"He

that, in their faith, they can share it even here. It is this serene expectation that we are called to contemplate: "For we see not yet all things put under Him," but we see Jesus. must reign until He hath put all enemies under His feet." Yes, yes! But there is death. Death is so ghastly, still, and still so full of gloom! Death, so grim and terrible! "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." The very last. But He rejoices. The events over which He rejoices are some of them still pending. He is sure of His triumph. Wait. He waits. There is no despondency and no suspense on high. There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. That is one step. The broken and contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise. They never ask yonder whether He will succeed: they do sometimes ask, "Lord, how long? How long shall it be to the end of these?"-searching what or what manner of time the Spirit did signify.

Go out of your cares, and your fevers and perils, by going nearer to your Savior. Catch that glance of His gaze, the very rest of God. The sky is blue above the bleak and barren ground; the heavens smile above the storms. All things seem to die; but God is over all, blessed forever. His joy will comfort your sorrows. It will conquer your fears. It will neutralize your bereavements. It will negative your death. You are on a vessel, and it seems to you that the storm is awful; the waves run mountains high; the ship pitches, and shudders, and creaks. "Captain," you say, with pale face and staring eyes, "this is a terrible peril. We shall go down; she never will weather this gale!" "Gale!" says the captain, "I call this a good breeze. If we had a little more of it we should soon make land." Then you turn and look with wonder in the captain's eyes; they are full of smiling satisfaction, and his heroic face is mild and calm. The captain says, "All is well." He is not disturbed. And the captain's calm is your strength. He ought to know. So Jesus knows. He

Come, cheer up, ye who are sorrowstricken! Think of the joy of the Lord. The child you cherished, He lifted from your arms, and men tell you that he was snatched away by death. That is a hard, harsh, horrid thought. It is more than you can bear. I don't wish you to bear that; you have no such thing as that to bear. He has the child. The child is with Him. Think of that joy of the Lord, and be strong. Sin is too much for your weakness, because you fear it may prevail until you perish. Think of His pleasure, as well as of His power, to save.

Time and tide, chance and change, and fortune and fate, and void and vanity, and failure and fading, and the world and the grave! Ah, how weak we all are! What can we do? Hark! hear the apostle: "I can do all things through Christ, which strengtheneth me." When I am weak, then am I strong." "For the joy of the Lord is your strength." Sing, sweet bird! Sing, saved soul! Look up, O student of the stars! Look up, heir of heaven! Be glad in the Lord. Rejoice in the Lord, O ye righteous! It is His investment; it is His endowment: Christ in you the hope of glory." That my joy might be in you. Salvation is the ministration of your joy. Joy in the Lord of salvation; salvation in the Lord is joy. My brethren, I know no better definition: Song is speech; the heart-speech is song.

The time will come when the Church of God will be disinclined to talk so much, to discuss so much, to debate so much. It will teach by ever-rippling and out-rushing song, as the angels always do. Prayer and praise. There is too much dry prayer without praise. Praise and prayer. I have had no opportunity to attend the sacred services in the Academy of Music, but that is

the owner of it, and to adorn it, and build upon it the finest mansion in all the borough, and name it in honor of the maiden to whom he was espoused. Last summer, I had the pleasure of dining in that princely mansion, and to receive this fact from the lips of the great shipbuilder of the Clyde. That One purpose was made the ruling ambition of his life, and all the energies of his being were put in requisition for its accomplishment.

So with Paul. From the moment of his conversion to the day of his martyrdom he had one supreme purpose, which took full possession of him, mastered his whole mind and soul, and laid under contribution all his mental gifts and spiritual attainments, and power of achievement and suffering, even unto death.

"This one thing I do." That single high aim filled his whole field of vision, and possessed him day and night, in eity and country, in journeyings and in prison, and excluded all other ambitions and made all other possible attainments of no worth in his view, even as dang, that he might win Christ." His past record, brilliant though it was; his high, exalted position and wonderfal career as "the great apostle to the Gentiles"; the world and all its glittering prizes, which most men so covet— all these things were nothing to him. They had ceased to have any charms for Lim since he had seen "the Lord of glory"; since the love of Christ had come into his soul like a river in its fallness and sweetness. "The prize," for which he so nobly ran in the spirital race, and gave up all things else and counted all things but loss that he ight win it, was "the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

This is the spirit and purpose of the Christian religion when it dominates Enoch, Noah,

a the soul of man.

Moses, Abraham, furnish illustrations

common in

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the affections with Christ; the prize is not so coveted and kept in near and constant view as to set the soul on fire with holy ambition, and to consume, by the intensity of its flame, all selfish ends and earthly passions.

of it. The failures so Christian life are caused, to a great extent, by a divided purpose. The world comes in to share the kingdom of the heart; self divides the supremacy of

I. The purpose of Paul: WHAT IS INVOLVED IN IT? "This one thing I do." 1. Supreme love to Christ, and consecration to His service.

2. Deadness to all human ambitions and to merely earthly and sensual good. So absorbed is the soul in this one idea that it becomes the masterful passion of life; and the world, the flesh, all things else, cease to have any real attraction.

3. Not satisfied with any measure of past attainment, or service, or consecration, but continually "reaching forth" to something higher and better, and "pressing toward the mark of the high calling," with quenchless and evergrowing ardor. There, in full view, is the "goal," and the racer's eye is fixed on it; he flings aside every weight, and quickens his step continually, until he crosses the line and receives the immortal prize from the hands of the ascended Savior.

II. What was the meaning in Paul's mind as to the prize on which his heart was thus set? I think it was this: A PERSONAL RESEMBLANCE TO CHRIST, AND A DESIRE TO BE NEAR HIM. His vision of Christ in the infinite attractiveness of His character, and in the glory and blessedness of His presence and reign in heaven, made him long, with unutterable yearnings, to be like Him, and to have, not only a place in His kingdom, but a place hard by the throne of the Lamb. Multitudes of Christians are content just to be saved-to get inside the heavenly gate. But Paul rebukes this spirit. He had a higher and truer ambition. He coveted the place of honor in the final kingdom; a crown studded with numberless stars, the plaudit of the Master, a final character and attainments in harmony with the heavenly world and with the exalted and glorious purpose of Christ in his redemption.

III. HOW THE GREAT PRIZE IS TO BE WON.

It can be won in no other way than Paul won it.

1. The mind must contemplate it, the heart be fixed upon it, until the power of it shall overmaster all other objects and passions.

2. The purpose to gain it must be single, as well as supreme. Divided affection, a divided allegiance, halfhearted strivings, will end in bitter disappointment and eternal disaster. The whole soul, the whole heart, the whole purpose and trend of life must be in the effort and in the direct line of daily striving.

3. To insure success, all dead weights must be thrown off, all unnecessary hindrances avoided, all entangling alliances sacrified, and "the sins which do so easily beset" or hinder us, put

away.

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CERTAINTIES IN RELIGION. BY P. S. HENSON, D. D., OF CHICAGO, ILL., IN WASHINGTON AVENUE BAPTIST CHURCH, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air.1 Cor. ix: 26.

LIFE is full of uncertainties. Who can tell what a day will bring forth? There is no one who can be certain of the next moment in life, or of the next breath. "Old Probabilities we style the clerk of the Weather Bureau, and the name is suggestive. With all the resources of science, with the records of past observation, with agents in all points, and with lines of telegraphic communication, the best he can do is to tell what will probably be the weather to-morrow. Success is sure to none. We see a young man fully equipped for life, starting out with high hopes and flattering prospects. He says, "I will put forth my utmost endeavors. Every nerve and muscle shall be put to the strain. I will deny myself. I will live by all the rules of temperance and morality, and I will be sure of success." Yet how often you and I have seen such confidence shattered by failure! Even when he has gained success, how

long he can retain it is uncertain. He may be one of the strongest of his nation in intellect, one of the most sagacious and learned, and he may climb, as did such an one of late, to the very pinnacle, and to-morrow a dastardly blow may stretch him at the bottom, crushed and dying. Our homes, where peace and hallowed joy reign to-day, may to-morrow be lying in the shadow of the death-angel's wings. I would not chill the happiness of any heart, but it is needful for us to think of these things. I never see one of my children when, steadied by its mother's finger, encouraged by the voices of the household, it takes its first few tottering steps, without thinking of the many snares and pitfalls into which that pathway just entered may lead.

A class of people have lately come into some prominence who call themselves Agnostics. They say-and we are often tempted to believe them-"I don't know anything." It is their creed that, outside of this present, material world, we can be certain of nothing. Let us look at a few things in regard to religion, of which all may be

certain.

We are certain that Christianity exists in the world. We know that it has existed for 1,800 years. We can trace back its existence with certainty, and we see the fountain springing up in the little realm of Judea. And we know that that fountain has swelled into a mighty river that is sweeping all barriers away. Through all the world the force of Christianity is today greater than any other that is known among men. We know that this old book, the Bible, has survived all revolutions. It has come down to us through the ages that have witnessed the rise and fall of nation after nation. It has stood the attacks of the fiercest criticisms, and come forth unscathed. One philosophy after another has come and gone, but this book abides, and never, during the centuries of its existence, has it had a stronger grip upon humanity than it has at this day. Nowhere is its influence so pow

erful as in those lands which boast the highest civilization. We know that, even if it be untrue, it gives us the grandest conceptions of a God the world has ever known. Is Jesus Christ a myth? Whose was the sublime imagination that created such a character? It has been well said that such a creator would have been as transcendent a character as Jesus Himself. We know that this Bible reveals to man his own needs and weaknesses as nothing else does. It sees the secrets of his inmost nature. It voices his deepest aspirations. It touches with a master hand the chords of emotion, and administers consolation for his most poignant griefs. We know that its precepts are the purest and wisest that have been given for the guidance of life. Then we know that, whatever this Book may be, it satisfies human longings to the very uttermost. Like the rising tide that flows into every frith and inlet and bay, so the Bible fills each recess of man's nature, heart, and mind, and soul. And it is for all classes the child and the sage, the lowly and the exalted, the unlearned and the scholar. It reaches all and makes new creatures of them.

But the Christian may be certain of much more than this. Paul had no doubt as to the Gospel. He had already entered upon a race, and he was not for one moment uncertain as to what the course was. Every man may have that certainty, and, if he will surrender himself to Christ, may be fully assured of the truth of the Gospel. And yet there are Christians that are troubled with doubt. I may be certain what road is the right one, and yet be uncertain whether I am on that road. I may be assured that Christianity is true, but not that I am a Christian. Paul was sure of both, and I believe every Christian may have all of Paul's confidence. I believe doubt is from the devil. It was invented by a priesthood that didn't want men to become sure of their inheritance in heaven, but wished to hold them in subjection by fear and superstition.

Then, again, I may be sure of the right road, sure I am on it, and yet be doubtful whether I shall reach the goal. Unto such I commend the words of an old darkey whom I once met. I asked him how long he had been serving the Lord. "Fifty years," he replied. "Well, uncle," I said, "after keeping the faith so long, you must feel pretty confident of holding out to the end?" "Ah, massa," he responded, "it isn't a question of my holding on, it's only a question of whether de Lord can hold on, and I reckon I can trust Him."

It is the privilege of every Christian to have a like faith. "No one shall pluck them out of my hand," said Christ.

But irreligion also has its certainties, and first among them is that dim, undefined unrest of soul. Do what one may to conceal it or to crush it, it is still there, an enemy to peace, a destroyer of happiness. The shadows of the future are certain. Laying aside the teachings of revelation, the realm beyond death is only a dark mystery. See the philosopher ascending the highest mount of speculation, and his only answer to questions of the future state is, "I don't know; I can only guess." Hear another as he cries out, "I am taking a leap into the dark," swinging off into an unknown eternity.

Could anything be more terrible? And another certainty is the dread of judgment after death. The river of life is swift and smooth, perhaps, but the sinner, unreconciled to God, knows that there is a cataract over which he must plunge to ruin, and every moment is bringing him nearer to it. A conscience forever reproaching, a soul that is never at peace, death with its shadows projected far ahead, and the dread of an awful judgment daythese are some of the certainties of irreligion.

PREFERRING FALSEHOOD TO TRUTH.You never need think you can turn over any old falsehood without a terrible squirming and scattering of the horrid little population that dwells under it.-O. W. Holmes.