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Lorsque le document est trop grand poui dtre roproduit en un seul cliuhd, il est filmd 6 partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche 6 droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 S 6 GOD IN HISTORY BY THE Rev. George Webber ►■*•♦■■♦- 1 TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING STREKT EAST. C. W. CO AXES, MoNTRiSAL, QUK. S. F. HUHSTIS, Uai,ik.«, N..<. 1888. \ > % J .i J PREFACE 'I I f MN introducing this work, I must briefly state my obliga- " tions to the authors whose works I have consulted and to whom I am indebted. In English history, IVlacau- lay's " History of England/' Hallam's " Constitutional His- tory,'' Ferguson's "History of England," Hume's "History of England," Knight's "History of England," (Green's "History of the English People," "John Wyclifie," by Watkinson; "The Life of William Tyndall," by Demans, are the chief sources of my information. In Scottish his- tory, I have sought the standard works of both sides — Episcopal and Presbyterian — together with copies of the Covenants and other important records, and after careful examination, have sought to render to each his due. This general acknowledgment, which I gratefully make once for all, is the more necessary, because I have but rarely cited an author's name in the course of the Lectures. My aim has been to look calmly and dispassionately at all sides of any question or page of history, and then unhesitatingly set forth my unprejudiced and candid opinion. By this course PREFACE. I do not expect to please partisans on either side, but to them I can only say, " What I liave written, I have written." The Lectures were originally prepared to instruct and benefit popular assemblies, witiiout any intention beyond that. Their publication having been again and again urge into J^ritnin we cannot exactly say. Some eminent historians, after careful investijjfation, have held and taught that the Apostle Paul visited Britain, from Spain, between his first and second imprisonments ; and that Aris- tobulus, mentioned in the Epistle to t!ie Romans, was appointed by Paul as the first pastor of the British churches. Others believe that some Riitish captives, wiio were takeji to Rome as prisoners, and held there aV)0ut the time of Paul's imprisonment, becariie converted through the Apos- tle's labors, and, after their !il>eration, returned to their native country and proclaimed the religion of Jesus, and started the first British Christian Church. But by whom- soever the Christian truth was first proclaimed there, it is certain that before the end of the first century the Gospel was preached in Britain. From the testimony- of very early and trustworthy writers, Christianity spread and triumphed and rooted in the land. Druidism, the religion of the ancient Briton, and said to be the best of all the Pagan religions, gradually fell before the onward march of the truth of Christianity. Notwithstanding many diffi- culties and much persecution, the Christian Church in Britain continued to flourish up to the beginning of the fifth century. From an examination of tlie remains of Primitive British churcbps, it js clear that that ChurcJ^ JOHN WYCLIFFE. was puro nnd simple, for no images, or crosses, or symboli- cal sculpture of any kinar- barian ; and so, by promises of 'and and pay, hired the English or Saxon foe against the northern enemy. The landing of llengist and his V)and of warriors on the Isle of Thanet, in 449, begins anything like an historical knowledge of the English race. The Picts were soon scattered in a great battle, but then commenced the greatest difficulties of the British, who found that their mercenaries and allies were a dangerous and po'.verful people. As soon as the work for "which they were hired was done and a dispute arose about rations and jiay, war was tlireatened, and just as suddenly carried out. The victory of Aylesford that followed not only gave East Kent to the Saxons, but the key of the British conquest. The long, bitter, and merci- less coiites*- that followed for nearly two centuries, brought to the Saxons complete victory and to the British thorough defeat. The conqu<>rors transferred themselves and their name from their ^native Sleswick and the mouths of the Elbe to the British Isles. Ancient Britain was entombed in the fierce and deadly struggle, and England arose with its Saxon race. These English and Saxons brought with them their old Germ* n paganism, and so, as they drove back the British population, they drove back their Chris- t- JOHN WYri.lFFE. 9 tianity and stamped afijain upon tlio land, as far as they could, tho heathen impress. In this way Wales and the west of England alone retnined the primitive lii'itish Chris- tianity in the fastnesses of the nnnnants of tho British race. It nsm,s to this pajojan, Saxon England that St. Augus- tine came at the end of the sixth century as the Pope's first missionary to the Jiritish Isles. In less than a hundred years this mission Ijrought over to Christianity the whole of the Saxon Heptarchy. JMigland was then admitted into the federation of p.ipal Rome, though tli*' Uritish Church, so far as it could, protested against the errors and idola- trous practices of Rome. Yet the Church of Rome gradu- ally overcame all opposition, and the government of the Church was placed in the hands of Bishops, who in their turn were dependent on the ^ee of Ron»e. Ne^^r the middle of the ninth ccitnry, those t'^rrihle pirates called Norsemen or Danes descended upon the British coasts like a devas- tating storm, and wrecked churches and religion in their fearful ruin, nea ly extinguishing both literature and reli- gion in the land. The same atrocities which had attended the victories of the Saxons over the Britons disgraced those of the Danes over the Saxons. Civilization paused, while homesteads were tired, men and women slaughtered, priests nmrdered, and religion and government destroyed, till God, by the hand of good King Alfred, lifted the nation again upon its feet, subdued the ferocious Danes, and made Britain once more to see the light of truth by the hand of one of the wisest and best kings that England or the world ever saw. But following him were men destitute of almost every good quality, who threw back the nation into the worst of bondage under the control of popish ecclesias- tics, and kings and priests and people became brutalized and depraved to a proverb. Then followed the Norman 10 JOHN WYCI.IFFE. Conquest, in 1U66, which placed F^ngland under the further tyranay of a foreign sword as well as the most absolute eeclesia. tical despotism, for the Norman Conquest increased the influence of Rome in the land. The Pope sent William for use in his enterprise a consecrated banner of St. Peter, while with the Norman conquest of England the Papacy fixed upon the Church of that country a yoke more galling and disastrous than the yoke which William the Concjueror fastened on the nation. This advantage and power the Roman see continued to push and extend until by the most extortionate and unscrupulous conduct it usurped the civil power also, when John, in 1213, surrendered his crown and kingdom into the hands of Innocent HI., to receive it back as the Pope's vassal. Rut the English nation refused to share the degnidation of its miserable king, or submit to the foreign usurp^ition of a Reman potentate. The people were truly loyal to the Church in things religiorts, and bowed unquestioningly to its supremacy in spiritual matterr,, but v/ould not, even in this age of moral servility, acknow- ledge the Pope as the civil lord and sovereign. Imme- diately the English nobility, feeling keenly the humiliation, flew to arms to wrest from their worthless king the Magna Charta, or the Great Charter of the nation's liberties. From that followed other changes and concessions to the national spirit, until the long period of jiational formation pr.actically ended in a constitution and a lepresentative parliament. The thirteenth century may be regarded as the commencement of modern England, and with it began, in fact, the history of the English nation. Then were united mutually and truly the three Teutonic races that had been at cifterent times grafted on the old British stock to form a people inferior to none in the world. Then came bhe House of Commons, the parej^i/ and model of the free JOHN WYCMFFE. 11 representative asseniMies of the world. Soon there fol- lowed the formation of the English language, the dawn of Knglish literature, and the commenconient of English learn- ing. Such a period of history must ever be memorable. The schools of Greece, the invoiLtion of printing, the Refor- mation of the sixteenth century, are not greater powers in history than the formation of the English nation, and lan- guage, and constitution, and representative parliament, with their unconcjuerable love of freedom and fair play. In John Wyclifle we have the earliest and one of the most chara(^teristic representatives of the peopl(^ He was the father of our language— fo Wycliffe, the father of English prose, rather than Chaucer, the father of English poetry, gave a lixed character tt) the English language — the first translator of our Bible, and the morning star of the Re- formation. John Wyclift'e was born at Spresswell, a hamlet about a mile frofii, old Richmond, in Yorkshire, England. Both town and hamlet have long since disappeared, but they were near the well-known parish of Wycliffe, whose old manor-house was long the: home of the Wycliffe family. He was probably born in the year 1324, though we have no positivv* evidence upon which tc fix the exact date of his birth. We know nothing about his early life. A gifted historian has finely remarked about the striking con- strast between the obsci'rity of Wyclifie's ea.lier life and the fulness of our knowIi;dge of him in later life. He was sent early to Oxford for his education, some suppose at about sixteen years of age, but both the date and the college into which he was received when he first came to Oxford are uncertain. In the fourteenth century the English uni- versities contained a multitude of lads wlu went to Oxford and Cambridge to school ; for school life as well as college 12 JOHN WYCLTFFE. life was almost entirely concentrated in the two university towns. In those days of dangerous and difficult travelling there existed a class of men called fetchers or carriers of scholars, whose business it was to take charge of the boys on the road to and from the universities. The nature and direction of the studies of that day are well known. The middle ages made exclusive use of the Latin tongue as their scientific organ. The Gieek language or liteiature were; rarely studied or known. Wycliffe became a famous Latin scholar, but knew nothing of Cii?ek. This must be remem- bered Vv'hen you think of him hereafter as translator. Logi- cal, mathematical, and dialectical studies had a great attrac- tion for Wycliffe. His writings and sermons early sliowed a remarkable use of illustrations from arithmetic, and men- tal and physical science. He not only showed a special zeal for mathematical and physical studies, but great aptness for the study of rhetoric; so that he soon acquired considerable renown as a speaker and debater. From what were then known as the liberal arts Wycliti'e passed on to the study of theology, and, of his ten years' studcmt life at Oxford, he gave full half of that time to the study of theology; and as the result of assiduous and devoted application, he becavne a master of canon law, scholastic theology, and the interpre- tation of the Scriptures. His parents desired him to study theology with a view to the priestly calling, as in that day the surest path to position, dignity, and wealth. But "Wycliffe appears to have given himself to these studies for intellectual pleasure and from his passion for knowledge. WyrlifFe's student life at Oxford was scarcely completed whe , at twenty-five years of age, an event occurred that Lad a marked effect on all his after life. The great plague of 1348 passed through England, and filled the land with horror and dismay. The infected generally died after a HI JOHN WYCLIFFE. Id few hours ; the strongest within r. day or two after attack. The distemper passed from man to hrute, covering the land with putrid flesh. The labors of husbandry were sus- pended, the courts of justice closed, and more than a third part of the inhabitants of the country swept away. For live months the pestilence filled the atmosphere like a iiot and fetid vapor, and thousands of purple-spotted corpses lay putrefying in fields and liouses. This wonderful event gave solemnity and decision*to Wyclifi'e's spiritual character. Soon after he graduated with honors, became a fellow of Baliol College (of which in 1361 he became master), and was ordained to the priesthood. He was afterwards nomi- nated by his College rector of Fillinghara, which parish he exchanged seven years later for that of Ludgershall, which he held until his resignation, in 1374, in order that he might conscientiously accept the rectorship of Lutterworth. But he continued to reside in Oxford, and remained con- nected with the University, where he quietly worked and taught and labored with much zeal and success for many years. In 1365, Wyclifi'e was appointed warden of Canter- bury Hall, Oxford, which he held till 1370. In 1366, Wyc- lifFe reached his highest academic degree and became a doctor of divinity. From that chair many of his lectures and finest expositions were delivered, and from the passages still preserved in his manuscript works we can clearly see the loftiness and spirituality of Wycliffe at a teacher. That these biblical and theological lectures and studies proved of the greatest benefit to himself, no one can doubt; for there he first learned the true meaning and value of the Scrip- tures, and }aid the foundation of that knowledge and con- viction which made him afterward the great reformer and translator. No one "who looked upon Wyclifie at forty years of age, 14 JOHN WYCLIFFE. in the prime of his manhood and intellectual powers, and in the zenith of his position and influence at the University of Oxford, would have predicted for him the great and perilous position of his aftei- life. True, Oxford at this time enjoyed the intellectual supremacy which had been the glory of the University of Paris before the English wars with France, and at Oxford WyclitFe was recognized as the first scholar of his day, and stood without a rival. Still there was nothing to indicate the social and ecclesiastical leader of England. A spare, frail body, weakened by study and abstinence, united to a quick and active temper, innnense energy, resolute conviction, rare intellectual powers, a spot- less life, and the personal charm or magnetism which accom- panies real greatness, make up the personel of the man. Yet this frail, unsuspected schoolman became an agitator for popular rights, a master of irony and invective and persuasion, an organizer of a religious order, an unsparing assailant of abuses, a bold and fearless controversialist, a wise and heroic leader of men, and a reformer who dared, when deserted and alone, to challenge the creed of Christen- dom aid maintain the freedom of religious thought against the dogmas of tlie Papacy. Wyclifte was a characteristic Englishman, with the excellencies and defects of his nation- ality inborn. The perseverance that never yields, the faith in himself which makes him feel that to an Englishman all things are possible, the truthfulness that hates ftilsehood not only because it is wicked but because it is mean, respect for the rights of otliers and for the claims of justice every- where, were marked traits of Wyclitte. His style of speech was a maidy collo(iuial English, full of sparkle and strength and quaint humor, not seldom touched with the honest pathos of a great heart ringing out in generous enthusiasm for righteousness and scorn and loathing of the wrong. He .JOHN WYCLIPFK. 15 a ■was a nieclijoval priest, but with the light of modern times upon his face; and, like the old Hebrew prophets, he felt himself to be God's messenger with the certituue of convic- tion in what he declared. He was the precursor of D)odern England, and to him the English Reformation owes more than to Martin Luther. Wyclitle has waited long for full recognition, for it is only in the present century that the actual value of his work and the heroic greatness of his character are becoming generally understood. He was so far off as to be little niore than n great name even to edu- cated people, but gradually the man and his work are being brought to the study and knowledge and appreciation of us all. Who can tell wliether. had the age been ready for the work of reformation, Wycliffe was not well qualified to carry out that reformation to a successful issue, and so have anticipated by nearly two centuries the great transforma- tion of the sixteenth century 1 But things were not ready for that decisive step, and so, instead of becoming "the monk that shook the world," he became the morning star of the Reformation. John Wycliffe first challenges special attention as a PATRIOT. In 13G5, Wyclifle was forced into a prominent position as the recognized leader of a national party, under remarkable circumstances. Pope Urban V. claimed from Edward III., King of England, feudatory tribute to the extent of one thousand marks (.£10,000) yearly, with thirty- three years' arrears. This payment of tribute had been imposed in 121.3, by Pope Innocent III., on King John, but it had always been resented as a mark of degradation, and paid with the greatest irregularity from the first. Edward III., since his majority, had always refused payment on principle. When the Pope's demand reached him, the King laid the claim before the Parliament which assembled \ 16 JOHN WYCLIFl'E. in May, 1366. It h fjenerally believed that Wyoliffe was a member of this Parliament, but whether as a clerical expert to advise the court in theology and in ecclesiastical proce- dure and canon law, or as a regular member, is not clear. He was at any rate a leading adviser of the Parliament, and was henceforward a marked man among the Church party in England and at the Papal Court. The Papacy claimed absolute supremacy in spiritual matters, and spirit- ual matters then included about everything. In the end the Parliament unanimously decided that the King of Eng- land ought not to pay feudatory tribute to the Pope, and they voted what supplies might be necessary to defend the honor of the country against the threat of the Pope. But the action of Parliament was so emphatic that the claim was never again made. As soon as the decision of Parlia- ment became known, some ecclesiastics, who were nure devoted to the Pope tiian to England, published a defence of the pontifical claim, and abused Wycliffe. This attack drew from WyciifFe a defence of the proceedings of Parlia- ment, which shows us the grounds of the decision. The style of Wyclifte's reply is somewhat singular. He professes to reproduce the speeches of seven lords on the question of these papal claims. The first speaker, like a plain English soldier, meant to keep by the sword v/hat was won by the sword. The second argued that a tax or tribute may only be paid to a person authorized to receive it. Now, the Pope has no authority to be the receiver of this payment, and therefore any such claim coming from him must be repudiated ; for it is the duty of the Pope to be a prominent follower of Christ, and Christ refused to be a possessor of worldly dominion. The Pope therefore is bound to make the same refusal. As therefore we should hold the Pope to the observance of his holy duty, it follows that it is incum- JOHN WyCLIFFK. 17 bent upon us to withstand him in his present demand. The third speaker dwells upon English interests as a patriot. The fourtli argues from the principles of feudal law. The fifth condemns the concordat entered into with King John as an usurpation which for England was illegal and insuf- ferable. The sixth lays down the early mediieval principle that there are two vicars of God, and that the civil govern- ment repi'esents one if the Pope is the other. The seventh boldly declares that John had no right to make any contract with Innocent III. without consulting his people, or, as we would put it now, the Crown could not make contracts with foreign powers without the consent of Parliament. Throughout his entire reply the spirit of true patriotism is manifest in Wycliffe. He was jealous for the dignity of the crown, the honor of his native land, and for the rights and constitutional liberties of the people, and he fearlessly maintains the political independence of the crown and coun- try from the Pope. A new and further test of Wycliffe's patriotism was near at hand. The brilliant victories of the earlier part of Edward III.'s reign had brought no permanent gain to the English people. His gigantic military efforts wasted the resources of the country without producing abiding results. France, although conquered, had baffled and beaten its conquerors, and the lands won in battle by Edward were nearly all lost, while his inhorited dominions seemed about to follow. The hatred between France and England had become a passion. Edward had reigned more than fifty years, and his kingdom was declining. The nation's troubles now were greatly increased by France declaring war against England in 1369, in which Aquitaine joined. The health of the Black Prince, almost the only great general England had then, was completely ruined by his 18 JOHN WYCLIFFE. military campaigns, and the treasury was exhausted. Yet the spirit of the nation refused to allow itself vanquished, and the Parliament of 1371 resolved to prosecute the war. But how were they to raise the means? The people were heavily overtaxed, and little more could be wrung from them. In these dilHcult circumstances the Parliament re- solved that the Church should he included in the new tax or demand for a subsidy in aid of the war. It was wealthy, and had hitherto shared little in the reverses which had fallen upon the people. Its prelates Tilled the chief offices of the State, and were opulent in the midst of distress, while its members were claiming complete exemption from taxes of any kind. That was not the time to urge such pretensions. The nation was poor, the need of money was pressing, and it was resolved that the Church should bear her .share of the burden to be levied. In this case Wycliffe alone of all the clergy defended the course adopted by Par- liament, and that iinited two men of widely opposite char- acter and aims. John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, third son of Edward III., aimed to keep down the influence of the Church by stripping her of her wealth and offices. Wycliffe was bent on reforming the Church by making it poor. So the grasping aristocrat and the pious preacher of evangelical poverty found themselves together helping the same so'ieme at this particular juncture. The result was that taxes were imposed on the clergy for all lands wliich had come into their hands by mortmain for the last hun- dred years, and the same Parliament asked the King to remove all prelates from the highest offices of state. The next year, 1372, Wycliffe's feelings as a patriot were roused to their greatest tension and boldest resistance. A Papal Nuncio, one Arnold Garnier, Canon of Chalons, ap- peared in England as an agent of Pope Gregory XL, to 4 JOHN WYCF.IFFE. 19 ip- to collect nioiioy for the Apostolic Court. The man travelled with a train of servants in grand style al)out the country, and remained for over two years, collecting large sums of money tas the papal receiver. Wycliffe wrote a tract against (Jarnier, w.irning hi countrymen against the wholesale pillage which was going on. He denounced the Nuncio, and represented the harm which was being done to an im- poverished kingdom hy draining it of money to supply a foreign court; and he ended hy drawing a contrast between the Pope's life and the ideal Christian life lived according to the precepts of evangelical poverty. Fortunately for Wycliffe, at the time he commenced this attack on the papal court, the transfer of the Papacy to Avignon had reduced the Popes to the position of mere creatures of the French king, and had robbed them of much of their awe and terror, while their greed and extortion inspired dis- gust and revolt. He thus escaped immediate arrest by the Church authorities, while he aroused his country to an earnest resistance of the greed of the Pope. Soon after this loud complaints were raised against the manner in which the Papal See filled English Church offices, and thus possessed itself unjustly of the ecclesiastical revenue.- In 1374, a Royal Commission was appointed, of whom Wycliffe was one, to go to Bruges, where a conference for the establishment of peace between England and France was going on, to treat with the representatives of the Pope and come to such terms as would put an end to the troubles complained of in a way honorable to the Church, and yet uphold the rights of the English crown and realm. But no satisfactory or practical results came out of these negotia- tions. There -vy^as no real ecclesiastical reform accomplished. Such was the power which Rome had acquired from the blind submission of so many years, and such was the resist- 20 JOHN WYCLIFFE. ance offered to all Wycliffe's attempts to advance popular rightR, tliat Wycliffe left Bruf»es, where, for the first time, he had met the Italian, Spanish and Frencii dignitaries of the Church, terribly disenchanted of Rome, and with his eyes open to the evils of the Papacy. The Parliament which assembled in 1376, known as the "Good Parliainent," presented no less than five petitions to the King against the cupidity and oppressive encroachments of the Roman See ; a protest which was urgently renewed the following year. In these petitions it was asserted that the money raised by the Pope in England exceeded five times the amount of the taxes levied by the King; that by reser- vations during the life of the holders, the Pope disposed of the same bishopric four or five times over, receiving each time the first-fruits ; that aliens who had never seen their parishes, living in the sinful city of Avignon, hold and farm out the best and wealthiest English preferments, while the poor and learned at home hardly obtain one in twenty, resulting in the decay of sound learning and destruction of the Holy Church more than by all the Jews and Saracens of the world ; that the Pope's revenue from England alone is larger than that of any prince in Christendom ; that God gave His sheep to be tended, not to be shaven and shorn. Therefore the Pope's collector and other strangers, the King's enemies, ought to be discharged, and no such collector or proctor allowed to remain in England. These parlia- mentary petitions read so much lika Wyclifle's writings that the Church party felt that his mouth must be stopped ; but Wycliffe continued by pamphlet and speech to disclaim against the extortion and tyranny and selfishness of papacy and clergy. He could not endure to see the nation's treasure alienated by the Church from national purposes to such a scandalous degree. It touched his heart as an Englishman II » JOHN WYCLIFFE. 21 to see the country drained of its resources in order to satisfy the greed of the Pope, and he did all he conld to rouse the barons and the people against such flagrant abuses. Things had reached a terrible pass. Kome showed that instead of using her j)0',ver to servo the State, she re- garded the nation as existing for her benefit and aggrandise- ment. Social life as well as national life surtered and was oppressed by the ubiquitous despotism of Rome. The minor priests shared the spirit and practices of their superiors. You cannot overstate the mischief which resulted in the middle ages from the priests being exempt from the juris- diction of secular courts. The clergy so practised on the fears of the dying as to obtain possession of one-half of the land, while they claimed to be exempt from any civil court or law to which an injured family might apply for redress. If complaint was made againsir their intimidation, or viees, or immoral life, or wicked exactions and practices, they felt no alarm, privileged as they were against all interference from the world without. Though Wycliffe failed to arouse his nation to that intense, and prolonged, and principled resistance to Rome that he desired, and that would enable him to strike one shattering, overpowering blow at the corrupt Church, yet he voiced the cry of liberty for the enslaved nation, and helped as the pioneer to prepare the way for the reformation yet to be ; while his great treatise on "The Kingdom of CJod" ( De Dominio Divino) shows how unselfish were his aims, and how sincere and pure his principles. Let England, let the world, admire and honor the first man in his country that ever dared to oppose the assumptions and greed of the Church of Rome, .and reso- lutely demand for his country the freedom and constitu- tional rights without which no nation c. n be great, or wealthy, or happy, or respected, or free. 22 JOHN WYCI.IFFE. I I Thr drift of WyclitFo's tlu'ory of (loininion, whicli, in ostal)lishin;i; a diroot I'olatioii between man and (lod, svept away the whole hasis of a mediating priesthood, on which the medin'val Church was built, was not at once seen. But his theory of Chureh and State, wliich contended that the royal power over tempoial thin JOHN WYCLIFFE. 23 they craved speedy jud^jment. TIm' r«'sult was tliat five bulls were issued in one day (May 2'2nd, \'M7) hy (Iregory XI. against Wyolifro. Three of tliese hulls were addressed to the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London, one to the King, and one to the L niversity of Oxford. The nineteen theses condemned in the Papal bulls were so skil- fully drawn as to prejudice tho. accusfd in the eyes of civil rulers and moderate men of all parties. Tln> Roman Church tried, as it has often done .since, to show that t!ie Reformer attacked not the Church but the basis of society ; and the English Bishops did their best to alarm the King and to prove WyclifTe an enemy of .society as well as of the Church. While the Bishop.s, who were enjoined to establish a seciet conmiission tc/ investigate the opinions of VVycliffe, and, if they turned out like the articles sent, to imprison him as a heretic, were the very men who had sent the previous re port to Rome. The spirit and intention of these bulls is thus easily seen. Several months elapsed before these bulls were published in England. The time seemed unfavorable. Edward III. had died in June, so that the bull addressed to him was inept. The first Parliament of Richard II., his grandson and successor, which met in October, was very outspoken in its opposition to the court of Rome. But after the Parliament had risen, the prelates resolved to carry out the Pope's commission. December 18th, the bull addressed to the University of Oxford was issued to the Chancellor, requiring that, under pains and penalties, they should de- liver Wycliife over to tha prelates. The Univer.sity with great reluctance took action against Wyclitle, and showed itself throughout indisposed to prosecute its greatest scholar. In February, 1378, Wycliffe appeared before the papal com- mission at Lambeth Palac . In defence of his condemned theses, he put in a written answer, in which he explained 24 JOHN VVYCLIFFE. and justified his theses one by one. The ecclesiastical court was soon warned by the King's mother, the Princess Joan (widow of the Black Prince), to do no harm to the accused ; while th^ citizens of London forced their way into the palace and loudly took part on the side of WyclitFe, threatening danger to anyone who should injure him. The result was that WjclifFe was merely forbidden to teach the alleged heresies. He departed as free as he came, and without giving any formal pledge of obedience, to the chagrin of the Bishops and the Church. Thus a second time Wycliffe has come forth from the clutches of his enemy free and un- harmed, but with views more expanded and resolved upon greater and more spiritual reforms. The dc ith of Pope Gregory, soon after this, affected Wyc- liff'e's position in many ways. It stopped for the time pro- ceedings against him. The Pope chosen. Urban VL, was well received everywhero, except in France, as a man of high personal character and anxious to accomplish good. Wycliffe hailed his elevation with great delight, believing that the new Pope was possessed of an evangelical spirit and true Christian earnestness, and that he had the neces- sary courage to carry out great and needed reforms. But he was doomed to speedy and bitter disappointment. The Pope was too mucli of a reformer for his corrupt court, and his efforts soon gave offence to many of the Cardinals, to such a degree that they became his enemies. These disaf- fected Cardinals, chiefly French, under a pretence of doubt regarding the validity of Urban's election, proceeded to elect, a rival Pope, Clement VTI. This began what is known as the Great Schism, which lasted for upward of thirty years. These Popes immediately began to fight each other, with all conceivable weapons, to the grief of all good men and the rending asunder of the Church. This battle of JOHN WVCLIFFE. 25 the Popes from first to last was a wretched business. Ur- ban damned Clement, Clement dealt back damnation on Urban, Each Pope was forming plots and thundering out anathemas against his competitor, wliile the profligacy of the partizan clergy attained to a scandalous excess. Both Popes were utterly unworthy of the st»'ife made about them. But the schism in a great measure reconciled England tc the Papacy. England supported Urban, the Italian, against Clement, the Frenchman, and felt that it could afford to help the Pope against France. By means of this Wycliflie lost the countenance and help of his former political friends and po^verful protectors. I^pon WyclifFe's own mind this schism produced a powerful, an abiding influence, and a radical change. He began to doubt the primacy of the Pope, and soon from principle he decidedly opposed it. When each of the two Popes declared publicly that his opponent was a false-pretended Pope, Wycliffe, with grim humor, politely told each that he was quite right. Wyclitfe now began to teach that the Church would be better with nf Pope than two ; and, step by step, he came to teach that the Church would be better with no Pope at all. Having gone so far, Wycli^e presently became convinced that the Papacy is Antichrist, and of the wicked one, and therefore all its usurpat'*<^ns and demands were to be resisted. He published a tract at this time on the Schism of the Popes, in which he seeks to show that the endowments of the Church are the principal cause of its degeneracy, and calls upon the secular authorities to attempt the long-needed re- formation and let the support of the Church be voluntary. He also proclaims that the assumptions and power of the priesthood is an error, and that their functions and duties, when rightly seen, are merely ministerial. The necessity of confession to a priest he clearly denies, and teaches that 26 JOHN WyCLIFFE. it is an heresy for a man to believe that he is al)solved from his sin if he gives money, or because a priest has laid his hand on his head and said, '• I absolve thee,"' for we must be sorrowful in heart or God will not absolve us, and to God alone belongs the power of forgiveness. From these ad- vanced views Wyclifle passed on to othci. and greater changes and teaching, which cost him the sympathy and support of his University and the widest suspicion of heresy. For this reason his residence for the rest of his days is at his rectory at Lutterworth, Leicestershire, where his greatest and final work is done. WycHffe's work received a terrible blow and set-back from what is known in history as the Peasant Revolt or Insurrection. The peasants, driven desperate by the grow- ing pressure of taxation and other grievances, rose in insur- rection in 1381. Their real grievance was a complicated one. They might have borne the pressure of the tax if they could have got fair play, but they did not get it. The great plague which had desolated and depopulated England made it difficult to procure laborers. Wages had risen about one-half, and nominally the condition of the peasants was improved. But the peasants were compelled to render certain free services to the lord of the manor in tilling his fields and securing his harvest. Scarcity of laborers, while it increased wages, also increased the burden of these com- pulsory services, for there were fewer to share them. When the laborers were taxed heavily, if they were alw^ays in wages, the burden became intolerable when a large portion of their time had to be spent in working for nothing. TJiey struck work. The rebellion was nominally against a tax, it was really a strike against unpaid compulsory labor. Tne rising of the oppressed peasants against their oppressors broke out suddenly and simultaneously in Essex and Kent. JOHN WYCLIFFE. 27 The first weak efforts of the authorities to stop their deeds of violence not being sufficient to strike terror, the insur- gents were only incited to greater outrages. Presently the rebels united under Wat Tyler, numbering, it is said, one hundred thousand, marched upon London, reduced to ashes the palace of the Duke of Lancaster, seized and beheaded Archbishop Sudbury, and committud many other acts of terror and blood. In neigliboring counties, mobs of rebels wasted the houses and lands of the nobles, burnt the docu- ments, and put to death judges, lawyers, and jurymen, in their wild attempt for freedom. Soon the revolt was crushed, ar d the leaders, with nearly seven thousand of their misguided followers, were put to death. WyclifFe's enemies immediately sought to fix the responsibility y,nd odium of this insurrection on him ; and though nothing could be farther from the truth, as later and reliable histo- rians have clearly shown, yet the opportunity was eagerly seized by the leaders of the Church to strike a decisive blow against Wyclifie and his followers. The quarrel between the barons and the Church was hushed in the presence of a common danger, and all hope of further reforms from the Parliament was for the time at an end. WyclifFe now claims our attention as a DOCTillNAL REFORMER. In 1381, he published his twelve articles on Transithstantiation, showing that the doctrine is un- .icriptural and erroneous. By the apostolic fathers of the Church, in the first and second centui-ies, the Lord's Supper was spoken of as a sacrifice ; but in the Jewish and Hellen- istic and scriptural jpnse, as an offering or presentation, but never as a propitiation. Cyprian, in the middle of the third century, was the first to regard the Eucharist as an atoning sacrifice. Gradually this opinion grew, though challenged, as the Church of Rome became ascendant. It I s k I I 28 JOHN WYCLIFFE. was the famous monk, Radbert, in the ninth century, who first openly taught that the bread and wine of the Sacra- ment were actually changed into the body and blood of Christ. These views fell in with Uie Homeward tide of that day, and at the fourth council at Trent, in 1215, the dogma of transubstantiation received full ecclesiastical sanc- tion, and from that date the dogma has been authoritative in the Church of Rome, to be believed by all its adherents under pain of eternal death. A doctrine once formulated and declared by Rome, there is no room for aught but faith. Rome founds her demand to be believed, not upon the reasonableness or scriptural ness of her creed, but upon its ecclesiastical authority. Rome being infallible, what she asserts must be so because she says so. This doctrine, therefore, of transubstantiation, however false or unscrip- tural, must remain as long as Romanism remains, Wycliffe, in assailing this doctrine, attacks the very citadel of the Church. He saw that transubstantiation was the core of the power of Rome ; that it was the key of the position of the priests ; that wliile it stood they stood, and that when it fell they would fall ; and by attacking it he struck at once at the heart of Rome. In this matter Wycliffe was much in advance of Luther. He condemned this dogma as a grievous heresy, not only because it was false to the Word of God, and painfully deceived the people, and because of the idolatry connected with the adoration of the host, but also as a strong protest against the delusion that the priest makes the body of Christ by his action in the mass. This thought appeared to him horrible ; as though a creature could give being to its creator ; as though God we^'e created anew day by day. Wycliffe held a real presence of Christ in the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper — not a local or cor- poreal presence, converting it into a blasphemy and canni- -i JOHN WYCLIFFE. 29 balism, but a spiritual presence. WyclifFe, in assailing this doctrine of transubstantiation, appears the more noble and heroic because he stood utterly alone. The Duke of Lan- caster bid him not to count on his support in a case of heresy. His University at Oxford condemned him ; old friends deserted him ; the minions of Rome flew at him thick and fast. But to all the grand old Reformer replied : " I believe that in the end the truth will conquer," This was a prediction, to the truth of which all, all shall yet witness. In the matter of doctrine, we must not overlook Wycliffe's views on Evamjelical Poverty. Wycliffe believed and taught this doctrine of evangelical poverty thoroughly, and this is the key ^o mucli of his theological position. It was a doc- trine which lay nea«, his heart, and was the quickening spring of his religious life. A very slight acquaintance with mediaeval theology and the devotional literature of these times will show how deeply rooted this doctrine was. To live an ideal life of Christian poverty was the dream of every mediaeval religionist, and ro bring others to share that life was the aim of their reformers. This thought inspired every religious revival, from the time of Anselm onwards? until the Reformation of the sixteenth century showed a more excellent way. To the mediieval mind a life of evan- gelical poverty was a life in imitation of Christ. It was the way in which men could become real Christians. By denying themselves of all but the barest necessities, they could live as Christ did when on earth. This imitation of Christ became to them of supreme importance as the true way to appropriate the benefits won by Him. It was not simply a sign of appropriation, but the instrument of appro- priation. To-day *ve hold that our imitation of Christ is an evidence and an expression of vital union to Christ. But 30 JOHN WYCLIFFE. II » !ii II I they did not see that faith or a personal trust in Christ's atoning merit places the believer at once in a state of for- giveness anc acceptance with God, and so put the evangeli- cal poverty which imitates Christ in the place of the justi- fying faith which rests on Christ. This fact compels us to acknowledge the truth of Melancthon's contention, that Wycliffe did not understand and teach the doctrine of jus- tification by faith as Luther did. This explains in a great measure the difference between the reformations of the fourteenth and of the sixteenth centnnes. But in looking at WyclitFe's doctrinal views on this and other questions, such as hereditary sin, the freedom of the human will, the election of grace, you do him a great injustice to separate him from his century, or if you forget the influence which the times he lived in had upon him. Wycliffe now assails the Monastic Orders and Fkiars. The monasteries at Wycliffe's time were not like those first established in Britain at the beginning of the fourth cen- tury — simple homes of learning and piety, where the Scrip- tures were studied daily, and copies transcribed with care for the edification of the unlearned. But they were palaces or abbeys, of great wealth and luxury, ever aiming at their own aggrandisement and power. The friars, who by their great number had become a public nuisance, were not like the simple God-fearing men of the fourth century, who, in spite of much superstition and some false doctrine, conse- crated everything — ease, fortune, fame — with an all-consum- ing zeal, to the service of God and the good oi man. But the friars of this day were ambitious, indolent, unprincipled, overbearing, corrupt men of the world, who, under the pre- tence of poverty and austerities, dressed in costly garments, fed on the rarest dainties, scandalized the Church by the most flagrant immoralities, and occupied the most lucrative JOHN WYCLIFFE. 31 and influential positions in the land, without the slightest concern for the welfare of those around them. Wycliffe strongly opposed and denounced these orders and friars, not simply because they greatly impoverished the land and injured it by their selfish and false lives, but because they were the aiders and abettors of the Papacy in Its worst forms and abuses, and the enemies of all patriotism and personal or national freedom or citizenship. The friars bitterly opposed Wycliffe and all his reforms and fellow- laborers to the last, and they were always found to be the readiest tools of his enemies and persecutors. A story is told of Wycliffe being taken ill while on a visit at Oxford, and a deputation of four prominent friars, one from each of four orders, with aldermen and other city notables, waiting on their expiring enemy to get him to withdraw what he had so strongly uttered against these fraternities. It is stated that the sick man listened silently to the address of this deputation, until they had finished all their exhorta- tions and appeals to him to revoke his attacks and writings against them before he died, when he beckoned to his ser. vant to raise him up in his bed, and fixing his eyes on the persons before him, he exclaimed, " I shall not die but live, and again declare the evil deeds of the friars." This was a prediction which the deputation, and the friars generally, soon found fulfilled to their dismay. Wycliffe's position on the Celibacy of the Priesthood is as clear and sound and scriptural as many other of the great Reformer's views and teachings. He characterizes the Church law which forbids the marriage of priests as un- scriptural, hypocritical, and morally pernicious. He points triumphantly to the teaching of Christ and His apostles, and the usage of the ancient Church to consecrate married men as bishops; and to Paul's words to Timothy : "A bishop ;. 82 JOHN WYCLIFFE. I must be the husband of one wife," to show that the ordi- nance of the Church had been placed above the Word of God. Not that he thought of taking a wife himself, for he was constantly expecting a violent death. But he claims perfect freedom for those who so desired, as in agreement with the Scriptures and the honor and purity of the Church. Was not Wyclifi'e by this advocacy in reality the truest promoter of the purity of the clergy, through opening to them the sphere of lawful family affections 1 By seeking to over- throw the Roman doctrine of celibacy, he was aiming a fatal blow at one of her most corrupt, unnatural, and abominable orders. There are undoubtedly those who are called at times to relinquish all earthly ties for the sake of some perilous and self-sacrificing duty, and these are pro- perly eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake. But all such are a law unto themsel-'es, not an example or law ior others. The man or woman who, to gratify a Church order^ or to carry out a morbid and false idea of life, forswears all domestic ties and sacred family affections and tender parental yearnings, commits the worst form of suicide. They stifle and kill the love which is God's noblest hand- writing upon the heart, and destroy the home which God erected to be the holiest representative of heaven. The main cause of the strife and sin that curses the world to- day is a lack of true homes. All pure love, all right train- ing, all high principles of equity and honor, all sound government, all noble individuality, all true religion, should have their roots in the home ; and that which seeks to weaken or rob the world of true homes is the enemy of God and man. We now look at Wycliffe as a PREACHER, AND THE FOUNDER OF AN ORDER OF ITINERANT PREACHERS. Wycliffe himself was a great preacher JOHN VVYCLIFFE. 88 .NT licher who always attached the greatest importance to preaching. He viewed it as the highest and holiest office to which a man could attain in this world. Consequently he gave himself to preaching with all the care and diligence and devotion of his nature. Many of his sermons are still preserved in manu- script, some of them in Latin, preached in Oxford before the University ; others in simple, direct, vigorous English, preached in his church at Lutterworth. He occasionally preached in London, and with such eflect that the citizens crowded to hear him, and were stirred up to demand reforms in their own clergy. Wycliffe's style was peculiar to his own times, but his sermons are admirable expositions of Scripture, in clear, vivid, manly, nervous, original English. His ser- mons were full of Scripture that went directly to the con- science and heart of his hearers. He taught that the object of preaching was the edification of the Church, the matter of preaching was the Bible itself in all its simplicity, and not, as the evil habit of the times was, stories, fables, and legendary tales, and pagan mythology, simply to amuse. It is true that he took up many subjects not biblical, but he judges them according to the Bible. God's Word was Wyclifie's standard. His sermons are full of earnest godliness and conscientious- ness. They breathe a true zeal for God's glory, a pure love for Christ, and a sincere concern for the salvation of souls. Wycliffe's preaching made a profound impression on hi? hearers, and inspired many to noble, God-like lives. Some of the monks and clergy were astonished at Wycliffe's zeal for preaching, but he warned them by the example of Christ and His apostles to give over their indolent ways and learn to teach and preach the Gospel, and to show the people their sins. He urges them not to confine themselves behind stone walls, but to go everywhere preaching the Gospel as Christ directs, and in the words which the Holy Ghost ll \ I 84 JOHN WYCLIFFE. teachetlj. Not only was Wycliffo a great and powerful preacher and a faithful pastor, hut to promote the right kind of preaching ev^ery where, he instituted Itinerant rreachiiiff. It will be remembered that the press did not then exist. Printing had not yet been discovered. Wyc- liffe adopted a new and remarkable way of conv(?ying God's truth to the very poorest and remotest in tlie land. Whether Wycliffe started his itinerants fh-st fi*om Oxford or from Lutterworth has been nmch discussed, but with no clear and final judgment. F.vidence, however, establishes the prob- ability that from Oxford first he sent forth his itinerants, but that Lutterworth was the centre and home of his evan- gelical movement in its latest' and most powerful forms. If is first itinerants were university students and graduates, who had received holy orders and were called "poor priests." They were men who had been taught by Wyclifie as their theological professor, or who had embraced his views and principles. These preachers were by no means intended as opponents to the parish clergy, except where such clergy grossly disgraced their office. As priests they were under no obligation to remain unsettled. Some of them had bene- fices which they afterwards gave up when for most weighty and conscientious reasons it seemed better to be without a benefice. But soon the work so grew and spread that priests were not to be had in sufficient numbers to supply the demand, and Wycliffe sent out lay preachers. Thus you .see that Wycliffe, not Wesley, was the father and founder of lay itinerant preaching in England. Wycliffe believed in an ordained ministry, but the conviction gained upon him that a divine call inwardly heard was a sufficient warrant for the* work of preaching the Gospel of Christ. He there- fore delighted in his itinerants as men directly commissioned of God for their work. From that time Wycliffe ceased to JOHN WYCLIFKE. 35 call his itinerants poor priests, but called them all evan- gelical or apoHtolic men. Their enemies nicknamed them Lollards. These itinerant preachers wandered through the land clothed in long garments of coarse, red, woollen cloth, reaching down to their naked feet, staft" in hand, as pilgrims, preaching in churches and church-yards, ^^ilen permitted, or in the public street, or roadside, or market-place, or the open tield or commons, when the churches were closed against them, following the example :A Christ and His apostles. Whenever they held forth, tiiey opened the Scriptures and called upon their hearers to repent, and exhorted men to live in Christian brotherhood and peace and l)eneficence. They also depicted the sinful lives of too many of the clergy and the evils of the Papacy so powerfully, that soon the hierarchy were alarmed, and determined to repress the movement. But the power and following of these lay preachers was for a time great. Their opponents declared in exaggerated language that every second man you met was a Lollard. Wycliffe in his sermons and writings ably defended his evangelical preacliers, and did everything possible to encourage and direct and protect them. His last years were freely given to teach and render as efficient as possible the preachers he sent forth, and then to defend them and their work against all persec.tors and opposers. When you look at t^\e self-sacrificing, spiritually-minded men whom Wycliffe sent forth ; the plain, manly, robust, common-sense way in which they w^ent to work ; their cour- age amid innumerable difficulties and privations and dan- gers, and the glorious successes that attended their labors, you see the finest possible vindication of Wycliffe and his evangelicals. Who shall say how many poor benighted souls they led from the darkness and superstition of error into the welcome light of God's perfect day 1 Graceless priests 1 36 .lOHN.WYCMFKK. M II : t M and bigoted ecclesiastics niipht and did oppose them unto prison and torture and death, but Uod gave them a place in history as moral uplifters that no persecution could effectually erase. You also see Wycliffe as a JUBLK TRANSLATOR. This is Wycliff'e's greatest service to his country and to man- kind. To him belongs the honor of producing the first trans- lation of the whole Bible into the English l.mguage. The venerable Rede, of Jar row, attempted a translation of the Word of (xod into the language of his countrymen in the eighth century. How much of the sacred book he translated is not known. All that we know he finished is a translation of the Gospel of John. Other translators attempted the noble work in Saxon times, but the knowledge of their v'ork is very meagre and unsatisfactory, and all that has come down to us embraces simply the four Gospels, the Psalms, and a few of the books of the Old Testament. But before Wyclifie's translation the only complete book of Scripture accessible in English was the Psalter or Psalms. When Wyclifll'e began his great work is unknown, for he worked at it quietly in his retirement at Lutterworth, be- cause to translate or circulate the Word of God was in his day a heresy and a crime. The New Testament was trans- lated first, ti)t n the Old Testament, and the whole Bible was compli;(-;y translated and brought forth to the people in 1382. No sooner was the Bible thus issued than Wyc- liffe commenced a revision of the whole book. That work he did not live to see completed, for the revised Bible did not appear till 1388, under the hand of his friend and assistant, John Purvey. Wyclifie's translation has, in the language of Dr. Molton, this fundamental defect, that it was trans- lated from the Latin, not from the original Hebrew and Greek. That is its drawback. It was a translation of a JOHN WYCF.IFFE. ^7 translation, aiul therefore will not compare with the later translation of Tyndal from the original. But Wyoliffe did not know (ircek. It was not taught in the University of his day. Ho was a famous Latin scholar, and he translated from the Latin version, the only copy of the Scriptures he ever saw or knew. This translation not only placed God's Word before the people for the first time in their own language, but it gave a tixed character to the English lan- guage. The purity, the stateliness, the strength, the gran- deur, the patho.s, the nervous beauty and tenderness of tlie English language, was found for the fii'st time in this J»reat and earliest English classic. After its translation, Wycliffe did his utmost to nut copies of the Word into the hands of the people, though a diflicult task, for all had to be written. Yet copies passed freely into the possession of all classes, and the multiplication of copies and portions was rapid. From the first the most active and powerful measures were taken by the Church to suppress the version, and burn and destroy it as most heretical and pernicious, and to persecute all who either circulated or received it. But for a time the W^ord spread and prevailed, by the help of Wycliflfe's itinerant evangelists and others who Icved the Word of Life. Wycliffe not '^nly translated the Word of God into the language of the people, but he vindicated the right of the people ':o read and interpret the Bible for them- selves. When the priests urged that to place the Scrip- tures in the hands of the people would bring in its train heresy, blasphemy, and all manner of evil, Wycliffe replied that it would be cruel to rob a whole kingdom of food be- cause a few fools might be gluttons, or to deny them the light of the sun lest some one shouid suffer from sunstroke. He urged that the Word of God should be freely circulated, that all mi^ht kno>/ its precious truths, walk in its divine 38 JOHN WYCLIFFE. i light, and understand it for tlieniselves, so that no one, Church, or priest, or Pope, should- lead them astray from the truth of God. WyclifFe also held and taught the abso- lute authority and supremacy of Scripture. He regarded it as the standard by wliich even the doctrines of the Church and the fathers were to be tested. He regards God's Word as the one unconditional and al>solutely bind- ing authority, and in defence of this principle he wrote one of his ablest works. You will not wonder that the man who placed the Bible higher than any other book, higher Lhan the Fathers or ordinances of the Church or than the authority of the Church, should reply at his trial, " Even though there were a hundred popes, pnd all the monks were transformed into cardinals, in matters of faith their opinions would be of no account unless they were founded on Scrip- ture." In his view the book that had God for its author was the first and highest authority, and the one sufficient and perfect guide for man through life to immortality. As he taught, the Bible was the charter of the believer's liberties, the kernel of all laws, the God-given deed of grace and pro- mise to mankind. By his translation of the Scriptures Wycliffe not only forged the greatest and best weapon for the overthrow of the Papacy and the salvation of his coun- try, but he reared his own imperishable monument. For, though other work of his was soon checked or overthrown in the terrible persecutions that followed, his translation of God's Word into the language of his countrymen, in the effect it produced on the language and enlightenment of the people, can never be overthrown. The spirit of persecution now began afresh and fiercely to oppose WyclifFe and his friends. Courtenay, who, as Bishop of London, had already shown his hatred of Wycliffe and his doctrines, was now Archbishop of Canterbury and JOHN WYCLIFFE. 39 Primate pf all England, and to him the enemies of Wycliffe turned, as a zealot of Popery, to uphold the Church against all leforms and innovations, while he gladly availed himself of the authority of his primacy to destroy the hopes of the Lollards and Reformers. A most resolute, arbitrary, auto- cratic churchman, the Archbishop laid his plans with great skill in order to accomplish his end. His first idea was to get the doctrines and principles of Wycliffe and his fol- lowers condemned by ecclesiastical autliority, and then per- secute those who held them. To accomplish his first design, he summoned an assembly of ten bishops, sixteen doctors of law, thirty doctors of divinity, and four bachelors of law, in the hall of the Dominican Monastery, Blackfriars, Lon- don, May 17th, 1382. Having selected the men whom he could trust to examine and decide the questions laid befoi"e them, the Archbishop easily secured the desired verdict. During the sittings of tiiis assembly a terrific earthquake shook the city, so that it was afterwards known as the 'earthquake council." On the finding of the council, who condemned twenty-four articles as either heretical or erro- neous, the Archbishop issued mandates to his commissary at Oxford and to the Bishop of London, in which he forb.ule the proclamation of the obnoxious doctrines, or even listen ing to them, on pain of excomnmnication. Courtenay had no sooner got tiie doctrine of Wycliffe condemned than he invoked the aid of the State to suppress his preachers and adherents. He knew that the ecclesiastical powers could effect little, as the men to be proceeded against did not care for church censures, and had no benefices to lose. Accord- ingly the Primate moved in Parliament for a statute author- izing the seizure and imprisonment of all preachers who should be denounced by the bishop of the diocese in which they were found. The I^rds consented, but the Coirmona 4 40 JOHN WYCLIFFE. refused the statute. However, Courteiiay prevailed upon the young King, Richard II., to issue a patent conferring on the bishops the powers he asked for. Armed with a royal patent, June 26th, 1382, the Archbishop began his persecu- tion witli such fatal success that in five months, by the aid of friars and the terrors of persecution, he humiliated and silenced the Wycliffite party at the University of Oxford, and intimidated the organization of the poor preachers everywhere. Wycliffe's books, tracts, doctrines, friends, having been driven forth from Oxford, ?»i.d "^^^yclifte him- self deprived of his offices at the Unive; h^, as Mr. Green has so strikingly said, " With the banishment of Wycliffe and the Lollards, and the suppression of religious freedom at Oxford, all trace of intellectual life suddenly disappeared, and the century which followed the triumphs of Courtenay is the most barren in its annals." The same may be said with almost equal truth of the whole land, with rare excep- tions, after the rough work of persecution had done its best to burn and destroy in every way the Reformers and their work. During these months of fierce persecution Wyclifie himself was unassailed ; Courtenay either determ^' . 1 to strip him first of all his friends and then attack him j.' n- ally, or his influence was so great that the Primale ■v »» compelled to move cautiously. At length, November Ibth, 1382, Wycliff^c? was summoned to appeta* before a council at Oxford, but again he passed out from the clutches of his adversaries uncondemned. Wyclifie had addressed a cleverly drawn up memorial to Parliament upon the subject of mon- astic vows, the exemption of the clergy and church property, tithes and ofiferings, and on the Lord's Sup[»er. He restated his old opinions about church property and the lawfulness of taxing it. He contested the right of compulsory tithing, and maintained that the tithes and offerings were only to ) JOHN VVYCLIFFE. 41 be approved of when they were voluntary. This well, timed document secured for \Vy?lifte the syn pathy of the House of Commons against the tyrannical proceedings of the Archbishop, so that his enemies were compelled, much against their will, to let him die in peace. The last two years of WyclifFe's life were spent in inces- sant activity at Lutterworth. Though greatly enfeebled by failing health and a paralytic sti'oke, he continued busy to the last. He was assisted in Iiis pastoral work by John Horn, his chaplain, and in his work of revision and Bible translation by his confidential friend and worthy fellow- laborer, Jolm Purvey. By the help of these friends he pressed forward the work of tra islation, wrote and scattered tracts broadcast over the land, carried on the preaching itinerancy, though with decreasing numbers and in the face of innumerable difficulties, because of the severe persecu- tions of the bishops, and made one more appeal to England against the Papacy. The number, variety, and excellence of the tracts he sent forth in his last days from his evan- gelical centre at Lutterworth is truly amazing. Though he lived constantly prepared for, constantly expecting, martyr- dom, he did not bate one jot in his holy and resolute courage against error and for the truth. His death came somewhat suddenly through a stroke of paralysis : while hearing mass in his parish church at' Lutterworth, he fell speechless before the altar, and, though conscious, he never spoke again. Calmly he sank, in the presence of his friends, and breathed his last, three days afterwards, December 31st, 1384. Passing out with the closing of the year, to leave l>ehind him forevar the miseries and persecutions and hatreds of bigoted men, he entered upon a new year of unending blessedness in the home and glory of the kingdom of God. His adversaries spoke of Iudi as the enemy of the 42 JOHN WYCLIFFE. Church, the organ of the devil, the author of confusion, th^^ idol of heretics, the restorer of schism. But devout men buried him under the choir of liis church with tearful respect, and mourned for him as one of the best of Chris- tians, and o'le of the '^oblest of men. May 4th, 1415, the Council of Constance declared Wyc- lifie a heretic, anr-thematized his writings, and ordered that his books be burnt, his memory pronounced infamous, and his bones taken up and thrown far out of consecrated ground. For thii'teen years the command rested on paper, but in 1427 Pope Martin V. laid its execution on the Bishop of Lincoln, who in the following year carried it out. His bones were taken up, burnt, and the ashes thrown into the Swift, a brancii of the Avon, which runs by the foot of the hill on which Lutterworth is built. Quaint old Fuller, speaking of the rifling of Wycliffe's grave and the burning of his bones, sai ' that the. brook into v.liich the ashes were thrown conveyed them into Avon, Avon into Severn, Sev- ern into the narrow sea, thence into the main ocean, and thus the ashes of VVycliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which is now dispersed all the world over. WyLliffe's teaching was not without its widespread influence in his own day. ±iis writings and travelling preachers greatly touched the popular mind in England, and awakened an interest in great religi'^us questions. His writings were also scattered and had their effect in Europe. The Bohe- mian agitation, of which Huss was the leader and martyr, was directly coiinected with the teaching of the great Eng- lish Reformer. True, the effect of his teaching was mainly lost in the succeeding century, through the fierceness of the persecuting zeal and the power and corruption of the Church. Yet seed was sown and doctrines spread out of which afterwards came the Reformation and the England II JOHN WVCUFFE. 43 of to-day. Men have ofteix woiiflered why or liow Wycliffe was spared the honor of martyrdom. In addition to what I have already shown, this double reason may be presented : the Church of his own day never awoke to the full signili- cance of his teaching, and the statute under which heretics were burned in England was not passed until after his death. But anyoi.e who will carefully examine Wycliffe's writings will see many forecasts of the Reformation and of modern England. His doctrine was Protestant before Pro- testantism. The ecclesiastical idea of the Church as the communion of the clergy to the exclusion of all non-clergy, he expressly rejected. The Church he delines as the com- munion of the elect, and he carries back conversion, salva- tion, and membership of the Church to the election of grace. He boldly refutes vhe btlief, which up to tha,t tiv. -» was universal, that participation in salvation and the hope of heaven were conditioned exclusively by a man's connection with the Church, and dependent on the mediation of the priest. He clearly distinguishes between the visible and invisible Church, and teaches the free and immediate access of believers to the grace of vjrod in Christ Jesus. He main- tains firmly that Christ is the only Mediator between God and man, and that the Church is the whole body of the elect. His subjecting the doctrines and ordinances and usages of the Chui'ch to the rigid scrutiny and test of the Bible, and claiming that the Word of God is the only standard of faith and practice, is pre-eminently Protestant. There is no difficulty in claiming him as the first great Pro-pro testant Reformer. Wycliflfe also maintained the right of private judgment, the individuality and freedom of man in the Church and in the State. He was a resolute advocate of popular rights and true liberty. In maintain- ing the right of private judgment, he stood up against the 44 JOHN WY^CLIKFE. whole genius and teaching and power of the Church of Rome, but in defence rf the true dignity and birthright of man The aim of the system of Rome, which is sacerdotal and imperial, is to make the sovereign absolute in the State, then make the sovereign a vassal of the Church, and so make the priesthood supreme in Church and State, Wye lifFe saw this, and he saw that there could be no free Church or free conscience while the State was enslaved. He saw that political liberty and religious freedom were not two, but one under two forms. He therefore maintained at all costs the freedom and self-governing power of the State, and the equal freedom of every man. If a man to-day submits to the authority of a Pope or a dozen Popes, that submission is not only an act but a sacrifice of private judgment, and I know of no exercise of private judgment more daiing or more criminal than that which decides to give into the keeping of another that conscience for which God has made him responsible. It is not only the right but the duty of every man to claim and exercise the free- dom, civil and religious, that God created him to enjoy and hold him responsible for. Do not let us in the present day admit from anyone sacerdotal teachings and sacerdotal principles, but, with Wycliffe, let us claim the priesthood of all believers, and over against the priestly idea that the Church is an organized society dependent on episcopal or- ganism, let us urge that the Church is a spiritual brother- hood of Christian believers. , Finally, Wycliffe's character is one of the most distinct and abiding features of his wonderful influence and power. His learning, his intellectual ability, his many-sided mind and gifts, great as they were, would not have given him his commanding influence, his more than kingly greatness, in his university and country, but for his lofty character and JOHN WYCLIFFE. 45 deep moral convictions. His conscientious sincerity, his elevated spiritual fervor, his zeal for the glory of God, showed a character that was a consecrated moral force, that all felt the grandeur of. I do not say that Wycliff'e was perfect — no mere man is. But it is to him and the like of him that we owe all that is best in the progress, material f?nd spiri' ual, of the last four or five hundred years. There was no falsehood, or cowardice, or cunning, or greed in him. No character in history was more free from little- ness and afiectation and seltishness. His character stands out to be admired by all great and discerning people, for all time. The man who revolted against false authority that he might help men to submit to rightful authority ; who emancipated himself from usurpers that he might be free to honor true claims, and teach men so to do ; who ceased to respect vestments, and crucifixes, and ecclesiastical preten- sions, and petrified dogmas, that he might be loyal and true to God and His Word ; who sought to pull down on the one hand a false and superstitious thing that had exalted itself in place of God, that he might help every believer to become the habitation of God through the Spirit, is the world's benefactor and God's true and faithful servant. «t LECTURE II. WILLIAM TYNDALL. UST as several cities of Greece have contended for the honor of having given birth to Homer, so several places in England contend for the distinction of being the birthplace of William Tyndall, the hero of the English Reformation and the translator of the English Bible. Some who profess to have carefully traced the genealogical line, claim that his family hailed from the north of England ; others, from Norfolk, in East Anglia, and that he was descended from wealthy and aristocratic houses, whose members were familiar in royal palaces and shared royal honors ; while more recent and reliable writers, who have worked out the pedigree on scanty documentary evidence, claim the county of Gloucester as the place of his true nativity, and a respectable middle-class family as his kins- folk. But even here there is a dispute whether the parishes of Stinchcombe or Slymbridge, or the old manor-house of Hunt's Court, Nibley, shall* have the honor of being the birth-place of the great translator. So that it is not quite certain whether he was born on the meadowy banks of the Severn or amid the breezy and beautiful Cotswold Hills. The only reliable evidence we have is from the statement of Fox, the martyrologist, who remarks that Tyndall was born on the borders of Wales, and as Monmouth belonged to Wales then, this would confirm the claim of Gloucester- shire; and still more would the important and recently WILLIAM TYNDALL. 47 discovered letter of Stokesly, Bishop of London, in the Record or State-pajjer ofiice, in whicli he speaks of ?]dward Tyndall, Receiver-General of Crown Rev(;nues for Berkeley Manor, Gloucester, as brother to Tyndall, the arch-heretic. Stokesly, having been rector of Slynibiidge, was well and personally acquainted with the Tyndall family, and his testi- mony seems to us unquestionable and decisive ; and as Nib- ley, in 1866, was the first to rear a monument to perpetuate the name of Tyndall, let u.s conclude, as we safely may, that England's greatest benefactor was born in this quiet parish at the foot of the picturesque and lovely Cotswold hills, overlooked by the noble memorial reared to his honor. The date of Tyndall's birth is also uncertain ; but when all the evidence is carefully weighed, it is most probable that lie was born in the year 1486 — a time of terrible religious stagnation, and mental and moral servitude, wh n, in another sense than that of Scripture, the earth was lying still and at rest — at rest in the lap of the Papal Church. Rome was supreme in Europe. There was not a crowned head but did obeisance to the Pope, nor a country but was under the rule of that corrupt Church. Of Tyndall's early life and advantages we know but little. His education, we learn, was not neglected, while his peculiar aptitude for acquiring knowledge would ensure his success. Fox tells us that he was brought up from a child in the University of Oxford, which must be interpreted to mean that he entered the University young ; and from a child he also seems to have heard something of the Scriptures, for in later years he tells how he read when he was a boy that King Athelstane, meaning probably King Alfred, caused the Holy Scriptures to Lo translated into the tongue that then was in England. It is to be presumed that the incident made a deep impres- sion on his mind. Tradition connects this early incident 48 WILLIAM TYNDAF.L. I i with the name of John Wycliffe, the morning star of the Reformation. But if the writings and teachings of Wycliffe had ever exerted an influence in Gloucester tlirough his pupil, the fifth Baron of Berkeley, and his chaplain, John de Trevisa, Vicar of Berkeley, the impression must have passed away ; for at the time of Tyndall's birth the Church had apparently recovered from the wounds inflicted by Wyolifle and the Lollards, and this very county became again a boasted stronghold of the Church. The persecuting laws which the House of Lancaster had enacted to gain the favor of the clergy had apparently fulfilled their purpose. The voice of heretical teaching was silenced, and the doc- trines of the Gospellers anathematized and stopped. The clergy resumed their wonted arrogance and returned to their evil ways, feeling that all danger was passed. The ignorance of the clergy and religious orders seems incredible. Tyndall afterwards asserted that there were twenty thousand priests in England who could not translate into English a clause of the Lord's Prayer, and Bishop Hooper states that he found scores of clergymen in the county of Gloucester unable to tell who was the author of the Lord's Prayer, or where it was recorded. The Bible was practically unknown to clergy and people. The trans- lation of the Scriptures was forbidden by the Church, and the study of the Scriptures did not form a part of the education of the religious teachers of the people. The com pilations of scholastic doctors usurped the place of the Word of God, and, as a result, superstition and hypocrisy took the place of true religion. Obedience to the clergy, and fasting, and pilgrimages, and penance, and the efficacy of relics, and the wo 'ship of images, and kissing the thumb nails before prayer, and flinging holy water at the devil, were openly preached instead of Christ and Him crucified. WIUJAM TYNDATX. 49 Tynclall entered the University of Oxford as a student at Magdalene College at an early age, but unfortunately we have no full and authentic record of his university career. We know that he was a very successful student, a devout and anxious scholar, and that he graduated with honors. But the statements of Fox, and the gleanings from Tyndall's own writings, are too brief to supply mord than a rift through which to look in on his life at tiie University. Fox says that at Oxford he grew in knowledge and language and the arts, and in the knowledge of Scripture, and that he read privily to certain students and fellows of the Col- lege some parcels of divinity, instructing them in the know- ledge of Sc.ipture ; and that he wfis much respected for his learning and virtues, and unspotted life. Of the "apostles of ignorance " who then influenced the studies of the Uni- versity, Tyndall gives no very flattering account. It was a kind of scliolastic treadmill, where they had to grind away at subtle syllogisms and logical snares and the corrupt pro- ductions of the mediteval schoolmen. " In the universi- ties," says Tyndall, " they have ordained that no man shall look at the Scriptures until he be trained for years in heathen learning and armed with fal<=o principles, with which he is shut out from the understanding of the Scrip- tures ; and at his first coming he is sworn that he shall not defame the university, whatever he seeth ; and when he taketh the first degree he is sworn that he shall hold none opinions condemned by the Church, but what such opinions be he shall not know ; and then, when admitted to study divinity, because the Scripture is locked up with such false expositions and with false principles of natural philosophy that they cannot enter in, they go about the outside and dispute through all their lives about words and opinions pertaining as much to the healing of a man's heel as his 50 WILLIAM TYNDALL. soul." Anythiiif,' more lmiiiiliati>i<^ than these brief indig- nant sentences 8u/,'gest can hardly be conceived. The stu- dent was fettered and bliiuh'd by the most inexcusable perversions, and the sublime study of theolo^j^y was made a wretched battle-ground of contemptible wran<,'ling, instead of a beautiful river of water of life, clear as crystal, pro- ceeding out of the throne of God and the Lamb. But, notwitljstanding the deplorable condition of the uni- versities at this time, a few noble scholars ventured to revive the taste for learning, especially classical learning, stirred by the example of Italy. Foremost among these must be mentioned Colet, afterward Dean of St. Paul's, who, on his return from Italy, where he had studied Gr«ek, and listened to the fervid eloquence of Savonarola, diJ ch to quicken the intellectual and religious life of 0\,.^.u. Colet was suspected of teaching heresy, and his subsecjuent elevation did not prevent suspicion and danger, though Colet had neither the stamina, nor boldness, nor depth of conviction, nor impassioned devotion that marks a true leader and re- former. Colet's lectures on St. Paul excited great attention, and were thronged by all classes at the University. He spoke with great ease, clearness and force, and his words were eagerly canvassed. The new system of exposition which he had inaugurated gave great oii'ence to the cliam- pions of traditional scholastic orthodoxy, whilst younger members sympathized with the new and superior interpre- tations. On all sides the ecclesiastical authorities were becoming alarmed. Heretical opinions were beginning to spread, and it is almost certain that Tyndall became awak- ened and enlightened and confirmed in the truth by the te.ichings of Colet, who, in a very important sense, may be regarded as Tyndall's spiritual father, though the disciple went far, far beyond the master in his knowledge and devo- WILLIAM TYNDALL. 51 tion to the Sacred Word. Anion^ Colet's auditors woro men destined to fame. There was Erasnnis, attracted from Rotterdam, and held by tlie tastes and learnin^^ and opin- ions of Colet, and Thomas More, afte: wards Sir Thomas More, and VVillijun Tyndall, tlien the mo.st ohscure of the grand (juartette ; but to-day the fame of the Dean of St. Paul's, and of Erasmus, who for a time was tlu; literary autocrat of Europe, and of Sir Thomas ^lore, England's gieat Lord High (Jhancellor, is eclipsed in the glory that excelleth ; and the name of William Tyndall, because of his more solid work and sublime consecration, is the most fra grant and abiding. l)Ut still it must not be forgotten that r'olet gave the lirst ii' ;)ul.se in England to that great move- ment which Tyndall so nobly helped to fullil. Tyndall left Oxford for Candjridge for reasons that are not shown. Whether to advance his education, or from persecution, or to place himself under the teaching of Eras- mus, w)io was then at Cambridge, we cannot say. Some believe that his removal from Oxford was a necessity to escape persecution. We believe that he was drawn to Cam- bridge by the fame of Erasmus, who was then at the zenith of his popularity, and as a lecturer had not only introduced into the University of Cambridge a fresh enthusiasm in the study of Greek, but had ridiculed the theories of the school- men and their fantastic systems of interpretation, and as- seited the supremacy of Scripture. We know that, however strongly Tyndall afterwards condemned the vacillating tim- idity of Erasmus in Reformation times, at this time he profoundly admired the learned Dutchman and looked up to him as a guide. He eagerly read Erasmus' works, and in after years avowed his intention of translating the Bible into English in the very words of Erasmus' Greek Testa- ment. His residence at Caniil)ridge was very helpful to 1 52 WILLIAM TYNDALL. ) i f I ? u him. Fox says, *' He was there further ripened in the knowledge of God's Word." Whilst there he had amongst his fellow-stuaents the pious and gentle-hearted Bilney, the shrewd and far-seeing Cianmer, grave, honest, upright Hugh Latimer — men destined to play so conspicuous a part in the history of the next generation. Before leaving the Univer- sity Tyndall made choice of the profession of his life, and was ordained to the priesthood. Tyndall appears to have left Cambridge at the close of 1520, with a thorough academical training and with a deep love for the Word of God. Why he did not secure a permanent po'^ition at the University — a position for which he was eminently qualified — no one can say. God seem? to have designed it other- wise. It was with him as it was with Martin Luther and John Knox, and a thousand others of the world's great moral heroes and benefactors, that he had to learn in the school of stern discipline, amid malignant opposeis in cold exile, the endurance and bravery and self-sacrifice of true moral heroism. On leaving Cambridge, Tyndall became chaplain and tutor in the family of Sir John Walsh, at Little Sodbury, in his own native Gloucester, where he remained upwards of two years. Sir John V/alsh, by the generous favor of his sover- eign, and by a most fortunate matrimonial alliance, became a gentleman of considerable wealth and position in the county, which secured for Tyndall a powerful protector amid the hostility of an excited clergy, as well aa the oppor- tunity of conversing freely with the leading gentlemen and clergy of the neighborhood, who frequently shared the hos- pitalities of the manor-house of Little Sodbury. There, as Fox tells us, he frequently mot with a goodly company of abbots, deans, archdeacons and divers doctors, with whom he talked and disputed of Luther and Erasmus and the WILLIAM TYNDALL. 53 Bible till they waxed wary and bore a secret grudge against Master Tyndall, wlien he, to justify his position, began his career as a tram^latoi' by rendering into Englisli the far- f«>ined " Manual vof a Christian Soldier," written by Eras- mus. By this means he not only defeated his opponents by showing that his opinions were supported by the most dis- tinguished scholar of Eui'ope, but also completely won over Sir John and Lady Walsh to his cause, so that he secured the perfect respect and protection of his patrons. But the resentment of the baffled clergy was bitter. Waxing bolder, Tyndall began open-air preaching on the College Green, Bristol. Without doubt, the inhabitants of' the western metropolis, who had given a favorable reception to the Lollards, and whose merchant princes had imported unper- coived the prohibited books of Luther, and whose citizens were ever famous for their love of freedom and fair play, if left alone would have given a devout hearing to Tyndall, and would have aflbrded him a fine field for usefulness. But the clergy, smarting under the chagrin of their recent defeat, determined to arraign and silence him. The bishop of the diocese, who should have been present to protect the Church against the inroads of heresy, was an absentee, living a thousand miles off" in Italy. Indeed it was no less a per- son than Julio de Medici, afterward Clement VII., the Pope to whom Henry appealed in his celebrated div^orce case. Cardinal Wolsey farmod the bishopric, but he also was a non-resident, and too deeply engrossed in matters of state just then to concern himself in the squal>bles of country clergymen ; so that Parker, the Chancellor of the diocese, presided over the court before which Tyndall had to appear on a charge of heresy. Pai'ker was a furious bigot, so that you are prepared to hear Tyndall say of him : " When I came before the Chancellor, he threatened me and reviled 54 WILLIAM TYNDALL. me, and rated me as tliou<:;h I had been a dog " But before that court and all the priests of the diocese who were then present, 'I'yiidall defended himself with so much ability that he left the court untrammelled. But though he came out uninjured, Tyndall knew that he was sn -rounded by the most imminent danger, and that their orijiosition resulted from extreme ignorance, especially of the ^^'ord of God. In his perplexity, Tyndall went to consult a familiar friend, an ex-Chancellor, W illiam l.atimer, to whom he frankly confessed his thoughts, when the old doctor amazed him by replying : " Do you not know that the Pope is the anti- christ of Scripture 1 But beware what you say, or it will cost you your life." These bold words wonderfully in- fluenced Tyndall's decision, and led him to resolve on the translation of the New Testament into English, and he wisely resolved to translate it from the original Greek rather than from the Latin Vulgate, as Wyclifl'e had done. That decision faithfully carried out accounts for the im- mense superiority of Tyndall's translation. In the heat of controversy with certain ecclesiastics, he one day dis- closed his purpose in thiswise : Tyndall had so cornered the learned divines that they exclaimed, "We were better with- out God's laws than the Pope's ; " when Tyndall nobiy replied : " I defy the Pope and all his laws, and if God SPARK MY LIFE, ERE MANY YKAKS I WILL CAUSE A BOY THAT DRIVETII THE PLOW TO KNOW MORE OF THE SOKIPTURES THAN THOU DOEST." This intention, when pul)lished, made the clergy louder in their charge of heresy, and more furious in their opposition, but as the Tyndalls— his brothers and relatives — occupied an influential position in the neighbor- hood, and evidently sympathized with his views, and as he enjoyed the protection of Sir John Walsh, his enemies had to move with great caution. It was evident to Tyndall WILLIAM TYNDALL. 55 before ■e then ability e came by the ■esulted )f God. friend, frankly hivn by he anti- r it will "ully in- 3 Oil the and he lI Greek ad done. the ini- the heat day dis- lered the ter with- II nobiy IF God ;0Y THAT ES THAN [lade the urious in lers and lieighbor- kid as he Inies had Tyndall that a crisis was at hand, and, perfectly sensilile of his danger, he resolved to leave Little Sodbury that he might prosecute his grand purpose elsewhere. So, with the good- will of his patron, he resigned his position at the manor- house, and left for London in 1523. You see what it cost then for a man to have convictions and be faithful to them : it meant something more than donning Sunday manners and joining the congregation as a matter of custom , it meant persecution, confiscation, social ostracism, imprisonment, torture, death. Yet Tyndall, hav- ing subjected his convictions to the most thorough exajn- inations before God and in the light of His Word, never swerved from his great purpose. He was cautious, as it became him if he would be a successful reformer, but his mind was more rapid in its movements and his decisions more definite and clear than any of his cotemporaries, so that he acted with more boldness and originality than any other English reformer. From the moment when his choice was made, he gave himself " ithout reserve to the glory of God in working out the liighest welfare of man, with an energy never surpassed. Henceforth he found his entire happiness in a work which was one heroic sacrifice, and won for him the loftiest position as a benefactor of his country. Tyn- dall's reasons for removing to London we»*e two : It offered greater facilities for printing when the work of translation might be done than any other place ; and, in addition, he hoped that he would find a generous and sympathizing friend in Tunstal, the Bishop of London, who was reputed as an accomplished scholar, and the friend and patron of men of learning. Alas ! he was doomed to disappointment. For some time Tunstal was unapproachable through the pressure of business, and Tyndall had to wait for the inter- view which he imagined would crown his hopes with success. 5 56 WILLIAM TTNDALL. Meanwhile, Tyndall sought an interview with Sir Harry Guildford, comptroller of the royal household, to whom he had a letter of introduction from his friendSir John Walsh. Sir Harry received him courteously, promised to speak for him to Tunstal, and I'ecommended that he should write to the Bishop and ask an interview. Tyndall followed this advice, and took his letter to the episcopal residence. While waiting for the Bishop's reply, Tyndall sought em- ployment as a preacher in London, and was engaged for a short time at St. Dunstan's-in-the-West. One of his hearers at this place was Humphrey Monmouth, a wealthy, gen- erous cloth merchant, of the east of London, who took a fancy to the young priest and became one of his most liberal and hearty friends. He received him into his home for several months, introduced him to men who knew Luther and the continent of Europe, afforded him the opportunity of conversing freely with men of learning and reformed principles, and finally aided him to leave the country. At last the long anticipated interview with Tunstal took place. The Bishop, although a scholar beyond his times, was a cautious, courtly prelate, a man of the world. His cold, reserved, dignified manner repelled Tyndall, and Tyndall afterwards describes him a still Saturn. The courtly bishop would have readily welcomed and patronized a scholar known to fame, but to aid an unknown provincial was not in his way. True, he admitted the scholarship of his can- didate, but he declined his personal protection and aid, and reminded Tyndall that his house was full, so that he was debarred from making his translation of the Scriptures in the palace as he had hoped. Tunstal for a time forgot all about this unknown priest, but Tyndall never forgot the chilling, official reserve which nearly broke his heart. But notwithstanding the succession of disappointiqents which WILLIAM TYNDALL. 57 he experienced, Tyndall's year in London was a great gain to him in education and acquaintance with the world and men. He had hitherto known life only in the universities and in the provinces, now he saw it amid the pomp and splendor of royal pageantry, the intrigues and factions of statesmen, and the worldliness and vanity of the heads .and rulers of the CImrch ; and it may be truly said that his eyes were opened. A keen observer of men and things, he was soon disenchanted of that profound reverence with which he had hitherto regarded the spiritual Fathers and Bishops of the Church. He writes afterwards : " I marked the course of the world, and beheld the pomp and boasting of our prelates, and saw things whereof I defer to speak at this time." This was the time when Henry VIII., the most powerful of the Tudor Sovereigns, was finding his popularity beginning to wane, owing to his extravagances. The enormous accumulations of his miserly father had been spent, and Heniy demanded more money ; so that he was compelled to convene a Parliament after seven years of rule without one — no Parliament having been summoned from 1516 to 1523. Cardinal Wolsey, Henry's great minister, had exercised supreme power for ten years ; but now he found himself opposed and partially thwarted by the House of Commons, who lirmly resisted the extravagant demands of Wolsey and the King, and reluctantly agreed to grant one-half of what had been demanded ; for which they were dissolved, not to re-assemble till the downfall of Wolsey. Discontent with the great minister was strong and general — his extravagances were severely condemned, his war policy opposed, the ridiculous parade of the " Field of the Cloth of Gold" denounced, and men were beginning to feel that the King was njisled and the nation misgoverned in the interest of the Church. You cannot wonder, therefore, •1 I I 58 WILLIAM TYNDALL. that Tyndall wrote and spoke of hira as the falsest and vainest of Cardinals. During his stay in London, Tyndall became better informed of the nature and objects of the Reformation, for the works of Luther had been circulated in London despite Wolsey's prohibition and the King's vain and empty controversy with the German heresiarch — for which he received the title, ^^ Defender of the Faith" — and the incoherent ravings of the pulpit hirelings who de- nounced the damnable heresy of that so-called child of the devil. But still public attention was excited on the matter. Heretical opinions were spreading, and into that reformed faith Tyndall warmly entered. It was a hard thing for Tyndall to leave his native country and go forth to face the dangers of exile in a foreign L•^nd, yet he went, not as a craven-hearted coward who shrinks from honest conflict, or as an unworthy fugitive from duty, for had he been chal- lenged, his response would have been as brave and defiant as that of the great Chrysostom, who replied to the threat of the Empress Eudoxia, " Go tell her I fear nothiyig hut sin." Yet go he must, duty calls, and in the path of duty men had long ago chanted — " We went through fire and through water, but Thou broughtest us out into a vealthy place ;" and he felt to ascribe strength unto God, i id that the God of Israel is He that giveth strength and power unto His people; and God, true to Himself, never forsook His servant. He suffered the loss of all things, and passed through hun- ger, and thirst, and cold, and deaths oft; he wandered desti- tute, aflBicted, tormented ; but he came oft' more that con- querer through Him that had loved him. In May, 1524, Tyndall left London for Hamburg; but, for several reasons — the chief of which was that there was no printing-press there at that time— he did not remain long, but proceeded to Wurtemberg, the fountain-head of and idall I the lilted vain — for —and o de- >f the atter. 3rmed Iff for ce the b as a mflict, n chal- ant as eat of 'i sm. ;y men |» rough )lace ;" he God to His ;rvant. Ih hun- desti- Lt con- ; but, Ire was remain lead of WILLIAM TYNDALL. 59 Lutheranism, and henceforth Luther, not Erasmus, was to be his leader. Some of Tyndall's biographers and admirers, in their zeal to maintain his originality, have denied that he ever met Luther ; but this is an attempt to defend his originality at the cost of his good sense. That Tyndall was as good a Greek scholar as Luther is certain, and that he could think and speak for himself even his enemies have to admit ; but that he derived some assistance from Luther's German translation, and from Luther's conversations, is strongly probable, and that he remained at Wurtemberg, the asylum of apostates, for several months is clear. Be- fore leaving Wurtemberg, Tyndall engaged an amanuensis in the person of William, or Friar, Roye, who proved a most troublesome companion. "As long as he had no money," Tyndall says, " I could rule him, but as soon as he got money he was himself again;" so that Tyndall was glad to get rid of hira as soon as his work was done. After removing from Wurtemberg, Tyndall took up his abode in Cologne, and there began printing his translation. Cologne was opposed to the doctrines of the Reformation ; but it had enterprising printers, and Tyndall, well supplied with money from Humphrey Monmouth, arranged with Quentel to print three thousand copies. Everything was done to prevent suspicion, and the work was progressing, when suddenly the senate of the city issued orders to suspend printing, and Tyndall had to catch up what sheets he could and sail up the Rhine in all haste. Unfortunately, Coch- leus. Dean of Frankfort, the so-called scourge of Luther, was in Colonge at the time, and found out what was going on, through the indiscretion of one of the printers, whom he had primed with beer. Tyndall recommenced the work of printing at Worias. In that grand old city, famous for the heroic appearance of 60 WILLIAM TYNDALL. II Luther before the Imperial Diet, Tyndall found a secure refuge, and arranged with Peter Scha^fter to print six thou- sand copier, of the New Testament. Early 'n the year 1526, Tyndall had the unspeakable satisfaction of seeing his translation of the New Testament finished and printed. His feelings as that precious volume passed from the press it is impossible to describe. His noble pledge at Sodbury had been redeemed and the great object of his life realized. Tyndall's work was not faultless ; his life was spared to revise and improve it ; but of that translation Froude, the historian, remarks : " We may say that it is substantially the Bible with which we are all familiar. The peculiar genius which breathes through it, the mingled tenderness and majesty, the Saxon simplicity, the preternatural gran- deur — unequalled, unapproached in the attempted improve- ment of modern scholars— all are here, and bear the impress of the mind of one man — William Tyiidall." The next difficulty was to convey the books to their destination. The King and Wolsey had been apprised of their intended importation, and every precaution was taken to prevent their introduction into England. But, fortunately, the zeal and enterprise of the merchants who traded between the German ports and London was more than a match for the opposition of the King and clergy. A large number of the New Testaments were secretly conveyed to England, and by a system of colportage, unknown to the authorities, they were widely circulated. The papists were enraged, and after Tunstal had preached against Tyndall's version it was publicly burnt at St. Paul's Cross, in October, 1526. It is a curious fact, and indicates how keen and thorough was the search after the prohibited books, that only three copies of this edition remain — one in the library of St. Paul's Cathedral, another in the Baptist College at Bristol, and f year . gran- iprove- inpress e next lation. tended event zeal the the of the ind by they and it was It is n was copies Paul's 1, and WILLIAM TYNDALL. di the third (a fragment) in the British Museum. At the close of that year, however, anotlier edition was printed at Antwerp by the money supplied by the Romish clergy of England in buying up the former edition. It is to the credit of the lords of the renowned city of Antwerp chat they defeated the efforts of the English ambassador at the court of the regent, the Princess Margaret, to punish the printer, and to prevent further printing and importation. Wolsey, by means of agents and money, tried to tind Tyn- dall's hiding-place, that he might not only seize his books but also his person ; but. before the Cardinal knew of it Tyndall had removed to a place of safety. He went to the picturesque city of Marburg, where Philip the Magnanimous, of Hesse Cassel, reigned. The Landgrave having accepted the doctrines of the Reformation and protected its leaders, Tyndall wr.a apparently safe in his retreat ; and in Hans Luft, the printer of Marburg, he foun«l one ready to aid him in printing and publishing for the enlightenment of liis native land. Here, too, Tyndall enjoyed the acquaintance of eminent men of learning, whom the liberality of the Landgrave had attracted to Marburg ; though, in truth, no company was so valuable to him at that time as that of John Fryth, his own son in the faith, from whom he learned much of the condition of things at home and the treatment of his New Testament. Tyndall remained at Marburg nearly four years. There he published the *' Wicked Mam- mon, or. The Parable of the Unjust Steward " — a treatise on the doctrine of Justification by Faith. This was fol- lowed by the "Obedience of a Christian Man" — one of Tyndall's greatest and best works. In this treatise he seeks to show how Christian rulers ought to govern, i.nd how Christian subjects ought to obey. He most severely exposes and condemns the usurpations of the ecclesiastical authori- 62 WILLIAM TYNDALL. t II ties, and boldly teaches two great truths, which constitute the very essence of the English Reformation —the supreme authofifj of Scriphire in llip. ChurcJi, and the supreme autho- rity of the Kim/ in the State. To this work a strange interest attaches. It came into the hands of Anne Roleyn. She read it, marked it, and gave it to her imperious lover, Henry VI TI. The King read it, and said of it: "This book is for me and all kings to read." It led to the downfall of Wolsey, and, without doubt, it helped and hastened those great measures which made the reign of King Henry so memorable. Tyndall, remaining true to the one great object of his life, conmienood a translation of the Old Testament from the original Hebrew, and in 1530 printed the Penta- teuch at Morburg — an instalment of the grand work which he was permitted almost to complete. This was followed by the " Practice of Prelates," a bitter and able work, which, like all Tyndall's works, was prohibited. This work was a sort of historical summary of the practices by which the Pope and the clergy gradually grew from poverty to universal supremacy, and also of the practices l)y which this usurped authority was maintained, and it concludes by a special exposition of the misgovernment of England under Cardinal Wolsey. In this work Tyndall writes with the boldness and fierce denunciation of an old Hebrew seer. It stung the rulers of the Church to the quick. Sir Thomas More, the great Lord Chancellor, now commenced a very able controversy with Tyndall on this and other works — a proof that the Romish party looked upon Tyndall as no common foe. Tyndall defended himself and his woiks with great ability, and at the close of the celebrated controversy was evidently the victor, with truth and God on his side. Tyndall next figures as an expositor of Scripture. " It is not enough," he said, "to have translated the Scriptures WILUAk TYNDALL. 68 seer, (omas very ts — a Is no I with fersy le. "It lures into the common tongue, except we also bring the light to understand them by, and expel the dark cloud which the hypocrites have spread over the face of Scripture to blind the true meaning." These expository works, upon which he bestowed much care, possessed very considerable merit. The most noteworthy feature in them is the admirable good sense with which he insists upon the necessity of ad- hering to the literal meaning of Scripture, and discarding allegorical interpretations ; and we think that no greater service could have been rendered to thcologv and sound religion tlian by thus recalling men to the only true system of exposition ; and for this Tyndall is entitled to acknow- ledgment as the founder of a true scriptural interpretation in England. Some of his expositions are rather spicy. On the words of Exodus, "None shall appear before me empty," he says : "That is a good text for the Pope;" and on the declaration that the people brought too much, he asks : " When will the Pope and clergy say that 1 When they have all 1" On the question of Balaam, " How can I curse whom God hath not cursed?" he replies: "The Pope can tell you." As time passed on, Tyndall 's life became more unsettled, and he had to work hard amid many dangers. In 1531 he was at Antwerp, and though he had soon to leave, he after- ward returned thither to pursue his work, and henceforth it is in connection with that city you must consider him ; for in it he more or lers dwelt for nearly four years, and there he published his revised and final translation of the New Testament in 1534. Antwerp had many attractions for Tyndall — it was near England, the English merchants in the factory were friendly, and the rights and privileges of the great city would shield him from ordinary dangers. Soon after removing to Antwerp an effort seems to have 64 WILLIAM TYNDALL. li \ been made by Sir Thomas Cromwell to iudi'se Tyiulall to return to England. Cromwell, Henry's great minister in succession to VVolsey, saw in the policy recommended by Tyndall in tlio "Obedience of a Christian Man," the prin- ciple ho was anxious to establish .as the starting-point of a new political life and history for England, and hoped to find in Tyndall the assistant he afterwards found in Lati- mer. The King could never have more than tolerated the idea. Stephen Vaughan, the English ambassador to the Low Countries, who was a strong friend of Cromwell, was com- missioned to find Tyndall, and correspond with him with a view to his return to England. From tliis correspondence we learn much of Tyndall thl'ough Vaughan ; but Tyndall having offended the King by his published views on the divorce, it was not safe for him to return to England, and Cromwell had to cease his efforts on Tyndall's behalf. The spirit of persecution still raged, and several of Tyndall's friends were proceeded against and either fined or impris- oned or put to d^' th. Latimer and Lambert, among others, ■were dragged beiore convocation, and foi'ced into ignomin- ious submission. Bilney w.as apprehended and burned at Norwich. Bayfield, one of Tyndall's helpers, shared the same fate. James Rainham was martyred at Smithfield, and, last of all, John Fryth, Tyndall's bosom friend and helper, was seized while in England, imprisoned in the Tower, and afterwards martyred by his cruel persecutors. Sir Tliomas More, Stokesly. Bishop of Loiij'ion, Longland and Gardiner, were the persecutors in chief, and they made most grievous inroads upon the circle of Tyndall's friends. Having had to tolerate a partial reform and humiliation from the King, being forced to recognize Henry as head of the Church in England, tiiey compounded for their weak- ness in that respect by increased severity toward the here- WILLIAM TYNDALL. 65 'I nin- at the leld, land the lors. land lade ids. iion of sak- sre- tics. But things were chanijing. In 1533, Henry brought the divorce question to an end by marrying Anne Boloyn. Sir Thomas More was stripped of office, Cranmer was made Archbisliop of Canterbury, and some great measures were being pressed forward, though slowly (owing to the caprice and tyrannical temper of the King), by that great states- man. Sir Thomas Cromwell. During the latter part of Tyndall's residence at Antwerp, he was the guest of Thomas Pontz, one of the English mer- chants established in that great commercial city; and there, m the old mansion assigned by the city magistrates to the English merchants, Tyndall found a home. From Fox and Pontz we learn that Tyndall's life there was singularly pure, self-denying and godly. He reserved for himselt two days a week for what he called pastime, which he devoted to visiting the English refugees and relieving them, and visiting the aged and poor to bless them — an example of spending pastime that might well be copied to advantage. The rest of his time was given to his life's mission — translation. In 1534, he re-issued the Pentateuch ; but the great work of that year was the thorough revision of his New Testa- ment, and its publication, with this title : "The New Testa- ment, diligently corrected and compared with the Greek, by William Tyndall, and finished in the year of our Lord 1534 ; printed by Martin Lempereus in Antwerp." In this edition Tyndall's close study, great diligence and distin- guished scholarship is strikingly manifested. This has been very correctly designated "TYNDALL'S NOBLEST MONUMENT." To introduce it into England was not difficult now. During the eight years from the printing of the first edition, it had been a crime in England to sell, purchase or read a copy of the New Testament, and many 66 WILLIAM TYI.DALL. i i t ' , » J! paid the extreme penalty for tlieir devotion to the truth ; but iiow the persecution was reaching its end. A revo- lution was proceeding in England that overthrew Papal supremacy, relaxed the laws against hei'etics, and permitted the private circulation of the Scriptures. Time was bringing about its revenge. Sir Thomas More, the Bishop of Rochester, and others of the Romish party, were tiirown into the Towct*, and afterwards put to death. The monasteries were suppressed, the (juarrel between Henry and the Pope was irreconcilable, and the nominal se{ aration of the English Church from Rome complete. Anne Bolevii, the new Queen, supreme in the King's affections, Wiis favor- able to the reformed faith, and had interfered to protect Herman, one of Tyndall's Antwerp friends, in the circula- tion of the New Testament, for which act of royal patronage Tyndall caused a copy of h^s revised New Testament, printed upon vellum, and decorated and illuminated with great care and taste, to be presented to the Queen. That volume is to-day in the British Museum, a lasting memorial of Tyn- dall's grat'.tude and Anne's generous protection. It was here also, at Antwerp, that Tyndall formed the acquaint- ance of John Rogers, the proto-martyr of the Marian perse- cution. Rogers became enlightened and converted under Tyndall's instruction, and on him fell the honor of complet- ing the work of Tyndall's life, and giving to the world, after Tyndall's death, his last revision and translation of the Holy Bible. Tyndall, busy to the last, was beginning to hope for a peaceful close to a very chequered life, and after the exile of years longed Jt^o tread his native soil, and wit- ness the great changes he had so much helped to bring about ; but the wish was never to be realized. In the lan- guage of the Epistle to the Hebrews: "The testament was not to be dedicated without blood." Antwerp, then thQ WILLIAM TYNDALL. 67 mg lan- the foremost commercial city of Europe, had privileges and liberties of which her citizens were justly proud, and in which they permitted the stranger generously to share. It was among her privileges that no citizen should be arrester* on suspicion, or detained more than three days without trir ;. This was well known to the Romish party in England, anu they assumed that Tyndall was safe in the English factory at Antwerp, but if they could get him outside the city, they imagined that it would be easy to get him condemned as a heretic, and so a pretended friend was sent to draw him out of the factory and procure his arrest. The man employed and sent over from England for tliis purpose was Henry Philips, attended by a sti-ange servant, Gabriel Dorme. The whole of this diabolical plot was evidently laid in Eng- land with consummate craft and treachery. Tlie scheme has been attributed to Bishop Gardiner, but the day of judgment alone will disclose the real authors of this cun- ningly contrived baseness. Of orie thing we are sure, the devil pres'ded over the council, and Henry Philips executed the plot. Philips formed Tyndall's acquaintance througli the English merchants — he professed the Reformed faith, pretended great respect for Tyndall, gained Tyndall's con- iidence, shared with him the hospitalities of Pontz, and moved in and out with Tyndall in the freest and most friendly manner. He thus had access to Tyndall's books, became thoroughly acquainted with his studies and habits, and one day, when Pontz was out of the city. Philips came to the house, asked for Tyndall, and said that he wished to dine with him that day. Tyndall urged him to share his hospitality most readily. Piiilips went out to set his officers and men in position, and then returned to Tyndall again. He then ashed of Tyndall a loan of two pounds, which re- quest was instantly granied. Taking Tyndall by the arm, 68 WILLIAM TYNDALL. ! 14 _ it It they left the house for a walk before dining together at the house of a friend. While proceeding up a narrow street Philips politely stepped behind Tyndall, and pointing some unknown persons to him, the officers whom Philips had brought from Brussels at once arrested Tyndall, and carried him off a prisoner to the Castle of V^ilvorde, then the great state pr on of the Low Countries. In this ancient stronghold of Belgium Tyndall was to remain a prisoner for sixteen months, until death should release him from his persecutors. The arrest had been so skilfully contrived, so secretly executed, that Tyndall was immured in the fortress before his arrest was known to his friends in Antwerp. In vain his Antwerp friends con- sidered themselves encroached upon, and urged and pleaded for his release. The King of England and Cromwell were appealed to, but the King was too busy with his pleasures, and the statesman was overburdened just then with the cares of state, so that they did not interpose until it was too late. Tyndall had to lie in the state prison without protec- tion, notwithstanding the efforts of Pontz, the result of whose unceasing labors was his own imprisonment on a charge of heresy, from which, however, he managed to escape. Tyndall's t-ial was considerably delayed by the difficulty of procuring evidence against him, and after it did commence it was much prolonged because conducted in writing. At length the trial began before special commis- sioners nominated l-y the Regent to try the case. There were four from the council of Brabant, four local dignitaries, and four theologians from the great Catholic University of Louvaine. Foremost among Tyndall's accusers was Pi.uwart Tapper, Chancellor of the University, called the oracle of Belgium. From this bigoted, intolerant inquisitor Tyndall could expect no mercy. With him was associated the cele- WILLIAM TYNDALL. 69 of a to all sle- brated Lathomus, a subtle, hard-headed doctor of the schools — a man wliom no antagonist could perplex or silence. On this apparently merciless enemy Tyndall did make an im- pression, and he died regretting the part that he took against Tyndall. With them the Emperor's attorney-general acted as chief prosecutor. He was very severe against here- tics from a two-fold motive: by their conviction he pleased the Emperor, and he shared the property of the condemned. There Tyndall stands on an elevated platform before his judges and accusers and a great crowd of people, pale, thin, worn- -the whole scene is fitted to inspire fear and terror in the bravest heart. Silence is proclaimed, then the president states the charges against the accused. First, " He had maintained that faith alone justifies." Second, "That to believe in the forgiveness of sins and to embrace the mercy offered in the Gospel was sufficient unto salvation." These, and many other articles judged heretical, were recited and charged against him. Tyndall defended himself with great ability, but, according to their definition of heresy, he WIS a heretic. But there is a strong probability that he would have been permitted to escape the extreme penalty of tiie law but fcr the efforts of Philips the traitor, who was moving to and fro influencing the authorities, urging on the p )secution, and using English money freely to buy a ver- dii which he at length secured. How fearful, that one of the noblest of Englishmen, who had for many years been pouring the light of his intellect, the love of his heart, and the inspiration of his life into England, for the regeneration and salvation of his fellow-countrymen, should be betrayed and hounded to death on a foreign shore by well-paid spies from his own fatherland. October the 6th, 1536, was the day fixed for Tyndall's execution at Vilvorde. He was strangled first, And burned afterwards. His last prayer at 70 WILLIAM TYNDALL. the stake was for the enlightenment of the king and people of England. To Tyndall death came not unexpected or unwelcomed. He had faced trial, fulfilled duty, served his generation by the will of God, and now he was ready to be oS'ered. Girded for the glorious dismissal, to him the chariot of fire was the chariot of gloiy, and the gate of death tiie gate of heaven. The question may be urged, Why all this labor, and suffering, and sacrifice for the Bible ? What is there in the Bible to render it so important and precious to mankind 1 Our answer is : The Bible is thk Word of God — the one rule of faith and practice for the world ; man's true, suffi- cient, complete guide through life to immortality. Its grand, its distinguishing feature is its certainty ; its voice is, " Thus saith the Lord." Above its Author there is no one, and therefore from it there can be no appeal. It is the Word of Him that liveth and abideth forever, so that when we take up the Bible we commune with one whose mind never varies and whose words never pass away. Con- sequently no Bible student need wait for the light of philo- sophy, or the confirmation of science, or the deliverance of the Church, or a voice from heaven ; when he wants to know the mind of God, he has only to open this book and there it is clear and perfect. The Bible as a revelation does not reveal everything that sor^c would like to know, but, though a limited revelation, it is sufficient. It reveals all that we need know in order to secure the Divine favor now, and the Divine home hereafter. It tells how and by whom we were redeemed — it tells us how we may receive Jesus and have power to become the sons of God. There is no mode! of excellence or goodness to which sanctified ambition can aspire that it does not present the ideal of. I know that it is very plain spoken, and ofttimes says uu- WI^XIAM TYNDALL. 71 lis ve sre ed I ■ii- palatable truth that men hate as they do an honest friend, but if we are candid and sincere it is the book we need. When the learned and godly Selden lay dying, he said : " I have surveyed much learning and my study is filled with books and manuscripts, but there is only one sentence of one book on which I can now rest — " The grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared unto all men." When a man conies to die and fears to enter the unknown land, if he follows this book he will tind a skilful pilot and a safe passage. On the brink he may address his revealed Friend, "Blessed One, wilt Thou receive mel" and the response shall be : " To-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise." " And wilt Thou take care of my body V "Yes, and I will raise it up at the last day." " And wilt Thou take charge of my dependent ones'?" "Yes, let thy little ones trust in Me, and I will keep them alive." And with such a solace, to die is but to fall into the arms of God. Oh, cling to the grand old book — the Bible; it has often been in the fur- nace, but to come forth as gold ; the waves of controversy have beaten against it, but it has dashed them back in harmless spray. Science, flushed with new discoveries, has assailed it, but when full grown it will apologize, and be- lieve, and adore. TIkmo never was such a book as the Bible, and there never will he such another. Unlike all others, independent of all others, above all others, it is a peer in the realms of literature. The Bible has taken a greater hold on the world than all other books and writings. It is the pioneer of progress, of knowledge, of civilization, of true culture, of liberty, of spiritual and perfected man- hood, and the world will never outgrow its need of the Bible until that day when the Lord God and the Lamb shall become their light and their salvation, whom this book hath led through the wilderness into the celestial city. LECTURE III. QUEEN ELIZABETH. i If! ^ :iP 'ROM the battle of Bosworth Field, August 22nd, 1485, — when the fugitive adventurer Henry Tudor, p]arl of Richmond, was crowned King of England as Henry VII., and the House of Tudor superseded the Plan- taganets, and the civil wars of the Roses between the H ouses of Lancaster and York were brought to a close by Henry the Lancastrian marrying Elizabeth of York, — to 1G03, when the House of Tudor ceased, no reign or sovereign of that remarkable line was equal in length and splendor and ad- ministrative ability to the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Eliza- beth was born at Greenwich, September 7th, 1533. Her father, Henry VIII., was a cruel, self-seeking despot. Her mother was the celebrated Anne Boleyn, the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn, of Hever Castle, in Kent, and a descend- ant of the great Norfolk family. When only a mere girl, under ten years of age, Anne Boleyn was taken by the Queen, Mary, to France, where she remained until eighteen years of age, when she retui-ned to be one of the maids of honor to the Queen of England. Her remarkable beauty and accomplishments had the misfortune to attract the admiia- tion of the King, who immediately began to have doubts of the legality of his marriage to Catherine of An-agon, his brother's widow, which his miserly father, Henry VII., li.ad contracted for him against his protest, when he was only twelve years old, and which a special dispensation of I U QUEEN ELIZABETH. 73 I IS the Pope made legal. Ho, howeve** rnarried Catherine at the age of eighteen, after he was crowned King of P^nghind. The wisdom of that marriage may be well doubted ; the legality of it is questionable ; and tiie motives to it must be condemned by all. But, in truth, his desire for divorce sorung from his passion for Anne lioleyn. That divorce was accomplished after four years' delay from the time that the Bishop of Tai'bes lirst raised a doubt of the validity of the King's marriage v^^ith Catherine (notwithstanding the Pope's vacillation and delay), with some show of legality by the decision of the Universities and convocation. Henry was privately married to Anne in January, ir)33, and she was crowned Queen of England, June 1st. Her daughter Elizabeth was born September 7th ; but in three brief years from this, the queen-mother had reached a tragic end. In February, 1.536, Anne was delivered of a dead son. The King, whose desire for an heir had become a passion, was keenly disappointed and reproached his Queen to her deep sorrow. Attempts were now made to ruin the Queen. The Jesuits secretly plotted because of her Protestantism. Some of her own relatives became spies and traducers, and that noble woman, who had been since her marriage a frank, cheerful, affectionate wife, kind and charitable to her de- pendents, and a student of the Scriptures, was suspected as an heretic, was accused of adultery, was indicted for treason. And though this joint accusation of unfaithfulness and treason was never proven, she was beheaded. May 1 9th, 1536. Her marriage was declared null and her child Eliza- be h pronounced illegitimate, while the King was married the next day, with indecent haste, to Jane Seymour. You will see that Elizabeth's position was critical and painful. Robbed of her mother when not three years old, insulted and coldly treated by her father, she grew up with a keen 74 QUEEN ELIZABETH. lil H § suspicion of men and tliinj^'s, and laokinf» the tenderness and .affection and warmth of true womanhood. 8he, how- ever, received a liberal education and became an accomplished scholar, a skilled musician, and a lady of great and varied accomplishments. January 29th, 15^7, Elizabeth, who was then living at the Manor House, Enfield, in her fourteenth year, received a visit from her brother Edward, a boy of ten years, who, in the company of the Earl of Hertford, was on his way to London to be crowned King of England instead of his deceased father. It was here that her father's death and brother's accession were tirst made known to he , Edward VI. died July 6th, 1553, leaving his great reforming work unfinished, and his sceptre to his sister Mary, who at the age of thirty-eight was crowned Queen of England, August 3rd, 1553. Elizabeth joined Mary at her coronation, but was soon after committed as a prisoner to the Tower by that cruel Queen, who thirsted for her blood. An attempt was made to fasten a charge of treason on Elizabeth and her suitor, the Earl of Devon. Failing to prove a treason which never existed, and shrinking from the foul atrocity to which llenard, the Spanish ambassador, urged her, Mary removed Elizabeth to Woodstock, where she was long held a prisoner, until she was allowed to remove to Hatfield. Before she was twenty-two the Princess P^lizabeth received three proposals for marriage. Her tirst suitor, at fifteen, was Lord Seymour, who is described as stately, fashionable, and empty. Her second, at nineteen, was the Earl of Devon, for whom she had some love (platonic love). Her third suitor was the Duke of Savoy, whom she tantalized and declined. November 17th, 1558, at the death of her sister, Eliza- beth, at the age of twenty-five, was proclaimed Queen of ! QUEKN ELIZABKTH. 75 d •i England. Released from being a suspect or a prisoner, to become the queen of an important kingdom, it is no wonder that she exclaimed, "It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes." For years her life had been in suspense by the jealousy of her sister and her advisers, and she had had to defend herself with consummate tact and skill, and move with much wisdom and c.iution ; but now she was the crowned head. Her accession to the throne was heartily received by the country. She had so cautiously concealed her religious views, that the Romanists were for the time in suspense, whilst the Reformers everywhere received her name with relief and respect. She regarded her position as given her by the people, so she told the ambassador of Philip, and she wisely determined to win and retain popular favor. She was the first sovereign of Eng- land who really sought the aflection and support of the common people. Others had won and retained their power by the great loids ; she rested on the whole nation. Thus widening the base of her government, she rested more securely amid all the plots that menaced her, and reared a kingdom more secure and enduring and powerful than any of her predecessors. The pageantry of her coronation was grand, as might be expected from a woman so fond of dis- play, and where the people were so hearty in their loyalty. As she passed the applauding ci-owds lining the streets of London, she bowed and smiled and fervently reciprocated the popular feeling. And in Cheapside, where a richly bound Fnglish Bible was let down by a silken cord into her carriage, she received it gratefully, kissed it, pressed it to her bosom, and promised to be a diligent reader of the Word of Grod. Elizabeth is described at this time as beau- tiful in mind and body. She had much of her mother's charm and peculiar cast of beauty. Her figure was fine 76 QUEEN ELIZABETH. * H ! ti — and commanding, l\er complexion clear, her expression fas- cinatin^T, lier Jiaiirls small and delicate, her temper haughty, her will firm, her self-command great. The exterior and personnel was very fine; the background was cool st« el. A month after her coronation, Pliilip, the Emperor of S[)ain, proposed marriage to Elizabeth, but the husband and de- serter of her sister was politely but flrudy declined. Th^ Parliament that met soon after, in January, urged the Queen to marry some suitable person to supply lioirs to her royal thione, to which petition she graciously replied that she preferred to do as she liked. Some people have blamed Queen Elizabeth for not marrying one of her many suitors, and have Staid hard ings about her coquetting with the Duke d'Alen9on, of the royal house of France, with Dudley, Eai-1 of Leicester, whom she seems to have loved, and other suppliants who sought the honor of her hand; for between the ages of fifteen and sixty-five she had seven suitois. The first and greatest minister of her reign was William Cecil — afterward Lord Burleigh — whom she charged to use great pains for her inteiest and the interest of her kingdom. For fc ty years he faithfully fulfilled her request, and coun- selled and guided tlie nation with consummate skill and statesmanship. This great minister is described by his enemies as a prudent, virtuous, toiling man, although a heretic. Elizabeth's first Parliament was decidedly Pro- testant, and proceeded firmly, but in the spirit of modera- tion, to re-establish the Reformed religion and reassert by statute the supremacy of the Queen in things spiritual. The Pope opposed and thundered out his exconniuinications and his anathemas, and his minions and l»igots j)lotted against the Queen, but she held on to her Parliament and people, and at length openly took sides with Protestantism. The attitude taken by the Pope and the Roman Catholic i-f f QUKEN ELIZABETH. 77 party compelled P21iVabeth to throw herself more fully upon her people in self-dehMice. J3y torce of eircnmstances, and through political and ecclesiastical combinations, Elizabeth was constrained to lead and defend, however reluctantly, the interests of Protestant Europe, while Philip II. of Spain was the leader and defender of Roman Catholic Europe. Aided by the Jesuits and the Inciuisition, and Alva and Panna, that cruel despot not only trampled upon the liberties of Spain, but of Europe, and tilled the land with scenes of horror and of blood. The quarrel which lasted so lorg between Queen Eliza- beth and Mary Queen of Scots has created in some minds a strong and unreasonable prejudice against Elizabeth. Mary, who was the next heir to the English crown, openly assumed immediate title to that crown to supersede Eliza- beth. Mary was backed by the Pope, who pretended to the right to give the crown, and was supported by her relatives, the rulers of France, and was aided by French soldiers and Spanish gold. Thus it became a struggle for principle, for liberty, for the Reformed faith. Those who see in the great struggle of these haughty women nothing but a freak of woman's jealousy, are sorely misled. Eliza- beth represented the struggle of Protestantism for exist- ence, for extension, and for the wider liberties it always brings. Mary represented Rome, with its attempt to stamp out the struggle for liberty and destroy the Reformed faith- Mary had promised the Council of Trent that if she suc- ceeded to the throne of England she would restore the United Kingdom to the Papal sway. Therefore, to resist her to the last was the duty and necessity of Elizabetlf and her people and the Reformers everywhere The first years of Elizabeth's reign, though beset with many difficulties, were the most peaceful and happy of her 78 QUEEN ELIZABETH. li! i i' long and prosperous rule, for tli )ugh she had trouble and commotion, as yet the storn* had not burst upon her in its terror and fury. But in August, 1572, a fearful tcniptjst arose, and the wliole land was filled with horror. There had taken place in France, under the direct inspiration of the Pope find the Catholic faith, one of the most foul and bloody atrocities ever committed by human fiends— the MASSACRR OF THE HuouENOTS. Their leader, Coligny, Ad- miral of France, with a large number of his fellow Hugue- nots, protected by a treaty and tht^ fairest promises, had, at the request of the King and court, come to Paris to share the marriage festivities of the King's sister with Henry of Navarre, an acknowledged Huguenot The clock of Paris strikes two on that still, dark morning of St. Bartholomew. The queen-mother, Catherine do Medici, with her weak and impulsive son, Ciiarles IX., and the Duke of Anjou, sit amid darkness and silence on a balcony in the Louvre. That infamous woman had made all necessary arrangements and given the preconcerted signal, and waits in breathless suspense the fulMlment of the terrible atrocity. The bell of St. Germains tolls the signal, and immediately the Duke of Guise with three hundred men burst into the defenceless house where Coligny slept, and murdered the brave and noble leader of the Fr<*nch Protestants, and flung his body out at the window. The cry was instantly raised, ^^ Death to the Huguenots ! " Assassins liurst forth from every street and commenced in earnest the work of slaughter. Charles trembled in guilty agony, but Catherine urges on with frantic zeal, '•'■Death to the Ihtrjnenots / " The univer- sal Butchery of the Protestants of Paris is accomplished, and on and on the work of death spreads throughout the towns and cities of France for three days, till one hundred thousand of the noblest of France arc killed for the simple I 11 QUEEN ELIZABETH. 79 crime of being Protestants. For this infamous deed the Pope and the Catholics dare the hlasphtnny of puhlioly thankinjj; God, instead of shrinkinfif with just horror from a spectacle over which devils might laur rewarded the English sailor ; and, in his own language, '' had singed the Spanish King's beard, by way of beginning business." The coming of the Invincible Armada was anxiously awaited. Philip of Spain had been to work in right royal eainest for near foui years to get together a great supply of money, troops and ships from all parts of his dominions, and prepared to carry out his ideas of invading England upon a scale of the greatest magnitude, especially by sea. Look at that proud, huge fleet, consisting of 136 ships of nearly 00,000 tons burden, mounted with near 2,000 guns, carrying upwards of 21,000 soldiers, with sailors and slaves and outfit, which was to be supplemented on the south coast of England by another fleet, and an army of 35,000 men under the command of the Dulse of Parma. Look at this great fleet sailing out of the Spanish harbor of Lisbon, under the command of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia, the Captain-General of the ocean. It has received the Pope's blessing. It is deemed invinci- ble. Its mission is to crush tlie civil and religious liberties of England, and upon the issue of this the fato of the ] ro- testant world seems to hang. After some delays and draw- -•^ v..-=rtt:^_j.tM£.-J 4 84 QUEEN ELIZABETH. backs, July 19th, 1588, the great Armada rodo into English waters off Lizard Point. Fleming, a Scotch pi'ivateer, was the first to catch a sight of it, and he hastened with all speed to carry the news and give tlie warning. Immedi- ately ten thousand beacon fires blazed over English ground, telling in tongues of flame the news of the arrival of the Spanish fleet. In the language of Lord Macaulay: "Swift to east and swift to M est the warning nwliance spread, High on St. Michael's Mov.nt it shone — it shone on Btachy " Head. Far o'er the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. The sentinel on Whitehall Ciate looked lorth into the night, And saw o'erhangiiig Ricl\mond Hill the streak of blood- red light. The bugle's note and cannon's roar the death like silence broke, And with one bound, and with one cry, the royal land awoke." On the 21st, the mighty fleet was ofi Plymouth Sound, stretching about seven miles in cresceiit form. What a sight those splendid-looking Spanish ships were ! built like great castles, covered M'ith awnings and gildings, with the crews flushed and expectant, and the bands playing, and the Captain Oeneral with the Vicar of the Holy Inquisition by his side, standing in his shot-proof fortress and surveying the situation. The English captains were on b^lt for the poor. Religion was more widely diflfused and understood. The Sabbath was better observed. The Holy Scriptures were circulated and studied. The land was more largely cultivated. Markets were opened. Wages improved. Education was valued and began to spread among the connnon people. Poor-laws were established for the protection and supply of the needy and deserving p(mr. Life and property were more secure throughout the hind. The sixteenth century closed with Ireland in rebellion. Ireland was the weak spot of Elizabeth's dominions, as it f k ■r ■iil 'ilk IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 7 ^ ^ /. "%£< ^^/^ ■^ 1.0 I.I • 50 '""^^^ It 1^ t lis 120 M 2.2 L25 mil 1.4 6" Photographic Sciences Corporation 1.6 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. MSdO (716) 872-4503 ,r€acing a galaxy of tne most glorious names in fjuglish history, was opposed and persecuted until the party became a sect — the Puritans. But with an in- fluential number in the House of Commons, and a powerful support in the country, these Puritans asked and urged reforms after the type of Martin Luther and John Calvin. In the midst of the struggle Queen Bess closed her reign, and bequeathed her sceptre to finother, James Stuart, King of Scotland, as the lineal heir, ascended the throne of England. That year, 1603, is a memornble epoch in Eng- lish history. Scotland and Ireland became a part of the British monarcliy, and for the lirst time all the isles of Britain were peacefully united under one sceptre. The mixture was peculiar : there was tiie Englishman, who finds his contentment in grumbling ; the Scotchman, who finds his home abroad ; and the Irishman, who finds his peace in a good tight. This kingdom was nearly doubled in size; but James, the first of the ill-fated Stuarts, was not the man for the crisis. In his own opinion he was one of the great- est kings that ever lived, but in truth he was a man wholly unfitted to occupy a throne. The English people had been governed for the last hundred and fifty years by princes of great force of character, who had always been feared, if not loved ; but now England had a king whom she despised. His ungainly figure, staunnering speech, cowardly tear.s, and broad S otoh accent, were imperfections which, per- haps, he could not help, but their effect was to make the modern Solomon to be held in. contempt. While the pre- tensions he put forth were monstrous, such as even Henry li I n 1 1 ! h t I i j: ^ i'. r ! I 100 OLIVER CROMWELL. VIII. never droarned of asserting. His assumptions were encouraged and sustained by the novel theory of Filnier on hereditary monai-chy. Tliis theory, which Jaines so firmly believed, helped him to some of his »^iost despotic acts. He told the Parliament that they held tneir privileges at his pleasure, that law was simply a concession of his, and that they had no more right to question his acts than the works of God. The Parliament was enraged and alarmed, while the religious discussions became more decided and fierce. James was a ze ilous Episcopalian, and, as a consecjuence, tlie Anglican clergy ))ecame more pretentious. In imitation of Rome, they made the divin.; origin of Episcopacy one of their vital dogmas ; and revived such practices as saint wor- ship, celibacy, monasteries, to the scandal of Protestantism, and offered every form of opposition to Puritani reforms. At this Juncture James died, and Charles I. ascended the throne. Charles had a better understanding and a firmer will, and was a superior man to his father. His person was dignified, his tastes good, and his domestic life unblem- ished ; but he had faults neither few nor small. He was a deceiver and a despot. He seems to have had a settled hatred of liberty, and most unscrupulously sought its de- struction. He would readily promise, and then with impu- dence break his word without a blush. A more dangerous enemy to the English constitution, or one who more reso- lutely sought its destruction than Charles, never sat upon a throne. He inherited his father's political and ecclesias- tical theories, and was anxious to carry them into effect. Now commenced the hazardous game on which were staked the destinies of the English people. The Parliament moved with wisdom and moderation, and the King found he must govern in harmony with law, or be perfectly defiant. His fatal choice was soon made. Dissolving Parliament, he OLIVER CROMWELL. 101 levied taxes by his own authority ; then convoked a second Parliament, and again dissolved it, and raised fresh taxes, and thrust soldiers on the people to maintain and set up martial law in the land, in direct violation of the constitu- tional principles, which taught that i\ui King could not legislate, or suspend a law, or impose taxes, without the consent of his Parliament. The King called a third Parlia- ment ; in this assembly Oliver (Jromwell, as a member for Huntingdon, was for the first time found. This House the King found more tlian ever opposed to his despotic schemes. Changing his tactics, the King agreed to a compromise, and after extracting his subsidies as the price of j)urchase, he signed, amid the rejoicings of the nation, the second charter of English freedom, THE PETITION OF UKiHTH. He thus bound himself not to impri.son, or raise money, but in due cour?e of law. Yet in three weeks the truthless King openly violated the charter. Parliament was dissolved ; the chiefs of the Opposition cast into prison tc languish for years untried, or to die martyrs to the cause, as in the case ot Eliot, or to endure the mutilations and inflictions of the notorious courts of that day ; and for over eleven years Parliament was not again called together, an event unpre- cedented in English history. For this the King was chiefly to blame. It is true he called to his aid sycophants who shared his guilt, such as Wentworth, afterwards Earl of Strafford, the cruel, the eloquent, the upi'incipled, the despotic author of the deeply-meditated scheme of Thoromjh^ who, with dauntless resolution and unsparing severity, went forth to fulfil the King's behests, and employed all his po\\ers to crush the libeity of the nation. His correspond- ence clearly proves that a government without parliaments, a government Vjy the sword, of the most arbitrary and abso- lute nature, was his desire and intention. With Strafford 102 OLIVER CROMVvELL I , I I , was Luud, tlie Archbisliop of Canterbury, No face could more strikingly indicate the character of the man to wliom it belonged than that of Laud's, as portrayed by the most skilful hand of that age. The mean forehead, the pinched features, the cunning eyes, the tight skin, suit admirably all that history saith ai)Out that ignorant and peevish despot. When we read his judgment against separatists, when we tarn over the leaves of his dip.ry and learn how jealous, how superstitious he was, we feel for him a contempt that even the sacredness of his office cannot prevent. He says he dreamed that he had turned Papist — a dream, we suspect, that was too true if the word " turned " be left out. And with them was Finch, the recreant judge, who so deeply disgraced his ermine. To cairy out their scheme of civil and ecclesiastical tyranny, the Star Chamber and High Commission — names of hate and cruelty — were re ived, the liberties of the nation were imperilled, and many uegan to look across the ocean to America, whose inhospit- able soil a few resolute Puritans had sought to :'onquer, and convert into a new world. Among the umber who actually took passage and went on board the ship destined for America was Oliver Cromwell, with his cousin, John Hampden, when an Order of Council prohibited the ship from sailing, so that the intending emigrants were com- pelled to remain and return to their homes. At this crisis, an act of insane bigotry changed the whole face of affairs. Charles and Laud determined to force on the Scotch Presbyterians Anglican Episcopacy ; showing that they wished the Anglican Church, as the major sect on British soil, to assume the same ecclesiastical position as Rome had previously assumed on a larger geographical sur- face. But the Scotch, who had bearded the Stuarts before, did not yield a ready compliance with the King's wish, but OLIViSH CHOMWELL. 103 of set purpose opposcvl It. National and roli<^iou5! feeling w.is aroused ; tlio first intonation of the litur<(y produced a riot, wliic'> on spiead into a revciution and a war. No I'^source vais now ieft to the Kit:g but a Parliament, and iii the spring of 1010 it was convened. In it Cromwell sii,t as a menibev for Cambridge This House, according to the testimony of Clarendon himself, was tsmperate and respect- ful to the throne. But as soon as they began to consider tiie grievances of the past, they were dissolved with every mark of royal displeasure. As soon as the King had dis- solved the House, he repented of his rashness ; and well he might, for the vessel wi!s full, and the last drop had made the waters of bitter. ess to overflovv. A few months more of tyranny, au'l insult, and evasion, and despotic rule, and Charles, without money or credit, was forced to face Ins insulted Commoiis, by conveniii?? the ever-memorable LONG PAKLIAMFNT. November 3rd, 1G40, that great Parlia- ment met, destined to every extreme of fortune, to empire and to servitude, to glory and to shame; at one tine the sovereign of its sovereign, and at another time the servant of its servant. Yet, notwithstanding its error:; and mis- takes, it deserves the lasting gratitude of the nation. Among the most distinguished niembei\s of that House were Edward Hyde (afterv/ards Lord Clarendon), Faulkland, Digby, Harry Vane, Oliver St. John, Hollis, Finnes, John Pym Oliver Cromwell, and John Hampden. By universal consent, Hampden held the first place in Parliament, and was unanimously chosen leader. Abuse after abuse van- ished with united voice ; the Star Chamber and High Com- mission ceased, only as things of infamous memory; Straf- ford was impeached, an:! afterwards attainted by bill and executed; Laud was flung into the Tower to die; Finch barely escaped by flight; and all tho^e whom the King had employed 8 l^-'' % i 1 ^i It III 1 k i- 1 li 1 1 t 1/ 1! )i£: f' ■ 104 OLIVEK CROMWELL. as instruments of oppression, wore summoned to answer for their conduct. The King was deprived of tliose oppressive powers which were tlie last relics of feudal times, and the Parliament provided that it should not be again prorogued or dissolved without its own consent. Even the strongest Royalists allow that most of the measures passed were salu- tary and necessary. Its good acts greatly preponderated over the evil. After ten months of hard work, the House adjourned for six weeks, and on its re-assembling, two parties first appeared, styled Cavaliers and Roundheads ; they are now better known as Conservatives and Liberals. A reaction had evidently take place during the recess. A large body of moderate and well-meaning men, who had heartily concurred in the strong measures already adopted, were now inclined to pause. Their opinion was that a great reform had been necessary, but that a great reform had been made, and that the grievances of the nation had been fully redressed. A direct collision soon took place between the two parties into which the House was now divided. The opponents of the Government, led by Hampden, moved that celebrated adflress to the King which is known as the CRAND REMONSTLiANOE. In this address all the oppressive acts of the preceding fifteen years were fully set forth, and the King was entreated to employ no ministers in whom the Parliament could not confide. What they really asked for was '>■ JiaspoHsible MiniHtrij. The debate was long and stormy, and, in a House of three hundred members, the Remonstrance was carried by a small majority of nine votes. So surely did the icaction appear to have set in, that Oliver Cromwell and otliers openly declared their old resolution of leaving the kingdom if left in a minority on tiie question of the Remonstrance. Charles had now a last chance of regaining the affections of his people, without '■•m. OLIVER CROMWELL. 105 sacriticing any part of his lawful prerogative, or submitting * to any conditions inconsistent with his dignity; by choosing the path of moderation and wisdom, he might have been again the powerful and respected King of a free people. For a short time he seemed to take a wi^3 and temperate course. He proj-iised to govern in harmony with the Com- mons, and to sunmion around him trustworthy and moderate leaders. This resolution, had he adhered to it, would have averted the years of bloodshed and mourning that followed. But in a few drys the deceitful King mocked his friends and enraged his enemies by impeaching the leaders of the. Opposition. January 3id, 1642, without giving the slightest hint of his intention to those advisers whom he had solemnly promised to consult, he sent dovvn the Attorney-General to impeach Hampden, Pym, HoUis, Haselrig and Stroud at the bar of the House of Lords, on a charge of high treason. These men were charged with, what Puritan historians have never sought to deny, having negotiated \n ith the Scotch when they previously entered England in arnjs. These leading statesmen of the constitutional party knew that the Scotch and themselves were engaged in a similar struggle witli one and the same tyranny, and therefore they became friends. But Charles, burning with eagerness to strike down the popular leaders and their cause, snatched at the formal treason, and determined to arrest the leaders. There was a legal method by which to proceed, but his he did not take. Tlie arrest of the members by olence was apprehended, and the House petitioned the King for a guard. He sent them this answer: " We do engage unto you solemnly the word of a king that the security of all and every one of you from violence is, and shall ever be, as much our care as the preservation of our children." At the m 'I ') 106 OLlVLa CROMWELL. very time, however, when he was giving this assurance, the King was illegally prosecuting the members in the House of Lords. He next sent a message to the Speaker of the House of Commons, ordering him to arrest the five mem- bers and send them to liim. The House deputed four of its number to wait upon Charles, stating that his mes- sage affected the privilege of Parliament ; but expressly promised that the five members would be ready to answer any legal cliarge laid against them. Charles then sent an officer to seal up the lodgings and trunks of the accused members, and the Commons sent their sergeant to Ijreak the seals. The tyrant determined to follow up one outrage by another. He resolved to go to the House in person with an armed force, and seize the leaders of the Opposition while discharging their parliamentary duties. That day (January 4th, 16-t2,) is ever memorable in the annals of England. Between one anci two o'clock that day, the King- came hurrying into the House at the head of a tumultuary force of some hundreds of his guards and attendants, armed with swords and pistols. Lady Carlisle conveyed intelli- gence of the King's design to Pym, so that the five mem- bers had time to withdraw. They left the House as Charles entered the palace yard. The King knocked and entered in company with the Prince Palatine, his swordsmen star- ing in after him from the door. The members rose and uncovered as he walked up the floor. As the King stepped towards the chair. Speaker Lenthal stepped forth to meet him. After a pause the King said : " Gentlemen, I am sorry for this occasion of coming t6 you ; yesterday I sent a sergeant-at-arms upon a very important occasion, to apprehend some that, by my command, were accused of high treason, whereunto I did expect obedience, and not a message." After some more words he asked the Speaker OLIVER CROMWELL. 107 feak whether the five were in the House. Lenthall, with great address, dropped on his knees and said : " May it please your Majesty, I have neither- eyes to see nor tongue to sptak in this place but as the House is pleased to direct me, and I beg your Majesty's pardon that I cannot give any ether answer than this to what your Majesty is pleased to demand of me." The King replied snarply that he had as good eyes as anyone, and commenced looking around the House for the accused. Finding that tl;ey had gone out of the House, he commanded that they should be sent to him, and then inarched out in a huff. As he passed along the benches, several members shouted, "Privilege, privilege!" It has never been seriously questioned that this attempt to arrest the five members was one of the most insolently tyrannical acts ever performed by an English sovereign. We have it on the highest authority, that the transaction was illegal from beginning to end — the impeachment was illegal, the process was illegal, the service was illegal. There is not a doubt but that this attempt to seiz" the Jive members was the 'real cause of the war. Every eye could see it ; every brain could appreciate it. It acted as an elec- tric shock on the people of England. London rose round the Parliament, receiving the House for a week into the city, and then when the Commons resumed sittings at Westminster, encircled them with one hundred thousand armed men, while four thousand Buckinghamsiiire farmers galloped into town to defend their noble representative, John Hampden. From that moment the carriage of Hamp- den and the Opposition became fiercer and more decided. Charles left London, not again to return till the day of reckoning came. A negotiation, lasting over several months, was opened. Every proposed reform the King would prom- ise to fulfil ; but a tyrant whose life was a lie, who hated the 108 OLIVER CROMWELL. constitution that he had sworn to defend, could not be trusted. He unquestionably looked forward to absolute sway and a bloody revenge, and therefore it would have been sheer madness to trust him again. Royalists were now compelled to choose between the King and the Parlia- ment, and they accepted the King. In August, 1642, the sword was drawn, the civil war commenced, and two hostile armies appeared on English soil. Charles still had a strong party in the country. His august office, his dignified manner, his solemn protestations that he would for time to come respect the constitution, pity for fallen greatness, a fear of democratic innovations, secured for him many adherents. The Church, the m.ajority of the nobles and landed gentry, and most of tlie gay and dissolute youths of the age, gathered around the royal standard. On the other side were the great nuddle classes of England. The Earl of Essex was appointed to the com- mand of the Parliamentary army; Hampden took a colonel's command. No member of his party showed more energy and vigor in arms, or made himself more thoroughly macter of his military duty, than Hampden. His regiment was considered the best in the service of the Parliament. He unquestionably possessed the qualities of a great general as well as a great statesman, but unfortunately his military situation was subordinate, and his military career short. Had his life been spared, there is every reason to believe that John Hampden would have been the Lord High Pro- tector of England ; but in facing the fiery cavalry of Rupert, at Chalgrove Field, he was mortally wounded, and soon after died in great peace. At first the success was with the armies of Charles ; his troops and officers were by far the best, while the Earl of Essex was not the man to meet the fiery and daring Rupert. When the war had lasted a year, OLIVER CROMWELL. 109 was He the Royalists had gained several battles, taken Bristol, the second city of the kingdom, and not sustained one serious defeat ; while some of the Parliamentary leaders liad passed away, and others become cold or recreant. Pym had passed amid honors to the grave, and Hampden had gone home to receive the victor's crown. At this critical nioment Oliver Cromwell stepped forth with a hero's courage, a man's resolu- tion, a martyr's constancy, a patriot's heart, and offered his services in the country's defence. He saw and suggested the point of weakness and defeat, and proposed to recon. struct the army, and raise inert of another sort. He went through the eastern counties, calling on young men of known piety to join the army. He soon organized and disciplined the army. Essex was then removed, Faiifax was made nominal chief, but Oliver Cromwell was the real liead and director. Look at Cromwell as a SOLDIER AND A GENERAL, wit>i his motto : ' Trust in God, and keep your powder dry. I shall not attempt to compare Cromwell with such commanders as Alexander, or Ca'sar, or Charlemagne, or Napoleon Buonaparte, or Wellington, or Von Moltke, for he, unlike them, had never been trained to the art of war. Cromwell, as we have noticed, passed his youth and early manhood in a civil station. He never looked on war till he was past forty years old. He had first to form himself, and then to form his army. Cromwell was emphatically a man ; he possessed in an eminent degree that masculine and full-grown robustness of mind that is so characteristic of English great men. Out of his raw levies he created an army, the bravest and best disciplined, the most orderly in peace and the most terrible in war, that Europe had ever seen, and he led it from conquest to conquest. He never fought a battle without gaining a victory ; he never gained no OLIVER CROMWELL. '1 t a victory without crushing the force opposed to him. Yet his triumphs on the field were not the highest glory of his military system. The respect which his troops p.aid to pro- perty, to law, to religion, to temperance, to industry, are without a parallel, and are the finest expression of the spirit infused into them by their great leader. His first great battle with the Royalists occurred at ^larston Moor^ seven miles from York, July 2nd, 1644; Oliver's victory was complete. It was speedily followed by Naseby, the battle of the mountain plain, in which, according to Lord Clarendon, both King and kingdom were lost. The victory for the Parliamentary cause was decisive, and for the Roy- alists the defeat was fatal. Then came the capture of Bristol and other triumphs in succession, but in every vic- tory Cromwell ascribed the glory to God. The authority of Parliament became fully established throughout the king- dom. Charles fled to the Scotch, by whom he was after- wards surrendered to the English. The King was treated with respect and deference. Cromwell and others hoped he would in the day of adversity consider, and learn to rule for the public good. To this end Cromwell and Ireton often conversed with him ; he would encourage and deceive them. In a secret letter to his friends, which Cromwell intercepted, the King said : " Be quite easy about all the concessions I am making ; when the time comes, instead of the order of the Garter, I will give Cromwell a rope." All hope of an arrangement was now gone ; it would be insane to attempt to trust the King further. The Parliament there- fore resolved to settle the kingdom without him. The Scotch, with whom Charles was in secret treaty, proflfercd help. A coalition was formed between the Royalists, the Scotch and the Levellers. Alarm spread, the storm burst, and Nor- folk, Suffolk, Kent, Wales, and Scotland were under arms, OLIVER CROMWELL. Ill while many of the Lords and Conimonf? viewed this rising with secret favor. Croniweil and the leaders of his army met at Windsor, and spent three days in tneditation and prayer for Divine guidance. How seldom do generals thus seek counsel of God 1 Who can doubt tlio sincerity and uprightness of such men? Cromwell retired daily to pray, and somp who pried into his retirement saw him in agony and tears. He ever sought wisdom from above, spent much time in grayer before an action, fought with the Scripture truth on his lips, and never failed to thank God for his successes. The meeting at Windsor led to inimediate. pre- paration against Charles and his adiierents. While Fairfax crushed the rising near the Metropolis, Cromwell with his army proceeded to Wales, anc' having routed their army and demoli.shed their castles, he proceeded to the north of England, met the Scottish troops under the Duke of Ham- ilton, and fought a desperate battle. Oliver's men were few compared to them, but the Royal army was utterly destroyed. Cromwell then entered' Scotland. Edinburgh opened its gates to receive him ; and, after making important changes in the Scottish government, Oliver, more than ever the idol of his soldiers, returned in triumph to London. Then commenced the trial of the captive King. A special tribunal of one hundred and fifty members was pr<^posed by Parliament for that purpose; and by this tribunal he was' condemned to death as a traitor and a public enemy. It must be remembered that the powers and prerogatives of the crown or chief magistrate of any nation are vested in them as a trust, for the benefit of the people, and can be truly respected only as they respect the constitution and welfare of the nation. Sovereign power is conferred or possessed for the sake of the governed, and the head of a nation must regard the constitution and the public welfare 112 OLIVER CROMWELL. I if he would reign over a nation of citizens and not slaves. A monarch is not the servant of any one, hut he must bo the chief servant of a//, if he would rightfully and safely be the master of all. Absolute power as such no one man can rightfully own, by birth or election (though for a time he may exercise it) ; power brings obligation, it must bring it ; and the man who exercises supreme power for per-jonal ends and personal gratification, regardless of the welfare of the governed, commits the highest treason possible to man in national atiairs. In this sense it will be seen that loyalty is as much demanded of sovereigns as of the people. It was the crime of Charles I. that he could not appreciate the need of loyalty on his own part to the freedom and se- curity of *' ^ people under the constitution. Hence he was condemned for high treason ; and while the justness of this sentence was loudly condemned and scorned by the Royal- ists of that day and since, yet the judgment of posterity has substantially sanctioned its justice. For if a King wlio favored the massacre of one hundred thousand Protestants in Ireland to please a papist wife (and the rebels declared that they acted under the commands of the King as well as the Queen) — if a King whose life was an intrigue and a despotic endeavor to crush his nation's freedom — if a King who broke his coronation oath again and again — if a King whose history disgraces the name of monarchy and seeks in every unlawful way the exercise of absolute power, was worthy of his sentence, Charles Stuart was. Those who condemned the sentence cast the odium of it on Oliver Cromwell ; but that is not fair or correct. Cromwell was appointed one of his judges, but he refused to act. Accord- ing to Burnet, he was all the time in suspense. When the Prince of Wales wrote to him to save the King's life, he re- plied : " I have prayed with fasting to know God's will," OLIVER CROMWELL. 113 .ing ang :s in 1 was I who Liver was tord- the re- dll." The royal trial commenced witliout his knowledge ; Crom- well sought to mediate between the King and Parliament, and he only abandoned tlio position when branded as a traitor l)y his own camp. On the day of execution an eager and excited crowd gathered in front of Whitehall waiting the fatal moment. Hours passed wliile Oliver prays for wisdom to decide as in God's si<;ht alone. At lenf'th he consents to that death as necessary and just. At the hour of noon Charles appears in front of his bancjueting hall, and with calm dignity waits the fatal act. The moment he was beheaded the mob take up a lamentation, the tyrant becomes a martyr, and an habitual liar was for a time cananized until, after two centuries, enlightened public opinion ex- punged the name from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, and compelled a correction of the muster roll of niartyrology. Ireland now claimed immediate attention. The rising of the Romanists against the Protestants in 1641, followed by eight years of anarchy, had left the country in a fearful state. The Protestants were assailed and driven from their homes in midwinter, while their property was destroyed, their families murdered, and the most horrible brutalities practised. The nation had received a feaiful baptism of blood. Cromwell was requested to quell the insurrection and restore peace to the country. He felt the task to be a very difficult one, but he accepted it in full reliance upon (iod for help. On reaching Ireland, he summoned those who were in arms to surrender, and deemed it necessary to be severe towards all who refused. Cromwell opened his campaign at Drogheda with a picked army of twelve thou- sand, September 3rd, 16 19, as he states, "to avenge innocent blood." Everything yielded to the vigor and ability of Cromwell. In a few months Ireland was subdued, and the m 114 OLIVER CROMWELL. tranquility and prosperity that followed awakened univer- sal wonder. Cromwell sought the real union of Ireland with England, and wisely endeavored by his great measure to have them repi'esented in on'^ Imperial Parliament. Ac- cordingly the Legislature of 1054 contained thirty repre- sentatives from Ireland, and one imtnodiate effect of this far seeing policy was the Navigation Act, which placed Ire- land's commerce on an equal footing with P^ngland's, and led to the rapid development of her resources, to the great prosperity and contentment of the people. From Ireland the victorious chief returned to Scotland. The Scotch having invited over Charles, the son of the late King, who gave every reason to expect that he would tread in his father's footsteps if he could reach his father's throne, Cromwell tried in vain to convince them of their error hy a friendly letter. The Scotch army was the best ever raised in Scotland, and twice as numerous as the English. Oliver and his men spent a day in fasting and prayer before entering the engagement. The next day they fought the fierce and bloody battle of Dunbar, where Oliver gained a complete victory. Charles left Scotland and marched to Worcester, and Cromwell followed hiui, gaining his crown- ing victory and crushing the military force of the King. Charles fl'^d for his life, and with extreme difficulty escaped the fate of his father by taking refuge on the continent of Europe. England now became a COMMONWEALTH, and you have to look at Cromwell as a STATESMAN and LORD HIGH PROTECTOR. While Cromwell and the army were absent in Ireland and Scotland, the Presbyterians, having the chief place in Parliament, resolved on becoming the National Church, They therefore hurried through Parliament a most oppressive Act, decreeing that persons OLIVER CROMWELL. 11.') .ing. irmy denying oight doctrines should be iniprisoned, and if found guilty, l)e l)iinislied or put to deritli. Persons holding other views, such as the Baptist and Quakei's, were to he im- prisoned till they gave up their views ; so that every nuin not a Presbyterian was to be gaoled, or exiled, or executed. How huuiiliating to our couinion Christianity tliat one sect should persecute another, that men who had just escaped the furnace should m;ike power the instrument of further oppression ! But no impartial historian, in recording the history of the Church since the second century, can fail to note that the animating law of the dominant section, in every period, has been the enforcement by penalty of a uniform faith. Calvin raised no voice in the General Coun- cil against the sentence of Servctus. The Pilgrim Fathers, in their New England home, drove the Quakers further into the forest. Persecution generates persecution. Oh ! what wars have been waged, and cities sacked, and lives massa- cred, in the judgment of the p(>ipetrators, for the glory of God ! and in this day the Roundhead searched wood and mansion for the fugitive and wandei-er, and refused to listen to sorrow's imploring cry : " I myself also am a man." But such a state of lav^ could not last — England too deeply de- tested eccle.siastif ' slavery. Britain's domestic poet has told the heart-fee! ..i' of her truest sons : " Place me where winter breathes its keenest air, And I will sing, if liberty be there; And I will sing at liberty's dear feet In Afric's torrid clitne, or India's fiercest heat." In the army were many of the adherents of the newly formed sect of Independent",, to whose number Cromwell himself belonged, who disliked the papacy, prelacy and PresVjyterianism, and would not appeal to the Court of Arches sooner than to the Vatican. There were also Bap- ™ 116 OLIVER CROMWELL. H tists in tho army who held to the view that Christ alone is the Head of the Cliurch. Cromwell flemanded of the Parlia- ment liberty of conscience and worship, without which all other liberties are valueless ; and he would not submit to the penal intlictions that had just passed the House. T'le free toler^i/ion of all Christians bein^ the charter of the army, they thoulishing all statutes of penalty for nonconformity in religion, thus inaugurating the principle of religious freedom and equality in England. It n^attered little to Oliver that tl,e Presbyterians preached against him ; his political views remained unchanged. On the influence of Cromwell and tlip army the preservation of religious liberties still depended. The Parliament wished the army disbanded ; but thei/ pav was in arrears, and as their liberty and lives we»*i3 at stake, they resolved not to disband u:.til they were paid in full. Parliament also wished to perpetuate its power indefinitely. The House had sat a long time, and there was no King to dissolve it. This determination oi: the Long Parliament to continue its sessions became a serious obstruction to all reforms. Com- mittees were appointed to prepare plans for legal and ecclesiastical reforms, but the Parliament would do nothing to carry them into etlect. Internal affairs were at a dead- lock, and men who had hazarded the loss of all things in the public interest were requircu to look on wliile folly and bigotry threw away everything which had been realized by sagacity and self-sacrifice and courage. The one and only OLIVER CROMWELL. 117 »'g ^ly remedy was tho ass'^iiihly of »i new and complete Piirlia- ujent ; but tliis tlu; House wjis resolvcul to prevent. The army petitioncnl for an expliint declaraticiii that tho House would hyn;^ its [)rocee(lings to a close. Cromwell supported the demand of the army, hut the discussion which followed soon hrouj^ht out the resolve of the sitting memhers to con- tinue as a part of the couunjj; Parliament without re-elec- tion. Not only were the existing n>e:nbers to continue as members of the new Parliament, thus depriving the places they represented of their right of choice, but they w.u'e to constitute a committee of revision to determine the validity of each election and the fitness of the meinbers returned. Conference after conference took place between the leaders of the Commons and the otiicers of the army, l)ut without satisfactory results. At last events compelled Cromwell abruptly to dissolve the House. His own safety and the safety of the measures of freedom which he was desirous of preserving for the nation at large, demanded I»is retaining a tirm hold on the supreme power. To have allowetl that power to pa.ss into the hands of the paities oppo.sed to him, would have bef a to have surrendered himself and all be- sides to a rule immeasurably for tlie worst. Rising, there- fore, in his place in the House, with some hesitation and impatience, he said to the members : " Your hour is com-"*, the Lord hath done with you." Some members stai-ted i. their feet in angry protest. " Come, come," replied Crom- well, " 1 will put an end to your prating ; begone and give place to bettci' men." "It is you that have forced me to this," he said, as he drove the members out. The act was one of violence co the m'^mbers of the House, and cannot bo justified on any formal ground ; but the act which it pre- vented was one of violence on the part of the House to the constitutional rights of th'i nation. The expulsion of the m i ' 118 OLIVER CROMWELL, U Rump Parliament was justifiecl by the necessities of the hour, and ratified by the general approval of the count./. A Parliament must now be chosen, but, with the feeling chat existed between the PresV>^ terians and Episcopalians, it was feared that an appeal to the country could " ot be made without war. In this extremity the officers took an unwarrantable step, nomii ating, through Cromwell their chief, a hundred and forty men to settle the supreme govern- ment. This Parliament soon resigned its unconstitutional power to Cromwell. Oliver then drew up a plan of govern- ment conforming to the old Engl.'.^h constitution, only, at the suggestion of his party, the term ' King " was omitted, and *' Lord riigh Protector" substituted. Cromwe)l became the electoral chief of the English Commonwealth, and on Decsmber 16th, 165.3, he was solemnly installed at West- minster Hall, having a robe of purple, a sword of state, and a richly-bound Bible. Cromwell was induced to take this position that the ends of liberty and religion might be answered. In what 'i^anner he discharged the duties of this high position history cm testify. He reformed the House of Commons, extended the franchise, corrected the vices of the old representative system, and abolished many of the worst statutes that existed ; and so far-seeing and liberal was his policy, that after the reaction of the restored Stuarts, it has taken more than two hundred years, and the unrivalled powers of Pitt, and Peel, and Russell, and Gladstone, to bring the representative system of England to what it was under the Commonwealth. Under Cromwell, England was safe and happy. Property was secure, laws were observed, and re- ligion more than tolerated. Whilst in the n.idst of his greatness, he manifested the most sterling humility. The cup which has intoxicated so many sobered him. He had nothing in common with those men who distin{»uished them- OLIVER CROMWELL, 119 selves in lower places, but whose incapa( ity becomes mani- fest when they are summoned to lead. Rapidly as his fortune grew, his mind expanded more rapidly. Cromwell, by the confession even of his enemies, exhibited a simple, natural nobleness, and was neither ashamed of his origin nor vain of his elevation. Born to command, when he reached his proper place he felt at ease, because competent to fill it. Nor did Cromwell ever sacrifice the nation's interests for his own. He gave away to charitable purposes about forty thousand pounds^ year from his own private purse. Not one penny of the public money ever went to the enrichment of his family. He simply left to them the estates he in- herited before reaching the Protectorate. He regarded principle before place or wealth or power, and would never sell his manhood for gold or glory. The Protector's foreign policy was as distinguished and successful as his domestic. After half a century, during which England had been degraded and the ship of state well nigh wrecked under the Stuarts, it once more rose to the first rank of European nations. Blake, though not one with Cromwell in policy, readily encouraged and helped to secure the empire of the seas, while Cromwell vanquished every boasting foeman who dared encounter his glittering sceel and invincible Ironsides. He was universally acknow- ledged ao the liead oi' the Protestant interest, and dictated terms of peace to the world. The Piedmontese and Wal- denses in their Alpine hamlets and valleys were secured from oppicssion by the terror of that great name. Tb« Pope Miaself, for once, was compelled to preach humanity and moderation ; for a voice, which never threatened in vain, htA proclaimed that unless favor was shown to the people of God, the boom of the English cannon would be heard in the Castle of St. Angelo. Cromwell the Protector, 120 OLIVER CROMWELL. i '■ ) 1 ■s i M i ; j ^ \ \ J t < 1 fir li 1( and England under the Commonwealth, were objects of universal admiration or dread. The Britisli soldier never turned iiis back on a foe, but fought his way to victory in every field of strife under that great general ; while the nation at home was well and wisely governed. The triumph of the Stuarts would have been the ascendency of the Pa- pacy and the degradation of England. Cromwell was the obstacle specially raised of God in the seventeenth century to check the efforts of civil despotism and the encroach- ments of the Church of Rome. Cromwell in his great work was unquestionably helped by his distinguished contei'ipo- raries. There was Sir John Eliot — the so-called Elijah of the Commonwealth — the noble herald and defender of civil liberty against the grossest abuses and favoritisms and tyr- annies, the martyr to cruel wrongs and the basest and most unconstitutional ways. John Pym, tlie eloquent, the pure- minded, the generous-hearted defender of true freedom. John Hampd'Mi, the patriotic and courageous champion of liberty, who resolutely fought illegal measures and king- craft by law and constitutional right and unshrinking hero- ism. John Milton, Cromwell's Secretary of State, tLe literary champion of the Connnonwealtli, and the greatest creative genius of his age ; besides otiier illustrious names. Look at Cromv/ell also as a CHllISTIAN. In the private walks of life he was not less honorable and cojvdst- ent than in uis public career. It is too seldom tliat great men are Christians ; Cromwell was both. His piety was the chief secret of his greatness and success. Soundly converted soon after his marriage, he lived a Clnistian life for upwards of thirty years. Amid privation or prosperity, the field of battle or the closet, in the throne room of empire, surrounded by his Cabinet, or in the quietude of his own family, he was the same unfaltering saint of the fV OLIVER CROMWELL. 121 great Most High God. His worth as a Christian was most regarded by those who knew him best. His letters to his reUitives and family breathe a tender and devout frame of soul. JNlany have grossly misrepresented him and sought to foul his name, for aspersion and reproach are the world's sorry trade in men that are better than they ; yet trutli and merit are at last beginning to prevail, and his goodr^ess to be acknowledged. Oliver certainly passed "the wicket gate " on his way to the cross with a pale face, and feeble step^ and agonized frame, and a heavy heart, while a physician was sent for at midnight by those who knew not the nature of his disease ; but ere the physician arrived, one look to Jesus had made him every wit wjiole, and he learnt "how soon c mile of Guu ».ctn cliange the world and make all things new." By means of the new life within him, he rose above surrounding evil, despite his morbid tempera- ment and many-sided experience and trials, and closed his pilgrimage with joy. God's glory being his chief aim, his life was nobly Christian, and his last hours were lit up witli heavenly glory. September 3rd, 1658, the anniversary of his great victories of Dunbar and Worcester, has arrived. There nmst be festive glee to celebrate events so i" and ; the whole nation must hold holiday to-day ;— but hush ! Eng- land's uncrowned king lies upon his dying bed. He is to gain the grandest of all his victories to-day. He speaks of the covenant of grace as faithful and true, and confesses that faith in Jesus is his only hope. He says, " I am the vilest of sinners, but Jesus fills my soul with Mssurance and love." Wondering for the moment at the Apostle's power "to endure all things," he added, "but Pauls Christ is my Christ." A last look of wife and children ; he whispers : " Feed, feast on the Covenant." Then came the measured beats, while in great serenity of soul, as if the unruffled 122 OLIVER CROMWELL. peace of the waveless sea was imaged there, he eyed the House above, and, with liis sorrows passed, his conflicts closed, his heart cahn, he became more than conqueror through Him that had loved him. When it was known that Cromwell was dead, Amsterdam was illuminated, as for a great deliverance ; while children ran through the streets shouting : *' The devil is dead ! " and Rome again began to breathe out threatenings and slaughter. But England, with another feeling, amid great and wide-spread lamentation, laid the coffined ren)ains, amid funereal pomp and ceremony such as London had never seen before, pmong her greatest and proudest sons in Westminster Abbey. True, his body was afterwards taken up by the revengeful Charles, to the disgrace of our humanity, and gibbeted, and exposed to the gaze and shout and scofi' of a tickle mob ; but tiie name and memory of the Protector live yet, and will in the future receive more grateful acknowledgment and honour. Not only bronze statues, but an admiring nation, shall yet hold that name in everlasting remem- brance. Cromwell's ability, and talents, and courage, and im- partial justice, and profound religiousness, were but very imperfectly understood by the best men of his own times. Some, who worked with him in the Held and in the state, suspected him often, and so only gave him the cold support and halting service that jealousy and misunderstanding give. He had to plead with some of his own friends to trust him honestly, and go forward with him to the great work of his life. His success in war, in discipline, in government, all could see, but to account for it was to many very perplexing ; they had not the key to his life and character. His prayers before a battle were to him a duty— a necessity if he were to succeed. His charging an enemy with fierce desperation OLIVER CROMWELL. 123 lem- im- 'ery Mies. pate, )ort jive. Ihiiii his all rers J- ere :,ion on the field of battle, while a Scripture passage flowed f om his lips, to inspire his own and his comrades' confidence, was to him a consistent way of acknowledging the God of battles. His thanksgiving after a victory was to him a dutiful expression of God's guardianship amid the dangers of the field and the hail of death. But to those who never thought of God, but only of armies, and discipline, and equipment, and military skill, this was an insolul)le mystery. The generation who followed him, after the restoration of the profligate and despotic cour*^^, with its greedy and selfish ministers and favorites, with its bribed Parliaments and intolerant Church, accused Cromwell of selfish ambition, and duplicity, and hypocrisy, and coarseness, and innumerable other e'dls. But you may charitably conclude that this misstatemei't Pud vilification is the joint product of hatred and ignorance. Corrupt men in a corrupt age could not understand a man who liv^ed as seeing Him that is invisible. AVithout God themselves, and buried beneath waves of pestilential vices, to them a man who lived by faith was an inexplicable mystery. You cannot wonder, tlierefore, that he was belied, and misrepresented, and caricatured by his biographers and historians ; living in such an age, and blitided by such ar; atmosphere. But in spite of all mis- understandings, Cromwell lived and acted during the whole of his public life as one responsible and accountable to God. Belief in an invisible, omnipotent, ever-present Being was the secret of his v^ndurance, and fidelity, and success ; and in that faith he lived, labored, triumphed, and is crowned forever. :i lii! LECTURE V. THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. GOTLAND is sea-girt, save its southern boundary, where it is separated from Enghind by the Cheviot Hills and the river Tweed ; it is of oblong shape and • irregular surface. Its length from north to south is two hundred and eighty miles ; its breadth from one hundred and seventy-five to thirty miles ; and its estimated area, including the islands, upwards of thirty thousand square miles. Its population is less than four millions, though you cannot correctly say their number, for many of them, after the manner of Scotchmen, travel in early life to find wider scope for their enterprise than the country of their father- land can yield. By means of that barren and lofty moun- tain range, the Grampian Hills, Scotland is divided into two districts — the Highlands and the Lowlands. The ancient name of Scotland was Caledonia, and its original inhabi- tants Celtic, speaking Gtelic, the mother tongue of the Celt. Its present name was given it by the Scoti, a powerful, warlike tribe from Ireland, who invaded it in the fifth century, subdued the Picts and natives and became masters of the scene, until the devastating wars with England in the twelfth century, and the defeat of William the Lion, which for a time placed the independence of the kingdom in other hands. Norman and Saxon barons then took up their residence in the country, and many of the toiling classes of the English mingled freely with the inhabitants THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 125 of the Lowlands, untfl the Teutons predominated in the south, and the Celtic blood and (ia-lic tongue were com- pelled to restrict their home to the Highlands. Intimacy was more or less preserved between the two nations until, in 1603, they were merged into one -the British King- dom, This brief sketch of land and history I have pre- sented that you may be the more familiar with the country and the tribes of whom I speak. It is strangely true that, with rare excptions, if you want to find the muster-roll of heroes —those who have carved out names for themselves, the prouder because self-won, philosophers, historians, statesmen, essayists, poets, orators — you nmst not go to the equator, and burn under a tropical sun, or linger in the rich and fertile tropics ; but go rather to the northern regions, where a healthier atnrosphere, a stubborn soil, and a howling winter compel men to be braver and more self-reliant. Scotland is a confirmation of this rule, and oatmeal, though by some deemed a meagre banquet, has thickened into muscle, bone, and brnin of which any nation might be justly proud. There is one conviction I want to carry into the study of this and all history, THAT GOD IS THE CENTRAL FACT OF HISTORY ; therefore it is neither right nor wise to ignore Him when we open its archives. Just as one cannot have a true conception of the grandeur and magnitude of a landscape, who has examined it only in the glimmer of a lamp, so the atheist can have no clear knowledf,. of history who has not allowed the sun of heaven to shine upon it, kindling all its events, small or great, into sublime significance. It is when you see God in history that epochs are no longer marked by the troubled glare of battle, or successive mastery of thrones, or the bar- baric civilization of conquest ; but by the moulding of that national character, and growth of that personal manhood i II 126 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. which aid the purposes of the Divine, It is wlien you see God in history that the peaUng storm, and crushing tempest, and the wildest panic are transformed into a holy temple, where the trembling worshippers adore in silence, for the Lord reigneth ; and kings become His servants, and grow- ing nations his expanded smile, and dwindling empires his darkening frown, the universe his footstool, and heaven itself but a flash of his benignant eye, and the world moves along its course to that finish that shall yet challenge every critic's eye — either to vindicate or assail — the queen of wondering planets. The history of the Scottish Covenanters bears date from 1638 to 1688, a brief half a century. But correctly to understand the principles of that struggle, we must go back to an earlier date, and hurriedly glance at the years from the establishment of Protestantlsm, and the holding of the first General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in 1560. Some Scottish historians have taken much pains to prove Presbyterianism an heirloom of the Culdees, their earliest Christian sect, so as to show that with them it waF, not a novel theory of recent growth, but a form of Church govern- ment which they had inherited from their first acquaintance with Christianity. I do not wish to say that there is no force i*^ the arguments employed, for manifestly there was in the religion of the Culdees the germ of the Christianity of Scotland to-day. But I wash to discourage any attempt to look back for the truth of a religion, so as to see by how many removes it has come from an apostle's lips or pen. We should rather look ivithin, and see if it wears the cre- dentials of Divinity. Truer far is that which is of yester- day, if it has the seal of Heaven, than that which is of centuries, if it is simply old. Protestantism did not gain its ascendency in Scotland in the sixteenth century without THE SCOTTISH COVENANTEUS. 127 a fierce and protracted struggle. Romanism had too long held its sway to yield an easy victory. Nowhere through-, out the Western Church had the Papacy grown to a gro;iter power than in Scotland. Superstition and imposture of the g ossest type gained a ready ear among a rude and ignorant people, and l^y means of them the clergy attained an exor- bitant degree of opulence and power. Fully one-half of the nation's wealth belonged to them. Jiishops and abbots rivalled the first nobility in magnificence, and preceded them in honors. A vacant bishopric called forth powerful com- petitors, and sometimes weapons of war, while inferior benefices were openly put up for sale. The life of the clergy was a scandal upon religion, and an outrage on decency. With such weapons Rome waged war against the first Reformation of Scotland. But notwithstanding her fierce persecution and many martyrs, numbering among them such royal youths of princely blood, and princelier soul, as Patrick Hamilton, the first Scottish martyr, and the accomplished George Wishart and Robert Mill, and other famous names, and though the weapons of persecution were swayed by the cruel, revengeful Cardinal Beaton, yet the light of the Reformation continued to spread, until the Pa- pacy was abolished, and Protestantism, as by act of Parlia- ment, became the established religion of Scotland. But after gaining this victory. Protestantism had to struggle hard and long against terrible odds to preserve its life and assert its supremacy. The Papacy, true to itself, died hard. In that year, 1560, Francis, the young, sickly, imbecile King of France and Scotland, the husband of Mary Queen of Scots, died, and Mary, whose power was at once lost at the French court, desired to return to Scotland, and in the following August she returned to Holyrood House, amid loyal demon- strations. Mary was a woman of great personal beauty, 128 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. brilliant wit, winsome smile, piercing eye, proud manner, inflexible will, and bi<;oted mind. She was of bad blood on lier mother's side, being of the House of (iuise, the chief actors in tlie Black Bartholomew of France. She had also been educated in France under her uncle, a devoted Papist, and was reminded by him that the glory of her reign would be to restore her nat've kingdom to its former obedience to the Papal sway. To the fulfilment of this scheme she con- secrated her power, and influence, and life, with the most determined pertinacity, until a succession of ill fortune terminated in a tragic end. Mary found, notwithstanding her duplicity and craft, that she had men to contend with among the Scottish Reformers. Foremost among the no- bility was her brother, the Earl of Murray, a man of unim- peachable character, wise statesmanship, and fervent piety, who was so upright and impartial as to win the title of the GrOOD Regent before he fell by the assassin's hand. The foremost among the clergy — indeed, the man of his age — was John Knox, the great Scottish Reformer. To him the Reformation owed much of birth and being, and to him it looked in infant days for counsel and defence; and, in a time of strange and general faithlessness, he was never recreant to his duty. Trained for the priesthood, he was well acquainted with the arts of Rome. He was a man of powerful mind, keen insight, determined will, eloquent tongue, and fearless hero- ism. He was admired and hated by his enemies, feared by the Queen more than te7i thousand armed men, as the 07ily man she could never move by the strange witchery of her beauty and smile. Regarded by the daring, unprincipled Morton as he who never feared the face of man, Knox was a tower of strength to the Reformed Church: Mary found, after seven years of severe struggle, that Protestantism was THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 129 her Ipled I was ind, I was the estaV)hshed religion of Scotland, and she, as the reward of her bigotry and her sins, had to abdicate the throne and go into exile. The next twenty-tive years of the Church's history, until the establishtnent of Presbyterianisni in 1592, were marked by fierce conflict between Episcopacy and the Prksbyteky, each striving for the mastery. To the unprin- cipled and covetous nobility, who alternately held sway dur- ing the minority of James, Prelacy was a n>ore pliable thing than Presbyterianisni. The Presbytery ph^aded that the ecclesiastical revenues taken from the disestablished Church of Rome should 1)0 applied to the support of the nnnistry, the promotion of learning, and the relief of the poor ; but the nobility, eager to grasp it for themselves, devised the order of Tklciian Bishops — a term taken from the High- land custom of placing a Telchan, or calf-skin stuflfed with straw, before the cow to induce her to give her milk. As was to be expected, against this servile and degrading order of things the most godly ministers protested, claiming that no man should be called a bishop to exercise lordship over God's heritage, and that no men should be admitted to the ministry but such as commended themselves "oy their ler n- ing and piety to the Assembly of the Church. Forr-.o^t among the contending ministers was Andrew MelvilL, a man small in stature, but great in learning, skilled in de- bate, and dauntless in spirit — a worthy successor of John Knox, whose spirit and mantle he had caught. But for a time Episcopacy had sway, and it was not until the close of a keen conflict, in which excellent men were imprisoned or banished, that what is called the Great Charter of the Scottish Church was secured, and Presbyterianism be- came the established religion of Scotland, with the gifted Robert Bruce as Moderator of the first General Assembly. But the Presbyterians were not long permitted to enjoy this 130 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTER... 1^ I supremacy unopposed. The King, James VI., was an un- principled despot, the articles oC wliose creed were ahaolui- ism, and the Roynl, prerotjatire. Fi'oni hiiti the Presbyter- ians experienced at first a cold friendship, and then open hostility. A Popish conspiracy, to which .Faines lent too much sym^ 4,ti y, was the earliest opposer of that Church. Then Episcopacy, in a modified sliape, was introduced, and, by the King's intrigue, after tea years established. The General Assembly of IG02 was tlie last Free Assembly recognized by the Scottish Church until 1638. James' favorite aphorism, ^^lYo bis/iop no king," and his ,\vowed preference for Prelacy, was partially founded in n desire to please the dominant sect of England, whose throne he had united with his own, as the rightful heir of both. Piiklacy being CMfitb/ixhed, and declared the fhird estate of the realm, sought to sustain its position, and accomplish its purpose by acts of intolerance and cruelty. TiiK Court of High Com. MISSION, which had the infamous distinction of uniting the terrors of civil and ecclesiastical despotism, was ?et up under the presidency of Archbishop Spotswood, a man too well fitted to wield the double sword. The sulierings in- flicted by this notorious court on the most gifted and faith- ful ministers of the land increased the popular detestation of the prelatic system, until a deep, irresistible under-cur- rent was formed, and burst forth in all its wild grandeur at the nigninc/ of the national covenant. That day afibrds one of the most sublime moral spectacles history has chronicled. Charles, the King, in conjunction with the peevish, semi- popish Laod, Archbishop of Canterbury, and the fanatical bishops of the North, hastened the crisis by commanding the use of the A nglican liturgy in the Scottish Church. On the Sabbath the liturgy was first read, the Scotch, who viewed it as an unlawful innovation on their rights of con- 'HE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 181 ing I science, ft. >ied in vast nuuiboi's in the Cathedra! Church of Eclinbur^'j'. to oppose tho matter. When the orticiatin;,' dean begaj\ the service, .Janet Geddes shouted: "Villain, durst thou say mass at my lug?" and tossed hfr stool at his head, Insta'jtlv the crowd shouted: "A Papist! Anti- christ!" anrl broke u}) the service. That unpremeditated riot .sooji becanje a revolution. To crush tliis in his anger, and force the liturgy on the people, the King .sent his com- missioner, Tran(|uar, armed with flespotic power, to coerce the people. Oh, that men woald remember that banded ai-mies, cruel battles, and the tortures of tyranny never ad- vance the king(l(jm of Christ ! Christianity is a spiritual kingdom, and no carnal weapons glitter in her armory : and to all her zealous but mistaken friends who would battle for her by means of the sword, or cannon, or prison, she speaks the rebuke of the Ma.ster : '* Put up thy sword into the sheath again, for they that take the sword shall perish witli the sword." Christianity came to unite, not estrange ; to soothe, not to sour ; to give peace, not war ; to bring life, not death j and ycj can'^ot do it a greater injustice than to make it an arena of political parti- zanship. To preserve their lives and liberties, the godly of the land assend>led on the appointed day, Feuruaky 28, 1638, and the COVENANT was presented. In that Covenant, too long to be reproduced, every covenanter pledged himself to maintain pure Scriptural irorshipy to protect the King iti all lawful and righteous measures, to pre- serve the liherties of the country, to die, if necessary, in d< fend- ing the cause of religion and the iveU-heing of the state — a Coven.ant, we think, that any Christian patriot might sign. There was an ancient usage in Scotland of entering into hayids for mutual protection in troubled times ; also a previ- ous Covenant, the same in substance a.'' this, had been signed 132 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. m 1 W 1 ^' m I in the days of the first Reformation, so that the idea was neither new nor treasonable. After much consultation and prayer, the Earl of Sutherhxnd first signed the Covenant, then the ministers, the i the people ; and so great was the crowd that they spread it on a flat gravestone in Greyfriar's churchyard, and such was the enthusiasm that many opened a vein and signed it with tlteir own blood. As eagerly did the people sign it throughout the cities and towns and country, with rare exceptions at St. Andrews, Aberdeen, and Glasgow. Its spirit spread far and wide over the land, like fire gver its heath-clad hills, and as the fiery cross was wont to be the signal for feudal strife in earlier times, it sum- moned the people to unite in one mighty phalanx of concerted energy for tlie holiest of causes. How grand that day and deed, when clans that rarely met but for strife, and never parted without exchanging blows, met like brothers, and parted, pledged to peace and love, while the feuds of ages melted swiftly under the grand charity of the Cove- nant ; and tiiat Covenant became henceforth the rallying standard of the nation, until, t\,ite\\/i/t/j years of conjlict, it gave place to the revolution under which the people of the fatherland have ever since reposed in glory 1 This bold and ciiiergetic measure startled the King, and paralyzed the bishops. But the King's sudden pause was only the hush of agony nature holds before the crash of storm. Kept in ignorance of the depth and extent of the national feeling, Charles yielded to evil counsel, and involved the country in the horrors of Civil War. Whilst collecting his forces, and preparing for war, the King sent the Marquis of Hamilton» his commissioner, to Scotland, to pretend friendship and compassion for the Covenanters, so as to detect their schemes and divide their counsels. A more painful instance of perfidious dissimulation than marked the King's dealings THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 133 with the Covenanters, it is difficult to imagine. Fortunately they had received warning of Charles' duplicity and Hamil- ton's intentions, so that they were not beguiled by his arts ; and by their Urmness they coiiipelled the commissioner to summon an Assembly of the Church and Parliament. When the General Assembly met at Clasgow, November 21, 1638, aftei" an interruption of thirtj/six years, every heart was moved to gratitude and tears. Alexander Henderson, incomparably the best man of his Church, was unanimously chosen Moderator. During the sittings of the Assembly, Henderson and Hamilton had many sharp contentions, and, after an eloquent vindication of the liberties of the Church, he refused to rise, when the commissioner abruptly left the Assembly, and declared it closed. The Covenanters had now taken ground from which they could not retreat without sacrificing their civil and religious freedom. Yet, in their anxiety to avoid hostilities, they waited on the commissioner previous to hi? tinal departure for London, to solicit his good offices at court ; but he replied in terms of refusal and threatening. Not deterred in. their loyal and pacific course by an ungracious refusal, they «ent a supplication to his Majesty, by one of themselves, Ceorge Winram, but it was answered only in mockery. As the King's displeasure was gi-eat, his pi'eparations for war were great also, contemplat- ing the total subjection of the Scottish kingdom. Tlie Covenanters were compelled to take up arms in self- defence. Before doing so, Alexander Hendtison prepared a pamphlet, setting forth their views and reasons to the Eng- lish people, and thereby secured the sympathy of tiie Puritans ; and England refused the despotic King all the arms and means he wanted, so that he had to take the field at Berwick, at the, head of thirty thousand. The strongholds of Scotland were soon in the hands of the Covenanters ; the 134 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. u King's generals were defeated, and Leslie, the commander of the Covenanting troops, compelled Charles to make terms of peace. That peace was only for a short time, until new forces could be collected. The King's second attempt at coercion by arms was more disastrous still. xVgain the Cov- enanters assembled under their old general, and bore aloft their colors, stamped with the Scotch arms, and this motto in letters of gold: "FUR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT," and such was the dissatisfaction of the in- sulted English nation that Charles could only raise twenty thousand troops, now to take the Held under the notorious Straftbrd. After publishing a letter in justitication of their expedition, the Covenanters crossed the Tweed and met the Royal troops at Newburn. In tliat keen and well-fought battle the Covenanters were victorious. They pushed on to Newcastle, and York, and Ripon, the English army receding before them, until negotiations concluded in London led to a cessation of hostilities, and the disbanding of the armies, the King being constrained to yield to the demands of the Covenanters, and give over his favorite Episcopacy in Scotland. One benefit of the Scottish commissioner's stay in London was a closer alliance with the English Puritans, which finally led to the signing of the Solkmn League and Covenant by both countries, one of the best and most remarkable documents ever recorded in the international transactions of the world. That league bound the united kingdoms to mutual assistance for the preservation and defence of civil and religious liberty. From the moment the two great parties were united, the fate of Charles Stuart and his despotic measures was sealed. During the revolution, the Covenanters experienced some reverses. Montrose, with all his native daring, and fiery Highlanders, devastated the north, and, in brief and brilliant march, came THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 135 in stay bans, AND [nost lonal ited awcZ lient Irles the Ises. |ers, Line down like a living torrent upon the^ Covenanters, spreading terror and ruin until his career was checked by Leslie. In that second Reformation of Scotland, the names of Hender- son, and Douglas, and Baillie, and Rutherford, and Wairis- ton — a galaxy of peculiar glory — are familiar household names that deserve to be handed down to posterity with mingled gratitude and pride. After the royal forces were abolished, and the Commonwealth was established under Oliver Cromwell, Scotland enjoyed unprecedented prosperity and peace ; and Kirkton says : " TJiere loere more souls con- verted to Christ during that ti)ne than in any season since the Reformation^^ For then had the churches rest, and there were added to them daily such as should be saved. 1660^ — the Restoration of Charles II. — commenced a new era of the final years of the Covenanting struggle ; an epoch whose history is written in mourning, lamentation, and blood. Charles the Second was truthless, corrupt, licen- tious, and despotic. In a strange iremy of extravagant loyalty, the restoration of Charles to the throne of his an- cestors was amidst shouts and welcomes rarely equalled. The Episcopalians were foremost in the demonstrations of joy, as it became them, but the Presbyterians, the chief in- struments of his return, deserved consideration from the King, especially as Charles had one time signed the Cove- nant, and solemnly vowed to be faithful ; and further, this was a time when mutual concessions were required, and animosities should have been forgotten. But Charles, des- titute of the wisdom to discern, and being at heart a Papist, showed his preference, and stated as his motto. Episcopacy and no surrender. The Earl of Middleton, general of the forces, was made commissioner to Scotland, with private instructions to devise i^e best means of introducing Episco- pacy. The chiefs of the Covenanting nobility were thrust 10- P f I 136 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. into prison, and ten ministers and two elders, who met just to frame a loyal address to the King, and remind him of his Covenant, were seized, and cast into prison also. Unfor- tunately, during the yaars of external peace, internal dis- sensions had arisen among the Covenanters, so that they had become two bands, called Resolutioners and Protestors. The Resolutioners (sxcelled in number ; the Protestors in fidelity to the Covenant. Division made them weak and powerless to resist assault or oppression, and their great leaders in the past had crossed the river, entered the ivory gate, and received the victor's crown ; so that measures they would not have dared to introduce a few years before, the Parliament of 1661 brought forward and passed with im- punity. In that Parliament deserters of the Covenant sought its destruction, and the Royal prerogative was set up according to the rigid logic of despotism. All the laws in favor of civil liberty, and the Presbyterian Church, were declared null, and these wild unconstitutional measures were soon ratified in blood. The Marquis of Argyle, who placed the crown upon the King's head, was the first victim, Charles had promised to marry Argyle's daughter, and hated the man he had injured. Argyle was a Presbyterian, and" for this he was put to death. The next victim was James Guthrie, the bold and able leadev of the Protestors. After him Goven received the crown of martyrs ; and they pro- ceeded to take Rutherford also, but the Master he loved so well had given the first call, and he hastened to obey it. Thinking the Presbyterian spirit sufficiently subdued, the King interposed his royal authority to restore the govern- ment of bishops. James Sharp was made Archbishop of St. Andrew's, and Metropolitan of F otland ; while Fair- foul, and Hamilton, and Leighton received the mitre also. Synods and Presbyteries were now prohibited by royal THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 137 decree, until summoned by the bishops. An Act was passed dechiring all who held the Covenant guilty of treason, all petitioners seditious, and refusing them liberty to preach or teach. The infamous acts that followed this, ejected three hundred andjifty ministers from their homes and churches in mid-winter. These ministers were forbidden to preach anywhere, or approach within tiventy miles of their former charges, and none were allowed to assist them with either food or shelter. Literally, they .. .aidered in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens, and in caves of the earth. Well might the last Sabbath of October, 166'?, when tlie ejected ministers took farewell of their flocks, be called the saddest Sabbath (f Scotland. The people also were heavily fined who refused to listen to the ignorant and unworthy men who were sent to fill the vacant pulpits. These were soon succeeded by measures yet moi-e severe. The refined and accomplished families, who had to relinquish home and altar under a sense of utter homelessness, were openly persecuted. The ministers and their sympathizing people met in open field to worship God, commencing what was termed Conven- ticles ; against them for years the rage of the persecutors burned fiercely. Acts were passed rendering all such meet- ings illegal, and consigning all who persisted in holding them to prison and death — acts too faithfully fulfilled. Armed with such measures, and aided by spies and a brutal soldiery, Sharp and his clergy commenced in earnest a reign of terror; and services which outraged the honor of woman, blighted the home of industry, hounded from lonely wilds the conscientious worshipper, drove to poverty, and prison, and death Scotland's noblest sons : the clergy, in their intoxication of joy, dared the Masphemy of baptizing with the insulted name of religion, and gave solemn thanks for atrocities that should have made them sliun the light of I :: 1 138 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. M day. Bribed and well-paid informers, mingling freely v/ith the Covenanters in their wanderings and hiding-places, kept that essence of despotism, the Court of High Commis- sion, well instructed in the movements of the persecuted Church ; and of all that were brought before this terrible court of inquisition, not one escaped punishment in either line, imprisonment, exile, slavery, or death. At the outset of the persecution there is a display of humor as well as heroism in the persecuted. One minister, taunted by a mer- curial Conformist for wearing a threadbai 3 coat, replied : *' If it be bare, i^ has never been turned." Another, when told by an old hearer that they would gladly have him back again, replied : " And I would as gladly come if my con- science would allow ; " at which the honest countryman re- joined : *' Oh, sir, many now-a-days make a great gash in their conscience ; couldn't you make a little nick in yours ? " Another wrote : " I am at thy footstool — I may not do evil that good may come." But the scene darkens, and the tempest nears, and blood keens the thirst for blood. Charles made the terms of conformity required by the Covenanters more rigid still. He wanted to lay them prostrate and powerless at the foot of thy throne, and act after act of the servile Parliament but converged to this consummation. Just mark briefly the despotic attempt to repress civil and religious progress. The only places of worship i^^maining to the persecuted ministers and Church were the solitudes oj the Southern and Western Counties. Your imagination can scai'cely conceive of solitudes more dreary than thos^i to which the Covenanters resorted. There were wild and rocky moorlands and mountains covered with heath stretching on- ward for miles, with just a few solitary shepherds' huts ; in the very heart of these wastes, in the most retired and un- known retreats, the persecuted met for praise and prayer, THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 139 braving the tierceness of the desert to escape the still fiercer storm of cruel men. For men to choose a good conscience and poverty is sublime, but sul)limer still is it for men, women, and children to persevere for upwards of twenty years in the worship of the true God, amid peril, and privation, and deaths oft, in a wilderness that c uld rival the Arabian for barrenness and isolation, or on heights so solemn, and perpen- dicular, and lonely, that only extremity would dream of meet- ing there, and cease not to raise the perilous psalms, though some of their slauijrhtered number were missinf from each O «... successive assembly : and I cannot think of the many caves, and holes, and glens adapted to the purpose of concealment found in these wilds without entertaining the idea that the Author of nature, when He made the world, formed by an- ticipation those abodes of secrecy, that in after ages the earth might help the woman tvhen in time of trouble she should flee to the ivilderness, where she had a place jjrepared for her of God. But even those dreary retreats were discov- ered by means of informers, and the fierce dragoons scoured moss and hill with as keen a relish as ever sportsman fol- lowed his game, carrying on and on the work of spoliation and death. There is the venerable and much-loved Peden ; he must be seized at all hazards. To-day he ventures forth from his secluded refuge to inhale the breath and music of May-day. He visits the house of a valued friend for re- freshment and converse. As the evening gathers quietly on, he hastens along the soft foot-path leading to his cave at Garricfell. All at once several moss troopers appear, advanci g directly upon him. In his flight across the moor he perceived a cavity scooped out by a running stream, and crept in, stretching himself under the grassy coverlet, until the dragoons, who swiftly followed, had crossed at the '^'^♦•y spot. The hoof of one of the horses grazed his head while 140 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. he lay unperceived. On another occasion, the same man and a few of his companions in tribulation were so closely pursued by tlie enemy that all hope of escape was cut off. Peden knelt down and asked God to baffle the pursuers, and instantly a mist came rolling down the mountain side, till the persecutors were blinded and could not grope their way. A worthy Covenanter, Howatson, who was compelled to dwell in concealment, happened of a cold and stormy night to venture into his house, where after a cordial greet- ing from liis family, and a hasty supper and a change of raiment, he retired to rest. Unexpectedly, at dead of night, a party of pursuers came, and four entered the house. As they stood in front of the fire lighting a candle, Howatson's wife awoke ; grasping his arm firmly, he awoke, slipped softly out of bed, and darted like an arrow through the dragoons, his snow-white shirt terrifying the horses, and producing confusion while he escaped. On another occasion the same man was seized, and cast into a dungeon where flight was thought impossible ; but while there his devoted wife employed a half-witted man of enormous strength to lift the massive doors, under cover of night, and so released the prisoner. And the wearied man outlived the persecu- tion, and died in great peace. A good man, named Hare, was seized by the persecutors, and reminded that they should have some sport in killing him, as they would the little animal of his name. Placing him on horseback be- hind one of themselves, they carried him to the top of a very high hill ; the descent on either side for several Imndred feet was very steep. Unbuckling the belt which fastened him to the soldier, they prepared to fire ; but Hare slid from the horse, lighted on the steep declivity, and glided with great swiftness down the side, until, at the utmost speed, he reached the bottom. The soldiers fired, I THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 141 but dared not follow, aiid could only gnash their teeth in disappointed rage. Returning across the moors, the soldiers saw young Adams reading and meditating on the Word of God, and shot him dead at once — for no other crime than being a Christian. Cro.ising the river just below, they met his amiable companion going, as she supposed, to meet her lover. One of the soldiers, with his sword, rudely attempted to push her into the foaming stream, when she wrenched the sword from his hand, and hastened on, only to kiss lips that were cold and still in death. Alexander Williamson, a Covenanter of eminence and wealth, for feeding and shel- tering other Covenanters, was marked for vengeance. One Sabbath the dragoons entered his house and searched it through and through, but found him not ; for he was far away from those who thirsted for his blood, worshipping God in the temple of Nature, and listening to a sermon on the burning biish, still biirni7i(/ but not consumed. *' To the left ! " shouted an officer ; " there is game on the hillside yonder. Pursue, for the old })ird has flown." That silver- haired fugitive hastening across the 'lill is Campbell. The pursuers gain upon him. He throws himself into a narrow moss-covered trench, and there God hides him. As unex- pected as unwelcome, a company of horsemen entered the abode of William Good. Flight was impossible ; but he hid himself in the spence with superannuated barrels, and pots, and chests, and the rude troopers with all their search- ing found him not ; for their eyes were holden. In those days of peril the sense of sight and sound was wonderfully sharpened by excessive use ; even in sleep th^»y seemed strangely wakeful. But, notwithstanding, the troopers would sometimes come upon them unperceived, and if found searching t'n Scriptures, or engaged in worship, they were put to instant death, or banished to returnless exile. 142 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. i Thus a young man of eigliteen was Sv»ized ; for the moment he faltered, and knelt down to pray for strength, and wlien he rose, he said: "Now I defy deatli ; thank God, I am I'cady." A woman, a wife, a motlier, was sentenced to be tied in a sack and drowned, and her husband, to whom she was tenderly attached, was to be hanged the same day. Tiiey were not allowed to die together, but when she parted from him she said : ** Husband, be glad ; we have lived together in peace, and now we sliall have joy forever. I shall not say good-night, for we shall meet again presently beyond the river." Two young women were ottered life if they would take an oath against their conscience, but re- plied : "We will not ; we are Christ's children ; let us go," and they flung them into the river to die. John Brown, of Priesthill, f/te Cliristian Carrier, was shot without trial be- fore his wife and children by the hardened and cruel Claver- house, whose soldiers refused to tire on him who had just moved even them to tears by iiis fervent piayers to God; but when the soldiers recoiled with horror from the murder of so good a man, Claverhouse ruthlessly accomplished it with his own hand. After the fatal shot, he turned to the widow in mockery and said : '' What thinkest thou of thy husband now ?" She nobly replied : " I ever thought much of him, and now more than ever," and the brave woman gathered up his scattered brains, rolled his lifeless body in her shawl, and laid him down to rest until the resurrection morn. Hugh McKail, a young preacher of great learning and eloquence and piety, once discoursing on the sufferings of the Church, said it had been persecuted by a Pharaoh on the throne, a Haman in the State, and a Judas in the Church. When a report of this sermon reached the ears of Sharp, who thought himself the Judas, and not untruly, he deter- mined to silence the gifted preacher. Causing him to be THE SCOTTISH COVENANTEUS. Ui\ e arrested, he was passed under a mock trial, then put to the torture of the *' l)Oot," and then executed on the scatibld. The last words of that Christian nuirtyr, when taking his farewell of friends and the world, were inexpressibly sub- lime. Cameron, the celebrated author of the S.d passed and the light of morning dawned ; but while Shields escaped, Archer and Kusseli and TjJiw were hung up to die. Th(; much-loved and venerable Baillie was also rudely taken fi'om his dying bed, and ijrought to trial in his dressing-gown, the infamous AFacKenzie still prosecuting. Haillie was condemned, like his Master, amid confessed innocence, and he was hastened to a martyr's crown, while his body was cut up fov dispersion. Others less famous were daily seized and put to a cruel death. A woman, for sheltering a friend in her house, was taken and cast into a pit swarming with reptiles ; another, for aiding her husband's escape, had matches tied between her fingers and set on fire, until she di. d of the torture. Others were crowded, without distinction of age or sex, into loathsome dungeons to perish of disease or plague. Others were cast into the foaming toirent to choke clnd stain the stream, and so fearful did the storm rage that alrcadv above eighteen thousand had suffered in the last epoch of the persecution, while only about ni.xti/ of the ejectnl ndnisters remained to gaze upon the mournful wreck. And must the storm r.age on, while men forget their manhood, and vomen their ten- derness, in that strange transformation — the human turned into the brutal ? iVIust road and street and field be ever saturated with blood to appease the vampire appetite ? Must the home ever be desolate, and the sound of psalm be ever silenced by the yell of the fierce blasphemer 1 Will not blood quench the thirst for blood, and the wailed cry appal him who is flushed and drunk with murder? Must the tempest of cruelty linger till the last saint is martyred and crowned ? And I heard a voice from under the altar cry- ing, " Oh, Lord God, how long 1 and let it repent Thee con- f I II I il M 146 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. cerning Thy servants'?" And God arose in His kindled anger and smote the persecutor, and scattered the people that delighted in l^lood, and the grand revolution of 1688 brought calm, and tranquility, and peace. As I gather profitably around me the memories of the Covenanting struggle, I have this firm and enlightened conviction, that State Churches are a7i eml, no mattei' what the name or form of government and worship — whether Episcopalian, or Presbyterian, or Congregational, or Meth- odistic. A State Church is a great mistake, opposed to the plain teachings of God s Word, contrary to the spiritual nature of true religion, and averse to the power and life of Christianity. It is a daring mockery of the spirituality of God's Church, and the divine energy of truth, for the heads of any nation to meet and summon before them Plato and Confucius, and Mahomet, and Christ, and elect one as the author of a national religion. The question of religion is emphatically personal and spiritual ; and more, ?t is not the ivhole Church, only a sect, that men seek to establish, so that party, not Christianity, is the subject of struggle; and no man has any right to compel me to be of a sect from whom I intelligently and conscientiously disagree; nor has he any right to strip my furniture, or auction my bed, or sell my Bible, to maintain a denomination or sacrament which I do not hold. Such a pra.ctice of n)aking opinion compulsory is a relic of the worst barbarism, and as I mark the persecu- tions that disgraced the history of the Covenanting period, and see that cities were sacked, and property confiscated, and lives massacred, under the pretence of honoring God, T see the necessity of writing upon every imtion's banner the motto of the great Italian statesman, ^^ A free Church in a free State." And as I further gather up the lessons of counsel and sacrifice of the Covenanting struggle, and rise THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. 147 y o d, <'. above the current of dogmatism and polemical crusade, I cannot, I will not forget my humble tribute to the heroes of the past, to wiiom we owe so much. They sowed the seed, of which the harvest waveth now, amid unfriendly watches and tierce opposition and trials many. They bore their heroic witness, and scattered wide the principles under whose lingering charities the beggar and the exile may freely worship Ood. DonH talk to me of your conquerors who have climbed up to a niche in the temple of fame, because of some act of physical daring or the shedding of gallant blood. Decorate them with stars, install them in the gal- lery of the illustrious dead, if you will. We have heroes here, higher than the proudest »varrior ; for they are owned of God and crowned in heaven. I am not indiscriminate in my admiration of the Covenanters. There were exceptionable points in their character and career. 1 should have studied their history in vain, and their human nature very super- ficially, if I had seen no infirmities and weaknesses. There were at timeii the woi'kings of unsanctitied passion, the fumes of fanaticism, and the presence of revolutionary in- solence ; but these defects, created chiefly by the age and situation, compared with their virtues, were only as spots on a fragrant flower, or specks on a summer sun. Tliese men might have had too much ruggednoss for the effeminacy of this generation ; but they were in the true succession of apostolic and saintly laborers of the universal Church of Christ ; and we should never forget that to tl^e endurance and fidelity of the noble Scottish Covenanters w(! owe much of the freedom and religious blessings of to-day. With such feelings you will not hesitate to join the pjeaii of one of Scotland's proudest bards over a martyred Covenanter's grave : — 148 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. u i M H' .11 ir I stood by the martyr's lonely grave, Where the flowers of the moorland bloom, — ^^^here bright memorials of nature wave Sweet perfume o'er the sleeping brave In his moss-clad mountain tomb. And the vision of other days came back. When the dark and bloody band, With the might of a living cataract, Essayed to sweep in their fiery tract The godly from the land. When Zion was far on the mountain height, When the wild was the house of prayer, Where the eye of eternal hope grew bright. O'er the saint arrayed in the warrior's might, For his God and his country there. When the barbarous hordes, as they onward rode, By the wild and rocky glen, Have heard, when away from man's abode, A voice that awed like the voice of God, — 'Twas the hymn of the fearless men. For the sunless cave was the martyr's home. And the damp, cold earth his bed, And the thousand lights of the starry dome Were the sun of his path, while doomed to roam O'er the wilds where his brothers bled. When the clang of the conflict rung on the heath, And the watchword, of freedom rose, Like the tones of Heaven on the saint's last breath, Far o'er the Vmttle notes of death. As he soared to his last repose. The lover of freedom can never forget The glorious Covenant band : The sires that on Scotland's moorlands met Each name like a seal on the heart is set, — The pride of that brave old fatherland. LECTURE VI. WILLIAM OF ORANGE. ^lOLLAND, from " hollowland," or Netherlands, from (4 T " netherland," .is its soil was almost fluid, was origi- nally a wild morass, lying partly below the level of the ocean at high tide, and subject to frequent inundations of the sea. A delta, formed by the deposit of many cen- turies from its three great rivers, the Rhine, the Meuse and the Scheldt, ultimately permitted this meagre orphan to become habitable by man. But no one who had ever read of the great bravery of the Island of Batavia, in the two- horned Rhine, and the remarkable honors bestowed by the Roman conquerors on the Batavian cavalry— Cesar's body- guard ; no one who could believe all that the crude his- torians of that age said about the people whom even Rome honored with an alliance, could for a moment guess that that small country of twelve provinces, with a population of 3,000,000 of people, could wage a successful war witli the greatest military despotisms of the sixteenth and seven- teenth centuries; become, during the centuries of terrible political and religious commotions, the land of freedom, a^d offer to the persecuted of all countries an asylum and a home. That this spongy land, which human beavers had forced into fertility and intersected with canals, should be unconsciously educating itself, by its struggle with the angry sea, and the still more cruel despotisni of civil and I 150 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. iili I; it i :| iU ecclesiastical tyranny, to become the cradle of free citizen- ship, the vigorous defender of constitutional self-govern- ment, and in due time give to England a great prince and deliverer to supersede the stipendiary Stuarts ; and thus fill the throne of England with a great name, and give permanence and glory to the kingdom and its liberties, as it did in the person of William III. William of Orange was born November 4th, 1650. His mother was the Princess Royal of England, daughter of Charles I. His deceased father — having died the day be- fore — lay in state in an adjoining room at the time of the birth of his son. No one could have been born into the world under more painful cii'cumstances. On his father's side, William was descended from the House of Nassau, and could boast to have sprung from a noble and wealthy line of German princes. His great-grandfather, William THE Silent, was the hero and founder of the Dutch Repub- lic, though it was his grandfather who received the acknow- ledgment of Dutch independence. William was a weakly, delicate child, and when only tln-ee years old, the States of Holland passed a decree excluding him from the office of Stadtholder, or chief magistrate, though the Republic cv/ed its independence to the bravery and martyrdom of his an- cestors. In 1660, when on a visit to the English court, his mother died of smallpox, and at the age of ten the orphan boy was left to the guardianship of his grandmother Amelia, and De Witt, the famous Dutch statesman. To them he owed much of his education and principles. The year his mother died, the King of France seized the city and princi- pality of Orange, his patrimonial estate, and trampled upon the rights of William and the citizens. W^hat mean and contemptible theft, to rob an orphan child simply because he was powerless ! Can you wonder that such base covet- WIIJJAM OF OKANGE. 151 ousness inspired Hannibal-like resentment, and that he hated and punished France to his dying day 1 Tlie rulers of his own country were also severe on him. At fifteen they removed him from all his attached and devoted domes- tics, and tried to get him to leave his palace at the Hague ; but he resolutely replied: "Tell the States that my ances- tors and myself have lived here so long that I am unwilling to go, and will not, till forced." Under this treatment his health and emotions gave way for a time, })ut in this day of adversity he learnt the coolness, the self-repression, the secrecy, the tact, and arts of diplomacy in which he after- wards so greatly distinguished himself. Dark indeed were the ways he was compelled to tread durir.g his orphanhood and minority. Fierce were the fires in which the pure gold of his principles was tested, but the glory was all the brighter for the gloom through wliich it passed ; the victory was all the grander for the struggle that it cost. Entering as a boy into a night of terrible trial, leaning upon the orphan's Father, he came forth a man and a prince at the breaking of the day, William never became a great scholar. He was essentially practical, a man of business, a warrior, a statesman ; and in those he unquestionably excelled. He was also a Protestant of the most pronounced type, a de- cided Calvinist. Circumstances forced him early into the field of battle and the arena of politics. The ruin of the Republic seemed imminent, through the invasion of Louis XIV. of France — the most powerful monarch of his age. William, though young, could not witness the ruin of his country without a struggle. When Buckingham told him that his cause was hopeless, he nobly replied: "There is one way in which I will never see my country ruined ; / will die in the last dyke." But in spite of every difficulty his fortunes rose. The mass of his countrymen appreciated 11 . 152 WILLI/^M OF ORANGE. .i^ i ■: :■!:: ; t i i ' 1: (i 11 ill f "^"* 1 ^' 1 ' ii ■ i I : !i n i| i i his courage, his talents, his great efforts for the good of the fatherland, and a wonderful reaction in his favor set in* At twenti/-one, in a day of gloom, and terror, and national invasion, he was chosen commander of the forces. Soon after he was leinstated Stadtholder, with all the honors and powers of his ancestors. At twenty-three he was in the field of battle, contending bravely against overwhelming odds, and though he was sometimes defeated, and meanly betrayed by his uncle, yet, against the very flower and chivalry of France, he won renown and admiration, and became the head of a coalition which contended with honor against some of the greatest generals of Europe. After a desperate conflict, William's abilities were acknow- ledged by the first marshals of Fiance, and the integrity and independence of Holland v,,is conceded, so that the fatherland was saved. While tlius struggling for self-exist- ence against the oppression of France, an incident occurred which showed the purity and excellence of William's prin- ciples. In August, 1674, bad news came from Vienna, about the persecution of the Protestants of Hungary. Eighty of their pastors had been summarily arrested and sent to the galleys at Naples. Their case was represented by M. Turretin, of Geneva, to William, who was almost the only Protestant ruler of Europe at the time. William at once ordered Admiral De Kuyter and his Dutch fleet to act with energy at Naples, on behalf of the oppressed pas- tors. The remonstrance of Holland was successful, and the Hungarians were released, placed on board the Dutch ves- sels, and taken to Holland, where they were generously received, and supplied with means by William until they settled as pastors, some in the Low Countries, and others in England. In the fall of 1677, William came to England for a treaty ^1 I WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 153 in and a wife, and, after some delay and vexation, gained both from his reluctant and pleasure-loving uncle. Tlie lady he had the honor to wed, on his twentij-tieventh hirtlulay, was the Princess Mary, the eldest daughter of James, Duke of York. As the reigning monarcii, Charles IT., had no legiti- mate children, his brother's, next after himself and his brotlier, were the heirs to the English crown, so that the lady William married was his cousin, the Princess Royal of England, and heir-apparent to the ]3i:tish throne. By this he placed himself in direct and close alliance with that crown and people which he was destined to honor and serve. Mary was a true Protestant, and became a noble wife. Married at the age of sixteen, she was handsome, intelligent, and of good disposition, but her education was limited, and she had little knowledge of the laws and con- stitution of the country over which she would one day reign. William did not at first tind in her a suitable com- panion, or domestic happiness, owing to disparity of age and difterence of taste ; and tale-bearers aggravated the difficulties. But Mary gradually cast off* her girlish jeal- ousies, and bore herself with true womanly meekness, and patience, and devotion, until she won her husband s grati- tude and confidence. At length, through the agency of Burnet, her chaplain, a perfect understanding was reached, and Mary learned the only remaining cause of William's discontent — her priority to Jiim of claim and position as the heir-apparent of the British throne. As his wife, Mary had promised to obey her husband, and it never occurred to her that that relation might be inverted. When the point was shown to her by Burnet, she declared her affection and sub- mission to her husband. Burnet urged her to take time to consider the important point, Slie replied: "I want no time for consideration. Tell the pnnce what I say, and rli i t. ill if J; ml I I! . !■ 154 Wir.I.IAM OF ORANGE. bring him to me." When Burnet l)rouglit the prince into her prosenco, she said to liini : " I did not know till yestor day that there was such a diflferonce between the laws of En;:^land and the laws of God. I now promise you that you are the liead and shall always bear the rule; and while I observe the precept which enjoins wives to ouky theii* hus- bands, I ask that you will observe that which enjoins hus- bands to LOVE their wives." Precepts which both nobly followed from that day, to their mutual happiness and honor. For a time, leave the Prince in Holland, actively sustaining the cares of state, while you trace the course of events in England that led up to the Revolution. THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION. It is necessary for you to glance at the leading features of the British Constitution, that you may decide how far the Stuart kings respected it, and whether or not they merited the fate that overtook them. Some have felt and taught that there is — or was previous to the Revolution of 1688 — no such thing as a British constitution, because it was not codified, and found in full written form like the constitu- tion of the United States. But to this we reply, that from the earliest periods of British nationality right down through, there were certain great leading principles which were expanded and developed with the progress of society, and advancing civilization, and intelligence; in substance and spirit essentially the same. These principles took the form of Charters, or Bills of Right, at several distinct epochs or crises of national history, and so are variously named and dated, as the Magna Ciiakta of John, 1215; the Prtition of Rights of Charles I., 1628; the Bill of Rights of William III., 1689. These several great consti- tutional compacts solemnly entered into between the sub- WILLIAM OF OUANOE. 155 15 OF jects and the sovereigns you may view as loading scones in a long and complicated drama, liut every man of unliiassed Judgment will admit that in the tirst, and from the tirst, the foundations of our freedom and rights and institutions were imperishably laid. There you see that the govern- ment of the country is by a hereditary sovereign, ruling with limited powers, bound to summon and consult the national Parliament ; that without the sanction and vote of Parliament no tax can be imposed, and no law made, altered or repealed ; that no man may be arbitrarily fined, or im- prisoned, or punished, except after a lawful trial (trial by jury) ; that justice shall be neither bought nor sold ; that all men are equal in the eye of the law. THE STUART KINGS. That the Stuart kings openly, and persistently, and arbi- trarily sought the overthrow of this constitution, no impartial and candid reader of English history can deny. Violating their own coronation oath, they resolutely endeavored to ac- complish the ruin of the constitution and the nation. But for the Commonwealth, and the Revolution, and the pro- vidence of God, they had accomplished it to the full, James I. was a tyrant, a coward, and as full of conceit as he was intolerant in spirit. Charles I. was polished, superstitious, despotic, and utterly unreliable. Charles II. was an un- principled profligate in life, and a Roman Catholic in death. James II. was bigoted, insolent, arbitrary, cruel, malignant, and without principle. The whole House of Stuart were party men, biassed by extreme partizanship. Instead of coming to the throne as wise and enlightened rulers, to reign over a great free people with toleration and impartial justice, they came to the throne blinded with prejudices, biafsed by the most absurd principles, to exercise arbiti-ary m :■ M- J t ' kI 1 \ , t f 156 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. power. It does not alter the fact to say that they were con- scientious in their aggressions on the constitution; that they believed themselves entitled to the powers they attenipt(fd to exercise ; that while invading the nation's rights they iinaginiid themselves concf^rned only in the defence of their own ; that their principles were espoused by a strong party, i)Ot}i in Church and State. They were not less aggressors on the constitution, nor did it diminish the necessity of op- posing their attempt at absolute power. Had they been permitted to establish tin; maxims and practices of an abso- lute monarchy, as they desired and claimed, England would hav^e been a by-word abroad, and a slave at home ; for the doctrine which they tenaciously held and olTensiN ely paraded, of unbounded royal prerogative, reduced the privileges of Parliament to a mere permission and tolei'ation of the crown, and the rights of citizenship of no mean country to the caprice of inscrupulous despots. James II., who oc- cupied the throne of England at the time of the Revolu- tion, inherited all the worst features of his predecessors, and oxceeded them in violence and ostentation. Even Hume, a strong partizan of the House of Stuart, confesses that James' short reign consisted of a series of illegal and im- prudent attempts against whatever was most loved and revered by the nation. James, as the subsidized hireling of Louis XIV., made that powerful and unscrupulous despot his model, and sought to make the Parliament of England me'-e recorders of his decrees, after the type 'oi his royal patron of France. The circumstances of the period when he came to the throne favored the advancement of arbitrary power. The late King had succeeded in humbling the popu- lar party and removing or putting to death some of its leaders. The charters of the great cities and towns had been changed to meet the royal will and make their repre. WILLIAM OF ORANTJK. 157 sentatives the mere nominees of the crown. The jiuljjfos were selected by the King, and held their offices at his pleasure. The unhap[)y insurrections of Monmouth and Argyle had been rrushcil, and the victims savagely punished by judicial monsters, lik(^ JottVeys, "the butcher of the bench," of whom the King himself said : " Me hath no learning, no sense, no manners, and more impudence than ten street-walkers." The Ujiiversity of Oxford had, at the demand of the King, decreed, on i)ain of infamy here and danniation hereafter, the di>ftrinn of' divine riyht find passive obedience. Daniel Defoe records that he heard publicly preached from a London pulpit, "that if the King demanded the subject's head, and sent his messengers to fetch it, the subject was bound to submit, and, as far as possible, facili- tate his own decapitation." That was divine right and abso- lute power with a vengeance. Added to this, the King had a disciplined army of 20,000 men, and the pledged support of the most powerful monarch of Europe. Vou cannot woi, der that James, in this situation, would not suffer constitu- tional limitations, but openly assumed the right to dispense by royal prerogative. In this spirit he sought to establish the Court of High Commission. He expelled the Fellows of Magdalen College, Oxford, because they refused to elect as their president — in violation of law — a Roman Catholic nominee of the King. He levied duties and collected taxes without the consent of Parliament. He dismissed Parlia. ment at his caprice when they refused to sanction the res- toration of Roman Catholic supremacy. He sent the Earl of Castlemain to Rome to re-establish relations with the Papal See, though the laws declared it seditious. He received the Papal Nuncio with great pomp, and, when reminded that it was contrary to the law, replied : " / am above the law." He abolished a number of statutes by his loH WlLMAM OF OUANCJK. II. Declaration of iNDUUJENni;, in (Irtiauc*' o*' Parli.iincnt and charters. He prosecuted sev(>n Itisliops as liltdlers for presenting to liini a jx'tition, respectfully n>fusin<^ to puMisli an illegal order. His aim was clear — to lay the nation's faith at the feet of the Pope, and to lay the nation's civil lil)e"ti(!S at his own feet. Providentially, .lames was too rash and imprudent to succeed. For a time there was an apparent suhmissJon to the royal will, hut the heait of the nation was true to its charters and its hatred of the Papacy. As men hecame aware of the natui'e of the crisis, they united grandly for the sal "ition of the nation's faith and freedom. Nothing can exceed the disinterested and self- denying heroism of the Nonconformists of that day, led by such men as John Howe, Richard Baxter, and others. Otfered a liberty they so justly deserved at the hands of the King, as the price of sustaining the Declaration of Indul- gence, they might have reasoned : " Why should we be con- servators of the constitution I It has taken no thought or care for us, but instead has thrust us out as mere pariahs. It denies us evMi the right to exist, and has spared no effort to accomplish its wicked designs. We owe it nothing but fines, and confiscations, and prisons, and pillories ; spies by whom our very houses are watched ; informers who fatten on the profits of the perjury against us ; and gaolers who rejoice to make us the victims of their brutality. To assist in the continuance of this system of oppression, in opposi- tion to the King, is to ask too much. Let us trust to the •mercies of the King, and assist him to abolish this infamous Test Act. What if the King does override the law, he wiU give us the justice the Parliament has so long with- held, and we sliall be entitled to the honors and emolu- ments of office as well as others." But these sturdy Pro- testant patriots wo ^d not accept tlie proffered boon at the WILLIAM OK OUANCiK. 159 price of liiw uiul constitution, iiiul wert^ content to iiccopt disabilities for tlMMusi^lvos rather than see their country (lrji^<^e(l faithei- into bonda^^o. Some hope was entertained that a littl*^ patiiMice niiijht end the fated dynasty, and giv(^ tlieni thi'ir own Princess of Orange as their sovereign, but even this hope was blighted on June 10th, 1688, when the QutMMi, James' s(?con(l wife, Mary of Mod«r,ia, presented the King with a son. The country was now threat<«ned with the succession of a Popish King; and with the memo- ries of the infamous Mary, and ihe example and jjersecuting excesses of James, you cannot wonder that every true Eng- lishman longed to save his country from a repetition of such calamities. All delay must now cease. The time for action has come, unless England would sink even lower into false- hood and stagnant putrescence and loathsomeness. On the last day of June, 1688 (the day of the acquittal of the seven bishops), the ever-memorable invitation of England was sent secretly to William, Prince of Orange, signed by the noble Lords Danby, Devonshire, Shrewsbury, Lundey, Russell, Sidney, and the Bishop of London, and with them, men of all ranks o.nd parties cordially united. William, apart from his alliance with the English crown, had proved himself worthy of the confidence placed in him. His great generalship, his able statesmanship, his deep and passionate devotion to the cause of civil and religious liberty, eminently fitted him to champion the popular cause. William set himself in great earnest to prepare for the expedition, and respond to the invitation of the people of England. His preparations were at first concealed, and then open. All classes at home aided him by loans, ind in every way pos- sible, to expedite his equipment. October 16, everything was ready. The Prince took solemn leave of the States, amid general grief. He affectionately committed the 160 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. J'l ' Jit V: ! I'li h :a, MI ■■ i! Princess to their care and protection, and then proceeded to the place of embarkation, and entered upon the perilous enterprise that was to bring him so much anxiety and glory. His fleet consisted of 52 men of war, 25 frigates, 25 fire- ship , 400 transports, 15,000 soldiers, 6,000 horses, and SCiX! muskets, with Marshal Schomberg next in com- mand. On the topmast of William's vessel floated the Union Jack, bearing the inscription: "The Protestant Religion and Liberties of England." He left harbor on the A 9th, but during the night a violent storm did him some damage, and he returned to port to wait and repair. The news soon reached England that the Dutch fleet was wrecked ; James was beside himself with joy. He believed all the false rumors of disaster that were circulated, because the host had been raised iu the Roman Catholic churches for seven days. But November 1st, the Protestant wind, so long prayed for, began to blow, and the Prince again sailed for the English coast. Dartmouth, who with the English fleet was appointed to watch and intercept the Dutch fleet, had to remain in Portsmouth ; for the wind, so favorable to William, was unfavorable to him. William at first made as though he would go north, and land on the eastern coast of England, and the English army was signalled to move north with all speed, when William suddenly tacked about and ran before the fair Protestant wind down the English Channel into Torbay, which he reached November 4th. He landed his troops and equipments, November 5th, 1688, amid the loud demonstrations and hearty welcome of those sturdy Devons ; and soon both Dutch and English mingled in a thanksgiving psalm and prayer to the All-(;iver. William marched unopposed to Exeter, where he waited for the proofs of the luition's devotion to him and the cause. The common people flocked by thousands to his standard ; WILLIAM OF ORANGE, 161 but William's patience was much tried by the hesitation and slowness of the nobility. At length a few came over, t' n more, and then they began to flock daily into his camp. Plymouth surrendered to William without a shot — then other places followed the example. William 'as anxious to avoid battle. He came to win, not to cor uer ; to con- ciliate and serve, not to fight the Ijjnglish people : and so he carefully avoided a battle which might wound the English pride, or imperil his own safety. His course was wise. His manifesto drew the heart of the English nation to him. Soon James' army at Salisbury was so reduced by deser- tions, he dared not risk a battle ; foi- even Churchill, his great captain, and Prince George, his son-in-law, had de- serted to the Prince of O/ange. In this plight the King fled to London, and in consternation summoned all the peers he could find, and begged of them to aid him by their coun- sel and influence. Some reproached and others advised him. Amid counsels so painful and humbling, the King felt ill at ease, and adjourned the council until the next day, but with the distinct pledge that a general Parliament should be im- mediately called, for which he caused the writs to be pre- pared in their presence. He i-etired to his room, but arost at midnight, destroyed the writs, took the great seal, went to the bank of the Thames, where a boat was waiting for him, and while crossing the river, flung the great seal into the water, and fled to Faversham, December 10th. He wa^ discovered, arrested, and brought back to London ; but on the 18th he again fled to Rochestei-, with the connivance of William, and on the "JSrd left England, and landed in France the last day of the year. For a few days, while London was without a King, mob law to some extent pre- vailed. The Roman Catholics were molested, and, in some cases, plundered. In the fray, Judge Jefireys, carefully i f ■* i if' St ,» 162 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. disguised, was seized at a Wapping ale house. Tlie wonder is that he was not lynched. He was cai-ried before the Lord Mayor, amid wild shouts for vengeance, while he, in terror, shrieked out : " Foi- (lod's sake keep them off; keep them off." Committed as a prisoner to the Tower of Lon- don, while there, awaiting his tiial, a friend sent hinj a pi-esent for immediate ^se. It looked like a barrel of oysters, of which Jeffreys was very fond. "Ha!" said he, "I have some friends left yet;" but when he opened the barrel he found a rope. All difficulties being removed, William entered London in triumph, December 18th. The day after his entry, when all classes thi'onged to St. James' Palace to congratulate him, Maynard, the oldest lawyer of his v-iaie, at the ripe age of ninety years, presented his com- pliments ; William remarked to him : " You must have sur- vived all the lawyers of your time." " Yes, sir," replied the old man, "and but for your Highness I should have sur- vived the laws too." William at once assembled the Lords, temporal and spiritual, and all the members of the late reign, with the municipal authorities of London, and, at their advice, assumed the provisional government. He then summoned a regular Parliament, which met January the 22nd. On the 28th the great vote passed, declaring the throne of England vacant. A linal resolution was passed, declaring William and Mary King and Queen of England. February 13th, 1689, William accepted the crown an)id the I'ejoicings of the both Houses of Parliament and the nation. On taking the throne, William III. ^.ssued writs for a regular Parliament, whose lirst great act was to pass the Bill of Rights. By that bill England's liberties were secured, the Revolution accomplished, and England became once more a name of power and a l.ind of freedom. WILLIAM OF ORANGE. i6n IRELAND. Somo have blamed William for not ;Li;iving earlitu" and more decisive attention to Ireland, sufl'ering as it was at that time from the most lawless and brutal tyranny, under the administration of Tyreonnel. The Earl of Tyrconnel, Richard Talbot (lying I)ick), descended from an old Nor- man family, long settled in Leinster, Ireland. In youth he was a noted sharper and bully. In after life he won and retained the royal favor by the basest intrigue and false- hoods. He affected the character of an Irish patriot, but, like some others of his countrymen, he took care that his services were well paid. Under a show of levity and wit, he was a cold, crafty schemer. This was the man that King James had made Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and to whom he entrusted the scheme of Roman Catholic ascend ency, and the separation of Ireland from the English crown, under Frevicii protection. To this man Ireland owes one of the most bloody, cruel and devastating wars ever waged. William, advised by eminent men, opened negotiations with Tyrconnel, hoping to tempt him to surrender to the regime. Tyrconnel, after some hesitation, was forced by the Irish people to break off negotiations with England, and send an urgent invitation to James to come at orice to Ireland, under French protection. James, assisted by French money, ac- companied by French genei-als and amliassador, and English refugees, and escorted by a French fleet, soon made his ap- pearance in the harbor of Kinsale. He landed march 12th, amid the enthusiasm of the Roman Catholic population. James learned that his cause was prosperous in the sotifch of Ireland ; that the Protestant population had been dis- armed and ruined, and that in the north alone a few held out. James proceeded to Cork, and was received with !:? i! r 1 I V % 'II fi pi i • : i f ii H H ?! ^ ' 1 i; 1 i ' 1 ? 'i - I \ ■: (' •' III j Ir 1 jii-i i '. r J 1 > -1 ■ I 1 - 1 '' t-l ,s t .. . s . / uM r H 1 t N j 1 J 1 • 1 :| Hi i -5 S,: ( mii^ !rr[ itfirl 1 iii 164 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. military honors by McCarthy, who held the chief com- mand in Munster. He then proceeded to Dublin, the capi- tal. His journey was slow and difficult. The country, naturally rich and beautiful, was then a desert ; even the towns were partially al)andon3d ; the country man- sions were destroyed, and the flocks and herds plundered. The Protestants had been forced to fly, and industry and capital had fled with them. At Dublin a great effort was made to give James a grand reception, and he was hospit- ably received at the vice-regal palace. The ho.st was raised and a te deum performed in honor of his arrival. The next day, March 25th, tlie King held a Council, and dismissed the only remaining Protestant judge from the Irish bench, while two Roman Catholics and the French ambassador were sworn in as privy councillors James then issued a proclamation, convening an Irish Parliament, which met at Dublin, May 7th. With the writs, Tyrconn^l sent letters to the returning officers, naming the persons whom he wished to see elected, so that of the 250 members who took their seats, but six were Pi-otestants. Of all the parliaments that ever met in the British Isles, this surpasses them ail for ignorance, for audacity, for uproar, for spoliation, for injustice. The Act of Settlement was repealed. An Act annulling the authority of the English Parliament over Ire- land was passed. Then followed conflscations and proscrip- tions on a large scale. The tithes were transferred to the Romish clergy, and estates, amounting to about ten mUlion acrea, divided among the members of Parliament, and the Irish gentry. Such was the Irish Parliament that sat for ten weeks at Dublin ; a Parliament that has served to con- vince all unprejudiced men what Romish supremacy means. Between his Council and his Parliament, James had no easy task. The English and Scotch refugees wished to make WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 165 Ireland a tool for the restoration of James. to the British crown, while the Irish party, with Tyrcounel and the French ambassador, wanted to make James a tool for the separation of Ireland, and for making it a French province at the feet of Rome. James was urged to go north and place himself at the head of the army operating there. He went part way, was alarmed by a message of the arrival of English troops, turned round to go back, when he was again encouraged by another message to go forward to meet his army. The country through which they travelled, notwith- standing its natural fertility, was perfectly wasted by rob- ber bands. Some of the French officers compared it to the Arabian desert. In the north of Ireland, the interest cen- tred in two points where the flower of the Protestant popu- lation, the bravest of those who yet remained of their race and faith, had fled to make a last heroic stand. re- i-ip- ns. Enmskillen, Though the capital of the county of Fermanagh, was then a small place of about eigJdy houses clustering around an an- cient castle. It was built on an island surrounded by the river which joins the two beautiful lakes of Lough Erne. The inhabitants were Protestants, descended from the Eng- lish colonists. Having i-eceived information that tw^o com- panies of 1 yrconnel's soldiers were to be quartered on them, the people of Enniskillen resolved to resist them. Yet how were they to defend themselves with only ten pounds of powder, and twenty old guns, and very feeble walls 1 They sent an urgent message for the gentry and people of the district to come to their assistance, and in a few hours three hundred men were by their side with arms and supplies. Tyrconnel s soldiers were at hand with an armed and la^wless peasantry following. The little Protestant a Mi 166 WII-MAM OF ORANfJK. band camo forth to meet the intruders, and presently put tlicm to flight ; and such was the terror of the soldiers and camp followers that thc^y did not stoj) runninfjf till they had left thirty miles behind them. Elated by their victory, the little commnnity set to work vigorously to arrange for the government and the defence of Knniskillen. Uustavus Hamilton was appointed governor, and took up his resi- dence in tlie castle. Trusty men were drilled and armed, and smiths busily employed to furnish substitutes for swords and guns. The Protestants from Munster, Con- naught, and Cavan, migrated en innsse to Enniskillen. Whole towns were left without an inhabitant, while, througli mud, and storm, and floods, might be seen men, women, and children, half famished, pressing to the little town for shelter ; and there they found it, through long and fearful months of suspense. Though the number of fight- ing men at Enniskillen never exceeded four thousand, they waged a vigorous war against the marauding savages, encountered large bodies of regular troops on six different occasions, amid the greatest privations and difficulties, yet they never lost courage or hope until July 30th, 1689, saw them conquerors at the battle of Newton Butler. Londonderry. The chief interest centred in Londonderry. That was the largest place, and the greatest stronghold. The city of Derry was built on the slope and summit of a hill, over- looking the river Foyle. On the highest ground stood the cathedral, which, during the siege, answered a three-fold purpose. On the tower a cannon was planted, in the vaults the stores were kept, and within the l)ody of the church the people met daily to worship God. The city was surrounded by a wall of about a mile in circumference, with heye and I I WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 167 saw there guns mounted for defence. Altogether the means of defence would be deemed feeble by a besieging army. But into that city had gathered about thirty thousnvd people^ refugees from the surrounding country who fled there, fainting with terror to find an asylum from the cruel sol- diery and the still more cruel swarm of religious fanatics, who, urged by the priests and the greed of gain, went forth like a swarm of locusts to devour and to destroy. Among the people crowded together within the little fortress were twenty-five ministers and about seven thousand fiyhtmy men. They were mkn, these Protestant Anglo Saxons. English and Scotch, Episcopalians and Presbyterians, forgot all dif- ferences in their common danger and their common Protest- antism. There in their last refuge of liberty the dauntless race turned desperately to bay, and held out during a siege of one hundred and five days amid privations and odds that have made it one of the grandest chapters of heroism re- corded in history. Turn aside and see this great sight for a little while. The Earl of Antrim had received orders from Tyrconnel to march with his army and take posses- sion of Londonderry. The people were alarmed and urged resistance. The governor was timid, and, with the Romish council that had been forced upon the city, wanted to sur- render. Antrim's troops were drawn np on the opposite bank of the Foyle, and a detachment of the army crossed the ferry and presented themselves at the city gate, de- manding admittance. At that moment thirteen young ap- prentices flew to the guardroom, armed themselves, seized the keys of the city, rushed to the ferry- gate, and closed it in the face of the officers, while James Morrison, from the wall, advised the intruders to leave. But they remained before the gate in consultation till they heard him cry : " Bring a great gun this way." They then hastened to re- 12 168 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. ;l join their comrades on the other side of the river. Pres- ently the whole city was armed, the gates were closed and sentinels paced the ramparts, and Antrim retired with his army to Coleraine. The resistance of Derry fearfully irri- tated Tyrconnel, who cursed his wig as usual. He then tried to win the city by the persuasion of poor, ill-fated Mountjoy, and failing that, the Lord Lieutenant sent a larger army to crush Derry. Richard Hamilton, with his army and camp-followers, halted a few miles south of the city, hoping that the mere sight of the Irish array would terrify the garrison into submission ; but they were soon undeceived. Robert Lunday, the governor, wanted to sur- render the city, and was in secret communication with the enemy. When Colonel Cunningham, who had been sent out from England with two regiments to reinforce the gar- rison, anchored in the bay, and with some of his officers went on shore to confer with the governor, Lunday dis- suaded him from landing his troops. " The place," he said, "cannot hold out." To this advice Cunningham and his officers agreed, and re-embarked for home. Historians have ditlered about Lunday, whether he was a traitor or a coward. I think that he was both. The Irish army, with King James himself at their head, approached near the city to surround and take it. Lunday ordered that there should be no firing, but Major Baker and Captain Murray called the people to arms, while that aged minister, George Walker, stirred the people to bold resist- ance. Demosthenes declaiming against Philip of Macedon was not more eloquent tlian George Walker stirring the people of Derry to fight for faith and freedom. Right grandly the people responded to the old man eloquent. James, confident of success, approached within a hundred yards of the southern gate, but he was met with a shout of ; WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 169 "NO SURRENDER," while a volley from the nearest gun killed a staff oflicer by his side. The King hastened out of reach of cannon. Lunday, who hid himself during the day, escaped hy night in disguise with those on his side, and dur- ing the night an officer found the gates open and the keys missing. But that oflicer closed the gates, changed the pass word, doubled the guard, and saved the city. Major Baker was now chosen to the chief military conniiand, and George Walker to preserve civil order and to deal out the supplies. In a few hours every man knew his place and was ready at the call of duty. James, after waiting in vain for the surren- der, sent a trumpeter to the gate to require the fulfilment of the governor's promise. The answer was, " We have nothing to do with the governor, and will resist to the last." James, baffled and disappointed, returned to Dublin, leaving the French general, Maumont, chief in command. The besiegers now commenced in earnest to fire upon the city. Soon it was in flames in several places. Roofs and chimneys fell, and the people were terror-stricken amid corpses and debris. The spirit of the people rose with their danger. A sortie was made under the command of Captain Muiray, and a severe battle ensued. Maumont and several of his officers and a large number of his troops were slain or mortally wounded, and Murray was saved by a number of his friends rushing from the gate to his rescue. Hamilton was again in charge of the Irish army. A fortnight later another sortie was equally successful. In June a desperate assault was made upon the city. The Irish arniy came on boldly and with a shout rushed for the walls. The conflict was severe, but after a fearful slaughter the aimy was driven back. Through that desperate fight the women of Derry were seen t,, hind the walls handing water and supplies to the men. Nothing was left to the besiegers but to try the I ,r ■.{•. 'i:h 170 WILUAM (W ORANGE. m i h < effects of hunji;er Evory precaution was taken to prevent food from heinj^ mt rod need into the city — every avenue was closed and guarded — tlie river was fringed witii batteries, and a barricade was tiirown across it. Several boats full of stone were sunk ; a row of stakes driven into the V)ottom of the river, and large tiuiliers bound together and fastened to the shores, formed a boom across the channel. Presently a cry was heard in the jHritish Parliament : — " Are those brave fellows in Derry to be deserted ? A boom across the river! why isn't it cut?" A committee of enquiry was appointed. Luuday and Cunninghnm were flung into the Tower, and an expedition for the relief of Derry was dis- patched under the command of Kirke. June 15th, sentinels on the cathedral tower saw thirty vessels at anchor in the Bay of Lough Foylo. Presently the city was informed that Kirke had arrived from England with supplies. Hope gladdened the people of Derry. The distress was great ; horse flesh was their only meat ; tallow was dealt out sparingly ; the famine was fearful. The stock of cannon balls had failed, and the place was supplied by brickbats coated with lead. PeHfilence followed in the tr.'iin of famine and privation, and Governor Baker fell among the victims. Yet Kirke, to his shame, lay at anchor in ictive for six weeks, until orders from England compelled him to move. July advanced, and the state of the city became frightful. The inhabitants had been thinned by famine, and disease, and the besiegers' tire, until the numbei* of fighting men was reduced to three thousand, who were weak and exhausted. Yet the attacks were still repelled, and the breaches in the wall promptly repaired. Dogs, fattened on the blood of the slain, were luxuries and sold high. The scrapings of old bones were eagerly swallowed. The rats were hunted and devoured. Yet the people became sublime in their despair, ■^i :. WILLIAM OF OUANOE. 171 and the note still sounded : " No surrexdeu." July 30th — the provisions cannot possibly last over one day more. On the .'Jlst, Walker has dealt out the last supplit's — a half pound of tnlhnr aiul a ]kiJ/-j)ohu<1 of saltt'd hide. Faint as he was, Walker assembled the })eople for worship in the cathedral, where they had often met, and earnestly addressed them on that last fearful nij^ht of the famine, and then pro- nounced the benediction of God over his starviiijL^ people. The a^ony of that last terrible ni^ht was indescril»able. But hark.' There is a movement on the water, followed by the crack of the boom. Has the baniciade given away? Has relief come to the city at last 1 A shout from the Irish camp reminds the citizens that the vejssels have run aground in the fearful rebound, though the boom is broken. In a moment a broadside from the good ship Durtmonth stopped the yell of Irish triumph and protected tlu' grounded .ships. For hours in that dark night the citizens were in fearful suspense, but the tide is rising and the stranded ships Hoat again. The Phcfuix and the J/onn/'/o// dash up to the quay and the shout goes up, "The supplies are come." The bells of the city rang out a peal of triumph, and famine-stricken ones sat down to satisfy their hunger once more. When the first of August dawned, the siege was n^'sed and the Irish army were in full retreat. The walls of Derry are pre- served, and a statue of Walker testifies to the people's grati- tude and Walker's abiding fame. To follow up the victories of the north, Schoniljerg was sent with an expedition against Ireland. He landed in Antrim in the middle of August with a force of 10,000 men. He expected to be joined by the little band from I)erry and Enniskillen, and by the regiments so long in- active under Kirke, but a succession of unforeseen calamities paralyzed Schomberg's efforts. The Protestant regiments 1*1 n pi n I i !ii litlli , h ■ s f i . i 172 WILLIAM OF ORANOE. from tho north joiiiod him and proved brave and true, but the Enj^lish army were for the most part raw recruits, com- manded by inexperienct^l otlicers ; and ill-armed, ill-clad, and ill-housed. Tho liberal vote of the Kn^^lish Parliament had led Schomberg to expect a good army well supplied. Instead of that the army was robbed and poisoned by negli- gent and greedy oiUeials, especially by Scholes, the Commis- sary-Cieneral. Sehomberg had, therefore, to do his best with such men and supplies as he had. He, however, took several important positions and marched . ^ far as Dundalk. James, who was depres.sed by his disasters in the north, was now in despair at the prospects of facing an F^nglish army com- manded by so great a general. But the danger which un- nerved the King roused the Irish people, and urged by the priests and their hatred of Protestantism, they rose as one man, crying, " N'oio or never." Avaux, the French ambas- sador, urged James to an infamous atrocity — a general massacre of the Protestants ; but James shrank from the consequences of the horrible proposal, so that the Protest- ants escaped with imprisonment and the loss of all their things. September 10th, James, with his Irish army of 50,000, marched to Drogheda to meet the Protestant army. But James and his French generals knew that raw Irish recruits, however great their numbers, were not a match for a well-disciplined English army. Battle was therefore avoided, and both armies remained on the defensive until forced into winter quarters. The next year, 1690, William determined to ^o himself over to Ireland. He therefore urged forward the preparation for the campaign with vigor, and carefully superiiitended the supplies, whilst Schomberg drilled his little army and prepared to join his master. June 14th, William landed in Ireland and was met at Bel- fast by Schomberg and his troops. He soon became very Wri-UAM OF ORANGE. 173 popular with his army, for whoso comfort he was always anxious. Ten days after his laudiri';, William marched jvith liis combined army southwaivl to meet the enemy. The country, tliouj^h so desolated, struck William as a fine one, and he remarked, "'('his eountiy is worth fij^hting for." As William advanced, James and his Irish army retired toward Duhlin, until, on June MOth, William i-ame up to them at Donore, in the valley of the Boyne. William's erclarant'on when he caujjfht sifijht of the Irish army was, '* I (iii> glad ce see you, gentlemen." Ho carefully surveyed the position oi the enemy, on th(^ southern bank of the river, and then alighted to l)reakfast with some of Jiis generals on the turf. While at breakfast a group of horse- men appeared on the opposite shore. They were the chiefs of the Ir'sh army, and i-oon discovered that the person breakfasting on the opposite shore was King William. They sent for two field-pioces, which were brought, screened by cavalry, and as William rose to remount, both guns were fired at him. The first shot hit the liorse of the Prince of Hesse, the second shot hit William on the shoulder. He sank for a moment o\i his horse's neck ; the Irish yelled their l?light and reported that William was killed. The newo ov'cn rnached Dublin, and a ship started with the glad news to France. Paris was aroused at midnight by a courier, shouting the it vs. In an hour the streets were illumin ted, t'iie bells -.ng, the peopk feasted, and an efiigy of the Prince of O* .< ige was burned with a representation o* ^he devil at -iis side, saying : " I have waited for thee fo vears '' Bi ' '•^illiam, as soon as his wound was dressed, r^^ue arcind ^ inspect and assure his troops and prepare them fo. '^^, morrow. July 1st, 1690, dawned brig" t and clear. There lay the two armies of 36, OHO each, wi^ . the river Boyne between them. The signal was given, m t. 174 WILL [AM OF ORANGE. 1^ y iii I 1 ! 1 11 ■J " ! and the English army dashed into the river. A shout rose from the Irish army, and they rushed madly for the battle. The English army pressed forward to the opposite bank. The Irish began to waver. Tyrconnel looked on in despair. His best otlicers were slain, or wounded or captured* Schomberg and other brave men fell on the Protestant side, but William .still rode on in front of his brave troops cheer- ing tliera on to victory. The battle was short, sharp, deci- sive J the day was won. Two thousand of the Irish lay dead on the field or in tlie river, and about five hundred of tlie English. James /led to Dublin in dismay, followed by his flying trocps. Tlie capital was wild. The next morning James fle'i, and did not rest for fifty miles, till beyond the Wicklov hills. He pressed on to Kinsale, where he embp.iked on board a French frif-ate and sailed for France to be again the dependent of Louis XIV. Tyrconnel and the French generals soo7\ followed suit. The baggage and stores of the defeated nrmy fell into the hands of the conquerors, and presently Dublin opened its gates to receive William and he was the acknowledged conqueror of Ireland. The Protestants were at once liberated from prison and joined William on Sunday, July the 6th, in a service of thanksgiving in the cathedral. We need not follow Irish affairs into further detail. Tyrconnel's return and death at Limerick, the siege of Limerick, of Allilone, of Galway, the obstinate resistance of the Irish, the ^'inal victory of the Protestant cause under Ginkill, and the utter defeat and annihilation of the Irish army — are they not written in the Chronicles of the Kinf's of Enijland 1 William's fame rose high in England and throughout Europe, and he returned to London in September amid the congratulations of the na- tion. But there, in England, he had much hard work to do and many difficulties to face. Traitors plotting for his J WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 175 overthrow or murder had their agents everywhere, wliile party feeling distracted the country. Many were extreme, many were false, so that the King had to encounter almost insurmountable difficulties of administration. The Anglican party mistrusted and opposed him. Though the Revolution had saved their Church from utter ruin, the Episcopalians favored James, tiieir enemy, rather than William, their de- liverer, because ^\ illiam was a Presbyterian, and he, with some of his cou isellors, wanted to do justice to the Noncom formists. But the Anglican Church could not make up its mind to renounce the luxury of persecution, iorgetting that to attempt to check heresy by pains and penalties was only trying to cast out devils by Beelzebub the prince of devils. Consequently all the Noncomformists got for saving their country in this great crisis was a Toleratioii Act of the most unsatisfactory character. They had to wait one hundred and forty years for the emancipavion which the Revolution should have given them. So tried was William by the plottings, the intrigues, the dissen- sions, the ingratitude of the Parliament and the Church, that he once seriously contemplated laying aside his crown and retiring to Holland as the head of his little Common- wealth, but he overcame the temptation, and in spite of all dangers and difficulties, remained true to England, and proved himself, though at tinies unpopular, a wise and impartial ruler. In January, 1691, William, with a splendid retinue, crossed to Holland, where he was most enthusiasti''. /:' • veceived. At the Hague was convened a great c^ i •"•- ' ■ - " nations over which William presided, and which he s».:< ded in welding into a powerful confederacy against France. The following May, William set out for his great campaign on the continent, accompanied by Churchill, afterward the famous Duke of Marlborough. "WWi 176 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. I! , i'l- Churchill's ability, and courage, and generalsliip no one can question, but his avarice and i^feachery are an indelible blot on a great name. An important action took place that year and William returned in October. Three days afterward he opened Parliament with a speech that was well received, and the supplies he asked for maintaining the war with France Avere readily granted. In March, 1692, William again set out for the continent to command the confederate army. He had scarcely left England before a great plan of invasion was discovered ; James, by the aid of Fr-ance, was about to invade England. The consternation of the Queen and her advisers was gj'eat. The joy of the pni-tizans of James \vas ill-concealed. Russel urged forward the prepa- ration of the English fleet at Portsmouth, and William hastened out the Dutch fleet to join them. In May, the combined fleet, under Russel, encountered the French fleet. The place of rendezvous was La Rogue. There James, with 30,000 troops, was waiting to be escorted across tlie channel by the French fleet under Admiral Tourville. When the French fleet appeared in &ig^t, the line of battle was immediately formed. After a severe fight the French were beaten, and the English burned or destroyed their fleet in the sight of the army and guns of the forts. After this great naval victory of La Ho^ue, the invasion was at an end. Meanwhile William found his great ability as a diplomatist sorely tested by the jeal- ousies and divisions of the confederate States. It is no small proof of his tact and statesmanship that he held them together for sevt n years till he had humbled and defeated France. During the summer, William fought the great battle of Steinkirk against the flower of the French army under Luxemberg, the fiist marshal of France. About 7, COO were slain on each side while both held the same r T H:| WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 177 positions after the battle. Just then a great sensation was created by the discovery of an attempt to assassinate Wil- liam, and the arrest of the would-be assassin, Grandval, a Frenchman in the eniploy of the chief minister of France. His confession proved both Louis and James parties to the infamous villany. In October William returned home and soon after opened his Failiament, again to wrangle and divide, the men out of office envying and maligning those who were in, so that with the exception of a liberal vote of supplies for the war, and tlie founding of the national debt by borroivinfj Oiu; mil/ion pottmh, little occurred. The next spriuL^ William again departed to the continent to hurry forward his allies and clieckmate France. In July he fought the famous battle of Landen. Never was William's generalship and ])ravery more conspicuous. William re- turned home in October, but his Parliamentary session was uneventful, except for founding the Jiajik of Enr/land. The campaign which he headed in 1694 was distinguished for the visible turn of fortunes against France, and the King returned to compliment his Pai-lianient and people on the prospects on the continent. But a terrible blow was in store for him. The Queen was taken ill of small-pox. The disease that had robbed him of his parents was now to finish its desolation of his home. Mary was calm and resigned to the will of God. She committed evervthing to William's care, and made her last effort to bid him an affectionate farewell, and then gently fell asleep in Christ, December 28th, 1694, passing in the prime of her life, and charm of her beauty, and splendour of her powers, to tiiat crown which is incorruptible. William, who had watched inces- santly by her bedside, was carried insensible from her room. He felt his loss keenly, and in that grief the nation shared. In a coffin of purple and gold slie was laid in the chapel of • if ij * t Si If- ^ mi [, I:- 178 WILLIAM OF OHANGK. fell If''' III I ■ i ' il i M I il ^ Ml : .: ! Henry VII,, Westminster Abbey. The King at once pro- ceeded to «;rect Greenwich Hospital as an abiding and worthy nionunient of one of the best of wives and queens. Dejected as he was over his irreparable loss, William went to the continent in the spring under a keen sense of duty. The campaign was brilliant and successful in his interest, and on his return home the nation applauded him. He dissolved Parliament ; the elections proved a signal success for the Whigs, and in favor of the King. Soon (f responsible ministry was formed, another important step in the develop- ment of the constitution. It was followed by the freedom of the press, a boon of inestimable value. Again the land was startled by the discovery of a foul plot to assassinate the King — a plot whose malignant and cool-blooded details show that it must have been presided over by a cabinet of devils. When you look at the failure of these attempts, the saying of the old C'alvinist preachers, so often sneered at, proves true, " That William of Orange was another 8amson set apart from bi "th to be the scourge of the modern Philistines." He was. certainly raised up by God to chiiinpion the cause of freedom, and in spite of a diseased and emaciated body, and the danger of the battle-field and malignant conspirators, he was immortal till his work was dene. Presently France was compelled to propose terms of peace, and by the treaty of Ryswick, 1697, Louis, the autocrat uf France, the robber of William's childhood, the scourge of the seventeenth century, was compelled to recognize W^illiam as the King of Great Britain, and 'A\e arbitrator of Europe. The struggle between parties in Parliament continued with much bitterness. Impeachments were not infrequent- The Jacobites still plotted. The Wliigs and Tories still criminated each other. William v-as often angry, weary, dis . .-^dMttac^. ■iirtlrri«-iiTi-"'fcpiiMtJw^ T^^JJSj'j WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 179 gusted, but nothing grieved hira more than the Parliament reducing his army and dismissing his Dutch troops; but he managed himself and his Parliament with admirable tact, and to the last he showed that great administrative ability which had long distinguished him. James died Sep- tember I6M1, 1701, and Louis committed the double blunder of violating the treaty of Ryswick and insulting William and the English by acknowledging James the Pretender, William instantly dismissed the French ambassador and recalled his own. The grand alliance was forn.ed, v !;ich entered upon a vigorous war with France, and by a t >ariul outlay of men and money, under the command of the Duke of Marlborough, crushed and defeated France. But that great humiliation of his proud rival William did not live to witness. Unfortunately, by an accident, William was thrown from his horse while riding in the park. He broke his collar bone. It was set, and he appeared to be recover- ing ; but alarming symptoms soon appeared, and he sank rapidly, Sunday, March 8th, 1702, he passed away in great peace to the rewards of eternity, while his body was interred in Westminster Abbey amid the general grief of a great nation. Do you ask why this sti-ong oJort to maintain tlic ascend- ency of Protestantism and defeat the power of Rome 1 Is not the difference between Romanism and Protestantistn one of mere detail in creed, in the accessories of worship, in the form of ecclesiastical polity ? We answer, no. The difference is one of principle, of truth, of vital and supreme importance. Roman Catholicism is the representa- tive of the worst evils that have desolated Christendom. It plunged Europe into the darkness of centuries; it has ever been the foe of intellectual freedom and the ally of political despotism. Through the Jesuits it has re- i'l M -^ V. p B ■ **■ I* 180 WILLIAM OF ORANGE. duced equivocation and lying to a science. It has in- vented cruelties more atrocious than Paganism itself. It has sought to repress with sword and torture every noble struggle for liberty and truth. It is drunk with the blood of saints, for whose massacre it has not evei apologized. To day it teaches justification by works, not by faith ; the confession of sin to a priest, not to God ; the mediation of the Virgin, not of Christ ; the bodily presence of Jesus in the sacramental bread and wine, not His spiritual presence everywhere as the Master promised. Protestantism, on the other hand, teaches the right of private judgment on religious questions, so that every man may worship God ftcoording to the dictates of his own conscience; the supreme authority of Holy Scripture as the rule of faith and prac- tice ; the direct access of the soul to God ; and urges every burdened supplicant to spurn the intervention of priest and pope, and to look to Christ as tlve only way to the Father ; and bids the most ungladdened prodigal to come straight home to God and share the banc^uct without money and without price. If to accept Roman Catholicism means the sacrifice of that honest enquiry which has wrested from material nature her secrets ; the sacrifice of that self-reli- ance which has developed so many types of true moral heroism ; the sacrifice of that earnest religious life which has been nurtured l)y the direct communion oi man with God ; and in its place to have an enslaved mind, a drugged conscience, a palsied soul, under the withering simoon of sacerdotal ursurpation ; then I say, in spite of all her faults, give me Protestantism with her robust nmniiood her intellectual triumphs, her stern virtues, her passion for freedom, her inalienable viglits, her loyalty to Christ. LECTURE VII. THE AGE IN WHICH Wfi LIVE. ^L LjL history is important, call knowledge is valuable ; but (4\ the history of the present is more important than the history of the past, and a knowledge of the institu- tions and countries with which we are brought into daily contact is more valuable than a knowledge of the institu- tions and countries that existed thousands of years ago. I would not for a moment discourage the study of ancient or general history. The past has lent peculiarity to the pres- ent, and the mind that is decorated and enriched from the tre« of ancient or general knowledge is' the more beautiful and ennobled thereby. But what I desire to discourage is the exclusive, or even the chief, place being given to ancient lore ; and urge that more attention be given to the study of modern history and the world as it now is. It is far more important to know the hii:tory of your own country, and its social ami political relations, than to know the mythology of Greece and Rome. It is more valuable everyway to have a knowledge of the times in which we live, than the times of Homer or Alexander the Great. Every man should have some knowledge of the country of which he is a resi- dent and a citizen, and some knowledge of the origin and peculiarities of the race from which he has descended. But of all the centuries that now lie completed behind us, the grandest of all in the history of man is this nineteentli century. %\ HH 182 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. r % H I ': I'r: ( Wt J m^ 1(1 in kk* H I. One Characteristic of the Age in which we Live IS THE Education and Progress of the Mind. Some periofls of the world's history have been deeply marked by intellectual inaction. Not oiu; distinguished name appeared to relieve the prevailing darkness. Know- ledge retrograded, and the past exercised an uncontrolled despotism over men who did not think for themselves. They accepted the conclusions of sages and sires as if they had been the infallible declarations of God. And when we penetrate the library catacombs of the past, and look into what once passed for learning, we see that ignorance in the form of pretended knowledge mumbled endlessly in astro- logical, necromantic and legendary superstitions, until the mind was well nigh eclipsed behind this mass of false know- ledge. But the world has now awoke out of the f.atal slumber of ignorance and infatuation, and tlie energies of thought and reason are aroused by the spirit of examina- tion and inquiry which is abroad. The Reformation was the first to cast off the despotism of antiquity and assert the freedom of mind, and in this view all classes are in- debted to Luther and Protestantism. Since that remark- able era mind has steadily progressed ; though the present age lias witnessed the most remarkable advancement in knowledge. The deep-rooted prejudice in favor of things as they were and had been has given way, and men are learn- ing to think for themselves; often proving the truth of Lord Bacon's observation, "that what is called the antiquity of the world is in many instances seen to be tln! period of its youth and mistakes and folly." Everything is passing through a process of change. Old opinions and plans are giving place to new ones, and men see that liberty of opinion is the life of knowledge and the death of falsehood. 'E I ilfi THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 183 WE Live IND. n deeply nguished Know- Dntrolled jniselves. s if they when we ook into 36 in the in astro- mtil the jc know- he fatal 3rgies of xamina- ion was ;l assert are in- remark- present lent in lings as e learn- 'uth of tiquity riod of 3assing ins are i-ty of cliood. Strong-niindt 1 men are taking advantage of the activity and spirit of the age to express views which, however sound, a few years ago th^v dare not utter. Every year is adding to the advancement of knowledge, and the registerer of its discoveries and changes has found it no easy task to keep pace with the rapidity of its march. TliJs is as it should be, for the mind is truly and properly progressive. All other creatures are stationary. The bird I'uilds its nest anJ the bee constructs its cell to day as they did at the iteginning ; but man moves onward, outward, upward, one generation improving upon another. It is deeply to be deplored that man's progress has not been more rapid and uninterrupted. 15ut it is delightful in this age to mark the progress in commerce, in art, in science, in laws, in social life, in true comfort and intelligence. But probably in nothing does the progress of mind more clearly appear than in the increased attention which is being given to education among all classes of society. The ch'isui which separated society into educated and uneducated, refined and illiterate, is fortunately disappearing. Fifty years ago the working classes were largely prejudiced against education, through ignorance ; and the richer classes also were afraid that an educated people would be spoiled for ordinary manual em- ployment. Take this illustration — fifty years ago in Eng- land, in 1837, but £20,000 was spent that year by Gov- ernment to assist education, but last year nearly £3,500,000 was spent by the Government in education. The change that has come over public opinion on this question leads us to feel that the age of popular ignorance is past never to return. Education to-day is not o.^'y brought within easy reach of all classes, but the compulsory principle has been adopted by general consent, and the tendency now is to- ward free universal education, and for the State more and 13 184 THE AGE IN WHK^H WE LIVE. I : i i!i ... H ■ I' more to considor that work as one of the greatest of national duties. Because of tins, conspicuous talent from the hum- blest ranks may rise to the first and highest positions. The very choicest works of our litciviture also are being pub- lished at prices so cheap that thry are put within oasy reach of the very poorest, so that none need be deprived of the pleasures and benetits of knowledge. In this way the evils of popular ignorance — which no one can adequately portray — an gradually and most eft'ectually averted. Communism and socialism are robbed of their audience and their terrors; and what might have been a volcano of sudden and ruin- ous devastation, becomes a scene of sublime self-restraint. Social revolutionists, instead of tearing down government and church in one common wreck, are compelled to resort to honest politic •! agitation and constitutional methods to fulfil their just claims. And as men become better informed and educated they will shun and loathe the revolver or dynamite, or any other instrument of cowardly and brutal revenge, and learn more and more that knowledge is power, that ideas, convictions, beliefs, rule the world. r f i It II. Another Characteristic of the Age in which we Live is the marked advancement in Science. Science has a light, a Divine right, to be heard with authority within its own sphei'e. One method adopted in the early Jewish dispensation for testing the vali'lity of a prophet's claim, was that he could work miracles. The prophets of modern science have worked miracles. The progress of science is the progress of thought emVjodied in action. With each new step taken in advance by science the sphere of pure intellect is extended. Knowledge is no doubt capable of being Vjrought into bondage to depravity, but the natural affinity of knowledge is with virtue. Per- nl THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 185 haps tho conceit and pride of man were never more sub- limely rebuked than when science taught him that this world was not, as he had believed, the centre of tho universe, with sun, moon and stars circling round it ; but a subordi- nate planet in a single system, invisible from the nearest fixed star. Look at the advancement in Astronoinical Science. For long ages astronomy and astrology were iden- tified, and the material heavens were sup})osed to have a moral influence over the earth. Isidore of Seville, in the seventh century, distinguished between the two ; but astron- omy did not begin to lid itself of astrology till the system of Copernicus obtained in the sixteenth century. Since that its illusions and fatalities have been slowly Imt surely rejected by all intelligent people. Contrast with this age the times of Galileo, in the early part of the seventeenth century. Condemned to prison and torture by an assem- bly of proud Cardinals, who repi'esented the Inquisition in Rome, and tried him June 21st, 1633. The charge against him was, that he held the Copernican theory, and had written in advocacy of its doctrines, though condemne(' by the decree of Rome (161G), viz.: that the sun is fixed in the centre of the world, and that the earth rotates or revolves around it. The day after his famous trial and torture he made public recantation, in submission to the demand of the Inquisition, but on rising from his knees after that recantation, he said, "And yet it does move." And move it does, to the condemnation of Rome and all the ecclesiastical bigotry, and ignorance, and intolerance, and false theories of the past. Of the heavenly bodies and phenomena, people in past centuries knew absolutely noth- ing with correctness or certainty. Comets and the North- ern Lights used to be viewed with consternation and alarm as harbingers of war, and famine, and pestilence, and all .% IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) r// ,>/./%* io 1 1.0 I.I 1.25 ! ^ lifi III 2.0 1.8 ii 1116 6' .^# °^ X??. *^/. ^ =^3 %>.^ <#^^ A d^. <& w Photographic Sciences Corporation «v ^•v M"^ ^ M m^ V ^v 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (71 ) 872-4S03 ^ a^ io I /. 6^ W k O 186 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. ..^;| ! 1 .:: U manner of evil. An eclipse of the sun or moon filled peo- ple with horrc, for they believed it was brought about by the influence of witches and evil spirits ; and they used to resorc to the blowing of horns, beating of k'^ttles, and all manner of hideous noises, to break the spell and destroy the powor of the str.mge enchantment. In these times there seemed to be no order in anything — nothing but caprice. It was supposed that the earth, and air, und sky, ;ind water were inhabited and controlled by creatures the most wayward and fitful. But as science advanced, men observed more and imafjinnl less. Then disorder began to ari-ange itself. By degrees caprice and all syn'ptoms of arbitrary action disappeared out of the universe, and men reasoned from cause to effect. Now, by tho light of modern science, the school-boy knows that the annual revolution of the earth round the sun produces the change of seasons ; aad tliat an eclipse is a very simple thing, caused by the shadow of one opaque body falling upon another. The time when it takes place depends on the new or full moon hr.,ppening at tlie point of intersection. An eclipse of the sun happens only at new moon, and is caused by the body of the moon passing across the sun's disc, intercepthig its i*ays, when her dark side is toward the earth. An eolipse of the 7noo7i is produced by the earth coming between the sun and moon, when the shadow of the earth falls upon the moon, and so for the time cuts off the light of the sun from the moon. Thus it is seen that an eclipse is simply the necessary result of the relative positions of the sun, moon and earth. Science can to-day foretell as well as explain au eclipse, because it is seen to occur in cycles of nineteen years. Science has also made this age familiar with the size and distance and peculiarities of the sun and planetary bodies. Ths sun is found to be upwards of ninety-two u THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 187 million miles from the earth, and eight hundred and fifty- three thousand miles in diameter, while the earth is about eight thousand. So that the sun is about one million three hundred thousand times larger than the earth ; and if all the planets of our solar system were consolidated into one body, still the sun would be seven hundred and fifty times larger than the whole. In this way we learn that the sun is equal for all the offices assigned to it as the dispenser of light, heat and electricity. The sun is not a solid body to reflect, but a porous body to receive and emit, and is the great factor placed in the heavens to receive and distribute the boundless floods of electricity with which God has filled the universe. Every second it gives out as much heat as could be obtained by burning twelve thousand million mil- lion tons of coal, and as much light as could come from a billion billion electric lights. Astronomical science has in innumerable w^ays opened up the universe to the wonder and knowledge and admiration of man. And what is true of one will apply to almost every modern science. In this age Geology is revealing the structure and strata, and changes and developments of this earth, to a wonderful degree. Chemistry is to-day a source of the most important information and beneficial discoveries, and in the very near future is destined to play an important part in the liben'l education and uses of man. Medical Science has improved amazingly since Dr. Bartolo was seized by the Inquisition of Rome for curing a man of the gout. To-day there is hardly a disease that assails the human system that special- ists in medical science have not studied and found a remedy to alleviate or remove. When we look at the instruments that science has in recent times invented to examine with minuteness and accuracy almost every part of the human system, and then see the skill with which those instruments 188 THE AGE IN WHICH WE CIVE. are handled, so that the recesses of the eye and throat and vital parts are laid open to inspection, and an accurate diagnosis of the body and its complaints is obtained, we admire with thankful delight the rapid and sure advance- ment made by medical science to-day. And following it, and as a consecjuence of the great advances made by medi- cal science, nursing has been revolutionized and reduced to a system of no mean order. The very maxim of modern medical science, "Prevention is better than cure," shows the tenderness, the humaneness, the sympathetic interest with which the science looks upon and treats human life to-day. Thousands of human lives are being prolonged, and innumerable distresses and sufferings relieved, from year to yeai, by the skill and ability of modern medical science. And of all the advances made by any branch or department of science in this age, none probably have made greater, if as great, advance as medical science. III. Anotheh Characteristic op the Age in which we Live is the wonderful improvement in Art. Take for example the art of Printing. Printing was in- vented by John Gutenberg, of Mainz, in 1438, and discov- ered in a very simple way. Cutting some letters on the bark of a tree, he threw down the lettered bark on a piece of paper and fell asleep. It rained, and on waking he was surprised to see the letters leave their impression on the damp paper. He repeated the experiment with the same result. This led to the discovery of printing. In 1450 Gutenberg invented movable types, and in 1455 printed the first book that was ever printed, the Mazarin edition of the Latin Bible. But printing at that time was very slow and crude and expensive. Look at the printing now and see the wonderful improvL*nent. A New Testament beauti- THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 189 fully printed and bound for five cents A complete Bible for lifteen cents, printed at the rate of six hundred an hour. Look at the papers, magazines, journals and books of every variety that are now turned out daily, weekly, monthly, yearly. In 1558 the tii-st newspaper was printed in Eng- land, a very crude affair ; now there are four thousand printed in the United Kingdom, of which two hundred are dailies; and ten thousand printed in the United States, and thirty-five thousand in the world. If I take what has been the most influential paper in England, The Times, as a sample, they compose chiefly by little machines, each of which can set up five or six columns a night, and print, by the Walter press, at the rate of twenty-four thousand an hour. The income of the paper is over five million dollars per annum. Its machinery and appliances and departments are a modern wonder, and this will apply more or less to the other leading newspapers of this day. The production of the great daily papers is secured by agencies which en- girdle ihe globe. By means of telegraphs and telephones and correspondence and a perfect organization, every event of every day of every land is placed in the office of the great journalists to educate and inform the reading world. It may be truly saiu that men see the events of the world every day through the daily newspaper, a marvel of cheap- ness and information and concentrated talent. The Art of Navigatioyi shows the same great advance. One of the oldest and most necessary and beneficial occupa- tions of the world. For thousands of years men crept in their little vessels from promontory to promontory, hugging the shore as they crept along at their slow rate, not daring to venture out into the great wide sea ; for they had nothing to guide them across the trackless waters. But one day, early in the fourteenth century, a few men were amusing 190 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. n i ii •'it themselves with a loadstone on cork in a basin of water, and observing that its ends always pointed north or south, seized the hint and invented the mariners' compass. At once seamen could venture out upon the ocean, and America became discoverable. But a great deal more had to be learnt and taught about the shape of the eartli and its peculiarities before correct naval charts could be made. Our ancestors, who believed the land to the soutii unbroken to the pole, were slow to admit the globular form of the earth, and the consequent varieties of longitude and lati- tude. But after Sir Humphrey Gilbert had corrected the error, and shown that the degrees of longitude and lati- tude did differ according to the shape of the earth, then new and safe and correct means of commufiication were established between the remotest lands. Trade and com- merce was established between all countries, so that now the productions of any people, in any part of the world, are easily and rapidly placed in the markets of the nations. To-day a skilful captain can put his finger on th3 chart in mid-ocean and tell you his exact whereabouts, and guide his vessel safely and easil / to any port that he desires to reach. Had we time to examine carefully and exhaustively the wonderful improvement made in the Mechanical Art, we should be struck with the same marvellous advancement in this age. When Arkw right — afterward Sir Richard Ark- wright — the poor barber of Preston, invented the spinning jenny, and patented it in 1769, he was laughed at, and jeered, and hooted, and sat upon in the most brutal manner. But that secret, improved and enlarged, has produced to-day the vast cotton manufactories by which miles and miles of cottons, and woollens, and cloths are turned out with wonderful regularity and ease and skill, and by which the world is clothed and comforted, and beautified and adorned and enriched. 1 THE AGK IN WHICH WE LIVE. 191 IV. Another Ciiaracteristic of the Age in which WE Live, is that it is oxe of Invention and Dis- covery. In Steam, see what discoveries and inventions have been made. The discovery of steam itself belongs to the last century, when James Watt, of Glasgow, who had amused himself with seeing the steam lift the lid of a tea-kettle, seized the hint and invented the steauj-engine in 17G8. But its inventive and productive power has only been brought out in this age. And the power placed at man's disposal by means of steam has produced the present age of industrial civilization ; thus creating the special character of our nineteenth century civilization, and the great mate- rial, social, and political progress achieved. As applied to Manufacture, it has wrought a complete revolution in the skill required, the rapidity of production, and the cheapness and excellence and variety of the articles produced ; mak- ing this age in that respect the greatest and most productive that has left its mark on human history. As applied to Railways, see what wonderful changes it has wrought since the first railway in the world was opened, in 1825, between Darlington and Stockton, in England. To-day there is not a civilized country upon the face of the earth whose surface is not covered with a network of railroads, and where George Stephenson, the father of railways, is not held in lasting esteem ; though when he projected his first railway he was regarded as a madman, and opposed and jeered at in every way that ignorance and opposition could suggest. The wealth invested in railways at the present time is almost incalculable. It is the outlet of every form of sur- plus investment, and a more or less sure and remunerative investnient ; while the number of passengers travelling H j' I! ' ■r 192 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. H m annually by railway in Great Britain or America is equal to twenty-five times the population of these countries. The saving in time by this rapid mode of travel has added enormously to the value and capability of human life, and also to the safety of travel ; for the proportion of risk in journeying by rail, as compared with the old stage-eoach, is much in favor of the railway. To a great degree railways have brought the rich and the poor to an equality in the facilities of travelling ; for the man of toil can go through the length and breadth of Mie land as swiftly and as com- fortal>ly as the richest. The railway also has placed every great market within easy access of all labor and production. As applied to Vessels and Commerce upon the seas, steam has opened a new world to the mercantile trade of the nations, carrying with speed and safety the fruit, and goods, and people, and intercourse of all lands. When you look at the enormous navigation of to-day, and the highly developed interconnnunication between all countries and people, you see that steam has interlocked the nations of the earth in a common interdependence and brotherhood. In Electricity, see what wonderful discoveries have been made. Dr. Franklin's discovery of the identity of lightning and electricity gave the key to all the great discoveries that have been made along this line. Men then began to learn what that vivid force that flashes and rends man's strongest creation is, and to know something of the secret of the force which is the living energy in the material universe. That which svv^eeps the stars through their orbits, and quivers and thrills through the veins of the mountains. That which stirs the sap of the spring tree, and throbs in the current of all physical life. That physical mystery which has been hidden from ages and generations is now being unveiled ; and although the discoveries in connection with electricity THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 193 are only beginning ; enough has been discovered to show that signs and wondeis are to follow. Look at the Electric Telegraph, invented by Morse in the autumn of 1832, in proof. Having, after much delay, constructed a recording telegraph, Morse appealed to the xVinerican Congress, in 1838, to aid him in constructing a line from Washington to Baltimore as an experiment, but found the strongest and most scornful opposition to his appeal. He then went to Europe with the hope of succeeding there, but he was again laughed at and rejected, and had at last to return home utterly disappointed and discouraged. After waiting four years more his appeal succeeded, after a good deal of ridi- cule and opposition, in securing f»'om Congress by a small majority the vote of a sum for an experimental line. But after the bill had passed through Congress he thought it must again fail, for at the evening session of March 3rd, 1843, there were 119 bills awaiting final action before adjournment, and Morse felt that there was no hope for his bill in the presence of such an overwhelming number of claimants for tinal ratification. But his friend, the Hon. H. L, Ellsworth, the first connnissioner of patents, managed to get Morse's bill finally passed just five minutes before the adjournment. The line between Washington and Baltimore was then constructed, and the first message sent by telegraph over this line was on the 24th of May, 1844. It is true an electric telegraph line had been erected by Wheatstone in 1837, between Kingscross and Camdentown stations in Lon- don, and messages sent and received between him and his partner over that wire ; but the honor of the invention of telegraphy properly belongs to Samuel Morse. Of Marine Telegraphy Morse was also the originator. He laid the first marine cable across the h?-bour of New York, and predicted that telegraphic communication would yet be ..iii; IW '^^ 1 1 i i 194 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. i'rt lUl IPS-^ i 1 ii' > i:: I i f IM Ifi.J' I: esta))lishecl across the Atlantic Ocean — a prediction ho lived to see fulfilleil. He lived to improve and almost perfect his iiiveiition, for a few weeks before his death the transmission of messages both ways over the same wire at the same moment was achieved. His invention, that at first brought him only reproach and derision and scorn, afterwards made the name of Morse honored, famous and great. He had given to the world an invention of im- measureable value, belting the earth with instantaneous communication, and all lands and people united to acknow- ledge the man whose invention had connected city with city, continent with continent, in a network of intercom- munication, as a great and wonderful benefactor of his race. There ir, also the Electric Lig/it—n soft, beautiful, natural, perfect light, beneath which plants will grow night and day, and the choicest fruits and foliage ripen swiftly. Presently it will be applied far more freely and extensively for purposes of illumination than it is now, helping partly to change night into day. It will probably be u-sed for the most delicate and dilhcult surgical operations. Professor Buchanan, of Glasgow, used it to remove a tumor from the tongue of a boy, which he did in one minute, and more effectually than l)y the old method, which would have taken ten minutes. One thing about this electricity is that it is stornhle and portable. Some time ago, electricity produced in Paris, and confined in a box, was conveyed to Glasgow to be experimented on by Sir \Ym. Thompson. After that box had been three days on the journey, there was no loss of power. In four cells, capable of being packed in about a foot square, energy was stored to the extent of a million of foot pounds. In what ways, and to what extent, stored electricity shall yet be used for purposes of home industry, and to redistribute the glutted populations that steam has THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 195 concentrated in large centres of population, I cannot say ; but it is destined to play an important part in the solution of this great question to the benefit of all. The Telephone^ invented by Graham Bell, is another marvel of electricity, and one of great utility and benefit. No doubt the day is near — though there may be immense practical ditliculties to be overcome — when electricity shall be employed to drive the wheels of our machinery, to lift the burdens from man and beast, to light our streets and homes, and to ease and bless man in a thousand different ways. At prescMit it is costly, but ultimately it nmst become the cheapest power, because man has not to make it as he has steam or gas — he has simply to elicit it. There it is pure and boundless in tho universe of God. In the great water powers of the world, in the atmosphere that engirdles us, and in all the great accumulated forces of nature, it is there unlimitedly. And when the inventive genius of man, aided Lv the all-pene- trating wisdom of God, shall have discovered how perfectly to evoke and dispose of this force, it must become one of the purest and greatest benefactors of the world. In P}ioto(jr(tp]ty you have another remai'kable discovery of this age. This art was discovered by M. Daguerre, of Paris, in 1839. Crude were the earlier experiments in this now wonderful art. Imagine a person sitting fifteen min- utes in the bright sunlight with closed eyes to get photo- graphed, and yet that is what occurred in the first rude attempts at this art. But to such a state of perfection is the art now brought, that in a few seconds the sun paints the most correct image of the person that can be obtained. It may be truly said that this discovery has made the sun its servant, and, through it, given to the home the most valued treasures of friendship and familyhood in the most beautiful and inexpensive form, 'il riti ''Mr ,' MM f •4 Kjl rf-.. . W i 1. ' 196 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. V. Look at thk relations existing between Capital AND Labor in this Age. No one who has taken the pains to look at the (luestion can doubt that one serious source of dan^^er in this age is the distrust and alienation gi'owiag up between capital and labor. The large fortunes that some have made, and the rapid fortune-making at which many aim, is a serioas men- ace to harmony and fellow-feciling in society. Prosperity is very apt to step to a higher platform and forget its duty to its dependents. In that wjiy the struggling masses become more and more jealous and estranged from unsympathizing capital, and one of ^Jie gravest problems of our day is how to avert the danger to the nation whiclj the disquiet of social revolution shows to be imminent, and V>ind all classes to each other in mutual respect and dependerce. In con- sidering this question the fact must be remenil)ered that Steam is a Ctntralizer. Steam can only be profitably gen- erated in large quantities and centres. Man cannot carry it about with him and apply it as he needs. He must therefore live and work where it is generated. This leads at once to the breaking up of individual and home indus- tries, and to the creation of a class of great capitalists. For there must be large capital to rear large establishments, and generate great power, and employ a large number of people. This changes the centre of population, for the manu- facturing and industrial classes are compelled to live in large towns and cities. Of this you have striking confirmation in the population of England to-day. Thirty years ago the population there was half agricultural and half manufac- turing ; now manufacture employs twice as many as agri- culture, and two out of three of the population live in towns or cities. This leads to a great sacrifice of freedom THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 197 and individuality. For the factories, while they turn out thousai'ds and thousands of miles of cottons, or cloths, or carpets, or rails, or castings, turn out also miles and miles of the same types of men, with similar habits and taates f nd tendencies. And for that reason these men find it easy to unite in society organizations for mutual counsel and co- operation and assistance. Another fact that nnist he con- sidered in relation to this question is the skill re(|uired by the mechanical appliances of to-day to yield prodiictiv*^ and profitable returns. Brain and skill are ever becoming more necessary and supieme in the manag.Mnent of the industries of the age. Every new invention seems to lift oft' from the brute forces and more animal strength, and put morc^ upon the brain, so that there is increasingly needed intelligent workmen, skilled workmen. This must be deeply weighed in favor of labor. For if workmen by their skill and ability shan the responsibility that capital once bore alone, then they are justly entitled to share the profits which ^hat capi- tal and labor jointly bring ; and to have the ^ime and facilities for acquiring the skill and intellectual vigor neces- sary to their work. Yet another fact we must not forget in considering this subject, the coiuUticn of the working classes to-day. They are not the serfs of labor they once were, without education or tastes or home comforts or voice in national afllairs. They are now the free servants, or rather citizens, of their country, who have won their title to a decent home, sufhcient food, a fair education, and a representation in their country's legislation and govern- ment. They are in a position to see what will make for the elevation and well-being of the operative classes, and to de- mand through constitutional channels that all moderate and just claims shall be considered. In view of these facts, how I?-; 198 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. f:'^ lllr ii^^ n..eous expenditure or distribution of that wealth. The capital which monopolizes its fruits, and does not loyally share them with L^bor, is false to the highest moral laws as well as its own security. For labor made contented by just compensation is capital's best protection. The old theories of political economy, that strove to separate economic dis- cussions from all moral considerations, are no doubt answer able for r^uch of the strife that now exists in the industrial world. The unwillingness of n)any employe, t to give place 1i '^ THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 199 to humane motives in dealing witli their employees lias led to serious results ; whilst the tact is clear that all employ- ers that have from right and exalted n)oral motives consid- ered their employees, have received from their workmen in return the unpurchasable gifts of attectioii and confidence and honor. (Japital is a trnst to l>e administered under the laAvs of God ; its one motto should be, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." On the other hand, Labor nmst make a just and proper use of its income. Only thus can hevilth, and wealth, and prosperity, and contentment beconje general. A wrong expenditure may niean absolute waste and loss, not only to a person but to trade and industry. Suppose you take the stream of wealth that now flows into the lap of the publi- can or liquor dealer, and see what a waste it is compared to what it would be if carried to the home where it rightly belongs. If the vast sums of money earned by the toiling masses continue to pour into the hands of the liquor trathc, legitimate trade must suffer, because home comforts cannot be purchased if the money is spent or wasted upon intoxi- cants. But if the money earned i)y the toiling millions is carried to the honie to clothe, and feed, and educate, and bless, all honorable trade will feel the healthy stimulus of that large expenditure, and stagnation or overcrowding will hardly be known when the hunger nnd wants of all are met. More than that, drunkenness not oidy brings poverty and loss, and stagnation to business and to individuals, but it leads to discontent and complainings in the worst and most unreasonable forms. The workingman who spends his earn- ings on intoxicants, not only helps to paralyze all honorable industries by the misuse and wrong expenditure of his in- come, but he unfits himself so that he is a wreck and a dependent instead of a contributor. Every workingmau 1 Hi M « l 1 *! \aS. iv^'i)" !• I i t If 11 200 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. must bring to his calling sobriety, industry, integrity, honor, and the right expenditure of income, so that he may bring health, contentment and disciplined self-reliance. And when wealth is morally honorable everyway, and labor morally true and consistent in all things, there will be peace and happiness and prosperity in the most beautiful and perma- nenc forms. VI. This is a Sceptical Age. This age has developed much scepticism of varied types and colors, fro.n the cold, refined culture worshipper, to the lowest and coarsest of atheists. But wherever men stand estranged from the Christian faith, you can plainly see that their cynicism, their scorn, their irony, is born of unrest and discontent. You can also see that scepticism lowers the level or life, and narrows the outlook, and makes character less vigorous, and holy, and tender, and true, until it at last settles down into a creedless rnelin- choly. And you will further see, by closer observation, that though a man may seem to be able to live without C4od when he is strong and healthy, and prosperous, and is conscious of no ache or fear; yet when necessities press, and the heart is r-iven, and every light is gone out, and despair shrieks and wails through the deserted manhood, he will loiig for some father to have pity and some home where refuge may be found. By understanding the nature of the scepticism of this age, you can the better see how successfully to meet it. As modern unbelief rarely or never reasons, and nowhere rests upon a logical basis, con- troversial defences and logical disproof is unnecessary and unsu'ted. So that it is utterly unwise, and will be wholly unsuccessful to attempt to call up and reproduce the grand arguments and masterly defences of Christianity produced THE AGE IN WHICH WK LIVE. 201 diiced in the last century. You cannot reason witli a sneer, or a declamation, or a negation, and therefore it is no good to attempt to argue with the present evil heart of unbelief. You may hammer away at a block of ice as much as you will, and break it into a thousand pieces, but it is ice still ; you have only changed its shape, not its nature. But if you put that ice under the sun's rays, and let the heat melt and change its substance into clear crystal water, then you have no longer ice, but water. In the same nianner you may hammer away at the men of i",e as much as you will, by argument and controversy, and you only compel them to move into more Arctic regions and drearier winter. But if you can assist these men to forget their imperfectly dis- covered evolutionary theories, and scientilic essences, and cold, chilling, creedless negations, and turn with craving hunger to something that is, that lives, that loves, and look up from their despair to the God above them, who is moved with compassion toward even them, you have put them under the sun-rays that shall change tliem into new crea- tures in Christ Oesus. It is then by living the very spirit of Christianity, in quickened lives of unselfish goodness, that we may hope to lift modern sceptics into the fellowship and adoption of the children of God. Examples of devout faith, and generous benevolence, and cheerful self-denial, and sunny goodness, will not fail to help the spiritual starve- ling to the l)read of life, of which if a man eat he shall live forever. In this way ma) we hope to deal with the scepticism that is about us, and solve the deepest, sorest problems of the human heart, by meeting its hunger and cravings with suitable and sufficient good. Let this thor- oughly practical age manifest everywhere the essential prac- ticalness of Christianity in the most living, sympathetic and practical forms, and scepticism wii'i soon bow down and worship the spirit and likeness of Jesus the Christ. s ■V i I } SB wM it m 'n 202 THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. f i i \ • I |i It i t VII. This is a Christianly aggressive Age. This is pre-eminently an age of civil and religious liberty ; and that pure and undefiled religion which never flourishes in the chilling atmosphere of political despotism, has won- drously triumphed an)id the growing and enlightened free- dom of the civil power. During this nineteenth century Christianity has gathered more converts than during the first three centuries of the Christian era. In the year 1800 there were twenty-iive million English-speaking people, of whom fourteen million were Protestants and six million Romanists. There are now one hundred million English- speaking people, of whom over seventy million are Protest- ants, and fifteen million Romanists. At the conmiencement of this century, the Evangelical Churches of the United States numbered three thousand ; now one hundred and thirty-three thousand. Then the communicants were three hundred and sixty thousand, now sixteen millions. Then Sabbath-schools had only commenced ; now the army of teachers and children is vast and grand indeed. Then there was no Bible Society, and only four million Bibles in the world ; now there are about two hundred million in circula- tion, in two hundred and fifty-eight different languages. Then Foreign Missions were but just started with feeble sup- port, the first collection and subscription in England amount- ing to only sixty-six dollars; now missionaries have well nigh circumnavigated the globe. To-day there are millions of con- verts and pupils to Christianity in India, and China, and Japan, ?>,nd Africa, and the islands of the Southern Sea, and the number is rapidly multiplying under the apostolic labors of some of the noblest and most self-sacrificing of Christian workers. Already in this age the Sandwich Islands, the Fiji Islands, the Pacific (Iroup, Madagascar, !i ! THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 203 ? and others, are Cliristianized and civilized, with tlieir churclies and schools flourishing, and the people dwelling in peace and love ; lifted from the lowest barbarism and the most savage heathenism into the fellowship of nations and the citizensiiip of God. Look where you will, Christianity is spreading, truly, beneficially, over the face of the whole earth. There is much work yet to do, and, thank God, a noble band of workers ready for any field. The men that changed the old slave market of Zanzibar into school and mission premises ; the old Priory in Scotland, where the Pope's legate published tiie bull against the printing of tiie Scriptures, into a Bible puljlishing house, have but just gone home. Aivd greater works than these shall we see as the scars of sin seamed on the beauty of the world are gradually effaced, and the Divinest of all love flings its heart-beats into nobler testimony, and all unreality gives place to the essential spirit of Christianity. VIII. Let us briefly look at the sout of Men and Women the Age needs and that the Age has produced. We must at once admit that the discoveries and appli- ances of this age increase enormously the strain upon human life. We have been living at railroad speed, and the wear and tear have been great ; we shall have to live at electric speed, and when night is turned into day, and the wheels of life are driven at a greatly increased speed, the nerve and brain \\ill be fearfully taxed. I have every hope that man will rise to the claims of the hour, and become the master, not the slave, of his surroundings. So it has been in this age hitherto ; so, I trust, it will be. I have faith in God, I have faith in man. But while nature multiplies her pressure, tliere must be a strong nature and fit 51 mi i 1 \ ■ ni ''i 5 - ' 1, || 1 1: \'i ;[ ' , '• ' i T. ^ i!^ i H :."i i 1 ■ if ' 204 THK AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. muscle and brain to meet it, to face with lofty courage and dauntless manhood the forces around, that will other- wise dismay and overcome us. The fashionable, frivolous fools, that one sometimes meets, with a so-called handsome figure, got up to order by the tailor, whose chief delight is in gloves, and boots, and hats, and rings, and spectacles, and canes, and cigars — poor, sellish, lazy hangers-on— are not by any means what is wjinted in this age. Strong men are required, well fed and housed and temperate ; men who abstain from intoxicating liquors and tobacco, and every source of physical disease and injury, to be the healthy parents of a healthy generation, and liring the sti-ong brain and nerve and moral libre and progressiveness that is re- quired. The age has produced such men ; you have only to mention such names as Moft'att, and Livingstone, and Ellis, and Hunt, and 8haw, and Stanley, and Morley, and Keed, and Williams, and Spurgeon, and Mliller, and Shaftesbury, and Russell, and (lladstone, and Cobden, and Lincoln, and Garfield, and Richardson, and Guthrie, and others that might be easily named, to see how prolific of great men (some of them the very greatest of men) this age is and has been. Men who have shown us not so much how to get a Tiring, as how to live. Men whose lives teach us that idleness is immoi'al, unhealthy, degrading. Men who have shown us that labor, animated by a genial pur- pose, is a sovereign balm for the ills of body and mind. Men whose memory will better stand the test of time than the marble statue or the granite hills. The age also needs women of the very best and noblest type of womanhood. Women of healthy bodies, and well- balanced minds, and strong character, and tender refine- ment, and overflowing afi'ection, and sweet purity, . iid thoroughly domesticated, to meet the duties of wife and THE AGE IN WHICH WE LIVE. 205 mother and woman in every form. Women who under- stand the science of cookery, tlie habits of thrift and economy, the management of home, and the cares and duties of their many-sided calling. Women that are women, earth's truest patterns, heaven's nearest representa- tives, home's holiest charm, man's fairest treasure. Women who, while they endure more than martyrdom amid years of solitary and unrelieved duty, quietly coax away half the cares, and smile away half the sorrows, of life. There are some painful specimens of so-called ladies that we sometimes meet, by no means suited to this age. Persons who fool- ishly suppose that a plump, healthy body is coarse and vulgar, and that red cheeks are too countrified, and who prefer to be pale and delicate and demure-looking, under a false idea of refinement. Such persons might do for a parlor ornament, to be dressed, and looked at, and covered with lotions, or to travel in an easy carriage, labelled "this side up, with care": but they are not fitted to be the wives and mothers and educators of a strong and healthy genera- tion. Such persons do not understand work, and like it less. They cannot keep a house neat and sweet and well arranged, and therefore attractive and pleasant and home- like. When such become wives and mothers, they often drive unhappy men to the bar-room, to forgery, to perdition. Such poor, frail, misdirected and useless specimens are by no means what this age needs. It demands women with all the virtues, and character, and graces, and strength, and beauty of the best of womanhood. Nor has the age been without its noble women — brave, generous, self-reliant, con- secrated, holy — who have left their maik upon their genera- tion in literature, in philanthropy, in education, in art, in true courage, and in the deepest, tenderest sympathies. We have only to recall the names of Elizabeth Fry, Mary Car- M h. • ttif 206 THE AGE IX WHICH WE LIVE. II' ft penter, Florence Nightingale, Grace Darling, Florence Lees, Mrs. ClnHliolni, La{l3^ Brassey, Elizabeth Thompson, Mrs. Faucet, Mrs. Green, Frances Havergal, and a number of others that will readily occur to the thoughtful mind, to see what brave specimens of women the age has produced, and to see through them what women of courage and consecra- tion have been able to accomplish. Home of these noble women have passed over, and are now polished jewels in the crown of Jesus ; but others are still toiling on to open royal paths for the redemption of their sex, and the amelior- ation and refinement of mankind. Such women, in increas- ing numbers and influence, the age needs and must have to preserve and perpetuate a generation equal to its times. In the light of contrast this age, with all its drawbacks, stands out grandly for the excellence and -Nariety and amount of work accomplished. Former ages will not bear the closest scrutiny or the most minute examination. When you look carefully and closely into their principles, and deeds, and lives, and history, you find much to shudder at and turn from in dismay. The inen that are always talk- ing about the good old days that are passed, have never examined what they so warmly connnend. True, there are many things in this age not what they should be, not what we could desire, not what is best for man or the world. There is much work yet to be done, and heavy tasks yet to be borne, and great mountains yet to be levelled. But the men, the courage, the facilities are to hand for the most heroic and gigantic tasks. Custom is gi^'ing place to right, class to manhood, privilege to character. The world is rising nearer and nearer to its true ideal, to its Divine mission, to the preparation for its coming Lord. May the millennium of liberty, and equality, and citizenship, and brotherhood, and love, soon dawn in all its glory. n : : in ! F r 1 i - Ml t • ! -K-f I fllj ««« I PREFACE. TN presenting this volume to my brethren and the public, I fulfil a pledge made some time ago. In publishing the Lecture delivered before the Theological Union of the Toronto Conference, June, 1886, I carry out a request kindly and appreciatingly put upon me by the desire of the Union. My one hope is that all who read it may receive suggestion or inspiration therefrom. The sermons that accompany the lecture are published in deference to a strongly expressed wish made by my brethren some three years ago, when a volume of my lectures and sermons, in a re-issued and enlarged edition, was rapidly disposed of through the generosity of my brethren and the public. My one desire in these sermons is to present in a brief and clear forni great and saving truths. i II t 1 1 ) ■ PREFACE. As will be readily seen, the first six discourses are ad- dressed to the unsaved, to warn, or urge, or allure to the Saviour; the next seven appeal to Christian people as a summons to service, or character-building, or fidelity; the remainder are doctrinal discourses, seeking to present briefly great and vital as well as consoling doctrines of God's Word. May the AU-givor graciously give His blessing with this volume, is the sincere prayer of the AUTHOR. CONTENTS. HBRMON I. -The Pulpit the Aoe Needs - II. — Early Piety III. — Christ ai the Door .... IV. — Profit and Loss V. — The Prouiual Leaving Home VI. — Tua Prodigal's Return .... VII. — The Prodigal's Brother VIIL— Christ on the Mouni of Transfiguration IX. — Noah's Faith X. — Moses' Faith XI. — The Three Hebrew Martyrs XII. — Daniel's Integrity XIII. — The Righteous Shining . - - - XIV. — Rest at Last XV. — Repentance XVI. — Justification -.---- XVII. — Sanctification XVIII.— God's Kingdom XIX. — The Resurrection XX. — Reunion in Heaven . . • . PAei fj 21 ?0 39 51 59 «7 74 85 94 104 1K3 121 129 137 148 156 166 180 189 ';m' 1 i '51 -4t ;'• !. ? ■ttl' The Pulpit the Age Needs. [Lecture delivered before the Theological Union of the Toronto Cc:;Ierence, June, 183(3, and published by request.] d Cl SSUM M -ill UMING as true, what no man who knows history attempt to dispute, that the pulpit lias heen God's chosen agency for the moral and s()i ritual blessing of the world since the day of Pentecost, it will be seen to be of the first importance that the functions of the pulpit be correctly understood, and the efficiency of the pulpit thoroughly maintained. As certainly as the sermon spread Christianity at the beginning, and every subsequent epoch of the world's moral life has been an epoch of preaching, so certainly, while human nature remains as it is, and men need spiritual illumination and inspiration, and the Gospel is dependent on moral forces, the function of the preacher can never be superseded. As the printed book cannot supersede the teaoher, or the reports of committees the debates of parliament, or the examination of witnesses the pleadings of counsel, neither caii the widest diffusion of literature take the place of the Christian preacher. Litera- ture and science have their distinct place and mission in the service of society, and in serving the cause of truth and mankind they become the servants of God. The Christian 2 6 THE PirLPIT THE AGK NEEhS. I: f pulpit no longer monopolizes the functions of other profes- sions, but is required more and n/ore to keep within its own sphere. There never was, however, a })etter field, or a grander outlook, or a greater demand for a living pulpit than now. Thank God, much of the superstitious sanctity which once surrounded preachers us belonging to a sacerdotal class, and which led the people to receive what was uttered sin:ply because a minister said it, has passed away. But as the priestly idea, born of an age subsequent to Christ and His apostles, and begotten of a strange blending of Judaism and paganism, declines and goes to the oblivion of all unre- alities, so the prophetic and apostolic functions of a true ministry rise more clearly to view. Men see less of the person of the preacher, but nir>re of the word of Him that liveth and abideth forever. The ministry itself is chiefly esteemed because that by the manifestation of the truth it commends itself to every man's conscience in the sight of God. As the eloquence and fervor of the prophet and the aptness and tender sympathy of the pastor blend in the modern pulpit, the depths of human hunger will 1 e reached, the greatest problems of human destiny will be solved, and the holiest treasures that the heart can know will be richly enjoyed. The world, with an increasing appreciation of the fact "that faith cometh by hearing. End hearing by the Word of God," will delightedly maintain the preaching of that wo''d as the last human institution to pass away. I. The Age Needs a Pulpit Pre-eminently Evangelical. I do not mean this in any narrow and restricted sense, but in that broad and inclusive sense which loyalty to Christ and His Word enjoins. We have to confront the difficulties and deriands of men's daily calling, and the gravo personal, THE PULPIT THE AGE NEEDS. or a that political, social and educational issues that are all about us, at the root of which there is much ignorance, selfishness and sin. The question is, how can we most effectually redeem men from evil, conquer and expel all false principles, and bring home to the business and bosoms of living men the truth of God ? Certainly it will not be by moral essays, or lectures on science, or dissertations on history, but by preaching the Gospel of oui Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. As men hear His stern denunciations of all unrighteous- ness, and His tender and helpful sympathy with all that is right and good, they will be warned and encouraged, or led in the way everlasting. What T urge is, that we be careful and painstaking expositors and preachers of the Word of God — to-day explaining a type, to-morrow defining a doc- trine ; now presenting the precepts which guide, then the promises which support ; here uttering the solemn warning, there the tender and gracious entreaty. Whilst our preach- ing shall bring a psalm of joy to the heart of the sorrowful, or a proverb of wisdom to the feet that had well-nigh slipped, or a parable of love to the broken-hearted but repentant prodigal, or a pillar of fire to some benighted pilgrim on his way to the celestial city, or an angel ministry to some one alone at the mouth of ':he cave of despair, it shall not lack the warm appreciation of eager and hungry hearts. If, as good Doctor Arnold put it, our business is to make earth like heaven and every man like God, there is no plan so sure and no instrumentality so potent as to preach Christ. If I would heal poor, sin-smitten humanity, I must lead to Him who came to seek and to save that which was lost. If I would help men who have sujcumbed to the power of temptation and gvone down fearfully with the moral debris, I am compelled to bring them to Him who casts out devils aud cures all manner of diseases. If i would comfort j,;il 8 THE PULPIT THE AGE NEEDS. \ 5 a tired sufferer who is distress! nglj sure that some day He shall fall by the hand of the enemy, I must point to Him who is able to keep them from falling and whose grace is sufficient even for them. If I would sustain and inspire some fiercely opposed or discouraged woiker in the fields of holy toil, I must direct the eye to Him who sfiys, " I know thy works," " be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life." Christ is the light of life, the only real way to God, neither is there salvation in any other name. As men learn faith, and obedience, and self-denial, and consecration, and all the fundamental principles of Christianity through Christ, and feel that filial and immedi- ate relations are established between the soul and God by Him, they will more and more see that He is the Desire of all nations. As vhey catch His spirit, and copy His example, and share His image, and rise into His sacrifices, and become complete in Him, they will feel that they can do all things — however hard, or painful, or self-denying — through Christ which strengtheneth them. They will realize that the cross of Christ has lost none of its power, the heart of Christ none of its love, the name of Christ none of its lustre, the spirit of Christ none of its influence, the example of Christ none of its beauty, the atonement of Christ none of its efficacy, the intercession of Christ none of its prevalence, the promises of Christ none of their sweetness. As we wit- ness the type of manhood produced, the sublime heroism inspired, the Christlike principles brought into every de- partment of life, by this preaching, we shall see the need, the absolute compulsion, for a pre-eminently evangelical pulpit. Nothing can take its place. Without it religion will be sickly, manhood dwarfed, philanthropy paralyzed, hope blotted out, and sin will triumph universally with its innumerable wrongs and woes and hells. Then let us THE PULPIT THE AGE NEEDS. 9 preach, not oursdves, Imt Christ Jesus the Lord. When men ask for bread, let us not give them a stone ; or wlien they ask for a fish, let us not give them a serpent. There is light enough in Christ for all the blind, comfort enough for all the sorrowful, wisdom enough for all the ignorant, peace enough for all the troubled, rest enough for all the weary, hope enough for all the despairing, strength enough for all the weak, wealth ei.ough for all the poor, merit enough for all the vile, life enough for all the dead. Let us then hold up Cnrist over the field of human sin ana want, and let the pulpit of universal Christendom cry, " Come unto Him, all ye tliat labor and are heavy laden, and He will give you rest." II. TiTE Age Needs a Pulpit Courageously Independent. The preacher must be the teacher, not the pupil , the leader, rot the slave, of his audience. Our preaching must have the ring of authoritative certainty, the authority inherent in truth, to command the ear and confidence of those who hear us, and bring respect and strength to our preaching. The preacher will have to rebuke, to denounce, the sins of mankind — the envy, the jealousy, the pride, the injustice, the love of money, the ad vantage- taking, the rascalities of trade, the drunkenness, the licentiousness, the deceptions, the undue striving after power, the innumerable wrongs into which men have fallen. When they ask, " By what authority doest thou these things, and who gave thee this authority]" he must be able at once to afHrm, "I have a message from God unto thee." The greatest, the most reforming, the most beneficent preachers of the world have been courageously independent — Elijaii, Elisha, Isaiah, Jeremiah, John the Baptist, Paul, :i 10 THE PULPIT THE AGE NEEDS. Chrysostom, Wycliffe, Savonarola, Luther, Latimer, Knox, Bunyan, Baxter, Wesley, Whitetield, down to the most i eful and mighty preachers of to-day. As truly as Elijah rebuked Ahab, and startled the worst king of Israel into momentary fear and repentance ; and John the Baptist told Herod his crimes to his face, however enraged the guilty monarch might be; and Paul again and again fearlessly preached the whole truth of God to kings and governors and persecuting multitudes, so must the preacher of this age declare to old and yo""g all the words of this life. He must charge home the message received from the Most High upon the conscience and life of his hearers, warning every man and teaching every man, that he may present every man perfect in Christ Jesus. To do this at all t^'mes and in all places the preacher will need a martyr's courage, a martyr's constancy. There among his audience is a busi- ness man who puffs, who adulterates, who lies by advertise- ment, and quietly passes it over by saying, " Business is business;" there is another who justifies any cruel pressure or unscrupulous dealing by saying that it is his first duty to succeed, and then to do right if he can ; there is another who has made a fortune by grinding his workmen, or gam- bling in stocks, or defrauding his creditors ; and to these and others the preacher must be faithful, as he values the ap- proval of God and the salvation of those that hear him. But to be faithful, with the consciousness of his own weakness and the conviction that some will be offended and the min- istry blamed, will require that he does not even count his life dear unto him, so that he might finish his course with joy, and the ministry which he has received of the Lord Jesus. In the presence of duties such as these the bravest preacher has sometimes faltered. Yet the age requires that while the preacher's eye moistens, and his lips quiver, and TH^: PULPIT THK AGE NKEDS. 11 his heart syinpatliies are stiricd, his tongue sliall fearlessly utter the whole counsel of God, — never speaking with the lisping weakness of a child where he should utter himself with the dauntless elo(iuence of a man. ( )h, my l)rethren, we shall recjuire the most brave, the most heroic courage, never to be false to the life and destiny of our hearers; always to set our faces against all that is unscriptural and wrong; never to yield to the dictation of wealth, or Hattery, or fashion, or fear; always to be ready to attract to our- selves the storm that shall cloud, our popularity while it clears the atmosphere and brings health and fragrance and sunshine to the Church. Lf^t us, if need be, become cruci tied with Christ, if by that all daring and sublime courage we can the better bear witness to the light and proclaim the universal language of Cod's love and commandment to mankind. III. The Age Needs a Pulpit, Fresh, Natural, Original. If I am asked to detine originality, T should take an illustration from physical nature — the body. You take food of different kinds into your system, and masticate and digest it. After that it becomes yourself — blood, bone, muscle, flesh, skin, — all that makes up your body. It is the life and vigor and strength and preservatioii of that body. The food becomes you, naturally, properly. Just so, mentally or morally! You read, observe, think, feel, acquire from books, science, nature, art, the heavens above, or the earth beneath, and when well digested it becomes the conviction, the principle, the belief, the character, the intel- lectual and moral life. of your.self. It is you emphatically. As you speak in your own language, and after your own manner, the convictions and truths born of the pangs and r* ■m 12 THE PULPIT THE AGE NEKDS. W--*'"' travail of the living growth of a living man, you are original, as much so as any true or great preacher since the days of Noah. This originality will maintain and demand per- petual freshness. Such a preacher will be ever acquiring, cultivating, searching after suitable knowledge. Conscious that no man can impart what he has not, he will avail himself of all the knowledge within his reach — literary, scientific, historical, philological, experimental — and lay it under profitable contribution for the enrichment of the pulpit. In him will be fulfilled the prediction of Malachi: "The priest's lips should keep knowledge, and the people shall seek the law at his mouth." In these days of mental culture and ever-widening education, the pulpit must possess resources sufficient to meet the intelligence and proper demands of the pew. If we have to warn, to comfort, to edify; if mental enlightenment is necessary to spiritual growth and stability; if appeals to the intellect have to be made, as well as to the heart; if systems of error must be exploded, and deep-rooted fallacies exposed, and the Chris- tian teacher must stand not merely on the defensive; if the very love of truth constrains men to seek for new treasures of wisdom and knowledge in the spirit of independent inves- tigation, then we must seek the arguments which convince, the truth which stimulates, the illustrations which allure, the principles which sanctify. We might as well expect a pauper to bequeath a foi'tune to posterity as expect the man whose brain is an uncultivated waste to mould and guide and bless thinking men. Perpetual learning is essential to perpetual teaching. When we cease to acquire we cease to impart. The time is past when our congregations will be satisfied with labored essays or a few highly studied and thoroughly dry discourses preached over and over again from the pulpit. We must be students, especially of the THK PULPIT THE AiiE NKKDS. Id Bible and all that helps to explain it, if we would be thor- oughly furnished for our work. Then let us so respect the just needs of the age, and the power and honor of the pulpit, that we will not let ourselves run down and exhaust like the fields of a thriftless farmer. Let us rather root out idleness and sloth, and bring to our pulpit perpetual fresh- ness and inspiration, — not going weekly to some valley of dry bones to supply a poor diluted repetition, but to the inex- haustible granary of God's Word to break of the very bread of life to the hungry heart. When Dr. Arnold was asked why he continued to study, as if he would not have enough for his pupils, he nobly replied, " It is not because I fear I shall not have enough to give them, but because I prefer that they shall be supplied from a clear, running stream, rather than from a stagnant pool." We must also be natu- ral. Imitations are always sickly or feeble. Copyists gen- erally follow the defects, not the excellences, of those whom they attempt to imitate. Into the pulpit of this day every man should carry his own personality. The apostles did this. Each stamped his own individuality on every word uttered. Paul was Paul, and not someone else. John was John, Peter was Peter. Each presented the truth in his own way; hence the charming variety, as well as the mar- vellous unity, of that first group of Gospel preachers. So should men in the pulpit now be themselves. It is thus that variety will be secured which God has designed, and which is so necessary to meet the requirements of the people. One man will have one way of presenting the truth, and another man another, but in God's variety there will be no confusion, for the diversity of gifts proceed from one spirit. In this way real seers will enter the pulpit unshorn of their strength, and the most richly dowered human souls will spend their finest powers in feeding the flock of Christ. In :', i i ' eator, respect n to us ech you he per- ect and nds and Bserved, hat our ust and tor the look at the cul- ,ion He formed ,on and lay out these for mere carnal and seltisli ends. We descend l)eneath ourselves and forget our true moral dignity when we lay out our powers merely to amass wealth, or secure distinc- tion, or gain fame, or promote personal aggrandizement. The original and true intent of our Maker concerning us is definitely declared in the command, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine \eart, and with all thy soul, and with all tbv might." Don't let us rob God of that un- conditional obedience and service which His transcendent perfections and essential goodness and infinite love and supreme authority should instantly command. Remem- ber thy Creator, i.e., keep Him in mind, meditate on Him, let Him dwell in thy thought and heart. Remember Him gratefully, reverently, constantly. II. When We Should Remembek Him — "Ifow." This means in youth, so that the question to be consid- ered is the urgency, the advantage, the blessedness of early piety. 1st. Remember thy Creator novj, because youth is the period which vresents fewest obstacles to the pracace of piety. This is clear if we consider external circumstances, natural powers, or moral habits. In youth we are most free from those troubles which embitter, those schemes which engross, those engagements which hinder in more advanced and connected life. Then the body is healthy and vigorous, the mind active, the memory retentive, the aflfec- tions easily swayed, the habits unformed, and the conscience susceptible and tender. Under the Hebrew economy the first was to be presented to God. The first-born of man, of beast, or the first-fruits of tlie field, were to be yielded up to God, The young alone can spiritualize and fulfil this idea, by giving to Him who merits all the 1:t ' J , '! 24 EARLY PIETY. first of their days and the first-fruits of their reason and affection. Never had they such an opportunity to show the goodness and sincerity of the motives by which they are influenced. What does an old man offer when he turns to God ? His wealth ? He can use it no longer. His pleasures ? He can enjoy them no more. His honor 1 It is already withered on his brow. He flies from the world because he is burnt out. He enters the temple that he may take refuge at the horns of the altar. He gives to God the gleanings of life after the enemy has reaped the harvest. But they who consecrate their youth to God ^r^^ely, readily yield to Him the best of themselves. A religious life formed at such a time and entered upon under such circumstances is far more easy and safe than at any other period. We have often seen the power of habit, and know that it is formed gradually by the repetition of acts which in time mould and fix the character. The real stamp may not at first appear, but sooner or later the evil or th^ good will mature itself and stamp the man and life. ITow it is a much easier thing to break the force of habit oefore it is confirmed and settled than afterwards. Therefore, upon this showing, it is much easier to serve God in youth than in after life. More than this, early piety will save from the entanglements and consequent embarrassment of godless re- lationships and evil associations. To be safe and to make our religious life more easy and pleasant, no one can begin too soon. 2nd. Because it tvill preserve frotn those sins and jollies into which youthful inexperience may rush. In all periods of life men feel the force of influences prompting them to sin, but there are circumstances connected with youth which render it a period specially liable to sin. Youth is a season of comparative ignorance — ignorance of the deceitfulness of EARLY PIETY. 25 upon than r»m the the natural heart and of the wiles and snares of the out- side world. The world, to the young, is a charming fairy- land, with no disappointments, or discords, or griefs, just because they look at it through glasses stained with the wild poetry of a buoyant hope. It is not to be wondered at if, -voyaging over life's sea, exposed to rocks and pirates and sleepless billows, without the chart of knowledge or the compass of experience, the youthful vessel becomes a total wreck. Then add to this the force of passions. In the early stages of life we are largely the creatures of sense, influenced and governed by impulse. The intellect or belief is not supreme, but the mind is the vassal of matter. Under the influence of passions pleading for indulgence and struggling against restraints, is there not a fearful liability to sin ? Judgment is weak and passion strong in youth ; and the enemy often tries to gain his point by urging the gratification of appetite. The first sin was the sin of appetite, and the tempter made his thrusts at Christ in the wilderness through the same means. The history of humanity and the saddest experiences we have known show the desolating power of unholy appetite. Persons some- times speak about young men sowing wild oats. You have never known that kind of seed to produce a good harvest. In every way it is best for youth to place itself early under the restraints and obedience of the divine laws. Further, add the susceptibility to influence; so characteristic of youth, and you see its keen exposure to wrong, — that very suscepti- bility exposes youth to all the corruptions of its age. Nothing can eflectually preserve the young from the power and influence of evil but the fear of God. 3rd. Because of its henejicial iujluence over the life. Youth is the spring of life, and by this will be determined the glory of summer, the abundance of autumn, the provision of ii ■=» 26 EARLY PIETY. m winter. Just as the fanner who neglects the cultivation of his land in spring will suffer for it in the biting winter, or the merchant who neglects the conditions of commercial success will find it out to his ruin, so the youth who neglects early piety will feel the effect of it afterwards on both his physical and spiritual nature. The connection between body and soul is intimate. The passions that disease the body and deform and wear it out prematurely affect also the spiritual constitution by darkening and corrupting the intellect, hardening and blighting the heart, crushing and withering the sympathies, condemning and degrading the soul, smiting with paralysis the whole moral nature, or sweeping like the moaning winds of a wintry night over the dethroned and ruined man. Such is the effect of sin that late religion cannot restore what early piety would have prevented. Often do the sins of youth affect a man years after their performance, and perhaps years after they have been for- given in Christ. Their being washed away in the blood of Jesus does not efface them from the memory of the man, but they fetter and cloud the joys of life. What a differ- ence there must be between the experience of an aged Christian who commenced his religious life yoifng, and the aged man who spent his first years in sin and was converted late in life ! One is untrammelled by the past, the other has to grapple with old habits that are like so many fetters, taking years of devout toil and resistance to master and completely overcome. It is a tremendous fallacy to suppose that it is as easy to get off the line of evil as to get on. The first sin is the hardest, and safety lies in never crossing the threshold of evil. Sin holds with almost unconquerable te- nacity when once it has taken root. There is nothing in the world so difficult to get rid of as an evil habit. It is so hard to conquer. Long years of restraint and watchfulness EARLY PIETY. 27 and prayer have been necessary to preserve men from the very tendencies of their own nature. Every wrong done becomes a scar which, long after the evil is forgiven, may leave its mark. Then the bearing of the past life upon society will agonize that man converted late in life. A converted old man who has spent most of his life in sin cannot review his history without being painfully conscious of the influence for evil which he has exerted upon others. The memory of some who have passed away forever whom he might have assisted to save, but did help to ruin, must overwhelm him. Would we be saved from such memories of remorse and agony, we should early lay our life at the feet of Jesus and serve Him. 4th. Because of the joy and triumph it ivill shed on the closing scene of life. Youthful piety crowned with manly grace makes the close of life beau ful and blessed. I know of no sight more saddening than that of an old man shud- dering on the brink of the grave without hope and without God. There is something about age with its oppressive cares, worn frame, enfeebled strength, dimmed sight, totter- ing limbs, shattered nerves, benumbed feelings, and fled life, that is saddening in itself. But to sink into the grave without a hope of heaven is terrible. Now, the old age of true piety is bright, hopeful, triumphant. Visiting an old Christian some time ago, who has since crossed the river and entered the pearly gates, it was remarked, " You have toiled long for Christ, what have you to say about His religion now ?" ** Say of it ?" said he, '* it is the better part, the only thing worth having now, the one thing most precious." In that dying Christian there was light at even- tide ; and the saint of fourscore years calmly, hopefully passed through the valley shouting, " More than conqueror through Him that hath loved us ! " Incomparably grand is l: m Ifi * 11 r " *" 1 i r-, W • ! » 1 ! ' . L. r 28 EARLY PIETY. the peaceful close of a holy pilgrimage, when the curse ia turned into a blessing, when the house of sorrow becomes a scene of triumph, when the troubled waters die into a wave- less calm, when the winding sheet becomes a bridal robe, when death becomes the entrance into life, when the fare- well of friends below is exchanged for the greetings of celestial friendship, and the soul lays down its diseased body to be clothed upon of God. But such a victorious termina- tion of life must be preceded by early, by entire dedication of the life to God's service. If we uo not serve Hira truly, worthily, heartily through life, we cannot hope for a triumphant close. It is impossible to overestimate the value of early piety. It makes sure of what is all important, and what, if def rred, is rendered uncertain or impossible. " Allow me, my chi'^- dren," said an old man, *' to warn you from my dying bed. When young I enjoyed religious privileges and was the sub- ject of serious reflections. At sixteen I was urged to seek religion, but not being willing there and then, I deliberately promised God that when I beciime a man I would give my- self to Him to love and serve Him. My anxieties then left me. But at twenty-five the monitor returned, reminding me of my forgotten promise. I acknowledged, but deferred, and vowed with increased solemnity that when the cares of life were less I would seek religion in earnest. Again my vows were forgotten and life passed on ; but at fifty, I remember, the monitor returned with strong pleadings and said, ' Seek religion now, fulfil thy promise.' I knew that I had promised to do so, and was dissatisfied with myself that I had not kept my pledge with God and served Hi ja long years before. But again I put it oflf, hoping for a more convenient tinie. And now I am old and dying. I have trifled with conviction until it is too late. I have refused EARLY PIETY. 29 God, and now He hath cast me off. Oh, my children, be warned by my example and seek religion at once, and don't, like me, put it off to die in despair, a lost man." Let everyone feel that while a spiritual change is not im- possible to God at any period of life, to begin early to serve Him is the one safe and sure way of attaining spiritual manhood and spiritual victory. Young friends, knowing that you have a soul to save and a spiritual character to build up, enter at once upon the holy and necessary work. While the heart is tender, and the conscience susceptible, and the judgment uabiassed, and the affections unpolluted, xemember your Creator, and He will be your best Friend and Guide and Saviour, for time and eternity. i ! i 1 ; I III. CHRIST AT THE DOOR. "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. " — Rkv. iii, 20. 1 ii W^HESE words were spoken to and of the Church at vp Laodicea, the last of tlie seven Asiatic Churches. Laodicea at this time w a large and flourishing city of Phrygia, beautifully siti and abounding in wealth and luxury. Tlu* Church there, though numerous, was not by any means spiritually-minded. It partook too much of the character of the people. They were proud, haughty, ease- loving, effeminate, and self-satisfied. No one can read the grapliic description of their state given in this chapter with- out weeping over their vanity and fatal self-confidence, lead- ing as it did to the threatened punishment, "I will spue thee out of my mouth." Laodicea ha? long since become an abandoned ruin. Earthquakes have enguiied a large part of the city and desolated the country around. There, amid her six or seven hills, Laodicea now sits I'ke a lonely and desolate widow, with the walls grass-grown, the temple de- molished, the theatres peopled with wolves and foxes, and the name perished from under heaven, while the winds that moan and wail through the deserted ruins sound like the sarcastic laugh of time exulting over the destruction of the proudest and most self-confident of people. It was to this people thus conditioned that these words were originally addressed. To them in their loathsomeness and sin Christ CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 81 thus graciously stoops. But the same Saviour to-day graciously condescends to knock at the door of the poorest and the niost sinful of men. so intense is His desire for the salvation of all. I. Christ at the Door.- 1171(1 knock." a Behold, I stand at the door Ist. The suitor — " I." Here is a sight to make angels wonder, the condescension of an insulted Uod stooping to plead with a rebellious world. The offended Sovereign of the universe entreating thd sinner that has despised and rejected Fim to accept a free salvation purchased with the offended i >ne'8 agony and blood. Well might we wonder- ingly pause and ask, Who is this that knocks ? Who ? Jesus, the Son of God ! He in the beginning was with God. By His power the worlds were brought into being — the One who foi-med us and preserves us day by day. The Creator at the door of the creature, the Master at the door of the servant, the King of kings, than whom there is no greater, standing like a beggar at the door. The Saviour who ran- somed us with His blood, the Intercessor wlio is exalted to give remission of sins, the Judge who shall one day condemn or crown all men, it is He who stands without. Shall it be said, " He came unto His own and His own received Him not." Would a child keep \\\b father outside in the pitiless storm knocking for years at a closed door 1 Would a diseased patient keep a physician outside in the cold till his patience was exhausted 1 Would any man of common courtesy keep a, friend knocking at his door repeatedly and never open it? Will you keep out your best Friend and Benefactor, who stands at the door and knocks with a hand that bears the mark of the nail that pierced it ? Will you dare longer to keep Him, the blessed, the hcly, the loving, the condescend- i:!l li m I i ' H li. 1^ 82 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. ing Saviour, outside the door, despised or unheeded, while you harbor guests with whom Christ could not dwell 2}id. Ckrisi's attitude — " I stand at the door." The word is properly traiislated " I stand," to denote continual and unwearied attention. He not merely has stood, but he stands, patiently waiting an introduction to the soul. He once stood perLonally and bodily before men in the days of His flesh. He now stands spiritually and representatively there. Of the door at which Christ stands we may but briefly speak. There is the doov of the mind. It is not ditficult to see how .that door is approached, and that it must be the first to open. Until there is a conviction there will be no spiritual awakening, and conviction can only come intelligently through reflection. We must know before we can love, or imitate, or follow. As the mind thinks and reads and learns about Christ, so the eyes of the understanding will be enlightened, and Christ will enter readily through the door of thought to the door of vhe heart. Through the heart all our sympathies and yearnings and affections pass, and Christ longs that its door should open to Him. No one is so worthy of your heart, and no one can make it new again like Christ can. Let us throw the door of the heart wide open, and bid Christ a royal welcome. He also stands at the door of the udll. Through that door desire, intention, purpose, passes into action and service. Christ is most anxious that this door should also be open to Him wi.^i.ut resistance and without delay, so that every yearning of love and pleading of emotion and aspiration of thought may become consecration and service, that the brain and heart may be marshalled by a strong and resolute will into perfect harmony with the will of God. Througb these doors or avenues to the town of Man-soul, Christ seeks to enter. CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 83 3rd, Christ's action — " And knock." He knocks in a variety of ways, outwardly and inwardly. He knocks by physical reverses and visitations. When the soul has deadened itself in relation to God, and will not hearken to His appeal, God's only opportunity of asserting His sover- eignty may be through a physical medium. Where doc- trine fails plague may succeed. Where love has been mocK°id the sword may prevail. Where goodness has been despised want may lead to reflection. So you see again and again physical retribution has followed moral disorder, and no man should complain of this, for the same law operates in the common walks of life. When a child sins, a wise and loving parent inflicts punishment. When a citizen breaks the law, imprisonment or some bodily punish- ment is inflicted by the magistrate. When a servant or workman is unfaithful to his employer, he is dismissed or punished in some form. All this is admittedly right and proper and necessary. Then shall unreasoning and impious men grow excited and be mad if God, in vindication of the purity of law or the claims of righteousness, should inflict punishment, if He should shut up the rain, or blight the harvest, or sweep away by devastating storms, or change the tides of commercial prosperity till fortune is withdrawn, or send a fatal plague upon our homer or permit affliction to take health and strength away, till man has learnt that it is God who takes away. He knocks by sicknpss and death. In this way God teaches many a thoughtless man iEo think, and makes him to see the measure of his days, so that he may apply his heart unto wisdom. How many have said with David, " It was good for me that I was afflicted, for before I went astray, but now have I kept Thy law." From the bed of sickness many have risen to walk in newness of life and become the servants of God unto holiness. The knock I II .1 •■ . „.i,imiMn 1:1 rrj f ii m CHRIST AT THE DOOR. was long, and every nerve quivered at the sound of it, but it led to the opening of the door. Sometimes, where sick- ness has not been heeded, death has knocked still louder. A loved child, or brother, or parent; or friend, has been taken away, and in the terrible stillness and solemnity of that hour a knock has been heard, so clear and reiterated that the most hardened have been sometimes constrained to open the door. He knocks by conscience. Oh, what his- tories might be written of consciences stifled, or lulled, or bribed, or seared, to prevent their hearing the Master's knock. But with all their attempts to override or silence the voice of conscience, there aie times when it does and will speak for Christ, and ask and urge His claims to be admitted within the soul ; that conscience within us is one of the most faithful of Christ's servants, and through it He perpetually knocks at the door of the heart. He knocks by his Word. The Word of God is called a hammer, to break the heart of stone, and in numberless instances that Woj*d, by its invitation, or promise, or warning, or rebuke, has broken the heart of hardened man. It was the pas- sage, "Not in rioting and drunkenness, but put ye on the Lord Jesus," which awakened Augustine. It was this verse, '* The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanseth from all sin," spoken by John Wesley, that led a highway robber to become a true and faithful Christian. It was the verse, " Wherefore doth the wicked contemn God," that led a French colonel from a life of dissipation and the passion of a duel to seek reconciliation with God and man. It was that precious passage of the Word , " God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him might not perish, but liave everlasting life," proclaimed by a South Sea nxissionary, that led the first native convert to Christ. This Word of God, which has CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 85 called so many into His fold, is still knocking at the door of the world. He knocks by the Spirit. Sometimes the Spirit strives powerfully mightily, and it is difficult for the most hardened to resist his appeal. At other times the Spirit knocks gently, tenderly, pleadingly. But in what- ever way He knocks, it is with a view to Christ's admission into the heart of man. II. Man's Duty and Christ's Promise — "7/* any man hear My voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and vnll sup with him,, and he with Me" 1st. The invitation or appeal is indiscriminate — "If any man." Alluding to the Eastern custom that he who knocked spoke, to let it be known who it was that stood without, Christ says, *' If any man hear My voice." How free and universal is this blessed invitation. It is in strict agreement with the teachings of Holy Scripture everywhere. "If any man '" means that there is no restriction to the man of wealth, or social position, or scholarly refinement, or wide culture, or refined taste. It is not for the privileged few, but for all the world, that Christ's invitation is sent out. The wealthy from their mansions, and the toiler from his cottage; the merchant from his busy market-place, and the idler from the street corner; the Pharisee from his self- righteous exclusion, and the sinner from the street ; the infidel who wanders through the world without a Father, and the prodigal who longs to return ; the worldling who knows no desire beyond the present, and the profane blasphemer whose words pollute wherever they fall ; all, all are invited. " If any man " voices Christ's invitation without any miser- able quibbling, and bids all men welcome, if they will but hear and obey Him, Let the invitation of the Master go 1 J*--*' wmmmBmmmmm 36 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. i %y forth everywhere with its offer of love and blessing, so free, so generous, so general, that whosoever will may come. 2nd. It is man's duty to open and admit. Christ's knock implies and expresses in the intensest form His desire to be admitted, and His recognition of the right and prerogative of man to admit or exclude. Christ will not force the door, nor will He intrude Himself unwelcomed upon the soul. Man has the great and perilous gift of free-will, and God does not put force on him and compel him to accept blessings. This point and principle of human freedom* we must recognize. We are all invested with the attribute of personal freedom. We are not mere machines, impelled or compelled by the despotism of circumstances. We are free to choose, to prefer, to admit. Oh, it is this power, this prerogative, that is the real majesty of man, which even God respects ! The wide ocean, the lofty mountain, are the embodiment of power, but unconscious power. That pale man sitting there in his study finding out a path for the lightning, or graduating the planets, or tracing the course of the comet, is mightier than all the great physical things about him. He can look in the face or the sun or of the stars and say, "I am greater than you. You must travel the course and obey the laws your Creator has set for you ; I may." Oh, this power of choice, this attribute of freedom, enables man to break with his surroundings and rise superior to sense and sin, and choose the sublimest possibilities and blessings for himself, and forever ; or to sink in his self -asserted freedom lower and lower, until man and fiend become one. In the act and moment of conversion we cannot too clearly recog- nize this prerogative of freedom and power of will. I have no faith in Luther's declaration of a "passive righteous- ness " in which the soul does nothing and receives every- thing. The soul receives all things in doing something. CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 37 God helps us to help ourselves. He works not for, but with us and within us. If you choose to put it differently, He works for us only as we let Him and become workers to- gether M'ith Him. In conversion Christ comes to a man, as He came to the impotent man, or the leper, or the man with the withered arm, and bids him do the impossible. But as we attempt to stretch forth the withered hand, it is made whole ; or go td the priest, the leprosy departs ; or take up the bed and walk, the power comes, and we are made every whit whole. As we resolve to live a life of love and ser- vice, the power to love and serve comes to the resolving, determined soul. But no man comes into the spirit and freedom of the life which is in Christ by being plunged impotent into an angel -troubled bath, but by the resolute purpose to vanquish sin and live the life of faith upon the Son of God. Let us then look fairly at the condition upon which Christ will consent to share with us the temple of the soul, and accept the full responsibility of His admission or exclusion. 3rd. Christ's promise — ** I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me," Here is intimacy and friendship — " I will come in to him." Here is grand and royal feasting — " And will sup with him." Here is com- munion and gladness in return — -"And he with me." Oh, what a promise of large and liberal benefactions ! what a feast of fat things ! That supper shall supply every want of the soul : light for the understanding usurped by error ; pardon for the condemned who were under sentence of death ; freedom for the enslaved who were bound by habit and sin ; joy for the sad and mournful whose sun had gone down ; precepts for the guidance of the life that longed to serve and do ; counsel for the most perplexing and diffi- cult experiences; rest from every fear that disquiets the i'! i't ; i 38 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. i I heart ; purity to make the soul all like God ; heaven to reward and crown the life forever ; and Christ, the grandest, Jioliest portion of all ! Oh, what a banquet, when the soul shall sit down with Christ at the the royal supper which He supplies ! God help us that we may not be so foolish, so unworthy, so wicked, as to slmt out Christ and all His bless- ings, to the impoverishment of our souls for time and eternity. Come, oh, come to the royal banquet, sup witii Him and \et the feast be everlasting love ! Open wide the door to Christ at once. Can earth afford a more painful sight than man spurning the invitation of his imploring Saviour, and with contempt rejecting the greatest possible good? T am afraid men still too much resemble an old picture I once saw of a man in his little room counting his gold, with three bags of it standing in front of him on his table, and others scattered before him that he was carefully piling up. Just on the side was a door that led into his little room, where stood a noble and beautiful countenance, gently knocking, the head inclining forward as if listening for the answer that would ad ait him. The countenance was anxious, as though it pitiec the man inside and would fain bless him if possible. But the man within goes on counting, simply lifting his hand to say, "Can't stay to admit anyone. Be off, be off, I am too busy, too absorbed for anyone's com- pany." Do not men in the busy occupations of life so treat Christ still ? Other claims are responded to, but the first and greatest claim of all is deliberately and persistently declined. Let this be so no longer, but let Christ enter with all our heart's welcome, and then let us retain Him as our guest forever. IV. PROFIT AND LOSS. " For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"— Mark viii. 36. DISTINGUISHED moralist once observed that the necessities of the body were the propei- measure of our care for the things of this life. An inordinate desire for the present world lies at the bottom of much of the misery beneath which society groans. You will have oberved that the heart which is the farthest from God is most engrossed in the pursuit of the present world. It is still a great inviolable truth of Scripture, that no man can serve two masters. When the world is enthroned within, and the whole aftections prostrated at the shrine of mam- mon, it leaves no room for things of a higher moment. Though religion comes with winning looks and silvery voice, seeking admittance into the heart, she is rejected. Al- though at times, by her clear logic and heart-melting appeals, she forces an acknowledgment of her claims, yet mankind are so blinded as to exclaim, " Go thy way for this time." To all such the heart-searching enquiry of Christ comes with overwhelming appeal, demanding th^t this great question shall be weighed and duly considered. I. The Object Gained — ^^ The whole world''' The Saxon language defines the terra world as something wearing old and wearing out. A description most striking 40 PROFIT AND LOSS. 1:1 i»? IH^ and suggestive. You observe the possession here indicated is unlimited and complete. The vhole world, not a part. » So that Christ supposes a man to own the world to a degree beyond what any man has yet reached. And then He asks us to consider what the man has gained. To this point let us briefly look. 1st. We may suppose a man to gain the whole world hy potver. What does a man gain if he gains the world by power? Perhaps v/e may best understand this idea by looking at a few illustrations. Take for example Alexander the Great. A more striking instance of absolute, un- limited, universal power the world has never known. He could say of his dominions, although they had their limit's, that he did not know the nations who were not tributary to him. He could travel to the limits of the then known world and claim it only as the boundary of his kingdom. He had at his command millions of armed men. His word was law throughout his vast empire. But did power satisfy and profit him? did pre-eminence of empire and unlimited power make him a happy, contented man? No. One world was not enough to gratify his ambition, and he is said to have wept unmanly tears for another world to conquer. You have another illustration in the person of Napoleon the First. His supreme ambition was to reach the throne and then found a universal monarchy. Rising from obscurity until he became the commander-in-chief of the French army, he waded his way through a field of blood to the Imperial throne. But in his ambition to found a universal empire he lost his army amid the snows of Russia and the battle-field of Waterloo. As you look at him in the height of his proud ambition, or a prisoner in the Island of St. Helena, you have a striking illustration of the unsatisfying nature and uncertain continuance of power. Hear the PROFIT AND LOSS. 41 nuitterin»(s of this man in his ishmd prison: he cries, "I am no longer the great Napoleon ; my strength, my faculties forsake me ; oh, why did the cannon ball spare me to die in this wretched manner?" And if you were to select other instances and illustrations of power, you would find no more satisfaction or pleasure to be found in its possession. A man may gain all the power that it is possible to put into the hands of one man, and yet be as wretched and unhappy as he can be, 2nd. We may suppose a man to yaiii the world by wealth. Is wealth more satisfying, or desirable, or durable, than power 1 A Scottish nobleman once took a friend to the summit of a high hill and bade him look in every direction, reminding him that all he could see belonged to him. "Your Ijordship must be a very happy man," said his friend ; to which the nobleman replied, " I do not believe that in all this region their exists a man as unhappy as myself." To him wealth brought no profit. Look again at another illustration, William Bickford. Inheriting an immense fortune, he pulled down a splendid mansion erected by his fatlier at a cost of one million dollars, to build an abbey of the most imposing grandeur, the floors of which he covered with the richest Persian carpets, while the ceilings were gilded and painted in the most superb man- ner. On his table were vessels of silver and gold. His furniture was the most luxurious, and his banquets the most splendid. Add to all this a princely income, and you may well ask. Was he not happy? did it not profit him? An un expected reverse came upon him and he was driven from his gorgeous mansion to spend hie last days in misery and dependence, No matter where you turn for your illustra- tions, unsanctified wealth can never bring satisfaction and happiness to the heart of man. It is not in the power of ^f ;'|f ■illf i r-Jfr ■ 42 PROFIT AND LOSS. • i: fortune, no inatter how great, to buy contentment and bless the soul of man. 3rd. We may unppose a matt to (jain the world by Jutne. Let us see if this is a real gain to the man who obtains it. Take for example Pitt, the great statesman. Endowed with the finest gifts of natui'e, he rose rapidly to the fore- most place in the kingdom of his day. Practically prime minister of England at twenty-five, the greatest men of the realm bowed })efore him and tlie highest offices of state were in his patronage. Every morning when he arose he could bJky that throughout the British Empire the sun shone on no man more powerful than himself. But fame failed to satisfy or gratify him, and he died at the age of forty- seven, careworn and wretched, an example of the truth that the greatest and most fan.ous of statesmen might be as miserable as he was mighty. Byron is anotlier instance of the same melanclioly truth under anotlier form. Sud- denly, and in very early life, he rose to the highest pinnacles of fame. Everything that would stimulate or gratify or delight was offered to him. The highest circles of society courted his presence, a hundred drawing-rooms bade him welcome, the applause of the nation was offered as an incense to him, all that fame could bring he had, but was he happy 1 No. Addressing himself, he said. U-: "Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o'er the days of anguish free, And know whatever thou hast been, 'Tis something better not to be." The man, however brilliant his genius or great his fame, that could not count twelve happy days in his life, is a sad illustration of the unsatisfying character of earthly fame. Sir Walter Scott is another illustration of the same truth. - •- ■ bless atrie. IS it. owed fore- )rime f the state >e lie hone ailed 'nr+.v- PROFIT AND LOSS. 43 Never, perhaps, did literary talent receive so universal a homage as that of Scott. His reputation was co-exteusive with civilization. Wherever he appeared he was the lion of the day. His company wa.-^ the most select, his domestic enjoyments all that heart could desire, and his literary pro- ductions yielded him an ample fortune. But ambitious to found a family, he go? into d"bt, and in old age he was embarrassed, bereaved and ruined. When leaving Abotts- foru for the last time, he mournfully said, "I have only one hope left, the long halt will come at last, and I shall tind rest in the grave." Fame, from whatever scource it comes, and to whatever pinnacle it exalts, is incapable of profiting or satisfying an enlightened soul. 4th. We may suppose a man to yain the world by pleasure. Is this a more successful way of tinding satisfaction and profit in the world? Solomon is the most striking illustia- tioii that history supplies of the attempt to find happiness in the pleasures of this world. A monarch of great honor and power, a man of much wisdom and experience, he had all that heart could wish, or wealth command, or wisdom select. Surrounding him was the most cultivated society of his kingdom; his ear was greeted with the sweetest strains of music and psalmody ; mighty armies upheld his power ; beauty charmed his palace ; riches poured their treasures at his feet; the world revered and wondered at his knowledge. We should readily conclu'^^e that his was the climax of joy, a life of the fullest possible happiness. But listen to his own confession, " Vanity of vanities, all is vanity;" and if Solomon found worldly happiness, derived from so muny sources, incapable of satisfying him, can any man hope to find true pleasure from this world ? Worldly happiness may give momentary pleasure to an unreflecting and worldly man, but only fo long as he can forget the N mp ■M ■iPli Hi. 44 PROFIT AND LOSS. fv 5 (1 ^ I; t ■• . ', i III truth of (iod or the realities of eternity. It is not in the nature of the world to satisfy the cravings of a soul, and therefore its pleasures cannot intelligently and permanently please, from the very nature of things. That which brings pleasure must be suited to the nature and sufficient to meet the cravings of the heart it would delight. And while tiie world remains what it is it cannot profit any man's soul if he could obtain all its pleasures and enjoyments ; there would still be a void. II. The Loss Spoken of — "TVie soul." The word here translated soul is in some places translated life. It would seem that our translators regarded the terms as convertible, and so they are. Tlu^ soul is the man, the life. Take that essence from us which we call soul, that which thinks, feels, acts, recalls the past and anticipates the future — take this soul from us and we cease to be men, we s^re only corpses. And if the soul be to all intents and puij[-oses one's self, how shall we estimate its value or loss? Who, who can tell the value of a soul immortal, or estimate the loss of that soul 1 1st. Look at its immateriality. Ignorant as we are of the extent of the universe, it were presumptuous in us to pro- nounce decisively on the variety of substances God has created. But as far as we have become acquainted with creation, it may be divided irto two classes, matter and mind. The material includes a great variety. The earth, the ocean, the atmosphere, the bodies of men, all the worlds that roll in space, everything, in fact, that is subject to the perception of sense, is material. Mind has its variety also, but to what extent we know not; mind is not matter in any sense and cannot be received and examined by the corporeal sense. But mind is not only distinct from matter U M PROFIT AND LOSS, 45 but superior to it. That superiority appears in various ways. The qualities which are most esteemed and valued are mental. What are any of the properties of matter compared to such mental qualities as intelli^ijenoe, freedom, feeling, sympathy, or any other attribute of the soul ? But the chief evidence of the superiority of mind or soul lies in this, that the most glorious being in the universe, the supreme and absolute God, is a Spirit, and the soul is the counterpart of that eternal Spirit, partaking of His own essence. Matter is what God creates, mind is what God is. From this resemblance to God we begin to see from its very nature something of the value of the soul. 2nd. Look at the soul's capabilities. The soul has great iidellectual powers, nor can we limit the strength and knowledge which the soul may ultimately acquire. Even in this world, short and unfavorable as our position is, the intellect often attains great power and vast knowlec'ge. But what the intellect may become, what fields of thought it may traverse, what treasures of wisdom it may amass, beyond this, we know not. Without doubt it will attain wonderful, sublime heights of knowledge amid the fields of boundless exploration in the limitless, tireless future. The soul has great moral capabilities. Depraved through sin though it be, it is nevertheless capable of complete renewal and restoration to the image of God. Though the gold has become dim and mixed with base alloy, yet through the divine process the Refiner may purge it of all its dross. And of what moral excellence is not the soul capable when renewed by grace? The faith which honor? God, the love which cleaves to Him, the hope which lifts its head above the clouds of earth, the charity which banishes selfishness and lives to do good, the humility which accepts at once the will of God without a murmur — whatsoever things are just i 111 tl.i • 1 1.' ^ ' ' 1' r !ii?f t "' , 1 *it isl s nil 1 %H« *■ Iff 1, i 1 1 r r. 46 PROFIT AND LOSS. or good or praiseworthy — these are tlie atti'ibutes of which the soul is capable. These are tlie perfections in which the soul shall shine in the image of God forever. How great then the endowments and capabilities of the soul, if it can attain so much distinction and felicity and life. If in time it can jicquire so much in a world like this, what may not eternity yieM ? And from these wonderful capaliilities you may form some idea of the value of the soul. 3rd. Look at the price paid for its redemption. We are not le^t to conjecture what the price was that was paid for the redemption of the soul. Peter telle us in the first chapter of his first epistle that we were not redeemed witli corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ. In the book of Acts Paul speaks of the Church of God whir'.i He had purchased with His own blood. In several other part of Scripture the same great and wonder- ful truth is clearly and repeatedly taught. Do you estimate the value of a captive by the price paid for his ransom ? Do you judge the worth of an estate or property by the price paid for it? In this view how great must be the value of tlie soul to call forth and justify so great a sacrifice as the sufferings and death of the Son of God ! A price all price beyond. The greatest price tluit God Himself ever did or could pay. The gems and jewels and precious stones and valuables of earth all piled together would be but dross to this great price of the Sen of God. Then when you would seek to set a value upon the soul, think of the pur- chase prjtje of it, and tremV>le at its immeasurable worth. 4th. Look at its immortality. Duration gives import- ance, swells the price. An angel, if a creature of a day, what would he be? A trifle of no weight. Or stand or fall, no matter when he's gone. Immortality stamps every- thing with worth; and to understand the real value of the PROFIT AND LOSS. 47 da soul you look at its endless duration. The nature of the soul, the indestructibility of spirit, the instinctive h)ngings and the desires of the soul, plainly suggest existence beyond ; while the Word of God teaches clearly that rh soul will live forever, a tiiinking, conscious, active i in;: dwelling eternally in heaven's glory and blessedness, ot i:, liell's ap- palling wrath. A soul that cannot decay or det^onipose must live forever somewhere. Formed for ar eternal state, the soul's duration will i)e coeval with Him who sits upon the throne of eternity. It is a solemn thought that we have life upon our hands that we cannot get rid of, but we must spend an endless existence somewhere. The very thought of the eternalness of the soul's destiny causes every promise to breathe in balmier sweetness and every warning to roll in deeper thunder. Then think of what value that soul must be which will thus live forever, and how impos- sible it is to measure or declare its value. And as you put together these thoughts that in any way help you to form an idea, however faint, of the value of the soul, see if you can answer the Master's question urged in our text. III. The Question Asked — " What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" Ist. What shall it profit a man in death. Men are gen- erally anxious to acquire wealth, to attain to positions of eminence, to gain the esteem of their fellows, and all no doubt to an extent share in this feeling. We do not condemn it. It is not sinful except when cher- ished in excess, so as to interfere with the motives and pursuits of a higher good ; but that it is so cherished by many no one can doubt, and we know of nothing so fitted to suppress the feeling as the reflection that it will profit us nothing in the grave. What does it matter It 'If 111. ? •th W MWIIIMi iHM 48 PROFIT AND LOSS. of a foreigner, who sends him into his field to feed swine. In the estimation of a Jew this was the most degrading of all work. Swine were uncV u and furl>idden under the Levitical law ; therefore to a Jew this occupation was degradation degraded.^ How striking the scale and gr-aduation of this life of sin ! The young man of indulgence becomes a slave, then a swine- herd. This is the graphic picture of the progress in sin of the wicked hireling of the world, tlie flesh, and the devil. Every sinful step leads to slavery. Every sinful act forges a link in the chain that fetters the soul. Though he dwells in a mansion and boasts of his liberty, every sinner is the hired servant of pleasure, of the world, of sin, of Satan. In that servitude he often enters the lower service on the descending scale to gratify his baser self. How many prodigals will remember with sadness and over- whelming grief that bad company was a chief instrument in their ruin ! This prodigal joined himself to a foreign citizen, a citizen of that country to which he had gone, and that sealed his degradation and ruin. In how many instances does the prison rell and the hovel of crime echo the same painful truth. Men join themselves to foreign usurpers and abandon themselves to the company and habits of those with whom they unite, and through the influence of that company descend to the deepest shame, li THE PRODtOAL tEAVlNr) HOMfi. 57 many echo the fouh'st wrong, the wickedest lives. Tlie ♦'xcitemeni and exaujpli' of evil company is a powerful factor in the ruin of young men. Then let every one shun the company that would only send him into fields of deeper degradation. 4th. His impatient self-feeding, but cold refusal — "And he would fain have tilled his btilly with the husks that the swine did eat : and no man gave unto him." The man who had become the disgust of his trilte would now feed on swine's food. The husk was the frui^ of the cm'uh tree, which grows in pods, is hard ;ind woody, and only eaten, Eastern travellers tell us, by the very pdorest to escape starvation. Would not the sinner fain fill himself with what is utterly unfit for the soul/ Away from God he pines and hungers and is sick. Unfound the bone, unfed the hunger ! I c;innot multiply all the husks on which the sinner seeks to feed, but everywhere you can see the tokens of the eager, impatient hunger of the soul. It drives some madly forward through burdens and toils that would be rank oppression to a slave. It sliows the uneasiness of others by new schemes, new plans, new positions. It is shown in others by their excessive attempt to ovei'-supply the body and make its appetites receive double. It shows itself in others by their closeness and selfishness and greed. The grudged heart is pinched by its own destitution. The hunger of others is seen in their (juarrels and discontents and fraudulent practices. Others seek to feed on ambition and flattery and vanity. But all these are only husks that the swine do eat. You that fret and complain of the poverty of the present life,' don't blame the world, but yourselves. Remember that a Godlike soul cannot feed on anything below Him. He must be the complement of your weakness and the crown of your glory. We are only fed perfectly when we are filled with all the fulness of God. God longs « 4 4 1 ai. i: I l! pi 58 THE PRODiaAL LEAVING HOME. that life should he full of wholesome pleasures. They are His good gi*ts ; but no man will find gratification or enjoy- ment long in feeding on husks. But you are staggered to read, "and no man gave unto him." How cold and selfish is sin ! Will you ever remember that sin is essentially selfish? It will get or keep, but it never gives. It will drain the life or pocket or powers, but when it has got all it never turns round to sympathize or help. Riotous companions are false and desrr^a man, liko Adonijah's guests, as soon as he has spent all. The man who has spent his last dime in the tavern or gambling-room is flung out unpityingly to shift for himself or die in the gutter. Sin never loves, never sympathizes, never pities ; it is not in its nature. Then don't pursue so cold, so heartless, so cruel a course as a sinful life must be. Turn from its Arctic regions to the warm sunlight and beneficent tenderness and holy philanthropy of Christian fellowship and love. The com- pany of the good will not desert a man in the day of trial, but help him, and befriend him, and lift him up into strength and citizenship again. vr. THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. "And when he came to hiniHclf, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger ! I will arise and go to nty father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son : make me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way otf, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. \nd the son said unto him. Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. liut the father said to his servants, liring forth the best rol»e, and put it on him ; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the fatted cali, and kill it ; and let us eat and be merry : for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found." — Luke xv. 17-24. h I i Q| PARABLE is to compare things natural with things /jf 1 spiritual. Its scope and design is to be seen by the ' declarations affixed to it. As a form of teach- ing it had the advantage of attracting attention, and when understood of being well remembered. Our Lord's recorded parables seem to group themselves under three different types or forms. The first are drawn from the world of nature, and have for their subject the laws of the divine kingdom ; the second are drawn from the life of men ; the third are prophetic, in part of the rejection of Israel, and in part of the great retribution at the coming of the Lord, Most of the parables of the first and third groups are found in Matthew's Gospel, who has been aptly called 'Uj \r DMHH ^1:1 I {: :-l I m III 60 THE prodigal's RETURN. the Evangelist ^)f tlie kingdom. The parables of the second group are found chiefly in Luke's Gospel, the Gospel which dwells most on the sympathy of Christ for all men. This incomparably grand and tender parable, that has been rightly called the pearl of parables, is drawn from life and men, and is wonderfully true to life. It merits the first rank of parables, not merely because of its graphic and powerful delineation of the effect of sin upon life and char- acter, and of the natural course of sin upon a life's history, but also because of its inimitable description of the love that welcomes and receives the returning one. In the former discourse you have seen the prodigal take himself in charge, and have marked his retrogressive course as step by step he passed down to want and ruin. You have now to see him in his extremity waking up to a new life and making one desperate effort to retrieve his lost position and dwell again under the old roof's shelter, amid honor and plenty, to his father's relief and delight. I. The Prodigal's Return. 1st. There is rational atvakening. "And when he came to himself," you say; was he not himself before? No! lie went to indulge self and lost himself in self-seeking. He found that independence was slavery, and selfishness ab- solute ruin, and in his degradation the man was verily mad. Is not moral separation from God a departure from one's better self, and coming to God in moral affinities really coming to one's self? It is not too strong to say a sinful life is moral madness. If you saw a man pursuing his shadow, grasping bubbles, living on dreams, you would not doubt his insanity. And on what are sinners living but the veriest shadows'^ A sinful life is an incredible folly. What more insane conduct can there be than to know that there THE PRODIGAI^'S RETURN. 61 is a hell, yet never shun it; or to know that there is a heaven, yet never seek it; or to know that there is a coming judg- ment, yet never prepare for it] 2nd. Calm and salutary retrospection — ** How many hired servants of my father have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger." In his wild and abandoned ccurse he never thought of the past. It was on, on, till he groaned in hunger and pined in want. But the moment he began to think, the past of comfort and plenty appeared before him, and in that retrospection his folly huir bled him. Is not spiritual awaker^ing the result of salutary review, or of God's overruling of some conscious extremitv into which men are brought! When men have becoir.e dissatisfied and disappointed with the world, or when rejected by wicked ones who curl the lip of scorn ; when warit or affliction or death pinches sore, have they not at times, as the last resource, lifted the broken heart to the healing Saviour and looked and longed for home? Has not the thinking sinner, while the Spirit strives with him, been led to ask, What have I done I what have I attained 1 am I living right 1 have I achieved my life's mission] Then he sees his criminal for- getfulness of God, his wicked perversion of hin^self, liis abuse of all the powers entrusted to him, the grievous wrong and mistake of his life, and he cries out in the agony of his heart, "I perish." 3rd. A good resolution put into practice. The prodigal resolves that the remains of himself shall be united in one desperate efibrt to reach home again. His resolve takes the right shape. Some men's resolves are too feeble to climb into purpose and ascendancy. They wither in the germ and the man is the tomb of his own intentions. But the prodigal's "I will" marshals every activity and energy of his nature into successful daring. '* I will" and " he arose," *, f TTiTTlill'lliailBM =^.*.^ ^..-..^^J-,.^ — am 62 THE prodigal's RETURN. fin taken connectedly, show us that reflection, desire, purpose action, all unite in a true return. As you mark the deter- mination fearlessly executed, you admire that coming home to his father through a long, intricate, dangerous journey over trackless plains, up steep niountains, across foaming streams, enduring hunger and fatigue, yet deterred by nothing. So must every sinner decide and act at once. Say "I will," and then arise, making action follow swiftly upon the he^ls of resolution, and going straight along the Godward path, whatever difficulties may arise, pausing only in the rest and peace of forgiveness. I urge thi« strange paradox, if you perish, perish crying after God. When right feeling move the heart let them not smoulder in sighs or songs, but flash them into living acts. It is the grand crisis of life when the wanderer returns home, and with the change of journey he knows a change of heart. 4th. Here is full confession — "I have sinned." He does not say, 1 have been the unfortunate victim of temptation or impulse, but with a conviction that his conduct was his own he says, "I have sinned." He acknowledges that his conduct is a crime against heaven as v/ell as earth. Such con- trition and confession must ever mark a sinner's return to God. There must be no disposition to enter on self-defence or self-justification of past wrong ; but with Job he must fee], " If I justify myself, my own mouth shall condemn me; if I say I am perfect, it shall prove me perverse." Feeling that all sin of every kind is against God, he will acknow- ledge, " Against thee, and thee only, have I sinned." A man may with sorrow confess the wickedness of his conduct if it injures his worldly prospects, alienates his friends, or plunges him into ruin, and yet such grief be selfish, not penitential. We cannot feel contrite till we feel that our sin is against Him. Then this confession must be compre- THE PR<.)DIGAL S RETURN. 68 l! hensive and unreserved. The heart must be laid open, dissimulation must be laid aside, and the prostrate, self- abased spirit, like David, or Nehemiah, must confess all to God. This confession, to be genuine, must come from the heart. 5th. True humility — " jK.nd am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servant.'>." Here was a keen sense of past misconduct and personal unworthi- ness; and such an acknowledgment becomes everyone in approaching God. Some seem afraid that God will not receive them bacause they are unworthy ; but when will you be more worthy, or merit sonship as a right ? Staying till we are better is a foolish presumption. If we come to God aright, it must be as outcasts and unworthy. There is no language more befitting a man than this, " I am not worthy" — not worthy because of origir.al sin ; not worthy because of actual sin ; not worthy because of the demerit of sin ; not worthy of forgiveness, or peace, or acceptance, or citizenship, or heaven. If ever we ar«3 saved, any of us, it will be according to God's abundant mercy. II. The Prodigal's RECEr'TioN. 1st. His reception was generous and affectionate — "But when he was yet a great way off, his fa ther saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him." Words cannot express the father's deep and tender compassion. I have read of instances of parental love before which one weeps, out this is unpr.icedented. There is the prodigal turned towards home, his feet shoeless, his back ragged, legs bleeding, person filthy, i'ace haggard, eyes swollen, a shattered wreck. He has noi. gone far iu his ta,ttered garments and lacerated desh befc ni! he asks himself, " Will my father see mel shall I ever reach him and home V 5>' '/I J H'l til ■ 1 ; . ■ y "it i!! 64 THE prodigal's RETITRI^. Then he starts off again, to rlie, if he must, on the threshold of the homestead; and on he journeys, till he sees in the distance the old mansion home. It is a fine morning, with a clear and cloudless sky. The father is where he has often been, standing upon the brow of the hill and looking as far off as the eye can stretch, hoping to catch a glimpse of his son be- foi'e he dies. Presently his attention is arrested — there is a moving soroething just descending that distanthill. He looks and sees that the object is approaching. That object is a man. Can that be my son? asks the anxious father. Oh, it cannot be ! My son was a tine, well-clothed young man, and that object approaching is only a mass of sapless bones, the barest outlines of a rv Presently he remembers that his son has been leading u rricked life, and thinks it may be he. He strains his eyes as the object approaches nearer and nearer. At last the fatlter moves toward that son with a speed and swiftness beyond his years till he comes in full face of him, and there for a moment they pause. The son sees his father so grey and ha,^^giird, and fears that lie is coming to forbid him the home. Tlie father looks upon his son and for the moment doubts if it can be he, for it is only a shadow of his former self. But presently a voice cries, Father, and the father runs to embrace and forgive him. When the father is sufficiently recovered from his convulsive joy, he breaks the silence of love's blessed reconci^'ation by assur- ing his son of his welcome and restoration. Then he takes him home and orders them to put on him the best robe, and put shoes on his feet, and a ring on his finger in token of his restored dignity and sonship. But how shall ^ve, even from this act of prompt and generous love, image forth the forgi\iiig love of Gr'd, ^o «en a false, an ungrateful rejection of the reality of his father's love and forgiveness. The prodigal wisely and in a childlike spirit receives his pardon, and opens his heart to all the benefits offered. That is the way in which all of us should receive the saving bless- ings of God. When as penitents we return to our Father and acknowledge that we have forsaken Him, and forgotten Hin- and sinned against Him, then we should readily receive His pardon .ind restoration through the merits of Christ, instead of saying, " Make me as one of thy hired ser- vants." When God forgives you, and saves you in His abundant goodness, don't say, " I must wait, the change is too sudden ; I must still be a hired servant, to groan, and weep, and pray, and repent, and doubt God's generosity." Readily accept God's free and forgiving love in your moment of penitential seeking and believing trust. When the arms of love embrace you and the kiss of pardon seals the Father's acceptance, don't doubt God ; for instead of pleasing Him by that doubt you will grieve Him much. Receive His blessings with a heart as ready and responsive as His love is generous and sincere. * Then you shall be a hired servant never more, but a son, an heir of God forever. iffl VII. THE PRODIGAL'S BROTHER. 'k ■m " Now his elder son was in the field : and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And lie <'alled one of the servants, and asked what thcao thiuifs meant. And he said unto him. Thy brother is come ; and thy fatlier hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and ntMiud, And he was angry, and would not go in : therefoi>« can»o htM father out, and intreated him." — Luke xv. 25-28. XE cabinet study this wonderful parable without n\ark- mg the great difference of these two sons of the same father. You would fancy that every child in a family would be alike, just as two coins struck from tlu; same mould resemble each other ; but experience contradicts such specu- lation. There may be a hunting Esau and a home-loving Jacob in the same family, or, as in this case, a runaway and a sta;, at-homo. How different the impression these brothers have made upon the world. The prodigal every one has heard of, and around the story of that prodigal multitudes of the homeless and characterless have gathered to warm themselves, and in doing so have felt a new hope awakened in their hearts as they have thought of him, one of them- selves, recovered and saved. But this eldei- brother, so cold and staid and self-righteous and stiff, the personification of respectability and selfish conceit, very few ever cared for. We have already traced the story of the wild but repentant prodigal, and iiow we turn to look upon this proud, self- ww^ V i 1 1 ji M rf- I 68 THE PRODIGALS BROTHER. satisfied elder brother, and seek to trace his character and learn the lessons of his example and life. I. This Elder Brother Lacked Sympathy with the Reconstruction of Humanity. The younger brother had been reinstated into the family home. The shattered temple was rebuilt. The long dis- inherited prodigal had become a son once more. One would have thought that the spectator of such a change would have exulted in the sight of that haggard and degraded criminal Ije^oraing a man and a Christian. But a frown darkens the countenance of the elder brother ; he has no sympathy with the restoration. Judging from his conduct, we are forced to concluae that this angry nmn was content that this brother should pursue his career of ruin until prodigality ended in damnation. I am afraid this angry brother is not alone. There are people who profess to be good, but never receive a penitent with gladness. Not having been sorely rent by the power of teuiptation them- selves, they cannot sympathize with those who have yielded to the demon force. Having always lived moral and prudent lives, controlled and self controlling, their hearts never melt unto tenderness over those who have terribly fallen. Respectable men, they seem as though they would enter heaven by merit rather than through the mercy of God ; and fancying everyone ought to have been as prudent as themselves, they turn unpityingly away from the fallen seeker or lost one who has been restored — unlike Him who spoke kindly to the trembling women, or mingled with publicans and siniiers that He might bless them, or whispered forgiveness to the dying thief, and never rejected the poorest outcast who crept to His feet for shelter. Having always passed as decent members of society, they fling THE PRODiriALS BROTHER. 60 the ston(> of tvtrihution at the retuniiiitj prodigal, instead of eyes tilled with tears of sympathy and a hand that waiiuly clasps a returning brother. All that such persojis wish to see kneeling at the (Jhuri^h's altar are carefully collected specimens of blamelessness, people who have never figured in the statistics of crime. Hut if we ai'e in sympathy with Christ we shall delight in the moral recon. struction of the mo.st ab mdoned. Instead of a narrow, pre- tentious bigotry, we shall, like Christ, go abeit doing gooti, and seek to save the lost. Men who truly understand the principles of the Gospel, and the example and spirit of Christ, will never commit the egregious blunder of supposing that the Christian Church is simply a museum for the col- lection of carefully prepared specimens of blamelessness. They will seek with their whole lieart to rescue the perishing, to care for the dying, to snatch tlie most degraded from the brink of woe, and raise them into the fellowship and son- ship and citizensliip of God. They will eagerly welcome returning prodigals. ^J. Tins Elder Brother Judges the Solemn Crisis in A Brother's Life by the Standard of His Own SELFISHNESS. Throughout his reply to his father he is always referring to himself his spirit, his doings, his friends, his consis- tency, his property, his behavior. His ruling impulse is seltishnesa, »uid that leads him to disfranchise his brother. Instead of kindling into delight at this great crisis of family history, and obliterating all unhappy memories l)y a generous forgiveness, he instantly falls back upon his own position in the family, thinks of his rights, and grieves that the fatted calf is killed. His selfishness not only ignored all brotherhood, but it treated the paternal spirit "with 6 lis \i: 1^ 70 THE PRODIGALS lUlOTHER. irreverence. Tliis is the type of a man who is obedient for the sake of advantage or gain. This man's obedience m \s an investment from which he expected hirge interest. And are there not many who thus serve God still 1 While the summer smiles, and the wind is fair, and everything is pros- perous, tliey are good and their goodness passes unchallenged ; but let God interpose an event for which they are not pre- pared, let Him send a severe trial to the home or test their service by discipline, and instantly they grow angry and sometimes curse Him to His face. But this man's selfish- ness made him reverse the expressions of his life and filial relationship; instead of "My brother" he said, "This thy son," and then meanly recounts the supposed misdeeds and sins of the brother. Noble-minded men, true-hearted Christians, never call up or allude to the misspent and irrecoverable past. They seek to forget evils that are atoned for and forgiven, and blot out in affectioriate silence, or by a river of tears, what cannot be recalled. That is how God deals with penitent sinners when He casts their sins behind His back to be remembered against them no more forever. So should every Christian rise to the dignity of a joyous oblivion of tiie sinful past of a restored man. Never drag a grand crisis down to your selfish standards, but rather rise to the greatness of the occasion and tlie hour and be unselfishly generous and forgiving. III. The Expressions of the Elder Brother Suggest THAT Eagerness to Accuse Another 's no Guar- antee OF Personal Goodness. As you see and hear this man stating his brother's crimes so emphatically, you might conclude that he had never sinned; yet such a conclusion would have been utterly false. It was not the sanctity of home he was concerned about, or lent for ice w IS . And hile the is pros- lenged ; not pre- sst tlieir jry and selfish- nd filial his thy lisdeeds -hearted 3nt and hat are silence, That is its their hem no dignity ed man. mdards, ind tiie 5UGGEST CrUAR- 3 crimes never ly false. )out, or THE PHODir.Al/s lUlOTHER. 71 he would have qnivered with sorrow over liis erring brother ; and insteud <»f branding him witii crime, have cast over him the mantle of love ; and inste.id of treating his father's ten- derness witii cruelty, he would have apj)lauded his no})le and frank foigiveness. The chief difference between the accused and the accuser was, that the sin of tiie prodigal was open to the eyt'S of the wfuld, and the sin of his brother veiled in a cold and selfish nature. How mouiiiful that one sinner should so accuse and brand a fellow-sinner; but such men are to be found every day, and almost every- where—men who imagine that by thus condemning other offenders they prove their own goodness. But such men, however flushed their cheek, have not the spirit of Him wiio frankly forgave the insolvent. The Pharisees were far more ready to cond-'mr^ men than Christ was, and there .ire sectarian bigots to-day who would hurry men to perdition because they ai-e not of them; but eagerness to denounce another is a poor, poor pledt/e of personal goodness. There is a man yonder who drinks freely at home, yet he turns scornfully away from a drunkard in the street. There is a stingy, shrivelled soul that hardly affords himself or his family common necessaries, who accounts himself clever if he can grind down his workman, or cheat his storekeeper, or get a thing for half its value in the market, yet he turns disdainfully away from the prodigal in the street. There is a proud, haughty man who never felt for the weak or assisted the needy, or smiled upon the life of another, yet he c. n turn reproacli fully away from prodigals like this. There is another who can spend hours to slander, or dishonor, or belittle another, and yet regard himself as so far above a prodigal. It makes one's heart sad to think how one child of guilt can brand another and say all manner of evil against him. I would not for a moment have you ignore the clear $ n\ I ; ( ! < nil ;a:-: Ji-l" mm IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /> r ^#. Cp^ mi/ I/a '^ ^ III 1.0 121 1125 i.i da m. Mi 11:25 114 6" 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation w\^ ^ # ^«v e\^ aptistn to bo i)apti/,efl witli, and how am I straitened till it bo accomplished." Cltrist lived to die. He became man to acquire the possibility of dying. It could never be said of any one but Christ that he was born and lived that he might die. Death with us is not an object, but an accident. The death of man is a necessity, the death of Christ was a choice. Men die because they cannot live longer ; Christ laid down His life of Himself. Men die when nature is worn out and diseased ; Christ gave up the ghost. Christ lived to die, thai through death He might destroy him that had the power of death. 2nd. BecmiHc it wt then and right that the glorified ones should seek to strengthen and encourage Him for the successful accomplishment of this event. And who was so well prepared to strengthen Him as they 1 Suppose you were engaged in some hard and self-sacriticing labor to raise your fellow-man from degradation to great exaltation. Suppose at that moment a gentleman of noble bu'th and bearing passed along and spoke most encouraging words, and gave you his sym- pathy and help. You would feel grateful to him, and greatly encouraged in your work. But imagine one of equal nobleness and standing coming up just at that time and saying to you : *' Take courage, I was once as low as any you seek to raise, but by your efforts I am what E am." You can easily see what encouragement and stimulus would be conveyed by the expression ; and how much greater would be the encouragement and inspiration from the one whom you had rescued and saved. Now, here were men raised by Christ from the depths of depravity into the fellowship and citizenship of heaven. In them He could see what a ransomed world would be. And so for the joy thus set before Him He endured the cross. How anxious should everyone be to encourage the Saviour in His blessed work of saving men, by accepting His love and forgive- ■ -4 n 1 i ( X •i .^1 ^ . H i l.i < \ .p.. II J * I lL.t 80 THE MOUNT OF TRANSFIGURATION. jjess, and so soiuliii<^ pulsations of rapture thi'illinj^ tlirouj^h His nii<^lity heart. III. God's Declaration of Ciiuist— "77iis ia my beloved Son in whom I am imll pleased." 1st. God is well pleased tvith J/im, because Christ's media- tion maynijted the divine attributes. Amid all the demonstra- tions of majesty given by God under the Jewish dispensation there was no figure or similitude of His person or properties. Thrilling voices and burning clouds were Israel's protraiture of God. But by assuming human nature Christ exhibited to mankind all that can be known of God. Standing in the midst of an evil generation, but manifestly a being of another sphere, whatever may be conceived of the sublime and tender, of majesty and compassion, of grandeur and meekness, on a contracted stage, of this was Christ the personification. And when evil spirits fled, and storms hushed, and disease and death obeyed His voice, and liumility and love was exhibited in all His actions, was there not a manifestation of the ever-living God that eclipsed all former revelations of Him ? Never did the majesty of Jehovali shine out so clearly as in the person of Cliiist. Never was the grandeur of Deity so fully magni- fied as in the mild loveliness of Christ's perfect humanity. The only perfect revelation of God's greatness and charac- ter is seen in His infinite Son. He was truly God mani- fest in the flesh. Then add to this the fact that Christ glorified the Father by His suffering and obedience in our stead. Had no mediator interposed when man fell, not one could have been rescued from eternal death. We have no right to speak as if there could have been a choice of remedies. Without Christ's suretyship the curse which dis- obedience had provoked could never liave been repealed or THK MOUNT OF THANSFICITIIATION. HI ,' through \y beloved t's media- iiuonstra- )eiisution •operties. otraiture (xhibited luling in being of sublime leur and irist the- storms ce, and •ns, was od that did the 3rson of magni- manity. charac- mani- Christ in our lot one lave no ' oice of ch dis- aled or mitigatwl. And had we bi'cn left to |)<'rish in our sins no solitary tongue could have been raised against its perfect justice. But contrast such an univ(»rsal ruin with the gloiious things of redemption. Contrast God's justice as magnified by the penalty expected from man, and the pangs sustained by Chiist. Contrast (Jod's law aa honored by the punishment of its violators, and by the obedi(»nce which fulfilled it. Contrast Cod's hatred of sin displayed in man's eternal destruction, and in the restoration of Christ. And in all Christ did Cod is clearly, blessedly glorified. Who can see this amazing combination, a guilty woi-ld, a just Saviour, a divine Justifier, and not perceive that the Son crucified is emphatically thi3 Father glorified 1 And if Christ in His mediatorial capacity thus magnified the perfections of God, and whilst delivering man revealed the magnificence of the eternal Jehovah, can we wonder at this voice of divine gratulation and delight ? 2nd. God is well pleased with His Son because His jnedia- tion met the necessities <{ man. We are not to imagine that Gou, enthroned in ii accessible splendor, could survey without emotion the guilty world. It may indeed appear that if the world had been blotted from creation so soon as profaned by sin, there would have been no void in God's universe. The whole expanse might then have spread itself before Him without shadow or crime. But however unable we may be to explain how the love of such a one as God could fix itself on man, the fact is unquestionable. The whole tenor of Scripture warrants the assertion that with exquisite tenderness our Heavenly Father regarded the lost world ; that all heaven was occupied with the scheme by which the guilty might be restored. And if such be the yearnings of God over fallen man, when the Mediator presented Himself, into whose person was collected .\ff^ r"- 1 1 m 1 r f. I I > ft f* \v- !ln i< 'i 1' p : ■■ " ' jiii;; 1 ji^ayH. ii : i:il 82 THE MOT^NT OF TUANSFIfJrRATION. every cupucity for Jin-cstiii^' tin' w.uidciin^^ world find restoring it to its ori<;iiiiil place and purity — the Mediator who could bear the worlds guilt and supply the world's wai\ts -may we not suppose that even (iod rejoiced at the thought of so grt^it and grand a result; that flis heart thrilled at the ])ros{)ect of tlu^ greatest sinner l)econung a ransomed saint to dwell with Him forever in His kin;;dom? He was pleased with CMirist's work, so siiould we be. IV. Peter's Experiexck and Exprkshiox. The expert f,7ice, " Lord, it is good for us to be here," was true and dcjlightful. As Hebrews, it must have been de- lightful to them to be in the ^ resence of Moses and Elijah, whose deeds and courage and heroism their fathers so proudly l)oasted of. And above all, to behold the trans- figured Christ and gaze upon His glory must have been good indeed. Who of us would not rejoice, if holy enough for the sight, to behold the glorified form of Christ, and the saintly ones that have slept in Christ. Peter was right in his experience and description of it. It was good to be there. And it will be good for all of us to get as near as possible to Christ, often, always ; to sun ourselves in His smile and strengthen onr life in His communion. It is always good to be where Jesus is. But the expression of Peter, " Let us make here three tabernacles," was wrong everyway. His idea was to take up permanent residence in that delightful spot and company. Peter's wrong lay in his wish to be separated from the world and its cares and duties. He was in a good frame and place, and did not wish to have his joys marred again. Well served to-day, he wanted to remain at the banquet board permanently, leaving the world to look after itself or perish. But we imitate Peter when we wish to live self-indulgent lives and THE MOUNT OF TIIANSKKJIHATION. 83 was think only of oursolvps, and covot onjoynuMits and hlosH- inps sinij)ly for the j)lonHure of th«Mn. Wo are called, not sini])ly to accept salvation, but also to cnmmntii'cntc it. I am iiffaid the theological ratluM' than the philanthropical side of Christianity is too often seen and acted upon. The idea is current that it is enouj^h for salvatin- tentedness to be saved. It is not mere williiigness to receive. It is^equal forwardness to impart. It gladly sacrifices .^elf to communicate and share with others the good received. And to accept salvation and spiritual en- joy menis simply for ourselves is a terrible Christian delu- sion. If saved we must be ready to sacrifice our fancies, or follies, or indulgences, or time, or preferences, or resent- ments, oi opinions, if need be, at the call of duty, at the demand of service. The world needs the Christianity of the true Christian in all its vocations and at all seasons, to restrain its sins and to educate a noble and Christlike spirit. The Christian is as much needed in trade, in society, in the world, as in the sanctuary of God. And fellowship on the mount should fit us for service in the world. Con- verse with Christ should fit us for Christlike work. Be- ) ■ ' '. ■ I \','^ If- pi 84 THE MOUNT OF TRANSFIGURATION. ri c i> 11 » , i il !■ 1 i ,i ili 1 1 I ill ■ .1 T 1 H , ¥ ^jf^ ; ' ■ % holding Ptis glory, however faintly, we should V>e inspired to concern that others may behold Him. Let us deliglifc in prayer and to go up alone with Christ, that we may borrow strength and endurance and love for service. Let the Sal)bath and the sermon and the song and the revealt^d presence of God make us more upright and inaTily and true and self-denying and faithful to the humblest service. Let us never selfishly covet to abide iji pleasure and enjoy- ment while others around us are perishing in sin. While there is one soul in the v^orld unsaved, let us covet the honor of being God's instrument of blessing it. Then in God's time of fuller manifestation and glory we shall not need to think of building tabernacles, but shall find MANSIONS prepared and ready for us. J---- i - . • i ■ w * 1 w 1 • 1 i ' 1 L ! i inspired s delight we may ice. Let revealed mly and :; service. id enjoy- While ovet the Then in hall not lall find IX. NOAH'S FAITH. " By faith Noah, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark to the saving of his house ; by the which he condemned the workl, and became heir of the righteous- ness which is by faith. "--Heb. xi. 7. HE moment we refer to antediluvian times, our curiositv \J is at once excited. We ask a thousand questions, which no one can solve. We enquire what sort of people were they that lived before the flood? What were their manners, and customs, and habits of life? What form of government did they live under ? And in what way were their laws taught and proclaimed? What language did they speak? And did all the people speak one tongue? Were they divided into separate nations, with all 'he features and ph.ases of nationality as at present? Did they then war and agress on each other as nations do to-day? These, with a number of other enquiries, pi ess upon us until we turn somewheie hoping to find relief or solution. But the Scriptures, the only correct and authentic history of the world before the flood, do not satisfy our curiosity or aid our difticulty. The account given in the Bible of this world before the flood is so brief that it is but a sketch rather than a historic record of the men, and times, and deeds, and events that happened in that early era of the world. Of the celebrated personages that then 7 i^ M 86 NOAH S FAITH. I flourished the names are seldom mentioned, and the trans- actions in which they engaged are not specified in detail. The inhabitants of the old world pass before us like the shade of departed greatness, witii an infallible judgment passed on their character, and a distinct declaration of their doom. But amid the deep and universal pollution that then abounded, it is pleasing to find that God had at least one witiiess for Himself — a man whose genuine piety, eminent principles, sul)lime religiousness, and distinguished character, enabled him to shine forth as a brilliant light and example amid surrounding depravity and sin. No wonder Paul places this man Noah on the muster-roll of the heroes of faith. : \ 11; i -i I. Noah's Faith. 1st. Noah's was a faith of obedience. Being warned or commanded of God, he prepared an ark. In the Book of Genesis you read, ''Thus did Noah according to all that God had commanded him, so did he." This was said of him with special reference to his compliance with the Divine directions respecting the ark. Viewed in all its aspects, this is one of the finest instances of obedience on record. That which he was commanded to build was a vast structure — a work of years. The labor and experience necessary to pre- pare the materials, and then construct it, was immense. Its dimensions and description and materials are fully out- lined in the Book of Genesis. According to Hebrew mea- surement the ark was about five hundred and twenty-five feet long, eighty-seven feet wide, and fifty-two feet high. Thus, you see, it was an immense structure, by far the largest vessel t'at ever floated upon the waters. The principal material used in its construction was gopher wood, i.e., pine, or cypress. With lower, second and third u 'i\ NOAH S FAITH, 87 le trans- 1 detail like the idgment of their on that at least e piety, iguished at light in. No r-roll of irned or Book of all that said of Divine ots, this That ture — a r to pre- nmense. lly out- 3w mea- nty-five 3t high, far the , The gopher d third stories he was to make it, and witli rooms or apartments for the different kinds of animals, and for tlie accommo- dation of the living inmates. There were to be windows for light and ventilation, and a door for ingress and egress. It was not modeled like a modern ship, or equip- ped with rudder and sails. Had it been built like a ship, from a keel, with curving bottom, it could not have after- wards rested on dry land without falling over on its side, to the danger of its occupants. It was a large vessel, answering exactly the purpose for which it was designed. Concerning the place were the ark was built, conjecture has said strange things. One supposes it was built in Palestine, another in IVIount Caucasia, anotner in China, another in America. In the absence of definite information, it is most probable from tradition and inference that it was built in the land of Shinar, on the banks of the Tigris. If asked whether Noah took tlie whole of the one hundred and twenty years to build the ark, we should »"eply. No, for in that case, without a miracle the t'rst part of tlie vessel would decay before the last was finished. This huge craft, constructed for an unwonted emergency, Noah built at the command of God and in obedience to His word. 2nd. Noah's faith loas persistent and persevering. Being warned of Uod of things not seen as yet, he believed God's word and accepted it as true and certain. The length of time that intervened between the first intimations of the deluge and the actual flood afforded many striking proofs of the mental and moral character of Noah, and the strength and persistence of his faith. When God indicated His determination to destroy the world for its iniquity, without doubt unbelief often whispered. Surely this cannot be God's voice? Will God find it in His heart to destroy every living thing 1 And where will He find water enough to 88 noah's faith. ill IS :i i'l drown the world ■? And how will the creatures to be pre- served be collected and kept in the ark? And a thousand other difficulties unbelief would suggest in all these years. Yet Noah perseveres. And while going t'ortli as a preacher of righteousness, he would require no small courage. It is a comparatively easy thing to preach righteousness when public sentiment is on our side, but it is a hard and difficult work when sin hath universal dominion. Yet this man, undaunted, went forth to instruct and warn and reprove the people, telling them of God's purpose unless they re- pented of their sins. Some would laugh and scoff, others turn indifferently away. Yet he continued to remonstrate and warn up to the last moment of divine forbearance. What faith and boldness ! What an example to us who are ashamed or afraid to express our abhorrence of evil, or ad- herence to virtue's side! What a reproof to those timid spirits who are afraid to reprove popular wrong ! We need more men like Noah, who in love and pity will ceaselessly toil to urge people to repent and escape the menacing doom, and yet, with iron nerve and manly courage, will speak out boldly the words of truth and dare to be singular for Ciuist's sake, and persevere in this course unswervingly, amid ungodliness and opposition, or unfaithfulness and un- remunerative fields of waste. In your faith and fidelity be like Noah, firm as the rock that hath weathered a thousand storms. Let not allurement withdraw or terror drive you from the adherence to the right. Though mockery and re- proach, menace, or whatever hell can invent or depravity perform, be tried upon you, "cleave unto the Lord with pur- pose of heart." ^ 3rd. JVoah's was a faith of patience. Noah's faith was tried not a little. The length of time, one hundred and twenty years, was a severe tax itself. It is rue, viewed compara- be pre- housand se years. preacher e. It is ss when difficult lis man, reprove they re- T, others lonstrate )earance. who are il, or ad- se timid We need aselessly ig doom, 11 speak jular for srvingly, and un- lelity be fiousand ive you and re- ?pravity ith pur- 'as tried twenty ompara- NOAH S FAITH. 89 tively, the length of time, compared with the life of man before the flood and now, was only about the eighth part of a life. But the years were not less because of the length to which men lived. For a man to wait all these years till the cup of iniquity was full — till the long-suffering mercy of God was exhausted — without any sign to confirm his faith, with nothing but the testimony of God, was a patient continu- ance rarely equalled. But then Noah had to meet mucii that was hard to bear. Kis patience, as well as his integrity, was severely tested. He was exposed to scoff, and insult, and ridicule. Whilst collecting materials and building the ark, sneering ridicule would diligently ply its weapons and pour out its abusive tirade, and there is scarcely anything harder to bear than this. Many have shrunk from glorious enterprises rather than be objects of ridicule. Many have left the path of duty, with their work half done, because they could not bear the scoffs of men. But Noah executed all the work assigned him. He preached all the days he was appointed, and fulfilled his other tasks, notwithstanding all that he had to meet. He bore up bravely to the last, and only ceased his work when the Lord shut him in. Now, as you see Noah's faith bearing him up amid the fiercest trials, and nerving him to perform the most trying and sin- condemning work, you cannot wonder that it is said he became an heir, or possessor of the righteousness which is by faith — was rjinked among its most illustrious examples and heired its richest heritage. ' II. Noah's Faith Condemned the World Overthrown BY THE Flood. How Noah's faith condemned the guilty world is easily seen, and requires no elaboration. The saving of a good man is as a sentence against the sin and negligence of all Hi i •: '^ \ , I|1T '! I m !!! -n'^- architectural beauty that they are even now the boast of the world. Nothing wafi ))eyond him except the throne of Pharaoh, but, by faith, he refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter, and chose the sufferings of Christ rather than the pleasures of sin. I am not prepared to describe the special pleasures here intended. We may justly suppose that they were innocent enough in themselves, and rendered sinful only because duty required their relinquish- ment. They were most likely the pleasures of wealjili and power and science and aosition and honor and comfort. These pleasui-es were Vuth innocent and right till duty crossed their path. Buo as soon as God had laid His hand on Moses and bidden him separate himself to another work, hi.^ duty was clear : to honor God was his first obliga- tion, and to delay or refuse from any other consideration would have been sinful disobedience. But Moses does not hesitate to renounce all at the call of God and go and join himself to his enslaved and down-trodden brethren, and shars their afflictions and their future with all its trials and privations and perils and persecutions. All honor to the man who could become a slave while his brethren groaned beneath the tyrant's lash, that lie might comfort and help and deliver them. 3rd. The period of choice further suggests the strength and povjer of Moses' faith. It was when he was come to years that his faith rose to this magnificent self-denial an"! heroic surrender for God — the years of mature and deliberate understanding and appreciation of all that he surrenc^ red, and when he was best prepared to enjoy what he gave up. So that you see the time of his choice emphasizes immeasur- ably the strength of the faith tliat inspired to it. It was not when he was old and incapable of enjoying the world he surrendered, just like an old sinner burned out by his MOSES FAITH. 99 boast of e throne the son of Christ pared to 'ay justly Ives, and ilinquish- ?al^i and comfort. till duty Flis hand another 3t obliga- ideration does not and join en, and rials and r to the groaned nd help igth and to years i heroic liberate 3n(^ red, ]jave up. measur- It was e world by his pleasures, and so tries to escape to shore on some broken piece of wreck, if haply he may be saved ; Init it was in the very prime of his intellectual power, at the moment when the world spread all before him, like a bewitching pano- rama, and seemed most fascinating and attractive ; then he voluntarily, deliberately chose rather Christ's riches than the treasures of Egypt. It is to the young, in the very pride and vigor of their monhood's life, this example appeals. To you, young men, who have power to work and life to v/ork in ; to you whose fame is not paralyzed, or passion tires exhausted, or sun gone down ; to you who yet own life in all its fulness and sparkle and music and power ; to you it says consecrate all to God. Do not wait till famine has pinched you sore, or until you are the worn-out and used-up pensioners on the dregs of Divine bounty, or until life is all gone and you have nothing to offer but chaff and husks and sin. Now, in the very morning of life, let your faith, like Moses', inspire to immediate, complete, and life-long service for God. Give God tlie best, give Him all. II. The Reward of Faith. — " For he had respect unto the rxicornpense of reward." Future glory, the reward of a virtuous life, is frequently expressed iv Scripture under this designation — recompense. Not that the term is to be taken in its literal signification, as though virtue merited future blessedness, foi- man's greatest service could never merit God's smallest gift. But it must not be forgotten tiiat as rewarcls sweeten toil, so there is something in Christianity analogous to this. It helps us to see that a life of future blessedness will be the fruit of present devotion and service, for that follows as closely and clearly as cause and effect. Tlais you see thai; the future state will compensate us for all oui' sacritices, \%\ \ % f 11 '1 i i 1 I I ! ' i: If hi i i 100 MOSES FAITH. indemnify ua for all losses in the service of God, and give back to us, in ovei whelming interest, the results of all we have done or suffered for God here; and it further suggests that God takes special pleasure in man's obedience and seeks in every way to encourage and promote it. In speaking of the reward of faith you must consider twc or three distinct points. 1st. It ivas a sure reward. Whether we shall possess it or not may be a matter of grave uncertainty, because it is possible we may not be of the description of person to whom it is promised, and falling short of the conditions and the meetness. we may never inherit the recompense. But the reward itself is certain. In this respect it bears a striking contrast with the rewards of earth. The most ardent votary of the world is never sure that he shall possess an adequate reward for his toils. The world often mocks her followers with delusive hopes, and after unremitting labor the object pursued is as distant as ever; and at the close of a life of disappointment many are compelled to confess that they have sown to the wind and reaped the whirlwind. Of the mar^y prizes the world presents before its competitors not one is certain. Success depends on circumstances often beyond man's control, or the uncertainty arises from the folly and competition of rivals. But how different is it with the reward of faith, the rewards of God in the heavenly home. There no well-meant effort shall go unacknowledged. The jealousy of rivals cannot interfere where there is enough for all and enough foi evermore. And nr>* only the service performed shall be remunerated, but that which it was our intention and desire to have performed if opportunity or means allowed, will be rewarded. In this world some of the most devoted and disinterested of men have fallen victims to the caprice of others, by being made MOSES FAITH. 101 and give )f all we suggests .nd seeks laking of I distinct possess it lUKe it is to whom i and the But the , striking t ardent ossess an locks her labor the 3lose of a fess that ind. Of npetitors ces often rom the is it with leavenly wledged. tliere is only the it which )rmed if In this of men ng made answerable for events beyond their control. And often the most important services have passed unobserved because performed in a humble way, or by an obscure person. But the rewards of heaven are not exposed to such fluctuations and uncertainties and ficklenesses. They are secured by the oath, and promise, and veracity of God. God hath promised, and His faithfulness and unchangeableness can be depended on. As God is true, heaven is sure. 2nd. A satisfying r'.mmrd. How far this feature belongs to earthly rewards universal experience can attest. Instead of satisfying they often inflame the desire they cannot gratify. The pursuit of wealth is one of the most common and at- tractive objects sought in this life; but no sooner has a man gained the portion he sought than he thirsts for more ; and what he previously esteemed wealth he now calls a common necessary, and he transfers the name to ampler possessions and larger revenues. Nor is fame, however high it has climbed, more satisfying. Nor can a man find satisfaction in the pleasures of the world.- His desires often make him a prey to uneasiness, because of some fancied good he has not. A childish impatience of the slightest disappointment often poisons the most sparkling cup of worldly pleasure. Look at Haman ; he enumerates the various ingredients of a brilliant fortune, and then adds, "All this availeth me nothing while Mordecai, the Jew, is at the gate." But the rewards of heaven satisfy fully and completely. There is no desire unmet, no wish unrealized, no expectation un- fulfilled; the most ardent dream and hopeful outlook are abundantly satisfied in the mansions of glory. Nor can any desire ever arise that heaven cannot at once ir.eet and supply; there in the fullest sense the inhabitants will hunger no more, neither thirst any more. , -- 3rd. Ths reward is eternal. Everything of this earth \% 8 ]'.k ■1 i ! fhi \i « i. s 102 MOSES FAITH. short-lived and passeth away, but man's soul being immortal must have possessions that do not grow old or fade away. Imagine an immortal being — a glorified saint — sunning and basking himself in the full blessedness of heaven. Im- agine his mighty power -v^axing stronger and stronger as the field of his knowledge enlarges. Imagine this glorious being rising higher and higher in capacity and enjoyments until he has attained a dignity and rapture that at one time seemed impossible. And then, suppose a revelation sud- denly made to this exalted spirit that his glory and blessed- ness would end. That intimation would paralyze his energies and incapacitate him for further enjoyment. The intense delight that previously thrilled his soul, the soaring and Godlike conceptions that crowded upon his aspiring thought, would give place to doubt and fear and overwhelm- ing disappointment. All his capacities and endowments^ his love to God, and his sinless perfection, would fit him for endless service and blessedness, but all this would be as nothing if there was no eternal life to enjoy. But, be it re- membered, the rewards of heaven are eternal. They fade not away, they are as permanent as the eternal throne, as lasting as the crown of life, as endless as God. The river of life never runs dry; across the walkers of the golden streets there shall never pass the shadow of an end. Heaven's communion shall never know an interval ; its light shall never dim. There the inhabitants die no more,^ but are forever with the Lamb. t Let me entreat you, by all the hopes and promises of the gospel, do not let this life pass without putting forth your best efibrts for Christ. Yet a little while and the shadows will drape your home, and if faithful you shall pass to the skies. Meanwhile seek to maintain a character and lead a life in harmony with your future prospects, Look forward M0SE3 FAITH. 103 nmortal Lway, sunning n. Im- ir as the IS being bs until ne time on sud- blesseri- lyze his it. The soaring aspiring rwhelm- wmentSj him for Id be as be it re- hey fade irone, as le river golden an end. al ; its 10 more, and live with the light of heaven constantly upon your path. Let the recompense of the future be a strong and impelling motive to glorify God in the present. Let your eye ever be on the recompense, and by all means make your calling sure. When trials assail or sorrow overwhelms, look to the recom- pense. When pestilence darkens the dwelling, or bereave- ment crushes the heart, look to the recompense. When slander wounds the reputation and reproach is heaped upon your name, look to the recompense. When temptation seeks to corrupt, or the woild tries to pollute, look to the recom- pense. When discouragement damps the zeal, or unfaithful examples tempt to despair, look to the recompense. When life is ebbing to a close and you stand face to face with death, look to the recompense. It will make you holier in solituf'e, and braver in public, more patient in suffering, more heroic in sacrifice. It will deliver you from the insane madness of preferring the present co the future, this world to eternity, .and lead you to look forward by faith to the home and reward of everlasting life. Ill- H 5 s of the th your hadows s to the d lead a forward Ui tl XL THE THREE HEBREW MARTYRS. Daniel iii. 14-30. '^^^IMROD appears to have founded the city and kingdom ^V oi Babylon upon the site and about tlie time of the towdr of Babel. And from that time it continued to grow in wt .\lth and strength until the days of Nebuchaa- nezzar, when it reached the lieight of its splendor as the capital of the Chaldean Empire and metropolis of the world. The city w?,;^ surrounded by a wall sixty miles in circumference, three hundred and fifty feet high, and eighty-seven feet thick, while the river Euphrates ran through it from north to south. But its greatest boast was an artificial mountain four hundred feet high, reared in its midst by Nebuchadnezzar, and formed into hanging gardens and terraces of excjuisite beauty. It was upon this that the king is supposed to have been looking when he ex- claimed, "Is not this great Babylon that I have built?" It is also called the Golden City, because of its immense wealth, for in it was treasured the riches und spoil of con- quered nations. But Babylon in the midst of its greatness was wickedly self-indulgent and idolatrous. Of this you have the mcjt painful confirmation in the chapter before you. The pagan idolatry of the city and people must have added much to the trials and sufferings of the exiled THE THr.i:E HEBREW MARTYRS. 105 TRS. kingdom le of the ontinued ebuchaa- r as the f of the ty miles igli, and ites ran oast was •ed in its gardens ;his that 1 he ex- ilt?" It immense I of con- ;reatness bhis you before ast have exiled Hebrews. The three young men to whom our text refers have been previously introduced in the first chapter of this book, as some of the exiled Jews, of noble descent and well-favored and gifted, and of rare merit, whom the king wisely sought to train and nationalize and win for the good government and consolidation of his empire. The king and his chief steward, under whose special cliarge they were, hoping they liad succeeded in changing their language and manners and principles, g:tvo them Chaldean names, to identify tliem more intimately with the land of their adop- tion. Hananiah they called Shadrach, " Messenger of the king." Mishael they named Meshach, '^Servant of the god Sheshach." Azariah was changed to Abed-nego, " Servant of the god Nego." But altered names and customs and high promotion could not cluiTige the beliefs and principles of these servants of ihe living (Jod. They had already with Daniel stood one severe test of their principles, and come off victorious. Now they are called to another, a more severe and public trial of their high and holy prin- ciples. And the question is asked, Will they endure this testing time also, and pass safely througii this solemn crucial crisis? Let us see. I. Look at the Temptations and Difficulties these Men had to Resist in Carrying Out their Reli- gious Convictions. 1st. They had to resist the authority and command of the king. Nebuchadnezzar had won and consolidated an im- mense empire, throughout which his command was absolute. But not content with receiving from his people civil obedi- ence, he planned to secure their religious homage. He set up, in the plain of Dura, a vast golclen image resembling the one he saw in his dream. And to make that image .i:! 106 THE THREE HEBREW MARTYRS. 'it :•: '.Ml \m as impressive and attractive as possible, he collected around it the charms of music. Perhaps he thought by making sure of the eye and ear, the heart would yield. A gifted writer has sarcastically said, with too much truth, that if you secure the live senses of men you may calculate upon all the rest. Men are too often led by their senses, and worship appearance rather than truth. The image set up, the decree proclaimed, every one at the signal of music must fall down and worship the idoi, or be cast into a fiery furnace — the mode of capital punishment peculiar to the Chaldeans. In that tjying situation these young men refused to bow down and worship the king's image. They must huve felt it very undesirable and trying to take such a position. They would feel it to be very ungracious for a subject and a captive to rebel against royal authority, and oppose the proclaimed will of the monarch. And then the king had been very kind to them, and tiiey owed him grati- tude as well as loyalty. But they felt, as we should ever feel, that duty to God is stronger than all other claims ; and they would not worship the golden image. This dis- obedience was soon reported to the king, who at once sent for • the young men to know why they refused to worship his god. The thought of anyone refusing to obey his command the king would not tolerate. And the king said unto them, " Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego, do not ye serve my gods, nor worship the golden image which I have set up 1" And tiiey replied, not insolently but firmly, " O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter." Neither charms nor threats could force them into idolatry and sin. What noble moral heroism; what sub- lime dev ^tion and fidelity to God. And gathering strength for the struggle they said, in the depth and power of their convictions, '* Be it known unto thee, O king, that we will THE THREE HEBREW MARTYRS. 107 collected ught by ield. A ;h truth, calculate V senses, [uage set of music ■jO a fiery r to the ing men B. They like such ■)us for a ritv, and then the ini grati- luld ever ' claims ; This dis- i sent for rship his lommand ito them, lo not ye ih I have mly, " O ie in this hem into 'hat sub- strength of their t we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up." So should men ever feel. Yielding the readiest civil obedience to the government and constitution under which they live, but causing man's rule to end where that of conscience begins ; recognizing and defending at all costs the sole and absolute supremacy of God, 2na. They had to resist popular custom and practice. They lived amid a nation of idolaters. Idolatry was the religion of the throne and people. And when the king set up this golden god and summoned the nation to its worship, the people promptly oV)eyed. Tiiere is too much reason for believing that the Jews generally followed the national example. But these three, unmoved by custom, were faith- ful to God ; never stopping to ask or see what others did, they dared to be true to their convictions in the face of a nation of idolaters. What bravery, casting into che s ade earth's proudest warriors! I commend to you this sacred regard to the claims of conscience, to the dictates of duty ; this cleaving to the right amid the scorn and roar of popu- lar reproach and opposition. There is nothing more con- temptible than the spirit that crouches down to popular custom at the sacrifice of principle, and which follows the multitude to do evil. It requires very little courage to assume the Christian name when it is fashionable. W nen truth is popular the veriest coward can sing its praise. It is the storm that tests the vessel and shows the quality of its timber and iron. It is the make-up of the opposing army that shows the qualities and valor of the soldier. And it is when expediency and custom and ridicule confront the Christian man that you see whether he is a moral hero or a heartless coward. What we need to-day is that stern fidelity to truth which will not yield to the claims of custom. Custom is now, as it ever has been, the stern foe of sincere m #fl '■ '' ? 1 i 1 1 !■ I t iM ^ i ■ - .■ • i •! ? ; ' , J Mk HI -it" - ■ 1 ■. ■ M' n '^r: 'Mil v. \ ■ It a » 1 ^' 1 lii^ 1 1 1 108 THE THREE HEBREW MARTYRS. piety. There lies our danger. Religion has found general favor, but the favored religion has a large amount of world- liness mixed up with it. Men say, " Business is business," and try fo show that strict morality and right will not apply to the shop or market. In their view, to apply Chris- tian rules to secular callings would be ruinous. Religion, they affirm, is all right for the Church and the Sabbath but what has it to do with trade and daily life. Now we must show these men of the world that Christ's spirit and likeness may and i houid be carried into every department and vocation ; that there is no place or business in this world where Christian principle cannot and should not reign. So that instead of yielding to custom and going down to the world's level, let us change the customs and currents of life, and bring them up to the standard and will of God. 3rd. Tliey had to resist the claims of self-interest and gain. The cost and sacrifice at which they maintained their convictions was great. Disobedience to the king must cost them loss of position and life. They were to be instantly hurled from place and power into the fiery furnace. In such circumstances as they now stand we ask, " Will they submit and live, or obey Cod and die ? " Nothing moved from their Christian steadfastness, they are equal to the crisis, and remain firm and true ; not even counting their own lives dear unto them, that they might finish their course with joy. Their confidence in God was perfect, and therefore their triumph over self-interest was complete. Such instances of prompt and unwavering devotion to God have not been wanting in other ages of the Chvch. Ter- tullian says of the Christians of his day, " We are thrown to the wild beast, we are burned in the flames, we are ban- ished to the islands, but all have failed to make us recant ; THE THREE HEBREW MARTYRS. 109 we are true to God." Cyprian, when urged to preserve his life by the denial of Christianity, answered, "There can be no deliberating in a niatter so saci'ed." Chrysostom, when threatened with baTiislunent by the Roman emperor, roplied, " Thou canst not l)anish me, for the world is my Father's house." Said the emperor, "I will slay thee." "Nay, but thou canst not, for my life is hid with Christ in God." Then replied the emperor angrily, " T will drive thee from every friend." " Thou canst not, for T have a friend in Heaven, who will never leave me ; I defy thee, there is nothing thou canst do to me, for I am God's." Self-sacri- ficing moral heroism is not wanting in every epoch of the Cliurch. Are we thus self-denying for Christ and truth ? Have we the martyr's spirit, so that if need be we could bear the martyr's testimony ? Do we serve (Jod faithfully in our present positions, or are we temporizing and cowardly through fear of man, or from self-interest ? I am afraid some religious people seek to mak'i capital out of their alle- giance to the Church. The same persons would sell their convictions and risk their eternity to-morrow if the ten.p- tation of gain was on the other side. May I urge that no allurement or prospect of advantage should ever tempt you to desert God or disown the truth. It is better to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting hre. II. The Result of their Uncompromising Faithful- ness TO God. 1st. They proved that no believiiig trust in God is mis- placed, hut that He is tnie to His people and His promises. The young men said to the king, " Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king." Miraculously, vTN nm'mu 110 THE THREE HEBREW MARTYRS. i , ■' ii or otherwise, just as it shall please God, He will deliver us. And you see their confidence was not misplaced. God did deliver them. As Nebuchadnezzar walked forth, in sight of the fiery furnace, he saw four men loos«;, walking in the midst of the fire unhurt. The fourth, he said, was like the Son of God. The expression " Hon of God," does not indi- cate that the king knew or thought of the Messiah ; he thought it to be an angel, who were conmionly termed sons of God. The king j)lainly recognized Divine interposition and deliverance. And hard as his heart was, and proudly as he had acted in this matter, he is compelled to say, " There is no other God that can deliver after this sort." Sometimes it pleases Infinite Wisdom to place His people in those circumstances in which they cannot doubt His faithful- ness ; in which they are so shut up as to see and feel that the door of escape oi- deliverance nmst have been opened by God. In this instance friends and foes alike witness God's preservation and care for His own. All that happened to these good men in the furnace apparently was the burning of their hnnds. Not an hair of their head was singed, neither were their coats changed, nor even the smell of fire had passed on them. They were not only delivered, but came oui >f the furnace freer than they went in. So shall it ever \ e with God's people who trust in Him perfectly. He may suffer them to be cast into the furnace of trial, or suffering, and that furnace or trial may be vefy hot; but it will only burn their bands. Out of the furnace they will ultimately come, purer, freer, holier, better every way. Whilst in the furnace God will be with them, and when the last band fchat binds them to earth, or self, or sin, is burned. He will bring them forth as gold refined. 2ud. You see the power and infivsnce of trite, consistent exarnple. The monarch, impressed with thu superiority of eliver us. God did in sight wff in the i like the not indi- isiah ; he nied sons Imposition 1 })roudly I to say, his sort." people in 1 faithful- feel that pened by ess God's »pened to burning singed, ^11 of fire ered, but So shall )erfectly. trial, or t; but it :hey will ry way. nd when or sin, is consistent 'iority of THE THREE HEUUEW MARTYRS. Ill these young men's faith, with the depth and power of their convictions, and the wonderful interposition of Gitrary decree, or the bigotry of councils and sectarian zealots ; but soon the great liberator will come that way and walk into the very midst of the furnace or prison, and proclaim liberty to the captive and the opening of the prison doors to them that are bound. And the cause that God undertakes to defend and extend He v/ill '.lot fail to help in every time of need. Even the bitterest persecutor may be compelled to confess the claims of the very God he sought to overthrow. 4th. 77t(? experience of these men proves thatjidelity to God and truth shall not lose its reward. "Then the king pro- moted Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego in the province of Babylon." This is not the only instance in which fortitude in subduing trial, and faith in conquering death, has led to eminent secular honor. Joseph, the slave in Egypt, raised to great power and iionor ; David, the shepherd, crowned a king over a powerful kingdom ; Daniel, the captive, made the first president of the '^''eatest empire of his times ; — are striking instances of the high places of the earth to whicli the best of men have been promoted. And of this we may be sure, that if fidelity to God does not bring secular honor and dignity and wealth, it will bnng everlasting honor at the right hand of God. malicious of Heaven ;e in wliich ileness, the utors, and, religion of >y the door sree, or the > soon the ;o the very 3rty to the them that to defend e of need, to confess w. ifi/ to God king pro- rovince of I fortitude has led to 'pt, raised "Towned a ive, made nes ; — are to which t^emay be lonor and or at the XII. DANIEL'S INTEGRITY. "Now when Daniel knew that the writing was signed, he went into his house ; and his windows being ojien in his chamber toward Jerusalem, he kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave thanks before his Clod, as he did aforetime." — Dan. vi. 10. ^ANIEL, the prophet, was one of the most pure and faithful of saints. His character and life is at once a study and an example. Born in the city of Jeru- salem, and descended from the royal tribe of Judah, his hundred years' pilg:nmage was full of strange and wonderful history. His iirst years were spent amid the decline of the Jewish monarchy. The most of his life was spent in the seventy years of Babylonish captivity. His last days wit- nessed the restoration of his fellow-countrymen to their native land. So that his life, sharing the changes of his tribe and people, was full of painful interest. He was a man of scholarly refinement, great genius, eminent wisdom, unblemished life, and close intimacy with God. God Him- self, in the Book of Ezekiel, bears unmistakable testimony to his eminent character and Scriptural holiness, where He says, ""Though these men, Noah, Daniel, and Job, were in it, they should deliver but their own souls by their right- eousness." Daniel's character was one of the purest ever lived on earth by man. You cannot wonder tlir^t he was prosperous even in adversity, free even in exile, had native privilege!* in strange countries, and that God made even his III !: ,,.,! :■ i H 1 H r ^' w 4iii ' H ^il %l'^ iH i TV 11 1 '^ ^IH ,%. uHH I^K J^ I^^H Hi JI. 114 DANIEL S INTEGRITY. enemies to be at peace with him ; and that he was admitted into the most heavenly visions and revelations. This chapter presents Daniel to your st"rfy in a wonderful, a unique position. Confronted by the most cruel and malig- nant opposers, he is called upon to pass through one of the most severe ordeals to which a human being was ever sub- jected. Let us see how he met the greatest trial of his life. I. The Particular Danger which Threatened Daniel AT THIS Crisis of his Life. "The writing was signed," suggestin?}; ^ ' :lark-laid plot, and the ominous sentence, which overhung Daniel at this hour. 1st. There was the schemhfi of political avarice and malignity. Darius, the Medo-Persian king, who now ruled the destinies of Babylon, saw soixiething in the character and conduct of Daniel that fitted him for the highest position and responsibilities. He had witnessed his skill in solving a mysterious insci'iption ; he saw his prudence and wisdom and success in all he undertook. And though he did not understand Daniel's creed, he appre ''ted his honesty, his integrity, and his talents. Darii^ ■ ; efore determined, in his own interest, to array himsc*- ^\ aew honor by the wisdom and goodness of Daniel. ThLvcfore the king preferred Daniel above the presidents, and made him the prime minister over the grandest empire on which the sun had ever shone up to that time. But Daniel's endowments and elevation roused the pride and envy of the partizan zealots, who saw themselves cast into the shade by Daniel's promotion. And it is said they hated him. They could not dismiss him, nor impeach him, but they could and did hate him. Not because his policy was bad, or that like most eastern statesmen he was eager to receive bribes. Not Daniel's integrity. 115 admitted IS. This derful, a id malig- ne of the ever sub- f his life. Daniel hiid plot, }1 at this rice and ow ruled character highest his skill prudence d though ;'t:ed his ' c efore .» aew ?kexcfore ud made 311 which Daniel's vy of the shade by I. They ould and that like es. Not because he aimed at the king's crown, or was disloyal, or untrustworthy, or corrupt. They could tind no occasion of fault in him, inasmuch as he was faithf'il in all things. Why then did they so dislike him'? Possibly it was because he was a Jew and a stranger, and the conceited and haughty princes of the realm were greatly offended and could not forgive the idea of one who was a captive being the chief ruler over them. But we think that the principrJ reason why these men so hated Daniel was because of his integrily. He was an honest prime minister presiding over a corrupt cabinet. He would not take bribes, and so his example and presence s'aamed their greed, and stood in the way of their unlawful money getting. And because his office was in the way of their power and supremacy, and hi.5 integrity checked and shamed their avarice, they formed against him a most daring political plot, as dark as it was cruel. And because they could find no pretext for his removal cr destruction in his character or administration, they assailed him through his religious convictior. Here you see the hatred and opposition of these political rivals and schemers stopped at nothing. They entered the sacred region of personal conviction and conscience, and dared to dictate to the soul on the question of its relation to its Maker. How bitter the malevolence, how daring the blasphemy that would step in to prevent the soul from worshipping its God. But Daniel had more to meet than simply the scheming and plots of unprincipled rivals. 2nd. Tlie signed decree fm'eshadoived and threatened his complete ruin. Having seen what pofitical craft and schem- ing could b:ing about, to reali/c fully Daniel's peril you must look at the nature of the signed writing. It plainly contemplated the casting of Daniel into the den of lions — a mode of punishment peculiar to the Medo Persians. So 116 DANIEL S INTEGRITY. I' i m U '■ 'M \ that when Daniel looked upon the writing, he saw his own sealed death-warrant ; and the mode of carrying it ou'j must have filled him with shuddering. To say that the king regretted and vainly endeavored to set apide his faoal decree when he discovered the foul murder that was to be perpetrated, is saying nothing to relieve Daniel. The sleep- less monarch nor the rejoicing persecutors affected the changeless decree. According to that writing Daniel must compromise or die, renounce God or become a martyr. To die, especially through the scheming of wicked men, is most painful and unnatural. Man was never made to die. It was not a part of God's original design, therefore man shrinks from death. It is true when the believer dies he does not cease to be ; there is not even a suspension of the continuity of life. Death is to him the vestibule of glory, the beginning of the blissful, thrilling endless life of heaven. But still there is nothing unmanly or unchristian in recoil- ing from death — a thing superinduced by sin. And to shrink from such a death as this — a death brought about by plottings so disreputable, and scheming so utterly unworthy and malignant; a death so terrible in the mode of its execu- tion ; a death so horrible in whatever way we look at it — is not unworthy of this noble and heroic man. But let us see how Daniel met the situation. II. Daniel's Fie^lity to God and his Religious Con- victions. 1st. You have Daniel's sentiment respecting the interference of the state in the concerns of relif/ion. For Darius as a man Daniel could have but little respect, for historians describe him as weak and cruel, furious in his anger and tyrannical in the exercise of his power. According to this narrative he Hllpwed his nobles to make laws which he DANIEL S INTEGRITY. 117 •J his own ouv must the king his fatal vas to be rhe sleep- jcted the niel must rtyr. To % is most • die. It fore man r dies he on of the ! of glory, ►f heaven, in recoil- And to about by unworthy its execu- at it — is let us see ous CON- terference rius as a listoriana nger and ig to this vhich he signed and afterwards wanted to retract. He cast Daniel into the lions' den, and then wept over his own severity. He obeyed his nobles in punishing Daniel, and afterward in terrible revenge flung them into the same den. So capri- cious and despotic a tyrant, however arrayed in the trap- pings of regal splendor, no one could respect. But his authority as a king Daniel duly honored. In everything political and national he properly submitted to liim. Good men ever have been the truest subjects, the best citizens of the state, and the most loyal to the government and laws of tlie nation under which they live. But Daniel correctly felt that he could not render to tlie king the homage which was due only to God. In the affairs of religion he must be free. Ihe monarch might decide what death the prophet should die, but Daniel himself must choose what God he would worshij. H<3nce, when forbidden to f^.ve God he would not deviate for a single day from the custom of his religion or habits of devotion. And Christians everywhere should manifest the same fortitude and decision of soul. The right of private judgment is not only the birthright of every man but tlie legitimate and natural fruit of spiritual religion. Liberty of conscience is a right, a divine, inalien- able right, which no man should barter or betray. He deserves not the i\ame of a Christian who will not contend for the rights of private judgment on the question of religion as the dearest earthly possession. As Daniel, as the holy apostles and fathers of primitive Christianity, as WyclifFe, as Luther, as the Puritans, as the Covenanters, as the noble army of martyrs, obtained this freedom at great price, so let us maintain the form of sound words. It is no part of the secular government to teach or enforce religion. Religion is a matter too sacred for that; it is a holy thing between a man's soul and his God. The moral sense cannot 9 fWT: 118 DANIELS INTEGRITY. ' M iii, *;; f-i \ ■t • ; ■ , I *■! mL be controlled riglitly by acts of parliament, or governments, or kings, or chief magistrates. Within the Christian Church there is no sphere for the exercise of the civil power; there it becomes an intrusion, a usurpation to be resisted. When and how we are to worship cannot be settled by any earthly force, but nmst be determined by the word of Him that liveth and abideth forever. Religion is emphatically per- sonal and spiritual, the most purely personal matter in the world. Here we nmst listen to the voice of Him who says, *' One is ycur Master, even Christ," and we dare not render unto Cffisar the things that are God's. 2nd. Daniel's steadfast adherence to reliffious duty in the face of danger. In looking at the manner in which Daniel discharged his duty, at first sight he would appear singular, if not ostentatious, as he enters his room with his window opened toward Jerusalem. But as you look at his attitude and adliereiice to custom, remember the true explanation. On the top of every Jewish house, which was flat-roofed, there was what is called in the Book of Acts, "an upper room " or chamber, or domestic chapel, where the Jew always went for retirement and devotion. So that Daniel's window being opened toward Jerusalem was in strict agree- ment with the custom and worship of the Jews — a custom easily explained by two considerations : Solomon's prayer at the dedication of the temple, in which he asked God at all times to hear the prayer of His people directed toward that place ; and the fact that that temple contained the only sign or symbol of the mediatorial intercession of Christ. Therefore Daniel, when he retired to that upper room with its open window, did not seek to display his religion, or to defy those who had conspired against him. He did that which he had always been accustomed to do in the same simple, beautiful habit that his inner life had been trained DANIELS INTEGRITY. 119 nments, Church r; there When earthly ill! that ally per- 3r in the '^ho says, •t render ty in the h Daniel singular, , window attitude lanation. ,t-roofed, m upper the Jew Daniel's ct agree- custom s prayer God at toward ned the f Christ, oni with )n, or to did that he same trained to. Had Daniel gone to that room for prayer then for the first time, and opened that window as a signal defiantly, he would have been assuming singularity which is weak, if not wrong and contemptible. When duty makes singu- larity inevitable it is Christian, it is suljlime ; and we should never be ashamed to be singular for Christ. We never hear or men being ashamed of being called singulai'ly rich, or wise, or great, or successful, they rather rejoice in singularity of that sort ; and is not religion wiser than wisdom, richer than gold, greater than any earthly success? No man should ever seek singularity, but lie should not fear it when dut requires and God demands. There are times when it is sublime to stand alone in that loneness which throws a man upon himself and God — that loneness which forgets the excitement of the throng in the inspiration of duty. Never let us hearken to policy or expediency, but pursue the path of conviction and right at all costs. Suffer, if needs be, rather than renounce the truth or dishonor a divine conviction. Imitate Daniel, and as you sometimes sing, " Dare to be a Daniel," rather than follow the expedi- ency men that are all about us. It is the men who have the courage of their convictions that wrestle with the diffi- culties of their times, and rise above their surroundings to honor God and bless men. 3rd. You have Daniel's attachment to devotion and prayer. His very life seems to have been fed and exprsssed by prayer. It was his approach to God in the simplicity and earnestness of prayer that gave integrity and faithfulness to his life in every situation and trial. Prayer from the heart in that upper room when alone with God brought him strength and courage and power and self-mastery and endurance. Well would it be for men, for nations, for the world, if every statesman would take counsel with God. ( l. If, ;:; 120 DANIEL S INTEGRITY. And well would it be if every man would delight in prayer, and live and move and breathe in its holy communion and fellowships. Prayer is not only the wealth of poverty, the strength of weakness, the light of darkness, the r^^fuge of distress, the joy of trouble, but it is the very breath and life of the Christii.-n believer. Prayer has often reversed the struggles of war, defeated the craft of statesmen, paralyzed the arm of persecution, and brought to naught the counsels of evil men and tht opposition of malignant devils ; because prayer has moved the hand tliat moves the world. Good men must pray, but not to hi/orm God : He knows better what we need than we can express; oi lo change God's jmrpose: He knows His own will; or to be seen of men. They must pray to obtain the refreshment, the nutriment, the power essential to a great life and service Prayer is power in its highest degree and might. n prayer, nmunion poverty, le refuge eath and reversed ;atesnieii, naught lalignant loves the God : He 3ss; oi to bo be seen nent, the d service XIII. THE RIGHTEOUS SHINING. " And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firrnament ; and they that turn many to i ighteousness as the stars forever and ever." — Daniel xii. 3. ^l MONG men of the most distinguished learning and ^1 piety the authenticity of tliis took has never been questioned. They have regarded it as written by Daniel, who claims to be the author in 'ie expression, "A vision appeared to me, Daniel," and written at the time and place it says: six hundred years before Christ, on the plains of Shinar. And if modern skeptics require proof of the veracity and inspiration of the predictions of Daniel, they may find it in the fact that it was received as authentic by the Jews, and existed in the Hebrew Bible, and was trans- lated by the Hellenistic Jews into Greek three hundred years before Christ. And further, the direct allusions of Christ and His apostles to the book prove its inspiration. Josephus and other eminent historians also bear direct tes- timony to its authenticity. The predictions Daniel was in. spired to deliver were most remarkable, as was also the clearness with which events were disclosed to him on the prophetic chart. God's wisdom in veiling prophecy gener- ally in obscurity is manifest. It secures the accomplish- ment of the Divine moral purpose without the interference of the agent. But Daniel was favored and honored above lii f /. ii I ^ 'f,^ SiV lltt !i V- t.i 122 THE RiaHTEOUS SHINING. others, for he Was carried far beyond the ordinary range of proplietic vision. His eye swept down the stream of time, marking tlie rise and decay of kingdoms, and the revolu- tions of the world, until he saw established over all the universal kingdom of Christ before the end was. But amid the foliage of prophecy, the details of biography, the epochs of history, and the mysterious chronology of days and seasons, Daniel never fails to proclaim spiritual and saving truths — truths as profitable as they are sanctifying and divine. In the words l)efore us we have stated with much clearness and wealth of suggestion the mission and rewards of life. I. The Course to which every Life is Directed and Commissioned. The terms " they that be wise," and " tiiey that turn many to righteousness " are so connected that you may regard them as correlative, if not synonymous. The wise man seeks to turn many to righteousness as the proper endeavor and end of life ; and they that turn many to righteousness wisely answer the Divine mission of manhood and bless the world. So that you have in this expression the character of a true Christian — a wise man ; and the suggestion that service and usefulness is the true object and commission of life. 1st. He is a wise man who turns many to righteousness, because he overtakes the ruin of sin and assists to prom^ote 7nan's recovery and Christ's woi'k. I need not lead you down to the lowest strata of humanity to prove the truth and completeness of man's depravity. The world was not made what we find it to-day. It was created holy and beautiful. Every sound was once harmony, every sight was once lovely; sin has unhinged and disfigured it, and range of 1 of time, le revolu- r all the But amid lie epochs days and lid saving ying and ith much \ rewards DTED AND ;hat turn you may wise man endeavor teousness bless the character tion that nission of teousness, o pi'omote lead you tlie truth was not holy and ery sight id it, and THE RIGHTEOUS SHINING, 12.S brought upon it paralysis and disaster. The intellect is dai'kened by the vapors of sin, the judgment is warped by the prejudice of sin, the conscience is fliseased by the corrup- tions of sin, the heart is the seat of all uncleanness through the pollution of fin. Every spot of earth, from the prison cell to the highest mansion, has echoed the voice of sin. It has trod softly the paths of shame, and burst wildly in the roar of revolution ; and wherever the stream of sin has flowed, human happiness has l)een swept away and only ruin and wretchedness remained. In this condition man is not only without holiness but without hope. He can no more restore himself than he can create a star, or turn a river up the mountain, or summon the dead to life. But while man was thus ruined bv sin, Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost ; exchanging the admiration of angels for the insults of men, the diadem of glory for the crown of thorns, that Calvary might behold God in human nature die, and depraved man find a perfect and available means for his complete restoration to the favor and fold of God again. And the man that turns many to right- eousness overtakes the moral ruin of sin by leading the lost one in God's name and in God's appointed way to enjoy the renewal and blessedness of the saved, and, in the posses- sion of the title and the qualification, the franchise and the fitness, for earth's sonship and hea\en's glory, to become Godlike again. And when sin is thus restrained, and the ruin of sin thus overtaken by one turning to righteousness, the object of Christ's offering for sin and the end of Christ's work for sinners is fulfilled. And the man who thus elevates his fellow and becomes a co-worker with Christ is wise beyond all expression, and is wisely answering the best ends of his being in the salvation of his fellow-man. 2nd. He is a wise man vjho turns many to riyhtemisness, 124 THE RIGHTEOUS SHINING. ;:• » because he fnljih the divine commission of manhood and faith. Every man and every life is charged V)y tlie Creator with a mission to mankind. But tlie pi'ofe.ssion and posses- sion of reUgion superadds a special and more inclusive service and responsibility. We are too forgetful of the claims of our fellows upon us as a part of the same great world family. But we can never overstate the solemn responsibility which our religious profes.sion brings. By diffusing through us the spirit of Chri.st, and setting before us the example of Christ, and guiding all our actions by the precepts of Christ, spiritual religion lays claim to the entire man and service for the good of others. And if we become narrow, selfish spiritual epicure" living only to save our own souls, in the narrowest and st selfish sense of those words, and are concerned only toi our own enjoyment of religion, or how we may escape the penalties of sin, instead of receiving religion that we may impart it to others, we violate the very condition and laws of Christian life. The Bible plainly insists on all who have felt the truth doing their utmost to save the erring. That is God's way of find- ing the lost. True, He could promote the good of mankind v/ithout our service, but our concern is not with what God can do, but what He does. That is His revealed and ap. pointed means. The sun does not write His Gospel on the clouds, nor angel voices proclaim it through the world. He spreads before us the hungry, needy, ruined tribes of earth, and then says, "Go work in my vineyard." "Occupy til] I come." The field of occupation may differ. One man may be a parent whose duty it is to watch, and form, and train, and guide, and develop the moral character of his family. Another may be the loving watcher at the bedside or over the bent and helpless form of some aged paralytic, and it is his to let him dowi by a bed into the room THE RIGHTEOUS SHINING. 125 lood and ) Creator d f)0.sses- inclusive 1 of the ne great ; solemn igs. By ig before IS by the I to the nd if we y to save sense of ijoyment I, instead :hers, we fe. The th doing of tind- mankind hat God and ap. i\ on the Id. He f earth, cupy til] ne man »rm, and of his bedside iralytic, le room where Jesus is. Another may be a self-donying and earnest teacher of some Sabbath class, where every Sunday tlirough much difficulty and after much self-fasting, he finds a fiold of toil for Jesus. One may be called upon specially to care for the physical wants and woes of suffering ones around him, and his chief duty is to soothe and heal and comfort broken or orphan hearts. Another may realize the deepei- spiritual needs and hunger that is about him, and find his chief work in ministering to the soul. But whatever be the form of service all Christians have an apostolic commis- sion, and may share the gloi-ies of iir, apostolic service. Nor must we forget tluft many Christians are becoming more and more consci us of their obligations, and looking with deeper interest into the needs and sorrows and clain s of the fallen and dependent. We recognize with great thankfulness that this is an age of passionate pity for human suffering and oppression and want. Institutions wioh every charitable purpose are multiplying around us. Retreats and homes for the aged, asylums for the orphan and dependent, hospitals for the sick and incurable, in- dustrial and ragged schools to grapple][with ignorance and crime, and a thousand other institutions that are seeking to educate, and bless, and overtake the nioral and spiritual needs of mankind. The haunts of vice are being explored by the feet of pitying love, the whole law of service is under- going a change, and the lowest criminals are being rescued and changed into citizens and saints, as the choicest fruit of the Christian spirit. But I am afraid that even yet this principle of spiritual life is not sufficiently recognized by individuals avid churches. We do not understand a drunken Christian, or a profligate Christian, but we seem to admit that strange paradox, an idle Christian, though the Bible distinctly affirms, " Woe to them that are at ease in Zion," 126 THE KIGRTEOUS SHINING. i I ■ >S I H>!t/ and Christ commanded, "Cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness." The man who sits still doing nothing, or onlj' grumbling at what others do, will not receive the re- ward and commendation of the faithful servant. Let us remember that we have all a work to do for Christ and for man, and let us be Christian enough to do it. II. The Rewards or Service. 1st. There is the reward of success and the gratulation and joy that attends it. The expressions so connected, " they that be wise," and "they that turn manj to righteousness" seem to suggest and insure that all wise and well-directed efibrt must be successful. There is neither doubt nor fear nor hesitation expressed. The same blessed assurance is , conveyed in Paul's Epistle to the Corinthians where he writes, "Paul plantetii, Apollos watereth, Grod giveth the increase." And whenever did wise, well-directed and faithful labor for the well-being of others fail of blessing '? All departments of Christian toil — the home, the school, the temple, the wayside — bear testimony by a tribute of souls to the success of spiritual service. And in that success? with all its accompanying good, the Christian worker finds an abundant reward. John Newton once said, " If I miglit but soothe the grief of a child, or hold a cup of cold water to the lips of a beggar, I should feel that God had put signal honor on me." Elizabeth Fry once replied to a friend, who met her on her way to Newgate prison, and expressed her wonder that she (Miss Fry) who had known the rarest pleasures of the gay world, who was a daughter of the Gur- neys, should be content to spend her time with outcasts and thieves, " I never knew real happiness until my dear Master and Lord revealed to me what life is for, and I learned like Him to go 'ibout doing good." Regarding all Christian THE RIG-HTEOUS SHINING. 127 servant nothing, e the re- Let us i and for tion and I, "they onsness" •directed nor fear ranee is ^here he giveth lied and lessing 1 lool, the souls to success* :er finds I might d water t signal ad, who sed her rarest he Gur- tsts and Master learned iristian effort in the same high and holy light — to feed the hungry, to clothe the destitute, to wipe away the tear of sorrow, to pour comfort into the heart of the grief-stricken, to shed light and hope into the home of the poor and bereaved, to change the habitation of crim6 into a temple of God, and the criminal into a saint, to light up the room of the dying with an immortal hope, to lift a life into fellowship with Christ here and hereafter — is a blessed work tliat brings its own reward. And no one can know the joy, the ecstatic joy, of Christian service but those who engage in it. 2nd. Tlie reward of heaven with all its compensation and glory. The word compensation will be accepted by all Christians in this connection with the full recognition of the limit which readily suggests itself. We can never merit, but we may truly and worthily win, the heavenly rewards. The moment the eye of a saint is turned toward the heavenly home it kindles into eloquent brightness. There he feels every want will be met, and every service honored. Noth- ing done, or suffered, or sacrificed for Christ will be for- gotten or go unrewarded. While tiirones and crowns and palaces and earthly grandeur vanish away, the thought, the tear, the gift, tlie toil for Christ will l)e rememV)ered. Every pang shall become a pleasure, every scar an abiding memorial of honor, because representing the faithfulness which the diadem shall crown. Then sliall the recorded word and look of kindness dropped by one who had no more to give, and the mite, and cup of cold water presented with a heart big enough to have given the world, be divinely acknowledged. And the service of the Sabbath and the life, multiplied a hundred-fold, shall then ripen into a glorious harvest. But while no work shall go unacknowledged, all the glorified will not be rewarded alike. It has been beauti- fully said, all the saints sliall have one heaven ; but surely 128 THE RIGHTEOUS SHINING. they who have led many to righteousness shall h&xe^mani/ heavens in one. Rank, station, conduct, motives, sacrifices, services, all will appear and be duly acknowledged in the degrees of the glorified. And when our text speaks of the glorified saint shining as the brightness of the firmament, or as the stars forever and ever, you must not forget the other passage in the fifteenth chapter of the first of Corinthians which speaks of one star differing from another star in glory. Let it never be supposed that Paul, after a life of complete devotion to his Master's glory, shall have no higher heaven Ihan the penitent thief, who was saved by a miracle of mercy when the pendulum of life was making its last vibration. God will carefully see, and heaven will de- lightedly acknowledge, to, the just claims and rewards of all the saved, so that every redeemed one shall receive according as his work has been. v& many acrifices, i in the ^s of the .ment, or :he other rinthians ' star in a life of 10 higher I miracle f its last will de- wards of 1 receive XIV. REST AT LAST. "But go thou thy way till the end be: for ihou ahalt rest and stand in thy lot at the end of the days." — Daniel xii. 13. % ^'^O VIEW prophecy in the light of a partial or complete fulfilment is a great advantage. It satisfies us that the prophet was inspired and his prediction true. Now, of most of the predictions of Daniel it may be said they are fulfilled and have become history. All his predic- tions relating to the kings of Babylon were fulfilled in his own time. And his predictions relating to the four great monarchies became history long centuries ago. The first or GOLDEN HEAD, viz., Babylon, swayed its wide sceptre over the nations with absolute power until its destruction, as Daniel predicted, by the armies of Cyru&. The second, the breast AND ARMS OF SILVER, viz., the Mcdo-Persian, established an empire from the rising of the »un to the setting thereof, and continued supreme in power and dominion until the third arose, with iiis belly and thighs of brass, viz., the Gneco-Macedonian, or, as they are termed in classic litera- ture, the brazen-coated Greeks, because they wore coats and helmets of brass. Under Alexander the Great, and after the battle of Arbela, the Graeco-Macedonian Empire became supreme and held universal sway. But it too gave place to a fourth and yet greater power, an Iron Kingdom, "with its LEGS AND feet OF IRON." The Roman Empire arose and rf- • 4i i 1-' I- X'; { m 130 REST AT LAST. extended and subdued until its power was universal and co-extensive with the known world. The Iron Kingdom swallowed up all the rest for hundreds of years, until it, according to this prediction, was divided into TEX kingdoms. And from that time, Daniel remarks, there shall be no uni- versal monarchy set up on the earth until Christ shall have dominion from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the eartli. And this prediction has been singularly ful- filled. Charlemagne and Napoleon Bonaparte tried hard by the sword and by alliances to establish a universal monarchy, but both failed terribly because the Word of the Lord standeth sure. But some of the predictions of this book may yet remain to be fulfilled ; and till God's time comes we are commanded in the right spirit to wait and work. Let us do so in the same spirit tliat Daniel did. I. The Suggested Course of a Tuue and Consistent Life — " Go thou thy way till the end be." 1st. We see that the practical, not the curious and specula- tive, is the real destiny of life. " Go thou thy way till the end be " is a standing rebuke to the curious seeking, while it reveals the essential practicalness of true living. It is as though Daniel while gazing upon dynasties changed, crowns tossed as bubbles amid the royal gambling of war, and sceptres and kingdoms and the most brilliant of earthly things a mere wreck on the heaving surge, felt lost in the mysteries of the wonderful vision and wanted still further to know of the times and seasons which God had withheld. And he said, " Oh, my Lord, what shall be the end of these wonders?" And God replied, "Go thou thy way, Daniel, till the end be." The words are closed and sealed till then, when they shall be unfolded and fulfilled according to the pre- arranged and Divine purpose. This one rebuke and direc- ersal and Kingdom , until it, :iNfJDOMS. )e no uni- liall have the ends lUirly ful- 1 hard by lonarchy, bhe Lord this book me comes nd work. )NSISTENT / specula- y till the ng, while It is as 1, crowns kvar, and earthly >st in the further rvithheld. of these luiel, till en, when the pre- id direc- REST AT LAST. 131 tion was enough for Daniel and should be for the Christian world. To every one God's voice is, Work. Go thy divinely directed way of service to the very close of life, rather than waste brain and being in profitless and curious questionings. The counsel here given is needed by all, for there are events in every life, more or less wrapped in mystery, the difficul- ties or meaning of which we are sometimes impatient to know, and vainly strive to solve ; whilst some by taste and disposition have little or no sympathy for the practical, but are always running after the curious. Noble and God- glorifying service they call drudgery ; but they are willing, nay anxious, to talk from morning to night about millen- niums, and second comings, and when the battle of Arma- geddon was fought, and about the seven plagues, and the seven vials, and the scarlet woman, and the lost tribes, and other utterly profitless questions. They could quote all the passages of Scripture that feed a favorite isiu, but that pre- cious text of the Master's own example, " I must work the works of Him that sent me while it is day," they never study or follow. To all the curious, and speculative, and unprofit- able squanderers of life's precious hours and time's golden opportunities these words speak in strong and earnest rebuke, "Go thou thy way till the end be." As Christians and as Churches, duties press upon us, so many and weighty and overwhelmin.g that there is not a moment or an 'oppor- tunity to bt lost. "VVe are called upon of God to purify earth as well as to people heaven, to Christianize the laws and customs and habits of the people as well as to save their souls. And in Svieking to sanctify human surroundings, and to dash the cup of poison from the drunkard's lips, and raise the fallen and debased to manhood and citizenship and Christlikeness, and to fulfil our duty to our nation as well as to individuals, to secure the ascendency of Christian ' 132 REST AT LAST. principles in all representative and official positions, is a work so great and pressing that it challenges our best powers and exacts our most prolonged and self-saciificing efforts always and everywhere. And that man is not a Christian who neglects his duty to Crod and to his country that he may gratify an idle curiosity. 2nd. These words suyyest that spiritual life should be maiptained and spiritual service performed despite every dividing circumstance. " Thou shalt stand in thy lot at th« end of the days" reminds you in the most solemn tones that evasives and circumstances will not be accepted in the place of duty and fidelity to God, by Him who knoweth all things. We shall stand in our lot, accepted if we have been true, rejected if we have been false or unfaithful. We shall stand in our lot, apart from all persons and separate from all surroundings. Circumstances are influential, and we are often their victims. But we are not necessarily swayed by either favorable or unfavorable circumstances. Our moral freedom may, and should, assert its superiority to all surroundings. There is within us a greater power than our environment. Hence we are responsible for our character and conduct, and shall stand in < ir lot of accountability and destiny. Christian people should not seek to excuse or justify their delinquencies by pleading peculiarity of temperament or situation, for they must give an account to God. Let no Christian person suppose that he would be pure and angelic but for some unfortunate something that has prevented it. That is a false plea altogethei-. If a man cannot be a Christian where he is and where Cod has placed him, ho cannot be a Christian anywhere. If one cannot serve God amid self-denial and difficulties and cross-bearing, he would not in more fortunate and agreeable circumstances. As we think of standing in our lot, and remember the ons, 18 a ?t powers ig efforts Christian y that he ihould be ite every iot at th« nn tones ed in the oveth all we have Pul. We separate itial, and ecessarily n stances. riority to wer than character ntability o excuse iarity of count to vould be ing that f a man IS placed cannot bearing, ) stances. ber the REST AT LAST. 133 solemn, overwhelming isolation these words set forth, let us be true to conviction and opportunity and duty, 3rd. The end. The end here referred to is tlie close of time. The end of the days of probation and privilege. The end of the days of conflict and change. And what an end that will be! The end of disputes, and quan'els, and sectarianism. The end of despotism, and i-ebellion, and of evil. The end of toil, and weariness, and suffering. The end of names, and sects, and isms. 'J'he end of war, and want, and ruin. The end of sin and death. Then shall the desert blos- som as the rose, and the valley l)ecome jubilant with praise. Then shall the nations recount God's marvels, and history retrace His footsteps, and the redeemed earth break forth in one gT-and harmony of song. Blessed end for the righteous, when all their days of warfare and weeping and trial shall have passed forever. When evil in every form shall have come to a perpetual end. When only goodness and blessed- ness, and salvation, and glory, and honor shall remain to all eternity. II. The Declared Blessedness of the Future — " Thou .shnlt rest." Christian's The word rest is full of charm and sweetness to the tired pilgrim. Amid the weariness of the present we long for rest. It is nature's sweet restorer, and all nature needs and seeks it. The leafless tree in winter, the quiet bird in its nest, and the sleeping infant in its cot, all follow this same law. And the magic of night, as it noise- lessly comes over the face of nature, and moves from land to land with soft and soothing touch, lulls the woi-ld to rest. God has made the very best provision to meet this inevitable need. Rest is the stimulus and need and pre- paration for work, The intellect must have its retreats 10 f M ■ 134 REST AT LAST. I' * in If and seasons of quietude to sustain its exertions. The mind must have resting places of truth from which to start and to whici: it may return, or temptation will overwiielm it. The heart must have relaxation or it cannot V)ear long the strain on its noblest sympathies. The holiest sorrow or joy or love exhaust without repose. And even the .spiritual faculty nmst rest in God, or it will sink into doubt and despair. But the allusion before us is to the rest beyond — the rest that remaineth for the people of God on the other side of the death river in the eternal home above., Ist. Tliat rest is not one of unconsciousness. We cannot understand how any wise man can conclude that the human spirit, after death, is unconscious. A man nwiy say, I cannot tell how there can be thought and conscious- ness in a disembodied spirit. Of course he cannot under- stand it, because it is outside and beyond the sphere of his present knowledge. Will you think for a moment of what dreams may foreshadow or suggest? Sleep is the image of death, and in it the senses are sealed up so that a man knows nothing of what is going on around him. Yet the spirit in dreams opens up new scenes, solves strange and wonderful questions, and seems to think and act in a world of its own. And if the spirit can thus act without the aid of the bodily senses, may it not be an intimation of the capability of the soul living in consciousness and acting freely while the body is lying in the grave. To-day you meet a man on the street, or in his home, full of life and power ; five minutes after you hear that he is dead. Which is the conscious, thinking man, that which lies before you, or that which has passed away? That which lies before you is a lifeless body from which the consciousness has passed. If so, then the consciousness must be with the part that has passed away. You might I'eadily conclude that i I Hi I REST AT LAST. 135 The mind start and [•whelm it. r long the row or joy ! spiritual loubt and beyond — the other Ve cannot that the man nmy conscicus- lot under- lere of his it of what ! image of at a man Yet the •ange and n a world ut the aid on of the lid acting 3-day you )f life and Which fore you, es before sness has the part lude that the state upon which the Christian's spirit enters in the life beyond is full of conscious blessedness from the stfitements of God's Word. Paul declared that to depart is far better. But with his intellect and range of sympathy and love for Christ and love for men, would he have said " To die is gain " if death w ., a passing into uncon.scious- ness? Under such circumstances, to such a man, death would be a calamity to be shuddered at. Hut confident that after death he would enter at once upon a liigher and holier life, in the full possession of all the powei's and capabilities of his spirit, he hailed the change that freed him from the limitations of the body with delight, and longed for the grander existence beyond. 2nd. It is a rest of tireless actimttj and complete victory. It is rest in contradistinction to the toil and labor antl sorrows and disappointments of earth. Can you conceive of a rest where there will be timeless activity and yet no sense of weakness or languor, but immortal vigor and youth and power and susceptibility. A rest of unwearied service, of ceaseless worship; where they serve Him day and night in His temple. A rest of calm, conscious victory over all that disturbs or destroys. A rest that no impatience or disappointment or ambition shall ever disquiet. A rest where the victoi'y is so complete that every mystery shall be changed into a mercy; every Providence into a chapter of goodness; and death itself be swallowed up in victory. A rest where the whole eternity shall become a heaven of unutterable glory and coronation. A rest in the throne, room and bosom of the King of kings. A rest so glorious and perfect that its peace shall never again be disturbed, that its joy shall never again be saddened, that its purity shall never again be marred, that its victory shall never again be challenged. O glorious rest, forever with the Lord. • ; t s 136 REST AT LAST. 3rd. It will be an uninterrupted rent. In this respect how unlike the experience of earth this rest will be. Here we find rest for our faith, oi' heart, or hope, or soul confidence for a tinu^ only, to he a<(ain agitated and tried. And how often, amid the changeful and distracting experience o! earth, we long for a I'cst unhroken and perfect. Tn heaven the Christian shall reach this (^xpei-ience of uninteri'upted rest. Bereaved one, death enters not, slays not, sunders not there. Sick one, disease pales not, enfeebles not, wastes not there. Oppressed one, cruelty injures not, wounds not, crushes not there. Forsaken one, inconstancy dis- appoints not, chills not, mocks not there. Penitent one, sir exists not, embitters not, bui'dens not there. Weeping one, tears spring not, scald not, dim not there. Let us labor, therefore, to enter into that rest. Do not, through unfaithfulness, or perversity, or indifference, or sin, miss so grand a home and rest forever. 1 > ! ; w W !'t( s respect e. Here onfidencc And liow Hence o! 11 heuven teri'upted , sunders ^t, wastes wounds ancy dis- tent one, Weeping Let us ;, tlifougli 1, miss so XV. REPENTANCE " Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." — Lukk xiii. 3. MONG the great crowd who were at this moment listen- ing to Christ, was one who readily seized the oppor- tunity to draw Him out on one of the oldest and eonnnonest beliefs of the Jews. " There were present at that season some that told Him of the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacritices." Ju.st when this slauglit^er of these Galileans occurred is not recorded. It must have been at some feast at Jerusalem, in the outer court of the temple, since the blood of the worshippers was mingled with their sacritices. But the silence of Josephus the historian about it seems to indicate that riots and mas- sacres during the Procuratorshi]) of Pilate were so frequent that it was needless to recount them all. This piece of news was told to Christ to get His deliverance on the ques- tion of the connection between sin and calamity. The Jews believed that all physic«al maladies and visitations wei*e a direct judgment from God on personal and r articular sins. The proverbs was commonly held by theni: "The fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge." The question put to Christ, " Who hath sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind]" grew out of a strong belief of the Jews that disease or affliction always implied moral and specific wrong. Christ rm H 138 REPENTANCE. i . ' ! ! instantly corrected this view and trught them that they could not jude very poor, or afflicted, or tried, and yet be very godly ; or a man might be very rich, or prosperous, or healthy, and yet be desperately wicked. Woi'ldly or bodily conditions. He shows, are not the proper measure of a man's spiritual state; but character, the condition of the heart within and before God, is the true test of what we are really and spiritually. Having taught His questioners that every world and con- dition is governed by its own laws, and not by the arbi- trary and foolish beliefs of men, Christ proceeds to show them the common need of man from a common moral state. As all have sinned and all are sinners, all must repent, and all must know the same spiritual changr within. From this text we propose to set forth the doctrine of Repentance. I. The Nature of Repentance. It is r">t easy to draw a line of distinction between the direct approaches to repentance and the workings of repent- ance itself ; or between those operations of the mind and heart which constitute repentance and the effects produced. What leads to and is of the very essence of evangelical repentance, and what flows from it in the experience and life, so interblend and act upon each other that a theo- logian, however metaphysically gifted, cannot analyze and describe them as the chemist does iiis drugs. There are points in the experience of genuine repentance not separ- able, not definable in exact terms and data. But the nature and place of true repentance one cannot fail to understand if he will seek and follow the leadings of God's Word. 1st. Jiepentance includes deep and true conviction. What means God will employ to produce this awakening of the ' REPENTANCE. 139 hilt they material t he veiy or a man (1 yet he le shows, :,ate; hut d hefore iritually. and con- the arhi- to show 'al state. )ent, and I. From entance. veen the f repent- lind and reduced, angelical ence and a theo- lyze and here are ot separ- e nature derstand rd. Wliat » of the conscience that we call conviction — the fii-st clearly marked step in the path of true reptnitance — we cannot determine. Hometimes (Jod makes use of His Word to pen<»trate be- tween the joints of the liarness and search and scorch to the very innermost centre of the being. At othei* times He uses providential or national visitations, such as reverses, losses, devastating Hoods, pestihuice, war, or some great overshadowing calamity, to awaken the slumbering con- science. At another time He enters the housejiold and takes the child or husband or wife or idol of the family, hoping thereby to ai-ouse the forgetful and unconcerned. The Holy Spirit is also waiting His opportunity to warn, or instruct, or appeal to the alarms oi- hopes of our inner selves. But whatever instrumentality God may use to bring about this tirst stage in a repentant state, true con- viction there must be in order to true repentance. The mi.id taught by the truth, the heart aroused by the Spirit, nmst move the conscience to a deep and sincere conviction of sin. When the conscience is thus aroused, as if by the distinct and peremptory voice of God within, it will press through all questions and difficulties, borne on by the agonies of its own unrest, and the conviction of its own sense of right, to the footstool of the God of mercy. There it voices the soul-tumult, the conscience-deeps that wail and cry out for the living God; there it tinds that the convul- sions and upheavings of conviction but break the heart that it may be truly and effectually renewed ; there it finds that tho piercings of conviction but probe to the bottom that the hurt of sin may not be slightly but radically healed. 2nd. Repeyifrnwe includes genuine contrition. A true and godly sorrow for sin is another essential feature in the experience of evangelical repentance. There is a sorrow for sin which does not lead to repentance. The man who ! I 140 REPENTANCE. U-l- has inipvoverished himself and Iris family by his folly, may show unfeigned and fruitless sorrow for the loss of fortune, but that is not contrition. Tho man whose crimes may have made him the inmate (;f a prison, may lament over the consequences of his crime, and yet not feel one penitent emotion. The most craven may at times grieve because of the penalties of sin and crawl with abject meanness, until they become things of scorn, to escape the torture and con- sequences of sin, but shuddering at and dreading the results is not a godly sorrow for sin. Judas in this sense I'epented. He reflected on his crime with horror and trembled for the result, till goaded by terror he rushed upon ;i suicide's death? But that is what the Scriptures call the sorrow of the world which worketh death. Contrast with this the repentance of Job. When addressing the God against whom he had sinned, he said: " I repent and abhor myself in dust and ashes." Not dissimilar an^ the feelings attr-ibuted in Scrip- tui'C to all true and genuine penitents before God. This deep contrition and self-abasement of soul must be felt by every one who truly repents of sin. Feeling that in God's sight he is guilty and that he does not deserve forgiveness, and that he can only hope for it through the love and sacrifice of Christ, he looks on Him whom he has pierced and mourns. .Sincere contrition for sin will vary in its out- ward expressions, because we differ in temperament and ex- perience. In one ycu may trace it in deep thoughtfulnees and reflection ; in another it may be seen in excessive weep- ing. In one it may produce a sti'ange silence that cannot shed a tear to relieve itself ; in another it may be frantic witli grief. One it may plunge forward into more absorbing business pursuits ; another it may unfit for the time for all business or common concerns. But however diverse the ex- pression, real and contrite sorrow for sin there must be. Is it REPENTANCE. 141 lly, may fortune, ues may 3nt over penitent cause of ss, until md con- B results epented. I for the s death 'I le world >entanee he had lust and n Serip- . This felt by n God's iveness, ve and pierced its out- and ex- :fulne.':s e weep- cannot frantic sorbins: for all the ex- . Is it not natural and right that it should be sol Who that has a proper conception of the foubiess and guilt of sin could feel otherwise 1 When you think of the grand harmony of the universe deranged by the discord of sin ; when you think of the strife of self-will in battle witli the loving will r < ! ^d through the opposition of sin ; when you think of hav :.l; .* d a spirit from (jod pure and noble, and then see that it i ks been dulled and degraded through the effects of sin ; when you think of having injured another through time, through eternity, by the temptations of sin ; when you think of the extinction of love in the soul, and, thereby, the quenching of a light brighter than the sun through the dominion of sin ; when you think of sin dashing its angry waves and raging against the purity of the throne of God ; tell me if any sorrow, even if it border on despair, can be too great to utter the agony, the hoiror, of a penitent heart at the vileness and hatefulness of sin. Eveiy enlightened person will feel, as he looks upon the nature of sin and the estrange- ment it has created between the soul and God, that, if ever he is to receive the pardon of God and live in fellowship with God, his heart must be coritrite before God. Well did the repentent Psalmist declare, " The sacritiees of God are a l>roken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart will He not despise." 3rd. liepentiUirc iur.hidea sincere confeKsvm,. 1 need scarcely say that the confession required in Scj'ipture is to God, not to man. It is a wicked perversion of the teachings and genius of God's Word to declare that confession to man or to the Church is necessary in order to salvation. There may be instances where one man has greatly wronged or injured another, and when awakened and brought to Christ he may feel the guilt of that past injustice lying like lead upon his conscience. Then, as he values peace of soul, he fli I n 1:1 'Hi ill ! i 142 tlEt>ENTANCE. will have, it may be, not only to acknowledge the wrong clone, but to make restitution to the injured. But an ex- ceptional instance of acknowledgment between man and man is not the rule and guide for all, especially on great questions of spiritual concern. Let no morbid feelings within, or false teachings of any Church, lead you wrong on this important point. Confession to God theio must be in order to true re- pentance. The Bible clearly shows that on the eve of a new life men were required to acknowledge the iniquity of the past. When David confessed, "I have sinned," then he heard the words of pardon, " Tlie Lord hath also put away thy sin." When the publican humbly cried, " God be merciful to me a sinner," thea he went down to his house justified. When the people of Ephesus came forward and burnt their books, and confessed and showed their deeds, then they rose into a Christian Church of power and spiritual character. So it will ever be. If we hide iniquity in our heart the Lord will not hear us, but if we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins. If from a diseased sensitive- ness we shrink from the honest confession of sin to God, we must never expect the divine favor; but if we frankly confess our sins before Him, He will blot them out forever. Let us tlien not hesitate, when our hearts are touched by the Spirit of God, toHiome at once to Him in this spirit of true repentance. Don't delay to pour out before Him the stagnation and wretchedness of the awakened heart, that He may cleanse it from all sin and bujst the shackles of the soul for the wider, purer, nobler life of iahh. Then the conflict of passion and sin shall give place to the serenity of the new heart and the riglit spirit. 4th. Repentance includes a change of heart and conduct. If I were asked to put the final step of repentance into a sentence, I should say: the divorce of the soul from sin and REPENTANCE. 143 e wrong it an ex- ind man [uestions , or false iiportant > true re- [)f a new the past, eard tlie thy sin." i to me a /hen the oks, and i into a \ 80 it lie Lord faitliful ensitive- to God, frankly forever, died by spirit of lim the irt, that ^s of the lien the enity of 'conduct, e into a sin and its turning to God. Whatevei' may be our convictions or resolutions, without a change of character there can be no genuine repentance. To be scrry for sin without turning from it is hypocrisy. Sorrow for sin must lead to that entire change of heart and desire and aim which turns utterly away from sin of every form, or, in the absence of such a change, the sincerity of our repentance remains un- proved. Thus you see that repentance is more than feeling, or resolving, or confessing, or doing ; it is feeling, resolution, con- fession, action, combined. We may say that repentance is a change of mind toward God in His being, and person, and deal- ings, and law, and reijuirements, and towards the whole range of spiritual truth and duty. We may further say that repent- ance is a change of disposition toward Christ, and the Bible, and the means of grace, and the service and work of God. We may further add that repentance is a change of conduct and life, lifting the whole deportment into new and nobler currents of action. But nowever we may subdivide the idea, thefe is the claim and obligation upon every repentant one to turn from sin and live to God. Repentance has never been better defined than in the words of the poet — "ivepentance is to leave the sins we loved before, And uhow that we in earnest grieve by doing so no more." II. The Necessity and Place of Repentance. 1st. Repentance is necessary to (jive us right views oJ\ and to place us in a right relation toivard, si?i. Properly to ap- preciate the great doctrines of revelation, or rightly to value the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, we must have a proper estimate of sin. Too much of the teaching of to-day tends to an underestimate of the sinfulness of sin. It is well to dwell more upon the remedy than upon the disease* but the disease must be seen in all its horror and loathsome- • i ■M'tp^fiwr^t''.' 144 REPENTANCE. ' i'l Hi I I i:- i I 1 ^I'i-^ll n f r 111 iie.ss if wo would have it probed to the l)ottom and cured radically. It is not wise to ))e whispering " Come to Jesus," when we should be crying, " Repent and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out," and T know of no state of mind or heart that will give us such correct views of sin as a state of true i-epentance will. From every part of the Bible we see that men who truly repented saw sin and theii- own relation to it as they should, and from their experience we learn important teachings. We learn that sin is a wromj act and state. Sin is an act of transgression. It is in this form that each of us first meet it in experience. Sin is an act of coming short or of passing over, and we are as culpable for stopping short of the line of command as for going over the line of pi-ohil)ition. When a wrong act has been done, forthwith the soul of the wrong-doer is in a wrong state. The act is passed, but the guilty state continues. The facts ai-e plain. When a sin- ful deed is committed, a sinful state exists, and that state is blameworthy and condemnable. We also learn "that sin is separation from God, that it makes us so averse to God as to dislike Him, and shrink from Him, and say to Him : " Depart from us, we desire not the knowledge of Thy ways." A sinful character kept and persisted in, at length must snap asunder every cord that binds us to good, nul- lify every attraction that holds to hope and heaven, and inevitably sepirate between God and the soul forever. We further learn that sin is tuinatural and delusire. Sin is a deviation from rule. We sometimes speak of the nature of sin, but properly sin is unnatural. Nature has laws, and order, and harmony. But sin is discard, disorder, lawless- ness. Sin is delusive. It deludes as to its nature and results. It rarely appears in its true character, but often put'"^ on the garb of virtue, and so blinds the mind of him who commits it to its moral deformity. It never yield m REPENTANCE. 145 the enjoynip.nt it promises, but deceives at every turn, until, in the end, its fruit is most bitter and ruinous. Finally, we learn that sin is aelf-Ci'msed, and that our personal respon- sibility is clear and unmistakable. We often speak about our sins being inherited, and assume that our nature is corrupt and our hearts evii because the first human .sin corrupted human nature at its very source and thence in all its streams. In that way we often strive about words to no protit, and seek to confuse and shift a responsibility that the Scriptures make as clear as day. But when the heart is humbled before (lod in repentance, there is no attempt at self-justification or to shirk personal account- ability. The cry is, "/have sinned," "/acknowledge my transgres.sions, my sin is ever before me," "Against Thee, Tiiee only, have / sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight." There is no attempt to lay the blame on a tainted nature or a tempting devil, but we feel that the blame and guilt is all our own. Theii our personal relation to sin is rightly seen. We see that it is individual — my sin, not Adam's, not another's, but my own act with the consent of my own will. Satan tempted by his bewitching offers, but I fell down and worshipped him. I have been led captive by the devil, but I yielded to him and agreed to the plunder. Oh, it is my sin, my own guilty sin. I am responsible. Others have their responsibilities, but that does not remove mine. Upon me rests the guilt and crime of sin. I am self- cursed. I have cherished sinful thoughts and rejected goof' ones. I have looked at the faults of others and forgotten my own. I have yielded to evil desires and trampled upon good intentions. Oh, I have sinned, I am full of sin. Oh, God, cast me not away in Thine anger. 2nd. Repentance is a condition of salvation. We cannot be saved except we repent. Though, remember, it is only a condition. We are not saved because we repent. Do not M Mil'! I 1 146 REPENTANCE. err in placing repentance properly in our reconciliation to God. Repentance inust precede pardon, but do not hamper the Gospel with a j.etwork of human conditions and say that repentance must precede our coming to Christ. It is when weeping and humbled at Christ's feet tiiat we best and truly repent of sin. Repentance is necessary to pre- pare the heart to receive Christ's forgiveness and blessing. The seed scattered upon the beaten highway will not root and grow, for the preparation of the soil is necessary. So the soil of the heart nmst be upturned and cultivated by a repentant state in order that the truth may grow and bring forth fruit unto eternal life. Just as hunger values food and prepares us gratefully to receive it, or as thirst values water and is so thankful for a draught, so the deep and earnest cravings of the soul awakened by repentance make us truly appreciative of the great and boundless generosity of our Lord. That God, who in His Word requires that men shall hunger and thirst after righteousness that they may be filled, that men shall feel themselves to be weary and heavy-laden rightly to come for His offered rest, wisely requires that men shall feel their need of Him in the up- welling and conscious yearning of the heart in order to salvation. A sovereign or a government might as well ofi'er pardon to any part or province of their country in the heat of rebellion as God could press His foregiveness on men in revolt against his authority and law. The whole soul must go forth to meet Him in a proper attitude of thought, and affection, and trust, and self-surrender, in order that the Unseen One may safely come in and dwell with us unto salvation. 3rd. Repentance is necessary to escape the ptmishment of sin. Retribution, the punishment of sin in the world to come, is plainly taught in Scripture. I know that some would have us believe that future punishment is only a REPENTANCE. 147 illation to )t hamper 5 and say ist. It is t we best ry to pre- l blessing, not root sary. 80 ated by a and bring ilues food rst values deep and mce make generosity J ires that that they be weary st, wisely n the up- order to as well ry in the ss on men hole soul thought, rder that with us ahment of world to lat some s only a childish superstition or the dream of a* morbid fancy, and that hell is only a world of shad *vs. But the Bible does not teach so when it declares, " That upon the wicked God will pour indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish," or when it declares of the impenitent, " These shall go away into everlasting punishment." T admit that much of the language of Scripture on this subject is figurative, but are they not figures of the most intense and unmiti- gated anguish? Do you say, (Jod is love? Oh, yes, but look around you in the world to-day, and do you not see that His love does not shrink from sternness and punish- ment? Do you say that God is infinite in mercy? Yes, but He is also perfect in justice. To-day you see that sin operates like other things under the law of cause and effect In that changed countenance, or emaciated frame, or ruined health, or wasted fortune, you may see one whose bones are filled with the sins of his youth. As you watch the result toward which sin works, and the final effect of which it is the cause, you clearly see that, " the soul that sinneth, it shall die." Sin and suffering are inseparable, and that law will not be reversed in any world while God is supreme. So, if we sin, we must suffer; and if we persist in sin, we must suffer forever. Nothing is more certain than that the Scriptures plainly menace the wicked with the punishment of eternal death, and if there is any meaning in language it will be eternal. We have no greater proof of God's eternity, or of heaven's eternity, or of the soul's eternity, than of the eternity of the punishment of the lost. Wher. you think of the horror, the unutteraV)le agony of a soul dying in siu and going unpardoned, unsaved, into the presence of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity, and being banished hopelessly to the perdition of the lost, with all its feaiful- ness of meaning, will you not flee from the wrath to come by bringing forth fruits meet for repentance, A . :( XVI. ! I m JUSTIP^ICATION. " Being justified by faith, we have peace with (4od through our )rd Jesus Christ "—Rom. v. 1. Lord ; : M i- 1' I i , ii f^ MONG evangelical Christians there exists no douht of /s the value and inipoitance of this Epistle, and its value *^V at the time of publication must have been immense. Paul reminds us that the Church of Rome had attained some celebrity among sister Churches, for their faith was spoken of throughout the world. But the Church had not grown perfect in Christian doctrine, for Paul longed to instruct and establish them. And to dispel their remaining ignor- ance, and inform them correctly on man's moral state, and God's system of spiritual recovery, he penned this letter. And from the first day till now this Epistle has been a tower of strength to the believing world, checking the encroachments of infidelity and antichrist, frowning upori apostasy and error, and furnishing a text-book to all who may desire to study in the school of Christ. It testifies with uncompromising severity against sin; it is the most graphic limner of man's depravity ; it unfolds clearly the universal remedy of the all-healing Saviour, and contains and defines the most momentous of Christian doctrines. The doctrine here spoken of — justification by faith — was regarded by Xhe apostles and reformers as vital to the life I^i ^ ■ JUSTIFICATION. 149 rough our doubt of I its value immense, ned some as spoken ot grown ) instruct ng ignor- itate, and is letter. s been a king the ing upoii k to all t testifies the most parly the contains ioctrines. ith — was the life and stability of the Church. Luther maijitained that if this one doctrine were abandoned, the whole Christian system must perish with it. And this doctrine is insepar- ably connected with Ciirist's atonement for sin, as clearly set foi'th in this Scripture. 1. Justification. Many writers and speakers on this subject regard the word justitication as {ijoreiim'r term, borrowed from a court of justice. As we see it, the application is obscure and in- correct. The primary and distinctive meaning of the word "justify " would be this: — Suppose the ])erson accused of crime was brought to judgment and an enquii-y instituted as to whether he had violated the law, and the evidence brought failed to establish the charge, and being found blameless he would be pronounced just; but a case of pardon is perfectly dissimilar to a case of justitication. The pardoned man must have been found guilty by evidence or confession, and justice pronounces his guilt; mercy arrests the sentence, and grants forgiveness and liberty, yet he goes forth to the world with the stigma of crime which nothing can reverse. The one who pardons the man cannot change his character or obliterate his guilt. To say that a pardoned man is justified is a perversion of language; and to say that an acquitted man is pardoned is a gross insult to the individual. Then the cjuestion would arise, how could any man be justified in the sight of God, " For all have sinned and come short of His glory." Tiierefore every mouth must be stopped, for the whole world is guilty before God. Man's moral depravity, is proved by the clearest evidence, the most universal experience, by painful personal conscious- ness, and God's own attestations. The best men — the purest in the judgment of the world and Scripture, standing like 11 N 1, : t ^ mm J,. 1 H . ■ 111 ''J i ^-(f- 'tfiH 150 JUSTIFICATION. polished coliunns of noble, dignified, virtuous manhood — have ever felt in God's sight to say, " Beliold, T am vile, for I have sinned against heaven and Ijefore Thee." This being the case, the only escape from the consequences of trans- gression must be pardon, the blotting out of sin, or j)assing by sin, through divine mercy. But this in itself is not justi- fication; properly speaking, it is something extended to a man by pure favor on the very giound that he cannot be justified. Here it is that we see that the term has obtained an important theological significan('<\ a netv sense applying it to a case where it cannot strictly apply, indicating that some ideas have been imported info if, which were not there originall whose parentage must be ti-aced to the New Testani'Mit, and that the tei-m as used in the Scriptures, and in reference to sinners, is employed in a sense peculiar to itself, and without parallel in any human transaction. For with God pardon is justiji cation. The forgiveness of sin is the recognition of righteousness. Strange and inexplicable as this may appear, Paul's idea of paj'don is not merely for- giveness, but justification. One act implies and always accompanies the other. The subject has given rise to a great number of questions as to the ground on which the Divine action proceeds, the principles by which it is regu- lated, and the way in which it is accomplished. One thing is certain, that the whole transaction is based upon, and springs out of, the atoning work of Christ. In the sul)- stitutionary sacrifice of the Son of God the whole mystery is explained, so far as it may be explained, and that substi- tutionary work the Apostle thus epitomizes: ** God hath made Him to be sin for us who kne^ no sin, tliat we might be made the lighteousness of God in Him." Do not mis- take the language or suppose that Christ was actually made sin, or a sinner; it means that by ready and voluntary con- ■ ^ JUSTIFICATION. 161 aiihood- — vile, for J 'his beinjj; of trans- 3r passiiij^ not justi- nded to a cannot be s obtaiuocl - applyiufi; a ting that not tliere the New (tures, and eculiar to :ion. Foi- ls of sin is pi i cable as iierely foi- d always lise to a which the it is regu- One thing upon, and 1 the sub- e mystery hat substi- God hath we might o not mis- lally made ntary con- sent, Christ became the representative of the sinner, and accordingly was proceeded against as though He had been the sinner. " Fo>- the Lord liath laid on Him the iniquity of us all." "By His stripes w^^ are healed." Tn the same sense as our dement is imputed to Christ, Christ's itterit is imputed to us. So that in the eye of justice, and for all the purposes of God's moral government, His sufteriTigs are our sufferings, His obedience is our obedience, and we are made the righteousness of (iod in Him. N(»t that Christ's I'ighteousness is actually transferred to us to make us personally meritorious, foi- moi'al character cannot be trans- ferred. But the sacriiice for sin offered by the accepted, sinless substitute presented a complete satisfaction to God for man. " So that He could be just while the justitier of him that believeth in Christ." Justification is expressed and simplified in the ])arable of Joshua the High Priest. Joshua comes in clothed with filthy garments. The? voice .says, Take away those filthy gai'uients, put a mitre on his head, clothe him in royal raiment, make him rich and fair. These filthy garments representing sin, and the changed state representing regeneration and justification ; here you have a graphic picture of the glorious change wrought in man, and for man, through the justification of Christ. II. The Divinely Appointed Way of Justification — «.% faith." Faith is one of the simplest subjects of Scripture, not needing some elaborate treatise of man's genius to explain it. Believing is breathing, and every man understands that, though he cannot define it. Breathing is easy when the body is right; so is believing when the soul is right. Breathing is impossible to the dead ; so is believing from the heart unto salvation to the man dead in trespasses H H 152 jrSTIFKATION. : f 1 1 r' 11 and ill siiiR. Faith is the vinion of the soul, Hupplyiiig the place of sij^ht. Faith is an act^ not a ntate. Faith is an active creative pri ciple in the soul ; it seizes and draws the truth from itself, and appropriates it as a livin<^ element within us, vivifying and making part of ourselves tlu^ truth which reason or revelation leaves without us. Not a few have mystified faith by talking of different sorts. They have spoken of natural faith, histoiical faith, spiritual faith. They might as well speak of geological faith, or astronomical faith, or military faith, foi faith ; while it has innumerable ob- jects, is in essence one. lielieving in the depths of the ocean does not nuike it a marine faith. Believing the history of Mo.ses does not make it a biographical faith. A justifying faith is the same in nature and substance as we exercise every day in common and temimral things, only the object to which it looks and on which it rests is different. God's wisdom in making faith the medium of justification is very apparent on the face of things. 1st. Faitli can he understood hij all. Faith, instead of being, as some have stated, the poi'tion only of weak minds and diseased imaginations, is, in a sense, tlie common heritage of the race, and a thing of daily exercise. What can be done without faith 1 It is the law and condition and strength of social relations. That child accepts many things before he' can reason or understand them for himself, and you applaud his faith in a parent's testimony. You send him to school and there is the same disposition and faitli manifested towards the teacher. The mass of men accept on faith many facts which they have neither time nor talent to comprehend. The world's commerce and trade is carried on on this principle of faith. You believe in the existence of countries and people whom you have never seen. You must and do accept the most of your information JUSTIFICATION. 163 lying the itii is an I raws the element the truth rot a few s. They nal faitl\. ononiical ;ral)le ob- :he ocean listory of ustifying .•ise every to whicli asdoin in apparent istead of ik minds common What condition :)ts many limself, ly. You tion and of men ;her time ind trade ve in the ve never ormation on the testimony of othtM's V)y faitli. You are ill, and send for a physician, and receive his prescription, and take his medicine because you have faith in his skill and art. The world could not hold together without faith. You go from your shop, or mill, or ottice to your everyday meal in faith, so that faith, as a thing of every day e.xercise, is and must be easily understood. 2nd. Faith may he exerclned hif all. Justification before God must V)e on the grouiul of human rnerif or divine grace. Men attempt in vain to unite the two as a conjoined basis of acceptance before God, but they are as discordant as a thing of I'iyht and a thing oi favor ^ as that which you claim or hey. Paul argues, if justification be by grace, then it is no more of works, otherwise grace can be no more grace. It would lo.se its nature and cease to be what it is by he admixture, frustrating the whole scheme of redeeming mercy, and falsifying the representations of truth. Justification by any merit of ours is imposmhle. There may l)e some of you thinking to reach heaven by obedience to law; are you wiser than God? Is the atonement a mistake ? Christ is become of no effect unto you who are justified by the law. Ye are fallen from grace. Go to the law and see if every requirement has been fulfilled, and then go deeper and see how far the spirit has been apprehended and lived. Have you loved the Lord with all your heart, and mind, and soul, and strength, and your neighbor as yourself ] What answer does conscience force you to give 1 Is there not the blush of guilt on the clieek and the agony of condemnation within I And unless Christ takes you up into His infinite compassion and removes your guilt and sin, you are cast out forever, " For by the deeds of the law shall no flesh be justified." Justification by faith is the only ground of ac- ceptance, the only standard of justification attainable by ■ ' ^'t;;*?^',: ^w^p^tjiT^'i-^r*"' 154 JUSTIFICATION. '■^ I i'" i\ > I . !:.t all. The vilest, the most guilty, the most unworthy may find encouragement anr" hope here. While they remember that in the sufferings, and obedience, and death of Christ, God's honor has been consulted and man's cond'tion met. Any other course or condition of justification must be limited and partial ; all men could not lalwr, or purchase, or merit it if it depended on any of these. But all can accept a free gift, all may receive the bounty and benevo- lence of God. III. The Result of Justification God." '' IfV /larf peace with This peace is peculiar, and new, and personal, and incomparable Who can describe the peace which first flows into the forgiven soul, when the storm and tempest of sin and condemnation is passed, and the sweet calm and holy tranquility of Divine peace succeeds; when the soul is again reconciled and at one with God? For this is peace with God, that is, betweeii the soul and God. The jarring discords and unrest of sin have given place to sweet communion and holy confidence in God. This peace is real, conscious, j)ersonal. " Wa have peace." There is a peace which is not felt and real, but merely outside and superficial. The sunny sides of Etna smile with vineyards, grapes ripen, flowers bloom, birds sing, flock.s play, yet beneath all this scene of placid beauty volcanic fires are heaving and young earthquakes struggle in birth throes. Such is the peace the world gives. The lips may smile, the eyes sparkle, and laughter resound, yet under- neath all tliere may be a current of restless agony. We all live a double life. The life which others see and think we live and the life of the soul revealed only to our own conscious ness and God. The real life of every man is this inner life JlTSTIFICATtON. 155 of conflict, and trial, and hope, and fear, and reraorse, and self-congratulation. There is nothing this side of eternity so suii)lime and awe-inspiring as this life-battle which deso- lates or divines the soul. You see a man with gentle move- ment bowing smilingly in his morning greeting as he walks the street. Notliing indicates disquietude within. But look within him in lonely hours, in midnight watchings, in seasons (>f forced reflection, what a despair Hood rushes through him, hurrying him to temporal and eternal ruin. Remorse thunders through evety avenue of the soul, passion charges his weak defences, till he cries out in very helplessness. Such is the world's gift to its devotees. The peace of youth and prosperity and pleasure the first stori»i overthrows; but the real heartfelt peace of the believe)' is very different. He may be assailed and drenched by the angry tempest without, while the grin of ridicule may mock his exhausting sorrow, but in tlie inner depths of his jsoul, at the very springs of feeling, therj! is calm and peace and holy quietude. His soul is at rest in the conscious confi dence that God is his friend, and that all things shall work together for good under God's all-superintending fatherhood. He abideth under the shadow of the Almighty, and there, he finds deep, pure, spiritual, assuring, unciiangeable peace, which but anticipates the calm and unruffled peace of heaven. That peace which is imaged in the waveless sea of crystal where storm and tempest may agitate no more. And thert' ultimately and forever the man who through the blood of the everlasting covenant is justified, and sanctified, and glorified, shall find the fulness of that peace which Christ gives as the portion of them that believe. V, I '.J ' I ^TPf XVII. SANCTIFICATION, " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." — Matt. v. 8. i 1 ' H|Mkl vll • t ^B 'h'illH ■i ■ ■ ^ w ijijjr^H i' ^ HIS tsxt forms a part of our Lord's incomparable \tJ sermon on t!'e Mount. From such lips you would expect the highest truths afiecting man's well-being and destiny. /i.nd it is only asserting the merest truism to say that in this sermon you are more than gratified. The whole discourse Is only sucli as Christ could deliver. Every sen- tence is full, is comprehensive, is instructive, is tender, is sublime, is Ohristlike ; and the complete sermon reveals a compass of subject, breadth of view, clearness of perception, force of argument, grandeur of thought, and perfection of style, fa and nowhere else. There is hardly a topic refer ring to man's present or future, his outer or inner life, on wliich it does not treat clearly and faithfully. Christ's utterances are not the blushing, hesitating utterance of a child, but the fearless, emphatic declarations of the God- man. How beautifully He commences His discourse with blessing, and how specific and true is He in the selection of charK-cter, and how He unfolds the nature of the blessing to be enjoyed by each. But of the nine distinct cliaracters he pronounces " Blessed," not one evidences the divinity and spirituality of His teaching as clearly as the one before us. SANCTIFICATION. 167 >Iatt. v. 8. iiiparable )u would eing and 111 to say he whole very sen- iender, is reveals a rceptioii, ection of •io refer f life, on Christ's tnce of a ;he God- irse with ection of Bssing to icters he lity and efore us. 1. The Pukity Referred to — Sanctification. The doctrine here stated under the designation "purity of heart " is the doctrine of Christian Sanctitication, and on this we present three leading the ights : — 1st, TJie nature of purity of lipart, or SanHitication. Properly to understand this purity we should know the subject of it. Purity differs according to the being posses- sing it. If we speak of angel ic jnirUij we refer to the unstained and spotless perfection of unfallen spirits. If we speak of absohite pnriti/, such as God's, we refer to that state in which the nature has no contact or affinities with evil; is inaccessible to sin, perfectly untemptable. Sue'" a state of purity may not be realized by man here. We must look for a definition in harmony witli what Scripture shows to be attainable by man on earth. Two thoughts will render the nature of this purity obvious to you. It is an ENTIRE FREEDOM FROM THAT WHICH ORIGINATES SIN, AND A COMPLETE DELIVERANCE FROM THAT WHICH ADOPTS AND DELIGHTS IN SIN. If you Want these thoughts enlarged, that which originates sin iu a corrupt heart, for out of the heart proceeds lying, fornication, murder, and all manner of evil- This corrupt and corrupting heart must be changed into a devout and pure heart, and then it must l)e delivered from that which adopts and delights in sin, whenever a fitting op- portunity occurs. Satan and the world are both impure, and will spare no pains to tempt you to sin, especially on the besetting sin, and there is no statt of grace in this world which can elevate us alwve the possibility of temptation from without. Then what we mean by being delivered from that which adopts sin is being freed from that latent, lurking, morbid desire, which loves to think of sin, that would connnit sin but for the consequences, that 'dishes the . « W7 t!ui.mxsxi,^MJli\..l-J\H.mwm 158 SANCTIFICATION. mM punishment was not so severe and open, that dwells with pleasure on forbidden images. There must be a complete separation from this before we are pure in heart. There must be an liumble endeavor to be like the Master who said: "Satan cometh and hath nothing in me." What purity is to water, and whiteness is in snow, so must the mind and spirit be of him that is pure in heart. Corrupt passions, self-seeking, evil thoughts, vitiated affections, wrong desires, eveiytliing evil, must give place to the do- minion of what is holy and nndefiled Ijefore we are truly renewed in heart, ^ou see, therefore, that sanctification is not faultlessness, which is the mere negation of evil, but perfection, which is the positive attainment of all conciev able excellence. It is ' ■ ' to perform an act, but to achieve a character. It is ■ , retravif; God's likeness upon the renewed soul. 2nd. The neceasity of jruritj/ of heart. Several arguments might be used to show this necessity ; but two or three will now suffice us. («) The omniscience of God. A Jew would more readily understand this +erm " purity of heart " than we do, the reference being to the purity of the sacrificial victim. The lamb brought for sacrifice must not only be externally without blemish, but its skin was taken off by the sacrificial knife, to see that the flesh was spotless; and then the victim was opened, a)id divided to see that the internal parts, especially the heart, was perfect, rnd if a defect was found anywhere it was unfit for sacrifice. Now, God's omniscient eye searches every nature njore minutely than any sacrificial operation can. " For his eyes are like a flame of lire running to and fro the earth, discerning the evil and the good," hence the necessity of purity of heart. Had you onl;' fo do with h^mtui -o le ^> external fauhieisa- uess would be sufl^icient, Aleii ■ ouki '•»,:ou!) 5> no more than dls with complete There ber who What mst the Corrupt Fections, the do- re truly ification 3V'il, but conciev achieve pon the s^uments ree will w would t" than icrificial only be n off by 5ss; and hat the id if a Now, iiinutely are like ling the •f iieai't. aultlesa- [)re thiin SANCTIFICATION. 159 a blameless upright morality. If they pretended to accuse you of wrong feelings or motives you might at once reply, 1 have strictly obeyed your laws and you have no right to question my motives, but in dealing with one who knows all our thoughts and feelings and motives — one who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity — we must be holy in the v(M'y recesses of the heart, abstaining from that which we would not have an angel record or Clod witness, (h) Tly utter Impracticableness of the Divine (aw tinth;uch a condition, instead of finding heaven a place of unmingled bliss, the soul would find it a place of intolerable anguish. There must be congruity of mind with the source of felicity. Every principle must harmonize with the will and nature of Cxod. There must be holiness of desire, of nature, of life, before heaven is possible. And to miss heaven is the most ov«v whelming loss ; it is to fail of the very end of life and to perish forever. 3rd. The ntr.ans to secure purifji of heart. The Holy Spirit is the one efficient agent in the renewal and sanctifi- cation of man. Though He neither circumscribes nor super- sedes our own exertion, nor sets aside subordinate means, yet no effort of ours will prove successful unless the Spirit unites with it. But while remembering He is the agent, there are means that we must adopt to secure this purity of heart, (cv) We must set our heart upon it as neces'tary and atto.lnahle. Realizing the degradation and confuion and misery of a mixed state, where all the springs of action are out of harmony with God's law, and conceiving the dignity and essential blessedness of a pure state, the peace, the ele- vation above the sweep of passion, the glowing vision of the fancy, the oneness of the soul with 'God, the conscious par- ticipation of the Christlike. Keeping this in view, it should be the accepted aim of the life to be pure and holy, and the heart fixed on such a requirement as attainable and neces- sary, will pray and strive until it grows into the holiness it seeks. But unless you believe it necessary and attainable you will not put forth the required effort to secure it. If SANCTIFICATION. 161 d afford ml have it have rl it ex- ndition, liss, the There felicity, ature of of life, he most life and e Holy sauctiti- r super- 1 means, e Spirit e agent, urity of ary and ion and bion are dignity the ele- n of the 3US par- t should and the d neces- liiiess it tainable ? it. If you say, " Purity of heart is good and desirable in many ways," yet "I can do without it," you will not press after it as you should. You nmst feel, T can and will secure this purity in order to make my calling and election sure. (A) There mnsf also be a settled cotirirtiori of God's ability and toillingness to purify the heart. No one can observe in Scripture God's apparatus of cleansing for the purification of souls, such as washings, spi-inklings, baptisms, purifying lires, furnaces of affliction, purgings of conscience, without regarding it as a great, a crowning object, in the Divine arrangement to promote the moral parity of man. (tod wills, God desires, God seeks. God is able t(» p\nify all men and restore them to|His image, tor He is able to make all gruoe to abound to them that believe, (o) And their miist be a /all belie/ in th^ ptuver and (^Ijficacy of tini atoniny blood of Chrint to purify /" heart. It is right to regard the atonement of Christ as having n*Hde a complete satisfaction to God for man, as being a sufficient sacritice for human sin, as furnish ing a sufficient basis for man's trust and God's honor. And it is sweet to recall, in connection with it, the innumerable sins Christ has blotted out in every age and land. To see Him, one generation after another, giving peace to the peni- tent, consolation to Jie broken-hearted, and power to them that have no strength. To see Him kindling the zeal of preachers, illuminating the prison cell of confessors, enrap- tui'ing the suffering martyr, and grasping the hand of the feeblest believer as he passes the death river to the life above. But with all this we must believe in the power and efficacy of the blood of Jesus to cleanse from all sin; to sanctify aiid present a glorious Church without spot or wrinkle or any such thing. If we lini't Christ's atoning blood to the satisfaction it affords to God, and the pardon it •jives to man, we rob it of its \ ery perfectness, and limit it i \ 4 162 SANCTIFICATION. lil It ' It ' ill I lil! fi- at the point wliei'e it can bring most glory to God and most blessedness to man. You strip it of the veiy jewel of the final salvation of those it lias redeemed. It is said of the glorilied, " They have washed their robes and made them wiiiTK in the blood of the Lamb." No partial cleansing, V)ut a perfect, a complete renewal does the blood of Jesus secure. There are suhordinatf rnentiH that we must adopt so that the larger means may not fail of their effect ; we must avoid all incentives to impuiity, worthless books, vain amuse- ments, suspicious places, filthy language, immoderate eating and drinking, useless or unbecoming apparel, anything that would tend to destroy the spirit and life of holiness. It may, it will, cost a long, tierce .struggle and conflict, but practice the lequired self-denial. " For if thy right hand offend thee cut it off, oi- if thy right eye offend thee pluck it out, and cast it from thee, for it is better for thee to eniMt into life halt, oi- maimed, rather than having two hands or two eyes to be cast into hell fire," And .superadded to this, we must observe all j/vomotives to purity. Watclifulness, {)rayer, diligence, honor, self denial, the Bible, the Church, the Sabbath and all othei- aids tf> vital godliness. II, The Blessedness of this State — ^^ Ji/rsned are the pure ill heart, for thetj shall see God^ 1st. They shall see (Jod in the more distinct and complete manifestation of His nntiire and perfecti'm. God only can reveal Himself. He is the only light by which Himself is seen. Like the sun, whicli can be seen only by its on n light. If the sun is hid from us, as it is by night, and we were to select all the artificial light in the world and go in search of it, we should not see it until the return of morning, when its own rays would make it visible. So if God is hid He must reveal Himself, or we cannot .see Him. And is not God hidden Pi SAN( TIFK'ATION. 163 nd ino«t 1 of the d of th«^ :le them jansing, ►f Jesus adopt so ve must 1 amuse- e eating iiig that ess. It lict, but ht hand ee pluck to enter liands or to this, kfulness, Church, are th lit I' 'omplete )\\\y can mself is n liyhf. were to rch of it, I its own st reveal [1 hidden from n wicked man. Moral depravity sends up a night nust over the soul so that an unbeliever is emphatically without God in the world. But when the nature is renewed the cloud and darkness ai'e dispersed and the moral firmament becomes clear and bright. Then God comes forth in full and attractive manifestation. His nafure, is open to intelli- gent scrutiny as the perfection of beauty. His A>r« in all its intensity, eternity and fulnes.s, is revealed, and His power to keep, to guide, to establish, to i reserve, is sublimely por- trayed, (iod is light and in that light alone can He be seen. 2nd. In the niyxterioHH df'nUm/H of His prorldmce. Divine providence mantled in profound concealment is to h wicked man dark and perplexing. He experiences reverses or sor- rows, and they are all as black as midnight to him. He may think of fate or chance putting its rude hand upon him, but he is the more confused. Providence is a wheel within H wheel. But he cannot see that the wheel is full of eyes : all is dark because he cannot see God. But the pure in heart see God in His most mysterious providences. Job, in ilffP sudden and unexpected i-e verse of his fortunes, saw m^ fifiiijS of (xod. (^>ne n a and told him the Sabeans had falle/» ijp(}1't liis oxen and asses and carried them away ; another vaji and told him that the Chaldeans had fallen upon his sheep and lamels and taken them away; and yet another jan and told him that a great wind had swep'r. and destroyed the hoMSf where his sons and daughters were feasting, so that th^y were all dead, liut pure-hearted Job said, "The Lord," iu»t the Habcans uor tiie Chaldeans, nor the tire, nor tlie whirlwind, but " the Loid gave and the Lord hath taken away, ItleHstuI be the name of th(5 Lorcl.'" And so every renewed man feels, however deep, and still, and dark, and awful the providence, God is in it; not merely His hand but Himself; and if sickness, or bereavement, or loss hai> shadowed the path, he sees God in it and that is enough. i 'i ■ \l m 164 SANCTIFICATTON, ':< I • «l He may not know tin* cause oi" issue of what he sutt'ei-s, hut he feels that ever and everywhere lie is en<;irdled with God, and though the visitation may set him aside, in that seclusion he is closeted with God, he leans on God's arm, wee])S on (iod's bosom, rests under the shadow of (iod's wing, and though his meal be a crust and water, he banquets with Christ at a royal table; and though his home be a poor cot- tage, angel visits are often ; and though he lie on a solitary bed of straw, there God manifests Himself as He doth not unto the world. If is darkest night is arched with a jeweled sky and there is no cloud without its bow of hope. 3rd. Jn His ordinances. There are j)leasing and blessed institutions of God's own appointment in connection with every gospel Church The Sacrament, in which Christ is set forth as slain for us. The preaching of the gospel where all tht blessings of the redeeming plan are offered and pressed upon the acceptance of all, and prayer and praise, and every other ordinance of God's ap[)ointment, are but so many avenues that lead to (t( d. The wicked man can see no God in any of them. He may admire the taste or talent of the minister, or be impressed with other parts of the ser- vice, but he does not see God there. The pure in heart alone meet God in His holy ordinances. To them the means of grace are precious, the medium of sweet and hallowed blessings, where they lind shelter and refuge and joy amid the world's cares, where they bring their sorrows and lay them before the throne of Him who shines into the com- muning heart, and amid the tender and ))lessed revelations of His ordinances God is indeed present to the consciou..- ness and faith of His people. ith. They shall see God as He is in the clear and perfect manifestation of Himself in Jieaven. Every holy man re- gards it as tlie highest privilege of the heavenly state to enjoy the vision of God. The Divine essence, that which is SANCTIFICATION. 165 God indeed, is invisible to the best men in this world. But in heaven the glorified live in the unveiled light of His countenance. To tha? beatitic vision good men look and long. The vision of friends, and thrones, and crowns, and palms, and harps, and mansions is not so desired as to see "the King in his beauty.' Believers in every age have sighed and longed for the sight of God. When Job sat down to gaze with sadness on the wreck of his splendid for- tune \w was consoled with the hope, ''In my llesh I shall ,ee God." VV^hen David pictured to himself the greatest joy of heaven he said, "1 shall behold Ifis face in ri;L,'hteousness." When John expressed the grandest idea of his own longing and prospect he exclaimed, *' We shall see Him as He is." And when Christ would give the listening multitudes an idea of the chief felicity of heaven He declared, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Oh, what a mystery of blessedness does this include. To gaze forever upon that glory, before which angels veil their faces, is the perfection of felicity. In what particular foi'tn God shall manifest Himself in hea\ en we cannot say. We know that revela- tion shall be one of ineffable splendor. The glory of the universe is but a shadow to Him who builds His throne with gems of insufterable brightness and lays the beams of night beneath His feet. So bright is His glory that heaven needs no other light — His presence is eternal noon, eternal summer. But however high or brigiit or glorious the sight, the pure in heart shall see Him in all His perfections, and gaze upon His exalted dignity and peerless beauty and supreme God- head. The privilege, the glory, the ecstacy of beholding Him, who, who shall describe ^ What a sight ©f almost unbear- able blessedness, of almost unendurable glory, to behold GOD, face to face. Oh, that we may share in that perfect, that glorious vision in God's own home ! 12 ^> ■ -Wy ■■ lAAAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) €tlie»'hood aujong men has be<'n an admitted principle, in which Chi'istian teaching is a)»solutely free, would contrast most delightfully with th ; hard, cold, cruel world of their times. Look at the triumphs of God's king- dom in this century. Modern missions to the heathen world were only instituted near the close of the last century, and yet there are to-day between four and five million adhertMits of Christianity in lu^athen lands. Jt is estimated that at the end of t!ie first century there were over half a million of Christians, and at the close of the second century ovei" two millions. By these figures you see that the present Christia- Cliurch has won front paganism, in half the time, double the numbei' of followers. jul if you take a broader survey, these modern years will be seen to be wonderfully fruitful. In 1500 there were in the world one hundred million nominal Christians; in 1800 ther^ were two hundred millions; in 1885 four hundred and fifty millions. So that Christianity has gained more in this century tlian in the previous eighteen. 1 know that, according to the estimate, there are yet one thousand millions of heathen and Mohannnedans to be brought to Christ. But will any one look back upon the past and say that tl" 3re is anything too hard for the Lord. Where once the most dreadful savages held sway, and no man's life was safe, there to-day are training institutions for the education of native teachers, and grand mission centres for the most aggressive Christian work. And are there any difficulties to be encountered in the future more foi'midable than in the past 1 Rather, is not God by the world's system of modern commerce, by the 178 GOD S KINGDOM. h community and co-operation of human interests, by the acliievements and discoveries of modern science, opening the world as never before for the spread of His kingdom 1 Look where you will to-day and tiiere are highways of God advaacing to the \ery heart of hermit nations ; and the bosom of what has been called the Dark Continent, the hunting ground of the slave-trader and the most cruel oppressions, is inviting the Chris'.ian preacher and teacher and trader. Everywhere ignorance is waiting for illumina- tion, misery sighing for relief, heathenism open to the (jrospel. And shall we not become distributors to the iiungry multitudes of t'le bread which the I^ord has blessed. In the first days of His kingdoTn Christ showed that He had power to enlist the most able and devoted band of champions wiiich ever placed itself at the disposal of a king in the whole course of history. And shall there not now arise at the summons of the King Eternal an army of enthusiastic followers, before whose devotion all the loyalties of earthly monarchies are but as pallid rnarsh tirjs. Then shall be heard the confession, not of the apostate only, but cf the whole world, " Oh, Galilean, thou hast conquered." Don't talk about waiting for the millennium and the second advent, as if the visible manifestation of Christ at His second coming should crush out all the evils which evan- gelical forces could not sul)due. And then go whining liopelessly along as if the forces that are in the world to-day were not mighty enough for the forces of sin. Don't %o dishonor God, and belie the whole evangelical plan. In that day \/hen the Comforter came in power upon the Church, the descent of the Spirit was the spiritual advent of the Son of God. And He aime to reii^n — gloriously, universally to reign. And He shall reign. Already the framework of that stri^cture is rising whicii shall be tilled with His life ood's kingdom. 179 s, by the i, opening kingdom 1 ys of God ; and the inent, tlie lost cruel id teacher ' illumina- n) to the rs to the IS blessed. it He had champions ng in the w arise at tthusiastic )f earthly I shall be ut cf the ." Don't e second it at His licli evan- whining rid to-day Don't 80 In that e Church, it of the niversally lework of I His life and irradiatP with His glory. And year by year it is rising nearer and nearer to completion. Heathenism is breaking up in its strongholds and looking for the dawn of a brighter day. The Crescent is waning before the advancing glory of the Cross. Education is thinking more about Him who is the light of the world. Literature is brcoming more and more inspired with the law and love of Heaven. Science is increasingly reverent and deferential to the Supreme King. Statesmanship is learning more and more of the Golden Rule, and teaching men so to do. And if the Church is true and faithful, and acts up to her creed, very soon a ransomed world shall be found sitti.xg at the feet of Jesus, restored and in its right mind. s 1 XIX. THE RESUERECTION. " But some man will say, How are the dead raised up? and with \i hat body do they come ? " — 1 Cor. xv 35. HESE words are placed by the Apostle, as you per- ceive, in the lips of a caviller who wishes to know how the resurrection is possible, and in wliat manner the dispersed elements shall be collected and reunited, which question the Apostle answers with much reason, clearness, and power. This chapter, in which more attention is devoted to the discussion of the doctrine of the resurrection than in any part of the sacred Scriptures, is one of the most elaborate, argumentr.tive and masterly ever written. It is the greatest production of the ablest Christian reasoner on the subject. Paul commences by asserting the fact of Christ's resurrection — a fact testified to by the most varied and competent witnesses, and on the truth of that he grounds the hope and certainty of the general resurrection of mankind. Accepting Christ's resurrection as the pledge and first-fruits of the final ingathering to the eternal har- vest li'^ proceeds to discuss the doctrine generally. The argui mts he uses and the form in which he presents the whol question your study of the chapter has made familiar to you, so that without any further observations I shall invite you to look calmly and candidly at this question. THE RESURKECTION. 181 and with you per- now how liner the d, which learness, ! devoted ion than he most 1. It is soner on fact of t varied that he rrection e pledge nal har- y. The ents the familiar I shall ion. I. The Proof Confirmatory of the Hopes of a General Resurrection of Mankind showing How and Why WE Believe the Dead shall le Raised. 1st. The general resun'ection neither supposes nor requires greater power than God has already shown in the operations of nature. I know there are difficulties connected with the resurrection of the body which have led the gravest phil- osophers into a maze of absurdities and left all philosophy at fault, for it is one of those subjects that metaphysical or natural science cannot fully explain. Our knowledge of it must be a matter of pure revelation, and in the absence of such a revelation the w^isest heathen sages regarded death as the extinction of being. They doubted even the immor- tality of the soul, so obscure were their views of the life to come from their ignorance of the doctrine of the resurrec- tion. They knew that their conscious, thinking life was connected with a visible body, and that body, they saw, went to decay, while they received no intimation that that decay would ever pass away, so that there was nothing to bridge over tiie great chasm that lies between the present and the future. When they looked upon death they saw only ruin earthed among its kindred dusts, and resolved into it. They saw waste and a mouldering heap, but no promise of change. Hence the great Pliny classed the call- ing of the dead back to life among the impossible things which Deity cannot accomplish. And Colsus regarded the resunection as the hope of worms, a filthy and an abomin- able thing, which God neither can nor will do. But why this complete denial of the doctrine of the resurrection ? Is there nothing in nature which, rightly viewed, suggests the possibility and probability of the resurrection of the dead*? And does not Creation show as much power and 13 182 THE RESURRECTION. i V I i . ! f iu !.*! H> ■•i f 1 \W ,i| ' - V I'^T BHlJnlPlu skill and mystery as reorganization and resurrection? Is one mystery greater than another? Or is it harder to compile than to create? The sun sinks upon the western sea and to-morrow reappears in the eastern sky. The moon wanes and vanishes and then returns full-orbed. The earth becomes torpid in winter, but teems with life in spring. Flowers and fruits decay and perish, but revive and re-bloom witli recurring seasons. The caterpillar dies as a chrysalis and receives new life as a butterfly. And are not these foreshadowings of the resurrection ? It is no greater miracle that a body should have a second existence than a first; that dry bones should at God's bidding put on holy and new forms, than that a dead seed should have power to fill the air with perfume, or a torpid chrysalis burst forth into new activity and life. The only difference is that one is a familiar miracle, and the other we have yet to see. If God could people tlie fields of space with match- less wonder, and light up the sky with ever-burning gems of stars, and pulsate all animate tribes with life. He cer- tainly can re-construct that which He at first formed from nothing — a far less difticult task. No greater power is necessary to raise the dead than nature already manifests. Creation shows that Omnipotence cainiot be limited or baffled, and the resurrection will yet proclaim that nothing is too hard for the Lord. 2nd. The general resurrection is clearly tatight m the Holy Sffriptnres. Though I do not regard as unimportant the possibility of a resurrection as taught in nature, but rather boast that boiindless power linked to infinite knowledge can perform all I am taught to expect, so that my faith hopes for nothing impossible to God ; yet in accepting this doctrine as absolutely and undeniably certain, I must take it as a revealed fact, and rest upon the testimony of THE RESrRRECTlON. 183 ion? Is ,rder to western ^ The ;d. The life in t revive lar dies J. And It is no xistence y put on lid have chrysalis ifference liave yet match- ng gems He cer- ed from )ower is inifests. ited or nothing he Holy ant the t rather Dwledge ly faith cepting I must iiony of God's Word. You remember the doctrine of the resurrec- tion is explicitly and empliatically taught in both parts of Scriptures. In the Old Testament Job said, " I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He sliall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." Isaiah proclaimed, "Thy dead men sliall live: together with my dead body shall they arise." Daniel exclaimed, "They that sleep in the dust of the earth shall come forth," while Hosea cries out, " I will ransom them from the power of the grave." And in the New Testament it is written with the clearness of a sunbeam, and taught ns a favorite theme of apostolic preaching. The apostles guarded the doctrine with a godly jealousy as the very keystone of the Christian arch, the life and power and strength of the revealed system, and a visible door to immortality. Matthias might be a great and good man, but he must not be of the number of the twelve, unless he had been a witness of the resur- rection. The Corinthians might have strong faith and good preachers, as is here shown, but if there be no resur- rection then are the faith and preaching vain. If this doctrine failed, they which had fallen asleep in Christ had perished, and others were yet in their sins. That is why Paul, when standing before Felix, or Agrippa, or his Hebrew accusers, makes this grand defence, " I confess that after the way which they call heresy, so worship I God, and have hope toward God that there shall be a resurrection of the dead," "And again, as toucliing the resuri-ection of the dead, am I called in question." While Jesus strengthens the position immeasurably by confirming the pi-ophetic ajid apostolic by the words that are divine, teaching with an authority and clearness that only the world's teacher could, this precious article of the Christian faith, " Marvel not at 184 THE RESURRECTION. I this, the hour is coming and now is, when all that are in their graves shall hear the voice of the Son of Man and come forth." AnJ to His distinct teachings He added the most practical proofs in the victims He reclaimed from the power of death duiing His sojourn on earth — the most re- markable, Lazarus of Bethany, who had been dead four days, yet Christ burst open the barred gate and summoned Lazarus by His word, and tiiat resurrection was the first sheaf gathered by the great reaper as a specimen of the general resurrection. By it Christ speaks to every bereaved one, " Thy brother shall rise again." .'ird. The (jeneral resurrectioii is neceHaarif to the complete ness of Christ's victoj'i/ and deliverance. Redemption is both virtual and actnal. We were virtually redeemed when the covenant price was paid, but actual and tiue redemption takes place only on the complete liberation of the captive. At present we are bought with a pi'ice, and therefore are Christ's freedmen. But as the Apostle expresses it, *' We are waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of the body," when the spoils of death shall be given back and the liberation of the captive complete. We cannot con- ceive of Christ taking away sin without taking away also the death that came by sin. The enemy must have nothing — not even man's dust — or the victory of Christ would be incomplete. The rescued spirit might have fled to its rest, and Christ have stood confessed the victor and Lord of souls, but how Satan would boast if he could say, "Bruised as my head is, yet man's body is mine henceforth. The dust which Heaven once breathed in, and in which incar- nate God once dwelt to honor and exalt it, I have borne this off the held in triumph." If there should be one silent body amid the indiscriminate dust of centuries of mortality, from the tirst victim of the fatal sentence down to the very ti THE RESURRECTION. 185 last that shall enter the grave of the dead, forgotten, or left to perish unawakened forever, then Satan could say to Christ, "Your deliverance is but partial." But he is denied this boast, for Jesus hath commanded concerning our bones. Despite the worm, despite the winds, despite the fury of the last elemental scattering, the dead shall be raised ; the reclaimed relics of the dead are a part of Christ's trophies of redemption. He was to destroy V)oth death and him that had the power of death. " For this purpose the Son of God was maniff ited that He might destroy the works of the devil, and deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage." Death is as much His enemy as the sin which entailed it. Tf, then, Christ nnist reign till He hath put all enemies under His feet, and if the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death, then when the resurrection is universal and perfect; when the worst and best of men are raised incorruptible, and the living changed in a moment; when every soul shall claim its rightful property in God's acre; when the soul on the border of the tomb shall enrobe itself with its other half, and the compound nature of all mankind be reunited for- ever — then, not till then, shall the sublime shout be heard : "Death is swallowed up in victory." II. The Form and Characteristic Properties of the Raised Body — " With nihat body do theij come ?" 1st. The same body, tcith all its essentiol and 'peculiar fea- tures and perfect personal identity as tvas before possessed^ shall be raised. J'he question may be asked, "How is it possible that bodies so disjoined, and mixed and scattered, can be re-collected and raised in all their marked and dis- coverable identity*?" Some of the bodies of mankind have been scattered far and wide among the desert sands, others i( i i i 1 ! m i' ' I It il j . ; 5 J J ^ ^.'' i» 1 . % r ' !■' "^^ f ' . ,■^.■ 1; ] i \'' i. \ \h : ) -," ^ '■ ■ - ; ! ; i : • ■: f 1 !#•• 1 186 THE RESURRECTION. have been burnt at the martyr's stake, others have been en- gulfed ))y tlie ^reat wide sea, others liave been incorporated in tlie bodies offish and animals, others have^one to fatten the soil for trees, and shrul)s, and grass, and have lived anew in the vegetable, the plant, the sheep, the successive gen- erations, for all matter by an inevitable law is constantly undergoing changes. How, then, can all this be restored and raised ? With God this is not impossible. Reasoning from analogy, you see its possibility. Modern science has shown that chemists carv mix several liquids of different kinds so that the smallest particles shall partake of all the constituent liquids, and then, by analysis, separate these compound substances into all the simple liquids of which it was composed. There is a story told of a workman of the great chemist Faraday. One day he knocked into a jar of acid a little silver cup. Tt disappeared, was eaten up by the acid, and could not be found. The question came up whether it could ever be found. One .said he could find it ; another said it was held in solution, and there was no pos- sibility of finding it. The great chemist came in, and put some chemical into the Jar, and in a moment every particle of the silver was precipitated to the bottom. He lifted it out a shapeless mass, sent it to the silversmith, and the cup was restored. Now if man, by the aid of science, can detect and separate the mixed substances of nature, is it not rational to ixif-ir that the Creator of all things can easily separate the principal atoms of the decayed human form, and raise it on a scale of greatness and perfection 1 But let me say that the resurrection of every identical particle of the body that was buried is not necessary to the most literal and personal resurrection. Our only difficulty readily to realize this is in our own ignorance of what per- sonal identity is, and what is necessary to it. But that the THE RESURRECTION. 187 presence of the same material particles is necessary, reason, and science, and vegetation, and Scripture clearly disprove. According to physiologists, the human body, even during this life, is in a constant state of waste, and mutation, and change: I am not bodily the same man I was a few years ago, and yet the identity of the personal conscious, think- ing principle has heen no m»jre aftected by this change than if it^ad been a mere change of location, so that while every particle of the body may waste and decay in its process, whilst the principle which thinks, and feels, and knows, remains the same, my personal identity is perfect, be it what it may. And will not this argument apply, with all its force, to the resurrection 1 The body laid in the grave may change and separate, yet when these, or like particles, are gathered and united to our own proper personal sentient, conscious, germinal self, we shall feel that body is our body, and we are the same men. Any change of corporal parti- cles will be a mere accident, that will not affect personal identity and sameness, according to all right conceptions of individuality. And this the Apostle fully shows by the simple analogy of vegetation. *' Thou fool," says he to the sceptical enquirer, '* That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die." As if he had said, "A part of tnat grain you sow decomposes and wastes, but its indestructible germ, quickened by an unseen power, shoots forth and finally bears the same like grain," and the identity between the wheat sown and tlie wheat reaped is perfect; so in the resurrection body, some of the atoms that pass to the tomb may decay, but the germ shall be raised in full possession of all the essential qualities, and features, and afiections, and linea- ments of individual being, so that the very same man who lived and breathed and acted before shall come forth with all the marks of real and striking personality. As Christ f^ in w li; ■1 1 ! .5 Iti 188 THE RESURRECTION. arose, this same Jesvs, so each will exclaim, **It is / myself." And when the soul comes at the bidding of the last trumpet, tomake intjuisition for flesh, it shall not mistake its partner, but amid the crowd single its other half with ease, and that raised body will represent Uh dp(jrfen ofatje; except the perish- able features, all trace of decay will be gone ; but children will not rise as men, but with their own body shall all flesh come forth, with every distinction of nature, and sex, and age, and degree of maturity. 2nd. The body shall he changed and immortalized^ hi har- mony tvith its new condition and state. " It is sown in cor- ruption, it is raised in incorruption ; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body." No more sickness to waste, or disease to decay, or carnality to pollute, or animalism to degrade, or death to destroy. All unholy thoughts and inclinations shall have passed away, and the body become a hallowed and glorious temple of the Godlike soul, fitted for the home it shall inhabit, and the spirit it shall encase, and the services it shall fulfil, and the company it shall mingle with forever. ;, t. XX REUNION IN HEAVEN. " I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me."- 2 Sam. xii. 23. fRUE greatness and niaf^nanimity of spirit is only mani- fested in some great misfortune or trial. Crisis reveals character. There is no earthly calamity equal to bereavement; it is the heaviest stroke of the Father's hand, the sharpest arrow from the almighty quiver. As we stand by the lifeless remains of a child or a near friend, and gaze upon the cold form coffined liefore us, we feel that death has made a terrible gap in our social circle. There, we say, lies one who was with me in life's darkest struggle to support and encourage and console me, or a child that was the companion and joy of my heart, but now tliey are passed from me forever. Such separations are life's sorrow time, testing time. It was in those dsrk hours of bereave m ;nt that the monarch of Israel uttered the sublime hope of our text; and manifested a fortitude and heroism more touching and grand than the bravery of his greatest battles. In all the many-sided and striking events of David's life never did he appear so tender and wonderful as in this dark chapter of his history. On the one side you mourn to see a distinguished and saintly life stained with sin and blood, and most severely condenmed and punished. One the other side you see a type of perfect submission to the Divine will, and a magnanimous victory ov..,' popular > J i' f 190 REUNION IN HEAVEN. custom and personal feelin/?. Our present intention is to take hold of the great ti'uth suggested and expressed in these words— f conversa- . there is no trine. God's t knowledge lip and love VEN WILL BE ie, friendship nperfections. ps ; dogged pers, or un- way marred lese scars and I where all r misunder- ;nds, and so REUNION IN HEAVEN. 197 alienated the noblest hearts in the present state. And we are often pained to see how small and trivial a thing suspicious jealousy will sometimes make a sufficient reason for severing the kindest hearts in this world. The friend- ships of the nresent life are beset with so many perils and dangers from the misunderstandings and weaknesses of men that all along the pathway you may pick up tlie debris of severed homes and hearts and loves. Bu'' up yonder in the better land, where the whole family of God meet, there will be unbroken friendship forever. Jealousy, or misun- derstanding, or mistrust, or suspicion, or envy, or strife, or hatred, or any of the weaknesses of the flesh, cannot enter there. So that the love which clasps hands in that heavenly home will never unclasp them again. The friend- ships that mirgle in sweetest, purest intimacy there will never part company again. And the brotherhood so perfect and equal and true in that land of holy citizenship shall never be able to look upon distinctions and dignities and posses- sions with envy evermore. The heavenly inhabitant is too pure and perfect to know one wrong thought. And the heavenly state is too complete and full and satisfying to admit of one unfulfilled desire. To compare heaven with eaich in this respect is impossible, it is all contrast — a contrast so wide and glorious and blessed that the earthly, with all its drawbacks and imperfections, shall never be seen again. But the heavenly, with its perfect and un- shadowed day, shall shine forth with increasing splendor and glory till every one shall say there is nothing left but Heaven. U