Fourth Sunday. THE TEMPLE AND THE LIGHT OF HEAVEN. THE VOYAGE DOWN THE DARK RIVER. "I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof."-REV. xxi. 22, 23. This is the brightest ray of light which the Gospel sheds on the darkness of the grave. We know but little of that new state. Everything must be different from what we see here. All the outward means by which we are sustained even in doing our duty here, will be altered or gone. "Tongues, knowledge, prophecy," shall have "vanished away." There is no temple in that city; no church, no congregation, no liturgy, no directory, no priests, no elders, no ministers. "And that city has no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it." Even all those lesser lights which are so cheering on earth; even all those good men, of whom we spoke in the last reading; even all those dear familiar faces which had been our joy and stay on earth, will not be needed there. 66 They which are counted worthy to obtain that world, . neither marry, nor are given in marriage; neither can they die any more: for they are equal unto the angels.' But is there then no certainty, no support, no light, in the great void of the other world? | Not so. There are two Objects in that world, which include all others, and which make the darkness light, and fill the formless void. "The Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. The glory of God lightens it, and the Lamb is the light thereof." God and Christ. These are the two Ideas, these are the two Persons, rather this is the one Idea, this is the one Person, to see whom, to be with whom, is to the true believer the sufficient account of his hope in heaven. "In thy light shall we see light," was the trust of the Psalmist. In the presence of God, all the difficulties of this world will be at last made clear. In the presence of God, all the goodness and justice and wisdom of this world will be at last made perfect. "To be with Christ." This was the one prayer of the apostle. If the world beyond the grave is dark, if the thought of God is too vast or wide for us to grasp, yet the promise of being with Christ is clear and definite to the humblest as well as to the wisest. We know what He was; we can figure to ourselves from the Gospels His truth, His love, His searching knowledge of every soul and character amongst us. What He was He is still. What He is, God is. What support we should have had from Him, had we known Him on earth, we shall receive tenfold, without let or hindrance, from His everlasting arms, in that world of which He is at once the Temple and the Light. He is the Temple of Heaven, for He is the end to which all earthly worship tends. Every ordinance, every prayer, every hymn, every psalm, every sacred day, every sacred memory, has or ought to have but one object to bring us nearer to God by making us more like to Christ. When we have at last come into the presence of Christ, then the means will cease, for the end will be gained. "We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is." He is the Light of Heaven, for in Him are combined all the perfections which we see scattered amongst His faithful servants; all the beauty and glory which we see divided in the works of creation. This last and best glimpse into the other world shall be explained by one more tale taken, like those which have been told before, from the dark hours of this world. An old New Zealand chief, who, like King Edwin of Northumbria, had been converted in middle life to the Christian religion, and had lived a life of consistent Christian goodness, was at last brought to his deathbed. He gathered his friends and family round him-some Pagans still, some Christians-and then he raised himself up and began to sing one of the ancient songs of his country, which he had learned in his youth, before his conversion. It told of a maiden who had a lover, a faithful lover; she had not seen him for years; he had gone off into the distant seas; and now she was determined to seek and to join him. And so the New Zealand chief sang of her voyage, in words well known to those who stood around him, but with a meaning far deeper than they had ever before put on the words; for they saw that under the figure of the forlorn maiden he meant his own soul going forth on its last long voyage; and under the figure of the lover he meant that blessed Saviour whom he hoped now to join in that unknown sea. He sang how the maiden, in her frail canoe, went down the dark river; how she dashed down the foaming_rapids; how the steep rocks closed in on either side; how through the black pass the river opened into the wide sea; how, in the wide sea, she still was not afraid, for she looked forward all the more to being with him whom she loved for ever. So singing, and so transfiguring the old pagan song with the light of the Gospel, the Christian chieftain passed away. It is to that outer darkness, of which the Saxon chief spoke to the first missionary of our forefathers, through that dark river, and into that unknown sea, of which the New Zealand chief spoke to his newly-converted friends,- -we must also go. Education, business, worship, life itself, will all take their proper colour, and their proper proportions, then, and then only, when we remember that they are all means to one end, namely, to be like Christ and to be with Christ. To remind us how this is the great end of the gospel, read and ponder on these few passages :— Matt. v. 48; xi. 28-30; xvi. 24; John xiv. 6-9, 21-24; Rom. viii. 38, 39; 2 Cor. v. 10, 11; Eph. ii. 19-22; Phil. i. 21-23; ii. 5; iii. 20, 21; Col iii. 1-10; 1 John iii. 1-3. A. P. STANLEY. THE RELIGION OF LIFE. ILLUSTRATED AND APPLIED. BY THOMAS GUTHRIE, D. D. CHAP. II.-REFUGE IN TRIAL. Ir was a common thing for men in old times to | morning came; with its dawn the stormers rushed provide themselves with a refuge against the hour at the breach; sword in hand they poured in to when the worst came to the worst. You may see find-the nest empty, cold. The bird was flown; it in the crumbling ruins of our old castles, where, the prey escaped. But how? That was a mystery; once carefully concealed behind the arras, it now it seemed a miracle, till an opening was discovered stands exposed in the narrow stair within the thick that led by a flight of steps down into the bowels of and massive walls. By this, when the gates were the rock. They descended, and explored their way forced, and the defenders, a bleeding band, were with cautious steps and lighted torches, until this driven back from room to room, they, suddenly subterranean passage led them out a long way off pushing aside a panel, descended into the dungeons; from the citadel, among quiet, green fields, and and issuing out by some secret port, escaped with the light of day. It was plain that by this pas their lives. And to this day the shepherds show sage, the doors of which stood open, their prey the hiding-places among their green hills, the "holes had escaped under cover of the night. A clever and caves of the earth" to which our forefathers device-a wise precaution. It was the refuge of betook themselves when persecution waxed hot, the besieged, provided against such a crisis. And and bloodhounds bayed at their heels. A mid- when affairs seem desperate, and the worst has night march brought the ruthless soldiery in the came to the worst, how should it encourage God's grey of the morning to the cottage of a lone upland, people to remember that He has promised them as where some man of God was in hiding. They safe a retreat! What says an apostle? "God is surrounded the house-but missed their prey. faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted Warned by trusty watchers, who often concealed above that ye are able to bear; but will with the bold daring and deep cunning under the garb of temptation also make a way of escape." Our homely simplicity, he was off. Near by rose a dizzy extremity is His opportunity. crag, roared a foaming waterfall; and ere his enemies arrived, the fugitive had leaped the chasm, and scaled the rock, and swinging himself up by the arms of a friendly mountain-ash, whose scarlet foliage screened the mouth of a dark cavern, he was safe within, singing to the music of the cataract these appropriate words: "In the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion, in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me, he shall set me up upon a rock; and now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me." The Chronicles of Froissart relate the strange issue of a siege which took place in the days of chivalry and somewhere, I think, in France. Though gallantly defended, the out-works of the citadel had been carried; the breach was practicable; to-morrow was fixed for the assault. That none, alarmed at the desperate state of their fortunes, might escape under the cloud of night, the besiegers guarded every sally-port, and indeed the whole sweep of wall. They had the garrison in a net; and only waited for the morrow to secure, or to slaughter them. The night wore heavily on ; no sortie was attempted; no sound came from the beleaguered citadel; its brave, but ill-starred defenders seemed to wait their doom in silence. The These words of Scripture, and a whole cloud of corresponding passages" a cloud of witnesses," indicate that God's people always have a refuge in their days of trial. According to David, "God is known in her palaces for a refuge ;" and in what glowing language is that truth sung out by Moses in his parting words to the tribes of Israel: "There is none like unto the God of Jeshurun, who rideth upon the heaven in thy help. The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. Happy art thou, O Israel! who is like unto thee, O people saved by the Lord, the shield of thy help, and who is the sword of thy excellency !" Now let us turn our attention to one of the many refuges and sources of support which a pious man has amid the trials of life. "Is any among you afflicted? let him pray." So says the apostle James; and referring to the trials of the first Christians, he says: "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering: for he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven of the wind and tossed." I would ask the reader's attention to the following points : What we are to ask. Wisdom! As used in Scrip ture, that word has a wide meaning; and here, as elsewhere, it may stand for all the graces and virtues that constitute true religion. And what of these we lack, whatever indeed we lack-not this or that man lacks, but any man, every man lacks, God promises a liberal supply of it. There is no restriction, no exclusion here. He would have all men to pray. It is their own blame if people are not saved. As a mother would do to her fallen and guilty child, God opens His arms wide to the world; and would press it to His bosom. With the offer of Christ to all, and virtue in His blood to cleanse all, who is lost is his own murderer. Who goes to hell is not excluded, but excludes himself from heaven. As the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, whom He sent to seek and save the lost, God, if they will but ask it, giveth liberally to all men. But though I do not understand the word wisdom, as employed by James in the passage quoted, in a strictly literal sense, there is much need of wisdom, of a sound, right, practical judgment, in times of trial. That will save us much suffering, if not much sin. dissatisfied with the gold he burns or the lapi- It is not wise to fret under our trials; the highmettled horse that is restive in the yoke but galls his shoulder-the poor bird that dashes herself against the bars of the cage but ruffles her feathers and aggravates the sufferings of captivity. It is not wise, overlooking the sovereign will of God, and that presiding Providence which numbers the hairs of our head as well as the stars of heaven, and without which neither a sparrow nor an angel can fall, to trace our calamities only to ourselves-that breeds but unavailing regrets; or to others-that only kindles bad and angry passions. It is not wise to look on our trials as heavier than those of others, and as warranting us to cry, in the language of Jerusalem, There is great need of wisdom under trials; to be "Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like enlightened as well as supported by the grace of unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, where- God, and in the Holy Ghost to have a counsellor as with the Lord hath afflicted me !"-that can only well as comforter. With all thy getting get wisdom foster a rebellious spirit. It is not wise to forget-wisdom to trace your trials to the Hand above; to that our blessings are loans from God; and that when we lose them, whether husband, wife, or child, health or wealth, fame or fortune, their owner but resumes His own,-otherwise we shall be ready to regard God as a robber, rather than to render Him the gratitude due to a most bountiful benefactor. It is not wise to cling too closely to the living,-else we shallsome day be found embracing the dead. We are to inquire whether God has any controversy with us, whether He is not rebuking idolatry by destroying our idols, still it is not wise to regard our trials as being certainly expressions of His wrath: it were a great mistake to fancy that the goldsmith is bear them so that you may glorify God in the fires; to improve them, so that you may get the good intended, and be more than indemnified for their heaviest sufferings. The honey of the bee is an excellent antidote to its sting; and what comfort under trials like feeling that we are the better of them? Has not many a dark cloud, that in the distance lightened and thundered, and filled us with alarm, broke in blessings on our head-leaving us, as, passing away, it showed the bright bow of the covenant on its back, to say, It is good for me that I was afflicted; before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept thy word. Right are thy judgments, O Lord; in faithfulness thou hast Of afflicted me! Our light afflictions, which are but for a moment, shall work out for us a far more exceeding, even an eternal weight of glory. Next, of whom we are to ask wisdom? God, who giveth liberally and upbraideth not! If we want money, we go to the bank; water, we go to the well; medicine, we go to the physician; and who wants divine blessings, mercy to pardon, or grace to help, is to go to God-"He giveth liberally." Did you ever stand in a bright summer day by the black swirling pool at the foot of a waterfall, and look up to the top of the cascade, where, scattering its liquid beads, like sparkling diamonds, it sprang boldly out from the rock into the air? How ceaseless the flow! and with its snowy foam ever flashing in the light of day, and its deep, solemn voice, in that lone glen, ever praising God through the hours of night-what an image does it offer of the stream of mercies that are continually falling on us from the bountiful hand of God! The Scriptures employ other, and indeed many images of God's affluent bounty. God himself says, "I will be as the dew unto Israel "--but there are cloudy skies and breezy nights when no dew falls, emblem of divine bounty, to hang gems on every bush, and sow the fields with "orient pearls." Again it is said: "He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass, as showers that water the earth"-but there are days and weeks without a drop of rain. Again, it is said, "I will pour water upon him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground "—but it is only on rare occasions that the river, swollen by many a tributary, comes down red and roaring, and, overflowing all its banks, turns every wooded knoll into an island, and green valleys into inland seas. Bat, is there ever a month, a week, a day, an hour, a moment, a single moment, when from Thy blessed and bountiful hand, O God! mercies are not falling in showers-thick as the rain-drops that shimmer in sunlight on the water, or as the snow-flakes that fill the wintry air! He giveth liberally, and He giveth constantly; and, if He pours such affluence of blessings on all men, even on His enemies, even on those that trample the mercies, as they trample the snows, of heaven under their foul, guilty feet, what may not His own, his chosen people, expect? Will He deny His fathership when they, His children, His own loving children, repair to Him with wounds to stanch, with cheeks to dry, with bruised or broken hearts to bind, with cries like these-Father, help me, I am weak! Lift me up, I have fallen! Forgive me, I have sinned! Save, oh, save me, I perish! How have I seen a poor wandering vagrant, when her child, footsore and weary, had sunk, crying, on the road, true to a mother's love, take up the creature in her arms, and, shifting its burden to her own back, trudge on her weary way? And what may not you, groaning under your burdens, hope for from Him, who is as much greater than we in love, as in the wisdom that planned, and the power that built this glorious universe? You know what are your thoughts and ways to a darling child that is withering away like a delicate flower, over whose couch you hang in anxious solicitude, for whom you have prayed in agony, and whose young life you would purchase at the price of all your fortune! Hear, then, what God says: My ways and my thoughts to you, are as far above your ways and thoughts to it, as the heavens are above the earth. I have known a mother who trod the great city's streets, with weary steps and broken heart, the long night through, searching every house and den of infamy to find her lost one. She found her. Clasping the unholy thing to her virtuous bosom, locking her in close embraces, to win the wanderer back, how did she promise her every pleasure of home, with these hands to toil and work for her, never to cast up her sins, nor speak an upbraiding word? and these yearnings of a mother's heart, what were they, but, if I might say so, a spark struck from divinity-a drop out of the ocean of love that fills the bosom of an infinite God! "He upbraideth not.” You are unworthy; you have abused my kindness; charity is wasted on you; I am tired of helping you; patience is exhausted; you come too often; you ask too much-such language never fell from the lips of God. I have often seen a shivering, ragged child, or a widow, in brown and rusty weeds, with an emaciated infant in her bosom, timidly knocking at a rich man's door, to have it, so soon as it was opened, and they were seen, shut rudely in their face. And while I thought how ill it would be for them were God, in their hour of need-on a bed of death, or at a bar of judgment—to deal with them as they deal with others, it was blessed to think that the door of mercy is shut in no man's face; that God's heart is shut against no man's misery; that God's hand is shut against no man's need; that God's eye is shut to no man's danger; that God's ear is shut to no man's prayer. "He giveth liberally, and upbraideth not." Appearing in human form, and speaking through the voice of His beloved Son, he stands up there at the wide-open door of heaven, crying "Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavy laden;" be your burden sins or sorrows, be your load grief or guilt, Come unto me, and I will give you rest; Cast thy burden on the Lord and He will sustain it; Open thy mouth wide and He will fill it. Again, How we are to ask. With faith, nothing sin; and the last state of that man is perhaps wavering! The pendulum of a time-piece is in constant motion, yet it makes no progress, because it has no sooner swung a certain way to one side, than it swings as far to the other. In like manner, as you may know by watching the floating weed, or the foam-bells that whiten it, or the boat that rides on its back-the mass of water that forms a wave makes no progress. Impelled by the wind, the wave advances, but not the water of which it is formed. If the water did, it would bear yonder drowning wretch to the shore; nor merely leave the wave, passing under, to raise his head to catch a sight of the blessed land, and then, rolling away to break on the beach, leave him to perish. And so, alas! will it be with many, who are not altogether insensible to religious impressions, who may even be easily affected by such influences as a sermon, the solemnities of a death-bed, the heaving swell of a revival; and being so, imagine themselves on the way to heaven, just as many careless observers imagine because the wave goes shoreward, the water also does. As employed by James to describe certain characters, the wave is a most felicitous figure. Look at a boat floating on the sea, at high or low water, when the tide, out or in, and on the turn, has ceased to run; or watch a boat away amid the swell of a mountain lake when the wind, retiring to its caves among the hills, has roared itself to rest! It is in constant motion between earth and heaven-now mounting to the top of the billow, and now sinking out of sight in the trough of the sea; yet with all this violent action, heaving, tossing, rolling, the skiff does not make an inch of way, but continues to ride over the self-same spot. Too true a figure of many professing Christians! Vacillating-not hypocrites, but through the influence of opposing motives-double-minded, and therefore unstable, heaven now seems to draw them upward, and then again earth draws them down-now, following Christ, they cry, with the young ruler, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? and then, with their backs turned on Him, they are leaving Him; sorrowful perhaps, but still leaving Himnow they are casting sin away from them, and by and by they are locked in her foul embraces-now they are fighting the Philistines, and ere long you find them sound asleep in Delilah's lap-now full of alarm, in fear of hell, pricked to the heart, their conscience awake, bent on being saved, they make a rush for heaven, and their foot is on the doorstep" they are not far from the kingdom of heaven;" but a cross lies on the threshold, and stumbling on that they fall-fall back into worse than the first. One day they seem to serve Christ, and certainly serve their lusts the next. They don't want to lose heaven, yet they cannot part with earth. Often starting up in their sleep, like one disturbed by horrid dreams, they are ever falling back again into slumber; and thus, equally affected by opposite influences, they are like a wave of the sea, rising and falling, now moving heavenward, now earthward-driven with the wind and tossed. Well, of a life spent in such unsteady efforts after what is good-in sinning to-day, and repenting to-morrow-what is to be the issue? It comes to nothing; like a door moving on its hinges, they make no progress; and the fate of their hopes, when death throws them on another world, is foreshadowed by the wave, that, launched on an iron-bound shore, bursts into froth and foam. The end of these things is death. Who, dying, would go to glory, who would be redeemed from sin and hell, who would secure a saving interest in Christ, who would have strength to endure trial, and stand its buffetings, as a rock stands the blows of waves, must have his heart steadily, resolutely, firmly fixed on divine things. "No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of heaven." Pray for unwavering faith, a strong—as Jabez Bunting, when dying, said, an obstinate faith in God. Seek such faith as not only lays hold of Him, but holds Him and won't let him go; that has the grasp of a drowning man. Seek a faith greater than Joshua's, when, laying its hand on the sun, he held it back from going on; a faith like Jacob's, who, strange as it seems, held God from going away, as, endowed with superhuman energy, he wrestled the night through with an angel, and, the stronger of the two, prevailed-replying to the prayer, Let me go, for the day breaketh, I will not let thee go, unless thou bless me. Were this too bold a freedom to take with God? No! We have "boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus." It is the boldness of the little child that, unabashed by any one's presence, climbs his father's knee, and throws his arms around his neck—or, bursting into his room, breaks in on his busiest hours, to have a bleeding finger bound, or some childish tears kissed away; that says if any threaten or hurt him, I will tell my father; and, however he might tremble to sleep alone, fears neither ghosts, nor man, nor darkness, nor devils, if he lies couched at his father's side. Such confidence, bold as it seems, springs from trust in a father's love; and pleases rather than offends us. Well then, if you that are evil have such hearts, and know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will our heavenly |