it. But shine, and shine always, and seek to shine more brightly. Yet, with it all, be very jealous for the Lord's glory, and so shine, that men shall not be tempted to admire the candlestick, but the candle-shall not speak of the pale and changing planet, but of the clear bright Sun. And your shining shall assuredly not be in vain. One and another will be stirred up by it to draw nearer to the light; so near, as to be caught and ravished with the savour of Christ's good ointments; and you shall hear them say, to your inexpressible delight, "Now we believe, not because of thy saying for we have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world."

The bride goes on to add, in the closing words of the verse, "therefore do the virgins love thee." We have already referred to the force of the word "therefore." It teaches us that whatever be the reason for which others profess love to Jesus, "the virgins" really love him because of his good ointments. This is important to the professing believer; only we would caution the anxious sinner not to abuse it. God demands nothing good in thee in order to forgiveness; he has found all that he demanded already in his Son; and for Jesus' sake alone he is now ready to pardon thee as thou art. Let no one object, then, that his concern about salvation is wholly selfish, and that he has no regard in it to God's glory, but only to his own welfare. This is quite true. Yet God's grace is such, that it will stoop down to reach the sinner wherever he may be, dead in his trespasses and sins, and with no feelings but selfish feelings. True, indeed, God's grace will not leave the sinner there, though it will meet him there; but if he only yield to its drawing, it will forgive him without good in him of his own, and will lift him up, and make him a partaker of his Lord's anointing; so that, able now to discern and to relish the good ointments, he shall, on account of them, love his Saviour with the love of all who are virgin souls.

For the souls that love Jesus are all virgins, and all virgin-souls love Jesus. The whole number of them combined constitutes the one great body spoken of in this Song as the bride, and which has been espoused as "a chaste virgin" to Christ (2 Cor. xi. 2). Each member of the body, too, in the new nature is a chaste virgin; and the characteristic of every individual is, that he loves Jesus, and loves him too for his good ointments. O my soul, is it a virgin's love that thou art giving thy Lord-pure, fervent, single-hearted? Many talk of him, many name themselves by his name, many commend him, but "the virgins love him." Dost thou love him, O my soul-love him when he comforts thee-love him when he chastens thee-love him always-love him only? Art thou like Orpah, who loved her mother-inlaw, and wept to leave her, but who yet left her; for she loved her people and her home in Moab better? Or dost thou love like Ruth, who clave unto Naomi, though it cost her all that she had on earth? Hast

thou now no home but Christ's home, and no people but Christ's people, and no love but Jesus?

There is no spiritual gift to be preferred to love-holy, single-hearted, virgin love. "God is love." Therefore "follow after love" (1 Cor. xiv. 1). And then, when your earnest prayers for its increase have been answered, still "follow after love." All minor gifts are of any value only as they are serviceable to love in her blessed ministry to God and man. Riches are, to a Christian, worse than worthless, except as love can take them up to use them. Powers of intellect, persuasive eloquence, knowledge, are all to be valued only that love may have the more to work with; but the best gift, that is most to be coveted, is virgin love. Without this, all the rest is but a sounding brass, unprofitable, nothing.

What a joyous thing is love! "How infinitely sweet," says David Brainerd, one of the virgins, "is it to love God, and to be all for him." He that loves most has most of Christ's presence, and, therefore, most of heaven in his soul. But yet, on the other hand, what a sorrowful thing is love. In a world like this, the love that links our hearts to others, or to the cause of Jesus, will lay us open to the sharpest thrusts of grief. The Lord Jesus, when he was here, felt it so. His incomparable love went a great way towards making him the man of incomparable sorrows. The words "all ye that love Jerusalem" have as their equivalent in the parallel clause, "all ye that mourn for her” (Isa. lxvi. 10). To love and to mourn for often mean the same thing. For, if beloved ones will not hearken, and if we be concerned for God's name and for their safety, what less can we do than weep sore in secret places for their pride? (Jer. xiii. 17). This was one of the cups of Christ's earthly sorrow (Luke xix. 41); a cup which he hands to every one that loves him (Rom. ix. 2, 3), in order that we may be trained to perfect sympathy with him.

Oh, what infinite reason have we to love Jesus, and what a shameful thing that any among us could be truly charged with losing the first fervours of its holy heat! (Rev. ii. 4). And yet, alas! alas! who among us is not compelled to bow his head in sorrow? No wonder that John Bradford's tears trickled down his face into his food when he reflected on the strange hardness that so held back his heart from the adequate love of his Saviour. And yet, these sorrowful heart-longings for love are among the surest proofs that the heart which cherishes them is a virgin heart. They flow out of love, the most tender love, coupled with an exalted apprehension of the infinite loveliness of Jesus. He is seen to be so "altogether lovely," that the heart is broken with the mournful yet gladdening consciousness that our highest pitch of love falls infinitely beneath the love-worthiness of the Beloved. And this is safe for us, for it sends us away from our own hearts to find our only rest and comfort in the free, unchanging love of Jesus. And surely, too, as Herbert sings,

"When the heart says (sighing to be approved),
Oh, could I love! and stops; God writeth, Loved"

To eyes that have been anointed by the Spirit of God, everything we see, above, around, within us, is a provocation to love. Mercy, tender mercy, plenteous mercy, meets us at every turn. We are the children of mercy, a mercy that busied itself about us in eternity, planning our blessings ere ever the worlds were made; mercy that has followed us all our life long, guiding us, guarding us, blessing us, unchilled by the rebellion and ingratitude of our godless years. O my brother, does not the touching retrospect melt and humble thee, and dost thou not say with Job, "I abhor myself?" And yet the meek and patient love of Jesus has never abhorred us, never abandoned us, never failed to say of us even at our worst, "How shall I give thee up, Ephraim ?" (Hos. xi. 8). Nay, he has only used our most exceeding sinfulness to show forth the more wonderfully the exceeding riches of his holy love. Let us then never forget our sins, even though he promises to forget them; but let us use the remembrance of them chiefly to deepen love, in order that being frankly forgiven so much, we may love him the most of all.

And true love is far more than a mere sentiment; it is always active. "If ye love me, keep my commandments." True love is a giver; nay, it is an exhaustive | giver, it gives all that it has; and along with these it gives itself. Whosoever has our love has ourselves. If, then, we love Jesus, we shall keep from him nothing that he wills to have. But while real love delights in sacrifice, spurious love is content with sentiment. The one, filled with the spirit of Christ, imitates the selfemptying grace of Christ, and shrinks from no needed Gethsemane or Calvary; but the other is soon wearied when it has to go the length of working, and calls a halt so soon as its labour becomes more than a pleasant change of pastime. But true love lives for the Beloved; and, giving its all, it is ashamed that its all is so little. With David, when he brought forward his millions of gold and silver for the temple building, it says, "Now, behold, in my poverty I have prepared for the house of the Lord an hundred thousand talents of gold, and a thousand thousand talents of silver" (1 Chron. xxii. 14). We will do well to test our love, were it for nothing else than for our bumbling. Had there been no danger of self-deception, we would not have been exhorted to "unfeigned love," nor to take heed that “love be without dissimulation." How much pleasure do we find in secret converse with Jesus ?-only so much do we love him, and no more. How cheerfully do we deny our wishes that we may prefer his will?-so much, and only so much, do we love himself. How much do our hearts

warm towards the meanest and least attractive of his children, counting them the excellent of the earth simply for his sake who so dearly loves them ?-only so much, AND NO MORE, do we love him. For it is him that the virgins love; and these, as well as the most comely, are members of his body. The broken-hearted and rejoicing penitent in Luke vii. lavished her grateful kisses upon his feet; for were they not his feet, and therefore for his sake beloved? No matter to her that the feet were dark with sweat and dust, for Simon had given him no water to wash away the travel-stains; they were still his feet, nay, they were still himself, and therefore she loved and fondled them. Ah, my reader, how is it that you and I honour the feet of Jesus? Those lowly members of his, whom those who are not virgins are sure to overlook, are members of his mystical body as certainly as those who are more comely; and the virgins recognize and love him in the meanest as well as in the most exalted. Almost every one will readily lavish honour on the honourable, and kiss the saints of note and name; but dost thou, O my soul, love also, love equally, the unnoted and unnamed-the dusty, uncomely feet of Jesus? For, though they are only feet, still they are Christ's feet; and because they are his, and because, too, they lie more within the reach of heart-broken penitents, these virgin souls love them, and kiss them, and hang over them, till wondering professors chide their folly. For we love Jesus as we love his feet-only so far, and no further. And he counts it so himself; for he shall yet say, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" (Matt. xxv. 40).

Oh, for love, more love, and that the love of the virgins! For want of this, and for want of its constant exercise, divine life is low and feeble among us; and the world is stumbled by the inconsistencies of many who really know not God, for God is love.

"O Jesus, King most wonderful,
Thou Conqueror renowned,
Thou Sweetness most ineffable,
In whom all joys are found!
When once thou visitest the heart,
Then truth begins to shine,
Then earthly vanities depart,
Then kindles love divine.
O Jesus, Light of all below,
Thou Fount of living fire;
Surpassing all the joys we know,
And all we can desire;

Jesus, may all confess thy name,

Thy wondrous grace adore;
And, seeking thee, themselves inflame
To seek thee more and more!"

J. D.

A

CALM, bright Sabbath day of early spring had closed in golden sunset, and the darkness of evening followed. There was no moon visible, and a slight touch of frost gave clearness to the air and brilliancy to the stars, as one after another of the "heavenly host” appeared in the cloudless sky.

Mrs. Martyn and her children had spent the evening in reading and conversation.

"Do put on your shawl, Lucy," said John Martyn to his sister, opening the parlour-door after half an hour's absence, "and come to the lawn with me. It is such a beautiful starry night!"

Lucy gladly prepared to obey the call.

"Is it too cold for you to come out, mamma ?" "Yes; I must be content to look from the window." She stood there alone for some time, gazing upwards at the starry sky, while her heart ascended far beyond, in prayer for those still so dear to her on earth, and thoughts of others not less loved in the better country above.

night air of Palestine: When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?'" "Well, it is comforting to think of that being written in the Bible. Still it makes me unhappy. I cannot comprehend it."

The boy sat down and put his hand to his forehead, with a look of thought and anxiety which went to his mother's heart.

"What is it that bewilders you? Is it the prodigious spaces, and distances, and magnitudes of astronomy?" "Yes; that is one thing."

"I recollect feeling the same when I first turned my attention seriously to the rudiments of the science, though I was much older then than you are now. I believe this must be the first impression of every thoughtful mind. These enormous figures really give us no definite conception of what they are intended to express; it is impossible for our understanding to grasp them, though doubtless some minds are more suited for

“Have you had a pleasant walk and look at the stars, Lucy?"

66

Oh, mamma, it was beautiful, grand! I think I never admired them so much before. How strange, that what one has looked at so often should seem almost new each time!"

"It is so in all the works of our God. There is a depth and vastness in all his doings which must ever open and expand with new wonders before our minds, whichever department of creation we try to explore. But this seems to me peculiarly the case in regard to the wonders of astronomy. It is when we look up at the nightly sky that we understand something of the meaning of the word universe."

"It seems awful to me," said John. "We have begun to learn astronomy in school lately, and I cannot tell you the sort of feelings it has given me. Some of the boys learn and repeat all about the thousands and millions of miles, and so on, quite lightly, and think no more of it when school is over; but I have been feeling quite overwhelmed at times. I have got troubled myself, and I fear I have been troubling Lucy now. If these things be all true, this world is such a mere speck of creation, and we ourselves like as many grains of sand on the sea-shore, or leaves in a forest! Can the great God care for us? Oh, mamma, is it sinful to feel this?"

"It is not a strange or new feeling, at all events, my dear. David must have felt something of the same three thousand years ago, as he looked upwards through the pure

joyment in it. Probably you are not one of these; and remember you are not yet sixteen years old. Can a boy of that age expect to understand at once the truths which it required the matured intellect of men like Newton and Herschell to discover? Five years hence. perhaps, much that now seems incomprehensible may appear comparatively plain to you." "Only perhaps, mamma? not live so long?"

You mean that I may

"I was rather meaning, that even then, perhaps, you may not find these things much plainer than you now do, if you have really no natural taste or talents for that peculiar kind of study. But why should this discourage you? There is real strength of mind shown in quietly and calmly acknowledging, in some cases, our own weakness, and not wasting energy in useless efforts against it. Is not it mere folly in a child to toil and struggle long to lift the burden which only a strong man could carry?"

"Then what would you have me do?"

"Attend to present duty. Learn, as your master requires of you, the first principles of this noble science, with which every intelligent youth ought to be acquainted. Leave the further study of it to a future time, to be taken up or not, as circumstances and your own feelings shall then decide. And in the meanwhile, resist bewildering speculations instead of encouraging theni."

"But the thought will come: Is it possible that the great God who made all these worlds can care for each

of us?"

"Let us turn to his own revealed word in this, as in all our difficulties, and see what light or comfort we can find there. I think there is something very remarkable in what we may call the fearless simplicity of Scripture, in its way of dealing with the sublime mysteries of the character and works of God. His almighty power, his infinite wisdom and goodness, are brought before us in connection alike with the smallest and the greatest of his creatures. Listen to part of Psalm cxlvii:"Praise ye the Lord:

466

46

"He calleth them all by their names.'

"Oh, how well we may go on with the psalmist to exclaim :

"Great is our Lord, and of great power: "His understanding is infinite!""

"That is very striking," said John. "I certainly never noticed these verses before as coming so singularly after one another."

"Now let us turn to a passage in Isaiah (xl. 26): Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things, that bringeth out their host by number: he calleth them all by names by the greatness of his might, for that he is strong in power; not one faileth.'

"Can there be a finer description of the impression given of the Creator's power and glory, when we look up with adoring wonder at these innumerable 'worlds nknown ?' But now observe what follows. What lesson does the prophet learn from his midnight contemplation? Not one of discouragement, but of comfort and holy confidence :

"Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and speakest, O Israel, My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed over from my God? Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary there is no searching of his understanding. lle giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might be increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: but they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.""

"Oh, I do thank you for pointing out to me these beautiful verses. I shall repeat them to myself, when my doubts and troubles come back again."

66

And," she continued, "pray for deeper, clearer views into the great mysteries of God's way of salvation, through our Saviour's redeeming love. When we truly realize, as far as our feeble minds may do, the marvellous fact of God manifest in the flesh' having really lived and suffered in this world of ours, does it not take away in a great degree the feeling of our insignificance ? Can the meanest and weakest of those for whom Christ died be less than precious in the Father's sight? And who can tell how far the influence of this wondrous plan of saving mercy may have been known and felt throughout the moral and intelligent universe! We are expressly told in Scripture that these things the angels desire to look into. It is but conjecture, of course; yet, as Hugh Miller has beautifully written, 'Who shall dare to limit the circle of worlds to which the influences of the "decease accomplished at Jerusalem" is destined to extend? Many a great kingdom has been gladdened by the beam which broke from the little hill of Calvary; why may not many a great planet be cheered by the same beam transmitted from the little world in which the little hill is included?'"

"That is a grand idea," said John; and for some minutes all were silent.

"How beautiful Venus looks to-night," said Lucy. "Is not it the most beautiful of all, mamma, and the poet's star?"

"Yes; the evening star has been always a favourite with poets, and lovers, and pensive hearts :"Gem of the crimson-coloured even,

Companion of retiring day,
Why at the closing gates of heaven,
Beloved star, dost thou delay? བ ་ ་་

"I was thinking of that, and of Campbell's other poem:

"Star that bringest home the bee,

And sett'st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,
That send'st it from above;

Appearing when heaven's breath and brow

Are sweet as hers we love." "

"That is a sweet poem, how different in its tone of feeling from another which I learned long ago. I am not quite sure of the author-Byron, I think :

"Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!

Whose tearful beams glow tremulous afar,
Clearing the darkness thou canst not dispel,
How like thou art to joy remembered well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;
A night-beam sorrow watcheth to behold,
Distinct, but distant; clear, but oh, how cold!'"

"Oh, how sad these lines are, mamma!"

Very sad; but what comfort could a mind like Byron's have in the review of the past? His 'joy remembered well' was that of one 'having no hope, and without God in the world.' Even to the believer, who knows what it is to 'joy in God through our Lord Jesus Christ,' the recollections of happiness past and gone for ever on earth are often depressing. The evening star, which we have loved and admired from our earliest years, is generally in later life associated with many affecting remembrances. It has been well called the star of memory. But there is another, which we may call the star of hope. Can you guess which that is ?" "The morning star, I suppose," said John. "Yes; but in fact, you know, though we speak of the morning and evening stars, we often mean the same planet, seen at different seasons, either soon after sunset or before sunrise. The last is not such a favourite with young poets and romancers as the first. They sit up late gazing at Venus or Jupiter when these planets appear in the nightly sky, and are sound asleep at the early morning hour. I suppose this is the case with both of you." "Not always," said Lucy; "but certainly I do ot know Venus so well in the morning as at night."

"I have been for many years an early riser," said Mrs. Martyn," and many a winter morning, before the sun appeared in the east, I have felt as if a message of hope and courage came to my heart when I looked at 'the star that leads the day.' Did you ever consider the meaning of that old proverb, 'The darkest hour is the hour before dawn?""

"I have heard you quote it sometimes, but I never thought much about it. I suppose the meaning is, that when things come to the worst they will soon begin to get better?"

"Yes; or we may express it by another old saying, 'Man's extremity is God's opportunity.' Some comfort of this kind I have often felt, during times of trial, in these quiet morning hours; there has seemed to me such a force and beauty in our Saviour saying of himself, 'I am the bright and the morning star.' Oh, if he lifts upon us the light of his countenance, how the darkest hour of earthly sorrow may be brightened! and yet all of it we can enjoy here is but a pledge and earnest of better things to come, the first dawning of the heavenly day. The cheering, strengthening influence of hope must, to a worldly man, or an unbeliever, each year become fainter and weaker; and what sad depression and foreboding fears will take its place as he advances towards the grave! But the Christian can say, 'I will hope continually, and will yet praise thee more and more.' The light of the morning star will only grow dim before the full beams of the Sun of Righteousness. Our God and Father gives us many good things now on earth, but his people shall soon ‘see greater things than these.' Oh, my children, shall re all enjoy them together; the first-fruits now, the full blessedness at last?"

The mother paused, her voice faltering with emotion. Her children did not answer in words, but their young bright eyes filled with tears, and she felt that no other reply was needed.

"It is late," she said, after a short silence; "we must have prayers and go to bed."

"Oh," said John, "there is so much more I should like to say and to ask you!"

"You are not going away to-morrow, and we may hope for another quiet time in the evening, to look at and talk about the stars again."

H. L. L

I. That if heaven is the scene of the priesthood of Christ, it is thereby also the scene of the Church's worship.

I remark, therefore, in the first place

The priesthood of Christ and the worship of the Church are so connected, that they stand or fall together; and the scene or locality of the one must be the scene or locality of the other. All our worship of God hangs on the mediation of Jesus in the execution of his sacerdotal office; and he who is unacquainted with the great lead

gently nor acceptably worship God. No worship is acceptable to the Father, no ascriptions of praise and