30.)
Reader, is this experience yours? Are you not bound to practice what you know?
Why have you, then, the faculty of thought, as quick in its movements as the
lightning’s flash; strong in its powers of forecasting; in the twinkling of an
eye, able to calculate effects, and stop ideas halfway between thought, and
utterance? Why, but to use your powers well! Be quick in speech, if need be; but
calm in thought, collected in discourse. Much may be done by practice; unruly
tongues may be tamed, loose habits may be corrected, and every word led captive
to Christ. Before you mention what you’ve seen or heard, say to yourself,
"Should I repeat it? Will it foster my pride? Will it expose no faults of
others? Will idle curiosity be fed, or vain remarks be made? Is it not better to
keep it to myself?" Much time and comfort would be saved, did men but reason
thus! Examine well the converse of a day; balance your watchfulness against your
thoughtless speech. Compare the loss and gain incurred by either, and then
you’ll see that, if in careful speaking there are many benefits, "in the
multitude of words there is also vanity."

"I have seen a grievous evil under the sun: wealth hoarded to the harm of its
owner." Ecclesiastes 5:13

SELF is much made of in the things of time, but little thought of for eternity.
If self is the body, self is also the soul. After the body-self is laid in dust,
the soul-self is still alive — doubly alive for happiness or misery; self lives
forever! All that we do, has influence on self, its interest, or its injury. All
that self does, has bearings on its state, either in hindering, or helping its
eternal good. Man, in his blindness, sees it not. Thus "bitter is put for sweet,
and sweet for bitter; good is called evil, and evil good." (Isaiah 5:20.) The
miser hugs his gold. To him his gifts to others are losses. He thinks that all
that is kept is gain. How different the Bible truth. "One man gives freely — yet
gains even more; another withholds unduly — but comes to poverty!" (Proverbs
11:24.) Thus the Christian finds that what he keeps, he loses; and what he
gives, he gains. Oh, for more faith to see this principle — and more
faithfulness to act upon it! It is easy to avow it, where self is not concerned;
but to say "Amen" to it, when self is called to give — this is another thing.

Reader, have you ever given in faith, and found that God increased your store?
Have you ever had a hoard — a sum saved up and cherished — and yet have
difficulties come and clouds obscured your prospects? (I speak not of the
comfort to the soul in giving, or of the spiritual loss sustained when gifts
have been withheld.) Then can you understand how "riches" may be "kept to the
hurt of those who own them." If your means exceed your needs — what do you with
the rest? Why do you hoard it? Is it for some unrealistic purpose — to provide
for children (this may be overdone) — to meet some necessary call? Isn’t it in
truth, kept for self? Ah, what will self do with it, when self is gone? Say, for
what then is it kept? — the moldering corpse, or the departed soul! You keep it
to your hurt!

Yet giving, of itself, profits nothing. It neither saves nor sanctifies. (1
Corinthians 13:3.) To give indeed, men must be saints indeed. Is love to Christ
the motive of your gifts? Then are you qualified to give indeed — able to lend
to God. (Proverbs 19:15.) Money, to pass with God, must all be coined in the
mint of faith. No loan will He avow, nor interest pay, except upon that which
bears Christ’s image, and His superscription. To give in faith — to give in love
— to give with understanding — Reader, may this be your, and mine!

"This too is a grievous evil: As a man comes — so he departs; and what does he
gain, since he toils for the wind?" Ecclesiastes 5:16 As we came naked from our
mother’s womb — naked shall we return. (Job 1:21) Nor shall we be able to carry
in our hand anything that we had below. Oh, what a character this gives to
earthly things! They are all connected with a sinful world. They are left
behind, because they cannot enter Heaven. Hence the Apostle’s moral is added to
the Preacher’s truth, "Having food and clothing, let us therewith be content."
(1 Timothy 6:8.)

How few of man’s possessions are really needed! Take food and clothes away — the
rest are mostly useless. We live in times so artificial, it is hard to say what
are mere luxuries, and what are needful comforts. God’s servants often are
carried down the stream of vain conformity. Did they but keep the Scripture rule
in mind — what loss of time and strength would be avoided! The Scripture does
not say, "Be content with what you have." (Hebrews 13:5) without a reason.

God would not stint His children, nor ask them to abstain from anything, merely
for self-denial. It is that injury is wrapped in the indulgence — and good is
gained in keeping from it. I beg you, reader, analyze your time, and
occupations. See how far your thoughts are lost, and energy expended, in seeking
things, or doing works, that are of no real use.

Even little things have great effects. Each need that you create; each needless
article, or ornament, for house or person; every pursuit you follow, must have
its influence on your soul — if in nothing else, at least in this respect, that
more or less it occupies the mind.

You say, "It is but a moment — the thing is quickly done; the object is now
bought, the arrangement is now made. It all falls in with daily occupations, and
habits ready formed; no harm can possibly arise." Oh, my friend, nothing can
lodge within your mind, even for a moment, but it must impact upon your life.
Character is made up, for good or evil, by objects ever flitting through the
mind. The more that Christ is thought of — the more the life is pure. The more
the world is in the thoughts — the less will Christ be there. Little things soon
make great things. A great world is made of little worldly things. Be jealous,
then, with godly jealousy Beware! Your vines have tender grapes! (Song of
Solomon 2:15.)


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  CHAPTER 9: 01.06.     ECCLESIASTES 6
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Ecclesiastes 6:1-12

"Better what the eye sees [the enjoyment of what is available to one] than the
cravings of wandering desire. This is also vanity (emptiness, meaninglessness,
and futility) and a striving after the wind and a feeding on it!" Ecclesiastes
6:9

It is a bitter disappointment for a man to long for what he has not — for what
he cannot have. That is, to sigh for plenty — in the midst of poverty; to aspire
for luxury — and have nothing but simple fare; to have dreams of grandeur and
ambition — and yet to walk in humble life; to aspire to eminence — and then
return to our mundane occupations.

All this is indeed lamentable to the heart!

Oh, how "desire" wanders, refusing to be satisfied with present comforts! Memory
revels in the past; and hope dwells upon the future. The soul thus feeds on
shadows — and leaves reality behind. There is bitterness in this, more than the
tongue can tell.

Philosophy says, "Do not repine at your lot, but make the best of it." This is
cold comfort, after all.

Blind fate says, "Hush! it is your destiny." Neither is this a cure for
wandering desire. The Christian has a remedy which never fails, when properly
applied — the Savior’s presence. This . . . turns poverty to riches; invests the
humblest meal with luxury; makes crowded cities as pleasant as the mountain top;
imparts refreshment in the midst of labor; fills voids with Christ’s fullness;
and gives us the presence of the best of friends.

"Surely, I am with you all the days (perpetually, uniformly, and on every
occasion) — to the very close and consummation of the age!" Matthew 28:20

Children of God! your heavenly Father says, "All things are yours!" (1
Corinthians 3:21) — and so they are, in the degree and manner that is good for
me. All the gold in the world is Christ’s, and as His child, He gives me just as
much as suits my best interest. If more were good for me — would not my loving
Savior give me more — money, or material things, or health, or friendship?

Come back, then, wandering desire! Do not roam abroad over that which is not
yours — that is forbidden ground.

What is your present lot? Scan it well; look at it through the lens of faith —
and you will see a blessing in it. You will find a Father’s love, a Savior’s
presence, and the Spirit’s comforts — wrapped in the garb of present things, and
rays of glory coming from them all. Is not what I now have, better than the
cravings of wandering desire — with such realities, better, far better, than the
shadows of wandering desire!

"Be content with what you have. For God has said — I will never fail you. I will
never abandon you!" Hebrews 13:5 "That which has been is named, for it is known
that it is MAN." Ecclesiastes 6:10 Oh, what a name is MAN!

What worlds of meaning are shut up in its brief space of letters!

What floods of evil!

What depths of woe!

What mighty histories!

What a ceaseless round of change! The name of MAN! Once it meant all that is
lovely, glorious, and happy — all that is steadfast, solid, and enduring.
Backward, man pointed to his Maker, God; forward, man looked to glory.

Alas, how all has changed! Now it means . . . all that is fallen, and corrupt;
all that is far from God, estranged from glory, all that is changeful, and
changeable.

Such, such is man; such I am now.

Nothing is changeable, but man. God knows no changes. The angels, fallen and
unfallen, yes live and act on changeless principles, of good or evil. Sun, moon,
and stars revolve in orbits fixed and unvarying. Plants, minerals, and animals
are ruled by laws and instincts, regular and sure. Even the uncertain weather,
and the fickle wind, changeful in order of succession, change not in nature and
effect. Man, fallen man, is the one exception to the rule.

Thus changed and changeful, man has himself to thank for it. As he is the cause,
so is he the effect, of change. The first seed of sin, lodged in the heart of
man, contained the germ of all change; root, stem, and branch — the flower, and
fruit, of all that happened since. Hence came the change of empires, dynasties,
and powers; of customs, languages, and laws. Hence, the excess of cold and heat,
moisture or drought. And hence, the endless changes of events, so hard to
calculate, so difficult to meet.

Look where you will, and when you will, there is change — The Preacher says,
"That which has been is named." He means that he had named the history of the
past, the order of the present, in all its changefulness — and now, in a word,
he gives the sum and substance, the root and essence of it all — it is "Man!"

But, wondrous to relate, within the precincts of that very name is found again,
all that man was at first; yes, infinitely more. It is holiness in man; wisdom
in man; stability in man; glory and happiness in man; eternal life in man; yes,
God in man; the second Adam — the man Christ Jesus! Oh! my soul, mourn not your
changes, your changefulness, your changeability! It is overruled for good. You
have found your all in Him who knows no change.


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  CHAPTER 10: 01.07.     ECCLESIASTES 7
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Ecclesiastes 7:1-29 "A good name is better than precious ointment." Ecclesiastes
7:1

Many who fear not God, nor care for man, think much of losing their good name.
On moral principles, it is well it should be so; and, failing at higher rule of
action, it is wholesome for society. It is so far well to have a name for moral
worth — but will your character bear God’s inspection? That is the question. If
your good name consists merely in human merit, I pity you, my friend. This will
avail you nothing in the end. Has Christ said of you, "I will write upon him my
new name?" (Revelation 3:12.) Is Christ the heart, the head, the substance of
your character? Are His merits, your merits? His name, your only trust? His
Cross and Blood, the rock on which you stand? His character, the ground of your
acceptance with God? And yet there is a character — "a good name;" the outward
witness to the inward grace. "A good reputation among outsiders" is precious to
God’s people; not for their own sake, but the Lords.

Beware of seeking a good name for anything but Christian truth. If the world
speaks well of you, merely because you are kind, polite, and amiable — it is not
a name worth having. Better, if so it happens, be reviled for the name of
Christ, than to have praise of men for merely human merit. Plume not yourself
upon your character. If it is good, the glory is not yours; then take not to
yourself that which belongs to Jesus.

Oh, what a deceptive thing is flattery! The love of a fair name — how stealthily
it works upon the soul! Some unwise friend commends you. You say, "Give God the
glory; the gifts are His; so are the graces too; grieve not my soul by praising
me." Your friend is hardly gone, wondering at your deep humility, when
immediately vanity returns; you take the flattery to your soul; you take the
praise you had rejected to yourself, and fall in love with your own character!

Simplicity! You lovely grace! How rare it is to find you! We all are actors,
more or less, and play our part — thinking what men will say of us. A good name!
Often it sickens one to think of it; how SELF has worshiped it; how SELF has
suffered from it! My soul, beware! Glory in nothing but in the cross, the
righteousness, and the name of Christ. Think not of SELF, nor of your own good
name.

"The day of death, is better than the day of one’s birth!" Ecclesiastes 7:1

"This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?" (John 6:60) Hard, yes, impossible
to flesh and blood. It is spoken to the saints; and yet it is not every
professing Christian who can accept it — so few have made their calling and
election sure. My soul, you must plead guilty to the charge. Content with
present privilege, you have not duly sought to realize the world to come. Shame
be upon you, for thus despising your inheritance!

Reader, are you a child of God? If so, I charge you solemnly, halt not halfway
between unbelief and glory. The work within you is imperfect, if you do not long
for "the Kingdom." I mean not the desire to be done with sorrow, toil, and care;
but the desire to be with Jesus — to have no cloud between you and His glory.

Some will tell you that the desire to depart, and be with Jesus, will unfit you
for your active duties. This is a great mistake. Who ever longed for glory — and
yet who ever acted up to duty, as did Jesus? Can you do better than walk in
Jesus’ steps. Can you suggest a better rule? Believe me, nothing will strengthen
you for trial, or set you free from love of earthly things; nothing will make
you cool in danger, or wise in counsel; nothing make earthly comforts half so
sweet, or lawful pleasures half so pleasing — as the desire to be with Jesus —
the waiting until He beckons you to glory. Can it be wrong to wish to be with
Jesus — to long to see His face beyond all longing? Say, what is love without
it? The love of Jesus! His love to you — your love for Jesus! This is the soul
of godliness — the vital principle of Heaven. The more you love Him — the more
will you long to be with Him. The more you love Him — the better will you now
serve Him.

Some put away the thought of death — and fix the mind alone on Christ’s return.
But is this scriptural, or apostolic? Paul earnestly desired Christ’s second
coming, longing to see His glory — and yet he also longed for death. (Php 1:23.)
Which is the better? To wait for Jesus in a world of sin? Or to be with Him now,
and thus attend Him when He comes again? (1 Thessalonians 4:14.) Should fear of
death detain your longings here? Is it not always better to depart and be with
Jesus?

Reader, what has your birth done for you? It brought you too to a world of
sorrow, pain, infirmity, and sin. What will your death do for you? Which will to
you be better — birth or death? Say, are you of the Preacher’s mind?

"It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of
feasting." Ecclesiastes 7:2 Not so! the worldling thinks. He shuns the house of
woe. The darkened room — the solemn stillness — the very fact of death —
disturbs him. The chastened looks, the swollen eye, the mourning garb — all have
a message to his conscience. They speak to him of what he is not prepared for —
the eternal world!

Oh! my soul, you can look back, and tell what a relief it was once to you, to
escape such scenes, and find yourself again in haunts of vanity — then you could
be at ease once more. But things are now altered for you. For now you find a
pleasure in the house of woe, which you would not find in worldly merriment.

Why is it so? Is it a pleasure to hear the mourner’s sob, to see the tear, to
listen to the tale of sad bereavement? Oh, no! but it is a feast to you, because
you feed there upon the Savior. He’s present with you in the house of mourning.

Often there you meet with all the saints, in all the fragrance of sanctified
affliction — the stars of promise shining upon them in the night of sorrow. You
gather light and fragrance to yourself in communing with them. Christ’s glory,
seen on them, alights on you. Your soul is full with feasting upon Jesus. But it
is not always so. It is not in every house of woe, that faith and grace are
found. In some, the name of Christ is neither named, nor welcomed. It is then
your hands hang down; such visits pain you to the heart. Yet even then, the
house of mourning is better than the house of feasting. For Christ goes where
you go — stays with you there — and when you come away, attends you still.

"Sorrow is better than laughter," the Preacher says (verse 3). When things are
bright, and sorrow far away — the soul too often forgets that the world is
vanity. The sight of sorrow and death . . . reminds us that all is vanity; lays
bare our secret sin; shows us at once our deep necessities, and their remedy in
Jesus. To weep with those who weep, in their frail humanity, to be reminded of
our own transitoriness; to sympathize with sorrow, until the springs of woe are
opened in ourselves — all this is good. It is better than a feast. The vessel of
faith mounts on the flood of sympathy, bearing the soul to Jesus! The house of
mourning is a blessing. It presents . . . a void, which must be filled; a
sorrow, which must be comforted; a corruption, which must be turned to glory.

It shuts us up to Christ — and is not that a feast?

"It is better to heed a wise man’s rebuke, than to listen to the song of fools!"
Ecclesiastes 7:5

None question this most wholesome truth; but few there are who cordially
practice it themselves. "Let others be reproved; but, as for me, I cannot bear
it." Thus speaks the human heart. My soul, many are your infirmities, and none
more humbling, than your dislike to receive reproof. Did I really believe myself
as vile as I profess to be — would I become angry at hearing of my faults? I
profess to be, "The least of saints — and the chief of sinners!" Such is a vain
confession, if I am not prepared to welcome reproof! Oh, for more knowledge of
myself; more of that chastened mind; more of that genuine humility which says,
"Amen!" when SELF is justly censured.

Oh, what a hypocrite you are, my soul! Ready to feed upon the praise of others,
and shine in imagined excellence — but how base, how beyond base, you are in
reality! Oh, there is a majesty of soul; a greatness more than human — in
welcoming reproof.

Music is sweet. Its cadences fall gently on the ear, and tune the heart to favor
those who make it — and we thank them for their melody. Thus should you feel,
when kindness prompts a friend to tell you of your faults. What can a friend do
more than this? What could a friend require more of you? How grateful should you
be to him, who wounds himself, in healing you — to him who is willing to bear
your wrath — rather than allow you to go on in sin unchecked.

"A wise man’s rebuke." Who is the "wise man" here spoken of? He who is wise
enough to be faithful. Do not say, "He is not entitled to reprove me. His youth,
his station, or his character, unfit him for the office. He is too harsh in his
reproofs!" Had you a thorn hurting some tender part, would any be too young, too
low in rank — to draw it out? Or were you locked in prison, would any be too
vile to turn the key, and give you liberty? The only question to be asked is
this, "Has he, then, told the truth? Is this failing or sin really mine? Has he
hit the nail upon the head?" If so, your thanks are due to him.

Even though he is mistaken, and charges you wrongfully — yet you should thank
him for his good intentions.

Reader, is this saying hard to you? Well, so it is to me. Of myself I cannot
bear it, and I say, "Alas! who is sufficient for these things?" Would you have
this meek grace? I gladly would have it too. Then, what remains for you and I?
To learn of Jesus — of Him, who did no wrong, yet meekly suffered (1 Peter
1:21-23) — to study Jesus — to hide ourselves in Jesus — that we, in some poor
measure, may follow in His steps!

"The song of fools." Ecclesiastes 7:5 In nothing is character displayed, more
than in the kind of music which satisfies the hearer. The songs of drunkards
with their cups, bespeak the taste of those who sing them. The militaristic
strain, the plaintive ditty, the flaunting ballad — speak for themselves; each
tells the mind of him, whose choice they are. The effect of music on the soul is
most mysterious. The ear is pleased with it — but it knows not why. The heart
responds instinctively, in cadences as measured as the melody which tunes its
sympathy. It is not the sound alone; not the mere chain of notes, vocal, or
instrumental; not the bare fact of melody, nor the harmonious blending of melody
with melody. All this is purely physical — of itself it speaks no morality. It
is that it finds within the bosom a secret, and responsive agency — a wondrous
something which accords with it — a harmony of feeling between him who hears,
and him who penned the melody. This principle is native in the soul. With few
exceptions, men cannot hear sweet sounds, and be insensible. Hence it exerts a
wondrous agency for good — or evil. Tastes are imbibed, propensities encouraged,
and habits formed, unconsciously it may be — yet most decidedly. Have you ever
observed your mind while listening to a melody? Have you ever traced its
after-tendencies in thought and feeling? Have you never found yourself more
grave, or mirthful, more noisy, or more thoughtful, according to the sounds to
which you have listened? I counsel you to trace these agencies of mind — to
analyze your habits, tastes, and feelings — and, if you are given to music, to
watch its bearing on your character. In this, as in all your works, see how to
most ensure the Savior’s presence. If sacred sounds attune to holy meditation —
suggesting thoughts of better things — awaking sweet remembrances of Jesus, and
thus disposing you to fellowship with God — say, has not other music an
influence as real, in strict accordance with its character? See, then, I beg
you, that your tastes lead not to folly in your melody. For surely, if your soul
is injured, you are not wise to harbor it; it then becomes "the song of fools"
to you.

"The end of a matter is better than its beginning." Ecclesiastes 7:8 Are all
things better in their end, good things — as well as bad; things pleasant — and
things painful. Is it alike with all? Is summer best, when ended? Time spent
with choice companions — a walk with a bosom friend; are these, too, best when
past and gone? Are parting sighs better than smiles at meeting? The truth is
this — all that man does is sinful; nothing passes through his hands without
defilement, thus giving birth to sinful actions, thoughts, and tendencies. Thus
all things human begin, and end, in sin; sin in the "blade;" sin in the "ear;"
sin "in the full corn in the ear." Is not the end of sin, better than the
beginning? Each sinner’s course is best when ended; a sinful life is closed, and
God is glorified, in judgment or in grace — whatever the sinner’s end. A sinful
world will be far better in its end; for then God’s kingdom will appear, eternal
righteousness come in, and sin and sorrow disappear forever.

Things pleasant bring temptation, and while they last, we are never armored
against it; when they are ended, the danger is at an end, and this is better.
The Christian should esteem each evening better than the morning; for then there
is one day less to come — of sin, of conflict, and temptation — one day the less
between the soul and glory.

Say, Christian, would you consent to live your days again? Would you have the
shadow to return upon your dial (Isaiah 38:8), even for an hour? Would you bring
back your thoughts, your words, your actions? Would you have self dug up, even
from the grave of yesterday — to gaze upon its doings? That is far from you, O
my soul! All things to you are best, when ended. Whatever there was of pain, is
gone. Whatever there was of pleasure, is replaced tenfold. While the thing
lasted, pleasure was mixed with pain, enjoyment was marred by sin; but now the
thing is gone, and you may be glad. When all is gone, Jesus is left! All joy —
no sorrow; all peace — and no temptation, left in Him! Then say, can you regret
the end of times and seasons — the end of all that is sweet and tender, loving
and refined? Is not the Preacher right? Is the beginning better than the end?

"Patience is better than pride." Ecclesiastes 7:8

Pride is the opposite of Patience. Man is impatient, since he is proud. Am I
impatient with the ignorant — it is that I pride myself upon my knowledge. Am I
out of patience with the uncultured — it is from the conceit of my own superior
breeding. Many are proud — who think themselves humble. They make confession of
their sins, or condescend to men of low degree — they think they are humble. But
let vexations come — have they to bear reproof, to meet the faults, or ignorance
of others, impatience tells the truth — they are proud, not humble.

Pride argues ignorance of SELF. Would you be humble?

Look at your own corruptions; survey your features in the Scripture
looking-glass; consider well your own deformity; study the failings of your
character.

Ah! if you know your heart — none will appear so vile, so corrupt, so sinful, as
yourself!

You will wonder then how men can bear with you, and not how you can bear with
them. Would you be humble? Think of the cross of Christ. What nailed him to the
tree? The bloody sweat; the crown of thorns; the tears; the pains; the taunts;
the buffetings; the piercing cry — what caused them all? Your sins! Christian,
remember this — your sins! Can you feel this, and yet be proud?

Think of the pit, from which He snatched you!

Think of the price, at which He bought you!

Think of the grace, with which He clothes you!

Think of the bliss, with which He will crown you!

Say, can you think of this, and be proud!

Man prides himself on many things — his wit, his rank, his power, his moral
goodness. For this he sets himself up as some model of perfection. But, oh! my
soul, you have a pattern to consider — the God of patience! The more of
patience, then, the more of God; the more of God — the more of glory, majesty,
and greatness. The more impatience — the more of Satan, the more of all that’s
vile.

"Do not be quick in spirit to be angry or vexed, for anger and vexation lodge in
the bosom of fools!" Ecclesiastes 7:9 Of human passions, none is so quick as
anger. Hence by a hasty one — we mean an angry person: thus man instinctively
writes his own character in the words he frames. Satan, indwelling in the soul,
invests the passions with an amazing power — and on the stock of fallen nature
is engrafted the strength, agility, and cunning of the fiend! Hence all the
quickness of the passions; hence the electric speed, at which they move.
Temptation lures — then lust conceives — sin is brought forth — the work of
moral death all finished in a moment!

Say, who can trace the progress, from the first thought of anger to its
outbreak? Oh! my soul, I gaze on you and wonder, to think of all your properties
and powers. Within you dwells a world of evil. Where lurks the poison in your
veins? In what secret principle is hid the element of anger, ready to show
itself so quickly? To see you, in your gentler mood — who could suppose you
capable of violence? No tinder less inflammable, when free from sparks — no lake
more calm, when undisturbed by winds — than you, when not exposed to
provocation.

What angered you, my soul? Your brother differed from you! He dared to have
opinions of his own! And so you lost your temper! Or, yet, someone reproved you,
slighted, or contradicted you! "Behold, how great a matter, a little fire
kindles." (James 3:5.) The smallest trifle sets you in a flame! Do your
brother’s failings anger you? You say, "My feelings are very sensitive; I cannot
bear it." My friend, God bears with you! He sees your every sin — and yet He
loves you, and bears with you! Boast not of sensitivity — it is a carnal thing.
"Sensitive feeling" merits not the name, unless it is joined with meekness. All
true refinement comes from God. Nowhere can it be learned, except at the cross
of Christ. Restrain your feelings; smother your sensibilities. When words grow
quick, be prompt to check them. Deal with your passions, as the Psalmist dealt
with wicked men; be dumb with silence. (Psalms 39:1-2.)

Often have you said, "I will not speak a word." But resolution failed. You spoke
— your brother answered; reply provoked retort — it was then all over with your
meekness! Then learn from your experience; scan well the spot where once your
feet have slipped, and, as you near it again, beware!

"Anger rests in the bosom of fools." Ecclesiastes 7:9

God’s estimate of folly is different from man’s. In Scripture words: the godless
man is a fool (Psalms 14:1-7) the base man is a fool (Job 30:1-31) the rash man
is a fool (Proverbs 14:1-35) the slanderer is a fool (Proverbs 10:1-32) the
mocker is a fool (Proverbs 14:1-35) the idolater is a fool (Romans 1:1-132) the
lover of pleasure is a fool (Ecclesiastes 7:4) the undutiful man is a fool
(Proverbs 15:1-33) the self-confident man is a fool (Proverbs 28:1-28) the
spendthrift is a fool (Proverbs 21:1-31), and here, the angry man is a fool (Job
5:2; Proverbs 14:17).

It must be so. God’s Word is ever right.

Wisdom is the opposite of folly. Wisdom, we know is peaceable, gentle, and easy
to be entreated. Meekness itself is called wisdom — the wisdom from above (James
3:1-18.) — the wisdom of saints made perfect; the wisdom of God Himself. Is
meekness wisdom — then anger must be folly. Does not your own experience confirm
it? When were you happy in your anger? A savage pleasure it may give you, while
it lasts; but it leaves a sting behind! Is it, then, wise to be unhappy, when
you can have it otherwise? Is it wise to lose your temper, and thus reap anger’s
bitter fruits? The heaving bosom; the flashing eye; the sharp contention; the
sullen mind; the feeling of estrangement from each other; and conflicts between
your duty and your moodiness, between pride and due confession of your fault —
when did these make you happy? When did you come uninjured from your anger? Whom
did you hurt the most — yourself, or him, with whom you lost your temper? Does
anger help you in your prayers? Can you draw near to Jesus in your wrath? Or if
He visits you, how does He look on you? Can you return his look? Ah, no; you
dare not look on Jesus in your folly. Say not, "I cannot help it." How often
they are spoken wrongfully in sin and shame!

Meekness is wisdom; anger is folly. This we may learn from Moses’ history. When
Moses walked in meekness, he was wise — for then he found favor with God, and
dignity with man. (Numbers 12:1-16.) When he was angry, he proved his folly. For
this he forfeited his entrance to the promised land. (Numbers 20:1-29;
Deuteronomy 1:37.) My soul, this was written for your learning Then learn your
lesson well.

"Do not say, ’Why were the old days better than these?’ For it is not wise to
ask such questions." Ecclesiastes 7:10

Such questions are not wise. They savor either of ignorance, or discontent. If
former days really were better, then you are discontent — if not, then you are
ignorant. At all events, days past, and present, are just what God has made them
— so it is bad to raise the question. Faith takes matters as they come. Blind
unbelief asks many questions; it often says, "Why!"

One says, "Trade was far better before I entered business — I wonder how it is?"
Another, "Markets were better before I took to farming — How can it be?" A
third, "Fortunes were sooner made, when I was young — Why does it happen thus?"
"The seasons are not what they once were," exclaims a fourth — "all rain, no
sunshine; what can the reason be?"

What are the times, my friend? Who made, who ordered them?

Out of whose bosom did they come? Who holds them in His hand? To quarrel with
the times — is to find fault with God! He has made them all beautiful in their
seasons. (Ecclesiastes 3:11.) If they do not please you — whose fault is it?
Could you have made them better?

Examine well the links which interweave time present with time past — the
mysterious chain of providential dealings. Look at the ordering of events, one
hanging on the other, in perfect order, though mysterious. Survey the wonders of
God’s providence, the wondrous workings of His sovereign power. These are the
the sum and substance of the times; times past, times present, and times future;
your times and my times; the times of all men in all ages! To change the times —
were . . . to derange the ordering of Providence from first to last; to break
the golden chain of divine events; to mar the beauty of God’s structure.

God’s dispensations revolve in fixed and sure orbits, all moving, acting,
following, in perfect order. To pluck one adverse event away: to change sunshine
for rain — or rain for sunshine; sorrow for joy — or joy for sorrow; easy for
hard — or hard for easy, would be as foolish as to arrest the planets in their
course, or sweep a constellation from the skies!

You say, "Times past were better than the present." Is God less present now than
then? Are His paths more difficult? Are His ways less sure? Has grace, then,
changed its character? Is it harder to be found? Is Jesus not the same? Is man
less wicked now than then? Does he deserve a milder treatment? Do not compare
times against times — your hard lot against the "fortune" of your forefathers.
Compare your "lot" with your deserts — and say which best befits you — to thank
God or complain of His providential dealings with you!

"Wisdom is good with an inheritance." Ecclesiastes 7:11

Wisdom is good, with an inheritance, or also without it. But without wisdom — an
inheritance is bad. He who inherits nothing, may be wise to "gather substance,
and leave it to his children." (Psalms 49:1-20.) But to inherit substance, and
not be wise — to hoard it or waste it, is dangerous.

Many are wise enough to plod along, and use their earnings well, who have not
wisdom to employ what others leave them. Nothing tries our wisdom more than
wealth, suddenly inherited. Some men make shipwreck of their virtue, others have
lost their reason, upon the quicksands of an inheritance. A poor exchange
indeed!

What is it which constitutes the love of money? It is something more than the
desire of having. There is in money a mystery of power, to dazzle and to turn
the brain; a something which intoxicates the man, and makes him other than he
was before.

Poor human nature! Never so little — as when the greatest in your own conceits;
never indeed so wretched — as when you think yourself most enviable!

Oh! it is a wonderful sight, to see a man unchanged by an inheritance; with all
the humble graces he had before; not proud in manner, nor suddenly transformed
in style of living! It is sad to lose your friend in his new inherited estate —
that wealth should loose the bonds of fellowship, or cool the flame of love! Yet
so it is — alas for poor humanity!

"Wisdom is good with an inheritance" wisdom to humble you beneath your riches;
to make you blush at your prosperity, and tremble for your honor; wisdom to
clothe the naked; wisdom to feed the hungry; wisdom largely to give to God what
God has given to you; wisdom to look to Jesus; wisdom to look beyond your
riches; wisdom to desire a better inheritance, "a priceless inheritance — an
inheritance that is kept in Heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach
of change and decay!" (1 Peter 1:4)

Woe to the man that has an inheritance, and lacks this wisdom. Those who
bequeath an inheritance, cannot leave wisdom to their heirs. But God never gives
His inheritance, but, with it He bestows the gift of wisdom: wisdom to know the
value of the inheritance; wisdom to love it; wisdom to adorn it; wisdom to live
according to the grace bestowed; wisdom to discern evil from good, and good from
evil; wisdom to resist the world, the devil, and the flesh; wisdom to know that
earthly wisdom is nothing, and thus to seek the wisdom "from above."

Reader, may this wisdom, and this inheritance be yours!

"Wisdom is a defense, and money is a defense." Ecclesiastes 7:12

"Money" defends a man from many evils: from hunger, cold, and nakedness; from
being houseless, friendless, penniless. It will save a man from injury and
insult; many oppress the poor, who would not vex the rich. Money invests a man
with dignity. Money will often save from death; food, medicine, medical
attendance, may all be had for money. Money will help a man to justice; it pays
for "justice," and thus "defends" from loss of property or character. What will
money not do in this poor, mercenary world?

"Wisdom," again — mere earthly wisdom — "defends" from much that is hurtful.
Wisdom devises remedies; is fertile in resource; and often saves from poverty or
shame. It will solve perplexities; and will change adversity to prosperous
seasons. What will not wisdom do, if there is only scope to use its powers!

Yes, money and wisdom are means for earthly good; but there they stop. What do
they in the hour of death? What in the judgment day? Can money purchase Heaven?
Can human wisdom regenerate the soul? Can it know the truth of God? Can it
clothe with righteousness, and cover sin?

Wisdom and money! Place not your confidence in either. Will they ease the
burdened conscience, or heal a blasted character? Can they bring back the father
to the fatherless, or dry the widow’s tears? Many would change their "better
fortune," as it’s called, for early days of toil, with less to tempt and
dissipate the soul.

There is many a Christian who sighs for his first experience, before zeal for
"honors" hampered him, and spoiled his singleness of heart. Learning that has to
be unlearned; storing the mind with what must be forgotten.

Reader, beware of this. It will not help you, either for yourself, or for the
cure of souls. Wisdom and money! Would you be wise and rich? Be wise in Jesus —
be rich in Him. He is your wisdom — He your riches too. This wisdom gives life.
This wealth redeems from death. There is no defense like this! It will . . .
guard you here; perfect you hereafter; arm you with power; beautify with grace;
invest with glory! In giving Christ, it gives you all. It gives you durable and
true riches! (Proverbs 8:18.) "In the day of prosperity, be joyful."
Ecclesiastes 7:14

Prosperity, you meteor of bliss, who woos you not? Who seeks you not? From
earliest dawn of hope, before life’s first prospects are begun — you flit before
the mind. What merchant, tradesman, man of learning, or aspirant for fame — but
desires that he may be prosperous! Some call it "Providence." Some call it
"Fortune." Some call it neither — yet all desire to be prosperous. Prosperity is
the gift of God. The Preacher says, "In your prosperity be joyful;" yet he would
also say, "Rejoice with trembling." (Psalms 2:11.) God’s gifts are all good, if
rightly used — all are meant to be received with thankfulness. All may be
sanctified by the Word of God and prayer. (1 Timothy 4:4-5.)

Prosperity is sweet, but dangerous. It makes the worldly man tenfold more
worldly! Christians, from being prosperous, have pierced themselves with many
sorrows! (1 Timothy 6:10.) It is well when prosperous times come gradually; not
from a sudden rush, but step by step — for then the soul is not so apt to lose
its balance, and to forget the Giver in his gifts. Have you been prosperous in
life? I ask you, how is your soul affected by it? God gave you your prosperity;
has it drawn your heart to Him? Has having little, made you long for much? Has
having much, made you desire more? Has it eclipsed eternal realities from your
view, and made you think the less of Heaven? Have you asked a blessing on your
increase? And, before you placed it in your coffer, have you, in spirit, given
it to the Lord, that He might sanctify it? Has He, then, shared your store? Have
you well considered the snare enfolded in each shining gold-piece, and prayed
for grace to use it well? Has each step in your prosperity enlarged your heart —
humbled you, proved, and bettered you?

There is nothing in gold itself to lead astray. It is in the heart that loves
it, the mind that misapplies it. Grace is sufficient for prosperity; nothing can
withstand the power of grace. It is well to find a sweetness in prosperity; to
eat your food with pleasure; to enjoy your comforts; to be thankful that poverty
is not your lot — yet to rejoice with moderation, and a chastened heart; seeing
a snare in all things, and watching unto prayer; knowing that this poor world is
not your portion, not your inheritance. It is only yours to look at for a
season; to use for your need; and, in the end, to leave behind you! Your true
prosperity is in better things than these.

"In the day of adversity consider." Ecclesiastes 7:14 In your adversity,
consider: That you deserve it all! That had you nothing but adversity, it only
were your due! That every moment free from trouble, is a mercy! That had the
full curse been poured on you — your life would be nothing but sorrow and
vexation!

Consider that God afflicts you for your profit — to bring your sins to mind, and
lead you to the Cross. Believer, God chastens you in love, to make you a
partaker of His holiness. (Hebrews 12:10.) How often have you forgotten Him! But
He never forgets you — and thus He chastens you.

Consider, how much you live for the world — how little you live for the Lord!

Consider how earthly, sensual, and devilish your nature!

Consider your thoughts — how vain!

Consider your service — how unprofitable!

Consider, then, God’s love in chastening you. Are you in sickness — then
consider your many days of former health — all undeserved by you! Consider your
many helps in trouble, Gods presence, and His grace — all undeserved by you! In
sleepless nights, consider how many nights you have slept soundly and sweetly —
all undeserved by you! Consider Him, who gives you songs in the night — all
undeserved by you! In poverty, consider how all your former needs have been
supplied — food, clothing, lodging, and so many comforts — all undeserved by
you! Have you incurred the loss of sight or hearing; loss of limbs, or power of
using them? Consider, then, your former powers; how much enjoyment you have had
in seeing, hearing, moving, handling — all undeserved by you! Are you kept from
going to the house of prayer? All your Sabbaths are now spent at home — it may
be on a bed of languishing. Consider how many Sabbaths you have spent in full
enjoyment of the means of grace — all undeserved by you! Consider Jesus, the
Fountain of all ordinances; the Bread of life; the Shepherd of the sheep; the
Prophet, Priest, and Teacher of His people. Still you have Jesus — the Lord of
the Sabbath, the spring of Sabbath blessings — all undeserved by you!

O tried believer, consider, then, that your afflictions are light — and they are
but for a moment. They are all ordered in divine wisdom, tenderness, and love!
Consider Jesus! what sufferings He endured — all for unworthy you! Then faint
not, nor be weary, but consider your "eternal weight of glory" eternal glory —
glory "that far outweighs" all your woes — glory, all undeserved by you!

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet
inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles
are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our
eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary,
but what is unseen is eternal!" 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

"In the day of prosperity be joyful, but in the day of adversity consider:
Surely God has appointed the one as well as the other." Ecclesiastes 7:14

Adversity and prosperity are divinely balanced against each other with unerring
skill. In each, respectively, the due proportions are precisely weighed, so
lovingly and wisely, that none should say, "It might have been better done!"
Christian, I appeal to you: Could it have been better done? Are God’s ways
unjust? Have they been so to you?

It is true, your path is chequered — sweet chasing bitter — and bitter chasing
sweet, in quick succession. It may be, that bitter is more frequent than the
sweet — that your prosperous times are few and far between. Is there no reason
for it? Is God’s divine balance, then, deranged? God knows the reason for your
adversity, though unknown to you. He faithfully keeps the balance true between
your needs — and their supply; between His chastenings — and your good. He
cannot be unkind, or unequal, or unjust. Perhaps you cannot hit upon the
specific sin, and say, "For this particular sin I am chastened." But say, my
friend — if there is no particular sin, is there no particular lack of virtue in
you? Is there no grace to strengthen — no infirmity to check?

God’s ways are always just — His purposes are always wise and loving. How
beautiful is His providence! How exquisite is His skill!

Grace is poised against temptation, joys are balanced against sorrows. The
lights and shadows of experience thus perfected, and perfecting each other. Were
all prosperity — we would be lifted up in pride. Were all adversity — we would
faint under the heavy load.

God’s ways are just and equal — look back and see. Had times been pleasant with
you, experience been sweet? How surely they were followed by deadness in the
soul! Your joy was gone — you knew not why. Ah! but God knew it. It was the
adjusting of the scales, that nothing might be out of balance. Has life gone
prosperously? Sooner or later, crosses came — some disappointment, something to
bring you down, something or other, counter to your will — it was the adjusting
of the scales. And just so with health, and other comforts — God keeps the
scales perfectly balanced.

Watch God’s providence in great things, watch it in little things — the events,
the thoughts, the feelings of the day. You will always find it just — the
balance must be kept. Hence all your variations in the scale of comfort — the
endless shades and vicissitudes of your experience. All this is well-ordered in
God’s wisdom, love, and mercy!

"Do not be over-righteous." Ecclesiastes 7:16 How can this be? Can any man be
over-righteous? When zeal oversteps discretion; when tasks are self-imposed;
when religious forms are trusted in; when flesh is vainly mortified — all this
is being over-righteous!

God’s people unwittingly fall into these very errors.

Prayer, as a task, persisted in — that we may think how long our prayers have
been — this is a great mistake. It is wrong in principle, and practice too. Have
you ever been more fretful after prayer, more worldly, more inclined to levity?
The truth is this — you prayed too long; your mind was over-taxed; your soul
responded to your weariness. The enemy rejoiced in your infirmity — you were
"over-righteous." Or you have found refreshment in the house of worship. You
have gone a second time, and found the same. You went again (three services,
three sermons in a day!) — the third occasion undid the other two. Trying to
have too much — you lost all. The wearied brain could not recall its former
devotion; the jaded memory broke down — you were "over-righteous."

It is often the same in reading Scripture. The mind is proud of its
performances, and reads too much. To read each day so many chapters; in a short
time to have gone the whole round of Scripture — rapidly to move from the Law,
to History, to the Prophets, to the Gospel in the hurry — my friend, you are
"over-righteous!" This is not the way to grow in grace and knowledge of the Lord
Jesus Christ. Were you to spend a lifetime over a single Psalm, gaining daily
refreshment to your soul — would be far better, than to scamper rapidly through
the Word. When household duties are neglected for the sake of devotional
exercises — this, too, is being over-righteous. The same is true when others are
inconvenienced by our devotional exercises. The family waiting in the hall, the
carriage at the door — while prayers are too lengthy. Is not this being
"over-righteous?"

Prayer, meditation, and the Scriptures — how good they are! Yet there is a time
for all things. If duties rise so thick, that you are hindered in your prayers —
even this is better than prayer persisted in, and duties left undone! Beware,
then, Christian friend, and do not be "over-righteous."

"Be not over-wicked." Ecclesiastes 7:17 Is there a point in wickedness, which
men may safely reach, but which it were dangerous to overstep? Can we covenant
with divine justice, that it spares some of our sins? Will God wink at
transgression — because it is small; or pardon sins — because they are few? Has
man some goodness to make amends for folly; some virtue to neutralize his sin?
Is our inherent corruption only partial? Have we merits which to remedy the
Fall?

One sin brought ruin on Adam and his race. One sin! Was there, then, no virtue
left; no room for further license; no redeeming power in the soul? Was this one
wickedness already too much? Let Scripture answer.

Let our own imperfect faculties, inbred corruptions, and fading nature tell the
tale. We are fallen, fallen — fallen in body, mind, and soul. Do we innocently
enter we the world? Ah, no — we are all ingrained with sin, even from the
cradle! We are all steeped in corruption from our mother’s womb. Our sin is born
in us — its germ wrapped in the buddings of our infancy, and drawing its nurture
from our growth.

Over-wicked! What can be over-wicked, where all is much wicked — comparison’s
degrees all lost in universal sin. Man makes comparisons — God knows them not.
Our very breath is sin — one moments life involves it; one passing thought
incurs the charge.

Over-wicked! Do not mistake the Preacher. He warns you, sinner, to pause in your
career, not to run riot in your wickedness; to go no further in tempting God,
and trifling with your soul. Before the door of grace is closed, or your heart
be hardened more — he urges you to think upon your ways. Before health is ruined
in the haunts of vice; before power of thought is lost through idleness; before
life itself is sacrificed in sin — he tells you to retrace your steps.

Over-wicked! What is it? The next round of worldly pleasure; the next visit to
the alehouse; the next solitary glass of liquor; the next scoffing at the Word —
this may but seal your doom, this may be over-wicked to you! Beware, then, ah,
beware!

"The one who fears God shall escape them all." Ecclesiastes 7:18

"Escape" from what? Escape . . . from dangerous extremes; from snares on either
hand; from being over-righteous, or being over-wicked.

There is wondrous depth in Solomon’s experience. He always hits the nail upon
the head; and Gospel light only confirms his sayings. Can it be otherwise? The
same God, who spoke by Paul, or Paul, guided the pen of Solomon. Is it not true,
my Christian friend? Are you not exposed to danger, on the right hand and the
left — now tempted into carelessness, now led to hush your conscience
wrongfully; one moment to neglect your duties — and the next to build too much
upon them? How needful, then, the Preacher’s warnings! How comforting his
promise, that grace shall do its work from first to last! By grace we are
chosen; by grace we are called; by grace made willing in the day of power.
(Psalms 90:1-17.) By grace we live. By grace we stand. By grace we are kept. By
grace we persevere. By grace we enter glory. But for this grace — what could we
do? No faith, no hope, no strength, no peace, were ours.

How could we battle with our sins?

How could we rise above temptation?

How could we flee from snares?

How could we overcome the enemy of souls?

How, but by grace? In Solomon’s day it was still the same. God called his chosen
ones. By grace He saved them; by grace He sanctified them; by grace He glorified
them.

Without this grace, how could the promise stand? Man’s strength is nothing; his
perseverance nothing; his good intentions less than nothing. It is not man’s
"will". God’s "shall" is that which does it. God says, "It shall be," "The one
who fears God shall escape them all."

These promises are given, not to exalt us — but to humble us. Boasting is
excluded. By what law? The only law that could exclude it — the law of faith and
grace. (Romans 3:27.)

Tell man that HE can do it — and you only . . . feed his pride, deceive his
soul, and lead him further from God, and deeper into sin.

Tell him that God’s GRACE must do it — and you humble him low in the dust of
helplessness. My soul, God’s grace has saved you, built you on Christ, and
nourished your soul. It is God Himself who has laid the top-stone of your glory,
while saints and angels shouted, "Grace, Grace unto it!" (Zechariah 4:7.)

Oh, my soul, your only hope is this — that God is faithful; that, having loved
His own, He loves them to the end. (John 13:1.) In life, in death, through all
eternity, this will your glory be — that God’s grace has done it all.

"There is not a righteous man on earth who does what is good and never sins!"
Ecclesiastes 7:20

God’s ways are perfect — perfect in wisdom, holiness, and power. God knows no
change — no shade of turning. (James 1:17.) God’s words are as perfect as
Himself — in truth unbending. God’s only standard of morality is God Himself.
His only test of worth is His own intrinsic purity. With God "righteous" means
righteous, as He interprets justice — integrity without a flaw.

"Goodness" is likeness to the living God; for God is good — and "good" means
God. It means all that is holy, pure, and wise; with no admixture of anything
that is not godly. How, then, shall "man be just with God?" (Job 9:1-35.) When
justice forms the "line," and righteousness forms the "plummet" — who can abide
its test? (Isaiah 28:17.) Whose character will square with such a scrutiny?
Think it not hard. To have a lower test, would set aside the principles of
justice. God would no longer be righteous, no longer be good — did He not judge
you by His own perfections.

Reader, does not your very conscience tell you so? Conscience informs you of
God’s character. Would He be God, if fallen creatures feared Him not? Why do we
fear God? Because our conscience feels that God is righteous, and deals with us
accordingly.

What means the fear of death; the shrinking from God’s presence; hiding (nay, I
should say, the wish to hide) from His all-seeing eye? Why frightened at a
shadow? Why startled at a leaf? Why have a dread of darkness? But because you
know that God is good; that God is righteous; and you yourself are neither
righteous, nor good.

Reader, would you have fellowship with God? Would you inherit glory? You must
have righteousness and goodness, as perfect as God Himself. Nothing else can
equal your necessities — nothing else comply with God’s demands. Where can this
perfectness be had? Where, but in Jesus! Are you "in Christ," my friend? Ah,
what a question! How much depends upon the answer! Are you in Christ? If so,
that spotless robe, that perfect righteousness is yours; for it is Christ’s; and
you are made the "righteousness of God in Him." (2 Corinthians 5:21.) Would less
suffice you? Does God require more? As Christ is, so are you — holy, and just,
and good; good in God’s goodness; perfect in God’s perfection. Even "in this
world" it is done. (1 John 4:17.) By faith it is done already — nothing can be
added — nothing shall be taken from it. As Christ is — so are you.

"Do not take to heart everything people say." Ecclesiastes 7:21 That which is
spoken to you — it is wise to hear. All else, it would be wise to disregard; it
is not intended for you. Your neighbor’s thoughts are sacred. Until he imparts
them, you have no right to have them; they are strictly his. That which he
speaks to others — is not yours. Even though he speaks of you — you are not
right to listen. Does not your own experience tell you? Are not your thoughts
your own? Words are but thoughts expressed. You mean them only for those to whom
they are spoken. You deem it invasion of your privilege, if others come to
listen. So is it with your neighbor. The devils have as little right to Heaven —
as you to penetrate, unbidden, into your brother’s mind. Hence, in all ages,
listening has been condemned.

Why do you listen, my friend? To hear others flatter you? Hearken not — it is
poison! Or do you listen to your censure — to know what evil they will say of
you? If possible, this is worse; it is very treachery. Take care, then, how you
listen. To hear SELF spoken of at all, is odious. It is instinct in the soul to
hate it. It is nature’s tribute to its own deformity. Conscious of its fall, it
shrinks unconsciously from contact with itself.

If you hear others in secret conversation — if possible, go from their presence;
if not, then make a covenant with your ear; lay curiosity aside, and be
determined not to hearken. If you can’t but hear, then make it known that so it
is. If this would wound their feelings, then hear, and hearken not. Let not
their converse lodge within you. As words follow each other, dismiss them from
your door; dwell not upon them for a moment; they soon shall be as though you
heard them not. In this, as other things, practice does much; and with the
Spirit it will do even more.

How often do we think evil of another! But if we hear another thinking aloud of
us — our anger is soon stirred. We are ready to take vengeance on the evil
speech of another — but the hidden evil in ourselves we overlook. Oh, then, deal
leniently with others — and severely with yourself. Think of your ways, your
failings, your infirmities! Think of your many thoughts; think of your many
words — and, as you would that others deal with you, so likewise deal with them!

"I said, ’I am determined to be wise’ — but this was beyond me." Ecclesiastes
7:23

READER, how often have you, how often have I, experienced this! A greater one
than you or I, expressed the same: "I have the desire to do what is good — but I
cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I
do not want to do — this I keep on doing!" (Romans 7:1-25.) My soul, how is it?
Within you dwells the Holy Spirit — the Lord of life and power. None can resist
His will. And yet, the evil that is in you gains the day; strength becomes
weakness; and wisdom is turned to folly. Which is the greater wonder — that,
being foolish, you are ever wise; or that, at times so wise, you ever should be
foolish? How often, on your knees, you have seen the way so straight, the light
so clear, God’s grace so strong — that you have felt wisdom were your forever —
that folly never would dwell in you again? And yet, my soul, what tales of
after-folly have you had to tell! In your better moments, wisdom is near; so
near, that it seems a part and parcel of yourself; it seems the eye you see
with, the ear you hear with, the air you breathe, the framework of your
thoughts, the substance of your mind — your very being seems suffused with
wisdom. At other times, wisdom is far from you — so very far — as far as
innocence from sin, as man from God, as earth from Heaven. In truth it is so.
Wisdom has no part in you. Between you, and your better self, is fixed — an
impassable gulf; an unmeasured breadth; an untold depth! On either side the gulf
are you — and wisdom. On this side wisdom — on the other side are you.

Oh, what a mystery! Your days are spent on one side, or the other; either in
wisdom, or in folly. Now flesh is uppermost, and now the Spirit — no union can
there be between the two. Each moment of your life you live, either to yourself,
or to God. My soul, bless God for your experience; in mercy is it given. It is
not for nothing that wisdom seems to elude your grasp — that you have known the
fitful nature of your frames and feelings: the bitterness of broken purposes;
the flimsy nature of your best resolves; the lightning speed with which sin
comes between you and your vows; the wondrous ease with which you pass . . .
from wisdom — to folly; from thoughts of good — to deeds of evil; from meekness,
humility, and patience — to petulance and pride; from all the virtues of a saint
— to all the sinfulness of fallen nature.

It is not for nothing that you are mortified — to see yourself so fickle, and so
vile. It is to bless, to teach, to humble you — that when you would be wise,
wisdom is far from you.

"That which is far off, and exceeding deep, who can find it out?" Ecclesiastes
7:24

Wisdom is far from man — as far off as sight is from the blind; as far as God is
far. The blind see not the object, whether far or near. Thus, man knows as
little about himself, as he knows the Lord. In ceasing to know God, man ceased
to know himself. Then light and knowledge winged their flight away, and all was
dark indeed.

Sail around our planet, if you will — all distant earthly things come near to
you, and you to them; but Truth is still as far from you as ever — no earthly
figure can express its range. Soar upwards, if you can; forever wing your way
onwards, and on, and on; how hopeless ever to reach the end! It is infinite! As
far off as that (if possible, still farther) is man from Truth, and Truth from
man. Nothing but a miracle brings man and Truth together. God speaks, and it is
done. The Spirit enters, and wisdom lives again; man knows himself; he knows his
sins; he knows their remedy; in Christ he knows his God.

Until then grace, truth, and peace were far away; the Lord was far; all, all was
far! Now all is near. God’s judgments are a deep, a mighty deep. (Psalms 36:6.)
All that God is, all that God does, is deep — His Word, His attributes, His
grace, His providence, His essence, His eternal being — all, all is deep. Say,
who can fathom it? "It is as high as Heaven, what can you do? It is deeper than
Hell, what can you know?" "Can you by searching find out God?" (Job 11:7-8.)
Measure the waters in your hand; measure out the heavens with a ruler; take up
all the earth’s materials at a grasp; then weigh the hills in scales, the
mountains in a balance — then may you measure God — then may you fathom Truth.
The plainest Scripture is too deep for you. The shortest precept — the simplest
promise — beggars your understanding, and confounds your heart. But grace
supplies a line with which to fathom what is fathomless. "Faith is the substance
of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1.) The
Christian fathoms all things; what can be known — he knows; what can be seen —
he sees. The rest he leaves, in full assurance of its truth. He rests on Christ,
in whom he knows, and sees, and trusts, and lives — in whom he hopes to reign
forever!

"So I applied my mind to understand, to investigate and to search out wisdom and
the scheme of things." Ecclesiastes 7:25

We live in stirring days, when deeds are everything — when closet work is often
neglected for active business, and little time is given to meditation. Yet, with
more thought and prayer — wholesome activity would be greater in the end, and
all our actions more successful. Time is not lost, which is spent in meditation
— in searching wisdom’s ways, and seeking out profound realities. There is one
who often meditates — and yet accomplishes much. There is another who hastens —
and yet does little. None works so heartily, nor reaps so fully — as he whose
wits are sharpened by prayer and meditation.

Reading either Scripture or Christian books, apart from meditation, does little
good. It is much the same as not digesting what you eat — this only starves the
soul. How many read the Bible thus!

If thought is exercised at all, it is but to find what commentators say — and
thus they have all their knowledge second-hand. How different when the mind is
bent on what we read, and help is sought from God, to aid the meditation. The
are of thinking is difficult at first; but "practice makes expert." The are of
meditation may be learned by dint of effort. It is well to set yourself a task.

You say, "I am quite unused to meditate. How shall I begin?" Deal gently with
yourself at first. Select your subject — some passage from the Word. Then fix
the time you choose to give; say, five minutes at a time. Begin, and think
aloud. This makes it easier, and saves the mind from distracted thoughts, the
hardest task of all. The sound even of your own voice will help you; it is like
speaking to a friend. And what is meditation, but communing with self — that
self may be a constant hearer.

But, more than all, make it a time of prayer — of communing with God. This helps
the matter greatly. You take the words of Scripture — ask Jesus what they mean.
In doing this, the mind is exercised. A glow of thought attends the effort. You
honor Jesus; and He will honor you, by pouring out a largeness of capacity — a
quicker mind. The interchange of thought between you and Jesus goes on apace,
and you are surprised to find how long the exercise has lasted.

Thus meditation grows, the more it is exercised. It . . . feeds the soul,
expands the mind, increases thought, and, best of all, it brings you into
fellowship with Jesus. This is the very life and soul of meditation.

"Do not let this Book of the Law depart from your mouth; meditate on it day and
night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will
be prosperous and successful." Joshua 1:8 "But his delight is in the Law of the
LORD, and on His Law he meditates day and night." Psalms 1:2 "I will meditate on
all Your works and consider all Your mighty deeds." Psalms 77:12 "I meditate on
Your precepts and consider Your ways." Psalms 119:15 "Oh, how I love your law! I
meditate on it all day long." Psalms 119:97 "I meditate on all Your works and
consider what Your hands have done." Psalms 143:5 "My eyes stay open through the
watches of the night, that I may meditate on Your promises." Psalms 119:148 "I
found one man among a thousand." Ecclesiastes 7:28

Only "one man among a thousand!" The Preacher tells us elsewhere the kind of man
he meant — one who interpreted God’s Word, and ways, entreating men to listen;
one, who declared the righteousness of God, and the sinfulness of man; one who
bore messages of God’s grace to sinners’ souls — in short, he meant a Christian.
Of such he found but one among a thousand! (Job 30:23.) Was grace less frequent
then than now? In Christian England (England, Christian so-called) would Solomon
still find so small a number? We might expect that greater honor would attend
the mission of the Comforter — that when He had to take the things of Christ
(John 16:14-15) — Christ born, Christ crucified, Christ risen, and Christ
glorified — His teaching would be seen, and known, the more. Yet still we mourn
the smallness of the numbers. Still the way is narrow; still the gate is strait;
and still few find it. Still the road to misery is broad — and many walk in it!
(Matthew 7:14.)

"One man among a thousand!" Ah, were it one in a hundred; one among ten; one out
of five; or even one of two — it were sad to think how many still were lost!
Full well we know, but for the grace of God, not one among a thousand would be
found. One of a million would there be? One of a generation? One of a world? No,
not one! This is the character of man; man as he is by nature; man unregenerate,
unvisited by grace; man without Christ; man without God, "There is none
righteous, no not one." (Psalms 14:1-7; Ephesians 2:1-22.)

One of a thousand is a miracle of grace; even one from Adam to Adam’s latest
child, would still be still a miracle; a greater wonder than if ten thousand
worlds were formed anew, and twice ten thousand suns sprang daily into being!

Reader, are you a Christian? If so, your heart and mind present a miracle of
miracles; a wonder far greater than anything that nature has to show. Are you
disposed to mourn the smallness of the number — that Christians are so few? It
is well to mourn — yet better to rejoice; better to know that all the flock are
saved; that all the redeemed are written in the Book of Life, and that they
shall all surely come to glory. They never shall perish, none can anyone pluck
them from the hand of Jesus. He is pledged to guard — to love them to the end.
He who chose them — will call them; He who calls them — will keep them; He who
keeps them, will glorify them — His word is sure. (Romans 8:30.) "But not one
woman among them." Ecclesiastes 7:28 It is a hard saying — who can hear it? One
man among a thousand the Preacher found; but not one woman among them! Is
woman’s heart, then, different from man’s — harder and blinder, further from
grace and truth? First in transgression, was it thus she bore the penalty, until
she undid the harm, by giving birth to Jesus? If, until then a blight was on her
— then since then it is far otherwise. Last at the Cross — first at the grave of
Jesus. First in faith, in charity, in patience, in steadfastness and zeal — she
shines pre-eminent. Look where you will, she is foremost in the cause; look
where you will, among the saints, she far outnumbers man.

Yet, Solomon’s experience confirms our own — that then, or now, in woman or in
man — from first to last — it is grace which makes us to differ. Man’s nature,
since the Fall, has known no change. The heart, apart from gender or age, has
been the same in spiritual blindness and corruption. Lawgivers, patriarchs,
prophets, and apostles, bear witness to the fact, which still we have before our
eyes. Were godly women rare with Solomon — it was that God called fewer by his
grace. Are they now more numerous — it is that more are called by grace — God
makes them willing in his day of power. (Psalms 110:3.)

One thing we learn from Solomon — that the fair form of woman conceals a heart
as hard, and sinful, as that which dwells in man. We learn that beauty,
elegance, and softness, have no effect upon the soul, except to ensnare it — and
that all the blandishments of are, and mirthful attire — with all the
fascinations of her nature, enhanced a thousandfold by education and a polished
life — bestow no real excellence on woman! What are all women, but white-washed
sepulchers? Within their walls are "dead men’s bones," and "all uncleanness!"
(Matthew 23:27.) Woman has all the infirmities, and sins of fallen nature — the
same corruptions, passions, and affections, which reign in rougher man. By
nature more impressible, more easily affected by outward things — so far she is
more devotional than man; more frequent in the house of prayer, to forms and
ordinances more attentive. But still, within her there is found an ignorance of
God, and opposition to the truth. She requires the same Almighty power to renew
her soul, as the vilest male needs. How beautiful when woman’s brought to see
her own deformity, and say, "All this is true! "

"God made mankind upright, but men have gone in search of many schemes."
Ecclesiastes 7:29 The origin of evil, who can tell? How did it find a place in
God’s creation! Satan infected man — -and there we stop. It is not for us to
search what never can be known, or guess at that which God has not revealed. All
that God made was very good. (Genesis 1:1-31.) No taint of sin was on it — no
seed of evil in it. God could not give birth to evil; His attributes of wisdom,
holiness, and goodness, alike forbid the thought — the thing is impossible.
Essential excellence harbors no imperfection; eternal being implies unchanging
good.

Sin was an unmixed invention of the wicked one, made from his own materials; he
found them not in the fair works of God. Man, self-apprenticed to the fiend, has
learned the lesson well. Trained by the devil, now, for six thousand years — no
wonder if he is clever at inventing evil. Each circling year beholds new forms
of sin; fresh means of doing mischief; fresh vanities discovered; fresh ways of
setting at defiance good sense, good order, and good feeling; new blinds to
youth and inexperienced ones. Man’s ingenuity is racked for fresh amusements —
in other words, for fresh temptations — while grosser evil drives a busy trade
in turning out fresh stimulants to vice.

But, oh! my soul, why go so far from home? Within yourself the sin abounds. You
have also learned your lesson in the devil’s school; fertile in evil as your
fellow-man — you are not behind him in invention — in giving birth to evil.
Whence all your readiness for sin? Your ingenuity to frame excuses? Your
quickness in devising reasons why SELF be gratified, and sacred duties ignored?
How apt to veil your faults! How quick to seize the opportunity of pleasing man!
In how many ways you try to cheat the Lord, and rob Him of his service! How
often have you countenanced the sinful world, and set your seal on its
inventions, by following its pleasures and its sins! What is your life, and what
your nature — but one invention of all that’s evil! Mankind at large, are but a
storehouse of vanities. What endless shades of evil character! What great
variations in sin! No two alike in the complexion of their failings; each mind,
each character, framing its special faults and sins, inventing ways peculiar to
itself; but all alike showing an ingenuity for sin. How true the Preacher’s word
that "God made mankind upright, but men have gone in search of many schemes."


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  CHAPTER 11: 01.08.     ECCLESIASTES 8
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Ecclesiastes 8:1-17 "A man’s wisdom makes his face shine!" Ecclesiastes 8:1

What makes the difference between the well-bred person, and the barbarian? It is
education — the being well-versed in wisdom. You see it in the gait, the speech,
the manners; the eye expresses it, the very features tell it; you read it in the
whole demeanor. Thus a man’s wisdom makes his face to shine.

If thus it be with earthly learning, much more is it the case with heavenly
understanding. In giving vigor to the soul, and planting there a godly
principle, it sows the seeds of higher bearing. It gives learning superior to
the "schools;" it treats of things unseen by mortal eye — of agencies unfelt by
mortal man; it brings before the mind a science more profound than all the
depths of man’s philosophy. These treat of matter only, or of mind; but this
treats of God himself, His nature, attributes, and will. It penetrates the veil
which severs God from man. It shares the angels’ thoughts. By faith it sees what
they behold more nearly, and, in its heaven-born powers, has deeper notions of
the truth than they.

If human learning makes a man the "gentleman," say, who should be as refined as
he who learns from God Himself, and gets his wisdom in the school of Christ! If
good society improves the manners, who should be as courteous as the man who is
daily in the company of Jesus; imbibing from His presence; breathing the
atmosphere of Heaven! Have you not seen it in the Church of Christ — the altered
deportment; the softened look; the chastened speech, of one who lately was far
otherwise? The eye bespeaks a change, and, in its new expression, tells you that
Jesus dwells within. Can it be otherwise? Can God be there — and no one know it!
Can the Comforter be there — and not cause the face to shine! Who has not
witnessed it in men of low station! Their manners immediately assume a dignity
above their station. They have seen the King of kings, and learned true feeling,
manners, and politeness. The worldling wonders where they have learned it. He
may deny the principle, but cannot deny the fact. His conscience tells him it is
something godlike — hence he dislikes it. He sees no charm in godliness. The
shining face thus shines in vain for him. It speaks to him of what he neither
knows nor loves — the life of God, and principle of Heaven.

"A man’s wisdom makes his face shine, and the boldness of his face is changed."
Ecclesiastes 8:1

Reader, what is the meaning of the text? Perhaps it seems to you obscure. Then
bear with me a moment, while I tell you my thoughts concerning it. If haply I
have found the mind of Solomon — the mind of God in Solomon — this is well. And
may it thus be blessed to you, and I!

Boldness is either holy or unholy — either abrasive or honest confidence. True
wisdom removes the one, and gives the other. The Pharisee is bold from
ignorance. He is blind alike to God’s requirements, and his own defects — hence
he is not afraid, and thinks himself prepared for death and judgment. Such
boldness is not safe. I hope it is not yours.

How different is the boldness of the Christian! He is bold (and justly so)
because his sins are cancelled, and his pardon is sealed; because, in Christ, he
stands complete — trusting in unchangeable promises which are built on faultless
grace. Through a sense of the perfect love of God to His redeemed children — he
is bold even for the judgment day. (1 John 4:17.) He owns himself to be the
least of saints — the chief of sinners — and yet, in Christ he is not afraid.
Thus he, who once was bold in ignorance, has now his boldness changed. The
Pharisee fears not the evils of his heart; sees not the danger of temptation —
but plunges boldly into sin. How different the child of God! (Proverbs 14:16.)
He once was so; but now he dares not tamper with his sins. Knowing how weak he
is, he ventures not a step, but in the strength of Jesus. He fears to meet his
trials, to combat his infirmities, or face the enemy, unarmed with grace — and,
in his helplessness, he throws himself on Him, who is pledged to support him in
all his need.

"The boldness of his face" is "changed" in every way — here on earth, changed to
filial fear of God — in the day of judgment, changed to boldness once again.
What once he feared not — now he has learned to fear — the world, the flesh, and
the devil. And, having learned this fear, he has also learned how to be bold in
Christ. Armed from God’s armor, and clad with His power, in faith and prayer he
runs his daily race. Where duty leads — he feels that it would be wrong to fear.
Where grace demands a sacrifice — he is bold. Ever and always he chides his
fearful heart, and listens for the voice, "Do not be afraid, it is I!" (John
6:20.) None can prevail — but he who is bold in Christ; and none shall fall —
but he who is bold in self. Reader, may you and I be bold aright!

"I counsel you to keep the King’s commandment." Ecclesiastes 8:2

Solomon preached loyalty — that every soul be subject to the higher powers, and
"all the ordinances of man" be kept, as unto God. (Romans 13:1-14; 1 Peter
2:13.)

But, doubtless, Solomon looked higher than to earthly laws, and, by "the King’s
commandment," meant the Law of God. This was the statute book to Israel — their
only code, alike for spiritual and earthly rule. But who could keep this holy
law? None ever kept it; none keeps it now; and no man ever will. It asks for
perfection — which none can yield. It claims a penalty — which all must pay,
except they be in Jesus. (Galatians 3:10-11.) "Do this — and you shall live,"
the precept ran. (Luke 10:28.) Where none could do it — it was plain that none
could live. It was but a law of death. It was only given to prove man’s
inability — to be a schoolmaster to lead to Christ. (Romans 5:13; Romans 7:13;
Galatians 3:1-29.) Such was the King’s commandment.

Then what did Solomon mean, by telling us to keep what never could be kept? By
faith he pointed to the types — the dying goat, the bleeding lamb; through them
he pointed to the Savior, the Lamb of God. Jesus on Sinai sat (Acts 7:38;
compare Acts 7:30-32). from thence He gave the law, "Do this, and you shall
live." (Leviticus 18:5.) But from the Cross — a new commandment came, "Believe,
and live!" Henceforth this was to be the law of life and death. Believe — and
live! believe not, you shall die. (John 3:18-19; John 3:36; John 16:9; Mark
16:16.) The Jews had asked, "What shall we do, that we might work the works of
God? " (John 6:28.) They wished to find some royal road to keep the law, and
thus to save their souls. Jesus replied, "Believe on Him whom He has sent."
(John 6:29.) The reason is plain. Christ kept the law; Christ paid the penalty.
Believe on Christ, and then you are one with Him; your sins are His; His
righteousness is yours. Christ kept the law. Not for Himself He kept it, but for
you; that you, in faith, might say, "I have kept it too — in Christ I have paid
the penalty." And thus the two commandments meet in one. Am I in Christ, I have
kept them both. "Do this, and live!" In Christ I’ve kept it. "Believe, and
live!" Through grace I’ve kept it too. The new command includes the old; hence
all its virtue; it destroys not, but fulfills. (Matthew 5:17.) Yet know, my
friend, it is not in you to keep even this new commandment. This would be harder
to fulfill than the old. To us it is "given to believe," faith is the gift of
God. (Php 1:29; Ephesians 2:8.) Could you believe of yourself, grace would no
longer be grace. Obedience to the faith must come from God, that He be all in
all.

"Obey the King’s command, I say, because you took an oath before God"
Ecclesiastes 8:2 The old command was binding. Israel had pledged themselves to
keep it. (Exodus 19:8.) It was as binding as an oath; it was sealed by blood, a
covenant between God and man. God bound to recompense obedience, and to punish
sin. Man bound to keep the law, or suffer the penalty for it. Thus man had bound
upon himself his own destruction; for who could keep the covenant he had made?
No formal oath had been expressed either by God or man, but virtually both had
sworn. The better covenant, the new command, had better promises. With it man,
in his sinfulness, had nothing to do but believe.

God in His unity (Galatians 3:20) — the Three in One — devised, contracted, and
performed the New Covenant. The parties were the Father and the Son; God the
eternal Father; and God in man — Immanuel — the man Christ Jesus. Each party
pledged; each able to perform; each qualified to covenant with each other, since
each alike incapable of change. The Spirit heard. (John 16:13.) The covenant was
His, in common with the Father and the Son. He pledged Himself, as well as They,
to call, to nourish, and to keep, all the heirs of glory. This covenant was
ratified by oath. God swore to Abraham. (Genesis 22:16.) He swore to David.
(Psalms 89:35.) Before the worlds, He swore to Abraham’s seed, and David’s Son
(Psalms 84:4), "whose goings forth" had been "from everlasting." (Micah 5:2.)
This oath was made to assure "the heirs of promise," that they might know God’s
certainty of purpose (Hebrews 6:17), and, through the comfort of the Scriptures,
might have hope. (Romans 15:4.)

God’s word is passed, His oath is given, that all His Church shall live. To
Christ, He gave His chosen ones. (John 17:6.) By oath they are His. By oath He
calls them, by oath He keeps them; by oath He promises to give them saving
grace; by oath He is pledged to give them eternal glory. With men "an oath for
confirmation" ends the strife. (Hebrews 6:16.) When God has sworn — Who shall
doubt His word? He says, "Believe, and live!"-God swore in promise; yet once He
were in wrath, that sinners should not see His rest. (Psalms 95:11.) And why?
Because of "unbelief." (Hebrews 3:19.) This oath is still in force; the King’s
command is doubly fenced; salvation pledged by oath to all the redeemed saints;
and eternal death denounced by oath on unbelievers. Believe — and live; believe
not — and be damned. (John 3:36; Mark 16:16.) God’s word is fixed; His oath is
passed; forever sure, in Heaven, in earth, in Hell. The Lord has spoken. Who
will not fear? The Lord has sworn. Who will not be afraid? Hear His command:
Believe and live! His oath inspires no terror. It will be the ground of all your
hopes, and the comfort of your soul!

"Do not be in a hurry to leave the King’s presence." Ecclesiastes 8:3

If earthly monarchs claim respect, and courtly manners are required of those who
serve them — then much more is kingly honor due to Him who made the world and
rules it! That man should have fellowship with God! Oh, what a mystery! The
mystery, however, is scarcely less, that, with the privilege, man should forget
the majesty of Him with whom he has to do. One courtly rule for earthly kings,
is to retire backwards from the throne — ever to turn the face to him that sits
upon it, and not to go unbidden from the kingly presence. Shall lesser deference
be paid to God, the King of kings? If reverence is due on coming to His presence
— is it not due on leaving it? Should we not wait the beck of His dismissal? If
He has more to say — shall we be reluctant to hear, or slight the honor of His
condescension? Can time be better spent? Can we so soon exhaust the royal
bounty? Before you rise, let it be told you by the Spirit, "It is time for you
to leave." He will not let you be a loser, if you thus confide in Him. Do not
leave the throne too suddenly. Slide not at once from prayer — to earthly
things. Resume not hastily the thread of occupation. Be slow to act upon a
worldly thought which struck you as you went to prayer — while in the very act
of kneeling down; this would encourage unworthy thought to come again
unseasonably.

If you have left the family circle, that you may pray, beware lest fond
excitement flutter you while you pray, or tempt you to hurry your devotions, and
mar your fellowship with God.

If interrupted in your prayer, and called away to do some needful thing — go
cheerfully. Do not be provoked with him who thus, unwittingly disturbed you. If
able to resume your prayers, you will find it has not suffered by the shock. If
not, God knows your heart. Be still. He will give you a loving audience at
another time. In social worship, it is unedifying to engage in secular discourse
the moment you are risen from your knees; forthwith to take a public journal, or
other reading of the kind; or make engagements for the day. Better allow a space
to intervene (be it however short) while you retire backwards from the throne.
And, before you leave the royal throne-room, have time to say, "Lord, look upon
your servant, he is going now to meet the world; be with him still. Pardon his
lack of reverence, and, as he leaves the throne, be with him still!"

Such rules are needful. They seem the "little things" of grace, but they are
great indeed. If followed out, they keep the mind more able for devotion, and
make it taste "the powers of the world to come." (Hebrews 6:5.) The closer
company you have kept with Jesus — the more you have prayed in spirit — the
slower you will be to turn to worldly things; the more devoutly will you retire
from the throne. Just as the more the eye has gazed upon the sun — the more the
earth will be a blank to look upon. Such tests are wholesome. By these we try
the tone of our devotions, and the nature of our fellowship with God.

"Do not stand in an evil thing, for He will do whatever He pleases."
Ecclesiastes 8:3 Had Lot remained in Sodom, or lingered in the plain — he must
have perished in his folly. Then "stand not," sinner, in your evil ways. The
Lord is almighty. He does whatever He pleases. He can even take you away at a
stroke, or give you over to a hardened heart. And you, Believer, were you not in
the Preacher’s mind, when thus he spoke? "The wise man fears — and departs from
evil." (Proverbs 14:16.) This is the wisdom of the saints. Tarry not in
temptation — flee quickly from it. Think of "Lot’s wife," nor look behind you.
You find yourself in front of some forbidden thing; it comes invitingly —
unasked — unsought for. You seem almost privileged to look, to hear, to dwell
upon it. Flesh pleads entreatingly, and hints that "Providence" has put it in
your way. And so it did; yet not to tempt you into sin. As a minister of God
said, long since departed, the door was opened — that you might shut it; not to
invite your entrance! God permits these trials of your faith, to prove your
faithfulness. Be stern, then, with yourself. Sin cannot lose its sinfulness,
however plausible it is. Flesh is still flesh, and must be crucified. Grace is
still grace, and grace must have its way.

Again, some duty presses, and time is short; a hurried step carries you swiftly
on. You see a crowd. What is that crowd to you? But vain curiosity comes in; you
stop to see, and slight the secret warning, "What are you doing here?" Or else
some novelty attracts you — some book or print, set there on purpose to entrap
the passers-by. How charming to the enemy to see you stop; to find you "standing
in an evil thing;" to catch you mixing with the multitude, wasting the time in
vanity!

It is dangerous to walk abroad in scenes of vanity, with nothing to do. You are
sure to meet with evil — something to look at, which you should not see;
something to hear, to which you should not listen. On principle, it is well to
hurry on, steadily, if you cannot go rapidly. Loungers are ever wrong; for them
mischief is much in store. Life is a journey through a land of foes. "Hasten for
your life!" must still your motto be. Hasten for your holiness! Hasten for your
purity! Hasten for your peace! To tarry is to go astray. Forward in grace!
Forward in thought! Forward in occupation! Forward even in your daily walks! You
have no time to tarry — no time to waste — no time to stand. Then, Christian,
forward — yes, forward go!

"Where the word of a King is, there is power! Who may say to Him: What are You
doing?" Ecclesiastes 8:4

What word, what power, are like the Lord’s? With earthly kings words may be loud
— and power small. Days, months, or years, may intervene before the power
fulfills the word, and makes it sure. Not so with God. His purpose knows no
hindrance. His Word can never fail. Who can resist His power? With God, purpose,
and word, and power are but one.

Who, then, may say to God: "What are You doing?" To hinder His purpose, you must
be able to overcome Omnipotence! Infinite, unchangeable, almighty — with God to
will, is to perform; to speak — is to proclaim His past eternal purpose, and His
endless might. Who can arrest His hand, or thwart His providence? Who can? That
is not the word. Rather, who ought to wish it? Who ought to quarrel with His
will, or say, either with bold or fretful opposition, "What are You doing?" Your
child has died; or perhaps a shipwreck has bereft you, at one stroke, of all
your family; or other ills untold, unspeakable, have made you drink the wine of
desperation. My friend, these things were ordained by God "before the world
began." In God’s eternal mind it was written — it was settled long ago. How vain
to say, "What are You doing?" And when the time was come, God sent His
messengers — noiseless, unseen, invisible — to do His righteous will. Could you
have said, "What are You doing with my child? What are You doing with the winds
and waves? Forbear!" Your will was not consulted — your permission was not
asked. Do not say, "What have you done?" Be silent before the omnipotent
Disposer! "I was silent; I would not open my mouth, for You are the one who has
done this!" (Psalms 39:9.) "But what can I say? He has spoken to me, and He
Himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish
of my soul." (Isaiah 38:15.) Go softly all your years — yet not "in anguish of
soul." If you have faith in Christ, you are better taught than this. Go softly —
yet in faith, in patience. Looking to Jesus; let your language be, "It is the
Lord! Let my Lord do what seems good in His eyes." (1 Samuel 3:18.) "A wise
man’s heart discerns both time and judgment." Ecclesiastes 8:6

There is a book more difficult to read than all human books, however hard they
are. There is a language harder to decipher than all the dialects of human
speech. It is the book of "time and judgment" — the volume of God’s providential
dealings with men; to read His doings and observe His ways. (Psalms 107:43.) In
times of public trouble, or domestic woe, it is easy to "afflict the soul," and,
as a bulrush in the wind, to bow the head; to wear the garb of sorrow. All this
is done, and yet the soul discerns not "time and judgment." Outward distress it
sees; it feels the chastening; yet it cannot see the call to penitence, and
faith, and prayer. It does not think of judgment, and the world to come. Blind
is man — hopelessly blind, until grace enlightens him. "Lord, when your hand is
lifted up — they will not see." Thus spoke the prophet — thus speaks the prophet
still. (Isaiah 26:11.) Nor is it mere acquaintance with prophetic lore; to know
the dates and systems of interpreters; to say "The times are threatening; the
end is approaching; the Lord is at hand!" My friend, is Jesus precious to your
soul? Do you expect His coming, because "you love His cross!" Do you in
righteousness, soberness, and godliness — in deep conviction of your sin — in
heartfelt yearning for the souls of men, look "for that blessed hope?" (Titus
2:12-13.) Oh, this is wisdom! Oh, this is to discern "both time and judgment;"
to read God’s dealings, as He means them; of every lifting of His hand to feel
your soul aware; your heart responding to His providence, as pulse to pulse! If
so, you are like the men of Issachar, "men who had understanding of the times,
to know what Israel ought to do." (1 Chronicles 12:32.)

It is well to read God’s dealings with yourself. You may have found, by past
experience, that He has a special method with you; that some events bespeak a
certain train of providence concerning you; that certain workings of the Spirit
foretell a certain state of soul; that certain throbs of conscience, before
this, were calls to listen to the Spirit for some especial purpose; that certain
risings in the inner man have told of coming conflict, and fierce temptation,
near at hand; that sudden softenings of heart have been the sure forerunners of
contrition — deep, solemn, and refreshing; that godly yearnings have been but
drops before a shower of prayerful influences, long continued.

If so, in this discern "both time and judgment." Let not experience be lost upon
you, but make the present profit by the past.

"Since no man knows the future, who can tell him what is to come?" Ecclesiastes
8:7

God’s purposes have all their seasons of fulfillment. His judgments each have
their time of visitation. Mapped out in clear perspective, your every
dispensation was fixed from everlasting in the eternal mind of God. Your sunny
seasons, and your cloudy days; sorrow and pain, anxiety and lack, your every
loss of property or friends — all was designed before you ever saw the light.
Trials may be in store for you, the thoughts of which would harrow up your soul
— if you knew they were coming.

All this is ordained and known by God. What it may be, or when it is to come —
He tells not to His creatures. As lightning strikes — for quickness, as wave
comes after wave — for frequency; so may trials visit you. They are as uncertain
as the wind. Yet fixed in divine purpose, and in performance sure — they come.
From day to day, from hour to hour, who can foretell his future?

"Therefore," the Preacher says, "the misery of man is great upon him!"
(Ecclesiastes 8:6.) Reader, is this your feeling? Is "therefore" misery great on
you? Does it make you brood over possibilities — alarmed at the contingency of
woes? Would you rather, that all were known before, that you might be prepared
for what may trials and tribulations come?

Rather, thank God that He has veiled the future, and deals out His dispensations
one by one. The time, the way, the kind, the circumstance — are all fixed by
unerring wisdom, and by boundless love. It is thus God is glorified; His power
felt; His sovereignty known, free from the trammels of His creatures’ will.
Matchless in skill; unfailing in resource — He thus proclaims His sovereign
Godhead.

Known to His children are the ways of God. The world may murmur — but the saints
submit. The world may tremble — but the saints are glad. In all their woes, they
see a Father’s hand, and a Savior’s sympathy. They would not alter it. They
meekly leave the future to their God. The times and seasons; the "what;" the
"when;" the "how;" the "why" — they would not, dare not, know! But these things
they do know: that as their days — so their strength shall be; that He, who
counts the stars, and calls them by their names — will heal the broken-hearted
and bind up their wounds; that divine comforts shall keep pace with worldly
sorrows, and that God’s grace will be sufficient for every time of need!

"No one has power over the spirit to retain the spirit; and no one has power in
the day of death." Ecclesiastes 8:8

Man, for six thousand years, has tried to understand his spirit — yet knows as
little of it as he did at first. What is the soul of man? Whence did it come?
Where does it go? He can’t explain how spirit dwells with flesh — what binds the
two together, for a time, in perfect unity. He has never seen, as little can he
feel, the links that knit them to each other. It is all within him — his flesh,
his spirit, his life, his being — all the machinery of soul and body, thus
closely interlaced. Yet is it as foreign to his grasp, as that which happens in
another world!

Thus flesh and spirit dwell together. Who could suppose they ever would part
again! Who can explain how soul and body part, or how the links of union are
undone — what makes the spirit fly away, or how the flesh gives up its hold! God
wills it. God does it. God does not explain why. God tells not how. He speaks,
unheard; and immediately it is done — the spirit returns to Him who made it.

Man may detain the body — but he cannot keep the soul, nor say, "You shall not
go!" God says, "Return to Me!" The word must be obeyed. Neither youth, nor wit,
nor beauty, nor strength, nor money, can delay His omnipotent hand.

How mysterious is death! At times how violent! At times how stealthy! At times
He takes your darling from your side — and robs you unblushingly before your
face. At other times, days, months, and years may intervene before you know it.
The spirit fled — and you knew it not. You thought it still on earth; but it was
gone. You think of him, prepare for him, and write to invite him to your home.
But alas! the spirit is gone; and had you known it, what could you have done!

Oh, vanity of vanities! What pain, what misery, man’s sin has brought to pass!
And yet how astonishing is the ignorance, the recklessness of sinful man! Dead
in spiritual death, he neither knows nor seeks a remedy, but binds his misery
around him with thoughtless energy. And yet there is a remedy — a remedy in
Jesus — a remedy for those who look to Jesus!

Say, reader, can you look around you, can you look backward or forward and be
happy — unless you find this remedy for all the misery and uncertainty of this
poor, passing world?

"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ
Jesus our Lord!" Romans 6:23

"No one has power over the spirit to retain the spirit; and no one has power in
the day of death. There is no discharge in that war!" Ecclesiastes 8:8

Oh, what a war it is! Since Adam’s day, the war is carried on; no respite
granted, no peace, no armistice, and no exchange of prisoners. Each moment of
the day, thousands are slain! Each one is carried off in turn, but none ever
come back again. "There is no discharge in that war!" Some have been prisoners
for centuries, and tens of centuries, fast bound in chains of DEATH. As yet
there is no discharge!

Parents have seen their children snatched away — and none have returned again!
Wives have been torn from husbands, husbands from wives, and friends from
friends. There is no exception, "no discharge."

Oh, DEATH, you are the conqueror now! Some fear you; others brave you; most
forget you — but all alike fall under you! You take some when life is scarcely
begun. Even for them, "there is no discharge!" Some are removed in bloom of
youth — in beauty’s prime — in midst of usefulness. Death, are you not mistaken?
Was not your stroke intended for another? Oh, give them back! Alas! "There is no
discharge in that war!"

We have seen one while still young — and loved to think how long and useful he
would live. We gave him many years and hopes. But no! He is taken away! "There
is no discharge in that war!" What anguish in the thought, "He will never
return!" Imagination can hardly take it in. Each meal you think to see his
well-known face. Each opening door, seems opened for his form to enter! Alas!
"there is no discharge!" As YET there is none. But will there never be? "There
is no discharge!" Death, do not say so! One day you will see it. As all have
gone — all will return; as all have died — so all will live again. Oh, death,
you are doomed! "The lake of fire" is reserved for you. (Revelation 20:14.) You
will be totally conquered! The wicked are even taken from your grasp. They rise
again — to misery, it is true; yet still they live. Oh, death! they are not
yours.

But, for those who have died in faith, it is not death — they sleep in Jesus.
They wait the appointed time. Their "change" will come. He will not forget them,
nor leave them in the dust of death. (Job 14:14-15.)

Where, then, is your sting, O Death? Where O Grave, where then, is your victory!
O Death, your war is at an end; not now, but then. And then, O Death, "there is
no discharge" for you!

"There is a time in which one man rules over another to his own hurt."
Ecclesiastes 8:9

Authority is sweet — but dangerous! Misrule is hurtful, not only to the ruled,
but to the ruler. History is full of it. But, reader, what have you and I, just
now, to do with history? There is something that concerns us all more nearly.
Are you a parent in a family? Do you rule your children for your profit — or
your hurt? Do you mark their tempers, and their dispositions? Are your
instructions suited to their characters? Are your chastenings well adjusted to
their sensibilities? In their sins and infirmities — do you see your own
reflected? What they are now, in youth and childhood — such were you. Do you
remember that they derive their sinful nature all from you! Are love and
firmness mingled in your rule: love tempered by discretion, and firmness joined
to love? How many Christian parents err — well-meaning parents! They forget the
Bible rule — they spare the rod! "He who spares his rod hates his son — but he
who loves him, disciplines him promptly!" (Proverbs 13:24.)

God rules His sons by chastening. He sends what makes them feel pain, in mind
and body too. Can you do better with your child, than God with His children? Are
children different now? Is the Scripture’s discipline grown out of date? In
infancy a thousand lectures, loving though they be — fall short of physical
correction, wisely administered in season, and degree. Chastening is what the
child can feel and understand. This is the simplest mode of teaching — this is
the end in view.

If you rule our child in anger, you teach him to be angry in return. One day his
anger will recoil on you! The same with peevishness, and fretful speech; it will
only make them fretful with yourself — you rule them to your hurt. If you, a
parent, deceive your partner, and thus screen the child from chastening, your
child one day will practice fraud on you. You rule him to your hurt!

Never strike a child in haste. Is he to be chastened? Then go to prayer, that
you be kept from anger, and that God would teach your child, and nurture him
with grace. I knew a father once — I never shall forget his way of chastening.
He was a tender parent, and keenly felt his children’s failings. He never
overlooked their faults, and when he chastened them, it was always done in love.
I well remember the anguish of his look. He showed his children that it tore his
heart to chasten them. Thus, in the father’s grief, the children read their
faults, and saw how bitter, and how evil it was to disobey!

"There is a time when one man rules over another to his own hurt." Ecclesiastes
8:9 Are you the Master of a household? Do you rule your servants well? What
wisdom do you show — what sense of justice, in your family? Do you respect the
covenant you made! It was as much implied, that you should rule with meekness
and forbearance — as that they should serve you well. Do you bear in mind that
they are flesh and blood, as well as you? No difference in this respect between
them and you. They have feelings to work upon; failings to be studied;
affections to be pleased or wounded — all this they have in common with
yourself. How much is this forgotten in the stern realities of service!

Yet God, who made the one, has made the other, too. With Him there is no respect
of persons. Will He not mark your lack of feeling? Do you choose the season well
for telling them their faults? How much depends on this! How often we rule them
to our injury — by correcting them in the wrong manner! If faults come thickly —
yet reprove them not in quick succession; they will not bear it, and you will
thus defeat your end. One fault corrected at a time, goes further than twenty
told at once. If one reproof is taken meekly, the next may overstrain the
patience, and the third produce a storm! On whom recoils the blow? Who feels it
most? The master, or the servant? You know full well.

Let not reproof follow the fault too quickly. The sense of having erred, ruffles
the mind. It is then less open to reproof, when fresh from erring. Forbear a
while. You will find your opportunity. Their hearts, like yours, are in the hand
of God. Commit your cause to Him, and lean not on yourself, your warnings and
expostulations. Does your servant answer you in rudeness? You are justly
grieved. This tries the patience, and grates upon the feelings, most severely.
"To think that he so far forgets himself! Had an equal thus insulted me — it
would be more easily endured; but from a servant, it is intolerable!" But is not
this a cause to bear with him more patiently? Inferior station argues an
inferior sensibility — inferior knowledge of what is right or wrong — coarse or
befitting — vulgar or refined. Your station makes you doubly sensitive, while he
is tenfold liable to err. Judge of his fault with calmness, remembering
yourself, your failings, your advantages. Perhaps you have erred yourself, as he
has done. (Ecclesiastes 7:21-22.) Never let not his anger, anger you, nor tempt
you to exceed propriety in correcting him. It is bad enough in him; it were
tenfold worse in you.

What do you for the souls of those who serve you? Do you speak to them of Jesus,
and the world to come? If not, how can you rule them well? Church privilege is
good; so is domestic worship; but let not these supplant your personal
faithfulness. Speak to them for yourself — nothing can excuse you; tell them
yourself of what concerns their peace. Servants have eyes and ears. They mark
your words, observe your ways, and see your inconsistencies. How can you rule
them to your profit, if your deeds belie your principles! Would you make them
punctual — be punctual yourself. Example teaches more than precept. With all
your care, your patience will be tried; but how much more, if you neglect to
rule them well!

"So I saw the wicked buried." Ecclesiastes 8:10

Oh, what a leveler is death! All die, and all are buried — the grave has no
respect of persons. Some rest in hope of glory: After the worms destroy their
body, yet their Redeemer lives; in time they will see Him face to face. (Psalms
16:9; Job 19:25-27.) With other some how different. They lived in sin; in sin
they died. Their sins lie with them in the dust, and rest upon their bones. (Job
20:11; Ezekiel 32:27.) And yet they seemed to die in peace. Because their face
looked pleasantly in death, it is said that all was well. Oh, what a broken
reed! Rest not upon it. It will only pierce the hand that leans upon it.

You, too, may have a smile upon your lifeless corpse. What then? Do you think
that this will cancel sin, and save your soul? The only safety is in Jesus and
His cross. Nothing else will serve you in a dying day. And then the funeral,
with all its circumstance of woe! The sable hearse; the nodding plumes; horses
dressed with studied care; attendants numerous — some heralding in front, some
following — the coronet on the bier — the mausoleum cold in its marbled
symmetry; with all (or high or low) the service solemnly performed, "ashes to
ashes," "dust to dust," so reverently given!

How hard to think that any, thus interred, have failed of Heaven! Nature repels
the thought. "It cannot be! It were sacrilege to doubt their safety." Thus man
takes refuge from unpleasant truth in dark solemnities; and clothes the
trappings of mortality — the crowning emblems of his sin and shame — with
thoughts of universal safety. How vain the pomp, how false the pride, often
shown on such occasions!

Look at that funeral! You knew him well by sight; you often met him, exchanged a
nod, or passing word, or stopped to speak to him. Then he passed on, unnoticed,
unattended — no show, or vain display had marked his doings. You see him now; at
least you see his pageant. More horses draw him to the tomb than he was
accustomed to sit behind, when living. Had you not seen the like before, you
would ask what noble, or man of note he was. Thus men are borne as princes to
the grave, who, in their life, had nothing princely.

It is well to reverence the dead, and solemnly commit them to the tomb; yet not
to make it an excuse for vanity. Think what it is to die! Think of the great
realities that follow death. Think of the moldering dust; how little it can feel
the empty honors thus bestowed upon it! Think of the parted spirit; how is it
bettered by the pomp and show? Think of the lowly Jesus, and let your pride be
buried in your brother’s grave.

"They were forgotten." Ecclesiastes 8:10

How well we knew his person, both in the haunts of business, and the house of
prayer! It was a shock to hear that he was gone. It brought him to our mind more
forcibly than ever. Slight friendship swelled at once to feelings of intensity.
Each person seemed as though he had lost an intimate acquaintance. Excitement
lingered for a day, or two. Before his burial it seemed to wane; then suddenly
shot up again; flared for a little season, and then — expired! How soon he was
forgotten!

Even thus it fares with men of great renown — statesmen, nobles, or public
benefactors. As long as they lived, the nation watched their doings. They could
not walk abroad, or reach their country seat, but it was read by thousands. What
mourning when they died! And yet how soon were they forgotten! Ah! when we hear
the sobs of parents suddenly bereft; of widows, orphans, brothers, sisters,
friends — disconsolate in woe, we say, can they forget! Ah yes, they may and do!
Like writing in the sand, memory pays tribute to the lapse of time, and parts
with all its tracery. Yet it is not always so. In some, memory is made of
stronger stuff; the stream of retrospective love flows deep, though silently.
Absent from sight, their cherished ones are often in their mind. We men of
fainter feelings must stand abashed before them, and own them greater than
ourselves.

What makes the difference between memory and memory; between man and man?
Wherein consists the framework of the mind? How is it put together? What makes
affection strong, or weak? What causes the predominance of judgment, feeling,
frailty, or of power? Known unto God are all His works; He has not told us why.

Man’s memory has shared the fate of all that is human; it is now degraded by
infirmity, and spoiled by sin! But this we know, God never forgets His people!
Even living saints forget departed ones; but Jesus forgets them not. Amidst sin
and imperfection, they never lose His love, His thought, His care; and when they
leave this mortal scene, and fade from human memory, they are not a whit more
present to His mind than formerly. His memory knows no change.

"Because the sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore
the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil." Ecclesiastes 8:11

"In the day that you eat thereof, you shall surely die." (Genesis 2:17.) Thus
spoke the Lord to Adam. Yet Adam ate, and Adam did not die. It is true that
moral death ensued at once, in strict fulfillment — yet physical death was still
delayed. Year followed year, and age followed age — yet Adam died not. Nine
centuries had passed — still Adam lived! How slowly judgment came! Yet Adam died
at last. (Genesis 5:5.) With God it was but a day. With Him a thousand years are
but as yesterday gone by, or as an evening watch. (Psalms 90:4.) For 120 years
the flood descended not; for 120 years the world defied the sentence; for 120
years God’s patience waited, while the ark was made; yet judgment came at last.
(Genesis 6:3; 1 Peter 3:20.) Since then, all things continue as they were; yet
judgment only tarries, it is not gone by. Christ says, "I will come again!" Yet
still it is said, "Where is the promise of His coming?" God’s promise is not
slack; He is very patient, that men may turn and live. Yet still they scorn His
grace; and man is wayward, since the Lord is kind. (2 Peter 3:3-9; Romans 2:4.)
Of all God’s attributes, methinks, patience is the chief. Perfect holiness
looking on continuous evil — with infinite forbearance! How astonishing! The
mystery of divine power (Numbers 14:17-18), thus set forth, is quite
unsearchable by mortal minds. But why is God so patient? Willing to show His
wrath, and make His avenging power known — why does He yet forbear? The cause is
plain — to show the riches of His glory on the vessels of His grace! (Romans
9:22-23.) The Book of Life unfolds the mystery. Traced on its page — written
indelibly in truth and love — God reads the chosen names. The time is noted for
their birth and effectual calling. The world must last, and judgment tarry,
until the last name is called — the whole family of God made up — the whole
redeemed flock completed. My soul, how wonderful that God has borne with you!
That you should know His grace! And share His love! You have tried His patience
by manifold transgressions. Say, with how many sinners has He borne, that you,
the chief of sinners, might become the least of saints? Then hide your head, and
call yourself the chief of sinners still.

"Although a wicked man commits a hundred crimes and still lives a long time — I
know that it will go better with God-fearing men, who are reverent before God.
Yet because the wicked do not fear God, it will not go well with them, and their
days will not lengthen like a shadow." Ecclesiastes 8:12-13

Men live and die. They call it life and death, and so it is. But yet this life
and death are purely physical — breath dwelling in the man, or breath departed.
True life is something more than this. Its source and center is in God. It is an
emanation from Himself — a streamlet from the fount of self-existence. The life
of God is, like Himself, holy, and just, and good. No other life but this could
God impart. While life retains this character, it is life itself; what it was
meant to be; containing in itself the impress of the Holy One, Himself the sole
epitome of life. True life infers God’s presence and His love; the pure
enjoyment of His favor. Peace, holiness, and purity, are but the breath of such
existence.

Without these properties, physical life is death, however long it lasts. Long
life, in fallen beings, is but a death prolonged — no mark of blessing or of
God’s delight. By heavenly rules, how can a fallen state, a lifeless life — a
covert death — be a blessing? The only blessing it boasts, is that the sinner
still is spared, if, by God’s blessing, he may learn to count his life but
death; and come to know the principle of true life, and taste the power of life
from Heaven.

Men deem long life a blessing. They hug their days, and count their
opportunities of sin; each moment added to their life is hailed with joy, a
respite from the dreaded and unknown future. But what is our life? It is simply
the prelude to eternity — the first beginning of an endless end. What is
eternity, but time prolonged — the after links of one unbroken chain! Our mortal
life, without the heavenly birth, is but the spring of eternal death. But with
the life of grace implanted in the soul, is the first breathing of eternal day.
Die soon, die late — it is surely well with those who fear the Lord, who look to
Jesus, and revere His name. Die late, die early — can it be well with them, who
only live to die eternally, because they live without the Lord? May God give us
grace to see aright — to call things by their proper names — and thus to find
death but the door of life and gate of Heaven.

"There is something else meaningless that occurs on earth: righteous men who get
what the wicked deserve — and wicked men who get what the righteous deserve."
Ecclesiastes 8:14 So it has always been. God chastens those whom He loves. Can
His love be better shown? God chastens us to bring us to the Cross, and keep us
there; to show us the vanity of earthly things, and nourish our graces!

Say, Christian sufferer, does your heart rebel to see the wicked prosper — and
yourself in woe? Say, would you change with the wicked? Is he better off than
you? Are his earthly blessings better than your grace? What do you envy? His
health, his wealth, his strength, his aptitude for thought, his friends, his
intellect, his fine home? Is Jesus, then, unequal to your needs, or unable to
provide for your cares? Are your miseries, then, greater than your mercies? Your
comforts — are they gone? What do you think of the blessings: that Jesus makes
your bed in all your sickness, that He knows your pains, that He counts your
restless nights, your tossings to and fro, that He never leaves you; that He
nurses you with tender care. Is health unsanctified a greater blessing? Sickness
with Jesus — or health without Jesus; which is the greater blessing?

Perhaps your family is thinned by death. What then? Does not the Savior fill the
void? Is He not better than father, mother, husband, wife, or friend? Then do
not envy the circle where death has been unknown. You have better friends and
relatives than they.

Perhaps your means are low, and changed from what they were. But what is Jesus?
Is he not more than gold and silver? Is He not more to you? Are the ways of God
unequal, because . . . He gives you Jesus, He gives you His grace, His love, His
presence, He gives you Himself besides? Have you the lesser portion, because you
have the Lord? Then how can you complain? Complaint would suit the worldling
more than you: that he has only time — and you eternity; that he has this poor
earth alone — while you inherit eternal glory in Heaven. Then envy not the rich,
the strong, the prosperous; the man who knows nothing but pleasure from morn to
night, and from night to morning. You see not their hearts; you know not their
cares; ofttimes their happiness is nothing but restlessness; they dare not
think; they hurry on, because they dare not stop. They know not God, they know
not Christ. What is their health — or what their happiness, to you!

"When I applied my heart to know wisdom and to see the business that is done on
earth . . . then I saw all the work of God, that a man cannot find out the work
that is done under the sun. For though a man labors to discover it, yet he will
not find it; moreover, though a wise man attempts to know it, he will not be
able to find it." Ecclesiastes 8:16-17 READER, consider well this passage of the
Word.

"The work of God!" What is it? God’s works in Heaven. Angels behold His Majesty.
Departed saints feed upon his glory. In Heaven (with reverence I speak) God’s
work is simple, uniform in kind, and in degree. It is the maintenance of
holiness in sinless beings; the outgoing of His wisdom, love, and power, in one
continuous, unresisted stream; glorious in itself, and not less glorious in the
glory thus imparted to saints, and angels. But oh, "the business that is done on
the earth!" "The work of God!" The business of His hand in this poor, fallen
world — how great, how intricate, how various!

Think of the workings of His power even in the outward world; the guidance of
the seasons, and all the dispensations of the winds and waves; now sent in
mercy, now in wrath — or to supply the needs, or chide the failings, of His
creatures.

Think of His dealings with the hearts of men; the strivings of the Spirit; the
calls of Providence; His actings on the conscience in all its prickings, throes,
and sensibilities! Think of the work of God in guiding, keeping, chastening, His
people; each want considered; each failing studied — grace, comfort, and
experience supplied in kind, and season, and degree, fitted to every case — each
soul as much the subject of His care, as though the only object of His love. And
yet the entire body, the universal Church, maintained in order and relation; all
knit together and compact, as if it were a single soul; its government complete;
its life secure; its members numbered by unerring love; none to be lost — none
to be overlooked — none ever removed from the heart, or mind of Jesus!

Oh! what a work it is — the work of God! Say, who has known His mind, or been
His counselor! Who taught Him wisdom, that God should be his debtor! (Romans
11:33-34.) The Preacher tried to find it out, to trace its workings, to mark its
purpose, to calculate its doings — but all in vain; it baffled all his skill.
Even Solomon might study it by night, by day, determined to pursue his search —
but none, not even Solomon, could find out God, or understand His ways.


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  CHAPTER 12: 01.09.     ECCLESIASTES 9
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Ecclesiastes 9:1-18

"So I reflected on all this and concluded that the righteous and the wise and
what they do are in God’s hands — but no man knows whether love or hate awaits
him." Ecclesiastes 9:1 The preacher is speaking of "the righteous and the wise,"
of all their circumstances — of all their liabilities to joy or sorrow. "All
things come alike to all. There is one event to the righteous and the wicked."
(Ecclesiastes 9:2.) God’s children know the trials, pains, uncertainties of
life, as do the wicked. The saints have no exemption here. "No man, not even the
righteous, knows whether love or hate awaits him."

What does the Preacher mean! Whose love? Whose hatred? Is it the love of God —
and God’s hatred? God cannot hate His people; He loves, He hates them not. Are
these terms employed as figures — love, to denote God’s smiling dispensations;
hatred, to mean His bitter things — His chastenings? Or does it mean man’s love,
and hatred — the "time to love, the time to hate," as spoken of before?
(Ecclesiastes 3:8.) God may use man’s passions, or affections, to chasten, or to
soothe His people. Whichever it is, the truth is still the same, "The wise,"
"the righteous," and "their works, are in the hand of God." (Ecclesiastes 9:1.)

They often plan and purpose — but who can tell if he shall ever perform? Often
they begin — and never end; their works are all attended with uncertainty. God’s
providential visitations stop them; man’s hatred disappoints them; what they
intend for good, often ends in harm. Their wisest schemes are brought to
nothing. Their brightest prospects fade away. They work in darkness. From day to
day they know not what the morrow brings — what means may help them — what means
may thwart them, human or divine.

Man may pronounce his trials, to be hatred; and his mercies, to be love. But to
the saints nothing begins, or ends in hatred, as from God. All ends, as it
begins — in Divine love. Is man the instrument? Yet still they see God working
by the hand of man. Man hates — God loves. Man persecutes — God overrules. Man
means it all for evil — but God still turns it into good. And thus the same
event brings "love," and "hatred," joined in one. God’s love, and man’s hatred,
thus combine to work unfailing good — untiring mercy, for all who love the Lord!

"The hearts of men are full of evil, and there is madness in their hearts while
they live, and afterward they join the dead!" Ecclesiastes 9:3 In life a madman
— a madman still in death! Such, such is man. It is piteous to hear of one who
is born bereft of reason. It is sad to say, "He passed his life in madness —
then he died!" Oh, what a picture of a physical and moral waste! Dead as a
child, a citizen, a brother, long before he died — the very acme of all that’s
desolate.

Man thinks he is wise. He looks with pity on the poor maniac. How little he
suspects that he himself is tenfold mad — not only mad for time; mad also for
eternity!

He brings madness into the world; he imbibes madness with his mother’s milk; he
learns madness at school; he confirms and strengthens madness in manhood; he
feeds madness by all he does; he reads madness in books; he finds madness in
every company; he bears madness along in every walk of life; sleeping or waking
— silent or speaking — learned or ignorant — rich or poor — he is a maniac
still! A madman was his father; and so his father’s father! Go backwards until
you come to Adam — they were all maniacs!

All his children are mad; and so will be his children’s children, even to the
final child — they will all be maniacs!

What do you think of a man, who walks blindfolded on a yawning precipice? Is he
not mad? And what are all men? What do they do?

They sport with life.

They play with death.

They slumber above the flames of Hell.

They defy their Maker and their Judge.

They think nothing of judgment and eternity — and thus they die! Is it a libel,
then, to say, "They are all mad!" And what comes after death? Does wisdom then
come? Will madness cease then? They will hear of wisdom, but they will not have
it. Man will then discover how mad he has been. He well see his madness then —
but only to know its endless misery!

Happy the man who, coming "to himself," resolves once more to seek his Father’s
house! (Luke 15:17-18.) Yes, "coming to himself." Thus speaks the parable. I ask
you to mark the words; they are full of meaning. As though the man had been
asleep; or drunk; or mad; or had swooned away — unconscious of himself, and all
around him. And then, as touched by a sudden hand, and sense as suddenly
infused, he awakes — comes to himself again, and immediately he lives, as
another man. Such is fallen nature; and such is grace in its effects.

Happy is the man, who thus recovers the gift of reason! Happy is the man, who
sits at Jesus’ feet, "in his right mind," and clothed with grace — cured of his
madness! Jesus has said the healing word — the "legion" is cast out and gone.
The man is a maniac no more. (Luke 8:35.) Reader, either you are mad — or you
once were! Say, have you looked to Jesus — or are you a madman still?

"A living dog is better than a dead lion." Ecclesiastes 9:4 The Preacher’s
figure is homely — yet how true! The lion was a lion, while he lived — the king
of the forests, the first of all the beasts. But now he is dead — and what is
he? The name of lion, and no more. A living dog is better. Such as he was, such
is he still — to all intents and purposes, a dog! What dog would like to change?

Just so, a living beggar is better than a dead king. Some few would rather die a
king, than live a beggar. Yet, in the main, man clings to life, and would rather
live a beggar, than die a king. But if life is valued for the present time —
then much more may it be valued for the eternal world to come. The Preacher
gives a reason why humble life may be preferred to stately death. "The living
know that they shall die." (Verse 5.) Were man but wise — did he but know the
blessing of life, and rightly prize the lengthening of his days, how happy would
he be! But the dead man — what can he do? Death is no longer future — death has
come! What can he do? Can he prepare for death? The time is past, and
preparation gone. Look at him in his ’narrow bed’ — his long home! Say, can he
now repent now? Can he look to Jesus now? Can he cry for mercy now? What do his
nobility, his velvet coffin, his stately tomb, his lofty pedigree, and worldwide
fame — matter now? If he died in unbelief — say, who would envy him now? No
grace in store for him; no mercy to be found by him; no prayer to make for him;
no Word of God to read to him; no gospel promise to be had — he is hopelessly,
forever, at an end! How wretched!

How precious, then, to live — even if it is in pain, or poverty, or woe! The
living still, through grace, may look to Jesus; trust in His cross for
righteousness; may "turn and live." Life to the last, is precious — oh, how
precious — if saving grace is found, and pardon is sealed! Better (but, oh! how
dangerous the state) — better (with reverence I speak it, but in truth) — better
to be a living profligate, a murderer, a thief — than be a dead king. For those
who live, there is hope; for the dead king, there is none. Those who live, yet
may cry, "O Lord, remember me. Remember not my sins. Remember, Lord, your grace.
Remember Jesus and His blood!" Those who live may yet "turn and live."

But, oh! the man that died unsaved! His sin lies with him in the grave. (Job
20:11.) Who, now, can make him "turn and live?"

"Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for
God now accepts your works." Ecclesiastes 9:7 Your works must be "the work of
God" — before God accept them; works done in faith and prayer, from love to
Jesus; works wrought in you by God the Spirit; works done, not to procure
salvation — but because salvation is given. No other works than these, can God
accept. Faith lies beneath, and glory crowns, them all.

"What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?" The Savior thus
replied, "That you believe on Him whom He has sent." (John 6:28-29.) Works,
built on this foundation, find grace with God for Jesus’ sake. Happy the man who
trusts in Jesus — who makes the work of Christ his only hope! His poorest works
are then approved; God looks upon them and accepts them all.

It is not the ministers of God alone, nor those who live for works of charity.
All have not time for this; their calling lies another way. Be it the labor of
the spade, or plough; the toil in factories, or work in the mines; to serve a
counter, or to lift a bale of hay; the lowest labor of the head or hands — in
all may God be glorified, and God be found. For this the Preacher bids us "Go,
eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart." He says
that God "accepts" these works. A blessing rests upon the table, where Christ is
owned, and God is sought; where food is taken, not for eating’s sake, but that
the heart be cheered, and members nourished, that God be served more heartily;
where thankfulness is felt, even for the relish of our food, reflecting, as it
does, God’s goodness.

"Your works are now accepted." It is not the building of a hospital, nor
endowing church; nor even the catalogue of rich gifts to this or that
"foundation". Nor even the munificence to supply the needs of thousands. All
this may still be done, and not accepted — if it is not done in faith. (1
Corinthians 13:3.) The praying chimney-sweep, who sings his carol at the
chimney-top — or the poor believer, who labors in the workhouse — is more
accepted in his work than they. From morn to night, from night to morning —
eating or working, walking or at rest — the man is blessed, who lives on Jesus.
Thrice blessed even the servant’s servant, if he serves the Lord.

"Always be clothed in white, and always anoint your head with oil." Ecclesiastes
9:8

"Cleanliness is next to godliness" they say. The saying is good; for cleanliness
befits the heirs of glory. It was never meant that Christians should be slovens.
Uncleanliness is lack of moral principle, and argues a defective mind — as if
the the man had neither taste, nor talent, to be clean. It is a flaw in one’s
character, to be a slovenly person. The dress neglected — the person badly kept
— the broken furniture — the unswept floor — even common manners forbids. Shall
Christian principle do less, and come behind in matters of common propriety?
Some men are slovenly by nature; it is hard to cure — but grace does all things.

And, Christian reader, if this is your infirmity, I beg you to try and cure it!
Even here the Spirit’s help is needed, more than in greater matters, since here
you are tempted to rely on self. Deep-seated habits, of whatever kind, are only
cured by hard work and prayer.

Some men are slovenly people from neglect — bad habits make them careless; their
eye is fixed on distant abstractions, and overlooks the foreground of reality.
This is an unhealthful state.

Others are slovenly on principle, as monks and hermits. They confound neglect of
person, with contempt for finery.

Some men are slovens, and that unwittingly. They think and dream, and read and
pray, their minds are absorbed in Heaven — they forget they still are still
citizens of earth. Forgive me, reader — the coat unbrushed, the hair disheveled,
and unwashed hands — can these be fruits of righteousness, or marks of grace?
Oh, no!

Much may be learned from Moses’ law — the Gospel of Leviticus. How carefully is
cleanliness enforced, and all uncleanliness awfully condemned! And why? The one,
the type of holiness — the last, the type of sin. We have the types enforced by
Christ Himself. Shall we be more remiss than they?

Oh, keep before you the countless multitude in Heaven, so bright and fair!
(Revelation 7:9.) Think of their robes so white. Think of the fountain opened
for all uncleanness (Zechariah 13:1) — the blood of Jesus. If you are a true
believer, that blood has cleansed your soul! Then let its virtue be seen upon
your person — its power reflected even in your house, and clothing — that so
God’s name be glorified, and that none should say your practice and your
principles are at variance.

Cleanliness is never to be despised. Would you not be a sloven in your soul —
then be no sloven in your outward man!

"Live joyfully with your wife, whom you love, all the days of your vanity — for
that is your portion in life, and in the labor which you perform under the sun."
Ecclesiastes 9:9

Days of vanity are days of care. Man’s days are days of vanity; thus man
requires a helper. God’s works are wonderful; rich in design, variety, and
power. Woman is part of man — bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh; in nature
one; partner of all his frailties; partaker of his passions; in heart and mind
his counterpart — and yet how different! From infancy, she is another creature;
her sphere of life — her objects and pursuits — her tone of mind — her mode of
action — her taste, her energies, her garb, her person — are all cast in another
mold.

Whence comes the difference? How is the mind prepared, congenial to the gender?
How is the body framed in unison? How is it brought to pass that the creature to
be born is man, or woman? But why the difference? That man might have an helper
— something so different from himself, that it should be a help, from dint of
contrast. Who can estimate all that woman is to man? Who can explain the nature
of her influence — to soothe, to calm, to bear his troubles — to smooth his
roughness — to lessen all his cares?

"Live joyfully with your wife," the Preacher says. Live meekly with her; live
tenderly; live peaceably. Love her, and cherish her, as Christ loves the Church,
and gave Himself for her. (Ephesians 5:25.)

"That is your portion in life" (Ecclesiastes 9:9) — a fragment of true happiness
which survived the fall. That is your privilege — your duty; not less a
privilege to love and cherish, than to possess the blessing. You lose "the
portion," when you lose the joy; you lose the joy, when you despise the
blessing. The Preacher tells of many wonders. (Proverbs 30:18-31.) Methinks that
he forgot the chief of them all — how woman . . . bears with man; forgives his
injuries; endures his harshness; overlooks his failings; requites him good for
evil.

How often the man turns joy to sorrow! And yet "the weaker vessel" is strong to
bear — stronger than the strongest of the stronger gender.

"Live joyfully with your wife!" Oh, child of God, live meekly, tenderly! The
more you serve her — the more you serve yourself; the more you cherish her — the
more you love yourself; the more you bear with her for Jesus’ sake — the more
you have fellowship with God in Christ. His glory, dignity, and office, is to
love His bride, the Church. Your glory is to imitate your Lord.

"Whatever your hand finds to do — do it with all your might." Ecclesiastes 9:10

Duties are duties. Painful or pleasant — trifling or great — public or obscure —
duties are duties still. In things indifferent, a choice is left; but in duties,
there is no choice. The rule is, "Whatever your hand finds to do — do it with
all your might." Who should be niggardly of time, or strength — when God
presents a duty to be done?

How numberless are duties! Masters and servants; husbands and wives; parents and
children; buyers and sellers; friend and friend. In all the round of daily work
and mutual dependence — all have their duties. To do them with "all our might"
does not mean the hurry of excitement, or of noisy business. It means to act
with steady calmness, and a quiet purpose, as serving God; to perform each
family and household duty, not as a task, with grudging mind — but cheerfully.
The most menial duty, thus performed, will give a freshness to our work and acts
of service, which nothing else will give. How needful is this refreshment to
cheer our daily toil — to see, and find the Lord in every duty — and thus to do
it with our might.

Say, you who serve the counter, or who, in other ways, are used the livelong day
— to bear the whims, to please the taste, to answer the demands, of all who come
— you need something to relieve the mind, to cheer the heart, and turn your
trouble into rest. Do you ever snatch a moment, in the midst your many calls, to
lift your heart to Jesus to give you wisdom and strength, and to sanctify your
toil; and then forthwith renew your energy, add zeal to patience, and do your
duty with your all your might?

Perhaps you are interrupted when you wish it not — or you have some other thing
to do, than what you wished. Whatever it may be — do it with your might. It is
Jesus who sends the interruption. It is He who appoints the task — receive it
graciously, and do it heartily.

Some visitor comes in. Maybe you have no desire to see him — but yet, receive
him with all your might. Could he have come, if God had not appointed him?
Therefore, do not speak irritably to him, as though your time were lost, and
every moment were an hour, that he is with you — but seek to improve the time.
It is your business for the present; then do it well. Thus you will glorify God
who sent it, more than in all the zeal of what you meant to do. No duty should
be done with half a heart, or half a hand. Let not the heart be absent — while
the hand is at work. All that is worth doing — is worth doing well. A hurried
way, even in a trifle, will neither help you, nor bring a blessing with it. Then
seek the way of working quietly, with sober diligence, and peaceful energy; and
thus, whatever you do, you will do it with all your might.

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not
for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a
reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving." Colossians 3:23-24

"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave,
where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor
wisdom." Ecclesiastes 9:10

Oh it is a solemn thought — death cuts your course in two. On one side all is
time — on the other is eternity. Things for eternity are done in present time;
and things of time must now be done, or never. You cannot take your undone
duties with you — to do them in eternity; here they must stay behind, forever to
remain undone! Is your desire to save your soul? Make no delays. Jesus the
Savior is here. Jesus the Judge is there. Here you may seek and find; you cannot
find Him there. Here sin is washed away; but sin meets with vengeance there Is
your desire to speak of Christ to some poor wandering soul? As far as you are
concerned, it may be now, or never. Be faithful while you may. Is your desire to
do some work of charity — some act of kindness? Is it to act the peacemaker?
Perhaps you are the only one to do it, the only one of influence to bring
discordant souls together. If you neglect to do it, death may come; the precious
moment is lost; and lasting discord may proclaim your broken purpose. Or you may
have in mind to benefit a friend, to make a present from your substance; some
thing that you may give, yet cannot "will away." Make no delays. What can you do
"in the grave, where you are going?" Have you a "will" to make — a "will" to
alter? Delay it not. The mind is averse to it. A shudder seizes you, when called
to do it. Flesh shrinks from what is to be, when self is gone — there is a gulf
of unreality, when self, even in prospect, is no longer there. You think you are
bringing death before the time; ringing the knell of your departure. Let not
such thoughts as these deter you. Will death come sooner because you make your
"will?" If death at last overtakes you unawares, when power is gone, and sense
fast ebbs away — oh what a pang may seize you, to think that wife or child is
unprovided for, through your delay!

"The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to
the wise, or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and
chance happen to them all." Ecclesiastes 9:11

"The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to
the wise, or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and
chance happen to them all." Ecclesiastes 9:11

Time, and her handmaid, what the world calls "chance", are clad in the vesture
of uncertainty. What people call "chance" is nothing but God’s divine
providence. God’s ways bespeak His wisdom and His power — He is wise to adapt,
and mighty to fulfill. Viewed with the eye of sense, God’s ways often assume an
air of fickleness; by which it is inferred that all things happen without rhyme
or reason — with no settled law pervading, no sovereign will directing, their
occurrence.

Thus man twist the attributes of God, and robs Him of His honor — as though some
mock divinity called "chance" presided over us, and made caprice his rule of
action.

Man’s needs are various, and require an ever varying treatment — hence the
varieties of "time and chance." Not one event occurs without its meaning. All
events are divinely fitted to correct, to humble, or encourage; to fill the mind
with thoughts of God; to show man’s utter weakness to keep himself, or guard
against the future; to make him say, "It is the Lord — His hand — His power —
His will."

Such treatment is required for a fallen race. No one uniform law would suit the
purpose. Shivered to atoms by the "fall" — all order is gone from man. Each
broken fragment of his nature reflects prismatic rays of frailty — their hue,
their color, their intensity, forever varying; each calling for a divine
providence adapted to its need; and, as the prism varies, so is the treatment
changed. The divine eye which counts the feathers on the wings of insects; which
numbers up the blades of grass; which counts the drops of water in the ocean;
and registers each grain of sand upon the shore — is quick to see, and swift to
send. Hence, are all the changes, accidents, and "chances," of man’s experience.

Hence, "the race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food
come to the wise, or wealth to the brilliant, or favor to the learned." Man may
propose — but all the disposing is of God. God’s "chance" (divine providence) is
not the "chance" of men — all fickle and confused. God’s "chance" is sure —
fixed in its principle; certain in its aim; acting on rules of wisdom,
inscrutable to man, yet clear and well-defined.

Man fails, he knows not why. He calculates in vain. His plans are crossed by
divine counter-plans — the underworkings of the divine Hand which made the
worlds; of Him, who sovereignly controls all things of "time and chance."

"The word "chance" should be forever banished from the Christian’s conversation!
Luck or chance is a base heathenish invention! God rules and overrules all
things!" Spurgeon

"There was once a small city with only a few people in it. And a powerful king
came against it, surrounded it and built huge siegeworks against it. Now there
lived in that city a man poor but wise, and he saved the city by his wisdom. But
nobody remembered that poor man." Ecclesiastes 9:14-15

If man is grateful for your services — be thankful. If he is ungrateful — be
thankful still. In serving man for Jesus’ sake; you serve God; He will be
thankful, if man is not — your service is not lost. The Christian has a remedy
for all — a magic rule which turns all into gold. Coldness he finds — where he
expected love; ingratitude — where he looked for thankfulness. But still there
is warmth, and gratitude, and love, in Jesus — more than he looked for at the
hand of man. And thus there always is a heart to feel your kindness, though man
should heartless be.

None of your good intentions come to nothing. If man receives them not — they
find a welcome, and a home, with Jesus. He counts them up; He writes them in his
book — and most of all, your service for the souls of men.

Some scoff at you. Some listen for a time. Some promise well, and then they fall
away. Even then your labor is not lost. God’s Word returns not to Him void.
(Isaiah 55:11.) It carries back the savor of your faithfulness. The travail of
your soul, the Savior sees. For those you meant it — He takes it to Himself, and
counts Himself your debtor.

Nay, the most trifling act of kindness — be it to fetch a pitcher of water from
the well; to lend a hand in harvest time; to take your turn to watch a restless
child; the hand stretched forth to steady tottering steps of an old lady; a kind
word, even though unheeded, to a passer-by — none of this falls to the ground.
The word, unheard by man — is heard by Jesus. The act may be forgotten by man —
but Jesus never forgets it.

Men may wound you to the heart by their lack of gratitude. You looked for better
things from them. But can you wonder? What is the heart of man? Did you expect
to find it thankful? Well, it often is so. Then do not fret at the ingratitude
you receive. Your brother’s heart is hard, but so is yours. Let all your deeds
be done as unto God. In whatever you do for others, see first your duty to the
Lord. Even in these, let duty to your neighbor be the second thing. So shall you
never miss your aim, nor find yourself requited with unthankfulness.

"So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of
God." 1 Corinthians 10:31 "It is the Lord Christ you are serving!" Colossians
3:24 "The quiet words of the wise are more to be heeded than the shouts of a
ruler of fools." Ecclesiastes 9:17

Speak quietly — never loudly or forcibly. It is not the strength of lungs which
makes impression, but the power of the mind and soul. Never speak in rapid
nervous utterance; nor in the storm of passionate expression — but in the "still
small voice" of quiet speech.

Loudness bespeaks a lack of tenderness, and a lack of propriety. In company,
quiet implies good breeding in grace, a chastened mind. He who is much with
Jesus, is not loud — His presence charms the soul to tranquility. If you are
loud, you cannot hear the Spirit. He ever speaks in quiet — and in tranquility
He is heard.

Passion is loud — and so is lack of thought. Self-discipline, retirement, and
prayer beget a softer manner and a chastened tongue. He who is loud of speech,
hears most of self. It is odious to hear the sound of thoughtless self — to
catch it off its guard, giving its vent to carnal feeling in all the coarseness
of its nature. It is humbling to the soul — and yet, if others hear, you had
better hear it too, that you may know your real character, and thus be quick to
learn the gentleness of Christ. Be quiet when you speak of Jesus — when you
invite the sinner to His cross. You cannot unfold His love with violence of
speech. Be quiet when you minister rebuke, or tell another of his failings. If
you are loud, you cannot reach his heart. The quieter you are — the louder in
effect; the more serene — the more persuasive. When loudness comes, persuasion
dies. Then, let your words be "heard in quiet." On principle speak quietly. Your
gentleness will edify your soul, and thus return its grace with interest. Study
to speak distinctly, that your whisper may be heard, and thus your power of
tranquility enlarged — yet not the affectation of a maudlin gentleness — but the
sterling quiet of the mind of Christ.

"Wisdom is better than weapons of war." Ecclesiastes 9:18

Wisdom is better than war — but harder to be obtained. War comes of fallen human
nature; wisdom comes only of grace. It is easier to slay your thousands — than
to have one spark of wisdom

Peace is a jewel. All honor to the men who preach it — who travel hundreds of
miles upon their peaceful errand; and find access to kings and emperors, to
speak to them of peace! Men scoff — but God approves their mission. The failure
lies, not in the goodness of their cause, but in the sin of man. Yet it is a
day-dream, after all, to think that men will hear of reason; the reason of the
Prince of Peace!

Man is quite unable to practice peace. Even if he promises — will that ensure
performance? Or will it change his heart? He is but a sinner — still brother to
Cain who shed his brother’s blood. (Genesis 6:1-22.) Give him — ah! give him, if
you can, the mind of Jesus. Give him new feelings and affections. Make him, in
short, a child of God — and then he will understand you. Until then the world
will fight, and fight again. Wars will not cease until Christ returns, and fills
the world with peace.

"Give them an arbiter," it is said, "let him decide it!" An arbiter is found.
Can he, then, change the heart, or bring the nations to their senses? Reason is
nothing; expostulation is nothing better; entreaty, eloquence, and truth, are of
no avail. Sin masters everything, but God. Sin says, "We will fight it out — the
sword is the arbiter of right! Might makes right!" The scabbard is flung away,
and war begins!

Alas! for wisdom; it finds no place to rest its foot upon; it hovers over the
battlefield — then hides its head and weeps. Surely the world is out of course,
all its foundations gone. What is it but a ruin, after all.

"Wisdom is better than weapons of war." There is another war, besides the
conflict of the sword — the war of words, and angry passions — the war of social
discord — the war of family dissension — the war of courts of law. For each, and
all, the only remedy is wisdom: wisdom to love, wisdom to suffer, wisdom to
forbear, wisdom to be silent, wisdom to treat your brother kindly, wisdom to
overcome his evil with your good.

You thus disarm him, and fairly conquer him. What weapons are like these, found
in the armory of Jesus — kept sharp, and furbished by the Spirit — for the child
of God?


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  CHAPTER 13: 01.10.     ECCLESIASTES 10
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Ecclesiastes 10:1-20

"As dead flies cause the ointment of the perfumer to putrefy and send forth a
stench — so a little folly outweighs wisdom and honor. Ecclesiastes 10:1

Flies are but little things — and yet they do a world of mischief. Themselves
corruptible, they breed corruption, as the Preacher’s figure shows. Often is the
odor of good name turned to "stench," because the flies of inconsistency have
festered in it.

Flies are but flitting things; they are now on me, and now on you. Scare them —
they are quickly gone — and as quickly they return. Let them but settle for a
while — they will sip and sip again — until drowsy with their feast, they die —
then follows putrefaction, and your sweets are spoiled, and whom have you to
thank? None but yourself. Had you but been sure that the lid was on — no thief
had stolen, no spoiler tainted, them. The fault was, then, your own.

Thus inconsistencies are flitting things. At first a single act which hardly
settles — then hums its flight away. Act follows act, at short, and shorter
intervals. Then acts are turned to habits — and habits nestle in the soul, and
poison it. Had you but checked the act — the habit would never have come. Be
wary, then, and scare the "flies" away. Tease you they may, but cannot settle
long without your permission. And what are Satan’s flies — temptations by the
score — when met by grace? Resist them, and they soon will fly away. (James
4:7.)

What a fair thing the Christian’s reputation — his good report with others! How
hard it is earned! How easily it is spoiled! How delicate its substance! The
faintest breath is seen upon its mirrored face. The smallest "fly" is enough to
taint it.

Guard well your character, my brother! Keep it from taint, not for your own, but
for your Master’s sake. A trifling act — a thoughtless word — how soon it brings
you down, and makes your ointment to send forth a stench! Years of piety will be
spoiled through one "unsavory" act!

10 Ecclesiastes 10 "A wise man’s heart is at his right hand, but a fool’s heart
is at his left." Ecclesiastes 10:2 A Christian’s heart is the treasury of grace.
The heart is thus the center of affection — the seat of knowledge — the source
of purpose and emotion — the very soul of spiritual life. It is with the heart
we feel and think Christianly. It is from the treasure of the "heart" we bring
all practical experience — all spiritual fruit — all holy feelings — -all
edifying speech, and all consistency of life. The heart is the abode of memory,
and holy recollections. In fine, the heart contains all the resources of the
child of God, drawn from the fountain of God’s grace and truth. To keep the
heart with all diligence — to use its powers of thought, and means of action —
to exercise our graces with discretion — to have our knowledge at our fingers
ends, our feelings in control — to keep our sensibilities awake, and thus to
draw them forth when needed — this is the part of wisdom; this is what the
Preacher means. A workman knows the difference between his "right hand," and his
left — and seeks to have his implements at hand, that he at once may grasp, and
handle them, with all dexterity. It is thus the Christian is called to use his
powers — to have them at the right hand of his energy.

It is humbling to meet the enemy, unarmed and unprepared; to lose the victory
for lack of grace; to have known the art to conquer — and yet, from
carelessness, to lose it; to hear, what might edify — and be no better for it;
to have occasion to speak a word — and yet find nothing to say; to try to
mention what we have heard — and find it gone from mind — and why? Our heart is
at our left hand, not our right — and hence our failure. The Spirit’ s sword not
kept within our reach; our knowledge was allowed to escape, for lack of
practice; the grace of hearing, feeling, speaking, are not to be found — since
not in exercise. All this is clumsy workmanship, and bespeaks a badly kept
heart. We seek our weapons, and, when the time is gone by, perhaps we find them,
too late to use them, but not too late to cause the blush of shame. A friend
says "Pray for me!" Your heart gives no response — no prayer is found! How
chilling to the soul! How humbling! To have your sympathy desired, and find no
feeling there, as though you had no heart to beat within you! To have to weep
with those who weep, and find no tears to weep with, as though the very fount
were dried and gone! Oh, if we lived more prayerfully, and sat more constantly
at Jesus’ feet, would it be thus? Would it be thus so often? My soul, be
careful. Let your heart at your right hand be ever found!

"Yielding pacifies great offences." Ecclesiastes 10:4

Yielding makes peace with God. Man’s heart is proud, and therefore man is lost.
"Hide pride from man," and man is saved. (Job 33:17.) Then to God’s
righteousness he stoops, and God is pacified. (Romans 10:3.) Only acknowledge
that your sin is great — that under every tree you have sought idols — and God
is pacified. (Jeremiah 3:13.)

"How does yielding do this? Is not Christ our peace? (Ephesians 2:14.) His blood
alone can pacify, and reconcile to God."

It is true, my friend. Christ does it all. The work is His — not yours. But are
you willing to accept His work? That is the question. Pride stumbles at the
cross. It does not stoop to a bleeding Savior, more than it stoops to a
sovereign God. Human pride overtops the highest angels. The angels hide their
faces — human pride turns its back on God Himself!

Yes; "yielding pacifies;" but even this is not your doing. It is not man that
yields; man does not give way, and never will. It is grace that does it — man’s
heart made willing in the day of God’s power. (Psalms 90:3.) To grace, man is a
debtor still.

Even Christians find it difficult to yield. To say, "I am sorry!" To own that I
am wrong! This is very difficult for you. You try again, "Is there no other way?
Can I not keep my pride, and be at peace with others?" You try to pray. You
cannot. Why? You have not owned your fault. Pride still is there. Go, say, "I am
wrong! I am sorry!" Go pacify your friend — and be at peace with God. Who can
explain the twofold nature of the saint — that mystery of good and evil! Now sin
is uppermost — and now grace. The old man, and the new — are ever at deadly
strife. Grace gains the day — but how? The heart proudly held out, and refused
to yield. What brought it to an end? But hush, my soul! You cannot solve such
mysteries as these. Enough to know yourself is a miracle of grace. Be it your
part to follow Jesus — to learn of Him, to yield to God, and man — and be at
peace.

"Whoever quarries stones may be injured by them; whoever splits logs may be
endangered by them. If the ax is dull and its edge unsharpened, more strength is
needed; but wisdom will bring success." Ecclesiastes 10:9-10 Is God concerned
about quarrying stones or splitting logs? Is it not written for our sakes (1
Corinthians 9:9-10); that each might know his calling, and learn to fill it with
propriety — that all might strive to be expert in what they have to do? God’s
name is honored when we thus adorn His doctrine, and show that Christian men can
work expertly. How fitting, then, to know our calling! First, to discover what
we are called to do; and then, to do it with all our might.

Some call themselves to preach the Gospel — but Christ called them not. It is
proved, both by their preaching, and their lives. None but the Spirit "calls" in
truth — and when He calls, He gives the wisdom needful success. How can a man
direct his ways? How can a man walk in holiness and divine strength? How can a
man wield the Gospel weapons, or use the Gospel tools? How can a man lead the
sinner in the paths of peace — if wisdom guides him not?

It is the same in other walks of life — in law, and medicine, or philosophy;
with merchants, tradesmen, or mechanics; with laborers, or household servants.
It is right that all should know their work, and do it well. All are not equally
expert — but all may work with diligence; and, if they are the Lord’s, may ask
for grace to sanctify their abilities, and thus enable them to use them well.
Such shall have "a good reputation with outsiders." (1 Timothy 3:7.) Men honors
those who do their best. Men know the difference between those who waste their
powers, and those who make the most of what they have.

It was said by one well known for piety, that if a saint were but a "shoeblack,"
his shoes should be the brightest in the town. And this should be the rule with
all, whether to plane a board — or scrub a floor; to steer a vessel — or to
plough a field. Whatever the labor of the head or hand — all should try to do
their labor well. The household seamstress! Now-a-days, what endless handiworks!
What divers forms, materials, and hues! What shall we say? How hard at times to
draw the line between usefulness — and fashion; between what is solid — and what
is vain! This we may say (gravely, yet courteously) — all that you do — do well;
but still be careful what you do — lest Jesus say, "You worked for fashion, to
deck the chamber, or to please the eye — you did not work for Me."

"A babbler is no better." Ecclesiastes 10:11

Oh what a comfort to have a friend, a confidant — a man who knows how to keep a
secret — whose ear is ready to receive, whose heart is able to retain, whatever
may be told him — a man, who can resist the charm of telling others what he
knows, and keeps it within the bolts and bars of secrecy! It is a foul blot upon
one’s honor, to tell a secret; to bring another into trouble, because you could
not hold your tongue. How base it makes one feel, to have it said, "Why did you
tell my secret?" Nor is it merely when it is told to you as a secret. Your
friend has spoken in your presence of things which touch his honor, or the fame
of others. He said not, "Do not mention it!" He rested on your character. He
thought, "He will not repeat it. I know I am safe. He is not given to gossip."
He gave you credit for discretion, and found himself mistaken!

Oh, who can tell the harm that is done by breach of confidence! Who can follow,
in its course, a secret thus let loose! One tells it to another, and thus it
goes from mouth to mouth — from ear to ear — depositing in many hearts what
never should be known; gathering, as it flies, untold excess of scandal! If
itching ears are bad — surely itching lips are worse — far more hurtful in the
end. And yet it is sweet to fallen nature, to be the first to know — the first
to tell! It is a strange pleasure, after all — a sorry way of feeding
self-importance — that for a time (oh, short-lived pleasure!) you are admired as
the mouth-piece of "intelligence! " It is nothing but vanity. I beg you, mortify
the taste — and renounce the habit. Even where the matter is harmless, never
tell the tale!

Oh, it is a sign that grace is low, when pleasure such as this is coveted, and
souls are taken with the charm of "telling the faults of others." Where
another’s character is at stake, and what you hear concerns the faults of others
— it is well to bury it at once in secrecy — and never repeat it to a living
soul. Practice the habit; in the end you will find it pleasant; and then, it
will cost you more to tell it out, than to suppress it. Of all the things we
hear, how few are worth repeating! Weigh it before you mention it. You will
mostly find it is not worth the breath expended on it; far less will it repay
the risk of injuring yourself or others. Shun, then, the approach of evil — and
keep your lips from learning babblers’ ways.

"The words of a wise man’s mouth are gracious, but the lips of a fool shall
swallow him up." Ecclesiastes 10:12 A world of evil is in the tongue. Though but
a little member, yet it boasts great things. It sets on fire the course of
nature. No wonder — itself is set on fire by Hell. (James 3:5-6.) By words we
are justified, and by our words condemned. The idle words will do it, without
the actions. The idle words will seal the sinner’s doom. (Matthew 12:36-37.)
Words of impatience, violence, and wrath — words of disdainful tempers — expose
a man to Hell, (Matthew 5:21-22.) Our words testify of our whole character — the
entire man — as plainly as weathercocks declare the wind that blows. Out of the
abundance of the heart, the lips will speak.

Some lips speak nothing but vanity. The wanton oath — the ribald jest — the idle
scoff — these savor of the "pit" too plainly. And then, the empty talk — the
giggling words — vain exclamations — breath wasted on unmeaning nothings! God is
not in all their words, because He is not in all their thoughts.

Oh, what a reckoning with idle lips at last! To have talked of everything but
God — of all but Jesus! If ever those names were uttered, it was in lightness,
or in cursing. Say, is not this enough to seal our condemnation?

How many a man seems to have wisdom — until he speaks! His looks are pleasant,
his manners good — but his speech proclaims him to be a fool! His lips have
consumed himself! What silence did — his words have now undone.

How much a Christian reputation depends on what is spoken! How often a word in
private has undone the effect of public teaching — or a moment’s vanity
destroyed the work of years! How often the profit of a conversation been lost
through lack of gravity! Say, Reader, have your lips never consumed you, nor
marred your influence, through some unguarded word! It is bitter thus to eat the
bread of self-humiliation, and see how vain, how foolish, we are! Then pray the
Lord to set a guard over your mouth; to keep watch over the door of your lips;
lest, otherwise, they become a sepulcher, to "consume" yourself and others too.

"Set a guard over my mouth, O LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips!" Psalms
141:3 "He does not even know how to go to the city!" Ecclesiastes 10:15

Most men would seek "the city" — the City of the Lord, the New Jerusalem. Few
like to say they seek it not — for this were to confess they are on their way to
Hell.

Some do not trouble themselves to find it. They think they are sure to reach it
— though they know not how. "God is merciful!" they say; and there the matter
ends. "How barbarous to think it otherwise!" They think that all men fall asleep
on earth, and wake up in Heaven. How many such there are!

Others make much ado. Much pains they take to seek "the city." Pity they know
not how to find it! They fast; they say many prayers; early and late you see
them at the shrine of vain religious observances. Their dress, their hair, their
whole appearance, show that they are eaten up with "religious forms," which
loudly say, "We seek the city" — but which as clearly prove they know not how to
find it.

Some take the Pharisee’s road, and think it leads to Heaven. They pride
themselves upon their works, and strict integrity of life. Alas! when death
removes the blinders from their eyes, they will find they are in Samaria’s
midst, and not in Zion, as they thought! (1 Kings 6:20.)

Others say plainly that they cannot find "the city." They ask the way from
everyone they meet, "Say, friend, will faith, or works, lead me to Zion’s hill?"
This path they tread, now that path — taking each byway, as it comes; but still
with importunity they cry, "We have not found the road!"

Some, strange to say — walk backwards to "the city," or, at least, they try to
walk. They say they seek it, but their face is turned the other way; they have
the present world in view. Say, can they find the city thus? But some there are,
who walk the narrow road — the only road that leads to Zion. Once they were
wanderers too. But Jesus met them as they strayed. "I am the way," He said, "and
I alone. None comes to the City but by Me." (John 14:6.) And now, through grace,
they follow Jesus. Both road, and guide, He is. His work is the only causeway
for their feet; His footprints are ever telling that He is in the way, going
before them to Jerusalem — not, as He did before, to death and shame; but,
through His finished work, leading them to glory, even to "the City" now
prepared for His redeemed people. (Mark 10:32; Hebrews 11:16.)

Blessed are those who do His will, and have a right to enter through the gates
into the New Jerusalem. There shall they see His face — there shall they serve
Him. "The city" needs no sun nor moon to light it. This is the name by which it
is called, "The Lord is there!" (Revelation 22:1-21; Ezekiel 48:35.)

"Because of laziness, the building decays; and through idleness of hands, the
house leaks." Ecclesiastes 10:18

Beware of idleness — and, most of all, avoid the thief, procrastination, and his
counterpart, "tomorrow." Look sharply — or else they are sure to pilfer your
time, your substance, and your character!

Why should you say, "tomorrow," when "today" is better? The torn fabric is seen
— or the missing brick is acknowledged; you mean to have it done. "It is but a
stitch," you say; "only a brick is gone!" Yes, friend, it was but one — but now
it is three or four; and will be twenty, if you mend it not! The less the pains
required — the less should be the excuse.

It is morning now; "you will do it in the afternoon." Night, in its darkness,
sees it is not done — so apparent is your negligence! The morrow comes; another
and another. Friend, say not that word "I’ll do it later" again.

How hard it is to be consistent! to carry out one’s principles; to work them out
in trifles — in things of every day’s occurrence! Yet character is made up of
this, and that — small things of character, as well as great. And what, I ask
you, is consistency, but to do all things in time, in order, and in place! Bad
habits are always worth correcting. Things outwardly in disorder, speak of that
disorder within. If you neglect to stop a gap, or mend a hole — most probably
you do the same with your personal faults and failings. The principle is the
same in either case. The eye that scans the one — discerns the other. One mind
affords the energy — one heart supplies the courage — to correct the fault. It
is the same face which ought to blush for slovenly delay. Then strive to be
exact, for conscience’ sake.

Someone says, "What is the need of being so particular?" Because the matter is
great — character is at stake! Beware of small delays. Don’t you know that the
little foxes spoil the vines; and the vines have tender grapes? (Song of Solomon
2:15.)

Young lions have great teeth. Then break them out at once. They will be greater
by and by, and do a world of injury! (Psalms 58:6.)

One fault allowed — one evil way unchecked — one sinful passion indulged in —
one bad temper not subdued; oh, who can tell what trouble they will cause you
afterwards! If duly checked at the first assault, the garrison will soon give
in. The more delay — the harder it will be to take the fortress.

Rust is a little thing at first — but how corroding — and how easily contracted!
A slight exposure does it. Thus slothfulness creeps on by small degrees, and
soon corrodes the vitals of one’s character!

"Do not revile the king even in your thoughts, or curse the rich in your bedroom
— because a bird of the air may carry your words, and a bird on the wing may
report what you say." Ecclesiastes 10:20

It is dangerous to speak, where secrecy is required. The thought is your own,
while you keep it to yourself. But once the cage is opened, and the bird let
loose — who knows how far its flight may bear it! At first you think to tie it
by the foot — that is, you tell your secret to a single friend. He tells it to
another, who mentions it but to a chosen few! The cord is loosened — and your
bird has gone! Your "bird" no more will roost in secrecy.

What makes you tell your secret? The itch of telling. And can you wonder that
others feel the like, and love to gratify the taste, which you could not
restrain? Then learn to keep your secret to yourself.

It is good to know the "bird" is in the cage, securely fastened. And, though it
flutters against the bars, desiring its liberty — still keep the cage closed. It
will do no harm, while there. What mischief it might do, if let loose — you
cannot imagine. If you think evil of a man, what need to mention it to another?
His faults are known to you, but why repeat them? Who has a right to ask it? God
allowed you to his fault, that you might pray for him — and not to harm yourself
and others, by spreading his dishonor.

It is dangerous even to think! Thought oozes out at tiny openings! A look
betrays it. A word in sleep may speak it; unguarded speech may unfold it.

It is dangerous to think! Thoughts have their way, if once you harbor them — and
do their best to to be spoken. What is wrong to speak — it is often as wrong to
think. Who made you the judge of your brother’s character? Who gave his failings
to your care, or bid you ponder them in your mind? Pray for him, if you will;
the more, the better. Think what God’s grace may do for him. Think of his
turning to the Lord. Think of his sitting at the feet of Jesus. Such thoughts
are safe; they will do no injury either to him, or you.

But, if you harbor bad thoughts against the man, and not against the sin, most
probably the thought will work its way out to the tongue, and injure you. To
keep a thought at bay — how curiously deep — how deeply curious, the exercise!
To treat your thoughts as though they never belonged to you; to give them
strangers’ fare, and keep them at respectful distance! All this is possible. It
is often done by those whose sense is exercised to discern good from evil. My
soul, may this exercise be yours — that your thoughts be led captive, and Jesus
rule your tongue. Then nothing shall escape you, that you should retain; nor
others’ character be injured at your hand.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 14: 01.11.     ECCLESIASTES 11
========================================================================

Ecclesiastes 11:1-10

"In the place where the tree falls, there it shall be." Ecclesiastes 11:8

Say, reader — it is a thought of deep solemnity — where shall you be in five
hundred years? Have you ever looked it in the face? If not, you well may
shudder. Five hundred years will pass away, and find you still in being — more
keenly sensible than now, to joy — or sorrow. Not here, it is true; but in
eternity.

Ah, reader, tell me where — in five thousand years — where shall you be? Where
shall you be in five million years? Where shall you be in five hundred million
years? Where shall you be in five thousand million years? Where shall you be in
five hundred thousand million years? Where shall you be in five million times a
million years — where, Reader, will you be?

Ah, tell me how you die — then I will tell you where you will be in eternity.
One simple fact will fix the knotty point, and mark your state forever. One
simple question I would ask you, "Do you believe in Jesus?" To fall asleep in
Jesus, is to awake in eternal glory. This will be your portion, when millions of
years shall pass away — yes, countless millions — and find you still amidst the
throng of saints and angels; still find you gazing on the face of Jesus — your
soul still bathed in glory! To die in sin; in other words, to die without
salvation in Jesus, is to awake in endless misery — in death unceasing, "the
second death;" ranging, in woe unspeakable, through all eternity.

One moment fixes you forever — the hour of death. No change can happen after
death. What change can happen then? Can the flames of Hell burn out your sins?
Say, does the potter’s fire burn out the colors of the potter’s vase?’ Nay, but
it burns them in, and fixes them indelibly. Thus acts the quenchless flames on
sinners and their sins. Or, will the company of devils, and the wicked dead,
renew your soul, and make it fit for Heaven? Oh, tell me, if you can, how many
years of fire will purify your soul; how many years with Satan will restore you
to God’s image? Have you not read: "He who is unjust — let him be unjust still;
and he who is filthy — let him be filthy still." (Revelation 22:11.)

If, as a tree, you fall toward south, or north — there shall you lie forever. On
the north side lies the eternal city, New Jerusalem, the City of the King. Fall
there — and there shall you forever be. Fall south-ward, what hand can then
remove you, or make you a vessel fit for the Master’s use?

"The days of darkness." Ecclesiastes 11:8

What a mysterious thing is darkness. Who can explain its power? I am still the
same in darkness, as in light: in mind, and body, and estate, the same. All
things around maintain their relative position, uninfluenced by night, or day.
What makes the difference of feeling? The horror of great darkness! (Genesis
15:12.) What is it? Whence does it proceed? The day was made for wakefulness;
the night for sleep. Darkness was never made for waking eyes, or waking
thoughts. Grace softens it, and robs it of its gloom; but even then, "truly the
light is sweet, and it is a pleasant thing" to see "the sun." (Ecclesiastes
11:7.) Darkness and sorrow are well-matched things — darkness and misery.

"The days of darkness! " What are they? Days of distress; days, in which it is
felt that man is fallen; in which the sunshine of prosperity is gone, and man no
longer dreams of unbroken happiness. With some, how brief the day! How passing
short the dream! How soon "the days of darkness" come! Their childhood is
ushered in with clouds; sickness or sorrow tends them all their days; and soon
they set in darkness. With others, oh, how different! They hardly know what
"darkness" means. They hear of sorrow, pain, and trouble; that is all. They
little think that "days of darkness" will at last be theirs.

"The days of darkness!" Yes, they will come. "They shall be many." Oh, how many
they will be! You know not what worlds of sorrow are compressed within the
nutshell of a moment! When once the bubble bursts, and days of health are gone —
when death and judgment stare you in the face — who can express the world of
darkness that a few short months may prove? To think of talents wasted! Of God
neglected! Of opportunities gone by! Conscience alarmed! The judgment now
convinced! The mind unhinged by fear! The body tottering to its fall! Backwards,
a dreary waste — forwards, a yawning void! Death, judgment, and eternity,
harrowing the soul!

Say, are these not "days of darkness?" Will not a few suffice you. when they
come? Not even a few you would ask — but God may give you many.

If such is life — life, and its darkness, the inner darkness — Oh, then what is
death! Death and its darkness! The outer darkness! (Matthew 8:12.) Oh, for the
light of life to cheer you now — to cheer you after death! Oh, for Jesus, the
sinner’s Friend! Oh, for the Bright and Morning Star, to light you now and ever!
(Revelation 22:16.)

"Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in
the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see
— but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment. So then,
banish anxiety from your heart and cast off the troubles of your body, for youth
and vigor are meaningless." Ecclesiastes 11:9-10

Mankind is a mystery — God overruling, ordering, directing; yet man as free to
act, as though none overruled; as bold of heart, as though responsible to none.
How clearly this is seen in youth! What lawless vanity! What free indulgence!
What passionate excess! What thoughtless unconcern! What elasticity of body and
mind! What vast exuberance of health and spirits! Restless in pleasure — eager
to enjoy — no weariness in following out its ways. In each succeeding
generation, it is as if sin is renewed, to flow in younger veins; as though the
pursuit of pleasure increased with each succeeding age!

Youth is a mystery! In a child’s early years — the mind is susceptible;
prejudice is unconfirmed; habits are not yet matured; the feelings are tender;
the judgment is pliable. You would think it would be easy to conduct the child
to truth and godliness. And yet, with all this pliability, there is a force
founded of human passion — a great desire for all that is vain — the wildest
dream of all that is earthly.

Poor youth! I pity you. Launched on the billows of a treacherous sea — a traitor
world without — a traitor heart within; pleasures to tempt your passions —
snares made to catch your failings — and all smiles around invitingly. It seems
almost a duty to enjoy yourself, and take your fill of all that pleases you.

Conscience, where do you dwell in youth? Can your voice be heard in the midst of
rampant vanity? False manliness would choke your utterance. Yet are you felt at
times. You may be dormant, yet you are not dead.

Listen, my youthful friend! What voice is it? Look not without — the voice is
from within! It bids you to pause and think. It tells you of a God, a divine
providence, a righteous Judge. It tells you that you are mortal. It tells you of
an eternal world to come. It says, "You are a sinner — and you need a Savior! A
Savior may be sought — a Savior may be found. Sin may be confessed — and sin may
be forgiven! Beware!" Listen to the voice, my friend!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 15: 01.12.     ECCLESIASTES 12
========================================================================

Ecclesiastes 12:1-14 Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth."
Ecclesiastes 12:1

Remember your Creator! He speaks as if you had known Him, and forgotten. But is
it so? Ah no! By nature you know Him not. Forgetfulness was born in you —
forgetfulness of God — forgetfulness of utter ignorance — of darkness tenfold
dark, because to you, God is invisible. You are born a prodigal, far from your
Father’s home — and you continue to wander away from Him. Say, "I will return to
my Father, for I have strayed afar."

God deals with Adam’s children, as He dealt with Adam himself. Adam’s sinful
nature is yours. God says to you, "Remember! Trace back your wandering steps.
Undo your past forgetfulness. Return to holiness. Return to Me!" But how can you
remember? Your memory is gone. Search all the corners of your heart and brain —
you will not find it. They will tell you that many things have lodged in them,
but God’s remembrance never. Ah, try, and try again! You will find I am right.
You never knew the Lord. Then how can you remember whom you have never known?
What is to be done?

God must remember you, before you remember Him. He must give you His grace — and
pardon all your sins. Then shall you track your way to Adam’s sin, and say,
"This sin is mine! In Adam I have sinned. I have forgotten my Creator, and
turned from God. I have been a rebel, and a wanderer still." But hark! my
friend. What the first Adam lost — the second Adam found. What the first Adam
took away — the second has given again.

Am I the Lord’s? In Adam I fell — in Christ I am risen again. In Adam I forgot —
in Christ my memory came again. In Adam I am in darkness — in Jesus I have
light. Now I remember! Now I live! And by the grace of God I will never forget
again.

Reader, may this grace — this light — this memory be yours!

"Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth — before the evil days
come." Ecclesiastes 12:1

"Remember your Creator now!" It may be now — or never! What — is your life so
sure? Is your soul so little worth? Is time more precious than eternity? What
are you waiting for — the time of sickness and the hour of death? Believe me,
friend, these are not times for thought. Tell me, do ailments aid your thinking
powers? Do you think that mortal maladies will help you come to your senses —
the aching head — the burning skin — the throbbing pulse — the sleepless night —
the jaded powers? Why do you wait, then, for these? Why do you wait for later
years, to sober you? Do not be deceived. Old age does not change the heart. It
does not sober the mind. It does not sever the cords which bind you to the
world. Old age only deadens — it does not quicken the soul.

Why do you turn you from the truth? Because the effort is greater than you like
to make. If youthful powers shun the task — do you think that old age will find
it lighter!

"The evil days!" When all the powers of mind are worn out with use; when mental
energy begins to flag; when eyes refuse to see, and ears to listen. The limbs
can no longer bear you to the house of prayer. You cared not for your soul in
youth and strength.

Old age has evil days. Why wait, then, for these? Is it too soon to look to
Jesus? Too soon to love the Lord! When do you mean to begin? "Tomorrow," say
you? Next week? Next month? Next year? My Friend, what can the coffin do — the
shroud — the graveyard — or the tomb? Say, can the lifeless corpse — the
scattered bones — the moldering dust — can these remember their Creator? Can
they turn and live?

Oh these are evil days indeed! Why do you wait for these, my friend? Whether or
not, you wait for them, they wait for you! Remember your Creator now! Oh seek
for grace to find Him — to remember Him. Why do you wait for? To find a better
Savior, or a kinder Friend? Hasten! Oh, hasten! While we are speaking, time is
hastening on. The evil days are coming! Oh parley not with sin. Away with vain
excuses — with unbelieving doubts. God says, "Remember your Creator now." Then
tarry not, my friend.

"The clouds return after the rain." Ecclesiastes 12:2

Say, what are tears? What makes them flow? What keeps the reservoir supplied?
What keeps it flowing? How does the soul act upon the body? Why does emotion
make me weep? What link is there between my feeling, and my tears? Why weep for
joy? Why weep for sorrow too? Ask those who weep the most; the fountain of whose
tears is seldom dry. They cannot tell you the answer. Within them dwells a
mystery they cannot solve. This world is a valley of tears. There rolls a
constant stream of lamentation, mourning, and of woe in this valley. How many a
streamlet feeds it in its course! Deep furrowed channels carry the tears. Since
Adam’s day they have run and never ceased — and all humanity has fed the stream.

Yet it is a wonder, seeing what man is, that man should weep so little, after
all; that intervals should be so long between his clouds, and rain; that man
should have his sunny days; his summer time, when tears are seldom known. It is
of God’s mercy, thus to mitigate the curse; and give a little respite to our
tears.

Sorrow is often sanctified. Yet, of itself, it softens not. Like rain, that
often descends upon a spot, it hardens. Sorrow unnerves the mind, and thus
disables it for action. The more it comes, the more it tells with deadening
effect. Thus pressure follows pressure — and the spring recovers not its
elasticity. As old age advances, causes of woe increase. Friends are taken, one
by one — leaving the soul more desolate. Infirmities increase — painful
infirmities — often, of themselves, the source of tears, and rendering the man
less able to endure his other sorrows.

Thus weakness, desolation, pain — and strange forebodings of the world to come —
harass the aged mind. Cloud follows cloud across their sky; one shower is
scarcely gone, before another comes. The mind — unnerved and full of discontent,
rejects all comfort. These are the evil days! Oh, wait not for them! Pray that
your early tears are sanctified, that later tears may be restrained.

There is only one remedy for sin — one only antidote to sorrow — the cross of
Jesus. Shed your tears for sin there; He will wipe away your tears of sorrow.
There tears of penitence are turned to tears of joy — and all your tears are
written in his book. (Psalms 56:8.) "And all the daughters of music are brought
low" Ecclesiastes 12:4

Once the songs were heard — his soul the very seat of melody. How fine his
taste! How exquisite his skill! What rare perception of sweet sounds!

Alas! how changed in old age! And yet the soul of music is there — only the
power of hearing is gone. New melody is nothing to him. New melody — the progeny
of modern days, the taste of younger souls. No ear is left to take it in. The
echo of the past is there, and fills his languid soul. The sons of painting once
were there, and filled his mind with imagery. Science, accomplishments, and art,
were his — and cast their shadows on him still; while energies, gone by, play
with a flickering flame, and light his drooping sensibilities. His eye — that
window of the soul — how keen it was! What floods of light it once admitted;
filling the inward parts with rare perceptions; feeding the thoughts; making the
soul aware of what was passing; giving to outward things an inward place and
habitation; the man thus kept in fellowship with all material things. The soul
looked out, as well as light looked in — and spoke unutterable things. But now
the eye is thickened, glazed, and seared. Light enters scantily, and leaves its
information lagging far behind. If anything is felt, it is but vacancy — the
sense that once it had been otherwise — grasping what once was there, and
finding nothing. The hearing — once so fine — hears now the knell of its
departure, and strains to hear — but hearing is no more. A soul, thus furnished
with a fleshly frame was fed and kept in action by material food and drink.
Within the house the food was bruised, and ground. The "grinders" did their work
in harmony with all the structure. But now the workshop is bare — the mill well
near forsaken. As once it told of ability, so now it tells of ability lost and
gone. Behold, my friend, what may be your portrait!

"The grasshopper shall be a burden." Ecclesiastes 12:5

Alas, how changed! Is that the man who smiled at danger; who stood the battle’s
brunt, and faced a multitude alone? Is that the man, whose brave spirit bore him
over the stormy wave; whose brawny arm, and steadfast heart set trouble at
defiance? Say, what has changed him? Nothing but the lapse of years! What a
change!

None can look within, and trace the process — how boldness turns to fear —
rashness to caution — the power of enterprise, to love of rest.

Rest is the luxury of old age — sweet, soothing rest — as much a luxury to old
age, as enterprise to youth. But say, what works the change? How strange that
vital energy should thus decay! How were the seeds of living dissolution thus
planted in the frame?

"The grasshopper is a burden!" Its very chirp a trouble! Its "spring" the
subject of alarm! Its shadow terrifies the soul! These are the evil days, when
sad decay is the burden of the song — when man feels weakness — bloodless —
lifeless; when all his energy is gone — his body a chaos of infirmity; his steps
— his breath — his powers — his vision — all bathed in impotency — and weakness
seems to start from every pore; when man could cry for very weariness — nothing
but the shadow of what he was before!

He dreams of days gone by, uncertain which is true — either the past, or
present. The past is a specter — the present is nothing more. The future! Ah!
the future! Is that a specter too? It must be so — airy in prospect (but in
reality how fearfully substantial!), unless the soul has found the sure
realities of faith, and grace — built on the solid rock of Truth. Thus born
again, the soul retains its freshness — and though it feels the bodily decay,
and pays its tribute to the "fall," it has a principle within — a principle of
life — and endless youth; a principle that soars over mind and flesh alike —
preserves from fear and pining fretfulness — and new creates the man.

"Man goes to his long home." Ecclesiastes 12:5 The grave is his "long home," but
not his final home — there is another home beyond. For some this "long home" is
long indeed — yes very long. To some it has been a home more than five thousand
years — as with righteous Abel. Others have tenanted the "long home" for
centuries. How long their lease will last, is known to no man.

How many have we seen borne to this "long home!" Others will see us carried to
our home. Reader, they will see both you and I go to our "long home". And, if
that home receives us, who knows how long it will detain us? It may be but an
hour, a day, a month, a year. For anything we know, it may be twice as long as
Adam now has filled it.

Known unto God are times and seasons. Can we do more than leave them in His
hand? Can we do better than love to have it so? At present all is secret. In due
time it shall be known to men and angels. My friend, you have a home beyond the
grave — a home prepared and furnished. You look at the country church-yard, and
the peaceful sod — and call it peaceful. But what peace for you, if this is all
your expectation? Yes, there is a "home" for all — a final and eternal home.
Once there, you are there forever. Tell me, my friend — what eternal home do you
expect to go to? Has it ever crossed your mind, or formed the subject of your
serious thought?

Christ has prepared a home for those who love Him. Say, will your home be there?

Another home is prepared for the devil and the unbelieving. You know its name.
Oh! will your home be there? You say, "Who knows?"

Hearken, and I will tell you. Where is your present home? Are you at home with
Jesus? Do you ever lean your head upon His bosom by faith and prayer? Say, are
your brightest moments spent with Jesus? Is He your confidant, your choicest
friend. If so, He will be your home forever. In Him you will live. In Him you
will rest. In Him you will sing your song of glory.

Perhaps you say, "Oh! my heart desires to lean upon Him, to find Him all my
treasure and my home, though still I mourn my unbelief and fears." Fear not, my
friend! Jesus despises not your small beginnings — He will be your home at last.
But if you are not at home with Jesus, nor seek to be so — what home have you,
my friend? What home do you hope for? Unless you repent, you will have no
comfort of your final home! "If anyone’s name was not found written in the book
of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire!" Revelation 20:15 "Remember Him —
before the silver cord is severed." Ecclesiastes 12:6 Was our body, this
wondrous building made — just to be taken down? These members knit together —
only to be dismembered? These organs tuned — only to be disorganized? Is the
bony frame, with all its powers — the force that moves, the pillar that sustains
the man, the center of movement — to be taken down? Is the head, so rich with
golden influences; the seat of thought; the throne of intellect; the habitation
of the brain, that mystery which none has understood nor yet explained — to be
taken down? Is the heart, with all its vessels; sending its life, with continual
force, to each extremity; suffusing all with warmth, and circulating, as it
flows, with healthful energy — to be taken down? Are the lungs, supplying breath
and vigor to the frame; sweeping the inner chambers with wondrous ventilation;
discharging all that’s foul — inhaling all that is pure! Must these be broken
up?

Must all their beauty fade? Must all their power cease? Their very life be
turned to death? Why is man’s frame thus fading? Why does the essence of decay
lurk within it? Because of sin! But does this undo the mystery? It was not
corruptible at first. But now, for ages, the life has been but threescore years
and ten, neither increasing nor diminishing. Why is it thus? God wills it so. He
has fixed the term of strength, the period of decay. They wax and wane, obedient
to His will.

It seems a mystery why such an intricate contrivance as man, should be lost, and
perish thus. Each day — each hour — each moment, thousands of souls departs —
and leave thousands of wrecks behind. Each body thus deserted, even in life’s
lowest dregs, formed of such exquisite machinery, as none but God could make.
But it is not lost — far from lost. Had Adam’s race produced one saint alone, it
were not lost. Man’s withering frame has been the nursery of countless saints.
Their faith, their grace, and hope, first found them in a fallen world. Their
house is taken down, only to be built again — to last, to be inhabited, forever!
Oh, happy they, who have "a house not built with hands, eternal in the heavens!"
(2 Corinthians 5:1.)

"Then and the dust returns to the ground it came from; and the spirit returns to
God who gave it." Ecclesiastes 12:7

Dust shall be dust once more — simply dust again, just as it was before. The
spirit shall return to God — to God who gave it; to God, who breathed it into
man at first. Thus spirit goes to spirit, and dust returns to dust — creation’s
work undone, to all appearance, as though it had not been; the union disunited;
the harmony made harmony more.

Dust claims its dust, and spirit claims its spirit. The two were made to dwell
together — but sin has sundered them, and, for a time, impressed on each a
separate existence. God gathers to Himself man’s spirit and his breath (Job
34:14). The soul returns to God — into the world of spirits — the world
invisible to man, yet visible to God. The soul returns to God — to God as Savior
— or to God as Judge; in either case to God. But what a difference!

Listen, my friend, oh, listen to the truth; it is solemn, and, oh, how sure! Is
God distasteful to you? Is His presence dreaded? And well you may, if now you
know Him not. But think — What will it be at last! Now you can seem to hide
yourself from God — and God hides Himself from you — and so you are satisfied.
But when your naked soul flies shivering away, unclothed by flesh, with nothing
to shield you from the living God — ah! who can tell the anguish felt by spirit,
when thus exposed to the holy Deity! Ah! who can tell the pain inflicted by
God’s all-seeing eye upon the spirit, thus laid bare! And who can tell the
bliss, the joy, the rapture of the soul — the happy soul — the sainted soul —
the spirit of the just made perfect! It breathes at last its native air —
unmixed with sin — unsullied by temptation. It bathes itself in seas of glory —
the glory of the Savior’s presence. It wings its way into the inmost regions of
His love, and sees His face forever!

"The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly
embedded nails — given by one Shepherd." Ecclesiastes 12:11

Words spoken by the ministers of truth — words of salvation — messages of grace
— brought home with power to the soul! Such are the "nails" here spoken of —
lasting impressions; truths fastened in the inner man.

Christian, do you remember the time, when the Lord first saved you? Can you ever
forget it? The time — the place — the circumstances — the friend who spoke to
you of Jesus — what can efface them from your memory? What can pluck them from
your heart? Who can draw out the "nails" thus fastened in your soul? And in the
after days of grace — -in all the workings of experience — in all the growth of
knowledge, and exercise of faith, is it not still the same?

Look at your Bible! How many texts start up before you, written in type of gold!
Why is it thus? Each tells you of a season, when first it sensibly impressed
your soul. Each is a "nail," well fastened there. Some pastor fastened it — some
brother warrior — some fellow sinner. One taught you that — another taught you
this. One planted you — another watered — many have helped you on your way; and
yet "one Shepherd" sent them all — one Master Shepherd, even Jesus! He fixed the
"nails." His hand has sent them home.

What Jesus does, shall never be undone. He drives the "nails," and immediately
they are clenched; each fastened by the power of His eternal will. He first
renews the soul; implants the substance of His grace — something to hold the
"nails," when once they are driven in. God’s nature in the soul retains the
Word, and will not part with it. Hence, the perseverance of the saints: God
loved them — chose them — called them — beget them by His word — and keeps them
fast. Each "nail" is firm embedded in the soul, keeping the whole in place, and
makes it sure.

"Of making many books there is no end." Ecclesiastes 12:12 And was it so, even
in the days of Solomon, before modern printing was known, and books were
multiplied as now they are? Oh! what would Solomon have said, had he but seen a
street in our metropolis, where books by thousands issue from the press? Could
he have seen our libraries — shelf upon shelf, groaning with endless tomes —
each day bringing its contribution to the former store!

We live in days when reading must be had. The march of intellect prefers its
claims. Science advances with such giant strides, that works of yesterday are
obsolete today, and soon give place to others. What is true of science — is
doubly true of lighter reading. Book chases book across the field of novelty, in
ever-changing form. Woe to the man who lags behind, and talks of what was new a
year ago!

Religion, too, has taken up her pen, and works her types unceasingly. Essays and
sermons — works of deep doctrine, experience, and fiction — commentaries,
history, and prophetic views — all claim their authors by the score, and fill
the eye. In such a day we need discretion, wisdom that is useful to direct, how
much, and what to read. The Word of God is overlaid amid the multitude, and
suffers loss, even among Christian men. Perhaps it ill becomes the man, who is
adding to the store, to make remarks like these! Yet he would make his chapters
shorter, and his pages few, that they may interfere the less with Bible hours —
and strive that what he writes may point you back to Truth, and make you search
the Word of God more closely.

Reader, Whatever you read, I beg you, make the Word of God your chief study.
Take it to God Himself in prayer. He wrote it. Who can interpret it like Him?
May God Himself be your teacher. Read it with thought, and prayer. All that you
gather thus will stay with you, as nothing else will stay. None teaches like the
Lord the Spirit. Believe that He can teach you, and He will. The more you trust
Him for His teaching — the more He will teach you. The more He teaches you — the
less you will care for other teaching. The more your senses thus are exercised,
the more you are qualified to judge of other books — to separate the precious
from the vile, and thus do honor to the Truth.

"Much study wearies the body." Ecclesiastes 12:12

Study is weariness to flesh; and yet it is not flesh that studies, but the mind.
The body is mostly still in times of study — yet flesh is wearied; so closely
are the soul and body joined. Where study is followed to excess, self lies
beneath it: self-love — self-pleasing — self-aggrandizement. Where do you find
more selfishness, than in the "study" with its book and easy chair?

Even in studying the Word, it is wrong to over do it. Self-seeking meets you
here. Look back and see. Have you ever found the Spirit work, when weariness
came on? He acts in unison with providential laws. These plainly tell you it is
wrong to over-tax your powers, and ask of them what they can never yield. When
aching head, and smarting eyes warned you to cease — was it not selfishness that
urged you on? Wiser than God you have been — He bade you stop. Self said, "I
must go on." The Spirit said, "I am not with you." Self said, "I will go along."

Excess of study is to spirit, as gluttony is to flesh. Who thrives by
over-feeding? Who gains by over-study? Who can retain knowledge, acquired thus?
The sickened mind disgorges it — it is emptier than before. We over do it from
lack of faith. We cannot trust the Spirit, either to help our memory, or supply
our lack of reading — and so we play the fool by over study. My friend, are you
preparing for the ministry? Coupled with this, you have before you a field of
literary fame. Why is your strength expended for this latter end? Is it to help
you for the cure of souls — in preaching Christ — or visiting the poor? Is it
for these, you over-work your energies? Ah, search again; you will find that
self is working here. What has the Cross to do with literary fame, and what are
"honors" to the Cross? Has Jesus asked it at your hand? Such carnal weapons are
unknown to Christ.

You hear it said that fame for learning will aid His cause, and glorify His
grace; that men are predisposed to hear a scholar, and cease their prejudices,
when Christian men have taken high "degrees." Do not believe it! Grace is the
only weapon. What other do you find in Scripture? When Christ is lifted up, all
men are drawn to Him. (John 12:32.) If learning is lifted up, then self is
lifted up — not Christ. Then trust it not, my friend; it will only hinder you,
and draw no souls to Jesus.

"Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep
his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man." Ecclesiastes 12:13 And so
it always was, and so will it ever be. So was it in Paradise. It has been so
since Adam fell. Man’s duty shifted not with Adam’s innocence. God varied not
His law, to suit his rebel, man. The Gospel made no difference in this. Man’s
duty must continue still the same. This is the reason why he needs a Savior —
his duty beats him; he never could perform his duty, and he never will; he
needed One to do it for him. This is what Christ has done. Believe in Christ,
His doings, then, are yours!

"Fear God!" My friend, do you know what this contains? Who ever feared Him
perfectly? Have you, or I? None but a sinless being can accomplish this. Your
sinful heart can never fear the Lord.

"Keep his commandments!" Who ever kept them? One, only One. It is neither you,
nor I. It was Christ, and He alone.

"Keep His commandments?" Which have you kept? Rather, which have you not
transgressed? Which day, which hour, have you kept them all? Which moment have
you fully honored one? "Keep his commandments?"

Yes, you may, when you are perfect. Say, will this ever be? Perfect in self —
ah, never! Perfect in Christ! Ah, that is another thing. "Keep His
commandments!" Believe in Christ, and then you have kept them all. None kept in
self; not one commandment unkept in Christ. All sin is in self; all
righteousness is in Christ. In self, God is neither loved, nor feared. God is
honored, feared, and loved, in Christ. Oh, wondrous scheme! Man saved! God
honored! The Law observed! Atonement made! Man’s fall undone by Man! Man’s
penalty discharged by Man — the God-man, Christ Jesus! Thus man is justified,
and lives again. Not only so, he is also willing made; willing to fear the Lord;
willing to keep His law — a willingness he did not feel before. The internal
principle is now there. The Spirit is there; and hence the change of principle —
the principle of fear, and strict obedience; the principle of faith; the
principle of divine love! He looks for righteousness in Christ, even here on
earth; he looks for perfectness in Heaven!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 16: 02.00. THE DAY OF BEREAVEMENT
========================================================================

The Day of Bereavement, its Lessons and its Consolations George W. Mylne, 1871

Bereavement The First Break in the Family The Death of Parents The Death of a
Father The Death of a Mother The Death of Children The Death of a Son The Death
of a Daughter The Death of Brothers and Sisters

Widowhood The Death of Distant Relatives The Death of Intimate Friends On Sudden
Death Man is Born to Trouble! The World, a Sorry Comforter No Solid Comfort in
Mere Religion Teach Me What I Do Not See


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 17: 02.01.     BEREAVEMENT
========================================================================

BEREAVEMENT George Mylne, 1871

Bereavement! What a word it is — a word of many-headed woes! A word telling . .
. of families made desolate; of wounded hearts; of weeping eyes; of closest
bonds abruptly torn asunder; of social fellowship extinguished; of life’s
fondest hopes destroyed; of earth becoming one large graveyard.

There is no domestic bliss secure against deaths inroads. There is no promise of
long companionship so flattering, but in a moment the dream may vanish, and
nothing be left but the hard reality of woe.

Bereavement! Yes, it is a word of anguish. It says . . . that hearts are broken,
that the iron enters into the very soul; that the axe is laid at the root of
life’s romance; that the sky of former joys is clouded over with the mantle of
distress.

How many tales of sorrow does bereavement tell! Yet, it is a word fraught with
importance to the soul; a word, for purposes of good, framed in the vocabulary
of Heaven, God’s mind and will impressed upon it. Bereavement is . . . the
exponent of God’s judgments; the expression of His love in chastening; the
verbal embodiment of His good pleasure.

Bereavement is His voice in action; speaking in facts; preaching in visitations;
the Lord himself walking abroad in His realities.

Bereavement speaks of Death. This is the head and substance of its teaching. It
tells how "Sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed
upon all men, for that all have sinned" (Romans 5:12).

It is not only a solemn word — but also a searching word — a word speaking its
volumes to all who hear it! Moreover, it is a special word to you. It says, "Be
still, and know that I am God" (Psalms 46:10). It says, "Shall not the Judge of
all the earth do right?" (Genesis 18:25). Who may say to him, "What are you
doing?" (Ecclesiastes 8:4). Then, why are you struck dumb, as though God dealt
strangely with you? Was He bound to grant your friend a lease of life — to leave
the family bond unbroken, as long as it suited you — or to give you warning of
what He meant to do? Must the tide of death be stayed, that it should not rob
you of your cherished one?

Ah no! We are brought through sin into harsh contact with confounding
providences; yes, face to face with sudden painful visitations! How often are we
made to "drink the wine of astonishment," by the stern realities of a fallen
world — nature diverted from its normal course by sinful contrarieties, calling
for exceptional and sharp strokes — bereavement suddenly coming to wound the
circle of our satisfactions! This is the method that the Lord adopts to arrest
our notice; to bring to mind, that there is a God who rules in Heaven and earth
— a truth too often overlooked. It is as though He said, "Mourner, are you
prepared to die? Prepared to balance your final account with Me? Are you ready —
if I should send for you next?" And thus He brings before us all the realities
of an unseen world — the facts of death, of judgment, and eternity!

Then, is there not mercy in bereavement — mercy, not in disguise, but manifest —
not silent, but speaking plainly? Is it not mercy to be led to see our sins —
and to see our need of Jesus, and His precious Blood — and through grace, to be
at peace with God through Jesus? Thus God has ordered it, that joy and sorrow
should be linked together in His providential visitations. And thus "the valley
of Achor" (in other words, the valley of trouble) is made "a door of hope." And
thus "vineyards" are filled with fruits of peace. And thus mourners are made to
"sing as in the days" of youth, from blessings found where least expected. So
wondrous are God’s dealings with a fallen world. No sorrow but has its mate —
its appropriate and true consolation — the very grief leading to consequences,
if rightly followed out, involving peace — solid, well-grounded peace.

Afflicted friend, I hope you know the secret. If not, may God reveal it to you.
Receive, I beg you, this word of exhortation, kindly intended, and, I trust, not
heedlessly expressed. May you be comforted, not with earth’s flimsy
consolations, but with the solid verities of Heaven. Accept the following pages
which now I dedicate to your perusal. And if therein you find anything suited to
your need — then give God the glory. And may your sore affliction of bereavement
be duly sanctified, and gilded with His grace.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 18: 02.02.     THE FIRST BREAK IN THE FAMILY
========================================================================

The First Break in the Family George Mylne, 1871 A break in the family! Did I
say the first? Yes; for there are families where death, as yet, has never
entered — no breach has occurred in the fair circle of domestic happiness —
children and parents, parents and children, in full enjoyment of each other’s
company. How gladsome thus to see it! We feel inclined to say, "Enjoy it while
you have it, and quaff the cup of family endearment with meekness and a thankful
heart, remembering from whence the mercy comes — that the Giver be not forgotten
in His gifts.

It is sweet to see a family unbroken. But, watch it long enough, and a break is
sure to come At last — sooner or later must their domestic sky be overcast.
Sickness may enter (if not some fatal accident), sickness not curable — but unto
death. Oh, what a chill follows — what dread forebodings when the worst is
feared, and apprehensions prove too true — when that once happy circle has been
found no longer armored against the inroads of the last enemy! Then desolation
reigns — where all before was gladness: the darkened rooms, the silent step, as
though the softest footfall might disturb the slumbering dead, the muffled
voice, the utterance choked with tears, the look of anguish, the chastened
deportment of deep yet noiseless sorrow, directions given, needful, yet
harrowing to the soul, activity that goes against the grain, costing unutterable
pains.

Oh, who can paint the change where all appears disjointed, turned from its
former course of unclouded and serene happiness! The little ones scarcely
realize the fact, the infant mind not understanding the sad reality. Yet, from .
. . the tears, the mournful preparations, the putting on of dark apparel, and
the funeral procession — they gather glimpses of the truth; and in their romps
(how hard to be restrained!) they move about as half ashamed. In the youthful
members of the family, advanced a stage in the ability to understand — how
subdued the light that shines upon them, like the lurid beams of an eclipse.
They sadly feel their loss, and struggle with sorrowful restraint! How
touchingly Cowper describes his feelings, as a child, on the occasion of his
mother’s death!

"I heard the bell toll’d on your burial day; I saw the hearse that bore you slow
away — And, turning from my nursery-window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a
last adieu." But with the older ones of the family, how different! Their sorrow
is realized in all its fullness — present is compared with past — weighed in the
balances of serious and mature thought. Outbreaks of sorrow are curiously met
with arguments for resignation — a truthful picture of unvarnished woe.

Reader, is it thus with you? Are you one of a family newly broken? Full well I
know your feelings, the shock experienced in your inmost soul.

What deep emotions are occasioned by that empty chair!

How eloquent the death-like stillness of that now untenanted chamber! That
congenial voice no more will greet your ear. That once familiar face no more be
seen. When the family meets together in the morning — what a blank pervades all!
When at night you separate, one well-known "good-night" is listened for in vain!

Oh, what a desolator is Death! The fairest form, the sweetest disposition, the
finest mind, the most useful character — is often the first to go — the choicest
treasure of your garden nipped in the bud of fond enjoyment.

"One flower may fill another’s place, With breath as sweet, with hues as
glowing; One ripple in you ocean’s space, Be lost amid another’s flowing.

One star in you bright azure dome Might vanish from its sparkling cluster,
Unmiss’d, unmourn’d, and in its room Some rival orb eclipse its luster. But who
shall fill a brother’s room? Or who shall soothe the bosom’s grieving? Who heal
the heart, around his tomb Too faithfully, too fondly cleaving?" — Bonar

Poor mourner, do you ask for consolation? Gladly would I give it, If you are
able to receive the only consolation I can offer. I might listen for hours to
your tale of grief — telling the virtues of the dead, opening afresh the sorrows
of your soul. I might attend you to all the haunts of the deceased, bend over
the relics that you love to show, go with you to the grave, and there weep with
you sob for sob, and tear for tear. But say, would that alone suffice to comfort
you? It would help to nurse your sorrow — and give a fresh impulse to your
morbid strain; it might tie you down more strongly to earth’s regrets and
unavailing musings. But would it indeed console you? Would it turn your
bitterness to sweetness? Would it give you "the oil of joy — for mourning, the
garment of praise — for the spirit of heaviness?" (Isaiah 61:3.) Oh no I my
friend, oh no! Elsewhere must you seek it. Do you ask me where?

Where, but in God?

Where, but in Jesus?

Where, but in The Holy Spirit, the Comforter?

Fond recollections of the dead are not forbidden you. It is allowed to trace the
haunts and love the relics of their earlier days, in fond association with their
memory. But then, do you take Jesus with you in your musings? As much as you
loved your friend — do you love Jesus better still? And, as you gaze on fond
mementoes, is it with the reserve of grace, lifting your heart all the while, as
though to say, "Lord, let not this keep my heart from You! Through You I wish to
see them all! Lord, sanctify my recollections — may I indulge them in deference
to You!" But now permit me, reader, to ask a question. Do not think me rude. Do
not think it out of place. It underlies the matter both of your duty and your
consolation. I ask you then, Do you feel yourself to be a sinner? And why this
question? Because nothing else will bring you to the Cross of Jesus.

You say, "How will that comfort me?" Simply because true comfort comes from God
alone; and nothing can be received from God, except through the Cross and Him
who hung thereon. No God — No Comfort. No Christ — No God. No Sense of Sin — No
Christ. No Christ — No Savior. No Christ — No Holy Spirit The Comforter. No
Comforter — No true Friend. Do you doubt me? Then speak about it to God Himself.
Tell Him your sorrow. Tell Him that you sigh for consolation. Ask Him to put you
in the way of finding it. Take with you words (Hosea 14:2). Speak to Him as a
little child.

Confess Your Sins.

Entreat His Pardon, through the Blood Of Christ.

Pray for the teaching of the Spirit.

Commit your cause to God fully and unreservedly, prepared to follow His leadings
fully. And if you feel your heart melting, and thoughts arising in you of God
and Christ, of Sin and Pardon, of Penitence and Prayer — then give yourself to
the meditation. It is as though He said, "Seek My face!" And may your heart say
unto Him, "Your face, Lord, will I seek" (Psalms 27:8). Who knows but that this
day of your bereavement, may be the day of saving grace — the dawning of Christ
in your heart; the day of true consolation!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 19: 02.03.     THE DEATH OF PARENTS
========================================================================

The Loss of Parents George Mylne, 1871

How different the Parental-Filial bond, from other earthly ties, however
intimate! Only the marriage bond is closer. But the Parental-Filial bond is
interwoven with our very being, from the very dawn of life, in its uniting
principle. Yes, prior to birth itself, it claims its embryo perfection. Nay
more, it antedates the parentage of our immediate parents, and reaches back to
our farthest off progenitors. Is it not written, that Levi was in the loins of
his forefather Abraham, when he met Melchizedek? (Hebrews 7:10.) This
Parental-Filial bond is felt and recognized in childhood, in youth, and in
manhood; nor does it loose its hold when the parental roof is changed for other
homes, as in the married state. The cords are invisible to human eye, which
constitute a bond so intimate; yet is their power felt from pole to pole — from
east to west, from west to east, traversing both earth and seas. Even while in
other countries — the heart is tied to the Parental Roof, and the chief interest
with the mother country is the well-known hearth and Home; the key-stone of the
arch consisting in the Parents of the family; and, that key-stone once removed,
oh what a change comes over the connection! Brothers and sisters are brothers
and sisters still; but their rallying point is gone — the family home no more —
the parental wing no longer there, to gather them. The Good old meeting place is
broken up, and the concentration of life-long interests is no more concentrated.

Happy, thrice happy, when family endearment survives the shock — when brother
still cleaves to brother, in virtue of the parental bond; when family homes with
fond and hearty welcome, rise up to feed the flame of loving fellowship. Yet,
however sweet, however cheering — these are but the embers of the family hearth;
and, when they meet together, how fondly they revert to that which can never
return! And thus does frail humanity pay tribute to its own decay of home
realities. And as they flicker in the socket of a lingering retrospect — bear
testimony to the breaking up of all earthly things.

"I miss the dear parental dwelling, Which memory still undimmed recalls, A
thousand early stories telling; I miss the venerable walls.

I miss the well-remembered faces, The voices, forms of other days; Time ploughs
not up those deep-drawn traces; Those lines no ages can erase." — Bonar Can we
wonder, then, at what pain is felt when this bond is cut in twain; when children
are left parentless, and life’s earliest associations are broken, never to be
re-united here below? Oh no, it is nature’s privilege to weep on such occasions.
Happy are those whose filial sorrow leads them to the Savior and to God, and who
then may say, "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears
in Your bottle. You have recorded each one in Your book!" (Psalms 56:8.)


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 20: 02.04.     THE DEATH OF A FATHER
========================================================================

The Death of a Father George Mylne, 1871 And are you, then, in mourning for your
father, my sorrowing friend? I thought so from your garb. You are feeling now
the very depths of family distress, when sable calls to sable to be doubly dark.
It is a peculiar sorrow that marks a father’s death, and this you never felt
before. How could you? One only father had you — you could not have but one!
And, as he stood to you in a relation shared by none beside — so must your
present sorrow be unique in character, embodying, as it does, the retrospect of
all that marked him as your earthly head.

Oh, there is something inexpressible . . . in a father’s rule; in a father’s
love; in a father’s thoughtfulness; in a father’s tender care; in the
undefinable association connected with a father’s name. In all well-regulated
families, the father’s word the law, his judgment is the director of their ways.

I envy not the man who does not venerate his father’s memory — still less I envy
him (for such, alas! there are), who had a father that he cannot mourn. My
friend, I hope you have comfort in your father’s memory. He may have chastened
you in childhood — for this you ought to love him all the more. And though he
was stern in manner when your youthful follies vexed him, or if he lacked, at
all times, the beaming love and tenderness that some display — yet was he your
father — your very father still. What would you have been without him, and what
would the family have been, without his fostering care? Children think little of
their father’s anxious thought, the deep responsibility of a father’s rule. And
when he is gone, they may find too late how much they owed him — too late to
thank him, yet not too late to bless his memory and hold it dear. And ofttimes
your conscience tells of actual faults — sad derelictions of your filial duty —
of many things which grieved a father’s heart — and cause a blush to mantle in
your cheek when he is no longer there to see it, and accept the tardy apologies.

How oft, when standing at a father’s grave, that solemn wording of the service
may sadly and solemnly be impressed on some wayward son, "You know, Lord, the
secrets of our hearts" — the secret things of inward accusations. Such
convictions embitter grief a thousandfold, and nothing can fitly quiet them but
God’s grace — grace to confess the sin, grace to ask for pardon through the
Savior’s blood; if, perhaps, sin done against an earthly father may find
forgiveness at a heavenly Father’s hand. My grieving friend, I speak to you as
one who loved his father, and respects his memory — to one in need of sympathy,
that in your bereavement you may be comforted. And say, is there not One to feel
for you, as mortal cannot do? Are you but willing that the God of Heaven step in
to fill the empty space? Is He not "a Father of the fatherless"? (Psalms 68:5.)
And you are fatherless. Don’t you still need a father’s love — a father’s
watchful care — a father’s counsel? And where can you find it, but in the Living
God? Are you ready to accept the offer, welcome the privilege — ready to nestle
beneath the Almighty wing? Can you call Him "My Father"? But this involves no
trifle. It implies the depth and height, the breadth and length of God’s grace.
It speaks of more than nature’s possibilities. It tells of an adoption from
above, of admission through the Spirit into the family of God, whereby the soul
may cry, "Abba, Father!"

Tell me, are you Born Again? One greater than man has said it must be so: "You
must be born again" (John 3:7). Without this, God cannot be your Father. Without
this, no entrance can you have to Heaven (John 3:3). Without this, no heavenly
parentage can you have to keep and comfort you. Consider it, I beg you — deeply
consider it. It concerns your eternal good — more than it concerns your present
sorrow. And how then can you have that sweet adoption, spoken of above? The
Scripture tells you, where it says, "As many as received Him, to them gave He
power to become the sons of God, even to those who believe on His name" (John
1:12). It speaks of Jesus — of receiving Him, of believing in Him. He is the One
to go to. Ask it of Him. Ask for the pardon of your sins through His most
precious blood.

Ask Him to give you the Holy Spirit (Luke 11:13). He is called "The Comforter"
(John 14:26) — to comfort sinners smarting for their sins — to comfort them in
bringing them to Jesus. And thus they will be led to His comfort in times of
trouble, even in trouble such as yours. Can you afford to miss His services? Are
you content to be without a Comforter like this? Then pray to have Him for your
own, that by His means you may become a child of God, and find in Him a Father,
and a Friend, and a Comforter.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 21: 02.05.     THE LOSS OF A MOTHER
========================================================================

The Loss of a Mother George Mylne, 1871 Have you lost your mother? Your
mother--Oh, what a name it is! It speaks volumes, untold in their realities,
engraved on the mind in letters which cannot be effaced! What other tie is like
it? You owed your very birth to her — in the mystery of God, you owed her your
existence, not only here but in the world to come, seeing that life hereafter is
but the consequence of having an immortal soul, originally ushered into this
world below. Who can tell how your unformed body was fashioned in her. And as
you came forth from her, made of her very substance, a very portion of her flesh
and bones — so your nourishment in infancy proceeded from her, as much a portion
of her life as you yourself. Say, then, who can describe the wondrous union of
her with you, and you with her — your very frames knit together, as it were, in
unity? Your earliest recollections concern your mother — how you were fondled by
her, dandled on her knee, and taught to lisp your first utterances. She may have
taught you to lisp the name of Jesus, and the sweet lyrics of your first-learned
hymn. And as childhood grew, every petty care or smarting pain — drove you to
her bosom, there to tell your sorrows and to weep your tears! And as youth
advanced — you found in her your ready counselor and warmest friend.

You know the words, "As one whom his mother comforts — so will I comfort you"
(Isaiah 66:13). You have never had another such earthly comforter. How soothing
were her words! What tender reason in her arguments when counsel was required —
some snare to be detected and exposed — and inexperience to be warned to
disregard the alluring offer, and temptation to be unmasked! And say, did
manhood or womanhood relax the tie — the sweet maternal bond? You bestowed on
her your fondest attentions and care — perhaps it may have been to cheer her
widowhood, and comfort her declining years. Was there not exquisite delight in
all you did for her, as vainly you attempted to repay the debt you owed her —
tender in kind, unbounded in degree? And, now that she is taken from you — you
fondly cherish the thoughts of all your sweetest fellowship, and love to retrace
how, step by step, you tended her in her failing health. Truly, in life and
death, in presence or in retrospect — what can surpass associations with a
mother’s life — a mother’s memory? And now she is gone — and I hope you are
comforted. "No easy thing!" you say. No easy thing, I grant you. Not possible at
human hands. But all things are possible with God. He has deigned to use a
mother’s tenderness to represent His Own tender concern for His redeemed
children: "As a mother comforts her child — so will I comfort you." (Isaiah
66:13.) Are these empty words — or a simple verity? Does He not practically say,
"As once you nestled in your mother’s bosom — so nestle now in Mine!" Shall God
invite in vain? Is His bosom opened thus, for nothing? Remember, there is no
amount of human tenderness, which exists not a thousandfold in God! How dull and
how insensible is man, to turn his back on this the best of friends, and
disregard the only solid comforter! My friend, I trust it is not so with you.
Depend upon it, if you mourn your dead, as one who has "No Comforter"
(Ecclesiastes 4:1), it is because you do not know Him who thus invites you.

If you are joined to Him through saving faith and grace, I well know that you
are not left to mourn alone; your God is with you — your Father, Savior,
Comforter. And thus you find your sorrow, the occasion of greater intimacy with
the Friend who "loves at all times;" with the Brother who is born expressly "for
adversity" (Proverbs 17:17). And, as you weep, you are comforted all the while,
as those alone can be, who know the Lord; and thus you find that, even in a
mother’s death — sorrow may be turned to joy, and grace abound in sanctifying
consolation. But if those blessed words sound strange to you, and conscience
tells you that you do not know God after this tender fashion, I cannot say
"Farewell," without entreating you to lose no time in making the Lord’s
acquaintance (Job 22:21), not merely for your present sorrow, but for your
future safety in the world to come. This trial may be sent for the very purpose
of drawing you to God! Do not turn away from Him who is speaking to you through
the death of your mother. He says, "Look unto Me, and be saved!" (Isaiah 45:22.)
Believe me, there is a purpose, yes, counsel, in your divine chastening. "Hear,"
then, "The rod, and Him who has appointed it" (Micah 6:9). In looking unto
Jesus, you shall find blessing and peace and consolation. In giving attention to
God’s rod, you will learn to bless the day that ushered in your sorrow, and its
remedy.

Mourner, may God have mercy on you, strengthen, teach, and comfort you! May even
a mother’s loss be more than compensated to you, in having found a Savior and a
Comforter in Jesus!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 22: 02.06.     THE DEATH OF CHILDREN
========================================================================

The Death of Children

George Mylne, 1871

Oh! what a world we live in! How full of painful facts and harrowing incidents!
How many souls are ushered into life; each one the offspring of a parent — each
one tied to the native stock, by bonds of strictest intimacy! And thus a parent
sees himself multiplied and reproduced in "olive branches round his table." Are
they not bone of his very bone, flesh of his very flesh, bound up with him in
all that is binding; their interests identical with his own; his energies
expended on them, his thoughts devoted to them? For them he labors, for them he
lives; their every pleasure twofold, both theirs and his; their every sorrow
reflected in his own; his very life lived over again in theirs. In them, and
with them, he plays with childhood’s toys afresh. With them, in thought, he goes
to school once more, and learns his early lessons over again. With them he joins
once more in childish sports.

How closely dovetailed into one another, are a parent and his child, if only
there be first the inclination, then time and opportunity, to cultivate parental
ways — for, alas! this falls not to the lot of all, for where there is the will
there may not always be the way. It is pleasant to see a father walking with his
son, their very manner betokening a mutual intimacy, companionship in thought
and feeling, like brothers in friendship — yet neither childlike reverence nor
parental dignity lost sight of. And if so with son and father, is it not the
same with a mother and her daughters, only, if possible, more intimate the union
still? But such is life, and such the law of its realities in fallen man, that
joys prepare the way for sorrows, proportionate in degree. The closest unions
are but preludes to the keenest separations; so that, in life’s pictures, each
gleam of light is counterbalanced with its shadow; and, sooner or later, sunny
days are sure to usher in a night of darkness. And hence the fact of parents
weeping for their children, and refusing to be comforted — their very persons,
as it were, smarting as though a limb were amputated.

"The flowers of spring have come and gone; Bright were the blossoms, brief their
stay. They shone, and they were shone upon; They flourished — faded — passed
away.

"So, hidden from our sorrowing eyes, Our young, sweet spring-bloom buried lies;
One blast of earth swept o’er the flower — It died, the blossom of an hour."

Reader, is this your sad condition? Have you lost a child? Whether son or
daughter, infant or of riper years, it is much the same — in any case, a portion
of yourself is gone. How sharp the visitation! How short its work! The grave has
opened and has closed again; yet closed it not before it received its tenant —
until in its yawning space you had committed "dust to dust, ashes to ashes,
earth to earth." How shrank your soul within you, as you heard those moving
words, that grating sound upon the casket! And as you hastened home, enrapt in
your tenderness, the thoughts of other children left to you (if indeed you have
them), healed not the smart, nor seemed to make amends for your lost treasure.
Oh, what a fearful wrench it must have been, to tear that branch from out its
parent stem, never to grow and flourish there again! Oceans of tears shed over
that silent grave would not avail to bring your loved one back to you. Long
might you kneel on that cold ground, and yet, nor verdant sod, nor marble tomb,
nor modest headstone, could listen to your sobbing tale.

Think not, my friend, I blame you for your tears; neither does God reprove you.
He knows that you must feel the wound inflicted on your sorrowing heart. He
knows your frame, remembers you are dust (Psalms 103:14), and bids you seek Him
in your tears, inviting you to tell your sorrows freely into His waiting ear.
Believe me, this is the only remedy. Must the grave be visited unceasingly, and
sorrow nursed until it becomes a morbid ailment a wound unsoftened with
ointment, a standing sore; and all, because you sorrow to yourself, and not to
Jesus?

Poor mourner, no! This is not the path to consolation, nor yet to rightly
exercised distress. Do you ask, "What would you have me do?" See Love in it my
friend! Is it not written, "God Is Love?" (1 John 4:8, 1 John 4:16). It was God
who did it! It was God who took your child. Shall we say that God is love, in
all but this? Have we found an end to His perfections — a limit to His love? Are
there, then, exceptions to His perfect rule? No, God is love. Has He required of
you what He Himself was not prepared to do? Has He not set you the example? Did
God withhold His Son, His Only Son, for you and your salvation? Then say, could
you withhold your child, when thus it pleased Him to ask you for what He only
lent you for a season?

If you have grace, my friend, the grace of God in Jesus Christ, you only have to
reason with yourself, to say "Amen" to God’s appointment. Your heart will bleed
— it must, it will. Shall a blow be dealt, and the frame not stagger at it? Yet
faith will rise above it, and while you weep, the rainbow tints of resignation
will cast prismatic glories on your tears. Visit not the tomb for mournful
musings. If you can do it in joyful expectation of the coming day — the day of
days — the resurrection morn, when earth shall render up the righteous dead to
meet their Lord, then you may go with profit to the tomb — not otherwise. Take
heed, then, what you do. But if this way be foreign to your mind, and you can
only weep as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13) — if you cannot go to
Jesus in your tears, nor take Him with you to the tomb — you need to be
enlightened by the Spirit, not only for healthful mourning, but for eternal
life.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 23: 02.07.     THE LOSS OF A SON
========================================================================

The Loss of a Son George Mylne, 1871 Have you lost a son? Perhaps your only son!
How sad! How beyond sad! His mother’s darling — his father’s stay; on him the
prospects of the family hung — and, as it proved, upon a thread how slender! Not
all your prayers nor tears could keep him here, nor yet the passionate refrain
of friends, who said, "How hard to lose him!" How simply stern, how sternly
simple, was the act of his removal! God had but to say, "Return!" to gather to
Himself his spirit and his breath (Job 34:14), and immediately his spirit fled —
and your son was gone!

Whether he died in childhood, or in expanding youth, or in the full-blown energy
of manhood — weighed in the balances of life’s contingencies — your sorrow ranks
among the heaviest. How fondly you retain, as sad mementoes, the play things
that his tiny hands had grasped — or yet, the implements of youthful sports,
telling of many a gala day, exuberant in gladness — or yet again, more solid
vestiges of mind and energy in science, letters, or in business! These speak a
language to the heart which none but you can read, eloquent in their stillness —
awakening chords, silent in their solemn tune.

How long is it since he died? Well, you find that time is not a perfect healer.
It may make you forget at least (and this is a humbling thought to dwell upon, a
tribute to the wasting power of the fall) — but reconcile you to the loss it
cannot. Time may skin the wound over, and does, with more or less oblivion — but
this is not a commendable healing.

Harken, my friend! I know I make a great demand upon you. Grief does not like to
reason or investigate — it has no heart to do so. Even if it would moralize, it
often is in the romance of sorrow. If it would be religious, it is too often the
creed of sentiment, and not the sober truth of providence and grace. Forgive me,
mourner. I have spoken of a Secret, and now I offer you a text that throws a
light upon the subject: "The secret of the Lord is with those who fear Him; and
He will show them His covenant" (Psalms 25:14). Grace is a secret — providence
is the same; so are all the dealings of God’s hidden will. With Him the secret
rests, and He alone can give the key to open it. Would you know it? Ask Him to
unfold the mystery. Ask Him to show you why He took your son. Then will He show
you His covenant of grace and peace — the secret of His righteous dealing. He
will teach you how a blessing is wrapped up in affliction, meant to enlighten
you, to draw you near to God, to make you seek Him, if you know Him not, and
give you lasting blessing for your present loss. Ask God if this is not His
purpose. Well worth your while, it is to solve the question. And oh! if your
sorrow is the means of showing you your sin, of bringing you to Jesus, of
causing you know saving Faith and Grace; if it makes you seek those pleasures
which are at God’s right hand for evermore — great reason will you have to thank
Him that He even took your son, that through your depths of sorrow — you might
attain to heights of joy.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 24: 02.08.     THE LOSS OF A DAUGHTER
========================================================================

The Loss of a Daughter George Mylne, 1871 But is it a daughter that is gone? I
feel for you, my friend. Great is your loss. You are wounded in a tender part
indeed! You may have had many sons — at last a daughter came, and thus your
fondest wish was gratified; and as you watched her in her growth and fond
development, you lived on golden prospects as regarded her. She had just come to
be your sweet companion — a help in household matters — in feeling, common
sense, and judgment, your darling friend.

Oh, who can tell the fascination of a daughter — how she fills the eye, entwines
the heart, shedding an atmosphere of light around her, filling the house with
radiancy! What a blank her absence caused when she had left you for a season!
What joy you felt at her return! Often, as she entered your room, your heart
yearned over her. The very rustling of her dress enchained you, like music in
your ear. Oft, as she tended you in sickness, or cheered you in your walks, you
thought, "How could I do without her?" But God thought otherwise; He makes not
human possibilities the measure of His rule — and now she is gone! She is no
more! Vain would it be to seek her in her well-known haunts. Call her — she
answers not! Her name, the very soul of melody, falls empty on the ear — hollow,
yet full of retrospective meaning — and sweet, how passing sweet, in notes of
present desolation!

Forth to her grave, perhaps, you go with flowery wreath, the fairest blossoms
you could gather — choice emblems of your lily who is taken from you. You cast
it on the tomb, and leave it there — for what? To deck the body moldering in the
dust? Alas! it heeds you not, nor your sweet flowers! No more has it to do with
earth, or earth’s fair blossoms. What are the sweetest perfumes to the absent
soul? For what, then, did you leave those flowers there? Simply to fade and die!
To be the emblem of your lost one in corruption, as first they were of her in
blushing life! And what is this, my friend, but to remind you of your misery —
to make you feed on dust and ashes — to enter, as it were, within the tomb, and
sojourn with the dead? And what does that advantage her? Or does it stay your
bleeding heart? If you must have flowers to take them to the tomb — and leave
them not there to wither. What a sight are faded flowers on a monumental stone!
They hurt the eye, distress the feelings, and do violence to grief. You snatch
them thence, to be replaced with others, only to mock you in their turn! My
sorrowing friend, think me not cruel (though unromantic, if you will), as one
that chains you down to bare realities, and restrains your flight into the
region of imaginative woe. I feel for you — I do, indeed. My natural mind would
lead me in the same direction. If tasteful sorrow were consulted, I too would
cast sweet flowers on the tomb. Plant growing flowers, if you will, to live and
blossom there, if to your mind thereby the clods of the valley are made sweeter
— sweeter to you; not sweeter to the slumbering dead. But beware that you rest
not in them for your consolation. There is no lasting comfort in romance,
however innocent it be. Romance may blossom as the rose, and fade as quickly —
and what you want is lasting consolation.

And, as you linger at the tomb, is there not One who says, "Why look you not to
Me?" I beg you to listen to that tender voice — the voice of Jesus. He comes
forth "with healing on His wings," to cure your sadness. It is in the sunlight
of that mighty orb, the Prince of Peace, "the Sun of Righteousness" (Malachi
4:2), that you must seek the principle of blessing, peace, and consolation. But
mark, you must seek it in His wounded side — in the fountain opened for sin and
for uncleanness (Zechariah 13:1) — the fountain of His Blood. For you must know
Him as a Savior, before you can know Him as your consolation. My friend, may you
know the luxury of heartfelt sin, looking all the while to Jesus — for luxury it
is to feel the tenderness of true repentance, while tears fall freely into His
bottle (Psalms 56:8), all ready to receive them, and Jesus says, "Be of good
cheer, your sins are forgiven!" (Matthew 9:2).

Thus shall you feel the comfort of His sympathy. But you must seek it with
earnest, childlike prayer, saying — Lord Jesus, save my guilty soul! Lord Jesus,
take my sins away! Lord Jesus, allow me to see your dealings as I ought! Lord
Jesus, come and comfort me! May the Lord receive your prayer, and may you say, I
am much more blessed, for this painful visitation!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 25: 02.09.     THE DEATH OF BROTHERS AND SISTERS
========================================================================

The Death of Brothers and Sisters George Mylne, 1871

Birds of the same nest — children of one family — how close the tie! Nursed by
one mother, and from that fountain drinking in community of feeling, tastes, and
dispositions; trained by one father’s hand, breathing the blended atmosphere of
parental influence, they are used from infancy to the same ideas and line of
thought — their common center the parental bond — their home a world within
itself, distinct in feature from all other family communities. And thus, grown
into one another by the law of nature, and knit more closely still by each event
of family occurrence — in prospect, retrospect, and present fond association,
they have an unity peculiar to themselves, their watchword shared by none
without the family.

It is pleasant thus to see it carried out, when brother clings to brother with
heartiness sincere, and blithe exuberance of feeling, each welcoming in each,
another self, a sure partaker of his interest in their common home — joint
segments in the circle of its realities. Nature has ordained their unity, formed
and cemented it; and nature exacts the due observance of the bond. Hence nothing
is more engaging than family affection, and nothing more painful, more
repulsive, than for brethren not to dwell together in unity (Psalms 133:1).

If this is so, how painful when the bond is parted, when brother is removed from
brother, sister from sister, by the unsparing hand of death! Such bonds, we
vainly think, were formed to last forever; and so they would, but for that
little, tremendous word — that subtle and pervading fact — SIN. Hence all the
ruptured brotherhoods; hence all the scattered fragments of a body, once compact
and flourishing; hence the spectacle of mourning households, and violence done
to many a brother’s heart; and, reader, hence the call for sympathy, and hence
the need of consolation in this valley of tears. To you this forms my
introduction, as a stranger-friend. Let me inquire the nature of your sorrow —
in which department of the brotherhood you have sustained a loss. I gladly would
help you, if I can. I gladly would enter the chamber of your sorrows, and, while
I mourn with you, console you. Are you a brother — and is it a BROTHER’S loss
you mourn? Do not check your tears — let them flow freely. To weep over a
brother’s doom is not unmanly. My friend, I know your sorrow. Who can describe
the feeling of gazing on what was once a brother living — now a brother dead!
Affection bids you look; feelings unutterable bid you turn away. Death never
seems more terrible, the anguish never more acute, than when you thus behold a
fellow-branch from off the parent stem, laid low in icy stillness.

It is no wonder that you feel it acutely. Playmates from infancy, how many a
sport you had in common! How many boyish pranks, how many a fond adventure you
had together! Time came when you must leave the parental roof, both one and
other, to launch upon the sea of life in this direction, or in that. His lot it
may have been to sail upon the ocean on distant voyage, and live in foreign
parts. Such separation for a season, only served to make your mutual affection
firmer still, as each reunion gave occasion for new-born vigor of fraternity,
and the hearty grasping of a brother’s hand spoke volumes unuttered and
unutterable. And now he is taken from you — and, with him, all the circumstances
of brotherly relation. Now you are left to mourn him — shall I say without a
comforter? Not so, I hope. Nothing can bring him back, it is true — and this is
cutting to the flesh, and flesh suggests no consolation — and rightly so, since
it has none to give. But there are comforts to be found, not in the lower
atmosphere of earthly influences, but in the higher remedies of Heaven. I have
said that it is not unmanly to weep tears of sorrow at a brother’s grave. Is it
unmanly, in your grief, to seek your comforts in the living God? Is it unmanly
to humble yourself before your Maker — to make confession of your sins to Him
alone who has the power to forgive them — to seek the fountain of Christ’s blood
to wash them all away? Is it unmanly to seek for wisdom from above — wisdom to
see God’s dealings in their proper light — wisdom to bear your trial as you
ought — wisdom to make the best of what can never be undone — wisdom to plant
your footsteps here below, so that you fail not of reaching Heaven? Is this
unmanly? Ponder it, my friend, and let your conscience teach you, if through
grace it may lead you to the only consolation. But I forbear, lest you should
deem me sermonising, and so I commend you to the grace of God. Ask Him to teach
you, and thus to comfort you, as He alone can do. Or are you a brother mourning
for a departed SISTER? This is a loss indeed, involving deep-seated and refined
tenderness. There is something in a sister’s influence so sweetly penetrating,
so all-pervading, unique in family association. How often those who have no
sister, envy those who have, from fascination of the tender bond, from the love
and playfulness, and all the sweet realities, connected with it; fondness
indulged, without the blinding influence of passion; winning familiarity
indulged with purity; the interchange of manly courtesy and feminine attentions,
without the risk of forming an attachment unhappy in the end. Have I described
in any wise what your sister was to you? If so, how different was home when she
was absent! How different your own return, if her radiant smile was lacking at
the door! How you longed to spread before her the treasures you had gathered in
your travels! And many an incident you kept for her admiring ear.

How hard it was to keep a secret from her, if she was bent on knowing it! Nor
were you unwilling to be pressed by her mighty, loving importunity — so winning
are a sister’s ways. You never were her match in fond entreaty, or persevering
aim. You owned her as the victor, and you loved to have it so. Your childhood’s
years were dotted over with marks of her companionship; and while she mingled in
your sports, you, neither of you, lost your distinctive character, while boyhood
tempered down its roughness, and she could play, and yet be feminine all the
while. Such memories are touching, as they play with dismaying sunlight over
your bygone years. They impart to grief a tantalizing character, their very
playfulness making sadness tenfold sad.

"Truly this is a grief — and I must bear it" (Jeremiah 10:19). So spoke the
prophet in his sorrow. Is this your language too? Oh! there is something
desolating in events which cannot be undone — to have to set the face like
adamant against obdurate visitations — to eat the bread of bitterness, and drink
the waters of despair — to have the heart laid bare to the thorns and briers of
unmitigated woe, the sharp occurrence of unlooked-for crosses. But you are not
the first to have to realize the Preacher’s words, "That which is crooked —
cannot be made straight; and that which is lacking — cannot be numbered"
(Ecclesiastes 1:15). Among the members of your family, you once could count your
sister; now you can number her no more! My friend, I have descended with you
down the steps of poignancy, into the vault of gloom. Say, can you mount with me
into the light of better thoughts and manly resignation? Yet it must be
manliness after the model of the sanctuary, and not the stoicism of hardening
against grief. Can you, then, mount with me that upward path? "How can I mount?"
you say. Friend, there is a ladder reaching from earth — to Heaven; from a world
of sin and sorrow — to the realms of peace. "What ladder?" do you ask me. It is
found in Jesus Christ, the sinner’s Savior, and the sinner’s friend.

Mark well its rounds, ascending in succession, until they reach the eternal
skies. See the first step, so near the ground! Its name is Faith — faith in the
Savior’s death — faith in His power to pardon of your sins to give you peace,
and open up the source of consolation only to be found in Him. On that ladder —
on its first inviting step — I beg you, plant your foot, in deep confession of
your sins — in humble trust that God will give you grace. And then shall you
ascend yet higher, step by step, into the regions of Christian resignation and
sanctified distress. Turn not away, offended at my plainness. Call it not
useless jargon, unfit to comfort mourners. Ask God to tell you if I have spoken
the words of plain, unvarnished truth. Ask your own conscience. Ask the solemn
certainty of a world to come. Look well, and see if there are other paths to
consolation, lasting and secure.

But, reader, are you a sister who has lost a BROTHER? Yours, doubtless, is a
trying case. If, in the brotherly-sisterly relationship, there is something
tender on the brother’s side — then it is almost sure to be doubly tender on the
sister’s part. Women are deeper in their sorrow, more unselfish than the men;
and as their affection takes a stronger hold, the wrench of separation is the
more acutely felt. In a brother’s love there may be something of conscious
dignity in fostering the "weaker vessel." But a sister’s fondness is a simpler
principle, less capable of being analyzed — clinging, unquestioning, instinctive
love. And this, my friend, I doubt not, was your feeling for your brother who is
gone. Was he a manly fellow, sincere and hearty, reared with you in the nursery
— from infancy your friend? Your little plans were formed together in childlike
confidence — none knew them but yourselves. When school-days came, what grief
you had in parting with him! And while he sometimes teased you — he kissed your
tears away. You knew his boyish pranks; and when he teased you, you loved him
all the more. And as he grew toward manhood, you leaned upon his arm, and, as
you walked along, were proud of your protector.

Brothers are often shy of telling secrets, but not always so; and your brother
may have loved to open up his heart to you, confess his youthful scrapes,
expecting your reproof all the while. Gentle were your chidings, though sincere.
Perhaps he bore from you what he would bear from no one else. His very faults
endeared him to you, since they proved the sweet occasions of sincere avowal,
and of faithful love. Such retrospects are tender beyond expression, and, as you
think of them, you weep.

Perhaps you spoke to him of Jesus, pointing out sin and its consequences, and
the need of pardon from God — for sisters mostly take precedence of their
brothers in the path of spiritual life. But he may have been a character, from
very infancy, commanding your respect, virtuous and amiable — a brother of
brothers — such as you rarely meet. At any rate, he was your brother still, in
this respect or that endeared to you. Your roots entwined with one another, as
kindred suckers from the parent tree. The severing was hard to bear — the
disentangling of those fibers, who can tell how agonizing!

I pray you, mourner, humble yourself under the mighty hand of God. Has He not a
right to do as seems best to Him? And can we say He ever does wrong? You would
not charge the Lord with having chastened you unjustly! Had He not a purpose in
it, holy and just and good — some lesson to be learned, something that you
required to know concerning Him — yes, and concerning self, and your condition
in the sight of God? Will you accept a prayer befitting the occasion? It suited
Job’s affliction, and why not suitable to yours? It was thus the patriarch
spoke, "Teach me what I do not know" (Job 34:32). Depend upon it, He has done it
to make you think, as it is written, "Let us search and try our ways; let us
lift up our hearts with our hands unto God in the heavens" (Lamentations
3:40-41). May God help you in the search, my mourning friend, and show you why
He chastens you. May He show you your true condition, and (if you are still
without those blessings) grant you repentance for your sins, faith to believe in
Jesus, the Holy Spirit to make you a new creature, and a life consistent with
His holy will. Thus may He teach, and, in His teaching, comfort you. Then shall
you learn to thank Him for His chastening love! But are you a sister mourning
for a SISTER? You have my warmest sympathy. How sweet the bond of sisterhood! Of
all the affections of the human heart, it is among the purest; and so, because
it is pure, intense in intimacy. In Heaven alone is perfect unity — because
there alone is perfect purity. Discord alone prevails in Hell — because in Hell
prevails impurity. And thus, because the tie of sisterhood is pure (speaking
comparatively of earthly things), it most resembles Heaven, though still
imperfect in its purity.

Am I not right? Does not your sorrowing heart bear witness that the bond was of
surpassing unity? It may have been that you never kept a thought from one
another — so thorough was your partnership in mind and feeling. Who but a sister
can satisfy a sister — when thoughts are to be told, or plans devised, or
prospects to be looked at, or events to be considered? And then it is not as
though two were pondering, but one — so close the mutual assent, as mind
responds to mind. No effort is there in their fellowship — their hearts, their
tastes, their interests are one. See how they cling together, as, sitting in the
summer-house, or walking by the way, the stream of loving fellowship rolls on.
And how they fly to one another, impatient to express some novel thought, or to
impart some fresh communication! How easily one hits the other’s meaning! It is
plain they have a language of their own, the speech of looks and smiles, with
which a stranger does not meddle — their intent transparent to each other,
compared with which words are but clumsy vehicles of meaning.

If such the sweetness of the bond — then what must the separation be, when
death, unlooked for, intervenes and snaps the bond in twain! My friend, you know
it, and your aching heart has many a history to tell of former pleasures and of
present pains — how once you walked together, and now you have to walk alone —
how once you had a friendly bosom to recline upon in weariness, a loving ear to
listen to each tale of care, a sister’s heart thrown open to receive your every
pain. How sweet it was! How surpassing sweet! But now — that mournful NOW! —
your thoughts return upon you with blank persistency, with no response of
sympathy, no message from the inmost soul, no savor of your sweet companion,
your other self. And thus you go, mourning your desolation — each care, each
sorrow, each perplexing thought, pressing on you alone — your once beloved
partnership dissolved, your counterpart no longer here! What tongue can tell
your bitterness! What balm can heal your wound!

What balm! did I say? I must retract my words. As deep as your wound may be, or
fresh the sore, "is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there?" Why
then is not your health recovered (Jeremiah 8:22) — the fever of unrestricted
sorrow checked — the oil of heavenly peace administered? Is there no God in
Heaven? No Savior, Jesus, within call? Is there no Comforter to heal the wound?

Oh! think again, poor mourner — think of Jesus and His tenderness — of Jesus,
mighty to console! I beg you to go to Him for consolation. Tell Him that you
have lost a sister — your pet, your darling sister. Tell Him that you desire to
be comforted. There is nothing like a word with Jesus. Speak to Him, my friend.
Only take care you do it, prepared to take Him for your Savior, even Him alone —
to look for nothing in yourself, no righteousness, no remedy in yourself — but
simply look to Him to take your sins away.

Make friends with Jesus, I entreat you. It is your only remedy. If Jesus is once
your friend, you know not what help, what sympathy awaits you; nor how He can
supply the place of her who is gone. He does not forbid you to weep for her — He
bids you love her still. All He requires of you, is that you fix your eye on
Him. Gaze on Him, then — the Lamb for sinners slain. Let your eye be filled with
Him, yet shall your loved departed one not be hidden from view. The more you
look on Jesus — the more consoling, the more subdued, shall be your thoughts and
memories. Your trial shall be made a blessing, and your sorrow turned to joy!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 26: 02.10.     WIDOWHOOD
========================================================================

WIDOWHOOD George Mylne, 1871

There is a tie — the closest of all earthly bonds — ordained of old by the
Creator, when man was ushered into being (Genesis 2:24). By nature its
connecting elements have no connection; therefore most fit is it to symbolize
the union of Jesus and His Church (Ephesians 5:23-25). For what has fallen man
to do with Heaven and the Lord — what union with the living God? Yet, in the
mystery of the Covenant, the mystery of grace — sinners are joined to Jesus, and
to God through Jesus, in a bond, compared with which all earthly unions are but
poor indeed.

Yes, the bond of marriage, though an earthly bond, is one that surpasses
knowledge. Ethereal in its origin, it defies the microscope to trace its first
beginnings. What caused the latent goings forth of first attractions? How is
heart insensibly was knit to heart, enchained by loving sensibilities, the charm
of personalities profoundly winning? And this, though seen by others, yet by the
hearts themselves unseen and disavowed. And thus it grew, striking its roots
irretrievably into the soil of mutual attraction — it may have been in spite of
dissimilar characters, and most discordant dispositions — until at last the vows
were pledged, and marriage solemnized — not to be dissolved except by death.

[The more the pity that a bond so sacred should ever be entered into recklessly,
without regard to circumstances — oft-times in plain contempt of virtuous
decorum, and disregard of strict, time-honored rule — bringing foul dishonor on
what was meant to be an honorable state. (Hebrews 13:4)] The union thus begun,
oft-times in spite of much which hindered it — (for what are bars and doors, to
penetrating love? And what the frowns of friends, or all the force of adverse
circumstances?) — that bond, I say, formed in the inner chamber of the soul,
drawing its life-blood from the fountain-head of sensibility, fed by the subtle
passion that will not be ignored, when strengthened and confirmed by matrimony,
displays a wondrous field for unity. Their interests, their cares, no longer
separate, but combined — exhibit a wondrous spectacle if analyzed. Two hearts,
two minds, two people, acting as though there were but one; each circumstance of
life weaving them more and more into an undefined and undefinable oneness.
Looking to each other for their mutual guidance — no plan arranged, no purpose
carried out, but with their joint consent. They are dovetailed to one another by
each passing care; cemented, in their offspring, each to a second self — it is
no wonder that the bond is of the closest character. Less wonder still that,
when a rupture comes, it should inflict a wound peculiar to itself, causing an
unutterable blank, scattering to the winds the fond materials of that union, so
wondrously begun, so delicately formed, so firmly put together, and which had
hitherto defied each rude attempt to shake its permanence, until leveled by the
unsparing hand of death. The WIDOW And are you indeed a widow? That fearful
word! Oft had you heard it — oft witnessed what it means in others. But now you
have tasted for yourself its dread reality. What human hand is delicate enough
to probe your wound, or weigh your present sorrow? I gladly would leave you to
"Him who sits as King forever" (Psalms 29:10). Yet, as I have spoken to other
mourners, say, could I pass by You? I feared to approach the page to be
addressed to you, knowing my weakness to console. But I would fear still more to
leave you unnoticed, unaddressed.

How long, then, had you lived together? A few short years? It may have been but
months, or weeks, or even days or hours — for death respects not the thrilling
happiness of a new-born pair. Or did you count your married days by tens or
scores of years, as some have done by more than half a century? And how did it
happen? Did a cloud, at first no bigger than a hand, portend that soon your sky
would be obscured? Or, like a thunder-clap, dreadful and ominous, instant in
action, electric in discharge — did sudden death leave you a widow, desolate
indeed? And as that lightning flash illumined the retrospect of unbroken years
and joys, it was but for a moment — and then darkness tenfold dark followed. My
widowed friend, can you cast your care on God? He cares for you — indeed He does
(1 Peter 5:7). I have seen widows in their affliction (James 1:27) — in the very
advent of their widowhood, when death had only just occurred. I have gone (when
sent for) expecting to find them prostrate, oppressed, and speechless, unfit to
exchange a word with God or man. But lo! in certain instances, I have found
them, like statues, it is true — in icy stillness — yet calm, collected, and
resigned, able to discourse of their departed one; though unable, it may have
been, to weep (their tears too deep to flow), sublime amid their sorrow — and I
have come away surprised and edified.

What, do you think was the reason of their calmness, their dignified submission,
and wondrous peace? Simply, that they looked to Jesus. They had walked with Him
in their prosperity, before clouds obscured their sky, and in their darkness He
left them not to walk alone — His arm upheld them still. I only tell it as I
have seen and known it. And this I also know, that what Jesus did for them — He
can likewise do for you. Do you ask me how fared it with those widowed ones, as
time rolled on? Did they soon forget their dead ones, and return to active life,
as though no blast of sorrow had swept over them? Did it thus appear as if their
wound was slight and their affection transitory? Quite the reverse. As months
went by, their sorrow seemed to deepen, and the blank to grow more void. Their
earthly prop was taken, and though the Lord came in to fill the empty space, yet
ever and always it opened up afresh, and they were made to feel their daily need
of Jesus, for daily smarting wounds. Believe me, they felt their desolation, not
unmindful of the days when the marital union was unbroken, and when fond
affection, not anticipating death, lived on as though it would be always so.
Yet, leaning on Him who is invisible, and finding in His arm a sure support —
meekly they returned to active duties, resolved that none should suffer at their
hands, by their indulging in selfish grief. My friend, go and do likewise. An
effort it may cost you, neither light nor short; yet, an effort that God can
give you strength for, if you seek it at His hand. Weak human nature can never
suffice you for the task. It must be sought and found in Christ alone. Have you,
then, fled to Jesus for pardon and for peace — resolved to know no righteousness
but His — no other name whereby you can be saved? Then only can you walk,
blessed in your widowhood; then only can you weep in comfort for your dead; then
only can you be supported in all you have to do. Have you a family — children to
educate and embark in life? How does your hear sink within you! All the charge
now falls on you alone. What other cares you have, I cannot tell. Perhaps their
name is legion. But for them all there is one only remedy, "Have faith in God!"
(Mark 11:22). He alone can . . . fill your blank, give strength in your
weakness, give light in your darkness, and sweeten your care.

Poor widow! Do not hide your tears from Jesus. Go weeping to His bosom. He will
welcome you the more — the broken-hearted are His special charge. He loves to
see them come. He knows what you feel — that your wound is deep, your spirit
broken, your courage gone. He knows your desolation, the aching void within you,
refusing to be filled. None is so tender, none so kind as Jesus. When He invites
you to come for life eternal — when He reminds you of your sins and need of
pardon — when He makes this the only door of consolation for your earthly woes —
it is because He knows the value of your precious soul, and how little it would
help you, in the end, to have great grief for a season — only to have endless
woe.

But, while He points you to the greater blessing, He does not disregard the
lesser consolation, but, in giving you salvation, He would also dry your tears.
Then look to Jesus! Then come to Jesus! He will not reject you because you ask
for pardon in your earthly woe. Come in your "mourning clothes" — come as a
widow — come with your torn affections, with your bleeding heart. Tell Him you
want a Savior and a Comforter, all in One. Call on Him in your day of trouble.
Surely He will hear you, and fail not you to glorify His name. The WIDOWER

There is something deeply touching in the sight — a widower with his children!
See how he leads that little one along, clothed in its tiny mourning clothes,
the whole presenting a walking-group of desolation. Poor widower! The wife of
his bosom gone — the light of his eyes withdrawn! His hearth left desolate! His
home deprived of her who graced it! The light of his dwelling, turned to
darkness! His earthly comfort broken! A blight upon his tenderest sensibilities!
A very wreck of what he was before this visitation — how can he but be desolate!
See how he goes from room to room, as ever looking for, and ever missing his
loved and absent one! He can scarcely believe she never will return — that it
was possible for all that marital bliss so soon to pass away! He had thought she
was his own for many, many years. Perhaps he had scarcely sipped the cup of
married bliss, when it was dashed from out his hand with awful suddenness. It
may have been, literally, by the lightning’s stroke, as we have known it — or by
some other form of accident or instantaneous death.

"Nay, ’tis not what we imagined it, This magic world of ours; We thought its
skies were only blue, Its fields all sun and flowers! But clouds came up with
gloom and shade; Our sky was overcast; The hot mist threw its blight around,
Sunshine and flowers were past!

Hopes perished which had hung like wreaths Around youth’s joyous brow, And joys,
like withered autumn leaves, Hung from the broken bough" — Bonar And who is
sufficient for these things? We see in this, man’s heavenly origin — to have a
heart painfully tuned to sorrowing sensibilities, a mind susceptible of such
racking grief.

Reader, are you a widower? I gladly would comfort you; yet, stranger as I am,
gently would I tread, not to intrude too harshly on your privacy. Had you been
taken, and she been left to buffet with the world — her loss in this respect had
been still worse than yours — to lack the head she looked to, and the arm she
leant upon — a woman’s grief imparting tenfold force to what she suffered. But
you must have found that woman’s powers of endurance exceed the man’s; and
though her grief had been at first more passionate, yet in the end she would
have endured more patiently.

Besides, in some respects, the home is more disorganized when the wife is taken
— domestic hospitality is more disabled — household concerns are more thoroughly
disjointed — the care of the children more needed — and other issues too many to
be numbered. Happy, when these ills are more than tempered, and the widower’s
heart is cheered, by the presence of some kindly relative to keep his house and
home! This is indeed a blessing among the choicest — a blessing from God himself
— sweet sunlight shed upon the clouds, which even then require the illumining of
grace!

Poor widower! you have indeed sustained a loss — a crushing loss. You feel now,
more than ever, that woman’s presence, as wife and mother, transforms the house
and home — makes it a living comfort; and that her loss drapes the whole
household in dreariness and chilling gloom. At every turn you miss her. Life
seems not life without her. In how many ways she ministered, sensibly or
imperceptibly, to a thousand little needs, daily and hourly besetting you — such
service as a wife alone can yield! But now she is gone — and you are left to the
dreary mockery of waiting on yourself, or leaving a thousand things undone. The
very texture of your life seems broken up, the warp and woof bitterly wrenched
and torn, yet by no means disentangled — that they never could be — but
fragments of both together still interwoven in their seeming separation —
thoughts of the present refusing to be sundered from the past — the life that is
gone, re-lived and lived again in memories unceasing, present existence merged
in many a bygone passage of your married life, in fond associations flitting
before the mind with loving importunity.

You had not realized, as now you do, how truly you were not twain, but one
(Genesis 2:24), and not "one flesh" alone — one heart, one mind, one taste, one
feeling, one end in life — one everything. It is bad enough to be alone when
nothing else has been experienced. But to have been no longer single in the
world, and then to be reduced to widowed solitude — is indeed sad and withering.
Such separations involve a world of suffering, known only to the sufferers, and
to those who have experienced the same; and nothing so plainly shows the wisdom
and benevolence of God’s decree, that man should not "be alone" (Genesis 2:18)
as when we lose our treasure. My widowed friend! God lent her to you for a time,
a loan to be recalled at His will. Not less you owe Him thanks, than if He had
lent her for a longer season. I have heard of a husband charging God with
cruelty for having snatched a darling wife away. A cutting dispensation, I allow
— crushing to the spirit, grating to the flesh, clothing the man with
unutterable grief.

Yet, say, can God be charged with cruelty? Think who He is, my friend — God, the
wise, the holy, and the good. Can we contend with Him, and say He deals
unjustly? It is written, "He does not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children
of men" (Lamentations 3:33). To the natural heart, I know, it is hard to credit
this, and so to reconcile what seems irreconcilable. Again, it is written, "Why
do you strive with Him? for He gives no account of any of His matters" (Job
33:13). Not that this truth alone will heal the wound, and make men suffer
meekly — friend, you need something more — Grace to receive the message — Grace
to see that love is wrapped in it — Grace to "trust God, though He slays you" —
Grace to experience that God takes nothing away, but what He is able, yes, and
willing too, to give much more than He has taken. Do you say, "He has taken what
was dearer to me than life itself. How can He give me what is better?" My
friend, the matter rests with God, and not with you or I. Ask Him to explain His
meaning. Ask God to be "His own interpreter — and He will make it plain." Ask
Him to solve the difficulty, that He can chasten, and yet love all the while. He
has promised to give His Holy Spirit to those who ask Him (Luke 11:13). Can you
do better than take Him at His word? You little know what worlds of light and
joy and peace might thereby open to you. Oh! Taste and see, and you shall find
that "the Lord is good" (Psalms 34:8). Believe me, God is gracious. He waits to
bless you, to turn your sorrow into joy, and gild your desolation with
transcendent brightness.

Go to the Cross, poor widower, and see how sweet it is to be forgiven of all
your sins; how surpassing sweet to be at peace with God through Christ, how
glorious that God Himself should be your Comforter!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 27: 02.11.     THE DEATH OF DISTANT RELATIVES
========================================================================

The Death of More Distant Relatives George Mylne, 1871 The nearer to the heart —
the warmer is the blood. And so, the nearer to the parental center (the
fountainhead of blood relationship), the stronger is the tie. Yet is the
circulation felt in the remoter members, warming them in due degree; and thus
kinsmen are loved and recognized, though not in the foremost rank of family
connection. And, as in the body, the strength of circulation shows itself by
warmth in the extremities, so the strength of natural affection is proved in
loving the remote of kin.

Much also will depend on force of circumstances, how far members of the same
connection are thrown together by a train of binding influences. Thus an Aunt or
Uncle may be brought into the foremost rank, and invested with parental claim to
love and dutiful behavior; and, from like reasons, Cousins may become brothers
and sisters in virtual relationship and actual regard. And thus the amount of
sorrow at their loss cannot be measured by the scale of strict relationship, as
though the blood of family connection must rise to this or that degree in a
thermometer, devised to mark such bare realities. Yet in part we may adopt the
figure, and affirm that often the influence between more distant relatives, may
rise to "summer heat" of nature’s ties.

Reader, you may have had an Aunt who brought you up from infancy (it may have
been an Uncle, if not both; yet more frequently it is the former). Your parents
may have died when you were young, and thus she may have filled a mother’s
office and a father’s, all in one. Or your parents may have been in distant
lands, and you were consigned for health and education to her tender care — her
love in this enhanced, that she undertook an office not necessarily devolving on
her, and incurred responsibilities exceeding the parental rule, as answerable
for the trust committed to her.

It often is wonderful to see the rare devotedness of such a one — her
self-forgetfulness; her time, her thoughts, her energies, considered not her
own; life, health, and comfort, offered at the shrine of her adopted charge;
anxiety to discharge the trust reposed in her; days occupied in toil, nights
broken oft-times with distracting cares; and while she feels parental fondness,
she has to teach the children that the claim is not her own, that there are
others they must love still better than herself; and when her adopted ones have
won their way into the very center of her affections, knit to her as her very
own, with aching heart she has to resign her charge, and (if she can)
unselfishly rejoice that absent parents come to take her place. Thus, while she
weeps, she must be as those that weep not, while with meek and loyal resignation
she submits to have her heartstrings torn, nobly refraining from offices no
longer hers, nor claiming affection disparaging to the parental claim; sublime
in the true dignity of self-control.

Reader, you may have had a guardian angel in a human form, as thus described —
and now you mourn her loss. Her early care of you, perhaps long discontinued,
you never can forget. You never ceased to render her a filial reverence; and now
that she is gone, you see more clearly still how much you owed her; and in the
retrospect, her character comes out in type of burnished gold. You well may weep
for her — yet not for her, indeed, if she is departed to be with Christ, which
is far better (Php 1:23) — but for yourself you weep, in paying homage to
departed worth, and to your own character, as not forgetful of her claims. You
may have parents still, or one or both, and be thankful to serve and love them,
as the chief objects of your filial loyalty; yet a fond concern for your
departed friend befits you well, and you may deem her removal, a call from God
to number up your mercies ministered by her, His instrument of blessing — and
you may mourn for her, as needing consolation. On some occasions grief has to be
checked, there being much to feed its natural extravagance. But, in cases such
as this, it has too often to be put in mind and cherished, in consequence of
many things tending to forgetfulness of benefits received.

How oft, again, a Grandchild has to tell of second parentage and fostering care
— of having found a second parent in a parent’s father or mother! It is sweet to
see parental offices, long since disused, fondly renewed and exercised — the
nurslings nursed, as though they had been their own immediate offspring —
youthful dispositions trained, and pastimes entered into, with all the freshness
of the time when it was not their children’s children, but their own children,
whom thus they tended. And when advice is given, and duty urged, by such
advisers, how forcibly it comes! And memory invests the retrospect of fond
association with reverence more than filial, in respect of age and character
more venerable than even a parent claims. Who would not shed a tear for such a
friend removed? And never is grief more graceful than when youth mourns the aged
ones, removed and gone. Such patriarchs outlive too often the thoughtful care
and kind attentions of a rising generation. Thus, the more the honor to those
who, true to themselves and aged friends, can shed on such occasions a genuine
tear. But at times it is the loss of a grandchild that constitutes the sorrow,
when tottering old-age is suddenly bereft of kind attention, and unremitting,
tender care. On such occasions the very prop of life is gone, the staff on which
the trembling hand was stayed; and sad bereavement brings gray hairs with sorrow
to the grave. Such grief requires peculiar consolation, equal, at least, to what
a parent calls for when a child is taken. In one respect the loss may be
greater, more poignant still the grief, because, the more advanced the age and
bodily decay — the more the prop is missed, the more severe the desolation. My
aged friend, if thus you mourn, I hope you have found a better staff than human
help supplies — even to lean on Jesus and the Living God. How sweet the promise,
"For I, the Lord, your God, will hold you by the right hand, saying unto you,
Fear not, I will help you" (Isaiah 41:13). I hope you know it experimentally,
for great your need of resting on the Lord. Your pilgrimage, it may be, is near
its close, your days for needing earthly props well-near run out. Say, are you
ready for the change? What are your prospects for the world to come? Do you,
through faith in Jesus, look for a "city which has foundations, whose builder
and maker is God"? (Hebrews 11:10). Have you found the Door of entrance to the
city — even Him, who says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man comes
unto the Father but by Me." "I am the Door, by Me if any man enters in, he shall
be saved" (John 14:6, John 10:9). Make no delay. The days are hastening on, "the
evil days," when you shall say (if not already), "I have no pleasure in them!"
(Ecclesiastes 12:1). Before "the silver cord is loosed, or the golden bowl be
broken" (Ecclesiastes 12:6), see that you "have peace with God through Jesus
Christ" (Romans 5:1). Is "the grasshopper" even now "a burden" to you?
(Ecclesiastes 12:5). Yet listen to its chirp, though wearisome it is. It is a
preacher warning of the sandglass of time is well-near run down, speaking of
death and what comes after. It bids you look to Jesus, and be Saved — to Jesus,
and be comforted.

But, reader, you may have lost a relative of an order more remote, yet brought
very near in Providence, which reckons not by human grades, but oft raises up in
the outskirts of relationship a brother’s faithfulness, a sister’s tenderness, a
father’s watchfulness, a mother’s care; and grateful love; which sorrows not by
rule, but by a sense of benefits received, pays tribute to the dead, and mourns
the benefactor and the friend, accounting that, the less the claim, the greater
gratitude is due, and weeps accordingly. May mourners of this class be
comforted! May their blank be filled by knowing Him who fills all in all!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 28: 02.12.     THE DEATH OF INTIMATE FRIENDS
========================================================================

The Death of Intimate Friends George Mylne, 1871

Relationship is of blood, a self-existent thing. We know its influence, and own
its power. But there is a kinsmanship that claims a wider range, and asserts a
power, at times more influential still. Yet it claims not kin with all, being
too fastidious for that. It finds its kin in kindred spirits. It is the
companionship of heart with heart, and mind with mind--its secret of attraction
and cementing power is congeniality. Yet it renders no account of its
proceedings, as to the nature of its affinities--how they had their origin--how
heart became attached to heart, and man to man. Nor does it fail, at times, to
be capricious in its likings, even to fraternize with objects most unlikely.
Tastes may be different, and pursuits divergent--tempers and dispositions as
wide apart as arctic from antarctic pole--and yet that fitful thing called
friendship thrives on the soil of such discordance, and strikes its roots
deeply.

Yet, it is sweeter when more accordant in its elements, and the interchange of
intimacy is adorned with harmony of tastes and feelings; more edifying, too, to
others, when spared the sight of worth enchained by a bond of most unworthy
partnership--fascinated by what it ought to spurn--dishonoring the name of
friendship by its monstrous tendencies and wayward love.

But, however formed, there is a power in friendship, in some respects outvying
relationship by blood; yet, in its noblest forms, it abstains from doing
violence to what it justly deems a prior claim, and abhors the thought of
intercepting the affection due to kith and kin.

Now, Jesus had a friend--one above others, whom He loved, to whom He told His
secrets, and to whom He gave the privilege of lying in His bosom. And if the
Holy One, unfallen in His nature, the very soul of innocent propriety, could
single out a friend--if even in His bosom the mysterious principle was found,
that close connecting bond of friendship--then it is an honorable thing, an
institution of man’s very nature--to be recognized as a true friend. The very
nature of the bond engenders mutual confidence, a rare unfolding of the inner
man, communications of wondrous intimacy. A man to meet his friend--walk with
him, talk with him--no one to share their privacy or mar their fellowship! The
very thought inspires repose, and bygone tastings whet the appetite for more.
But never is the bond so close, so binding, as when it is formed on principles
transcending earthly ties--on fellowship in Jesus--fellowship with Him and one
another. No blood relationship they claim, yet they are joined in family
connection of a higher kind--the family of God Himself, the domestic circle of
the inner sanctuary, the bond of grace. Such unity can never reign on earthly
principles. Heart must be joined to heart in ways that nature knows not of; and
hence they hold communion with an intimacy otherwise unknown; feeling their bond
to be eternal, destined to survive the earth itself and all life’s concerns,
while they hold communion on things unseen, but revealed and realized. If such
is the fellowship of Christian friends, both here and ever--it is no wonder that
the bond is intimate beyond compare. As little wonder is it that friends, even
on earthly principles, should mourn each other’s loss, and feel the lasting and
severe pang inflicted. Kinsmen in thought and fond association, they miss each
other painfully. When a friend is mourned--a bosom friend--the pang is felt in
the inmost recesses of the man. Mental companionship receives a blow; and there
is nothing that feels the severing of a bond, like mind allied to mind through a
long tract of fellowship, closely sustained and fondly exercised. Thrice blessed
is it when natural ties and fond companionship are joined in a brother or sister
friend. When such companionship is beautified with grace, it is the very acme of
earthly oneness!

Reader, have you lost a friend--the chief companion of your mental powers, an
intimate of your heart? When near, how oft you sought his company! When absent,
companionship, if possible, more intimate was kept with ink and pen. But now
your fellowship has ceased, and you are left, a mourner of no trifling
order--you feel a blank unutterably void. To find another such were hard; to
seek another such by rule--perforce to make a friend of someone or another to
supply his place--say, could you do it? Your heart rejects the thought. The link
that bound your hearts together, refuses to be forged on such an anvil. The
train of subtle circumstances that made you friends, cannot be reproduced at
will. Such friendship is a solitary thing. If a brother dies, you may have a
brother still, and at the family-home you find your consolation. But a friend, a
bosom friend--leaves none behind to take his place, for friendship goes not in
groups of family connection; and when it dies, it leaves neither kith nor kin to
represent it, with the friend who is left to mourn. May I ask you, reader, if
you are comforted, and where you seek your consolation? You feel the truth of
what Solomon has said--"A friend loves at all times" (Proverbs 17:17). You say,
"That pictures forth my friend, yes, to the very life. His love was constant and
sincere--in times of woe, he ever wept with me; and in times of prosperity, he
made my joy his own."

Again, I quote from Solomon--"A man who has friends must show himself friendly;
and there is a friend that sticks closer than a brother" (Proverbs 18:24). Does
this make you think still more of your departed one--in how many ways he proved
his friendship? Brothers may have stood aloof in your adversity, nor offered
help which was at their command; but your friend proved better than a brother.
He never forsook you; he stuck to you throughout. Did I say better than a
brother? Yet not than every brother. Blessed be God, there are brothers who
minister as friends and brothers, in concentration of all that is generous and
kind, whether in brotherhood or friendship--all honor to their bounty and
faithful love! My friend, I question not your loss, either in kind or in degree.
But have you ever sought the friend, the Heavenly friend, who loves as no one
else can do? Think what a friend he is! From Heaven He came to save you, to bear
your sins "in His own body on the tree" (1 Peter 2:24). What other friend has
done, what other friend could do, as much as this--to suffer for you on the
Cross? Say, can brother stick to brother, or friend to friend, after a sort so
friendly? Your friend, you say, loved you at all times. Does not Jesus do the
same, and in an infinite degree? What moment do you not sin? What moment have
you loved Him, thought of Him, as you ought? And yet what moment has He not
thought of You? In your prosperity, he thought of you. He thinks of you in your
present grief. He knows your sorrow, and even now would be your Comforter. One
only thing He waits for--that you should seek Him as your friend. Would you know
His friendship’s worth? Consider what Jesus has done to prove Himself your
friend. This you require to know for a double reason--the pardon of your sins,
and for present consolation. The day is coming when earth shall pass away--when
earthly friendships shall have no further place--when all must stand before the
judgment-seat of Christ, to receive the things done in the body, whether they
are good or bad (2 Corinthians 5:10). Then make the Judge your friend. "Kiss The
Son, lest He be angry" in that great day, "and you perish from the way when His
wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him"
(Psalms 2:12). Then seek a friend In Jesus. Faithful and true you will find
Him--faithful in life--faithful in death--faithful to all eternity!

There is a class of friends, whom not to speak of were to do foul wrong to
friendship’s sacred name. I mean, faithful, attached domestic servants. That the
tie is recognized in many families is amply proved by the notices we read, from
time to time, in the public journals, of grateful masters thus recording that
they have lost a friend. But, on the whole, the bond is little recognized, too
little felt, and the law of mutual obligation strangely overlooked. How many
consider that the obligation thus conferred is solely on the part of those who
pay the wages, forgetting all the while that the obligation, to say the least,
is equally conferred by those who yield the service! If servants cannot live
without a master to feed and pay them wages--could masters do without servants
to do them service? And is the servant humbly to thank his master for his wages,
and the master not to thank the servant for his offices? And yet, comparatively
speaking, this is seldom acted on; and if masters so little understand their
duty, can we wonder if servants are ignorant of theirs?

If we forget that they have flesh and blood, feelings and faculties the same as
we, we must not be surprised if they, in practice, resent the injury and yield
unwilling service. And yet, how much we owe them, if they are faithful to their
trust! Can love be bought with money? Can kind devotedness be paid for across
the counter? Can honesty, untiring interest in their master’s cause, faithful
adherence in trying circumstances, nights of tender watching in the sick-room,
and other services cheerfully rendered day by day--say, can these be rated at a
market price? These mark not the servant, but the friend--and friendship is too
precious to be bought and sold. And what if the good is mixed with evil--if
faithful service is attended with unsavory things, as fits of temper, or
eccentric ways? Much as we blame it, can we wonder at it? If masters are
imperfect, can they expect perfection in their servants? When we engaged them,
did we expect the promised wages would purchase freedom from infirmity, and
insure that they should not be like ourselves in sinful tendencies? Or could
they engage, for money, to be transformed at once, and be no longer liable to
sin? I say not this to palliate their faults, but simply to guard against
expecting what can be hardly done.

Again, how close the union between faithful servants and their masters--in daily
fellowship more intimate than with most relatives and friends! Companions in our
joys and sorrows; alive to every family event; sharing our interests as their
own; consulted in domestic matters; oft taken into counsel in graver matters;
trusted to act for us in difficulties; treated as confidential friends--how much
is there to form a bond of life-enduring strength and intimacy! How much, when
death removes them, to make us mourn their loss, especially if they have died in
service, or, it may have been, exempt from work, ending their days among us in
tranquil honor--their little chamber the rendezvous for many a meeting, where
many a family secret is discussed--where coming family events have cast their
shadows forward in the presence of that congenial sun!

What a blank occurs when such a friend is taken! It is not merely that a friend
is lost, but an institution gone. My friend, your sorrow does you credit--your
tears are rightly shed, and honorable. And as you grieve not according to the
scale of earth’s relationships, or grief conventionally felt--as your sorrow is
not prescribed by such formal rule, so neither is your consolation! But
remember, the more genuine the grief, the less conventional the tears, the less
trite the call for consolation, the more the need to have your sorrow
sanctified, and to improve the occasion. Did your departed friend act as a
nursing mother, and in many ways reflect God’s kindly providence and tender
care? Your interest and your duty alike exhort you to hide yourself in God, and
thus combine comfort and holiness all in one.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 29: 02.13.     ON SUDDEN DEATH
========================================================================

On Sudden Death George Mylne, 1871

Death is always solemn; but doubly so, when sudden. To find the spirit fled —
the body that had harbored it untenanted — your friend no longer there — that
living, feeling, speaking thing, the soul, departed, and no warning given! Oh,
who can tell the anguish and surprise!

"In the midst of life we are in death" — so we read in the solemn Service of the
Burial. Oft have we heard it at the grave, and thought we had set our seal to
it, as a truth most plainly realized. But in this, as other things, too often
experience goes for nothing, and immediately we forget the tale of frail
humanity.

We are told of the death of one well known and cherished. "Impossible!" we say;
"I saw him but an hour ago — surely you are mistaken!" Straight to the house we
go, to see if it is true. Ah! we need not bring the servant to the door — the
darkened windows have their tale, and straight they tell it; they seem to say,
"The wind has passed over him, and he is gone. The place that has known him,
shall know him no more!" (Psalms 103:16).

Well, the first gift of life was instantaneous — "God Breathed!" How simple and
concise! "God breathed into man’s nostrils the breath of life — and man became a
living soul" (Genesis 2:7). And can we wonder if God at times as suddenly
withdraws the breath so promptly given? Yet life appears so firmly settled. From
day to day the wheel of nature rolls so very ordinary. We think, "Surely, the
lungs that breathe today — must breathe tomorrow, the eye that saw today — must
see tomorrow’s sun" — and so we reason in our blindness, and forget God’s
possibilities. Yet we have to do with One who knows our infirmities — He
remembers that we are but dust (Psalms 103:14).

God will not judge us for the shock we feel on such occasions. Could it be
otherwise? Say, is it possible to check the horror that comes over us — to drown
the cry of anguish that escapes our lips, when we see life thus suddenly
extinguished? Or when we are called to see what others have discovered, the pain
is hardly less. And when the chilling fact is brought before us in its stern
reality, how is the circulation checked, the breath suspended, life driven back
upon itself with fearful shock to mind and body, leaving, at times, traces of
lasting injury. That man should die, is not a mystery. Simply it is God’s
appointment, in consequence of the fall. He has foretold us of it, and we see
His word unceasingly fulfilled. Man is a sinner. He has earned the wages of his
sin — death. (Romans 6:23.) What wonder, then, that man should die?

Yet practically it is a mystery, that life should cease, and that what was once
so full of animation, should suddenly collapse, and be no more a living thing.
The wonder varies, too, according to the circumstances. In extreme old age we
are prepared for it. We do not think it strange that a machine worn out by use,
should suddenly refuse to work, and cease its functions altogether; but even
then we are surprised to find that all is over. Or you may be told that your
friend or relative will die very soon. Day after day you go, prepared to find
him gone. Yet if a message come to tell you he is dead, you say, "Is it really
so?"

But, at times, it happens that no warning has been given. Health may apparently
be perfect, according to the physician. Your friend may have retained a marked
alacrity, and gone his round of occupation with a vigor that seemed to promise a
long continuance of life — and then, to receive the tidings of his sudden death,
must ever be a dread surprise.

We have heard of preachers dying in the pulpit, judges dying on the bench,
merchants dying in their counting-houses — nay, of the votaries of pleasure
dying in the midst of their frivolities — thus summoned without a moment’s
warning of "prepare to meet your God!" Oh, what a fearful thing is sudden death.
How solemn in its warnings! Alas! too often unobserved.

Reader, have you thus lost a relative or friend? Are you needing a word of
sympathy? Gladly would I commune with your shattered sensibilities — gladly
would I still their throbbings with sweet composure and meek submission to a
Father’s will. But what is man? He has no sorcerer’s wand to wave, to allay the
trouble — no voice with which to bid the winds and waves of your distress be
still. But there is One who says, "Be still!" He has said it to the stormy sea,
and it obeyed Him (Mark 4:39). He says it in His Word to every troubled soul,
"Be still, and know that I am God" (Psalms 46:10). How many a mourner has
received his consolation from those impressive words!

Believe me, reader, there is no quietus like fellowship with God. You find it
soothe you to tell your sorrows into a human ear, and while you tell them,
somewhat of your grief subsides. "Acquaint now yourself with Him, and be at
peace; thereby good shall come to you." Open your heart to God — open your heart
to Jesus. Fling wide the portals of your thoughts, that He may enter in and
still their agitations. The startling shock of this your visitation was Jesus
knocking at the door, asking for entrance to your heart; it may be that you
discerned it not. The earthquake and the fire wrought no impression on the
Prophet’s soul (1 Kings 19:11) — and so, amid the tempest of the shock, you may
not have perceived the Savior’s call. But listen — is there not now, as with the
prophet, "a still, small voice," inviting you? May you have grace to listen and
obey the call! In gentle accents it appeals to you. Open your ear to hear; not
only hear, but answer it.

What do tell a friend who comes to commune with you? You tell him what you feel.
So must you do with Jesus. Tell Him the shock you have sustained. Tell Him your
inmost feelings. He will listen to you patiently, kindly, feelingly, as He alone
knows how you feel. Only make trial of it, coming as a sinner in need of pardon
— as a mourner requiring consolation. Come in sincerity. You will not regret it
— but find a calm come over you, unutterably sweet. Thus may your agitated heart
be charmed to rest! But there are many chapters in the book of sorrows —
volumes, I should have said; and many a torrent from many a mountain side,
combines to swell the river in this valley of tears.

Among those sorrows few are more trying than when a friend or relative dies at
sea. The body cast into the deep ocean, appears a greater desolation than burial
in the graveyard; no sod to cover him, but, in its stead, the restless ocean. We
had rather heard "earth to earth" than of committing the remains to the
uncongenial deep. We think, too, of the departed one, that he lived not long
enough to see his native land once more, and that a stranger hand should close
his eyes in death. This is indeed a sorrow, and much it calls for consolation.
But it is sadder still when shipwreck has occurred, and shroudless, coffinless,
your friend met with a watery grave. True, death is death, however it may occur;
and after death it matters not whether a man died in his bed, or made the stormy
wave his dying pillow. But how different it seems (and justly, too) when there
is time for preparation, compared with the awful suddenness and crushing gloom
of death by shipwreck or foundering at sea! And then a thousand thoughts occur,
the saddening results of human reasoning. Had the ship been better manned, less
deeply laden, or steered more wisely — the danger had been averted, and your
friend been saved. And thus we stem the tide of overruling Providence, and find
it hard to swim against the stream!

But, saddest of all, when a ship is lost at sea, and it is never known how,
when, or where it happened. What fluctuations of hope and fear, as afflicted
relatives from day to day expect the tidings that never come! Such suspense is
truly agonizing. It were almost a lesser trial to know for certain that the
worst has happened, than to be kept alternating between hope and fear, as false
reports arise from time to time, only to be contradicted, racking the mind upon
the wheel of flitting, harrowing alternations. Deeply the mind is exercised,
whether the ship was burned; whether run down by other craft, and both had
perished; whether they struck on sunken rocks, or came into collision with an
iceberg; whether they sunk at once, or lingered long between life and death, as
leaks increased upon them, at last to sink to rise no more. How hard to stop
such painful agitations, and not to toss the mind with suppositions never to be
set at rest!

It seems injustice to the friends, thus darkly taken from us, not to dwell with
fond, yet vain inquiry as to the nature of their unknown end. Nor were it wise
or kind, harshly to check the exercise, as being a safety valve to minds ready
to burst with rankling desperation.

Mourner, has the time elapsed that was allowed for the longest exercise of
reasonable hope? And are you with painful effort brought to the conclusion that
all is over, veiled in the darkness of an undefined crisis? Or are you still
indulging a languid hope, unwilling to believe that the flame, now flickering in
the socket, must shortly be extinguished by hopeless gloom? However that may be,
I almost shrink from offering consolation, lest you should think I underestimate
your woe. But to all the class of mourners above alluded to, I would simply say,
"Humble yourselves beneath the mighty hand of God." 1 Peter 5:6). Lie low before
Him, and say nothing, if you will; you will find none so wise, none so
delicately kind as He. He knows your sorrow — its immeasurable heights, its
unfathomable depths. He knows that utterance fails you; that silence is the last
refuge of your jaded heart. Lie low before Him, and say nothing still. He will
wait for you to speak when utterance comes. Yet leave not the position. Seek not
the return of self-possession in other presence than the Lord’s. Lift your eyes
in chastened adoration, in speechless prayer; and though it be with a listless,
vacant gaze, look for relief to Him, if haply the pent up conflict of your mind
may find a timely outlet. Yes, God is merciful, tender in sympathy, mighty to
console!

"Still in the solitary place I would a while abide, Until with the solace of
Your love My heart is satisfied, And all my hopes of happiness Stay calmly at
Your side." — A. L. Waring

Mourner, take up your Bible. There you will meet with God, meet with the
promises, meet with a bleeding Savior, meet with consolation, meet with a tender
friend. Diligently, prayerfully consider what it tells you. Let it but have free
course in you, and it shall comfort you indeed.

Death on the field of battle has its woes peculiar to itself, in thinking of a
friend laid low in gory sadness. What agonizing moments pass between the first
reports of battles — the awful telegrams received, with harrowing silence as to
the special dead! With what anxiety the list, at last, is searched, to know its
dread contents! With trembling eyes, half-dimmed with dread suspense,
half-questioning their information, you check, and check again, for the
looked-for, would-be absent name. Yes, yes, it is so! The letters, in stark
precision, taking no denial of their veracity, make up the identity too surely —
and you go with faltering steps and sinking heart, to break the sad news to
other beloved ones. For a time you are cheered by thinking that he died fighting
for his country; but that does not, and cannot, allay the hurt — and grief will
have its course, unvarnished by the air of faulty satisfaction, mocking your
palsied sensibilities.

Forgive me, reader, if I have opened your wounds afresh. Yet full well I know I
only speak in words long since familiar to your sorrow; and I have done it,
hoping to bring before you the only healing for your wound. Distracting cares
point to their own remedy with urgent claim — and so your anguish points you to
Jesus and His Cross, as the only balm for your distress. Thought after thought
arises of other remedies, but you must seek it at the Savior’s hand. No wound is
too deep for Him to probe it; no gangrene is too inveterate for Him to charm
away; no train of circumstances is too harrowing for Him to tinge with
consolation. You may think that your grief is incurable — that calmness is
irrecoverable — that you can never view the past without cankering despair.
Believe it not, my friend. Trust not your feelings; they are incapable of
reasoning at the present time. Rather believe the friend who says, "Come to Me,
all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke
upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will
find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light." (Matthew
11:28-30)

I have not touched on many grounds of sorrow — on many other ways of sudden
death. The time would fail me to recount the many heads of such disasters —
alas! how frequent in a bustling world! The head must fail from being "waters,"
and the "eyes a fountain of tears" (Jeremiah 9:1), through the demands enforced
upon them with such sad persistency. But there is One whose sympathy is never
exhausted, whose power to comfort never decays. In all the multitude of woes, He
never fails. He is the abiding consolation. You mourning ones, smarting from
this or that variety of woe, seek your relief from Him. He sends not one weary
one away.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 30: 02.14.     MAN IS BORN TO TROUBLE!
========================================================================

Man Is Born to Trouble!

George Mylne, 1871

Yes, "man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward" — the one is as
inevitable as the other (Job 5:7), and why? The saying is correct, we may be
sure, seeing whose Word it is that says it. "Affliction," it tells us, "comes
not forth of the dust, neither does trouble spring out of the ground" (Job 5:6).
All crops have their seasons — and when the time is come, we look for harvest.

Just so, man, through sin, has sown the seeds of his own afflictions, sown to
the flesh, and of the flesh has reaped corruption (Galatians 6:8.) In this
respect, afflictions spring immediately from earthly causes, the sure result of
sin, which strikes its roots, and yields its fruit accordingly.

Yet, in another aspect, it springs at once from God’s command. No
matter-of-course procedure brings it to pass. God’s sovereign will disposes it.
The time and form of the affliction hang on God’s sovereign will alone, and
that, on principles unknown to man, and unintelligible. Some pass their days
with little trouble; others are in the furnace constantly. "Known unto God are
all His ways," and "He gives no account of any of His matters" (Acts 15:18; Job
33:13). But this we know: He does all things well, though we are apt to charge
His ways with inequality (Ezekiel 18:25) because they beggar human explanation.
Yet He acts on special grounds, and not in caprice, nor upon arbitrary
principles, apart from our deserts. Thus various reasons may be given why man is
born to trouble, and why bereavement stalks abroad, spreading its desolations
far and near. God helping us, let us try and seek them out. Has it ever struck
you, reader, how the number of man’s days has been ordered by God in Heaven? At
first, men lived to nearly a thousand years; and Enoch seemed to die scarcely in
the prime of life, though he had numbered three centuries and more. So it
continued to the Flood, and Noah died almost as old as Adam and Methuselah
(Genesis 5:23; Genesis 9:29). But then a rapid fall took place in man’s earthly
life. Look how persistently it fell (see Genesis 10:1-32.), until, in Moses’
time, it had reached its present limit of "threescore years and ten," varied to
fourscore years (or even more), according to God’s good pleasure (Psalms 90:10).
In this we see the immediate hand of God, and impress of His power! Why did man
live so long at first? Because God willed it. Why, then, did length of days
decrease so rapidly? Simply, because God willed it. And having so far descended
the scale of diminution, why did it stop at its present limits, and not go on to
plain extinction? Because God willed it. The bodily machine, so "fearfully and
wonderfully made" (Psalms 139:14), was, doubtless, qualified to work as long as
at the first, If He had willed it so; and had its decline resulted from
inevitable causes, no reason was there why it should not wear out altogether. Oh
no, at every stage we see God’s all-directing hand ordering the ratio of life’s
decline as long as so He willed it; and when the appointed limit was attained,
He stayed the wave of diminution.

Life is a dream — a span — a vapor that appears for a little time, and then
vanishes away (James 4:14). And yet it is a wonder that it lasts so long, seeing
the risks it is exposed to. And the wonder is, not that we hear of death so
often — but that it comes not oftener. This does not rob bereavement of its hurt
and pain; yet it is truth, and worthy to be considered. When rightly viewed, it
tends to resignation, and may make us thankful that bereavement did not come
before.

Yes, "Man is born to trouble." He inherits trouble by his very birth. His sinful
nature calls for it; bodily frailty predisposes for it; liability to trouble is
inbred in his bones. You mourn your relative or friend, and you do well. Yet,
while you mourn, do justice to God’s laws. Do justice to the principles inherent
in your sinful nature, and to the consequences involved in it.

Consider, then, your trouble in the view of native sin. As a sinner, you were
born to trouble — and born to bereavements. You are as naturally born to trouble
— as to inhale air to breathe. What moment is there that you breathe not? But
how many, many moments have you had exempt from trouble? Thank God on this
behalf, for every moment free from trouble is a blessing we had no right to look
for. Do you mourn on your friend’s account, that he was taken from his family,
and his life so soon cut short? But was he free from sin? Could he plead
exemption from the universal rule? Was he not born to trouble — born to death?
He came into the world — to die. Who can dispute the justice of his doom, or who
can impugn God’s season of its execution? God has a right to take His creatures
at His will. He ordains the time that each man has to live, and acts
accordingly. Could you but search the Divine register — the register of births,
ordained and settled; and the register of deaths, as accurately ordained — you
would find that your departed one was not defrauded of a single moment of the
time allotted to him in God’s Doomsday Book. You would find that he had had his
share of earthly joys, also the time of preparation for eternity, with the helps
and privileges suited to the same. You would fine that an all-wise God saw fit
to give — all that was consistent with His holy will.

I beg you, take this thought to God, and ponder it before Him. He alone can
enable you rightly to view, and meekly to receive it. To hide yourself in God
through faith in Jesus; to lose your will in His; to resign all wisdom of your
own — this is the only path to sure and true resignation. But is it for yourself
you mourn? Do you think that you are harshly dealt with — that your pleasure is
unjustly interfered with? And, though you would not say it — do you feel that
God had dealt more kindly with you, had He spared your friend? Do not think me
harsh. Question not my sympathy. Deeply I feel for you — indeed I do. I
reverence your tears, and gladly would enter the inner chamber of your sorrows,
if haply I might comfort you. But, my friend, can you rebel — when God appoints
it? Can you say, "I do not deserve it?" Were you not born to trouble — born to
lose your friend?

Search your own sinful nature through. Investigate your life from first to last.
Let actions, thoughts, and words, be scrutinized. Are you an exception to the
universal rule of sin? Has there been a moment you could say, "I am not a
sinner?" Then, could you claim exemption from the consequences? You are born to
trouble, entitled to it by your very nature, that title more than strengthened
by your acts and deeds. Acknowledge it, my friend — to God acknowledge it, and
not to me. To humble self before Him — is the way to happiness, the road to
consolation. Take, then, the looking-glass of faith — the looking-glass of calm
investigation — the looking-glass of accurate perception — and, by its means,
endeavor to read your heart aright. Turn up the soil thereof, and you shall find
therein a seed deposited, the seed of trouble, destined to spring up and bear
its bitter fruit. And say, is there not mercy in the divine rule — in God’s
universal law? Would it be mercy to leave sin unrequited here — to leave the
sinner unreminded of his eternal destiny — unwarned by trial, sharp and solemn,
of what awaits him if he does not repent and believe in Jesus? Freedom from
trial is inconsistent with a fallen and sinful world — a violence to principle
divinely ordered.

Thank God, my friend, thank God that He afflicts you, to bring to mind your
sinful condition, your duty towards God, and your just deserts. It is His way of
blessing, by bringing you to see — your sin, your need of Jesus, and His
precious Blood. What would it profit you — to go unchastened all your days;
never to have to weep; never to lose a friend; never to experience the aching
void of separation; and, after all, to perish eternally in your sins! What would
it profit you, to have had the company of friends on earth — and lose the
company of God himself in Heaven? Then, is there not mercy in affliction —
unbounded mercy, that men be weaned from earthly vanities, and seek a better
heritage to come?

"Source of my life’s refreshing springs, Whose presence in my heart sustains me!
Your love appoints me pleasant things, Your mercy orders all that pains me!

Well may Your own beloved, who see In all their lot, their Father’s pleasure,
Bear loss of all they love, save Thee, Their living, everlasting treasure!" —
A.L. Waring.

There is another view of it — another side of the truth that man is born to
trouble, which it were not wise to disregard. I mean the perishable nature of
our mortal frame. Life is a wondrous thing. How it goes on from day to day, as
long as nothing happens to arrest its course! And yet on what a slender thread
it hangs! How frail its tenure, as regards either ourselves or those we value!
Ten thousand causes are abroad at any time, to injure or destroy it! A breath
suffices to blow the candle of life out. The smallest trifle (as we call it) of
an accident may fatal prove, when least expected. Our every organ is confronted
with what at any time might prove destructive. Our every element of life is
exposed to influences as subtle as themselves. At any moment, some trifle may
snuff out the vital principle irrevocably.

What binds these instruments of evil, that they do not hurt us at every moment?
What stays the wind of fatal influences, that it passes not over us with blight
upon its wings? Nothing but the wise and omnipotent Hand of God — nothing but
that thing inscrutable, called Divine Providence.

But, could our eyes be opened to see the threatening dangers all around, and
trace the divine agencies employed to shield us from the evils — the
hair-breadth escapes from the liabilities which beset our path — we might well
be lost in wonder and adoring praise. It is divine mercy that we see them not —
that the veil is on our eyes. We could not otherwise take a step or draw a
breath, exempt from anxious care and dread forebodings. We could not part with
friends but for a moment, or send our children for their daily walk, without
some sad presentiment of evil. And, awful as is the visitation of fatal
accidents or sudden death, it is a lesser trial, in the end, than to have the
mind racked by the probabilities of every impending evil.

Then, Mourner, Think! Your friend was born to all those agencies of which we
speak — born to the shock of baleful influences let loose upon a fallen world.
God lent him to you for a season. It was a loan, to be revoked at any moment in
God’s good pleasure. And, seeing how frail the tenure of his days is, the tenure
of your hold upon him — can you wonder that his life is gone, that God employed
one or another of those agencies to take him from the earth?

Men call it accident, because it comes at times unlooked for, and in ways
unknown — now by some casual form of violence, now by infection caught
imperceptibly, yet in its effects too evident. But God rides in the chariot of
uncertainties (to man uncertain, yet not so to Him) to effect His purpose
settled long before. Long, did I say? Devised from all eternity-planned before
the world began! And thus no man can die before his time is come, and these
uncertainties of harrowing events and startling pain, do but embody the settled
will, and infallible calculations of the sovereign Lord of providence.

Weep for your friend. It is not forbidden. Jesus wept for His friend Lazarus.
Give him his share of sorrow. Give him the recompense of affection still. Pay
him the tribute of a heart that feels his loss. Yet, in your grief, forget not
the higher claims of Him with whom you have to do, lest in your sorrow you kick
against the mandate of unerring wisdom, and of sovereign love.

Pray for the Spirit’s consolation. He can open vistas of perception that you
know nothing of, and give you grace to acquiesce in this painful illustration of
the truth that, "Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward!"


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 31: 02.15.     THE WORLD, A SORRY COMFORTER
========================================================================

The World a Sorry Comforter George Mylne, 1871 The Preacher speaks of some who
"had no comforter," because, as we infer that they sought comfort wrongly — on
earthly, and not on heavenly grounds. And so it is too often with the bereaved —
people try to cure their broken hearts with human remedies, the quackery of the
world, which mocks the patient, and does not heal him. And thus, when sorrow
comes, mourners are urged to seek their consolation in worldly pleasure, and to
drown their recollections for a season, only to return more bitterly at last.
They might as well expect a cure from sheer intoxication — as banish sorrow
thus!

"Miserable Comforters" are they who recommend such remedies to distract your
grief. Pleasure can only make a man forget his sorrows; and as waters wear the
stones by ceaseless droppings — so a continuous round of pleasure may in time
induce complete oblivion.

Yet this, to say the least, is a dishonorable way of stifling sorrow — advisedly
I use the word. It does dishonor to the dead, that you must needs forget him,
and for his memory substitute the theater, the race-course, or the whirling
dance. Could he but know the fact, or tell the feelings of the eternal world —
would he commend your conduct, or consider it a compliment to be banished thus
from mind? Through pleasure you may try to forget your friend. The giddy
spectacle, whatever it may be, hides him from view. It must be so. Such objects
are not transparent, but opaque, with their many sorts of deadening influences.
Not so the atmosphere of God’s grace. Its clear expanse forms no impediment to
vision — quite the reverse. It gives you objects to survey, as clear as itself.
It invites you to fix your eye on Jesus, Himself the Sun of that clear medium —
Himself the object to bring out its properties. This will hide nothing from your
view, that may be safely looked upon. It hides, indeed, objects of earthly
vanity, as they again obscure the Cross. But it enables you to see more clearly,
as you ought to see, all lawful objects of consideration. It enables you to
weigh their consequences, discern their right proportions, and look upon them as
they are looked upon by God. May you thus bear your sorrow honorably, and know
the dignity of sanctified distress!

It is also dishonoring to yourself not to confront your sorrows like a man. It
implies a lack of courage, the absence of proper self-command. There is
something wrong, you may be sure — for is it correct, is it manly, thus to cheat
the soul, to hide yourself behind some passing vanity, rather than face the
sober truth? It proves you lack a higher principle, the muscles and sinews of a
braver purpose, a mind nerved against unworthy refuges, a buoyancy to rise above
the wave.

Yet I mean not Stoicism — encasing the mind with adamant, suppressing
sensibilities, ignoring natural affection — its ground of resignation fatalism,
unconscious or avowed; a dogged resolution to suffer on; a sullen tribute to
some principle of harm — too blind to trace, too proud to own, the hand of the
Almighty. Stoicism is not courage! There is nothing noble in its composition. It
is rather cowardice, making its would-be hardiness a refuge for its lies. It
dares not see affliction in its proper light.

Oh no! the strength of which I speak is something higher. It has no place
whatever in the natural man. It is the offspring of saving grace. It brings its
powers and its consolations from another world. In some there is a way of
sorrowing, nor seeking its distractions in the world, nor yet hardening itself
in stoicism; feeding in calmness on its sensibilities, clothed in the mantle of
a mournful dignity, attending to life’s duties with self-denying purpose,
exhibiting a quiet resignation to the blow. Yet it lacks the principle of God’s
grace, the principle of glad compliance with the will of Heaven; sorrowing, yet
able to rejoice, distressed yet cheerful; not merely saying, "This is a grief —
and I must bear it!" (Jeremiah 10:19), but counting it a privilege to feel a
Father’s Hand — rising above the instrument, to see a Father’s Love, serene in
the resilience of grace. It is thus the bread of bitterness is turned to
sweetness, and the path of sorrow trodden with unfaltering steps, because of
consolations that the world knows nothing of, and because the everlasting arms
are underneath — surely, sweetly, sensibly.

Thus fortified and taught, a man may look bereavement in the face, undaunted. No
need has he to seek a refuge in the world, and drown his sensibilities in
pleasure. He has no need to arm himself with stoicism. He meets affliction not
as a foe, but as a friend — the bearer of a message from the Lord. To turn from
facing it, would be to scorn its mission, to hide himself from God.

Yet trust not in any power of your own. Would you do honor to yourself aright,
you must have engrafted spiritual principle, engrafted courage — a self within,
entirely distinct from what by nature bears the name — a New Creation in heart
and mind — in principle and powers (2 Corinthians 5:17). May you thus be
qualified to have a true respect for self, and have a self worthy to be
respected!

But, most of all, to seek your comfort in the world is most dishonoring to God.
Man was intended to hold communion with His Maker, in Him to find his
consolation — -to have his Maker for his friend. But Adam fell, and, with the
fall, there came a sad estrangement between him and God — an estrangement,
shared by all his posterity down to the present hour. And thus, my friend, why
don’t you take your sorrows to the Lord? Because you are estranged from Him.
Conscious of sin, you sullenly avoid your Maker — and seek your comfort in the
world. And is it to be always so — that God, the kindest and the best, should be
a cipher to your sorrowing heart — that He alone should be the subject of
studied disregard? Perhaps this sad bereavement was sent to teach you better
things — to show you where true comfort is to be found — and make you see your
danger, if you treat your Maker as a thing of nothing, and systematically pass
Him by.

Hasten to be wise. Hasten to be childlike with the Lord. Hasten to be at peace
with Him through a Savior’s Blood. Hasten to regard Him as your Comforter — to
treat Him as your friend. And as the world can give no real consolation — then
as little can we gain by borrowing its grief. "The sorrow of the world works
death" (2 Corinthians 8:10). And this it does in many ways. It means that we
grieve, irrespectively of God — that we sorrow without a comforter — that our
sorrow is indulged in to satiety — that our sorrow is pent up within the breast
without a safety-valve — -that we sorrow with nothing to relieve it — -that our
mind is fixed on its own distress — -that we have nothing to break the
continuity of wearying thought. Such sorrow wearies the flesh — it dries the
bones (Proverbs 17:22), secretly undermines the health, openly shows upon the
countenance, induces gradual decay — and thus, eventually, works death!

How many, hence, have died of broken hearts! How many have committed suicide!
And all, because they had no real Comforter! Had they only been at peace with
God — had they only confided to Him their sorrow — their grief would have found
an outlet, and their life would have been saved. And then they might have said,
"I shall yet praise Him who is the health of my countenance, and my God" (Psalms
42:11).

Ask the physician, and he will tell you how sickness is often averted by a
peaceful mind. Can they but avert the sickness, the patient lives. And what will
keep from sickness, like a mind at peace with God? Contrast with this a broken
heart — and from what does it proceed? From some hidden canker left to prey upon
the mind, unchecked, unremedied — some wound unmollified with ointment (Isaiah
1:6) — some worm that feeds upon the root, sapping the constitution, eating out
the stamina of life!

Such is the sorrow of the world. I beg you, Mourner, give not way to it. Before
morbid feelings root themselves eradicably — bestir yourself. Shake off the
viper which would eat into your heart. Awake to consciousness and healthful
thought. "Is any afflicted — Let him pray!" — thus says the Scripture (James
5:13). Let him speak to God — to Him, unfold his grief. This at once unfolds the
spring which opens the safety-valve, and lifts the sluice of healthy
sensibilities. You are "afflicted" — then speak to God in the attitude of humble
prayer. At any rate, my friend, speak to God. Catch not infection from the world
— which is sorrow unto death. The sorrow of the world works death in yet another
form. Instead of leading you to God, it takes you further From Him — further
from grace — further From Christ — further from hope — further from eternal
life! Instead of softening the heart — it hardens. It engenders a deadened
spirit, a conscience not awake to suitable impressions — it paves the way for
death — death here, and death hereafter! Then take a lesson, Mourner, if such is
your temptation. Shun worldly sorrow, which eats as a canker! Seek peace. Seek
sweet serenity. Seek life for soul and body in the simple remedy of Christ — the
balsam of the soul.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 32: 02.16.     NO SOLID COMFORT IN MERE RELIGION
========================================================================

No Solid Comfort in Religious Rites and Ceremonies George Mylne, 1871 In your
bereavement seek not your comfort in religious rites and ceremonies and formal
prayers. These may divert the mind and fill it with the form of worship, but
they cannot give solid consolation. Can vaulted aisles dispel your sorrow, or
surpliced choristers, or dim religious light finding its way through painted
glass? Can these speak peace, or say to the winds and waves of sorrow, "Peace!
be still"?

Neither intoned prayers, nor chanted sentences, nor the full measure of choral
services, can fill the aching void in the heart. It is but filling it with
emptiness itself. It is the husk without a kernel — an ornamented body without a
soul — a voice without a meaning — a shadow without the substance — professing
sympathy, with no power to console.

I speak of formal services — the mere routine of showy worship and formal
prayer. Among the lovers of such rites, there may be devout and true worshipers,
who look to Jesus through them all, and find their consolation. But all such
services, persisted in from formal rote, can neither honor God, nor avail the
worshiper, either for piety or consolation.

"God is a Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship Him in Spirit and in
Truth" (John 4:24). The very soul of worship, is God received into the heart by
faith — faith in a Savior’s sin-atoning blood. The soul of worship is to look to
Jesus Christ, dwelling in the heart by faith (Ephesians 3:17). The soul of
worship is the Spirit opening your eyes to see, your ears to hear — making you a
new creature in Christ Jesus (2 Corinthians 5:17) — bringing you into fellowship
with God, that you may have the mind and learn the language of Scripture, and
thus be one of those of whom it is written, He "seeks such to worship Him" (John
4:23). But if you look no higher than the lectern or pulpit — are your
aspirations bounded by choristers and their practiced melodies — if a dim
devotion fixes your soul on the outward trappings of the sanctuary, the gorgeous
vestments of the minister, with alb and cope, and chasuble and stole — the
clouds of incense from the censer — the lighted candles on the table (the altar
falsely called) — and artistic influence of glass and chiseled stone — is this
to worship God in spirit? Is this the way to Him who keeps the keys of
consolation, and opens it to whom He will. For, of this be sure, that vital
worship and solid consolation go hand in hand.

Reader, inspect the nature of your worship, and your bearing in the house of
prayer. Are you there to speak to God Himself — not merely to repeat responses;
to think the thoughts and transact the business of true devotion? Do you feel
that you have missed your object in the sanctuary, if you have had no sensible
communion with the Lord? He who finds the Lord, finds life (Proverbs 8:35) —
finds peace, finds hearty worship — finds genuine consolation — and, having
tasted these, can have no appetite for empty forms which only cheat the soul.
But have you put Rites and Ceremonies to the test? Then tell me honestly, if
they really comfort you. For the moment they may divert your sorrow, but the
pealing organ and the swelling choir have no abiding influence on the soul. When
once they are over, a void occurs — your sorrow rushes in — and so, to cheat it,
you seek these empty religious forms yet again. It is a transient effect, a mere
sensation after all, skimming the surface slightly, striking no deep roots of
consolation, and, therefore, fruitless of relief.

How different is the consolation that Christ affords! There is something solid
in it, something abiding, something to take away with you. You have it, sitting
in your house, or walking by the way — as well as in the sanctuary. Are you
confined with sickness, and for years unable to frequent the house of prayer —
then this blessed principle abides the same. Could you fill your chamber with
wreaths of incense, and a surpliced throng, or hear intonings by the hour —
would it really aid your worship, minister consolation, or edify your soul?

Then let me ask you to desist from surface work, and dig the soil of sober
truth. Let me ask you to renounce the shadow for the substance — to be satisfied
with nothing but Christ Himself. Hide in Him for righteousness. Go to Him alone
for your consolation. Enfold yourself in Christ, as in a garment. Take Him
wherever you go; keep Him wherever you stay; live in the temple of His presence.
Then may you find true consolation in the earthly sanctuary. Then will its
services be sweet — because Christ is with you in them all. Then shall the
preaching of the Word sustain you, and then your consolation shall abound. Thus
will you love a service conducted simply, and shun the sensuous ornaments, and
gaudy trappings, of mistaken zeal.

It is strange to see the straits that men are put to in their sorrow — the
straws they catch at for their consolation. On the tombstone I have read it,
that the dead person received his Baptism on such a Festival — and on the eve of
such another festival he Died. Poor consolation, if you come to sift it! What
has it done for the departed one? What could it do? Could it save his soul, that
he was born or baptized on Easter — and died on Christmas?

If so, sadly have we misinterpreted God’s Holy Word. It does not recognize such
doors of entrance to the kingdom — such titles to celestial glory. The only door
of which we read is Christ. He says, "I am the door." "I am the way, the truth,
and the life; no man comes unto the Father but by Me" (John 10:9; John 14:6).
How vain to look for comfort in such empty things! Look from the tombstone, look
from the festival, to God’s sacred Word. There is nothing to cheat you, nothing
empty, there.

Others betake themselves to prayers for the departed. But what can this avail?
If a man has perished in his sins, can prayer reverse the doom? Can prayer
restrain the worm that never dies, and the fire that is never quenched? (Mark
9:44, Mark 9:48). It is written, "He who is unjust — let him be unjust still;
and he who is filthy — let him be filthy still; and he who is righteous — let
him be righteous still; and he who is holy — let him be holy still." (Revelation
22:11). Can prayers overturn the divine sentence? Can Masses pluck a soul from
Hell, or purgatory, falsely called?

Believe it not, my friend. "In the place where the tree falls — there it shall
lie forever;" whether it falls heavenward — or towards Hell (Ecclesiastes 11:3).
Life is the time to save the soul, the only season to transact the business of
eternal life — the only period, through grace, to qualify for Heaven. Then sin
not against God, nor cast discredit on His Word, by futile prayers for the dead,
for which you have no sanction in holy Scripture. But have you reason to believe
your friend is happy — that his last end was like the righteous — that even now
he is gone to be with Christ, which is far better. If so, can he require your
prayers, even if they were admissible? Could they make God better to him than He
is already — the Savior’s bosom more refreshing — or Heaven more glorious? Souls
perfected above (Hebrews 12:23), need no prayers of sinners upon earth! Oh,
monstrous thought, not to be harbored for a moment — a contradiction too gross
for reasonable minds! If your friend was righteous — then he is righteous still;
if he was holy — then he is holy still. What more does he require? What more do
you require on his behalf? With reverence I say it, what could God do more than
He has done — to give Himself to him — to give him Heaven? How can your masses
or your prayers help him now?

Others there are who think they hold communion with the dead — and thus console
themselves. But what warrant have they for the thought that disembodied spirits
should return to hover in mid-air over their sorrowing friends? A bad beginning,
one should say, of heavenly rest, forthwith to leave the bosom of the Father,
and have to parley with a sinful world! A paltry compliment to Jesus, to
exchange His presence, for fellowship with the dearest earthly friend! Nor were
it only for a little season — for when would mourners wish it to subside, and
thus part company with their disembodied ones? Whether this fellowship with the
dead is sought in the unassisted fervor of a wandering mind, or at the hand of
practiced "Mediums," profanely called — my friend, it is a mockery, to call it
by a gentle name.

Some build the notion on the text, "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent
forth to minister to those who are heirs of salvation"? (Hebrews 1:14). But Who
are the ministering spirits here described? The context speaks of angels, and of
them alone. But men catch at words, and because departed souls are spirits, they
make the text apply to these, reading the Scriptures through the "glasses" of
their own imagination, in disregard of sober reasoning and Scripture rule.

God is a spirit (John 4:24). angels are spirits (Hebrews 1:13-14). Departed
Souls are spirits (Hebrews 12:13). But are we to confound the several offices of
God, and angels, and disembodied men? We think not of ascribing to the creature,
whether men or angels, the office of the Creator. As little may we intermingle
the offices of angels and departed men. Their nature is distinct, and so their
office. From the beginning of the world, angels have been links of fellowship
between God and man, "ministering spirits," to convey His messages or effect His
purposes; agents of Providence. Now, can we, at our pleasure, impart an angel’s
office to a disembodied friend, and charge him with a message to ourselves,
because it suits our foolish purpose? If so, we do it on our own responsibility
— on the fiat of our own authority, and not the Lord’s.

Again, angels are perfect in their kind. No sin has severed them in twain, body
and soul apart; and hence they always have retained a capacity for office. Not
so with man. On earth a fallen creature, after death a disorganised creation,
one half of self embodied, the other moldering in the grave — say, is it
consonant with reason, according to the principle of things, that a disjointed
being should be employed as angels are? The spirit of a man, departed to be with
Christ, is doubtless glorious, and happy in its glory. Yet, in another sense, it
is the time of its humiliation, as bearing witness to the Fall, which caused its
separate condition. It awaits a season of reunion hereafter; it waits "for the
redemption of the body" (Romans 8:23), that, in organization perfected, it may
fulfill whatever the Lord may have in store for it to do. Therefore, until
Scripture tells you that your departed ones can return to watch and tend you —
believe it not, nor seek with fantasies of your own to supplement the Word.

Besides, God bids us look to Him for consolation and spiritual influences.
Nowhere does He encourage us to seek this in the creature, living or dead. His
glory He gives not to another (Isaiah 42:8), no more to separate spirits than to
graven images. His glory He gives not to the angels. We read not of their
ministering to the soul, or taking the office of the Comforter. And don’t you
see danger in the thought? Could you trust yourself to deal with God in
fairness, and not to make your (so thought) hovering friend your chief, your
only comforter? The Lord disclaims such partnerships. Give Him but half His
homage — and you give Him none at all. Unconsciously you think to find more
tender sympathy from your departed friend. But think again. Who is so kind, so
tender, as the Lord — tender as Jesus — whence, as from a fountain, the springs
of human sympathy are all derived?

"No other comforter I need, If You, O Lord, are mine; Your rod will bring my
spirit low, Your fire my heart refine, And cause me pain that none can heal By
other love but Thine." — A.L. Waring Do not rest in living friends, however
sound, however gifted, however kind. God sends them, I allow, to comfort you,
and speak a word in season to your soul. But He sends them as His instruments —
not to usurp His place. However sweet their fellowship, however much it savors
of the sanctuary, make not an idol of the instrument. It is not your real
strength — the staff of your support. Lean upon God, and ever find one moment’s
contact with the Lord of more avail than hours of converse with the creature.
Nor forget that it is written, "I Am the Lord; that is My name — and My glory I
will not give to another."


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  CHAPTER 33: 02.17.     TEACH ME WHAT I DO NOT SEE
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Teach Me What I Do Not See George Mylne, 1871

"Teach me what I do not see [in regard to how I have sinned]; if I have done
iniquity, I will do it no more!" Job 34:32 My sorrowing friend, observe, I beg
you, the words that form the heading of this chapter. They were spoken on
occasion of a chastening from the Lord (Job 34:30-32). They are suited to all
afflicted ones. In your bereavement, are they not suitable to You? If a friend
touches you in the street, you turn instinctively and say, "What do you want?"
Now, the Lord has touched you, laid His hand upon you, and is there not some
purpose in His touch? Does He not intend to teach you something that you know
not, or to impress some lesson learned imperfectly? Turn to Him who chastens
you. Ask Him to teach you what you know not. Ask Him to give you a mind to
apprehend, a heart to receive what He teaches you. Have you "the hearing ear and
seeing eye"? "The Lord has made even both of them" (Proverbs 20:12). Therefore
from Him we seek them, and with the Psalmist say, "Lead me in Your truth, and
teach me — on You I wait all the day" (Psalms 25:5). Then bear with me while I
question you a little. Think me not rude in my inquiries. I make them because I
wish you well. Besides, all awkwardness is spared you, for, after all, you
answer to yourself and not to me, and thus become your own inquisitor.

I ask you, then: Do you know your native sin — how deeply it is ingrained in you
— how it has poisoned the source of innocency, its fatal influences flowing in
your veins with deadly circulation? I ask you if you know it, for "the heart is
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?" (Jeremiah
17:9). And though the fact is clear — unless you are enlightened from above, you
cannot see it. I met with one who knew it not. So blind was she that she denied
her sinfulness altogether! She would not believe that she had broken the least
of God’s commandments. Stoutly, yet quietly, she repelled the charge against her
innocence. Well, what was I to do? I said, "My friend, we differ. Who is to
decide the matter? Clearly none but God. He knows how matters stand better than
you or I. Ask Him, and He will show you. Tell Him of our conversation. Say to
Him, ’O God, am I a sinner, or am I not?’ Ask it in sincerity, and He will
surely make it known." On my next visit I inquired, "And now, what do you think
of yourself, my friend?" "Oh, sir, I find that I am not so good as I have
thought myself to be." "What!" I replied, "have you found out that you are a
sinner?" "Yes, sir, and a great one too." "How did you come to this knowledge?"
I inquired. "Oh, sir, I asked God to make it plain, and He has done so of a
truth. I am indeed a sinner." She was a woman meek by nature — singularly meek.
She said she had never been out of temper in her life, and I believed her, she
was so very placid, and outwardly, I doubt not, in all things well behaved. Yet
she found, in spite of this, that in many things she had sinned, even as we all
(James 3:2). Her case I mention, that you may follow her example (whether your
case quite resembles hers or not), and simply ask the Lord to show you your true
condition.

If you allow that you are a sinner, I would ask another question. Can you say,
"I am chief of sinners!" The great apostle said it of himself (1 Timothy 1:15) —
can You? You may reply, "How can I think so? Are there not others worse, much
worse than I — men who have disgraced themselves before God and man, as I have
never done?" So used I to reason of myself, but God has taught me to see it
otherwise. Do you ask me how?

He led me thus to consider it: "Is there a moment since my birth that I have
done my perfect duty either to God or man?" "Not one!" I was compelled to own.
Then said I to myself, "Can there be a greater sinner than one who has been
imperfect, one who has been a sinner, every moment of his life?" And when I
thought how grace and Scripture knowledge had enhanced my sin, I found it easy
then to say (and feel it too), "I am the chief of sinners!"

What do you think, reader? If you went to ask a servant’s character, and you
were told, "He does nothing thoroughly — nothing as I tell him," would you think
it a good character? Would you engage him as your servant? And what has God to
say of you and I? Could He give us a better character? Could He call us other
than "unprofitable servants"? Could He say that we had done "all our duty to
do"? (Luke 17:10). Then tell me, reader, can there be greater sinners than you
or I — and by our own confession? The reason of this very chastening, this sore
bereavement, may be that you should learn to see it thus; and, touching this
very matter, that you should say, "That which I see not — teach me!"

You have sustained a bitter loss. But if thereby you gain the knowledge of
yourself, your gain will far exceed your loss, and then shall you discern its
only consolation.

Let me ask you another question, closely connected with the former one — Do You
see the Savior in His proper light? Have you learned to see Him as He is? You
say, "I believe that Jesus is the Son of God. I believe that He came into the
world to save sinners. I believe His death upon the Cross. I own the power of
His blood to cleanse from sin. I believe that, as He died, so He rose again,
ascended into Heaven, and that He will come again to judge the world. What more
do you require?"

If this is your belief — then your Creed is right. But let me ask you, is this
head knowledge only, or does it affect the heart? Have you acted on your creed?
The Scripture says, "With the heart man believes unto righteousness" (Romans
10:10). With the heart we sorrow — with the heart we rejoice — and with the
heart we feel. Apply this to your profession. Is your heart engaged in it? Does
your repentance tell of heart-work? Are you really sorry for your sins? Have
they ever cost you a moment’s sleep, a moment’s pain? Are you anxious about your
soul — so anxious, that nothing will satisfy you but to have your sin put away?
Is there heart work in your faith? Can nothing please you but to have Jesus for
your own? Is your heart melted when you think of Him, when you consider His love
in dying for you? Are you accustomed to say, "Give me Jesus — or I die! Oh, give
me Jesus — or I perish in my sins!" Now, this is heart work, and this you need
to prove yourself in earnest and really in the way.

Reader, have you closed with Jesus as your Savior from sin? Have you laid hold
upon Him — determined not to let Him go until He pronounces you clean? (Matthew
8:2). What does your creed matter, except you see Him thus? To see Him merely in
His doctrine, in the externals of belief — is much the same as not seeing Him at
all. You require to see His loveliness — the beauty of His person, as the
sinner’s friend. It is to see Him as the true Physician, to seek His remedies,
and hang upon His power to heal. It is to know Him personally, to hold communion
with Him, to lay before Him all that concerns your soul. Perhaps, He took your
friend that you might know Him thus — that you might say, "Lord, why did you
touch me? Teach me what I do not see!"

But, reader, you may have learned thus to see Jesus long ago. If so, you feel
your need to see Him more and more, to discern His loveliness more clearly, to
drink more deeply of the river of His pleasures, to have a growing sense of all
your spiritual privileges, of all you have in Him.

Eternity will not suffice to learn His glory. Much more do we require here below
to make fresh discoveries of our glorious Friend. And thus your praises will
abound, in this bereavement, that He has thought you worthy to be chastened,
worthy to receive a fresh disclosure of His beauty. The looking-glass of faith,
the telescope of heavenly perceptions, becomes obscured, dimmed by the dusty
influence of earthly things, the tendency of daily life to depress experience
and hurt the soul. And thus you set your seal to this affliction, and thank God
for His faithful hand. And if you know what objects hitherto have hid Him from
your view, the more will you be grateful for His kind chastening, which sweeps
the obstacles away. And so, with a growing sense of your necessities, and an
ever-opening aspect of His loveliness — how much you have still to learn — even
now will you meekly say, "That Which I See Not, Teach You Me." But, beside these
main inquiries, there are other questions to be raised, fresh objects to be
discerned, ever recurring need of chastening, new occasions to exclaim, "Teach
me what I do not see!"

How many lessons have we still to learn, even those among us the most advanced
in light and knowledge! Were our days on earth ten thousand, or twice ten
thousand years — still learners we would be, still requiring to sit at the feet
of Jesus to learn fresh lessons day by day.

How imperfect, at the best, our knowledge of the truth! What a slight perception
of our duties! What a shallow view of our shortcomings! The right estimate of
our own character, how dim! How many corners of our hearts unventilated! How
many hiding places of sin left undisturbed! How many spots of darkness! And
thus, what a scope is opened for inquiry, what a field for close investigation,
when we are chastened by the Lord! For whenever we say, "Teach me what I do not
see!" we must take heed that earnest search attends the prayer. "Who can
understand his errors?" the Psalmist says; and he adds the prayer, "Cleanse me
from secret (that is, unconscious) faults. Keep back Your servant also from
presumptuous sins; let them have no dominion over me" (Psalms 19:12-13). If we
make this our prayer, herein we do well. But what says the Lord to such as utter
it? "Catch the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines; for our vines have
tender grapes" (Song of Solomon 2:15). Thus every one is set to watch his
portion of the vineyard for the Lord — with his own hand to catch the foxes, and
destroy the vermin which infest it. In other words, to keep his heart (Proverbs
4:23), to investigate its secret places, to read his own character, to discern
his faults, to discover his shortcomings, and spare them not.

Grace was never meant to render men automatons, to paralyze exertion, and,
because strength proceeds from God, that we should do nothing ourselves. Quite
the reverse. He who does most himself through faith and grace — shall receive
the most of God (Php 2:12-13); and he who sifts his motives most inquiringly —
shall receive the plainest revelation of what requires to be corrected and
overcome. Do not nurse your sorrow, then, my mourning friend. I know it
disinclines you to make an effort. You gladly would slumber on in visions of the
past, and dreaming aspects of your present pain. Awake, I beg you, to your duty
— and leave it not uncertain what lesson He would have you to learn. Survey your
conduct in the family, whether you are there "as the light of the morning when
the sun arises, even a morning without clouds " (2 Samuel 23:4). Examine well
your principles, how you conduct the affairs of life — remembering the divine
Eye which is upon you — the divine Ear which hears all you say.

Look and see — have you kept your heart with diligence — have you brought into
captivity every thought unto the obedience of Christ? Have you confessed the
Lord in word and deed, as not ashamed to own His name? Have you been diligent in
study of the Word, and prayer, according to your opportunities? In how many
things may you require to say, "Teach me what I do not see!" How solemn, then,
the visitation that suggests the word! What deep responsibility bereavement
brings with it! What business to be transacted between us and ourselves —
between us and the Lord!

Mourner, I will not trouble you with further arguments or multiplied appeals. I
leave you to the Lord. I beg you to receive my words with due allowance for
infirmity, and counsel imperfectly conveyed. With all my heart I wish you well.
In your bereavement, may you be sanctified, strengthened, and consoled! If I
should never see you in the flesh, may God grant that we may meet in Heaven! May
you and I have reason to be thankful for our troubles, even for sore
bereavements, and for every painful visitation which makes us say, "Teach me
what I do not see [in regard to how I have sinned]; if I have done iniquity, I
will do it no more!" Job 34:32.


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  CHAPTER 34: S.     BEREAVEMENT
========================================================================

BEREAVEMENT George Mylne, 1871

Bereavement! What a word it is — a word of many-headed woes! A word telling . .
. of families made desolate; of wounded hearts; of weeping eyes; of closest
bonds abruptly torn asunder; of social fellowship extinguished; of life’s
fondest hopes destroyed; of earth becoming one large graveyard.

There is no domestic bliss secure against deaths inroads. There is no promise of
long companionship so flattering, but in a moment the dream may vanish, and
nothing be left but the hard reality of woe.

Bereavement! Yes, it is a word of anguish. It says . . . that hearts are broken,
that the iron enters into the very soul; that the axe is laid at the root of
life’s romance; that the sky of former joys is clouded over with the mantle of
distress.

How many tales of sorrow does bereavement tell! Yet, it is a word fraught with
importance to the soul; a word, for purposes of good, framed in the vocabulary
of Heaven, God’s mind and will impressed upon it. Bereavement is . . . the
exponent of God’s judgments; the expression of His love in chastening; the
verbal embodiment of His good pleasure.

Bereavement is His voice in action; speaking in facts; preaching in visitations;
the Lord himself walking abroad in His realities.

Bereavement speaks of Death. This is the head and substance of its teaching. It
tells how "Sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed
upon all men, for that all have sinned" (Romans 5:12).

It is not only a solemn word — but also a searching word — a word speaking its
volumes to all who hear it! Moreover, it is a special word to you. It says, "Be
still, and know that I am God" (Psalms 46:10). It says, "Shall not the Judge of
all the earth do right?" (Genesis 18:25). Who may say to him, "What are you
doing?" (Ecclesiastes 8:4). Then, why are you struck dumb, as though God dealt
strangely with you? Was He bound to grant your friend a lease of life — to leave
the family bond unbroken, as long as it suited you — or to give you warning of
what He meant to do? Must the tide of death be stayed, that it should not rob
you of your cherished one?

Ah no! We are brought through sin into harsh contact with confounding
providences; yes, face to face with sudden painful visitations! How often are we
made to "drink the wine of astonishment," by the stern realities of a fallen
world — nature diverted from its normal course by sinful contrarieties, calling
for exceptional and sharp strokes — bereavement suddenly coming to wound the
circle of our satisfactions! This is the method that the Lord adopts to arrest
our notice; to bring to mind, that there is a God who rules in Heaven and earth
— a truth too often overlooked. It is as though He said, "Mourner, are you
prepared to die? Prepared to balance your final account with Me? Are you ready —
if I should send for you next?" And thus He brings before us all the realities
of an unseen world — the facts of death, of judgment, and eternity!

Then, is there not mercy in bereavement — mercy, not in disguise, but manifest —
not silent, but speaking plainly? Is it not mercy to be led to see our sins —
and to see our need of Jesus, and His precious Blood — and through grace, to be
at peace with God through Jesus? Thus God has ordered it, that joy and sorrow
should be linked together in His providential visitations. And thus "the valley
of Achor" (in other words, the valley of trouble) is made "a door of hope." And
thus "vineyards" are filled with fruits of peace. And thus mourners are made to
"sing as in the days" of youth, from blessings found where least expected. So
wondrous are God’s dealings with a fallen world. No sorrow but has its mate —
its appropriate and true consolation — the very grief leading to consequences,
if rightly followed out, involving peace — solid, well-grounded peace.

Afflicted friend, I hope you know the secret. If not, may God reveal it to you.
Receive, I beg you, this word of exhortation, kindly intended, and, I trust, not
heedlessly expressed. May you be comforted, not with earth’s flimsy
consolations, but with the solid verities of Heaven. Accept the following pages
which now I dedicate to your perusal. And if therein you find anything suited to
your need — then give God the glory. And may your sore affliction of bereavement
be duly sanctified, and gilded with His grace.


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  CHAPTER 35: S.     COMING UP FROM THE WILDERNESS
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Coming up from the Wilderness Leaning on Our Beloved George Mylne, 1862 "Who is
this coming up from the wilderness, leaning upon her Beloved?" Song of Solomon
8:5 What is the wilderness? It is described in the following passages:

"The LORD who led us through the wilderness: through a land of deserts and of
pits, through a land of drought, and of the shadow of death, through a land that
no man passed through, and where no man dwelt." Jeremiah 2:6 "A desert land, and
in the waste howling wilderness." Deuteronomy 32:10

"He led you through the vast and dreadful wilderness, that thirsty and waterless
land, with its venomous snakes and scorpions!" Deuteronomy 8:15

Such was the wilderness through which God led His ancient people Israel. And
such, believer, is the spiritual wilderness through which He is leading you. The
wilderness was God’s highway for Israel, from Egypt to the Promised Land. Like
Israel of old, you have been brought out from Egypt — from a state of spiritual
blindness and deadness — and are on your way to the Promised Land. Once the
world was to you as the flesh pots of Egypt. Now it has become to you a
wilderness — not your home, nor the place of your rest. You are only passing
through it — on your way to the Celestial City.

God was with His people in the wilderness. He says, "I knew you in the
wilderness, in the land of great drought." Hosea 13:5. Christian reader, what
would you do, if the Lord did not know you in the wilderness — if He were not
with you in the wilderness — if you could not, even now, while you are in the
wilderness, lean on your Beloved?

It was the being in the wilderness, that made it necessary for the bride, in the
Canticles, to lean on her Beloved. Believer, it is the same thing that makes it
needful for you to repose on Jesus. The wilderness was "a land of deserts."
There were no vineyards there — no olive groves, nor fields of waving corn.
Israel had to depend upon Jehovah — on the manna of His providence. They ate
angels’ food — they were fed with the bread of Heaven. Is it not the same with
you? What food can you find in this sinful world for your living soul? You are
in the wilderness — you are utterly dependent upon the true bread which came
down from Heaven. Your soul can feed on nothing but Jesus — on God manifested in
the flesh — on God in human form, at the right hand of the Majesty on high.

What are you to do? You are to lean on your Beloved — to repose on Jesus — to
trust in His promise, that, though you are in the wilderness, He will give you
vineyards from thence (Hosea 2:15), that He will make the very desolation around
you, into a fruitful field. When you find no nourishment for your soul in the
things of the world, this, of itself, drives you more intensely to Jesus, and
thus you find the wilderness itself to be full of fatness. The wilderness was "a
land of pits." And such, Believer, is the world to you. Pit-falls of temptation
lie all around you. Stumbling stones beset your path on every side. How could
you pursue your course, without your Beloved to lean upon? What could you do, if
you did not repose upon Jesus? He "led them through the depths, like a horse in
the wilderness, so that they did not stumble." Isaiah 63:13. Is He not pledged
to lead you? Lean, then, upon Him with all your might. Repose simply on Jesus.
Then the pit-falls shall not surprise you, to your hurt — nor the stumbling
stones cause you to fall. The wilderness was "a land of drought, where was no
water." What was Israel to do? Yet God "split rocks in the wilderness and gave
them drink abundantly as out of the deep. He brought streams also out of the
rock [at Rephidim and Kadesh] and caused waters to run down like rivers!" Psalms
78:15-16. It must have been no little river, to give drink to four million
people. For forty years that river was with them in the wilderness. Not only was
bread given to them; their water was sure — the Lord failed them not. "They all
ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank
from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ!" 1
Corinthians 10:3-4

Believer, you are in the wilderness. Do you lean on your Beloved? Can you trust
Him to "give waters in the wilderness?" Isaiah 63:12. He says, "Withhold your
throat from thirst." Jeremiah 2:25. What is this but to repose on Him — to go to
Him in the full assurance that in a dry land, where there is no water — and He
will give you of the water of life freely! You have a spiritual Rock that
follows you. That Rock is Christ. 1 Corinthians 10:4.

Lean, then, on your Beloved. repose upon Jesus. He has promised that you "shall
never thirst." The water that He gives you, is "a well of water in you,
springing up unto everlasting life!" John 4:14. The wilderness was "a land that
no man passed through." Therefore there was no beaten path — no road to mark the
track in which they were to go. The highway for Israel, was simply to follow
where the Lord led the way. They depended upon the pillar to go before them.

Believer, is not this the case with you? Jesus has sent you forth into this
wilderness world. Does He not go before you? True, you are journeying in a land
where is no beaten track for you to tread. You know not, from one moment to
another, what sudden turn you may have to make — what providences await you —
what circumstances may befall you. The way may be crooked to the eye of sense —
but it is straightforward to the eye of faith. It must be straight, if Jesus
goes before you in the way. Fix your eye upon Him, and you will then see far
enough. You need not see further than Jesus going before you.

Lean, then, upon your Beloved. Repose upon Jesus — He will lead you in a
straight way, wherein you shall not stumble. He will keep you, as a shepherd
does his flock, "I will lead them beside streams of water on a level path where
they will not stumble!" Jeremiah 31:9 The wilderness was "a land where no man
dwelt." During the forty years of their wanderings, Israel saw neither town nor
village — their eye rested not on a single habitation of man — it was "a land
not inhabited." Leviticus 16:22. No voice was to be heard, nor a footstep to be
traced. It was solitude which might be felt — dreariness and desolation.

God’s people are in the wilderness still. Spiritually speaking, they are the
only inhabitants of the earth. What are the multitudes of worldly men to them?
What is the world itself, but a desolation? God dwells in His people. They are
built together for a habitation of God through the Spirit. Ephesians 2:22. No
part of the earth is "habitable" by God, but the hearts of His people. To God,
all the other parts of creation are uninhabitable — they are "a land not
inhabited." And so is it with God’s people. Every place is spiritually desolate
to them, where they find no brethren in the Lord — where they meet not with the
fellowship of the saints. It is a land not inhabited.

Christian reader, do you lean upon your Beloved? You are still in the wilderness
— in a land desolate and uninhabited. Do you repose upon Jesus? Do you trust Him
for His company? Is His fellowship sufficient for you? There are many pilgrims
in the wilderness besides you. Do you seek their company? Do you look to the
good Shepherd, to lead you in "the footsteps of the flock?" Song of Solomon 1:8.
Do you rest in the assurance that the Lord will not leave you alone, but that He
will be with you every step of the journey, until you arrive at your journey’s
end? The wilderness was "a land where there were venomous serpents and
scorpions." Israel knew this, to their cost. Numbers 21:6. Believer, are you
free from the like? Do no serpents beset your path? Have you no adversary that
walks about, seeking to devour you? 1 Peter 5:8. Is there no Satan at your right
hand, to resist you? Zechariah 3:1. Is there no Prince of the power of the air,
ready to beguile, to mislead, to alarm you? Have you no need to lean upon your
Beloved — to repose upon your God and Savior? He has said, "Behold I give unto
you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the
enemy." Luke 10:19. Shall your power over spiritual scorpions, be less than that
of the disciples over earthly ones? He has promised that neither "angels, nor
principalities, nor powers — not all the hosts of darkness — shall be able to
separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans
8:38-39. "The God of peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly." Romans
16:20.

Oh! believer, do you lean upon your Beloved? Do you repose upon Jesus? What can
you do, alone, against the spiritual serpents and scorpions — against all the
power of the enemy? Your only strength is to repose upon Jesus — to walk,
leaning upon Him. At every step, this is your only safety; then may you resist
the Devil, and he will flee from you — then shall you prevail "against
principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this
world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." Ephesians 6:12.

"Leaning upon her Beloved." And WHO is this "Beloved"? Even the same that we
find spoken of elsewhere — "to the praise of the glory of His grace, wherein He
has made us accepted in the Beloved" Ephesians 1:6. Jesus always has been, and
ever will be, the Beloved — the Beloved of the Father, and the Beloved of every
redeemed soul. Oh, Believer, it is impossible for you to associate the name of
"the Beloved" with anyone but Jesus! Are you able fully to repose upon Jesus —
to fully lean upon your Beloved?

Christian reader, do you cultivate a holy familiarity with Jesus? Are you at
home with Him in the inner sanctuary? Do you look Him fully in the face, and
consider His loveliness? If asked, "What is your Beloved more than another
beloved?" Can you reply, "My Beloved is radiant and ruddy, outstanding among ten
thousand! Yes, He is altogether lovely! This is my Beloved, this my Friend!"
Song of Solomon 5:1-16.

Believer, how is it that you are privileged, spiritually, to gaze upon Jesus
without fear, to discern His beauty — instead of being dazzled by His glory? How
is it that you are privileged to walk, leaning upon your Beloved, instead of
falling at His feet, as dead? How is it that you are privileged in the full gaze
of admiring love, to behold His sweetness, and to feed upon His charms? It is
because your soul is quickened, although your body is not. Were Jesus to appear
bodily to you, as He did to Daniel and John — you also would be blinded with His
glory. But, your soul being spiritually renewed, it is equal for the spiritual
survey of the Redeemer’s glory. It is able to be brought by Him into His
banqueting house — to be sustained with His raisin cakes, and comforted with His
apples. It is able to have His left hand under your head, and His right hand to
embrace you. Song of Solomon 2:4.

You are privileged to hold the King in the galleries — to invite your Beloved
into His garden, that He may eat His pleasant fruits while He sits at His table;
that the King should be enchanted by the fragrance of your perfume! Song of
Solomon 7:5; Song of Solomon 4:16; Song of Solomon 1:12.

Christian reader, do you indeed REST upon your Beloved . . . with the full
burden of your cares; with the intensity of your sorrows; with all the force of
your temptations? Do you LEAN upon Him . . . with all the power of conscious
dependence; with all the confidence of a realized welcome; with all the
tenderness of ardent love? Is He not your Beloved? Must you wait until He
invites you to lean upon Him? May you not at any time take His helping arm? Oh
the tenderness of Jesus! The lovingness of Jesus! The melting fondness of Jesus!
The blissful familiarity, with which He would have His saints to lean upon Him —
His beloved ones to repose upon Him!

Oh, Believer, the very soul of your religion; the very core of your Christian
experience; the very substance of your consistency; the very life of your joys —
is this: that you lean upon your Beloved — that you repose upon Jesus with all
your heart, and mind, and soul, and strength — that you delight the soul of
Jesus by leaning upon Him with all your might!

Believer, I know not how long you have been walking in the wilderness — how long
you have been leaning upon your Beloved. You may have traveled many a weary
mile. You may often have been ready to faint because of the length and roughness
of the way. Your trials may have been greater, your circumstances more alarming
— than fall to the lot of most men. But has your Beloved ever failed you? Has He
been "a wilderness" to you, "a land of darkness"? Jeremiah 2:31. Has He left you
to walk alone, or to suffer alone? That was far from His heart — it never came
into His mind. He said from the beginning, "I will never leave you, and never
forsake you!" Has He not been true to His Word?

Now you are in the wilderness. In due time, you shall come up from the
wilderness — or out of the wilderness — leaning upon your Beloved. He said to
Jacob, "Behold, I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I
will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I
have promised you." Genesis 28:15. God was faithful to Jacob. He brought him
back to that land. He made him to lean upon the Beloved.

Christian reader, just so will God be faithful to you. As your Beloved has been
with you in the wilderness — He Himself will see you safely lead you through,
and out of the wilderness. He will lead you through its green pastures, and make
you to lie down beside its still waters. He will lead you the last step that you
take in this wilderness world. He will lead you through Jordan of death. He will
lead you into the promised land of Heaven.

Christian, you have leaned upon your Beloved here in this wilderness world — and
you shall lean upon your Beloved to all eternity!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 36: S.     DEATH OF CHILDREN
========================================================================

The Death of Children

George Mylne, 1871

Oh! what a world we live in! How full of painful facts and harrowing incidents!
How many souls are ushered into life; each one the offspring of a parent — each
one tied to the native stock, by bonds of strictest intimacy! And thus a parent
sees himself multiplied and reproduced in "olive branches round his table." Are
they not bone of his very bone, flesh of his very flesh, bound up with him in
all that is binding; their interests identical with his own; his energies
expended on them, his thoughts devoted to them? For them he labors, for them he
lives; their every pleasure twofold, both theirs and his; their every sorrow
reflected in his own; his very life lived over again in theirs. In them, and
with them, he plays with childhood’s toys afresh. With them, in thought, he goes
to school once more, and learns his early lessons over again. With them he joins
once more in childish sports.

How closely dovetailed into one another, are a parent and his child, if only
there be first the inclination, then time and opportunity, to cultivate parental
ways — for, alas! this falls not to the lot of all, for where there is the will
there may not always be the way. It is pleasant to see a father walking with his
son, their very manner betokening a mutual intimacy, companionship in thought
and feeling, like brothers in friendship — yet neither childlike reverence nor
parental dignity lost sight of. And if so with son and father, is it not the
same with a mother and her daughters, only, if possible, more intimate the union
still? But such is life, and such the law of its realities in fallen man, that
joys prepare the way for sorrows, proportionate in degree. The closest unions
are but preludes to the keenest separations; so that, in life’s pictures, each
gleam of light is counterbalanced with its shadow; and, sooner or later, sunny
days are sure to usher in a night of darkness. And hence the fact of parents
weeping for their children, and refusing to be comforted — their very persons,
as it were, smarting as though a limb were amputated.

"The flowers of spring have come and gone; Bright were the blossoms, brief their
stay. They shone, and they were shone upon; They flourished — faded — passed
away.

"So, hidden from our sorrowing eyes, Our young, sweet spring-bloom buried lies;
One blast of earth swept o’er the flower — It died, the blossom of an hour."

Reader, is this your sad condition? Have you lost a child? Whether son or
daughter, infant or of riper years, it is much the same — in any case, a portion
of yourself is gone. How sharp the visitation! How short its work! The grave has
opened and has closed again; yet closed it not before it received its tenant —
until in its yawning space you had committed "dust to dust, ashes to ashes,
earth to earth." How shrank your soul within you, as you heard those moving
words, that grating sound upon the casket! And as you hastened home, enrapt in
your tenderness, the thoughts of other children left to you (if indeed you have
them), healed not the smart, nor seemed to make amends for your lost treasure.
Oh, what a fearful wrench it must have been, to tear that branch from out its
parent stem, never to grow and flourish there again! Oceans of tears shed over
that silent grave would not avail to bring your loved one back to you. Long
might you kneel on that cold ground, and yet, nor verdant sod, nor marble tomb,
nor modest headstone, could listen to your sobbing tale.

Think not, my friend, I blame you for your tears; neither does God reprove you.
He knows that you must feel the wound inflicted on your sorrowing heart. He
knows your frame, remembers you are dust (Psalms 103:14), and bids you seek Him
in your tears, inviting you to tell your sorrows freely into His waiting ear.
Believe me, this is the only remedy. Must the grave be visited unceasingly, and
sorrow nursed until it becomes a morbid ailment a wound unsoftened with
ointment, a standing sore; and all, because you sorrow to yourself, and not to
Jesus?

Poor mourner, no! This is not the path to consolation, nor yet to rightly
exercised distress. Do you ask, "What would you have me do?" See Love in it my
friend! Is it not written, "God Is Love?" (1 John 4:8; 1 John 4:16). It was God
who did it! It was God who took your child. Shall we say that God is love, in
all but this? Have we found an end to His perfections — a limit to His love? Are
there, then, exceptions to His perfect rule? No, God is love. Has He required of
you what He Himself was not prepared to do? Has He not set you the example? Did
God withhold His Son, His Only Son, for you and your salvation? Then say, could
you withhold your child, when thus it pleased Him to ask you for what He only
lent you for a season?

If you have grace, my friend, the grace of God in Jesus Christ, you only have to
reason with yourself, to say "Amen" to God’s appointment. Your heart will bleed
— it must, it will. Shall a blow be dealt, and the frame not stagger at it? Yet
faith will rise above it, and while you weep, the rainbow tints of resignation
will cast prismatic glories on your tears. Visit not the tomb for mournful
musings. If you can do it in joyful expectation of the coming day — the day of
days — the resurrection morn, when earth shall render up the righteous dead to
meet their Lord, then you may go with profit to the tomb — not otherwise. Take
heed, then, what you do. But if this way be foreign to your mind, and you can
only weep as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13) — if you cannot go to
Jesus in your tears, nor take Him with you to the tomb — you need to be
enlightened by the Spirit, not only for healthful mourning, but for eternal
life.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 37: S.     FEAR NOT!
========================================================================

Fear Not! George Mylne, 1854

"I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you: ’Do
not fear; I will help you. Do not be afraid, O worm Jacob, O little Israel, for
I Myself will help you!’ declares the LORD, your Redeemer, the Holy One of
Israel!" Isaiah 41:13-14

What is more helpless than a child without its mother’s hand! Reader, what is
more helpless than you without Christ! You can neither stand nor walk alone; but
"God, who takes hold of your right hand, says to you: Do not fear; I will help
you!"

He will help you . . . against sin; against Satan; against the world; against
your own evil heart.

He will help you . . . when you are weary; when you are downcast; in the time of
trial; and in the hour of temptation.

He will help you to understand; He will help you to pray; He will help you to
fight; He will help you to avoid the snares; He will help you to despise the
vanities of this poor world. Ah, my fellow-sinner, this help is promised,
because you need it all.

What a world of temptation, sin, and danger — what a world of darkness and
confusion you live in! There is none to help you — none to teach you — none to
lead you on your way — but Jehovah Jesus. Do not be afraid! He will hold you by
the right hand, saying, "I will help you!"

Do you say, "The way is long — and I am weary. The road is dark — and I have no
light. Temptations are many — how shall I resist them? I need grace — where can
I find it? Oh, how shall I persevere?"

Afflicted soul! Is there no Helper? Is there none to pity? Is there none to
guide? Where is your heavenly Father? Where is Jesus? Where is the Comforter?
Where is He who feeds His flock like a Shepherd; who gathers His lambs in His
arms, and carries them close to His heart? (Isaiah 40:11.) Where is He who has
promised to hold you by the right hand, saying, "Do not be afraid — I will help
you!"

Lift up your eyes to the hills, from whence comes your help. Your help comes
from the Lord, who made Heaven and earth. Happy is he who has the God of Jacob
for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God. Fear not! (Psalms 121:1-8,
Psalms 146:5)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear not, I have chosen you!" Isaiah 41:9-10

Christian reader, God says to you, "I have chosen you!" This is a great mystery
— but it is a comforting truth. God does not tell you WHY He chose you. He only
tells you the simple fact. It is not for you to question it, or to shrink from
it — but to receive it, and be thankful.

God was free to love you — or free to loathe you. He was free to choose you — or
free to reject you. He says, "I have chosen you!" Believe what God says, and
rejoice. "Before the mountains were brought forth, before He had formed the
earth and the world," God had chosen you! "From everlasting to everlasting, He
is God." From everlasting to everlasting He loved — He chose — He delighted in
His people.

Fellow-sinner, if God says, "I have chosen you," He says it . . . to encourage
you; to strengthen you; to sanctify you; that you may rest upon the everlasting
covenant, ordered in all things and sure, that you may look away from self, and
see that salvation is altogether of the Lord.

God chose you, "not according to your works; but according to His own purpose
and grace, which was given you in Christ Jesus before the world began." (2
Timothy 1:9.)

Fellow-sinner, you are . . . loved in Christ; chosen in Christ; called in
Christ; saved in Christ! Here is your foundation; here your hope; here your
safety — you were "chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world!"

This is to humble you — as well as to exalt you.

This is to make you weep — as well as cause you to rejoice.

You are vile in yourself — but chosen to indescribable honor!

You are poor in yourself — but chosen to unspeakable riches!

You are naked in yourself — but chosen to eternal glory!

Child of God, never lose your hold of this precious truth. God has revealed it,
that you might delight in it. Let this be the brightest jewel in your crown —
this the sweetest cordial to your heart — that God says to you, "Fear not, I
have chosen you!"

As you sit at the feet of Jesus; as you lay your mouth in the dust, and cry,
"Unclean, unclean!" as you take all the shame to yourself, and give all the
glory to God, let this comfort delight your soul — God has said, "Fear not, I
have chosen you!"

"God chose us [actually picked us out for Himself as His own] in Christ before
the foundation of the world!" Ephesians 1:4 (nlt)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear not little flock, it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the
Kingdom!" Luke 12:32

Reader, are you one of the redeemed flock — the "holy flock" — the "beautiful
flock." (Jeremiah 13:20, Ezra 36:38.) Then the good Shepherd says to you, "Fear
not!"

I know not what your worldly means may be. You may have to work hard for your
bread, and have a large family depending on your labor. Perhaps you have known
better days, and the bread of your humiliation may have a bitter taste. You may
have had great great expectations which came to nothing. Schemes of ambition, or
prospects of gain, may have been blighted. Promises of advancement may have
failed. Your whole life may have been one chain of trials: trials of poverty;
trials of bereavement; trials of disappointment; trials enough to break your
heart — if it were not stayed on Jesus. But fear not! He has words of comfort to
cheer you! He has gold tried in the fire, to make you rich! He has honor and
privilege, to make amends for all your trials! He says, "It is your Father’s
good pleasure to give you the Kingdom!"

You may have lost much that you once possessed. You may have failed to have all
that you desired, or expected to have. But, child of God, think what it is to
have the Kingdom of Heaven! Who is rich — if you are not rich! Who is happy — if
you are not happy! Who is honorable — if you are not glorious! Fear not, child
of God! Fear not poverty. Fear not trial. Fear nothing which makes you feel your
dependence upon God.

Envy no man of his possessions, his honors, or his pleasures. You have far more
than he has! Earthly riches make to themselves wings and fly away — but your
riches endure forever. Earthly crowns are corruptible — but your crown is
incorruptible. Earthly pleasures are but for a moment — but yours are eternal
pleasures at your Father’s right hand. (Psalms 16:11.)

But, reader, the Scriptures tell us that we must go through much tribulation
enter into the Kingdom of God." (Acts 14:22.) But your "light affliction, which
is but for a moment, works for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of
glory." (2 Corinthians 4:17.) Before long, through sustaining grace, you shall
sit down with Christ on His throne." (Revelation 3:21.) Child of God, remember
the promise; obey the precept; think of the heavenly Kingdom, and fear not!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear not, for I am your God." Isaiah 41:10

Fear not, Christian brother! All things may be against you here — but God is
your friend. You have traitors within you — and foes without. It may be, you
have troubles in the flesh, as well as in the spirit. Yet there is a solace for
every trouble, and a balm for every wound — the High and lofty One says, "I am
your God!" Oh, my friend, this is a mighty word. The Great I AM, Jehovah, God
Almighty says, "I Myself am your God!"

Fear not, then — the Lord Himself is your God: your God to save you; your God to
keep you; your God to teach you; your God to bless you.

He says, "I am your God!" God is light — and God is love. God is power — and God
is grace. God is wisdom — and God is strength. God is mercy — and God is
righteousness. God is faithfulness — and God is truth. Fear not! Christian
brother! This light and love; this grace and power; this strength and wisdom;
this justice and mercy; this truth and faithfulness — all, all is yours — for
all is God’s; and God is yours! "This God is your God forever and ever. He will
be your guide even unto death." Psalms 48:14.)

Christian reader, what power can harm you! What foe resist you! What grief
overwhelm you! What temptation be too much for you!

The Lord of life says, "Fear not, for I am your God!" Treasures of knowledge;
fountains of grace; rivers of comfort; towers of strength; countless delights —
are hidden in this precious word, "I am your God!" Remember it — and be strong;
forget it — and you are weak. Feed upon it — and be joyful; neglect it — and you
are faint of heart. Jehovah-God is yours! Christian brother, Fear not!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you!" Isaiah 43:1

Reader, if you are a true believer, then however humble, however feeble, Jesus
says to you, "Fear not, for I have redeemed you!" If you are Christ’s, then . .
. the Law shall not condemn you; sin cannot have dominion over you; Satan cannot
claim you; death cannot destroy you; the grave cannot retain you; and Hell
cannot receive you! Christ has redeemed you! Fear not!

Once . . . you were the slave of the devil; you were the servant of sin; your
home was the land of darkness; your inheritance was the pit of Hell; your soul
was ruined; your freedom was gone; you had sold yourself for nothing; you had
nothing left but misery and sin. But fear not! You have a Redeemer; the Lord
Almighty is His name. Fear not! The ransom price is paid. Divine justice is
satisfied. Satan is forever vanquished. Death is overcome. Salvation is
finished. You are redeemed by Jesus! Never shall your heavenly inheritance be
taken from you. Never shall your chains of sin be riveted again. Jesus says,
"Fear not, for I have redeemed you!"

Child of God, what a redemption is yours! Never was inheritance redeemed at such
a cost; nor liberty recovered at such a ransom! The precious blood of Christ —
this was your ransom price! To redeem you, Jesus gave His back to the smiters,
and His cheeks to those who plucked off the hair. To redeem you, He hid not His
face from shame and from spitting. To redeem you, He suffered the bloody sweat,
the crown of thorns, and the accursed tree!

Say, believer, has Jesus suffered thus for nothing? Was it to give you a half
salvation — an imperfect redemption! This were to give you no redemption at all.
Nay — but the redemption is perfect; the inheritance is incorruptible; the glory
is sure! Christ has . . . redeemed you from sin; redeemed you from death;
redeemed you from Hell; redeemed you from Satan!

Oh, remember that His precious blood has redeemed you also from your life of
vanity, and from all the false pleasures of this wicked world. (1 Peter 1:18.)
To be "made free from sin, this is redemption. To become the servant of
righteousness, this is liberty. (Romans 6:18.) Glory in your redemption. Glory
in your liberty. Glory in your privileges. Glory in your duties. Glory in your
obligations. Child of God, Christ says to you, "I have redeemed you!" Then, fear
not!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear not, I will uphold you!" Isaiah 41:10

Reader, are your footsteps ready to slip? Has your prayer been, "Uphold my steps
in Your paths, that my footsteps may not slip." (Psalms 17:5.) How precious then
the promise, "I will uphold you!"

You find by experience that you must have grace for every moment — more grace —
fresh grace — abounding grace. The battle of yesterday, must be fought again
today. The race of today, must be run again tomorrow. Fellow-pilgrim, there is
no rest for you while here in this poor world! You must fight, and fight again;
run, and run again — looking to Jesus. Fear not! God will uphold you. He will
uphold you according to His word. (Psalms 51:12, Psalms 119:118)

Has the enemy prevailed against you? Are you smarting from your wounds? Ah, my
friend, the enemy will never cease to harass you, nor your heart to mislead you,
while you are in this sinful world. Temptation will follow temptation; snare
will follow snare. But, fear not! God shall uphold you!

Grace shall flow to you from the wounds of Jesus; from the heart of Jesus; from
the glory of Jesus. Out of His fullness, shall you receive grace upon grace.
(John 1:16.) Grace to fight; grace to run; grace to persevere; grace to conquer!

Fear not, fellow-pilgrim! The hand that laid the foundation of the earth — the
hand that spanned the heavens — is pledged to uphold you!

Fear not! "The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting
arms" — not to uphold you in your own strength; but that God may be glorified in
His eternal purpose, and in His free grace. Fear not, fellow-sinner! God has
promised. He will not leave you to run alone, nor to fight alone. Wait upon Him,
and He will renew your strength. If His Word could fail — then He may forsake
you. If His love could cease — then He forget may you. If His covenant could be
broken — then He may not uphold you. But this cannot be! "Fear not, I will
uphold you!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear not! I will strengthen you!" Isaiah 41:10

Blessed promise, "I will strengthen you!" Who gives the promise? Jehovah Jesus!
To whom is it given? Powerless believer, it is given to you! To you it is said,
"Fear not!"

You have . . . a war to wage; a race to run; an enemy to watch; a victory to
gain. Your own strength is nothing. Even an angel’s strength would not suffice
you. You must be clothed with power from Heaven; you must be armed with God. I
would not underrate your own weakness; I cannot overrate the strength at your
command.

Are you a child in Christian experience? A child in faith! A child in grace! A
child in power! Fear not! Out of the mouths of babes has God ordained strength,
that you, my fellow sinner, may still the enemy. (Psalms 8:2.)

You are weak in yourself — but strong in Christ! This must be your motto, and
your consolation. You have no strength of your own. Look not for it. Your own
heart is too much for you; you cannot master it. How, then, could you fight with
Satan and prevail! How often have your lusts entangled you — and your evil
tempers humbled you! You have looked for power — and behold leanness! You have
looked for strength — and there was none! Have you prayed to God — yes, thrice
besought Him — to take your weakness from you? Ask it not. His grace is
sufficient for you. His strength is made perfect in weakness. Glory, then, in
your infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon you. (2 Corinthians
12:8-9.)

Fear not! Surely in the Lord you have righteousness and strength. God shall
strengthen you with might by His Spirit in the inner man. He will be the
strength of your heart, and your portion forever. (Isaiah 45:24; Ephesians 3:16;
Psalms 73:26) Only believe! Only be persuaded of your own weakness. When you are
weak, then are you strong — then are you able to do all things through Christ
who strengthens you. Fellow sinner, fear not! (2 Corinthians 12:10; Php 4:13.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I have loved you; fear not!" Isaiah 43:1-4

Child of God, what a word of comfort you have here! "Ah," say you, "if I only
knew that God loved me? — even me — I would be happy."

Reader, do you love God? If so, it is a proof that God loves you, for it is
written, "I love those who love me — and those who seek me early shall find me."
(Proverbs 8:17.) You love God — because He first loved you. (1 John 4:19.) Not
that your own heart moved you to love God, because He loved you; but because God
loved you, therefore He gave you a heart to know Him, and to love Him. He loved
you with an everlasting love, and therefore with loving-kindness has He drawn
you. (Jeremiah 31:3.) Had God not loved you, you would have been in darkness
still, and the love of God would not have been in you.

Say not, "I am vile that God cannot love me!" Say not, "I love God so little,
that He cannot love me!" If you have love for God as a grain of mustard seed, it
is God’s gift; it is God’s work. You could not have had it, unless God had given
it. He gave it because He loved you; and because He loves you, He will love you
to the end. Fear not!

God does not only love you if you are perfect. He only asks you if you are a
broken-hearted sinner, looking to Jesus, desiring to love Him, and serve Him all
the days of your life. You have often forgotten Him. Like Peter, you may have
denied him. Yet if, from the depths of a contrite heart, you are able to say,
"Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you," (John 21:17.) this proves
that God is saying to you, "I have loved you; fear not!"

Contrite sinner, God says, "I have loved you." He means you to believe it, and
to rejoice. "Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it."
(Song of Solomon 8:7.) The many waters of your sins, and all the floods of your
ingratitude, cannot make your God and Savior cease to love us.

Christian reader, were I to ask for you the greatest blessing that God has to
give, it would be that you might "know the love of Christ which surpasses
knowledge." The more you know the intense love which He bears to you, the more
will you love Him — the more shall you be filled with all the fullness of God.
(Ephesians 3:19.) He says, "I have loved you!" Then fear not.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear, not, since you were precious in My sight, you have been honored, and I
have loved you." Isaiah 43:4

Fear not, child of God! It is well to feel your own unworthiness — but not to be
disheartened by it. Fear not! "Black" in yourself, you are "lovely" in Christ;
and your beauty is perfect through His loveliness, which He has put on you.
(Song of Solomon 1:5. Ezekiel 16:14.) Honor and majesty; glory and renown, He
has prepared for you. In the day that He makes up His jewels, you shall be His.
(Malachi 3:17.) You are dear to your Lord and King; precious, indeed, to the
heart of Jesus. For you, He left His glorious throne. For you, He suffered the
cross and shame. Though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, that you,
through His poverty, might be rich. (2 Corinthians 8:9.) Surely you are precious
to Him; surely you are honored. Fear not, child of God! Humble yourself to the
dust. Confess your sins. Forget not your short-comings. Go softly by reason of
your indwelling corruption.

Yet remember this — you are honored by name — a child of God. Honored in your
new nature — born of God. Honored in station — a king and priest to God. Honored
in your inheritance — an heir of God, and joint heir with Christ. Made nearer to
God than the angels; clothed with God’s righteousness; made partaker of His
nature; indwelt by the Spirit; free, at all times, to the throne of grace; risen
again with Christ; one with Christ in the glory of His kingdom — child of God,
are you not honored? "This honor have all His saints." (Psalms 119:9.)

But, let the beauty of the Lord your God be upon you! Let your honor be seen
upon you! Like Jabez, be honorable in your thoughts, words, and deeds! (1
Chronicles 4:9-10.) Kingly in your birth — be kingly in your bearing. Heavenly
in your destination — be heavenly in your desires. Are you glorious within — let
your clothing be seen, that it is of wrought gold. "Riches and honor" are yours,
"yes, durable riches and righteousness!" Child of God, bear your honors meekly.
Yet, fear not! (Psalm 45:18, Proverbs 8:18, Proverbs 8:21.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Reader, if you are a child of God, you have experienced both the lights and
shadows — both the joys and sorrows, of the Christian life. Fear not, my friend!
The Lord is not far from you, though you perceive Him not. If you have not the
pillar of fire with you, yet have you the pillar of the cloud. Fear not! God is
in the cloud.

Fellow Christian, in the darkest day of your desolate heart, God is with you: He
says, "Fear not!" Oh, reader, if you have God with you, what more do you want!
Is there any longing, which His presence cannot satisfy? Is there any void, that
He cannot fill? Has death deprived you of your dearest friend? Is your earthly
protector gone from you, never to return?

Well, your heart knows its own bitterness. But He who knows your every sorrow,
and weighs your every care, says, "Fear not, for I am with you!" As you range
through the deserted chamber; or as your eye rests upon the empty chair; in the
dead of night, when your desolation haunts you; or when, rising in the morning,
you go forth to realize your loss — hasten to fill the void with the thought of
Him, who says, "Fear not, for I am with you!"

Are fresh cares opening upon you? Are fresh temptations threatening you! Be
strong, and of good courage, fear not, nor be afraid (Deuteronomy 31:6,
Deuteronomy 31:8.) God says, "I am with you!" Then, fear not! Seek to realize
the presence of your never-failing Friend. The true way to face danger; to
resist temptation; to silence doubts; and to hush your fears — is ever to
remember who has said, "Fear not, for I am with you!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Do not be afraid of sudden terror" Proverbs 3:25

"They were overwhelmed with fear, where there was nothing to fear." (Psalms
53:5.) This is a description of the wicked.

Child of God, it ought not to be the case with you. God says, "Fear not." Of
what, then, are you afraid? Have tidings reached you that the pestilence is
near? Does the footstep heard at night — a sudden noise — alarm you; as though a
violent man would assault your dwelling? Do wars, and rumors of wars — scarcity
of bread, and diminished means, affright you? A panic seizes you, that family
will suffer poverty — that ruin awaits you! Child of God, where is your faith?
Where is your God? Where is He who covers you with His feathers? Can you not
trust beneath His wings? (Psalms 91:4.)

Chide, then, your trembling heart, and say, "I will not fear the terror of
night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the
darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday!" (Psalms 91:5-6.)

I mean not, Christian reader, that none of these things can come upon you. Many
are the afflictions of the righteous. For the Lord disciplines the one He loves,
and chastises every son whom He receives. (Psalms 34:19, Hebrews 12:6.) The
midnight robber — the pinching famine — or the wasting pestilence — may visit
you! The lightning’s flash may strike you, and the thunder sound your death
knell!

But God bids you to fear them not. They cannot touch you — without His bidding!
Have they a commission to hurt — they have also a charge to bless — they shall
be as the harbingers of mercy to your soul. Sudden trial — shall be attended
with sudden strength. Sorrows in life — shall bring grace to live. The
messengers of death shall bring grace to die, and waft you on their wings to
glory.

Reader, are you not sometimes afraid, and you know not why? Faith fails, and you
cannot account for it. The promises pass from your mind, and you cannot recall
them. The ground on which you stand, seems to sink under your feet. "A horror of
great darkness" has fallen upon you. It is "sudden fear." My Christian friend,
there is only one remedy for it — you must take it to Jesus. He will soon
restore your peace. Courage shall return to your heart, while He says, "Fear
not!" ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Fear not! You have done all this wickedness; yet do not turn aside from
following the LORD, but serve the LORD with all your heart." 1 Samuel 12:20

Penitent, sorrowing backslider, here is a word for you. Fear not! Painful are
your thoughts; bitter are your self-reproaches; your "sighs are many," and "your
heart is faint." (Lamentations 1:22.) The morning brings to light your misery;
and the night reveals your shame from you. Restlessness has overtaken you; your
happiness is gone. How are you fallen from your peace! Degraded in your own eyes
— you feel cast out by God.

Fear not! my penitent friend. From my heart I pity you; as a fellow-sinner, I
feel for you. My own heart responds to your heart, saying, "Unclean, unclean!"
My brother in corruption! My brother also in the love of Jesus — peace be to
your conscience, and comfort to your broken spirit! Strength be to your feeble
knees, and to your arms that hang down! (Hebrews 12:12.) Listen to the voice of
Jesus, my sorrowing brother. Yes, listen again. Does not Jesus speak to you?
Does He not say, "Fear not!"

Is it anywhere written in the Word, that there is no pardon for the backslider?
The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin: from scarlet sins, from
numberless sins, from backsliding sins! Fear not, poor afflicted one! You accuse
yourself — but Jesus will not accuse you. You weep bitter tears — but Jesus will
wipe them from your eyes. Your tears are precious to Him. Your broken heart is a
cordial to the heart of Jesus. In your troubled conscience He sees of the
travail of His soul, and is satisfied. (Isaiah 53:11.)

Dear brother! Yes, still a brother — still a disciple — still a child of God —
look up to Jesus! He is looking upon you, smiling on you, waiting for you. What
do you say to Jesus? "I have sinned against the Lord." What does Jesus say to
you? "The Lord also has put away your sin!" (2 Samuel 12:13.) Take it not to
heart if Jesus thrice says, "Do you love Me?" Can you say, "Lord, you know all
things; you know that I love you?" (John 21:15-17.)

Fear not, brother — but listen to the Word. "Turn, O backsliding children, says
the Lord, for I am married unto you; I will heal your backslidings!"

"I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist.
Return to Me, for I have redeemed you!" (Isaiah 44:22)

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins
and purify us from all unrighteousness!" 1 John 1:9


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 38: S.     MAN IS BORN TO TROUBLE!
========================================================================

Man Is Born to Trouble!

George Mylne, 1871

Yes, "man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward" — the one is as
inevitable as the other (Job 5:7), and why? The saying is correct, we may be
sure, seeing whose Word it is that says it. "Affliction," it tells us, "comes
not forth of the dust, neither does trouble spring out of the ground" (Job 5:6).
All crops have their seasons — and when the time is come, we look for harvest.

Just so, man, through sin, has sown the seeds of his own afflictions, sown to
the flesh, and of the flesh has reaped corruption (Galatians 6:8.) In this
respect, afflictions spring immediately from earthly causes, the sure result of
sin, which strikes its roots, and yields its fruit accordingly.

Yet, in another aspect, it springs at once from God’s command. No
matter-of-course procedure brings it to pass. God’s sovereign will disposes it.
The time and form of the affliction hang on God’s sovereign will alone, and
that, on principles unknown to man, and unintelligible. Some pass their days
with little trouble; others are in the furnace constantly. "Known unto God are
all His ways," and "He gives no account of any of His matters" (Acts 15:18; Job
33:13). But this we know: He does all things well, though we are apt to charge
His ways with inequality (Ezekiel 18:25) because they beggar human explanation.
Yet He acts on special grounds, and not in caprice, nor upon arbitrary
principles, apart from our deserts. Thus various reasons may be given why man is
born to trouble, and why bereavement stalks abroad, spreading its desolations
far and near. God helping us, let us try and seek them out. Has it ever struck
you, reader, how the number of man’s days has been ordered by God in Heaven? At
first, men lived to nearly a thousand years; and Enoch seemed to die scarcely in
the prime of life, though he had numbered three centuries and more. So it
continued to the Flood, and Noah died almost as old as Adam and Methuselah
(Genesis 5:23; Genesis 9:29). But then a rapid fall took place in man’s earthly
life. Look how persistently it fell (see Genesis 10:1-32.), until, in Moses’
time, it had reached its present limit of "threescore years and ten," varied to
fourscore years (or even more), according to God’s good pleasure (Psalms 90:10).
In this we see the immediate hand of God, and impress of His power! Why did man
live so long at first? Because God willed it. Why, then, did length of days
decrease so rapidly? Simply, because God willed it. And having so far descended
the scale of diminution, why did it stop at its present limits, and not go on to
plain extinction? Because God willed it. The bodily machine, so "fearfully and
wonderfully made" (Psalms 139:14), was, doubtless, qualified to work as long as
at the first, If He had willed it so; and had its decline resulted from
inevitable causes, no reason was there why it should not wear out altogether. Oh
no, at every stage we see God’s all-directing hand ordering the ratio of life’s
decline as long as so He willed it; and when the appointed limit was attained,
He stayed the wave of diminution.

Life is a dream — a span — a vapor that appears for a little time, and then
vanishes away (James 4:14). And yet it is a wonder that it lasts so long, seeing
the risks it is exposed to. And the wonder is, not that we hear of death so
often — but that it comes not oftener. This does not rob bereavement of its hurt
and pain; yet it is truth, and worthy to be considered. When rightly viewed, it
tends to resignation, and may make us thankful that bereavement did not come
before.

Yes, "Man is born to trouble." He inherits trouble by his very birth. His sinful
nature calls for it; bodily frailty predisposes for it; liability to trouble is
inbred in his bones. You mourn your relative or friend, and you do well. Yet,
while you mourn, do justice to God’s laws. Do justice to the principles inherent
in your sinful nature, and to the consequences involved in it.

Consider, then, your trouble in the view of native sin. As a sinner, you were
born to trouble — and born to bereavements. You are as naturally born to trouble
— as to inhale air to breathe. What moment is there that you breathe not? But
how many, many moments have you had exempt from trouble? Thank God on this
behalf, for every moment free from trouble is a blessing we had no right to look
for. Do you mourn on your friend’s account, that he was taken from his family,
and his life so soon cut short? But was he free from sin? Could he plead
exemption from the universal rule? Was he not born to trouble — born to death?
He came into the world — to die. Who can dispute the justice of his doom, or who
can impugn God’s season of its execution? God has a right to take His creatures
at His will. He ordains the time that each man has to live, and acts
accordingly. Could you but search the Divine register — the register of births,
ordained and settled; and the register of deaths, as accurately ordained — you
would find that your departed one was not defrauded of a single moment of the
time allotted to him in God’s Doomsday Book. You would find that he had had his
share of earthly joys, also the time of preparation for eternity, with the helps
and privileges suited to the same. You would fine that an all-wise God saw fit
to give — all that was consistent with His holy will.

I beg you, take this thought to God, and ponder it before Him. He alone can
enable you rightly to view, and meekly to receive it. To hide yourself in God
through faith in Jesus; to lose your will in His; to resign all wisdom of your
own — this is the only path to sure and true resignation. But is it for yourself
you mourn? Do you think that you are harshly dealt with — that your pleasure is
unjustly interfered with? And, though you would not say it — do you feel that
God had dealt more kindly with you, had He spared your friend? Do not think me
harsh. Question not my sympathy. Deeply I feel for you — indeed I do. I
reverence your tears, and gladly would enter the inner chamber of your sorrows,
if haply I might comfort you. But, my friend, can you rebel — when God appoints
it? Can you say, "I do not deserve it?" Were you not born to trouble — born to
lose your friend?

Search your own sinful nature through. Investigate your life from first to last.
Let actions, thoughts, and words, be scrutinized. Are you an exception to the
universal rule of sin? Has there been a moment you could say, "I am not a
sinner?" Then, could you claim exemption from the consequences? You are born to
trouble, entitled to it by your very nature, that title more than strengthened
by your acts and deeds. Acknowledge it, my friend — to God acknowledge it, and
not to me. To humble self before Him — is the way to happiness, the road to
consolation. Take, then, the looking-glass of faith — the looking-glass of calm
investigation — the looking-glass of accurate perception — and, by its means,
endeavor to read your heart aright. Turn up the soil thereof, and you shall find
therein a seed deposited, the seed of trouble, destined to spring up and bear
its bitter fruit. And say, is there not mercy in the divine rule — in God’s
universal law? Would it be mercy to leave sin unrequited here — to leave the
sinner unreminded of his eternal destiny — unwarned by trial, sharp and solemn,
of what awaits him if he does not repent and believe in Jesus? Freedom from
trial is inconsistent with a fallen and sinful world — a violence to principle
divinely ordered.

Thank God, my friend, thank God that He afflicts you, to bring to mind your
sinful condition, your duty towards God, and your just deserts. It is His way of
blessing, by bringing you to see — your sin, your need of Jesus, and His
precious Blood. What would it profit you — to go unchastened all your days;
never to have to weep; never to lose a friend; never to experience the aching
void of separation; and, after all, to perish eternally in your sins! What would
it profit you, to have had the company of friends on earth — and lose the
company of God himself in Heaven? Then, is there not mercy in affliction —
unbounded mercy, that men be weaned from earthly vanities, and seek a better
heritage to come?

"Source of my life’s refreshing springs, Whose presence in my heart sustains me!
Your love appoints me pleasant things, Your mercy orders all that pains me!

Well may Your own beloved, who see In all their lot, their Father’s pleasure,
Bear loss of all they love, save Thee, Their living, everlasting treasure!" —
A.L. Waring.

There is another view of it — another side of the truth that man is born to
trouble, which it were not wise to disregard. I mean the perishable nature of
our mortal frame. Life is a wondrous thing. How it goes on from day to day, as
long as nothing happens to arrest its course! And yet on what a slender thread
it hangs! How frail its tenure, as regards either ourselves or those we value!
Ten thousand causes are abroad at any time, to injure or destroy it! A breath
suffices to blow the candle of life out. The smallest trifle (as we call it) of
an accident may fatal prove, when least expected. Our every organ is confronted
with what at any time might prove destructive. Our every element of life is
exposed to influences as subtle as themselves. At any moment, some trifle may
snuff out the vital principle irrevocably.

What binds these instruments of evil, that they do not hurt us at every moment?
What stays the wind of fatal influences, that it passes not over us with blight
upon its wings? Nothing but the wise and omnipotent Hand of God — nothing but
that thing inscrutable, called Divine Providence.

But, could our eyes be opened to see the threatening dangers all around, and
trace the divine agencies employed to shield us from the evils — the
hair-breadth escapes from the liabilities which beset our path — we might well
be lost in wonder and adoring praise. It is divine mercy that we see them not —
that the veil is on our eyes. We could not otherwise take a step or draw a
breath, exempt from anxious care and dread forebodings. We could not part with
friends but for a moment, or send our children for their daily walk, without
some sad presentiment of evil. And, awful as is the visitation of fatal
accidents or sudden death, it is a lesser trial, in the end, than to have the
mind racked by the probabilities of every impending evil.

Then, Mourner, Think! Your friend was born to all those agencies of which we
speak — born to the shock of baleful influences let loose upon a fallen world.
God lent him to you for a season. It was a loan, to be revoked at any moment in
God’s good pleasure. And, seeing how frail the tenure of his days is, the tenure
of your hold upon him — can you wonder that his life is gone, that God employed
one or another of those agencies to take him from the earth?

Men call it accident, because it comes at times unlooked for, and in ways
unknown — now by some casual form of violence, now by infection caught
imperceptibly, yet in its effects too evident. But God rides in the chariot of
uncertainties (to man uncertain, yet not so to Him) to effect His purpose
settled long before. Long, did I say? Devised from all eternity-planned before
the world began! And thus no man can die before his time is come, and these
uncertainties of harrowing events and startling pain, do but embody the settled
will, and infallible calculations of the sovereign Lord of providence.

Weep for your friend. It is not forbidden. Jesus wept for His friend Lazarus.
Give him his share of sorrow. Give him the recompense of affection still. Pay
him the tribute of a heart that feels his loss. Yet, in your grief, forget not
the higher claims of Him with whom you have to do, lest in your sorrow you kick
against the mandate of unerring wisdom, and of sovereign love.

Pray for the Spirit’s consolation. He can open vistas of perception that you
know nothing of, and give you grace to acquiesce in this painful illustration of
the truth that, "Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward!"


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 39: S.     OUR FAITHFUL FRIEND AND COMPANION
========================================================================

Our Faithful Friend and Companion George Mylne, 1862 What is friendship without
companionship? The chief benefit of a friend is that he is our companion too.

What a delicate thing is companionship, in the full meaning of the word — the
companionship of heart and mind! It is not to be bought with gold, nor to be
secured by any outward circumstances whatever. Men may belong to the same family
— and not be companions. They may work together for years in the same
profession, and at the very same desk — they may walk together, travel together,
sleep in the same room — and yet not be companions. Who can tell how heart is
knit to heart, and mind to mind — how spirit finds congeniality in spirit — to
make companionship? It is beyond all common rules — independent of all outward
similarity, nay even of all mental likeness. It often follows the very rule of
contraries. Human companionship is a very capricious thing, after all.

Companionship means that men are much in one another’s company — that it is one
of their chief pleasures to be much together. The more they are, by choice,
together — the more may they be called companions. "There is a friend that
sticks closer than a brother." Proverbs 18:24. This applies most chiefly to
Jesus; but it is descriptive of companionship in general, as of that which comes
most near to the man in the fellowship of life. There may be, in human
companionship, a friend that sticks closer than a brother, or a sister. But
there is no human companionship so sweet, or yet so close, as when we have a
brother, or sister, friend, and companion, all in one.

Jesus is, in very deed, the companion of His people — born to be, fitted to be,
the companion of them — each and every one. Human companionship has its limits,
and that of a very narrow description. No man can have many companions; but
Jesus is the true companion of the millions of millions of the redeemed. There
is not a saint on earth, however poor in his circumstances — however much he may
be despised by the world, or however little known to the Church; however much he
may be oppressed in body, or troubled in experience — that may not claim as his
Companion, the King of kings, and Lord of lords. Oh Believer, do you repose on
the companionship of Jesus?

Men are often separated from their choicest companions. Circumstances may arise
to set them thousands of miles apart. Even under ordinary circumstances they may
be weeks, or months, without seeing each other. But not so Jesus and His people.
True, there may be clouds, to cause an apparent separation — but Jesus still is
there — He cannot be far away. Says He, "Truly, I am with you always, even unto
the end of the world!" Matthew 28:20.

Human companions are often absent from us at the time when we most require their
presence — in the day of sickness, or the hour of trial. But the Companion of
companions has said, "Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called
you by name; you are mine! When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.
When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk
through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not
consume you. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior!"
Isaiah 43:1-3. "I am with you to deliver you." Jeremiah 1:8.

Human companions cannot accompany us when we leave the world. But one has said
of the great Companion, "Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil — for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they
comfort me." Psalms 23:4. Oh Believer, is there any moment when you may not rely
on the presence of your faithful Friend?

Human companionship has its limits in the degree of nearness, to which one heart
can draw near to another. There are bounds, which no human fellowship can pass.
Community of thought and feeling must stop somewhere. You cannot possibly make
two hearts, one heart; nor two minds, one mind. The fondest earthly companions
must still be separate in their existence — you cannot make two human persons,
one. How different it is with the companionship of Jesus!" He who is joined to
the Lord is one spirit." 1 Corinthians 6:17.

Jesus moves in the inner man of the heart. He is at home there. It is His
habitation. He is one with the renewed soul, which is of the very essence of the
divine nature. Believers are the temples of the Holy Spirit — their new heart is
one with the Spirit. The Spirit is one with Christ, and Christ is one with the
spirit. How, then, can the saints fail to be one with Christ in all holy
companionship! No man can be born a companion to another — for companionship is
a thing of the heart. But every child of God is, at the time of his conversion,
born a companion of Jesus. It cannot be otherwise, for he is born one with
Christ — his new heart being a very portion of the heart of Jesus — his new mind
a portion of the mind of Jesus. He is new-born into a community of thought and
purpose, of interest and home — a perfect community with Jesus. Is not Jesus,
then, the natural, the inevitable companion of the new-born soul?

How sweet to feel the heart-and-soul-companionship of Jesus! To feel that Christ
and we are not twain, but one! To feel that our heart, and the heart of Jesus
are melted into one! Earthly companions cannot know each other’s minds, except
they tell them. But Jesus moves in the very heart. Our very springs of thought
are deep laid in the companionship of Jesus. There is not a spiritual perception
that flits across the mind, but it is the common property, as it is the joint
sensation, of the great Companion of our hearts. The companionship of Jesus and
the saints is the sweet, and inevitable consequence of their unity with each
other.

Believer, may you not repose on the companionship of Jesus? May you not be sure
that He loves your company? The needle is not more surely drawn to the magnet,
than the heart of Jesus is to yours. He cannot do otherwise than love to be with
you — to be always with you — never to be absent from you. There is a holy, a
loving necessity, on the part of Jesus, to be ever in your company. You are a
very portion of Himself — how can He but flow to you? You are of His very nature
— how can he but assimilate with you? It were violence to the heart of Jesus to
be separated from you; to have this companionship dissolved would be to undo the
law of the kingdom — to subvert the principle of the divine nature. Then,
Christian reader, may you and I repose upon Jesus as a faithful Companion!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 40: S.     TEACH ME WHAT I DO NOT SEE
========================================================================

Teach Me What I Do Not See George Mylne, 1871

"Teach me what I do not see [in regard to how I have sinned]; if I have done
iniquity, I will do it no more!" Job 34:32 My sorrowing friend, observe, I beg
you, the words that form the heading of this chapter. They were spoken on
occasion of a chastening from the Lord (Job 34:30-32). They are suited to all
afflicted ones. In your bereavement, are they not suitable to You? If a friend
touches you in the street, you turn instinctively and say, "What do you want?"
Now, the Lord has touched you, laid His hand upon you, and is there not some
purpose in His touch? Does He not intend to teach you something that you know
not, or to impress some lesson learned imperfectly? Turn to Him who chastens
you. Ask Him to teach you what you know not. Ask Him to give you a mind to
apprehend, a heart to receive what He teaches you. Have you "the hearing ear and
seeing eye"? "The Lord has made even both of them" (Proverbs 20:12). Therefore
from Him we seek them, and with the Psalmist say, "Lead me in Your truth, and
teach me — on You I wait all the day" (Psalms 25:5). Then bear with me while I
question you a little. Think me not rude in my inquiries. I make them because I
wish you well. Besides, all awkwardness is spared you, for, after all, you
answer to yourself and not to me, and thus become your own inquisitor.

I ask you, then: Do you know your native sin — how deeply it is ingrained in you
— how it has poisoned the source of innocency, its fatal influences flowing in
your veins with deadly circulation? I ask you if you know it, for "the heart is
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?" (Jeremiah
17:9). And though the fact is clear — unless you are enlightened from above, you
cannot see it. I met with one who knew it not. So blind was she that she denied
her sinfulness altogether! She would not believe that she had broken the least
of God’s commandments. Stoutly, yet quietly, she repelled the charge against her
innocence. Well, what was I to do? I said, "My friend, we differ. Who is to
decide the matter? Clearly none but God. He knows how matters stand better than
you or I. Ask Him, and He will show you. Tell Him of our conversation. Say to
Him, ’O God, am I a sinner, or am I not?’ Ask it in sincerity, and He will
surely make it known." On my next visit I inquired, "And now, what do you think
of yourself, my friend?" "Oh, sir, I find that I am not so good as I have
thought myself to be." "What!" I replied, "have you found out that you are a
sinner?" "Yes, sir, and a great one too." "How did you come to this knowledge?"
I inquired. "Oh, sir, I asked God to make it plain, and He has done so of a
truth. I am indeed a sinner." She was a woman meek by nature — singularly meek.
She said she had never been out of temper in her life, and I believed her, she
was so very placid, and outwardly, I doubt not, in all things well behaved. Yet
she found, in spite of this, that in many things she had sinned, even as we all
(James 3:2). Her case I mention, that you may follow her example (whether your
case quite resembles hers or not), and simply ask the Lord to show you your true
condition.

If you allow that you are a sinner, I would ask another question. Can you say,
"I am chief of sinners!" The great apostle said it of himself (1 Timothy 1:15) —
can You? You may reply, "How can I think so? Are there not others worse, much
worse than I — men who have disgraced themselves before God and man, as I have
never done?" So used I to reason of myself, but God has taught me to see it
otherwise. Do you ask me how?

He led me thus to consider it: "Is there a moment since my birth that I have
done my perfect duty either to God or man?" "Not one!" I was compelled to own.
Then said I to myself, "Can there be a greater sinner than one who has been
imperfect, one who has been a sinner, every moment of his life?" And when I
thought how grace and Scripture knowledge had enhanced my sin, I found it easy
then to say (and feel it too), "I am the chief of sinners!"

What do you think, reader? If you went to ask a servant’s character, and you
were told, "He does nothing thoroughly — nothing as I tell him," would you think
it a good character? Would you engage him as your servant? And what has God to
say of you and I? Could He give us a better character? Could He call us other
than "unprofitable servants"? Could He say that we had done "all our duty to
do"? (Luke 17:10). Then tell me, reader, can there be greater sinners than you
or I — and by our own confession? The reason of this very chastening, this sore
bereavement, may be that you should learn to see it thus; and, touching this
very matter, that you should say, "That which I see not — teach me!"

You have sustained a bitter loss. But if thereby you gain the knowledge of
yourself, your gain will far exceed your loss, and then shall you discern its
only consolation.

Let me ask you another question, closely connected with the former one — Do You
see the Savior in His proper light? Have you learned to see Him as He is? You
say, "I believe that Jesus is the Son of God. I believe that He came into the
world to save sinners. I believe His death upon the Cross. I own the power of
His blood to cleanse from sin. I believe that, as He died, so He rose again,
ascended into Heaven, and that He will come again to judge the world. What more
do you require?"

If this is your belief — then your Creed is right. But let me ask you, is this
head knowledge only, or does it affect the heart? Have you acted on your creed?
The Scripture says, "With the heart man believes unto righteousness" (Romans
10:10). With the heart we sorrow — with the heart we rejoice — and with the
heart we feel. Apply this to your profession. Is your heart engaged in it? Does
your repentance tell of heart-work? Are you really sorry for your sins? Have
they ever cost you a moment’s sleep, a moment’s pain? Are you anxious about your
soul — so anxious, that nothing will satisfy you but to have your sin put away?
Is there heart work in your faith? Can nothing please you but to have Jesus for
your own? Is your heart melted when you think of Him, when you consider His love
in dying for you? Are you accustomed to say, "Give me Jesus — or I die! Oh, give
me Jesus — or I perish in my sins!" Now, this is heart work, and this you need
to prove yourself in earnest and really in the way.

Reader, have you closed with Jesus as your Savior from sin? Have you laid hold
upon Him — determined not to let Him go until He pronounces you clean? (Matthew
8:2). What does your creed matter, except you see Him thus? To see Him merely in
His doctrine, in the externals of belief — is much the same as not seeing Him at
all. You require to see His loveliness — the beauty of His person, as the
sinner’s friend. It is to see Him as the true Physician, to seek His remedies,
and hang upon His power to heal. It is to know Him personally, to hold communion
with Him, to lay before Him all that concerns your soul. Perhaps, He took your
friend that you might know Him thus — that you might say, "Lord, why did you
touch me? Teach me what I do not see!"

But, reader, you may have learned thus to see Jesus long ago. If so, you feel
your need to see Him more and more, to discern His loveliness more clearly, to
drink more deeply of the river of His pleasures, to have a growing sense of all
your spiritual privileges, of all you have in Him.

Eternity will not suffice to learn His glory. Much more do we require here below
to make fresh discoveries of our glorious Friend. And thus your praises will
abound, in this bereavement, that He has thought you worthy to be chastened,
worthy to receive a fresh disclosure of His beauty. The looking-glass of faith,
the telescope of heavenly perceptions, becomes obscured, dimmed by the dusty
influence of earthly things, the tendency of daily life to depress experience
and hurt the soul. And thus you set your seal to this affliction, and thank God
for His faithful hand. And if you know what objects hitherto have hid Him from
your view, the more will you be grateful for His kind chastening, which sweeps
the obstacles away. And so, with a growing sense of your necessities, and an
ever-opening aspect of His loveliness — how much you have still to learn — even
now will you meekly say, "That Which I See Not, Teach You Me." But, beside these
main inquiries, there are other questions to be raised, fresh objects to be
discerned, ever recurring need of chastening, new occasions to exclaim, "Teach
me what I do not see!"

How many lessons have we still to learn, even those among us the most advanced
in light and knowledge! Were our days on earth ten thousand, or twice ten
thousand years — still learners we would be, still requiring to sit at the feet
of Jesus to learn fresh lessons day by day.

How imperfect, at the best, our knowledge of the truth! What a slight perception
of our duties! What a shallow view of our shortcomings! The right estimate of
our own character, how dim! How many corners of our hearts unventilated! How
many hiding places of sin left undisturbed! How many spots of darkness! And
thus, what a scope is opened for inquiry, what a field for close investigation,
when we are chastened by the Lord! For whenever we say, "Teach me what I do not
see!" we must take heed that earnest search attends the prayer. "Who can
understand his errors?" the Psalmist says; and he adds the prayer, "Cleanse me
from secret (that is, unconscious) faults. Keep back Your servant also from
presumptuous sins; let them have no dominion over me" (Psalms 19:12-13). If we
make this our prayer, herein we do well. But what says the Lord to such as utter
it? "Catch the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines; for our vines have
tender grapes" (Song of Solomon 2:15). Thus every one is set to watch his
portion of the vineyard for the Lord — with his own hand to catch the foxes, and
destroy the vermin which infest it. In other words, to keep his heart (Proverbs
4:23), to investigate its secret places, to read his own character, to discern
his faults, to discover his shortcomings, and spare them not.

Grace was never meant to render men automatons, to paralyze exertion, and,
because strength proceeds from God, that we should do nothing ourselves. Quite
the reverse. He who does most himself through faith and grace — shall receive
the most of God (Php 2:12-13); and he who sifts his motives most inquiringly —
shall receive the plainest revelation of what requires to be corrected and
overcome. Do not nurse your sorrow, then, my mourning friend. I know it
disinclines you to make an effort. You gladly would slumber on in visions of the
past, and dreaming aspects of your present pain. Awake, I beg you, to your duty
— and leave it not uncertain what lesson He would have you to learn. Survey your
conduct in the family, whether you are there "as the light of the morning when
the sun arises, even a morning without clouds " (2 Samuel 23:4). Examine well
your principles, how you conduct the affairs of life — remembering the divine
Eye which is upon you — the divine Ear which hears all you say.

Look and see — have you kept your heart with diligence — have you brought into
captivity every thought unto the obedience of Christ? Have you confessed the
Lord in word and deed, as not ashamed to own His name? Have you been diligent in
study of the Word, and prayer, according to your opportunities? In how many
things may you require to say, "Teach me what I do not see!" How solemn, then,
the visitation that suggests the word! What deep responsibility bereavement
brings with it! What business to be transacted between us and ourselves —
between us and the Lord!

Mourner, I will not trouble you with further arguments or multiplied appeals. I
leave you to the Lord. I beg you to receive my words with due allowance for
infirmity, and counsel imperfectly conveyed. With all my heart I wish you well.
In your bereavement, may you be sanctified, strengthened, and consoled! If I
should never see you in the flesh, may God grant that we may meet in Heaven! May
you and I have reason to be thankful for our troubles, even for sore
bereavements, and for every painful visitation which makes us say, "Teach me
what I do not see [in regard to how I have sinned]; if I have done iniquity, I
will do it no more!" Job 34:32.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 41: S.     THE FIRST BREAK IN THE FAMILY
========================================================================

The First Break in the Family George Mylne, 1871 A break in the family! Did I
say the first? Yes; for there are families where death, as yet, has never
entered — no breach has occurred in the fair circle of domestic happiness —
children and parents, parents and children, in full enjoyment of each other’s
company. How gladsome thus to see it! We feel inclined to say, "Enjoy it while
you have it, and quaff the cup of family endearment with meekness and a thankful
heart, remembering from whence the mercy comes — that the Giver be not forgotten
in His gifts.

It is sweet to see a family unbroken. But, watch it long enough, and a break is
sure to come At last — sooner or later must their domestic sky be overcast.
Sickness may enter (if not some fatal accident), sickness not curable — but unto
death. Oh, what a chill follows — what dread forebodings when the worst is
feared, and apprehensions prove too true — when that once happy circle has been
found no longer armored against the inroads of the last enemy! Then desolation
reigns — where all before was gladness: the darkened rooms, the silent step, as
though the softest footfall might disturb the slumbering dead, the muffled
voice, the utterance choked with tears, the look of anguish, the chastened
deportment of deep yet noiseless sorrow, directions given, needful, yet
harrowing to the soul, activity that goes against the grain, costing unutterable
pains.

Oh, who can paint the change where all appears disjointed, turned from its
former course of unclouded and serene happiness! The little ones scarcely
realize the fact, the infant mind not understanding the sad reality. Yet, from .
. . the tears, the mournful preparations, the putting on of dark apparel, and
the funeral procession — they gather glimpses of the truth; and in their romps
(how hard to be restrained!) they move about as half ashamed. In the youthful
members of the family, advanced a stage in the ability to understand — how
subdued the light that shines upon them, like the lurid beams of an eclipse.
They sadly feel their loss, and struggle with sorrowful restraint! How
touchingly Cowper describes his feelings, as a child, on the occasion of his
mother’s death!

"I heard the bell toll’d on your burial day; I saw the hearse that bore you slow
away — And, turning from my nursery-window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a
last adieu." But with the older ones of the family, how different! Their sorrow
is realized in all its fullness — present is compared with past — weighed in the
balances of serious and mature thought. Outbreaks of sorrow are curiously met
with arguments for resignation — a truthful picture of unvarnished woe.

Reader, is it thus with you? Are you one of a family newly broken? Full well I
know your feelings, the shock experienced in your inmost soul.

What deep emotions are occasioned by that empty chair!

How eloquent the death-like stillness of that now untenanted chamber! That
congenial voice no more will greet your ear. That once familiar face no more be
seen. When the family meets together in the morning — what a blank pervades all!
When at night you separate, one well-known "good-night" is listened for in vain!

Oh, what a desolator is Death! The fairest form, the sweetest disposition, the
finest mind, the most useful character — is often the first to go — the choicest
treasure of your garden nipped in the bud of fond enjoyment.

"One flower may fill another’s place, With breath as sweet, with hues as
glowing; One ripple in you ocean’s space, Be lost amid another’s flowing.

One star in you bright azure dome Might vanish from its sparkling cluster,
Unmiss’d, unmourn’d, and in its room Some rival orb eclipse its luster. But who
shall fill a brother’s room? Or who shall soothe the bosom’s grieving? Who heal
the heart, around his tomb Too faithfully, too fondly cleaving?" — Bonar

Poor mourner, do you ask for consolation? Gladly would I give it, If you are
able to receive the only consolation I can offer. I might listen for hours to
your tale of grief — telling the virtues of the dead, opening afresh the sorrows
of your soul. I might attend you to all the haunts of the deceased, bend over
the relics that you love to show, go with you to the grave, and there weep with
you sob for sob, and tear for tear. But say, would that alone suffice to comfort
you? It would help to nurse your sorrow — and give a fresh impulse to your
morbid strain; it might tie you down more strongly to earth’s regrets and
unavailing musings. But would it indeed console you? Would it turn your
bitterness to sweetness? Would it give you "the oil of joy — for mourning, the
garment of praise — for the spirit of heaviness?" (Isaiah 61:3.) Oh no I my
friend, oh no! Elsewhere must you seek it. Do you ask me where?

Where, but in God?

Where, but in Jesus?

Where, but in The Holy Spirit, the Comforter?

Fond recollections of the dead are not forbidden you. It is allowed to trace the
haunts and love the relics of their earlier days, in fond association with their
memory. But then, do you take Jesus with you in your musings? As much as you
loved your friend — do you love Jesus better still? And, as you gaze on fond
mementoes, is it with the reserve of grace, lifting your heart all the while, as
though to say, "Lord, let not this keep my heart from You! Through You I wish to
see them all! Lord, sanctify my recollections — may I indulge them in deference
to You!" But now permit me, reader, to ask a question. Do not think me rude. Do
not think it out of place. It underlies the matter both of your duty and your
consolation. I ask you then, Do you feel yourself to be a sinner? And why this
question? Because nothing else will bring you to the Cross of Jesus.

You say, "How will that comfort me?" Simply because true comfort comes from God
alone; and nothing can be received from God, except through the Cross and Him
who hung thereon. No God — No Comfort. No Christ — No God. No Sense of Sin — No
Christ. No Christ — No Savior. No Christ — No Holy Spirit The Comforter. No
Comforter — No true Friend. Do you doubt me? Then speak about it to God Himself.
Tell Him your sorrow. Tell Him that you sigh for consolation. Ask Him to put you
in the way of finding it. Take with you words (Hosea 14:2). Speak to Him as a
little child.

Confess Your Sins.

Entreat His Pardon, through the Blood Of Christ.

Pray for the teaching of the Spirit.

Commit your cause to God fully and unreservedly, prepared to follow His leadings
fully. And if you feel your heart melting, and thoughts arising in you of God
and Christ, of Sin and Pardon, of Penitence and Prayer — then give yourself to
the meditation. It is as though He said, "Seek My face!" And may your heart say
unto Him, "Your face, Lord, will I seek" (Psalms 27:8). Who knows but that this
day of your bereavement, may be the day of saving grace — the dawning of Christ
in your heart; the day of true consolation!


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 42: S.     THE WORLD A SORRY COMFORTER
========================================================================

The World a Sorry Comforter George Mylne, 1871 The Preacher speaks of some who
"had no comforter," because, as we infer that they sought comfort wrongly — on
earthly, and not on heavenly grounds. And so it is too often with the bereaved —
people try to cure their broken hearts with human remedies, the quackery of the
world, which mocks the patient, and does not heal him. And thus, when sorrow
comes, mourners are urged to seek their consolation in worldly pleasure, and to
drown their recollections for a season, only to return more bitterly at last.
They might as well expect a cure from sheer intoxication — as banish sorrow
thus!

"Miserable Comforters" are they who recommend such remedies to distract your
grief. Pleasure can only make a man forget his sorrows; and as waters wear the
stones by ceaseless droppings — so a continuous round of pleasure may in time
induce complete oblivion.

Yet this, to say the least, is a dishonorable way of stifling sorrow — advisedly
I use the word. It does dishonor to the dead, that you must needs forget him,
and for his memory substitute the theater, the race-course, or the whirling
dance. Could he but know the fact, or tell the feelings of the eternal world —
would he commend your conduct, or consider it a compliment to be banished thus
from mind? Through pleasure you may try to forget your friend. The giddy
spectacle, whatever it may be, hides him from view. It must be so. Such objects
are not transparent, but opaque, with their many sorts of deadening influences.
Not so the atmosphere of God’s grace. Its clear expanse forms no impediment to
vision — quite the reverse. It gives you objects to survey, as clear as itself.
It invites you to fix your eye on Jesus, Himself the Sun of that clear medium —
Himself the object to bring out its properties. This will hide nothing from your
view, that may be safely looked upon. It hides, indeed, objects of earthly
vanity, as they again obscure the Cross. But it enables you to see more clearly,
as you ought to see, all lawful objects of consideration. It enables you to
weigh their consequences, discern their right proportions, and look upon them as
they are looked upon by God. May you thus bear your sorrow honorably, and know
the dignity of sanctified distress!

It is also dishonoring to yourself not to confront your sorrows like a man. It
implies a lack of courage, the absence of proper self-command. There is
something wrong, you may be sure — for is it correct, is it manly, thus to cheat
the soul, to hide yourself behind some passing vanity, rather than face the
sober truth? It proves you lack a higher principle, the muscles and sinews of a
braver purpose, a mind nerved against unworthy refuges, a buoyancy to rise above
the wave.

Yet I mean not Stoicism — encasing the mind with adamant, suppressing
sensibilities, ignoring natural affection — its ground of resignation fatalism,
unconscious or avowed; a dogged resolution to suffer on; a sullen tribute to
some principle of harm — too blind to trace, too proud to own, the hand of the
Almighty. Stoicism is not courage! There is nothing noble in its composition. It
is rather cowardice, making its would-be hardiness a refuge for its lies. It
dares not see affliction in its proper light.

Oh no! the strength of which I speak is something higher. It has no place
whatever in the natural man. It is the offspring of saving grace. It brings its
powers and its consolations from another world. In some there is a way of
sorrowing, nor seeking its distractions in the world, nor yet hardening itself
in stoicism; feeding in calmness on its sensibilities, clothed in the mantle of
a mournful dignity, attending to life’s duties with self-denying purpose,
exhibiting a quiet resignation to the blow. Yet it lacks the principle of God’s
grace, the principle of glad compliance with the will of Heaven; sorrowing, yet
able to rejoice, distressed yet cheerful; not merely saying, "This is a grief —
and I must bear it!" (Jeremiah 10:19), but counting it a privilege to feel a
Father’s Hand — rising above the instrument, to see a Father’s Love, serene in
the resilience of grace. It is thus the bread of bitterness is turned to
sweetness, and the path of sorrow trodden with unfaltering steps, because of
consolations that the world knows nothing of, and because the everlasting arms
are underneath — surely, sweetly, sensibly.

Thus fortified and taught, a man may look bereavement in the face, undaunted. No
need has he to seek a refuge in the world, and drown his sensibilities in
pleasure. He has no need to arm himself with stoicism. He meets affliction not
as a foe, but as a friend — the bearer of a message from the Lord. To turn from
facing it, would be to scorn its mission, to hide himself from God.

Yet trust not in any power of your own. Would you do honor to yourself aright,
you must have engrafted spiritual principle, engrafted courage — a self within,
entirely distinct from what by nature bears the name — a New Creation in heart
and mind — in principle and powers (2 Corinthians 5:17). May you thus be
qualified to have a true respect for self, and have a self worthy to be
respected!

But, most of all, to seek your comfort in the world is most dishonoring to God.
Man was intended to hold communion with His Maker, in Him to find his
consolation — -to have his Maker for his friend. But Adam fell, and, with the
fall, there came a sad estrangement between him and God — an estrangement,
shared by all his posterity down to the present hour. And thus, my friend, why
don’t you take your sorrows to the Lord? Because you are estranged from Him.
Conscious of sin, you sullenly avoid your Maker — and seek your comfort in the
world. And is it to be always so — that God, the kindest and the best, should be
a cipher to your sorrowing heart — that He alone should be the subject of
studied disregard? Perhaps this sad bereavement was sent to teach you better
things — to show you where true comfort is to be found — and make you see your
danger, if you treat your Maker as a thing of nothing, and systematically pass
Him by.

Hasten to be wise. Hasten to be childlike with the Lord. Hasten to be at peace
with Him through a Savior’s Blood. Hasten to regard Him as your Comforter — to
treat Him as your friend. And as the world can give no real consolation — then
as little can we gain by borrowing its grief. "The sorrow of the world works
death" (2 Corinthians 8:10). And this it does in many ways. It means that we
grieve, irrespectively of God — that we sorrow without a comforter — that our
sorrow is indulged in to satiety — that our sorrow is pent up within the breast
without a safety-valve — -that we sorrow with nothing to relieve it — -that our
mind is fixed on its own distress — -that we have nothing to break the
continuity of wearying thought. Such sorrow wearies the flesh — it dries the
bones (Proverbs 17:22), secretly undermines the health, openly shows upon the
countenance, induces gradual decay — and thus, eventually, works death!

How many, hence, have died of broken hearts! How many have committed suicide!
And all, because they had no real Comforter! Had they only been at peace with
God — had they only confided to Him their sorrow — their grief would have found
an outlet, and their life would have been saved. And then they might have said,
"I shall yet praise Him who is the health of my countenance, and my God" (Psalms
42:11).

Ask the physician, and he will tell you how sickness is often averted by a
peaceful mind. Can they but avert the sickness, the patient lives. And what will
keep from sickness, like a mind at peace with God? Contrast with this a broken
heart — and from what does it proceed? From some hidden canker left to prey upon
the mind, unchecked, unremedied — some wound unmollified with ointment (Isaiah
1:6) — some worm that feeds upon the root, sapping the constitution, eating out
the stamina of life!

Such is the sorrow of the world. I beg you, Mourner, give not way to it. Before
morbid feelings root themselves eradicably — bestir yourself. Shake off the
viper which would eat into your heart. Awake to consciousness and healthful
thought. "Is any afflicted — Let him pray!" — thus says the Scripture (James
5:13). Let him speak to God — to Him, unfold his grief. This at once unfolds the
spring which opens the safety-valve, and lifts the sluice of healthy
sensibilities. You are "afflicted" — then speak to God in the attitude of humble
prayer. At any rate, my friend, speak to God. Catch not infection from the world
— which is sorrow unto death. The sorrow of the world works death in yet another
form. Instead of leading you to God, it takes you further From Him — further
from grace — further From Christ — further from hope — further from eternal
life! Instead of softening the heart — it hardens. It engenders a deadened
spirit, a conscience not awake to suitable impressions — it paves the way for
death — death here, and death hereafter! Then take a lesson, Mourner, if such is
your temptation. Shun worldly sorrow, which eats as a canker! Seek peace. Seek
sweet serenity. Seek life for soul and body in the simple remedy of Christ — the
balsam of the soul.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 43: S.     WHAT IS YOUR BURDEN?
========================================================================

What is Your Burden?

George Mylne, 1864 Who has not a burden to bear in this world of burdens? All
men have some burden or another — and they have the heaviest burden who think
that they have none to bear. Do you ask me, reader, what I mean? Why, is not sin
a burden — unpardoned sin? What man has such a heavy load upon his back, as he
whose transgressions are not forgiven, whose sins are not covered — as he, who
walks about with a burden on him which will sink him into the bottomless pit, if
he has it not taken off him? And yet, for the most part, those are the very men,
who do not feel the burden.

They don’t see their sins — they don’t see their danger. They are full of
earthly pleasure — their heart is as light as a feather. What do such men know
of the burden of sin? How can they value the Savior’s words, "Come unto me, all
you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest?" (Matthew 11:28.)
Poor souls, may God have mercy upon them! May He open their eyes to see their
sin! May He cause them to feel their burden, before they sink under it, never
more to rise! May He show them the way to Jesus, that the burden that is upon
them may be taken off, and all their sins be cast into the depths of the sea!

Reader, shall I tell you what led me to write this tract? I was reading lately
to some sick people in the fourth chapter of Nehemiah, and there I read, "The
strength of the bearers of burdens is decayed" 5:10. I spoke of it to them, and
I thought it would be a good subject for you and I. You must have some burden to
bear. Perhaps you feel it sorely — perhaps your strength is decayed. Let us see
whether we can encourage one another out of the Word of the Lord.

Reader, what is your burden? Are your sins become heavy to you? Once you did not
feel them — you did not know you had them. You carried them about with you
wherever you went, but the Prince of the power of the air did not let you feel
them — He made you walk with lightness of heart. He made you trip merrily along,
as though you had no burden to bear. But oh, how things are changed! Now your
"transgressions are with you, and as for your sins, you know them." (Isaiah
59:12.) "The yoke of your transgressions is bound upon you; they are wreathed,
and come up upon your neck." Therefore you say, "He has made my strength to
fail" — therefore your "sighs are many, and your "heart is faint." (Lamentations
1:14; Lamentations 1:22.)

Oh, reader, are you looking to Jesus? If so, why is your burden still upon you?
Did He not bear your sins in His own body on the tree? (1 Peter 2:24.) Cannot
you say, "The Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all"? (Isaiah 53:6.) Why
then do you take upon you what Jesus has taken from you? If He has borne the
burden, why do you bear it too? Friend, this is not the way of grace — this is
not the way that Jesus saves you. He saves you to free you — to take your burden
from you. Walk, then, in your liberty — and go lightly in your grace. But if you
cannot rejoice in your liberty, if you will bear your own burden still — no
wonder that your strength is decayed — no wonder that your heart is gone. Don’t
you know that the weight of your sins made Jesus sweat drops of blood — it
weighed Him to the ground? How then can you seem to bear the burden; and not
faint beneath its load? Be wise, my friend — be hopeful, and believing. Open
your eyes wide, and read the promises. Open your ear, and hear all that Jesus
says to you — so shall your burden fall from your back. In the Cross you shall
find liberty — in the Cross you shall have peace.

Reader, perhaps you know that God has had mercy upon you, and yet you feel a
great burden upon you — the body of sin and death. Paul felt this burden. It
made him cry out, "O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body
of this death?" Romans 7:24. You feel your body a constant weight upon you. How
often it makes your soul heavy! How much longer you would pray, and meditate on
the word of God, if your body would only let you! How much it keeps you down!
Sometimes you are sick — sometimes you are drowsy — you cannot do the things
that you would. Your sinful body is like a great black curtain hung up between
you and your God. Oh how often the strength of the bearers of burdens is
decayed! How often you faint beneath the load! And then there is the fleshly
mind. The mind, that will go after the world, when you wish it to go after God —
the soul which will cleave to the dust, when you desire to feel that you are
risen with Christ — sitting in heavenly places in Christ Jesus. Then there are
your tempers — your evil passions — that are ever at work — refusing to be
brought into captivity unto the obedience of Christ. Oh, my friend, all these
things are indeed against you. How often they worry you! How much they wear you
out! The strength of the bearers of burdens is decayed — you are ready to faint.

Paul said, "Oh wretched man that I am!" But Paul said something more: "I thank
God through Jesus Christ." (Romans 7:25.) He knew that God was able to help him
— that He had helped him before — that he was ready to help him again. Paul
looked to Jesus, who was strong to help — mighty to save. He felt the thorn in
the flesh — it was a great burden to him. He thrice besought the Lord that it
might depart from him. And what said God? "My grace is sufficient for you: for
my strength is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:7-9.) This was how
Paul bore his burdens. Christian reader, this is how you must bear yours.

Oh how many burdens there are in life! Are you the father of a family? How many
cares this brings with it! All your children to think of — to clothe and to
feed, and to put out in the world — and if you are a Christian, their souls to
think of — their sins to grieve you — their ignorance to instruct. This, no
doubt, is a great burden. Are you fainting under it! Is your strength decayed?
Are you a widow with many children? How desolate you felt in the first days of
your widowhood! How desolate it may be — you still feel! Have you much ado to
find your children bread? How hard you work for them! In how many ways are you
tired for them! Is the strength of the bearers of burdens decayed? Are you
likely to faint?

Perhaps your time is occupied in teaching — you have many young scholars under
your care. You have dull ones to bear with — idle ones to reason with — backward
ones to bring on — mischievous ones to correct. What a worry you live in! How
much is there to try your patience! You think you must give it up — that you can
bear it no longer!

It may be your lot to work a shop — from morning to night to wait upon your
customers — or yet to grow weary because no one comes to buy. Sometimes you are
tired — often you are anxious — some customers are tiresome and hard to please —
you often shut up shop with a fainting body, and a heavy heart — the strength of
the bearers of burdens is decayed. Are you a servant in some family — the only
one to do all the work! Up late, and rising early — to cook — to wash — to sweep
— to scour — the bell to answer — the table to spread. All to be done by you
alone — all to come out of your own strength! Who can tell how weary you feel —
how often you are likely to drop, from too much work!

Reader, you may be tried in some of these, or in many other ways. You may have a
burden of sickness — of pain — of weakness — of depressed spirits — who can tell
all the burdens? Who can count all the cares? But, whatever your burden may be,
I hope you know how to bear it — and where to look for help. "The secret of the
Lord is with those who fear Him." (Psalms 25:14.) There is a secret strength
laid up for God’s people, that the world knows not of.

Oh, my heavy-laden friend, are you looking to Jesus? Is His name precious to
you? Have you washed in His blood? Have you brought the burden of your sins to
His cross — have you left the burden there? Then, bring to Him the burden of
your sorrows — your weariness — and your cares. Will He not care for you? Will
He not help you? Will He not put strength in you? Oh yes, Jesus is a true Helper
— there is none like Him — all power is His — all kindness too.

Oh, you bearers of burdens, is your strength decayed? Lo "He gives power to the
faint; and to those who have no might He increases strength." "Those who wait
upon Him shall renew their strength." (Isaiah 40:29; Isaiah 40:31.) Then cast
your burden upon this mighty Jesus! He is pledged to sustain you — fear not,
neither be afraid. (Psalms 55:22.)

Reader, there is a yoke that is easy, and a burden that is light. (Matthew
11:30.) I mean the cross of Christ. And why is Christ’s yoke easy and His burden
light?

1. Because it takes away the heaviest burden of all — the load of your sins.
What is taken away, is surely light to bear.

2. Because it gives you strength to bear every other burden — so that the burden
becomes no burden — Christ bears it for you.

3. He bids you do many things that flesh cannot do — He gives you many things to
bear that flesh does not like — but then He Himself gives all the strength — so
that it is not you that bear the burden, but Christ that bears it for you.

4. Because all the while He can fill your heart with joy and gladness.


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Source: https://sermonindex.net/books/writings-of-george-mylne/
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