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(

FIRST SERIBS.

THE

FOUR GREAT PREACHERS

A COLLECTION

CHOICE SERMONS

SPURSEOI, MOODY, TALMACE AJJD BEECHER.

WITH

SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES

OF THESE CELEBRATED DIVINES.

ILLUSTRATED.

ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY',

PREFACE

- ♦ » ♦-

^OR a time it used to be said that nobody reads
sermons ; and to a certain extent the saying
may still be true. But there are sermons and
sermons. Few, we apprehend, either listen to or read
with acceptance the dry type of doctrinal discourses
that was once common in the pulpit. The type has
been succeeded by more interestinf^ expositions of
EvanG^olical truth, and by more enlivening appeals
to the human heart and conscience. The Church, as
it has drop[)cd dogma, has in large degree returned to
'f its first work of evangelizing the world ly the spirit
4^ and power of the Gospel ; and in the true missionary
spirit, it is again going into the highways and by-
ways to reclaim the world to Christ, and to bring the pro-
digal back to the Father.

The power of the Pulpit, however much it may be said
to have declined, is yet great ; and public interest in the
foremost preachers of the time is no whit abated. On the
contrary, it is not too much to say, that the interest of tho

PREFACF-

religious world in the themes, as well as in the rhetorical
efforts of our pulpit orators is greater to-day than at any
time since the golden age of preaching. With the spread
of education, and the general dissemination of critical and
scientific thought in the last iive-and-twenty years, the
lay mind is not so dependent as it once was upon the pul-
pit for instruction and guidance in matters of spiritual
concern. Nor are theological and speculative discussions
the exclusive province now of the clergy. The press is
now the pulpit ; and theological problems, and every phase
of religious thought find their debative ground, not alone
in the pulpit, but in almost every newspaper and maga-
zine in the land. Nor is the religious community confined,
as it once was, to the pulpit ministrations of its own neigh-
bourhood ; nor, however lacking in gifts, is the church-
goer necessarily bound to hear " the local light," and to
listen to him alone. The press now brings the current
utterances of the great preachers of the age to every house,
and their message may find a universal audience. A
Spurgeon can be heard on two continents, and a Beecher's
eloquence, like Britain's drum-beat, may encircle the earth.
The interest felt in the pulpit-work of these typical
preachers of Britain and America, and in that of Talmage
and Moody, is such as to call for the collection of sermons
in the within volume. Ihey are characteristic specimens
of the work of each preacher, and are here ofiered in the
hope that their message may be fraught with blessing,
and find fitting response in many a Christian heart.

The Ewtok,

ToHONTo, April 10th, 1885,

CONTENTS.

PAGE.

Biographical Sketch of Rev. Charles Haddrx Spurqeon - 11

SERMONS BY REV. CHARLES HADDEN SPURGEON :—

Soveveigpty and Salvation
Christ Crucified . - - -
Christ's People — Imitators of Him
Faith

13
32
55
74

Biographical Sketch of Dwight Lyman Moody - - 93

SERMONS BY DWIGHT LYMAN MOODY :—

"Where art Thou?" 97

There is no Difference - 114

Good News 132

What think ye of Christ ? 14G

Christ seeking Sinners ....... X56

viii ' = CONTENTS. .-:

- PAGE.

Biographical Sketch of Rev. Thos De Witt Talmaob - 175

£ESMONS BY REV. TEOMAS DE WITT TALMAQE:-

Christ Everything 177

Life at Home --------- 187

The Father's Kiss 198

Woman's Lamentation over a Wasted Life - - - 207

The Wrath of the 8ea 217

The Coming Sermon 229

The Red Cord in the Window 241

Biographical Sketch of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher

SERMONS BY REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER :—

The Old and the New - - - -
The Duty of using one's life for others
The Value of Deep Feelings - - -
Suflfering the Measure of Worth
The Crime of Degrading Men - - -

- 255

- 257

- 274

- 292
. 314

- 335

hxbix to IUustration0.

** Ask and it shall be given you " -

Portrait of Rev. Charles Hauden Spuegeon
♦* DwiGiiT Lyman Moody

" Rbv. Thomas De Witt Talmaqb

*• Rbv. Henry Ward Bbbcher -

Frontispiece

- PAOB 10

- 92

- - 174
• 254

■ ' »v —

PAGK.

- 176

177
187
198
207
217
229
241

255

257

274
292
314
335

lONTISPIECE

- PAOB 10
- 92

- 174

- 264

REV. CHARLES HADDBN SFURQEON,

E?;V. CHAELES HADDEK Si UR.G 'MN.

-• ♦•-

^^^(^ HIS celebrated preacher was bcrii in Kelvedon, Fsaex,

'^^'(p^i Eiig1ai;d, in 1834. Intended by his family for the

»(Jl;i ^'ilr nffir.H f>f an liidimeiideiit minister, his nwji svinnathiea

lf?i J^^ngiai;a, m iaL>i. mtenaea r>y nis tamuy ror tne
-^y^ office of an Independent minister, his own syuipathiea
^ drew him towards the Baptists, and he joined that con-
nection in 1850. He becaivie at once an active Sunday Schoo
teacher and Tract distributor, and removing to Cambridge in
1851, began to deliver Cottage Sermons in the neighborhood.
The popularity of the " Boy Preacher," as he was at this time
called, was eJniost immediately established, and at the age of
eighteen he took charge of a small Baptist congregation in
the village of Waterbeach.

I In 1854 he entered upon the pastorate of the New Park
Street Chapel, London, where his preaching proved so at-
tractive, that in two years time the building had to be greatly en-
larged. His hearers continued to increase ; the Surrey Music Hall
was for some time engaged for his use ; and finally his followers

REV. CHARLES HADDEN SPURGEON.

built for him his well-known " Tabernacle " in Newington Butts,
which was opened in I80I.

The evangelistic and philanthropic agencies in connection with
this immense chapel comprise the Stock well Orphanage, of which
Mr. Spurgeon is president ; a Pastor's College, where hundreds of
young men are trained for the ministry under Mr. Spurgeon's care ;
the Golden Lane Mission, etc.

Mr. Spurgeon preaches in the " Tabernacle " every Sunday to
thousands of hearers, and few of our people visit London without
going to hear him.

His sermons have been published weekly in London since 1854,
and the Toronto Globe has now made arrangements to give its
readers one of them in each Saturday's edition. Yearly volume?
have also been published since 1856, and both weekly sermons
and yearly volumes have found thousands of readers. Many of
his sermons have been translated into various foreign languages.

Mr. Spurgeon has also written many popular works, among others
" John Ploughman's Talk," " Morning by Morning," " Evening by
Evening," " The Treasury of David," *• Lectures to My Students,"
' The Saint and his Saviour ; " and since 18()o he has edited the
monthly niag;izine, " The Sword and the Trowel.'*

! !

THE

FOUR GREAT PREACHERS.

SE8M01IS BY REV. 0. H. SPOBQEON,

or' X.0XTX501T.

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION. '

'' Look uuto mCf and be ye savcd^ all the ends of the earth: for 1
am God, atid there is none else.'^ — Isaiah xlv: 22.

[IX years ago to-day, as near as possible at this
very hour of the day, I was " in the gall of
bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity," but
lY^ had yet, by divine grace, been led to feel the bitter-
" V^ ness of that bondage, and to cry out by reason of
the soreness of its slaver3\ Seekinjx rest, and find-
ing none, I stepped within the house of God, and
sat there, afraid to look upward, lest I should bo
utterly cut off, nnd h-st His fierce wratli should con-
sunie me. 'i'lie nunister rose in his piilj)it, and, as I
have done this morning, read this text, " Look unto
me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth : for
1 am Clod, and there is jione else." I lookinl tliali
momeiiit ; the grace of faith was vouchsafed to me
in the self-same instant; aJid now 1 think I can say
with truth,

, ii

(•i

III

- 1 1

i'i

■

14 _ SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

*'Ere since by ffiith I saw the stream
His flowiug wourds supply,
Redeeming lov€ has been my theme,
- . And shall be till 1 die."

I shall never forget that day, while memory hoMs its
place ; nor can I help repeating this text whenev^er I re-
member that nour when first I knew the Lord. How
sti-angely gracious ! How wonderfully and marvellously
kind, that he who heard these words so little time iwo
for his own souls profit, should now address you this
morning as his hearers from the same text, in the full and
confident hope that some poor sinner within these walls
may liear the glad tidings of salvation for himself also,
antl may to-day, on this 6th of January, be " turned from
darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto
God ! "

If it were within the range of human capacity to con-
ceive a time when God dweltalone, without his creatures,
we should then have one of the grandest and most stu-
pendous ideas of God. Thei'e was a season when as yet
the sun had never run his race, nor commenced flinjxinij
his golden rays across space, to gladden the earth. Tiiere
was an era when no stars sparkled in the firmament, for
there was no sea of azure in which they might iloat.
There was a time when all that we now behold of God's
great universe was yet unborn, slumbering within the
mind of God, .as yet uncreato and non-existent ; yet there
was God, and He was "over all blessed for ever;" though
no seraphs hymned His pi'aises, though no strong-winged
cherubs Hashed like lightning to do His high behests,
though He was without a retinue, yet He sat as a king
on His throne, the mighty God, for ever to be worshipped
— the Dread Supreme, in solemn silence dwelling by Him-
self in vast itnmensity, making of the placid clouds his
canopy, and the light from His own countenance forming
the l)rightness of His glory. God was, and God is. From
the betrinning God was God ; ere worlds liad beginning,

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVAIION.

He was " from everlasting to everlasting." Now, when
it pleased Him to create His creatures, does it not strike
you how infinitely those cre.^tures must have been below
Himself ? If you are potters, and you fashion upon the
wheel a vessel, shall that piece of clay arrogate to itself
equality with you ? Nay, at what a distance will it be
fro*rii you, because you have been in part its creator. So
when the Almighty formed His creatures, was it not con-
summate impudence, that they should venture for a mo-
ment to compare themselves with Him ? Yet that arch
traitor, that leader of rebels, Satan, sought to climb to the
high throne of God, soon to find his aim too high, and
hell itself not low enough wherein to escape divine ven-
geance. He knows that God is " God alone." Since the
world was created, man has imitated Satan ; the creature
of a day, the ephemera of an hour, has sought to match
itself with the Eternal. Hence it has ever been one of
the objects of the great Jehovah, to teach mankind that
He is God, and beside Him there is none else. Tliis is
the lesson He has been teaching the world since it went
astray from Him. He has been busying Himself in
breaking down the high places, in exalting the valleys,
in casting down imaginations and lofty looks, that all the
world might i

" Know that the Lord is God alone,
He can create, and He destroy."

This morning we shall attempt to show you, in the
first place, hoiv God has been teachinrj this great lesson to
the world — that He is God, and beside Him there is none
else ; and then, secondly, the special ivay in which He de-
signs to teach it in the matter of salvation — " Look unto
me, and be ye saved : for I am God, and there is none
else."

I. Fir^t, then, How has God been teaoiiino this les-
son TO mankind ?

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

I' > '

i i

^11,

•i;i

We reply, He has taught it, first of all, to false gods,
and to the idolaters who have bowed before them. Man.
in his wickedness and sin, has set up a block of wood and
stone to be his maker, and has bowed before it. He hath
fashioned for himself out of a goodly tree an image made
unto the likeness of mortal man, or of the fishes of the
sea, or of creeping things of the earth, and he has pros-
trated his body, and his soul too, before that creature of
his own hands, calling it god, while it had neither eyes to
see, nor hands to handle, nor ears to hear ? But how hath
God poured contempt on the ancient gods ( f the heathen ?
Where are they now ? Are they so much as known ?
Where are those false deities before whom the multitudes
of Nineveh prostrated themselves ? Ask the moles and
the bats, whose companions they are ; or ask the mounds
beneath which they are buried ; or go where the idle ga-
zer walketh through the museum — see them there as curi-
osities, and smile to think that men should ever bow be-
fore such gods as these. And where are the gods of Per-
sia ? Where are they ? The tires are quenched, and the
fire-worshipper hath almost ceased out of the earth.
Where are the gods of Greece — those gods adorned with
poetry, and hymned in the most sublime odes ? Where
are they ? They are gone. Who talks of them now, but
as things that were of yore ? Jupiter — doth any one bow
before him ? and who is he that adores Saturn ? They
are passed away, and they are forgotten. And where are
the gods of Rome ? Doth Janus now command the tem-
ple ? or do the vestal virgins now feed their perpetual
fires ? Are there any now that bow before these gods ?
No, they have lost their thrones. And where are the
gods of the South Sea Islands — those bloody demons be-
fore whom wretched creatures prostrated their bodies ?
They have well-nigh become extinct. Ask the inhabi-
tants of China and Polynesia where are the gods before
which they bowed ? Ask, and echo says ask, and ask
«gaiD. They are cast down from their thrones ; they are

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION.

hurled from their pedestals ; their chariots are broken,
their sceptres are burnt in the fire, their glories are de-
parted ; God hath gotten unto Himself the victory over
false gods, and taught their worshippers that He is God,
and that beside Him there is none else. Are their gods
still worshipped, or idols before which the nations bow
themselves ? Wait but a little while, and ye shall see
them fall. Cruel Juggernaut, whose car still crushes in
its motion the foolish ones who throw themselves before
it, shall yet be the object of derision ; and the most noted
idols, such as Buddha, and Biahma, and Vishnu, shall yet
stoop themselves to the earth, and men shall tread them
down as mire in the streets ; for God will teach all men
that He is God, and that there is none else.

Mark ye, yet again, how God has taught this truth to
empires. Empires have risen up, and have been the gods
of the era ; their kings and princes have taken to them-
selves high titles, and have been worshipped by the mul-
utude. But ask the empires whether there is any beside
God ? Do you not think you hear the boasting soliloquy
of Babylon — " I sit as a queen, and am no widow ; I shall
see no sorrow; I am god, and there is none beside me ? "
And think ye not now, if ye walk over ruined Babylon,
that ye will meet aught save the solemn spirit of the Bible,
standing like a prophet gray with age, and telling you
that there is one God, and that beside him there is none
else ? Go ye to Babylon, covered with its sand, the sand
of its own ruiiis ; stand ye on the mounds of Nineveh,
and let the voice come up — " There is one God, and em-
pires sink before him ; there is only one Potentate, and
the princes and kings of the earth, with their dynasties
and thrones, are shaken by the trampling of his foot."
Go, seat yourselves in the temples of Greece ; mark ye
there what proud words Alexander once did speak ; but
now, where is he, and where his empire too ? Sit on the
ruined arches of the bridge of Carthage, or walk ye through
the desolated theatres o*' Home, and ye will hear a voice

I'll

i !

i;!!'

r' J:

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

in the wild wind amid those ruins — " I am God and there
is none else." " city, thou didst call thyself eternal ; I
have made thee melt away like dew. Thou saidst * I sit
on seven hills, and I shall last forever;' I have made
thee crumble, and thou art now a miserable and contemp-
tible place, compared with what thou wast. Thou wast
once stone, thou madest thyself ; I have made thee stone
again, and brought thee low." ! how has God taught
monarchies and em[)ires that have set themselves up like
new kingdoms of heaven, that he is God, and that theie
is none else !

Again : how has he taught his great truth to tnonarcha !
There are some who have been most proud that have had
to learn it in a way more hard than others. Take, for
instance, Nebuchadnezzar. His crown is on his head, his
purple robe is over his shoulders; he walks through proud
Babylon, and says, "Is not this great Babylon which I have
builded ? Do you see that creature in the field there ? It
is a man. "A man ?" say you; its hair has grown like
eagles' feathers, and its nails like birds' claws ; It walketh
OJ\ all-fours, and eateth grass, like an ox ; it is driven out
from men. That is the monarch who said — " Is not this
great Babylon that T have builded?" And now he is re-
stored to Babylon's pakce, that he may "bless the Most
High who is able to abase those that walk in pride." Re-
member another monarch. Look at Herod. He sits in
the midst of his people, and he speaks. Hear ye the im-
pwus shout ? "It is the voice of God," they cry, " and not
the voice of man." The i)roud monarch gives not God the
^•lory ; he affects the God, and seems to shake the spheres,
Jwcagining himself divine. There is a worm that creepeth
Into his body, and yet another, and another; and ere that
g»n is set, he is eaten up of worms. Ah ! monarch! thou
though test of being a God, and worms have eaten thee !
Thou haat thought of being more than man; and what
wrt thou ? Less than man, for worms consume thee, and
i^ttfa art the prey of corruption. Thus God humbleth the

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION

this
is re-
Most
Re-
its in
he im-
nd not
0(1 the
3heres,
eepeth
re that
thou
thee !
what
B, and
th the

proud ; thus he abaseth the mighty. We might jDjive you
instances from modern liistory ; but the death of a king
is all-sufficient to teach this one lesson, if men would but
learn it. When kings die, and in funeral pomp are carried
to the grave, we are taught the lesson — " I am God, and
beside me there is none else." When we hear of revo-
lutions, and the shaking of empires — when we see old
dynasties tremble, and gray-haired monarchs driven from
their thrones, then it is that Jehovah seems to put his
foot upon bind and sea, and with his hand uplifted cries —
" Hoar ! ye inhabitants of the earth ! Ye are but as gra^s-
lioppers ; ' I am God, and beside me there is none else.' "

Again : our God has had much to do to teach this lesson
to the wise men of this world; for as rank, pomp, and power,
have set themselves up in place of God, ho has wisdom; and
one of the greatest enemies of Deity has always been the
wisdom of man. The wisdom of man will not see God. Pro-
fessing themselves to be wise, w^ise men have become fools.
But have ye not noticed, in reading history, how God has
abased the pride of wisdom ? In ages long gone by, he
sent mighty minds into the world, who devised systems
of philosophy. "These systems," they said, "will last
forever." Their pupils thought them infallible, and there-
fore wrote their sayings on enduring parchment, saying,
" This book wdll last forever ; succeeding generations of
juen will read it, and to the last man that book shall be
handed down, as the epitome of wisdom." " Ah ! but,"
said God, " that book of yours shall be seen to be folly,
ere another hundred years have rolled away." And so
the mighty thoughts of Socrates, and the wisdom of
Solon, are utterly forgotten now ; and could we hear them
speak, the veriest child in our schools would laugh to
think that he understandeth more of pliilosojihy than
they. But when man luis found the vanity of one system,
his eyes sparkled at another ; if Aristotle will not suffice,
here is Bacon; now I shall know everything; and he sets
to work, and says that this new philosophy is to last for-

SERMONS BY SPURGI ON.

i?'

:ii I

1^.

i I

ever. H^ lays his stones with fair colours, and he thinks
that every truth he piles up is a precious imperishable
truth. But, alas ! another century comes, and it is found
to be " wood, hay, and stubble." A new sect of philoso-
sophers rise up, who refute their predecessors. So, too,
we have wise men in this day — wise secularists, and so
on, who fancy they have obtained the truth ; but within
another fifty years — and mark that word — this hair shall
not be silvered over with gray, until the last of that race
shall have perished, and that man shall be thought a fool
that was ever connected with such a race. Systems of
infidelity pass aw^ay like a dew-drop before the sun, for
God says, " I am God, and beside me there is none else."
This Bible is the stone that shall break in powder philos-
ophy ; this is the mighty battering-ram that shall dash all
systems of philosophy in pieces ; this is the stone that a
woman may yet hurl upon the head of every Abimelech,
and he shall utterly be destroyed. O Church of God !
fear n* t ; thou shall do wonders; wise men shall be con-
founded, and thou shalt know, and they too, that he is
God, and that beside him there is none else.

" Surely," says one, " the Church of God does not need
to be taught this." Yes, we answer, she does ; for of all
beings, those whom God has made the object of His
grace are perhaps the most apt to forget this cardinal
truth, that He is God, and that beside Him there is none
else. How did the church in Canaan forget it, when
they bowed before other gods, and therefore He brought
against them mighty kings and princes, and afflicted
them sore. How did Israel forget it; and he carried
them away captive into Babylon. And what Israel did
in Canaan and in Babylon, that we do now. We too,
too often, forgot that He is God, and beside Him there is
none else. Doth not the Christian know what I mean
when I tell him this great fact ? For#hath he not done
it himself ? In certain times prosperity has come upon
him J soft gales have blown his bark along, just where

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION.

his wild will wished to steer ; and he has said within
himself : " Now I have peace, now I have happiness, now
the object I wished for is within my grasp, now I will
say, * Sit down my soul, and take thy rest ; eat, drink
and be merry ; these things will well content me ; make
thou these thy god, be thou blessed and happy.' " But
have we not seen our God dash the goblet to the earth,
spill the sweet wine, and instead thereof fill it with gall ?
And as He has given it to us, he has said : — " Drink it,
drink it; you have thought to find a god on earth, but
drain the cup and know its bitterness." When we have
drank it, nauseous the draught was, and we have cried,
*' Ah ! God, I will no more drink from these things ; thou
art God, and beside Thee there is none else." And ah !
how often, too, have we devised schemes for the future,
without asking God's permission ! Men have said, like
those foolish ones whom James mentioned, " We will do
such-and-such things on the morrow; we will buy and
sell and get gain," whereas they knew not what was to
be on the morrow, for long ere the morrow came they
were unable to buy and sell ; death had claimed them,
and a small span of earth held all their frame. God
teaches his people every day, by sickness, by .affliction,
by depression of spirits, by the forsakings of God, by
the loss of the Spirit for a season, by the lackings of the
joys of His countenance, that He is God, and that beside
Him there is none else. And we must not forget that
there are some special servants of God raised up to do
great works, who in a peculiar manner have to learn
this leason. Let a man, for instance, be called to the
great work of preaching the Gospel. He is successful ;
God helped him ; thousands wait at his feet, and multi-
tudes hang upon his lips ; as truly as that man is a man,
he will have a tendency to be exalted above measure,
and too much will he begin to look to himself, and too
little to his God. Let men speak who know, and what
they know, let them speak ; and they will say : " It if

iiShdn

ll'J

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

true, it is most true." If God gives us a special mission,
we generally begin to take some honour and glory to
ourselves. But in the review^ of the eminent saints of
God, have you never observed how God has made them
feel that He was God, and beside Him there was none
else ? Poor Paul mioht have tlioua'ht himself a ffod, and
been puffed up beyond measuie, by reason of the great-
ness of his revelation, had there not been a thorn in the
ilesh. But Paul could feel that he was not a God, for he
had a thorn in the llcsh, and gods could not have thorns
in the flesh. Sometimes God teaches the minister by
denying him help on special occasions. We come up
into our pulpits, and say " Oh ! I wish I could have a
good day, to-day ! " We begin to labour ; we have been
just as earnest in prayer, and just as indefatigable ; but
it is like a blind horse turning round a mill, or like
Samson with Delilah : we shake our vain limbs with
vast surprise, " make feeble fight," and win no victories.
We are made to see that the Lord is God, and that beside
Him there is none else. Very frequently God teaches
this to the minister, by leading him to see his own sinful
nature. He will have such an insiorht into his own
wicked and abominable heart, that he will feel as he
comes up the pulpit stairs that he does not deserve so
much as to sit in his pew, much less to preach to his
fellows. Although we feel always joy in the declaration
of God's Word, yet we have known what it is to totter
on the pulpit steps, under a sense that the chief of sin-
ners should scarcely be allowed to preach to others. Ah !
beloved, I do not think he will be very successful as a
minister who is not taken into the depths and blackness
of his own soul, and made to exclaim : " Unto me, who
am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given,
that I should preach among the Gentiles, the unsearch-
able riches of Christ." There is another antidote which
God applies in the case of ministers. If he does not deal
with them personally, he raises up a host of enemies,

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION.

3r by '

le u'^

lavc a

J been

; but

r like
with
ories.

reside
aches

sinful
own
as he
ve so
his
ation
:,otter
sin-
Ah!
1 as a
kness
who
^iven,
arch-
v^hich
deal

imies

that it may be seen that He is God, and God alone. An
esteemed friend sent me, yesterday, a valuable old MS.
of one of George VVhitefield's hymns which was sung on
Kennington Common. It is a splendid hynm, thor-
oughly Whitefieldian all through. It showed that his
reliance was wholly on the Lord, and that God was
within him. What ! will a man subject himself to the
calumnies of the multitude, will he toil and work, day
after day, unnecessarily, will he stand up Sabbath after
Sabbath, and preach the Gospel, and have his name
maligned and slandered, if he h;us not the grace of God
in him ? For myself, I can say, that were it not that
the love of Christ constrained me, this hour might be
the last that I should preach, so far as the ease of the
thing is concerned. " Necessity is laid upon us ; yea,
woe is unto us, if we pieach not the Gospel." But that
opposition through which God carries His servants, leads
them to see at once that He is God, and that there is
God, and that there is none else. If every one ap-
plauded, if all were gratified, we should think ourselves
God ; but when they hiss and hoot, we turn to our God,
and ciy,

" If on my face, for Thy dear name,
Shame and reproach should be,
I'll hail reproach, and welcome shame,
If thou'lt remember me."

II. This brings us to the second portion of our dis-
course. Salvation is God's greatest work ; and, therefore,
in His greatest work. He specially teaches us this lesson,
that He is God, and that beside Him there is none else.
Our text tells us how He teaches it. He says, " Look un-
to me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth." He
shows us that He is God, and that beside Him there is
none else, in three ways. First, by the person to whom
He directs us : ** Look unto me, and be ye saved." Se-
condly, by the means He tells us to use to obtain mercy :

'r:

*;■ .

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

" Look," simply, *' Look." And thirdly, by the persona
whom He calls to "look:" "Look unto me, and be ve
saved, all the ends oftfie earth."

1. First, To whom does God tell us to look for salvation?
0, does it not lower the pride of man. when we hear the
Lord say, " Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends
of the earth ?" It is not, " Look to your priest, and be ye
saved:" if you did, there w(Aild be another god, and be-
side him there would be some one else. It is not, " Look
to yourself ; " if so, then there would be a being who
might arrogate some of the praise of salvation. But it is
" Look unto me." How fretjuently you who are coming
to Christ look to yourselves. " O ! " you say, " I do not
repent enough." That is looking to yourself. " I do not
believe enougli." That is looking to yourself. " I am too
unworthy." That is looking to yourself. " I cannot dis-
cover," says another, " that I have any righteousness."
It is quite right to say that you have not any righteous-
ness ; but it is quite wrong to look for any. It is, " Look
unto me." God will have you turn your eye off yourself
and look unto Him. The hardest thing in the world is
to turn a man's eye oft' himself ; as long as he lives, he
always has a predilection to turn his eyes inside, and
look at himself ; whereas God says, " Look unto me."
From the cross of Calvary, wheie the bleeding hands of
Jesus drop mercy; from the garden of Gethsemane, where
the bleeding pores of the Saviour sweat pardons, the cry
comes, " Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of
the earth." From Calvary's summit, where Jesus cries,
" It is finished," I hear a shout, •' Look, and be saved."
But there comes a vile cry from our soul, " Nay, look to
yourself! look to yourself!" Ah, my hearer, look to your-
self, and you will be damned. That certainly will come
of it. As long as you look to yourself there is no hope
for you. It is not a consideration of what you are, but a
consideration of w^hat God is, and what Christ is, that enn
save you. It is looking from yourself to Jesus. ! thr^'«

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION.

1)0 inon thcat quite misunderstand the gospel ; they think
that rirjhteousness qualifies them to come to Christ ;
whereas sin is the only qualification for a man to come
to Jesus. Good old Crisp says, " Righteousness keeps me
from Christ : the whole have no need of a physician, but
they that are sick. Sin makes me come to Jesus, when
sin is felt ; and, in coming to Christ, the more sin I have
the more cause I have to hope for mercy." David said,
and it was a strange thing, too, " Have mercy upon me,
for mine iniquity is great." But, David, why did not
you say that it was little? Because, David knew tliat the
biMger his sins were, the better reason for asking mei cy.
The more vile a man is, the more eagerly I invite him to
believe in Jesus. A L;ense of sin is all we have to look
for as ministeii- We preach to sinners ; and let us know
that a man wib i-ake the title of sinner to himself, and we
then say to him, " Look unto Christ, and ye shall be
saved," " Look," this is all He demands of thee, and even
this He gives thee. If thou lookest to thyself thou art
damned ; thou art a vile miscreant, filled with loathsome-
ness, corrupt and corrupting others. But look thou here
— seest thou that man hanging on the cross ? Dost thou
behold his agonized head dropping meekly down upon his
breast ? Dost thou see that thorny crown, causing drops
of blood to trickle down his cheeks ? Dost thou see his
hands pierced and rent, and his blest feet, supporting the
weight of his own frame, rent well-nigh in twain with
the cruel nails ? Sinner ! dost thou hear him shriek,
" Eloi, Eloi, lama sabbacthani ? " Dost thou hear him cry,
' It is finished ? " Dost thou mark his head hanfj down in
death ? Seest thou that side pierced with the spear, and
the body taken from the cross? O, come thou hither!
Those hands were nailed for thee ; those feet gushed gore
for thee ; that side was opened wide for thee ; and if thou
wantest to know how thou canst find mercy, there it is.
•' Look ! " " Look unto me ! " Look no longer to Mosehi
Look no longer to Sinai. Come thou here and look to
B

ESSSK

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

■

.' ?

- 1

4
1

Calvary, to Calvary's victim, and to Joseph's grave. And
look thou yonder, to the man wlio near the throne sits
with his Father, crowned with light and immortality.
" Look, sinner," he says, this morning, to you, " Look un-
to me, and be ye saved." It is in this way God teaches
that there is none beside Him; because He makes us look
entirely to Him, and utterly away from ourselves.

2. But the second thought is, the means of salvation.
It is "Look unto me, and be ye saved." You have often
observed, I am sure, that many people are fond of
an intricate worship, an involved religion, one they can
hardly understand. They cannot endure worship so sim-
ple as ours. Then they must have a man dressed in white,
and a man dressed in black ; then they must have what
is called an altar and a chancel. After a little while that
will not suffice, and they must have flower pots and can-
dles, the clerygyman then becomes a priest, and he must
have a variegated dress, with a cross on it. So it goes
on ; what is simply a plate becomes a paten, and what
was once a cup becomes a chalice ; and the more compli-
cated the ceremonies are, the better they like them.
They like their minister to stand like a superior being.
The world likes a religion they cannot comprehend. But
have you never noticed how gloriously simple the Bible
is ? It will not have any of your nonsense ; it speaks
plain, and nothing but plain things. "Look!" There is
not an unconverted man who likes this, "Look unto
Christ, and be ye saved." No, he comes to Christ like
Naaman to Elijah ; and when it is said, " Go, wash in
Jordan," he replies, " I verily thought he would come and
put his hand on the place, and call on the name of his
God. But the idea of telling me to go wash in Jordan,
what a ridiculous thing ! Anybody could do that ! " If
the prophet had bidden him do some great thing, would
he not have done it ? Ah ! certainly he would. And if,
this morning, I could preach that any one who walked
from here to Bath without his shoes and stockings, or di'!

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION.

some impossible thing, should be saved, you would start
off to-morrow morning before breakfast. If it would take
me seven years to describe the way of salvation, I am sure
you would all long to hear it. If only one learned doc-
tor could tell the way to heaven, how would he be run
after ! And if it were in hard words, with a few scraps
of Latin and Greek, it would be all the better. But it is
a simple gospel that we have to preach. It is only
" Look ! " " Ah !" you say, " is that the gospel ? I shall
not pay any attention to that." But why has God or-
dered you to do such a simple thing ? Just to take down
your pride, and to show you that he is God, and that be-
side him there is none else. 0, mark liow simple th;> vray
of vsalvation is. It is, " Look ! Look ! Look ! " Four let-
ters, and two of them alike ! "Look unto me and be ye
saved, all the ends of the earth." Some divines Avant a
week to tell you what you are to do to be saved ; but
God and the Holy Ghost only wants four letters to do it.
"Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the
earth." How simple is that 'vay of .salvation ! and O, how
instantaneous ! It takes us some time to move our hand,
but a look does not require a moment. So a sinner be-
lieves in a moment ; and the moment that sinner believed
and trusts in his crucitied God for pardon, at once he
receives salvation in full through his blood. There
may be one that came in here this moining unjustified
in his conscience, that will go out justified rather
than others. There may be some here, filthy sin-
ners one momeitt, pardoned the next. Ic is done in an
instant. " Look ! Look ! Look ! " And how universal is
it 1 Because, whcreever 1 am, however far ofi", it just says,
" Look ! " If wo look on a thing in the dark, we cannot
see it ; but we have done what we were told. So, if a
sinner looks to Jesus he will save him ; for Jesus in the
dark is as good as Jesus in the light ; and Jesus, when
you cannot see him, is as good as Jesus when you can.
it is only, " Look ! " '* Ah, says one, " I have been try-

SERMONS 13 Y SPUilGEON.

li i»

II!

ing to see Jesus this year, but I have not S'.^en hitii." Tt
does not say, see hiui, but '"' \jy.j\<. unto him." And it says
that they who looked were lightened. It" there is an ob-
stacle before you, and you only look in the iT.^ht direction,
it is sufficient. " Look unto me." It is not seeiu'jf Christ^
so uiuch as lookinrr after him. The will after Christ, the
wisli after Christ, the desire after Christ, the trusting in
Ciirist, the hanixiui]: on Christ, that is wliat is wanted.
''Look! Look! Look!" Ah I if che man bitten by the
serpent had turned his sightless eyeballs towards the
biazen serpent, though he had not seen it, he would still
have had his life restored. It is looking, not seeing, that
saves the sinner.

We say again, how this humbles a man I There is a
gentleman who says, " Well, if it had been a thousand
pounds that would have saved nie, I would have thought
nothing of it." But your gold and silver is cankered ; it
is good for nothing. " Then, am I to be saved just the
same as my servant Betty?" Yes, just the same; there
is no other way of salvation for you. This is to show
man that Jehovah is God, and that beside him there is
none else. This wise man says, " If it had been to work
the most wonderful problem, or to solve the greatest m3's-
tery, I would have done it. May I not have some myster-
ious gospel ? May I not believe in some mysterious re-
ligion?" No; it'is "Look !" "What! am I to be savol
like that Ragged School boy, who can't read his letters ? '
Yes, you must, or you will not be saved at all. Another
says, ' I have been very moral and ujuight ; 1 have ob-
served all tlie laws of the land ; and, if there is anything'
else to do, I will do it. I will cat only tish on Fridays,
and keep all the fasts of the church, if that will save me."
No, sir, that will not save you ; your good works are goo 1
for nothing. " What ! must I be saved in the sauie way
as a harlot or a drunkard ?" Yes, sir; there is only o;,'
way of salvation for all. " He hatli conchided all in un
belief, that he might have mercy upon all." lie lii'iii

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALVATION.

l).va." Tt
iVnd it say^4
•e is an ob-
it direction,
3cing Cliviso
Christ, the
trusting 'n\
is wanted,
tten by the
towards the
5 would still
b seeing, that

There is a
L a thousand
have thought
cankered ; it
ved just the
same; there
^ is to show
him there is
)een to work
greatest mys-
some myster-
..ysterious re-
1 to he save^l
his letters I '
all. Another
; I have oh-
•e is any thill i^
1 on Fridays,
will save me. "
orks are goo 1
lie same way

I passsed a sentence of condemnation on all, that the free

I grace of God might come upon many to salvation. "Look !

* look! look!" This is the simple methol of salvation.

^ " Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the

vi earth."

ft But, lastly, mark how God has cut down the pride of

^rian, and has exalted himself hij the pa'son^ ivhom he has

'Mcdfled to look. " Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the

-londs of the earth." When the Jew heard Isaiah say

; tliat, "Ah!" he exclaimed, "you ought to have said,

I* Look unto me, O J'.'rusalem, and be save'l.' That would

fhave been right. Bat those Gentile dogs, are they to look

,and be saved ? " " Yes," says God ; " I will show you

Jews, that, though I have given you many privileges, I

will exalt others above you ; I can do as I will with my

te IS

only

t).

lied all in un
111." Ue hall

own.

Now, who are the ends of the earth ? Why, there are
poor heathen nations now that are very few degrees re-
\|ni) ved from brutes, uncivilized and untaught; but if I
iniuht ffo and tread the desert, and find the Bushman in
liis kraal, or go to the South Seas, and find a cannibal, I
would say to the cannibal or the Bushiuan " Look unto
JF^sus, and be ye saved all the ends of the earth." They
'fire some of " the ends of the earth," and the Gospid is
ieut as much to them as to the polite Grecians, the re-
fined Romans, or the educated Britons. But I think
^ the ends of the earth," imply those who have gone the
farthest away from Christ. 1 say, drunkard, that means
you. You have been staggering back, until you have

tot right to " the ends of the earth ; " you have almost
ad delirium tremens ; you cannot be much worse. There
«4 not a man br(!athing worse than you. Is there ? Ah !
%ut God in order to humble your pride says to you,
I Look unto Me, and be ye saved." There is another
ho has lived a life of infamy and sin, until she has
ined herself, and even Satan seems to sweep lier out
the back door ; but God says- " Look unto Me, and be

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

;

' i

• 1

i t
1 ■

ye saved, all the ends of the earth." Methinks I see one
trembling here and saying, " Ah, I have not been one of
these, sir, but I have been something worse ; for I have
attended the house of God, and I have stifled ccnvictions,
and put off all thoughts of Jesus, and now I think He
will never have mercy on me. You are one of them.
" Ends of the earth." So long as I find any who feel like
that, I can tell them that they are " the ends of the
earth." " But," savs another, " I am so peculiar ; if I
did not feel as I dc, it would be all very well ; but I feel
that my case is a peculiar one," That is all right; they
are a peculiar peoj)le. You will do. But another one
says. " There is nobody in the world like me. I do not
think you will find a being under the sun that has had so
many calls, ati<l put them all away, and so mony sins on
his head. Besides, I have guilt tliat I should not like to
confess to any living creature." One of " the ends of the
earth" again ; therei'oj-e, all I have to do is to cry out in
the Master's name, " Look unto me, and be ye saved, all
the ends of the earth : for I am God, and there is none
else." But thou sayest, sin will not let thee look. I tell
thee, sin will be removed the moment thou dost look.
" But I dare not, He will condemn me ; 1 fear to look!'
He will condemn thee more if thou dost not look. Fear,
then, and look; but do not let thy fearing keep thee from
looking. ''Bid He will cast me out." Try him ! " But
I cannot see Ilini.'' I tell you it is not seeing, but look-
ing. "Bat my ei/es are so fixed on. the earth, so earthly,
HO wordly." Ah ! but poor soul, he giveth power to look
and live. lie saitli, " Look unto Me, and by ye saved all
the ends of the earth."

Take this, dear friends, for a new year's text, both ye
who love the Lord, and ye who are only looking for the
first time. Christian 1 in all thy troubles through this
year, look unto God and be saved. In all thy agony,!
poor soul, in all thy lepentance for thy guilt, look unto
Christ, and find pardon. This year remember to put

Sovereignty and salvation.

cs 1 see one
been one of
; for I have
ccnvictions,
I think He
>ne of them.
,vho feel like

ends of the
eculiar ; if I
1 ; but I feel

right; they
another one
ae. I do not
lat has had so
anny sins on
Id not like to
le ends of the
,0 cry out in
ye saved, all
:here is none
3 look. I tell
ou dost look.
fear to look."
b look. Fear,
j.eep thee from

him ! " But
jing, but look-

h, so earthly,
power to look
)y ye saved all

text, both yo
Doking for the
through this
11 thy agony
uilt, look untoj:!
ember to putf

thine eyes heavenward, and thine heart heavenward, too.
Remember, this day, that thou bind round thyself a gold-
en chain, and put one link of it in the staple in heaven.
Look unto Christ ; fear not. There is no stumbling when
a man walks with his eyes up to Jesus. He that looked
at the stars fell into the ditch ; but he that looks at
Christ walks safely. Keep your eyes up all the year
long. " Look unto him, and be ye saved ;" and remember
that " is God, and besides hiim there is none else."
And thou, poor trembler, what sayest thou ? Wilt thou
begin the year by looking unto him ? You know how
sinful you are this morning ; you know how filthy you
are ; and yet it is possible that, before you open your pew-
door, and get into the aisle, you will be as justified as the
apostles before the throne of God. It is possible that,
ere your foot treads the threshold of your door, you will
have lost the burden that has been on your back, and you
will go on your way, singing, " I am forgiven, I am for-
given ; I am a miracle of grace ; this day is my spiritual
birthday." 0, that it might be such to many of you, that
at last I might say, " Here am I, and the children thou
hast given me.'' Hear this, convinced sinner! " This poor
man cried, and the Lord delivered him out of his dis-
tresses." 0, taste and see that the Lord is good ! Now
believe on him; now cast thy guilty soul upon his right-
eousness ; now plunge thy black soul into the bath of his
blood ; now put thy naked soul at the door of the ward-
robe of his righteousness ; now seat thy famished soul at
the feast of plenty. Now " Look ," How simple does it
seem I And yet it is the hardest thing in the world to
bring men to. They never will do it, till constraining graco
makes them. Yet there it is, " Look 1" Go thou away
with that thought. " Look unto me and be ye saved, all
the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is none
else."

■ ^^1

[ .1

I J

i!,'

III!

I I

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

/ *' Pnit ive preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stnmhUng-
block, and, tmto the Greeks foolishness ; but unto them, ivhich
are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the poioer of God —
1 Cor. i : 23, 24.

ftF jHAT contempt hath God poured upon the
"'V ^ wisdom of this world ! How that he brought
it to naught, and made it appear as nothing.
He has allowed it to work out its own con-
clusions, and prove its own folly. Men boasted that
they were wise ; they say that they could tind out
God to perfection ; and in order that their folly
might be refuted once and forever, God gave them
the opportunity of so doing. He said, " Wordly
wisdom I will try thee. Thou saycst that thou
art mighty, that thine intellect is vast and compre-
hensive, that thine eye is keen, and thou canst tin<l
*T all secrets ; now, behold, J try thee ; I give thee one
A nrreat pvobiem to solve. Here is the univeise ; stars
^ make its canopy, fields and flowers adorn it, and tlie
floods roll o'er its surface ; my name is written therein ;
the invisible things of God may be clcai'ly seen in tlie
things which are made. Philosophy I give thee this
problem — And Me out. Here are My works — (ind Me
out. Discover in the wondrous world whicli I have made,
the way to worship Me acceptably. I give thee space

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

enough to do it — there are data enough. Behold the
clouds, the earth, and the stars. I give thee time enough ;
I will give thee four thousand years, and I will not in-
terfere ; but thou shalt do as thou wilt with thine own
world. I will give thee men enough ; for I will make
great minds and vast, whom thou shalt call lords of
earth ; thou shalt have orators, thou shalt have philoso-
I'liers. Find Me out, Oh reason; find Me out, Oh v/is.-
'lom ; find Me out, if thou canst ; find Me out unto per-
fection; and if thou canst not, then shut thy mouth
forever, and then will I teach thee that the wisdom of
God is wiser than the wisdom of men; yea. that the
jfoolishness of God is wiser than men." And how did
the wisdom of man work out the problem ? How did
; wisdom perform her feat ? Look upon the heathen
[nations ; there you see the result of wisdom's lesearches.
|In the time of Jesus Christ, you might have beheld the
learth covered with the slime of pollution, a Sodom on a
large scale — corrupt, filthy, depraved, indulging in vices
|which we dare not mention ; revelling in lust too abom-
inable even foi' our imagination to dwell upon for a
loment. We find the men prosti-uting theniM-dves 1 efore
)locks of wood and stone, adoring ten thousand gods
lore vicious than themselves We find, in fact, that
reason wrote out her lines with a finq:er covered with
)lood and filth, and that she forev(n' cut herself out from
ill th<3 ghn-y by the vile deeds she did. She would not
rorship God. She would not bow down to Him, who is
clearly seen," but she worship[)ed any creature — the
Reptile that crawled, the ci'ocodile, the viper — everything
light lie a god ; but not, forsootli, the God (jf Heaven,
''ice might be made into a ceremony, the greatest crime
light be exalted into a religion; but true worship .she
new nothing of Poor rea.^on ! jioor wisdom ! how art
[hou fallen from Heaven; like Lucifer, thou sou of the
lorning ! thou art lost ; thou hast written out thy con-
lusion. but a conclusion of con.summate folly. " After

•mm

tirami (Tlllfii

K -4

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

! ill I

ii.i

h at, in the wisdom of God, the world by wisdom knew
not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching
to save them that believe."

Wisdom has had its tin)e, and time enough : it had
done its all, and that was little enoiiixh ; it had made
the world worse than it was before it stepped upon it,
and " now," says God, foolishness shall overcome wis-
ilom ; now ignorance, as ye call it, shall sweep away
science ; now (saith God), humble, child-like faith shall
crumble to the dust all tlie colossal systems your hands
have piled." He calls His wai'riors. Christ puts His
truuipet to His mouth, and up comes the warriors, clad
in the fisherman's garb, with the brogue of the Lake of
Galilee, poor humble mariners Here are the warriors, O
wisdom ! that are to confound thee ; these are the heroes
who shall overcome thy proud plfilosophers ; these men
are to ])lant their standard ujion thy ruined walls, and
birl them fall forever ; these men and their successors are
to exalt a Gcwpel in the world, which ye may laugh at
as absurd, which ye may sneer at as folly, but which shall
be exalted above the hills, and shall be glorious even to
the hightest heavens. Since that day, God has always
raised up successors of the apostles. I claim to be a suc-
cessor of the apostles ; not by any lineal descent, but be-
cause I have the same roll and charter as any apostle, and
am as much called to preach the Gospel as Paul himself ;
if not as much owned by the conversion of sinners, yet
in a measure, blessed of God ; and, therefore, here I
stand, foolish as Paul might be, foolish as Peter, or
any of those fishermen, still, with the might of God, I
grasp the sword of truth, coming there " to preach
Christ and Him crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling-
block, and unto the Greeks foolishness ; but unto them
which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ, the
power of God, and the wisdom of God."

Before I enter upon our text, let me very briefly tell
you what I believe preaching Christ, and Him crucified

>aS

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

is. iMy friends, I do not believe it is [)reaching Christ
and Him crucified, to give people a batch of philosophy
every Sunday morning and evening, and neglect the
truths of this Holy Book. I do not believe it is preach-
ing Christ and Him crucified, to leave out the main car-
dinal doctrines of" the Word of Gi)d, and preach a religion
that is all a mist and a haze, without any definite truths
whatever. I take it that man does not pre.-ich Christ and
Him crucified, who can get through his sermon, without
mentioning Christ's name once ; nor does that man preach
Christ and Him crucified, who leaves out the Holy Spirit's
work, who never says a word about the Holy Ghost, so
that indeed the hearers might say, " We do not so much
as know whether there be a Holy Ghost." And I have
my own private opinion, tliat there is no preaching Christ
and Him crucified, unless you preach what now-a-days
is called Calvinism. I have my own ideas, and those
I always state boldly. It is a nickname to call it Cal-
vinism. Calvinism is the Gospel, and nothing else. I
do not believe we can preach the Gospel, it* we do not
preach justification by faith without works; nor unless
we preach the sovereignity of God in His disj)ensation of
grace, nor unless we exalt the electing, unchangeable,
eternal, immutable, conquering love of Jehovah ; nor, I
think, can we preach the Gospel, unless we base it upon
the peculiar rclemption which Christ made for His elect
and chosen people ; nor can I comprehend a Gospel which
lets saints fall away after they are called, and sutlers the
children of God to be burned in the fires of damnation,
after having believed. Such a Gospel, I abhor. The
Gospel of the Bible is not such a Gospel as that. We
preach Christ and Him crucified in a difierent feshion,
and to all gainsayers we reply, " We have not so learneil
Christ."

There are three things in the text : first, a gospel re-
jected, "Christ crucified, to the Jews a stumbling-block,
and to the Greeks foolishness;" secondly, a gospel trium-

'f^^^^iSS

i i

. 1

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

phant, "unto tliose who are called, both Jews and Greeks;"
and thirdly, a gospel admired; it is to them who are called,
" the power of God and the wisdom of God."

I. First, we have here a fjn.^pel rejoded. One would
have imagined that, when God sent His gospel to men,
all men would meekly listen, and humbly receive its
truths. We should have thought tliat God's ministers
had bnt to proclaim that life is brought to light by the
gospel, and th;it Christ is come to save sinners, and every
ear would be attentive, every eye would be fixed, and
every hcait would he wide open to receive the truth. We
should have said, Judging favourably of our fellow-crea-
tures, that there would not exist in the world a monster
so vile, so depraved, so polluted, as to put so mucli as a
stone in the way of the progress of truth ; we could not
have conceived such a thing ; yet that conception is the
truth. When the gospel was preached, instead of being
accepted and admired, one universal hiss went up to hea-
ven ; men could not bear it ; its tirst preacher they drag-
ged to the brow of the hill, and would have sent him down
headlong; yea, they did more — they nailed him to the
cross, and there they let him languish oufc his dying life
in agony such as no man hath borne since. All his chosen
ministers have been hated and abhorred by worldlings ;
instead of being listened to, they have been scoffed at ;
treated as if they were the offscouring of all things, and
the very scum of mankind. Look at the holy men in the
old times, how they were driven from city to city, perse-
cuted, afflicted, tormented, stoned to death, wherever the
enemy had power to do so. Those friends of men, those
real philanthropists, who came with hearts big with love,
and hands full of merc}^ and lips pregnant with celestial
tire, and souls that burned with holy influence; those men
were treated as if they were spies in the camp, as if they
were deserters from the common cause of mankind ; as if
they were enemies, and not, as they truly were, the best
of friends. Do not suppose, my friends, that men like

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

the gospel any better now than they did then. There is
an idea that you are growing better. I do not believe it.
You are growing worse. In many respects men may be
better, — outwardly better ; but the heart within is stili
the sam*;. Tine hunmn heart of to-day dissL'cttd, would
be just like the human heart a thousand years ago; the
gall of bitterness within that bi'east of yours, is just as
bitter as the gall of bittt;niess in that of Simon of old. We
have in our hearts the same latent 0})i)0sition to the truth
of God; and houce we find men, even as of old, who scorn
the gospel.

1 shall, in speaking of the gospel rejected, endeavour to
point out the two classes of persons who e(iually despise
the truth. The Jews make it a stumbling-block, and the
Greeks account it foolishness. Now these two very res-
pectable gentlemen — the Jew and the Greek — I am not
going to make these ancient individuals the object of my
condemnation, but I look upon them as members of a great
parliament, representatives of a great constituency, and I
shall attempt to show that if all the race of Jews were
cut off, there would be still a great number in the world
who would answer to the name of Jews, to whom Christ
is a stumbling-block, and that if Greece were swallowed
up by some earthquake, and ceased to be a nation, there
would still be the Greek unto whom the gospel would be
foolishness. I shall simply introduce the Jew and the
Greek, and let them speak a moment to you, in order
that you may see the gentlemen who represent you ; the
representative men ; the persons who stand for many of
you, who as yet are not called by divine grace.

The first is a Jew, to him the gospel is a stumbling-
block. A respectable man the Jew was in his day ; all
formal religion was concentrated in his person ; he went
up to the temple very devoutly ; he tithed all he had,
even to the mint and the cummin. You would see him
fasting twice in the week, with a face all marked with
sadness and sorrow. If you looked at him, he had the

■ '

If H

. >

^ 1

I 9 d

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

law between his eyes ; there was the phylactery, and the
borders of his garments of amazing width, that he might
never be supposed to be a Gentile dog; that no one might
ever conceive that he was not a Hebrew of pure des-
cent. He had a holy ancestry ; he came of a pious fam-
ily ; a right good man was he. He could not like those
Sadducees at all, who had no religion. He was thoroughly
a religious man ; he stood up for his synagogue; he would
not have that temple on Mount Gerizim ; he could not
bear the Samaritans, he had no dealings with them ; he
was a religionist of the first order, a man of the very
finest kind ; a specimen of a man who is a moralist, and
who loves the ceremonies of the law. Accordingly, when
he heard about Christ, he asked who Christ was. " The
son of a carpenter." " Ah ! " " The son of a carpenter,
and his mother's name was Mary, and his father's name
Joseph." "That of itself is presumption enough," said he;
" positive proof, in fact, that he cannot be the Messiah."
And what does he say ? Why, he says, " Woe unto you
Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites." " That won't do."
Moreover, he says, " It is not by the works of the flesh
that any man can enter into the kingdom of heaven." The
Jew tied a double knot in his phylactery at nee ; he
thought he would have the borders of his garment made
twice as broad. He bow to the Nazarene ! No, no ; and
if so much as a disciple crossed the street, he thought the
place polluted, and would not trf;,^d in his steps. Do you
think he would give up his old father's religion, the reli-
gion which came from Mouni i*<inai, that old religion that
lay in the ark and the overshadowing cherubim ? He give
that up ! not he. A vile impostor — that is all Christ was
in his eyes. He thought so. " A stumbling-block to me;
I cannot hear about it ; I will not listen to it." Accord-
ingly, he turned a deaf ear to all the preacher's eloquence,
and listened not at all. Farewell, old Jew ! Thou sleepest
with thy fathers, and thy generation is a wandering race
still walking the earth. Farewell ! I have done witL

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

Liid the

J might

re tles-

lus fam-

ce those

.roughly

te wouUl

)uld not

hem; he

hQ very

BiUst, and

rly when

;/ "The

jarpenter,

er's name

" said he;
Messiah."
unto you

jron't do."
the flesh

/en." The
ace; he
Acnt made
o, no ; and
ought the
Do you
,n, the reU-
jUgion that
L? He give
, Christ was
^lock to me ;
Accord-
's eloquence,
hou sleepest
dering race
douQ with

thee. Alas ! poor wretch, that Christ who was thy stum-
bling-block, shall be thy judge, and on thy head shall be
that loud curse. " His blood be on us and on our chil-
dren." But I am going to find out Mr. Jew here in Exe-
ter Hall — persons who answer to this description — to
whom Jesus Christ is a stumbling-block. Let me intro-
duce you to yourselves, some of you. You were of a pious
family too, were you not ? Yes. And you have a religion
which you love; you love it so far as the chry.salis of it
goes, the outside, the covering, the husk. You would not
have one rubric altered, nor one of those dear old arches
taken down, nor the stained glass removed, for all the
world ; and any man who should say a word against such
things, you would set down as a heretic at once. Or,
perhaps, you do not go to such a [)lace of worship, but you
love some plain old meeting-house, where your forefathers
worshipped, called a dissenting chapel. Ah ! it is a beau-
tiful plain place ; you love it, you love its ordinances, you
love its exterior ; and if any one spoke against the place,
how vexed you would feel. You think that what they
do there, they ought to do everywhere ; in fact, your
church is a model one ; the place where you go is exactly
the sort of place for everybody ; and if I were to ask you
why you hope to go to heaven, you would perhaps say,
" Because I am a Baptist," or, " Because I am an Episco-
palian," or whatever other sect you belong to. There is
yourself ; I know Jesus Christ will be to you a stumbling-
block. H 1 come and tell you, that all your going to the
house of God is good for nothing; if I tell you that all
those many times you have been singing and praying, all
pass for nothing in the sight of God, because you are a
hypocrite and a formalist. If I tell you that your heart
is not right with God, and that unless it is so, all the ex-
ternal is good for nothing, I know what you will say, —
" 1 shan't hear that young man again." It is a stumbling-
block. If you had stepped in anywhere where you had
heard formalism exalted ; if you had been told *' thi^

Ml:

IMI

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

! i

' 1

must y*j 1 do, and this other must you do, and then you
will be saved," you would highly approve of it. But how
many are there externally religious, with whose characters
you could find no fault, but who have never had the re-
generating infiuence of the Holy Ghost ; who never were
made to lie prostrate on their face before Calvary's cross;
who never turned a wistful eye to yonder Saviour cruci-
fied ; who never put their trust in him that was slain tor
the sons of men. They love a superficial religion, but
when a man talks deeper than that, they set it down for
cant. You may love all that is external about religion,
just as you may love a man for his clothes — caring noth-
ing for the man himself. If so, I know yon are one of
those who reject the gospel. You will hear me pieach ;
and while I speak about the externals, you will bear uie
with attention ; whilst I plead for morality, and argue
against drunkenness, or sliow the heinousness of Sabbath-
breaking, all well and good, but if once I say, " Except ye
be convejted, and become as little children, ye can in no
wise enter into the kingdom of God ; " if once 1 tell you
that you must be elected of God: that you must be pur-
chased with the Saviour's blood — that you nmst be con-
verted by the Holy Ghost — you say, " He is a fanatic !
Away with him, away with him ! We do not want to heai-
that any more." Christ crucified, is to the Jew — the cero-
monialist — a stumbling-block.

But there is another sj)ecimen of the Jew to be found.
He is thoroughly orthodox in his sentiments. As for
forms and ceremonies, he thinks nothing about theni.
He goes to a phice of worship where he learns sound doc-
trine. He will hear nothing but what is true. He likes
that we .should have good works and moi'ality. Ho is a
good man, and no one can find fault with him. Here he
is, regular in his Sunday pew. In the market he walks
before men in all honesty — so you would imagine. Aslv
him about any doctrine, and he can give you a di.s(iuis't"oii
upon it In fact, he could write a treatise upon anything

lot

CHUTST CRtJCIPlED.

blien yon
Bub how
havactr;rs i

Lcl the re-
iver were
•y's cross ;
our cruci-
. sbiin tor
igion, but

down for
it religion,
,ring notli-
ire one oi
ic preach :
11 hear uie
an<l argue
,i Sabbath -
' Except ye

can in no
> 1 tell you
ust he pur-
ust be con-

a fanatic '.
rant to hear
-the cere-

t,o be foiuid
ts. As fof
[bout tiieni.
sound do^'
He like-
y. He is a
lu. Here be
ct be Nvalk>
Lgine. Asl<
disquis't'oii
Ion anytbin:^

in the Bil)Ie, and a great many things besides. He knows
almost everything ; and here, up in this dark attic of the
head, his religion lias taken up its abode ; he has a best,
parlor down in his heart, but his religion never goes there
— tliat is shut against it. He has money in there — Mam-
mon, world liness ; or he has something else — self-love,
pride. Perhaps he loves to hear experimental preaching; '
he admires it all ; in fact, he loves anything that is sound.
But then, he has not any sound in himself; or rather, it is
all sound, and there is no substance. He likes to hear
true doctrine; but it never penetrates his iimer man.
You never sec him weep. Preach to him al)Out Christ
crucified, a glorious subject, and you never sec a tear roll
down his cheek; tell him of the mighty influence of the
Holy Ghost — he admires you for it, but he never had the
hand of the Holy Spirit on his soul ; tell him about
/. connnunion with God, plunging in Godhead's deepest sea,
1:7 iiud being lost in its innnensity — the man loves to hear,
" hut he never experiences, he has never communed with
;| (Jhrist; and accordingly, when you once begin to strike
f" liome ; when you lay him on the table, take out your dis-
I socting knife, begin to cut him up, and show him his own
I heart, let him sec what it is by nature, and what it nmst
i| become by grace — the man starts; he cannot stand that;
he wants none of that — Christ received in the lieart, and
accepted. Alheit that he loves it. rnough in the head, it
is to him a stumbling-block, ai \ he casts it away. Do
lyou see yourselves here, .••.,y fn .ends? See yourselves as
. Mothers see you ? See y our-v^lvcs as God sees you ? For s(, it
;4s, here be many of wh ,>m ULrist is as much a stiunhling-
|bl()ck now as ever he wa;: O ye formalists ! I spe • .j
lyou ; () ye who have the iUitshell, but abhor the kernel ;
) ye who like the tiappi:igs and the dre.>,s, but care not
or that fair virgin who is clothed thorewitli ; O yc who
ike the paint and the tinsel, but abhor the solid gold, I
peak to you; I ask you, does your religion, givi.' you
olid comfort? Can yo.i stare deati' in «.''m? face with it,

SERMONS BY SPtJRGEON.

and say, " I know that my Redeemer liveth ?" Can you
close your eyes at night, and your vesper song shall be :

" I to the end must endure,
* As sure as the earnest is given ?"

Can you bless God for affliction ? Can you plunge in,
accoutred as ye are, and swim through all the floods of
trial ? Can you march triumphant through the lion's den,
laugh at aliliction, and bid defiance to hell? Can you? No !
Your gospel is an efleminate thing — a thing of words and
sounds, and not of power. Cast it from you, I beseecli
you : it is not worth your keeping ; and when you come
before the throne of God, you will find it will fail you,
so that you shall never find another; for lost, ruinea,
destroyed, you will find that Christ, who is now a stumb-
ling-block, will be your judge.

1 have found out the Jew, and I have now to discover
the Greek. He is a person of (juitc a different extei'ior
to the Jew. As to the phylactery, to him it is all rubbish ;
and as to the bnjad-hemmed garment, lie despises it. He
does not care for the foi'ms of religion; he has an intenst'
aversion, in fact, to broad-brinnued hats, or to everything
which looks like outward show. He likes eloquence ; he
admires a smart saying; he loves a (piaint expression ; he
likes to read the last new book ; he is a Greek, an' to
him the gospel is foolishness. The Greek is a gentleman
found (jvcrywlu're, now-a-days; manufactured sometimes
in colleges, constantly made in schools, produced every-
where. He is <»n the exchange, in the market; he keej)s
a shop, rides in a cairiagi! ; h is noble, a gentleman ; lie
is everywhere, even in court. He is thoroughly wise.
Ask him an^'thing, and Ik^ knows it. Ask for a ((uotation
from any of the old poets, or any ouv. else, and he can give
it you. H'you are a Mohammedan, and plead the claims I
of youi' religion, ho will hear you very patiently. But if
you are a Chiistian, and talk to him of Jesus Christ, "Stopj

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

Can you

shall be:

plunge in, ^
) tloods of ''
lion'H den, ",
^you? Nol ';
words and
., I beseecli
you conio
ill fail you, ^
ost, luinba,
w a stunib-

to discover
nit exterior
i\\\ vubbisb ;
iscs it. H*'
s an intense
, everytbini,^
ix^uence ; be
nression ; be
[reek, an', to
\\ rrcntleman
1 sometimes
iuced every-
pt ; be keeps
[itlenian ; be
,uo;bly wise,
a quotation
1 be can give
1,1 tbe claims.,
ktly. Bnt it'
jhrist, "Btcpf

your cant," be says, " I don't want to bear anything about
tliat." This Grecian gentleman believes all philosophy
except the true one; he studies all wisdom except the
wisdom of God; he likes all learning ex('ei)t spiritual
learning; he loves everything except that which C!od
aj)proves; he likes everything winch man makes, and
nothing which comes from God ; it is foolishness to him,
confounded foolishness. You have only to discourse
about one doctrin*^ in the Bible, and he shuts his ears; he
wishes no longer for 3'our compmy — it is foolishness. I
have met this gentleman a great many times. Once,
when 1 saw him, he told me he did not l)elieve in any re-
ligion at all ; and when I said I did, and had a hope that
when I died I should go to heaven, he said he dai'ed say it
was very comfortable, but lie did not believe in religion, and
that he was sure it was best to live as nature dictated.
Another time he s[)oke well of all religions, and believed
they were very good in their place, and all true; a!)d he
Iiad no doubt that, if a man were sincere in any kind of
religion, he would be all right at last. I told liim I <iid
not think so, and that I believed there was but one religion
reveale<l of God — the reli'don of God's elect, the reli<don
which is the gift of Jesus. He then said I was a bigot,
Jind wished me good-morning. It was to him foolishness,
lie hv: ] "thing to do with me at all. He either liked no
religio'i, 01 very religion. Another time I held him by
the * at-!)Utton, and 1 discussed with him a little ahout
falH'., }{ ! said, "It is all very well, I believe that is true
J'lotestidit d(.:trine." ihit presentiv I said somethiiiir
a'>out, election, and \m said, "1 (lt»n't lil\(i that; many
])eoj)le have preached that, and turiuid it to had account."
J then hinted something ahout free grace; but that he
could not endure, it was to him foolishness. He was a

f)olished Greek, and thought that if he were not chosen,
11! ought tt) he. lie never liked that ])assage, " Govl hath
chov'n tbo foolish things of this world to confound the
wise, iuid the things which are not, to biing to naught

■'I

ill

sEiiMONs m s^uRGEo^l.

things that are." He thought it was very di.=;creditable
to the Bible ; and when the book was revised, he liad tig
doubt it would l)e cut out. To such a man — for he is
lierc this morning, very likely come to hear this reed
shaken of the wind — I have to say this : Ah ! thou wise
man, full of worldly wisdom ; thy wisdom will stand theo
here, but what wilt thou do in the swellings of Jordan ?
Philosophy may do well for thee to lean upon whilst thou
walkest through this world ; but the river is deep, and
thou wilt want somethinnf more than that. If thou hast
not the arm of t! Mdst High to hold thee up in the flood
and cheer thee w^ '; promises, thou wilt sink, man ; with
all thy philosopliy ^i. . wilt sink ; with all t\y learning,
thou shalt sink, and . waslied into that awful ocean of
eternal torment, where thou shalt be forever. Ah ! Greeks,
it may be foolishness to you, but ye shall see the man
your judge, and then shall ye rue the day that e'er ye
said that God's gospel was foolishness.

If. Having spoken thus far upon the gospel rejected, I
shall now brietly speak upon the gospel triumphant.
" Unto us who are called, both Jews nnd Greeks, it is the
power of God, and the wisdom of God." Yonder man
rejects the gospel, despises grace, and lauglis at it as a de-
lusion. Here is another man who laughed at it too ; but
God will fetch him down u])on his knees. Christ shall
not die for nothing. The Holy Ghost shall not strive in
vain. God hath said, " My word shall not return unto
me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and
it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it." " He
shall see of the travnil of his soul, and shall be abundantly
satisfied." If one sinner is not saved, another shall be.
The Jew and the (jreek shall never depopulate heaven.
The choirs of glory shall not lose a single songster by all
the opposition of Jcm's and Greeks ; for God hath said it ;
some shall be called; some shall be sanied; some shall
be rescued.

■ *-\\ tm mmfm

•editable
i liad TiO
'or he is
his reed
lou wise
and thfo
Jordan ?
ilst thou
leep, and
,hou hast
the flood
an ; with
learning,^
I ocean of
! Greeks,
the man
at e'er ye

rejected, I
uniphant.
, it is the
ider nmn
t as a de-

too ; but
rist shall
:, strive in
Itiirn unto
ilease, and
lit." '• He
jimdantly
shall be.

,0 heaven.

<ter by all
h sai<l it ;

omo shall

CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 45

** Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorred,
And the fool with i% who insults his Lord.
The atonement a Redeemer's love has wrought
Is not for you — the righteous need it not.
Seest thou yon harlot wooing all she meets,
The worn-out nuisance of the public streets,
Herself from morn to night, from night to morn,
Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn :
The gracious shower, unlimited and free.
Shall fall on her, when Hea\en denies it the.
Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift,
That man is dead in sin, and life a gift."

If the ri«^diteous and oood are not saved, if they reject
the gospel, there are others who are to be called, others
who shall be rescued ; for Christ will not lose the merits
of his agonies, or the purchase of his blood. " Unto us
who are called." I received a note this week asking me
to explain that word, called ; because in one passage it
says " many are called, but few are chosen," while in
aiiotlior it appears that all who are called must be chosen.
^Jow, let me observe that there are two calls. As my old
fiiond, John Bunyan, says, the hen has two calls, the
common cluck, which she gives daily and hourly, and the
special one, which she means for her little chickens. So
tliore is a general call, a call maile to every man ; every
man hears it. Many are called by it ; all you are called
this morning in that sense, but very few are chosen. I'he
other is a special call, the children's call. You know how
the bell sounds over the workshop, to call tjje men to
work — that is a general call. A father goes to the door
and Ccills out, " John, it is dinner-time '" — that is the
special call. Many are called with the general call, but
they are not chosen ; the special call is for the children
only, and that is what is meant in ths text, " Unto us
who are called, both Jews and Oreeks, the power of God
and the wisdom of God." That call is always a special
one. While I stand here and call men, nobody comes ;
while I preach to sinners universally, no good is done j it

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SERMONS BY SPUI5GE0N.

is like the slieet lii'litiiiiii,'' you sornetimi's soo on tlic sum-
mer'y evening, beautiful, fjrand ; but who ever lieanl of
anythin<T being struck by it ? But tlie special call is the
forked flash from heaven ; it strikes somewhere ; it is the
arrow sent in between the joints of the harness. The
call which saves is like tliat of Jesus, when he said,
" Mary," and she said unto him, " llabboni." Do you
know anything al)0ut that spec^al call, my beloved ?
Did Jesus ever call you by name ? Canst thou recollect
the hour when he whispered thy name in tliiue eai', when
he said, " Come to me ? " If so, you will grant the truth
of what I am going to say next about it — that it is .'in

< eftectual call. There is no resist! u'j- it. When God calls,
with his special <-'all, there is no standing out. Ah! I
know 1 laughuo at religion; I despised, 1 abhorred it;
but that call ! Oh, I wonhl not come. But Cod said,
"Thou shalt c ue. Ml that the Father giveth to me

-^ shall come." " Lor<i, 1 will not." "But' thou shalt,"
said God. And I have gone up to God's house some-
times almost with a I'csolution that I wi)uld not lis-
ten, but listen I must. Oh, how the word came into my
soul ! Was there a power of resistance ? No ; I was
thrown down; each bone seemed to be broken;,! was
saved by effectual grace. I appeal to your experience,
my friends. When God took you in hand, could you
withstand him ? You stood against your minister times
enough. Sickness did not break you down ; disease did
not bring you to God's feet ; eloipience did not convince
you ; but when God puts his liaiid to the work, ah ! fehen
what a change. Like Saul, with his horses going to Da-
mascus, that voice from heaven said, " J am Jesus whom
thou persecutest." " Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou
me?" There was no troinsf further then. TJiat was an
effectual call. Like that, again, which Jesus gave to
Zaccheus, when he was up in the tree ; stopping under
the tree, he said, " Zacclicus, come down, to-day I nmst
abide in thy house." Zacclious was taken in the net; ho

■ImMki

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

tlic snm-
lieanl of
all is the
it is the
iss. The
he said,
L)o you
beloved ?
recollect
iar, when
the truth
.t it is nu
God calls,
b. Ah ! I
10 r red it ;
(Jrod said,
;th to mo
pu shalt,"
-so some-
not lis-
into my
; 1 was
; . I was
perionce,
bould you
ter times
isease did
convince
ah ! then
ng to Da-
US whom
test thou
at was an
gave to
ng under
y I nnist
\ not ; he

heard his own name ; the call sank into his soul ; he could
not stop up in the tree ; for an ahnighty inipulst^ drew
nim down. And I could tell you some singular instances
•jf persons going to the house ot" ( Jod and having their
characters descrihed, linnied out to perfection, so that they
have sai<l, " He is painting me, he is painting me." Just
as I might say to that young man here, who stole his
master's gloves yesterda}', that Jesus calls him to repen-
tance. It may he that thei-e is such a pei'son here; and
when the call comes to a peculiar character, it generally
comes with a s])ecial power. (Jod gives his ministei's a
hrush, and shows them liow to use it in painting life-like
portraits, and thus the simier hcais the special call. I
cannot give the special call ; (»od alune can give it, and 1
leave it with him. Some nnist be called. Jew and Greek
may laugh, hut still there are some who ari; called, both
Jews and Greeks.

Then, to close up this second point, it is a great mercy
that many a Jew has been made to drop his self-righteous-
ness ; many a legalist has been made to drop his legalism,
and come to Christ; and many a (b(H;k has bowed his
genius at the throne of God's gospel. We have a few such.
As Cow per says :

" Wo boast some rich ones whom the gospel sways,
And one wlio wears a curonet, uiul prays ;
Like gleanings of an olive tree they show,
Here and there one upon the topmost bough."

III. Now we come to our third point, a qo^pel ad-
mired ; unto us who are called of God, it is the power
of God, and the wisdom of God. Now, beloved, this
must be a matter of puie experience between your souls
and God. If you are called of God this morning, you
will know it. I know there are times when a Christian
has to say :

t()

ris a point I long to know,
Oft it causes anxious thought

Do I love the Lord or no ?
Am I His, or am I not I "

■ .■fiwT ' .nuG i jij

fl ll'.

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

But, if a man never in his life knew himself to be a
Christian, he never waL a Christian. If he never had a
moment of confidence, when he could say, " Now I know
in whom I have believed," I think I do not utter a haish
thing when I sa}'-, tliat that man could not have been born
again ; for 1 do not understand how a man can be born
again and not know it ; I do not understand how a man
can be killed and then made alive a^jain, and not know
it ; how a man can pass from death unto life, and not
know it; how a man can be brought out of darkness into
marvelous liberty without knowing it. I am sure 1 know
it when I shout out my old verse:

"Now freed from sin, 1 walk at large,
My Saviour's blood's my full discharge ;
At His dear feet content I lay,
A sinner saved, and homage pay."

There are moments when the eyes glisten with joy ;
and we can say, " we are persuaded, confident, certain."
I do not wish to distress any one who is under doubt.
Often gloomy doubts will prevail; there are seasons when
you fear you have not been called, when you doubt your
interest in Christ. Ah ! what a mercy it is that it is not
your hold of Christ that saves you, but his hold of you !
What a sweet fact that it is not how you grasp his hand,
but his grasp of yours, that saves you. Yet I think you
ought to know, some time or other, whether you are
called of God. If so, you will follow me in the next part
of my discourse, which is a matter of pure experience ;
unto us who are saved, it is " Christ the power of God,
and the wisdom of God."

The gospel is, to the true believer, a thing of power.
It is Christ, the power of God. Power, sir ! Aye, there
is a power in God's gospel. Power, sir! Aye, a mighty
power. Once I, like Mazeppa, bound on the wild horse
of my lust, bound hand and foot, incapable of /csistance,
was galloping on with hell's wolves behind me, howling

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

' to be a
er had a
V I know
r a hai sh
Deen born
1 be born
ow a man
aot know
, and not
kness into
re 1 know

with joy j
j, certain."
tder doubt,
sons when
loubt your
it it is not
d of you !
I his hand,
think you
you are
next part
perience ;
r of God,

[of power,
lye, there

I a mighty

did horse

resistance,

howling

for my body and my soul, as their just and lawful prey.
There came a mighty hand which stopped that wild horse,
cut my bands, set me down, ani brought me into liberty.
Is there power, sir ? Aye, there is power ; and he who
has felt it, must acknowledge it. There was a time when
I lived in the strong old castle of my sins, and rested on
my works. There came a trumpeter to the door, and
bade me open it. I witli anger chid him from the porch,
and said he ne'er should enter. There came a goodly
personage, with loving countenance ; his hands were
marked with scars, where nails v/ero driven, and his feet
had nail-prints too ; he lifted up his cross, using it as a
hammer ; at the first blow the gate of my prejudice
shook ; at the second it trembled more, at the third down
it fell, and in he came ; and he said, " Arise, and stand
upon thy feet, for I have loved thee with an everlasting
love." A thing of power ! Ah ! It is a thing of power.
I have felt it here, in this heart ; I have the witness of
the Spirit within, and know it is a thing of might, be-
cause it has conquered me ; it has bowed me down.

*' His free grace al >no, from the first to the last,
Hath won my ati'ection, and held my soul fast,"

The Gospel, to the Christian, is a thing of power. What
is it that makes the young man devote himself, as a mis-
sionary, to the cause of God, to leave father and mother,
and go into distant lands ? It is a tiling of power that
dues it ; it is the gospel What is it that constrains yon-
der minister, in the midst of the cholera, to climb up that
creaking staircase, and stand by the bed of some dying
creature who has that dire disease ? It must be a thing
of power which leads him to venture his life ; it is love
of the cross ^f Christ which bids him do it. What is that
which enables one man to stand up before a multitude of
his fellows, uil unprepared it may be, but determined that
he will spcv.k nothing; but Christ, and him crucified ?

»iVl if III IlK'Kiii

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SERMONS BY SIMTROEON.

What is it that enables him to ciy, Hke the war liorse of
Job, in battle, Aha ! and move glorious in might ? It is
a thing of })o\ver that does it : it is Christ cnicitied. And
what emboldens that timid female to walk down that
dark lane some wet evening, that she niay go and sit be-
side the victim of a contagious fever ? What strengthens
her to go through that den of thieves, and pass by the
profligate and profane ? What intiuences her to enter in-
to that charnel house of death, and there sit down and
whisper words of comfort ? Does gold make her do it ?
They are too poor to give her gold. Does fame make her
do it? She shall never be known or written among the
mighty women of this earth. What makes her do it ? Is
it love of merit? No; she knows she has no desert bo-
fore high heaven. What impels her to it ? It is the
power, the thing of power; it is the cross of Christ: she
loves it, and she therefore says :

'* Wore tlie whole realm of nuturo rniue,
That were a present far too small ;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, luy life, my all."

But 1 behold another scene. A mart}^- is going to the

Btak(^ ; the lialberd men are around him ; the crowds are

mocking, but he is marching steadily on. See, they bind

hiui, with a chain around his middle, to the stake ; they

heap fagots all about him ; the flame is lighted up ; listen

to his words : " Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is

within me, bless his holy name." The flames are kindling

round his legs ; the fire is burning him even to the bone ;

see him lift up his hands and say, " I know that my Be-

deemer liveth, and though the fire devour this body, yet

in my flesh shall I seethe Lord." Behold him clutch the

rake and kiss it, as if he loved it, and hear him say, " For

very chain of iron that man girdeth me with, God shall

j;ive me a chain of gold, for all these fagots, and this

ignominy and shame, he shall increase the weight of

■ M il ii "nn irii r-|~

en HIST CRUCIFIED.

lioise oi
? It is
I. And
\vn tliat
1 sit be-
ngtlicns
s by tho
inter in-
3\vn and
31- do it ?
iiake her
nong the
lo it ? Ih
iesert be-
lt is tbc
uist: she

innr to the
I'owds are
bhey bind
[ke; they
^p ; listen
lU that is
kindling
the bone ;
Lt my Be-
body, yet
llutch the
^av, " For
iGod shall
and this
weight oi

iiiy eternal glory." See, all tlie under parts of his body
are consumed ; still ho lives in the torture ; at last he
bows himself, and the upper part of his body falls over ;
and as he falls you hear him say: "Into Thy hands I
commend my spirit." What wondrous magic was on
him, sirs ? What made that man strong ? What helped
him to bear that cruelty ? What made him stand un-
moved in the flames ? It was the thing of ])Ower : it
was the cross of Jesus ci"ucified. For " unto us who are
saved it is the power of God."

Ihit l)ehold another scene far difl't'rent. There is no
crowd there ; it is a silent room. There is a poor pallet,
a lonely boil: a physician standing by. There is a young
gii'l : her face is blanched by consum})tion ; long hath
the worm eaten her cheek, and though, sometimes, the
lliish came, it was the death Hush of the deceitful con-
sumption. There she lieth, weak, pale, wan, worn,
dying, yet behold a smile upon her face, as if she had
seen an angel. She speaketh, and there is music in her
voice. Joan of Arc of old was not half so mijjfhtv as
that girl. She \^ wrestling with dragons on her death-
bed ; but see her composure, and hear her dying sonnet :

"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Lot me to thy bosom Hy,
Wliile the nearer wateis roll,
While the tempest still is hi,i,'h.
Hide me, O my Saviour, hide.
Till this storm of life be past.
Safe into the haven guide,
0, receive my soul at last."

And with a smile she shuts her eye on earth, and opens
it in heaven. What enables her to die like that ? It is
the tiling .jf power ; it is the cross ; it is Jesus crucified.
I have little time to discourse uj)on the other point,
and it b<.^ far from me to weary you by a lengthened and
prosy sermon ; but wo must glance at the other state-

'\\

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SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

'1'

X<-

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1 %

ment : Christ is, to the called ones, the wisdom of God as
well as the power of God, To a believer the Gospel is
the perfection of wisdom, and if it appear not so to the
ungodly, it is because of the perversion of judgment con-
sequent on their depravity.

An idea lias long possessed the public mind, that a
religious man can scarcely be a wise man. It has been
the custom to talk of infidels, atheists, deists, as men of
deep thought and comprehensive intellect, and to tremble
for the Christian controversialist, as if he must surely
fall by the hand of his enemy. But this is purely a
mistake ; for the Gospel is the sum of wisdom ; an epi-
tome of knowledge ; a treasure-house of truth ; and a
revelation of mysterious secrets. In it we see how jus-
tice and mercy may be married ; here we behold inexor-
able law entirely satisfied, and sovereign love bearing
away the sinner in triumph. Our meditation upon it
enlarges the mind, and as it opens to our soul in succes-
sive flashes of glory, we stand astonished at the profound
wisdom manifest in it. Ah, dear friends ! if ye seek
wisdom, ye shall see it displayed in all its greatness ;
not in the Ijalancinij of the clouds, nor the firmness of
eartii's foundations ; not in the measured march of the
armies of the sky, nor in the perj)etual motions of the
waves of the sea ; not in vegetation, with all its fairy
forms of beauty, nor in the animal with its marvellous
tissue of nerve, and vein, and sinew ; nor even in man,
that last and loftiest work of the Creator. But turn
aside and see this great sight ! — an incarnate God upon
the cross; a substitute atoning fo: mortal guilt; a sacri-
fice satisfying the vengeance of Heaven, and delivering
the rebellious sinner. Here is essential wisdom; enthroned,
crowned, glorified. Admire, ye men of earth, if ye be not
blind ; and ye who glory in your learning bend your
heads in reverence, and own that all your skill could not
have devised a gospel at once so just to God, so safe to
man. -

CtTTltST CRUCtPlEn.

God as

ospel is

to the
ent con-

l, that a
has been
s men oi

1 tremble
it surely
purely a

; an epi-
1 ; and a
how jus-
kl inexor-
e bearinp;
1 upon it
in succes-
; profound
f ye seek
^■reatness ;
rniness of
■ch of the
|ons of the
its fairy
Inarvellous
en in man,
But turn
God upon
t ; a sacri-
deliverinj^'
enthroned,
f ye be not
[bend youi
]l could not
so safe to

Remember, my friends, that while the gospel is in itself
wisdom, it also confers wisdom on its students ; she
teaches young men wisdom and discretion, and gives un-
derstanding to the simple. A man who is a believing ad-
mirer and a hearty lover of the truth as it is in Jesus, is
in a right place to follow with advantage any other branch
of science. I confess I have a shelf in my head for every-
thing now. Whatever I read I know whore to put it ;
whatever I learn I know where to stow it away. Once
when I read books, I put all my knowledge together in
glorious confusion ; but ever since I have known Christ,
1 have put Christ in the centre as my sun, and each
science revolves round it like a planet, while minor
sciences are satellites to these planets. Christ is to me
the wisdom of God. I can learn everything now. The
science of Christ crucified is the most excel len of sciences,
she is to me the wisdom of God. O, young man, build
thy studio on Calvary ! there raise thine observatory, and
scan by faith the lofty things of nature. Take thee a
liermit's cell in the garden ot Gethsemane, and lave thy
l)row with the waters of Siloa. Let the Jjible be thy
standard classic — thy last appeal in matters of contention.
Let its light be thine illumination, and thou shalt become
more wise than Plato, more truly learned than the seven
sages ot antiquity.

And now, my dear friends, solemrdy and earnestly, as
in the sight of God, I appeal to you. You are gathered
here this morning, I know, from different motives ; some
of you have come from curiosity ; others of you are my
regular hearers ; some have come from one place, and
some from another. What have you heard me say this
morning ? I have told you of two classes of persons who
reject Christ; the religionist, who has a religion of form
and nothing else ; and the man of the world, who calls
our gospel foolishness. Now, put your hand upon your
heart, and ask yourself this morning, " Am I one of
these ? " If you are, then walk the earth in all your

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SERMONS BY srUP.GEOJT.

pride ; then go as you came in : but know that for all this
the Lord shall bring thee unto judgment; know thou that
thy joys and delights shall vanish like a dream, " and,
like the bjuseless fabric of a vision," be swept away forever.
Know thou this, moreover, O man, that one day in the
halls of Satan, down in hell, I perhaps may see thee ^mong
the myriad spirits who revolve forever in a perpetual cir-
cle with their hands upon their hearts. If thine hand be
transparent, and thy flesh transparent, I shall look through
thy hand and flesh, and see thy lieart within. And how
shall I see it ? Set in a case of fire — in a case of fire !
And there thou shalt revolve f(irever, with a worm gnaw-
ing witliin thy heart, which ne'er shall die — a case of fire
around thy never-dying, ever-tortured heart. Good God !
let not these men still reject and despise Christ; but let
this Ije the time when they shall be called.

To the rest of you who are called, I need say nothing.
The longer you live, the more powerful will you find the
gospel to be ; the more dee})ly Christ-taught you are, the
more you live under the constant influence of the Holy
Spirit, the more you will know the gospel to be a thing
of power, and tlie more also will you understand it to be
a thing of wisdom. May every blessing rest upon you;
and may God come up with us in the evening!

<a»vj^

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OHRISrS PEOPLE -IMITATORS OF HIM.

^'Now when they saw the holdncs!^ of Petrr and John, and
pf fceivcd that they ware vjdear'iedand iijnnrant men, they mar
vdl'd ; and they took kntnrl edge of th<m tJuit they had been with
Jesus." — Acts i^ : 13.

EHOLl) ! what a clianujo divitio grace will

work in a man, and in bow shoita time. That

.kT^ same Peter who foUowcMl his Master afao' off,

'X ^ and with oaths and curses denied that he knew His

name, is now to bo found, side by side with the

V loving John, boldly declaring that thei'e is salvation
' in no!

lone other name '^ave that of Jesus Christ, and
jtreaching the resurrection of the dead, through the
saciifice of his dying Lord. The Scribes and
riiaiisees soon discover the reason of his boldness.
Rightly did they guess tliat it I'ested not in his
learning, or liis talents, for neitluir Peter nor John
had been educated ; they had been trained as fihlior-
men ; their edu('atit)u was a knowledge of the sea
— of the fishernien's craft : none other ha<l they :
tlu'ir boldness could not therefore spring fi-om the self-
sulliciency of knowledge, but from the Spirit of the liv-
ing (Jod. Nor did they accjuire their courage from their
station ; for rank will confer a sort of dignity upon a
man, and make him sp«'ak with a f(Mgne<l authority,

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

:i »

.Ji

even when he has no talent, or genius ; but these men
were, as it says in the original text, idlotai, private men,
who stood in no official capacity ; men without rank or
station. When tliey saw the boldness of Peter and
John, and perceived that they were unlearned and priv-
ate individuals, they marvelled, and they came to a right
conclusion as to the source of their power — they had
been dwelling with Jesus. Their conversation with the
Prince of light and glory, backed up, as they might also
have known, by the intluence of the Holy Spiiit, with-
out which even that eminently holy example wou' lave
been in vain, had made them bold for their A^ aster's
cause. Oh ! my brethren, it were well if this condemna-
tion, so forced from the lips of enemies, could also be
compelled by our own example. If we could live like
Peter and John ; if our lives were " living epistles of
God, known and read of all men ; " if, whenever we were
seen, men would take knowledge of us, that we had
been with Jesus, it would be a hnppy thing for this
world, and a blessed thing for us. It is concerning that
I am to speak to you this morning ; and as God gives
me grace, I will endeavour to stir up your minds by
way of remembrance, and urge you so to imitate Jesus
Christ, our heavenly pattci-n, that men may perceive that
you are disciples of the Holy Son of God.

First, then, this morning, I will tell yon luhat a Chris-
tian shoidii he ; secondly, I will tell you ivhen he should
he so ; thirdly, %u1iy he should he so ; and then, fourthly,
how he can he so,

I. As God niay help us then, first of all, we will speak
of tuhat a bd'teuer should he. A Christian should be a
striking likeness of Jesus Christ. You have read lives of
Christ, beautifully atjd eloquently written, and you have
admired the talent of the persons who could write so
well ; but the best life of Christ is his living bucMuphy,
written out in the words and actions of his people. If we,
my brethren, were what we piofess to be ; if the Spirit of

CHRISTS PEOPLE — IMITATORS OF HIM.

the Lord were in the heart of all his children, as we could
desire ; and if, instead of having abundance of formal pro-
fessors, we were all possessors of that vital grace, I will
tell you not only what we ought to be, but what we
sliould be ; we should be pictures of Christ, yea, such stri-
kiiior likenesses of him that the world would not have to
hold us up by the hour together, and say, " Well, it seems
somewhat of a likeness;" but they would, when they
once beheld us, exclaim, " He luis been with Jesus ; he
has been taught of him ; he is like him ; he has caught
the very idea of the holy Man of Nnzareth, and he ex-
pands it out into his very life and every day actions."

In enlarging upon this point, it will be necessary to
premise, that when we here affirm that men should be
such and such a thing, we refer to the people of God. We
do not wish to speak to them in any legal way. We are
not under the law, but under grace. Christian men hold
themselves bound to keep all God's precepts ; but the
reason why they do so is not because the law is binding
upon them, but because the (jonpcl constrains them ; they
believe, that having been redeemed by blood divine ;
having been purchased by Jesus Chrisi , they are more
bound to keep his connnands, tisan they would have been
it" they v/ere under the law ; they hold themselves to be
ton thousand fold more debtors to God than they could
have been under the Mosaic dispensation. Not of force;
not of compulsion ; not through fear of the whip ; not
through legal bondage; but through i)ure, disinterested
love and gratitude to God, they lay themselves out for
his service, seeking to bo Israelites indeed, in whom there
is no guile. This much I have declared lest any man
should think that I am preaching works as the way to
salvation ; I will yield to none in this, that I will ever
maintain that by grace we are saved, and not by our-
selves ; but equally must I testify, that where the grace
of God is, it will produce fitting deeds. To these J ant
ever bound to exhort you, while yo are ever expected to

■ M

■*:•

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

1:1

^■\

have good works for necessary purposes. Again, 1 do not.,
when I say that a believer should be a striking likenes?
of Jesus, suppose that any one Christian will perfectly
exhibit all the features of our Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ] yet, my brethren, the fact that perfection is be-
yond our reach, should not diminish the ardour of our de-
sire after it. The artist, when he paints, knows right
well that he shall not be able to excel Apelles ; but that
does not discourage him ; he uses his brush with all the
greater pains, that he may, at least in some humble mea-
sure, resemble the great msmter. So the sculptor, though
persuaded that he will not rival Praxiteles, will hew out
the marble still, and seek to be as near the model as pos-
sible. Thus so the Christian man ; though he feels he
never can mount to the heights of complete excellence,
and perceives that he never can on earth become the
exact image of Christ, still holds it up before him, and
measures his own deficiencies by the distance between
himself and Jesus. This will he do; forgetting all he has
attained, he will press forward, crying, Excelsior ! going
upwards still, desiring to be conformed more and more to
the image of Christ Jesus.

First, then, a Christian should be like Christ in his
boldness. This is a virtue now-a-days called impudence,
but the grace is equally valuable by whatever name it
may be called. I suppose if the Soibes had given a de-
finition of Peter and John, they would have called them
impudent fellows.

Jesus (.!hrist and his disciples were noted for their cou-
rage. " When they saw the boldness of Peter and John,
they took knowledge of them, that they had been with
Jesus." Jesus Christ never fawned upon the rich ; lie
stooped not to the great and noble ; he stood erect, a man
before men — the proj)het of the people — speaking out
boldly and freely what he thought. Have you never ad-
mired that mighty deed of his, when going to the city
where he had lived and been brought up ? Knowing that

Christ's people — imitators of him.

a prophet had no honour in his own country, the book
was put into his hands (he had but then commenced his
ministry), yet without tremor he unrolled the sacred
volume, and what did he take for his text ? Most men,
coining to their own neighbourhood, would have chosen
a subject adapted to the taste, in order to earn fame.
Bat what doctrine did Jesus preach that morning ? One
which in our age is scorned and liated — the doctrine
oi eiection. He opened the Scriptures and began to read
thus : " Many Avidows were in Israel in the days of Elias,
when the heaven was shut up three years and six months,
when great famine was tliroughout all the land ; but unto
none of them was Elias sent, save unto Sarepta, a city of
Sodom, unto a woman that was a widow. And many
lepers were in Israel in the time of Eliseus, the prophet ;
and none of them were cleansed, saving Naaman, the
Syrian." Then he began to tell, how God saveth whom
he pleases, and rescues whom he chooses. Ah ! how they
gnashed their teeth upon him, dragged him out, and
would have cast him from the brow of the hill. Do
you not admii'c his intrepidity ? He saw their teeth
gnashing; he knew tlieir hearts weie hot with enmity,
while their mouths foamed with reveni^e and malice ;
still he stood like the angel who shut the lions' mouths ;
he feared them not ; faithfully he proclaimed what he
know to be the truth of God, and still read on, despite
them all. So, in his discourses. If he saw a Scribe or a
riiarisee in the congregation, he did not keep back part
of the price, but pointing his finger, he said, " Woe unto
you, Scribes and Hiarisees, hypocrites ; " and when a law-
yer came, saying, " Master, in speaking thus, thou con-
denmest us also ;" he turned round and said, " Woe unto
you, lawyers, for ye bind heavy burdens upon men, while
ye yourselves will not touch them with so much as one
of your lingers." He dealt out honest truth ; he never
knew the fear of man ; he trembled at none ; he stood
out God's chosen, whom he had anointed above his fel-

SERMONS BY SPURQEON.

lows, careless of mnn's esteem. My friends, be like Christ
in this. Have none of the time-serving religion of the
present day, which is merely exhibited in evangelical
drawing-rooms, — a religion which only Nourishes in a hot-
bed atmosphere, a religion which is only to be i)erceived
in good company. No ; if ye are the servants of God, be
like Jesus Christ, bold for your master ; never blush to
own your religion ; your profession will never disgrace
you — take care you never disgrace tltat. Your love to
Christ will never dishonour you ; it may bring some
temporary slight from your friends, or slanders from your
enemies ; but live on, and you shall live down their calum-
nies ; live on, and ye shall stand amongst the glorified,
honoured even by those who hissed you, when he shall
come to be glorified by his angels, and admired by them
that love him. Be like Jesus, very valiant for your God,
so that when they shall see your boldness, they may say,
*' He has been with Jesus."

But no one featuie will give a portrait of a man; so
the one virtue of b(jldness will never make you like
Christ. There have been some who have been noble men,
but have carried their courage to excess ; they have thus
been caricatures of Christ, and not portraits of him. We
must amalgamate with our boldness the lovelinms of Jesus'
disposition. Let courage be the brass, let love be the gold.
Let us mix the two together ; so shall we produce a rich
Corinthian metal, fit to be manufactured into the beautiful
gate of the temple. Let your love and courage be mingled
together. The man who is bold may indeed accomplish
wonders. John Knox did much, but he might perhaps
have done more if he had had a little love. Lutlier was
a conqueror — peace to his ashes, and honor to his name !
— still, we who look upon him at a distance, think that if
he had sometimes mixed a little mihlness with it — if,
while ho had the fortiter in re, he had been also aaaviter
in itiodo, and spoken somewhat more gently, he might
have done even more good than he did. yo brethren.

CHRIST S PEOPLE — IMITATORS OF IIIM.

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while we too are bold, let us ever iiiiioate the loving
Jesus. The child comes to him ; he takes it on his knee,
saying, " Suffer little children to come unto me, and for-
bid them not." A widow has just lost her only son: he
weeps at the bier, and with a word, restores life to the
dead man. He sees a paralytic leper, or a man long con-
fined to his bed : he speaks, they rise and are healed. He
lived for others, not for himself. His constant labors
were without any motive, except the good of those who
lived in the world. And to crown all, ye know the
mighty sacrifice he made, when he condescended to lay
down his life for man — when on the tree, quivering with
agony, and hanging in the utmost extremity of suffering,
lie submitted to die for our sakes, that we might be saved,
nehold in Christ love consolidated ! He was one mighty
pillar of benevolence. As God is love so Christ is love.
Oh, ye Christians, be yo loving also. Let your love and
your beneficence beam out on all men. Say not, " Be ye
warmed, and be jg lillc !," but "give a portion to seven,
iind also to eight." If ye caimot imitate Howard, and
unlock the prison doors — if ye cannot visit the sad house
uf misery, yet each in your pro])er sphere, speak kiu<l
words, do kind actions ; live out Christ again in the kind-
ness of your life. If tlicre is (me virtue which most com-
mends (.■hristians, it is that of kindness; it is to love the
p*!ople of God, to love the church, to love the world, to
love all. But how many have we in our churches of
Crab-tree Christians, who have mixed such a vast amount
of vinegar, and such a tremendous <piantity of gall in
(heir constitutions, that they can si^aicely spf»ak one
word to you: they imagine it impos.sil)le to defend good
religion except by passionate elMiIlitions ; they cannot
speak for their dishonored Master without being atigry
with their op))onent; and if anything is awry, whether it
he in the house, the church, or anywhere else, they con-
ceive it ti) be their duty to set tluur faces like flint, and
to <lefy everybody. They are like Isolated icebergs, no

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SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

one cares to go near thorn. They float about on the sea
of forge tf Illness, until at last they arc melted and gone;
and though good souls, we shall be happy enough to meet
them in heaven, we are precious glad to get rid of them
from the earth. They were always so unamiable in dis-
position, that we would rather live an eternity with them
in heaven than five minutes on earth. Be ye not thus,
my brethren. Imitate Christ in your loving spirits ;
speak kindly, act kindly, and do kindly, that men may
say of you, " He has been with Jesus. "

Another groat feature in the life of Christ was his deep
and sincere humility ; in which let us imitate him. Wln^o
we will not ciinge or bow (far from it ; we are the free-
men whom the truth makes free ; we walk through this
world equal to all, inferior to none) yet we would en-
deavour to be like Chiist, continually humble. Oh, thou
proud Christian (for though it be a paradox, there must
be some, I think ; I would not be so uncharitable as to
Bay that there are not some such persons), if tnou art a
Christian, I bid thee look at thy Master, talking to the
children, bending from the majesty of his divinity to speak
to mankind on earth, tabernacling with the ])easants of
Galilee, and then — aye, depth of condescension unparal-
leled — washing his disciples' feet, and wiping them with
a towel after su})per. This is your Master, whom ye pro-
fess to worship ; this is your Lord, whom ye adore. And
ye, some of you who count yourselves Christians, cannot
speak to a person who is not dressed in the same kind of
clothing as yourselves, who have not exactly as much
money per year as you have. In England, it is true that
a sovereign will not speak to a shilling, and a shilling
will not notice a sixpence, and a sixpence will sneer at a
penny. But it should not be so with Christians. We
ought to forget caste, degree, and rank, when we come
into Christ's church. Recollect, Christian, who your Mas-
ter was — a man of the poor. He lived with thetn; he ato
with them. And Xvill ye walk with lofty heads and stitf

^i!!i

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ill t|

CHRISTS PEOPLE— IMITATORS OF HIM.

necks, looking with insufferable contempt upon your
meaner fellow-worms ? Wiiat are ye ? The meanest of
all, because your trickeries and adornments make you
proud. Pitiful, despicable souls ye are ! How small ye
look in God's sight! Christ was humble ; he stooped to do
anything which might serve others. He had no pride ;
he was an humble man, a friend of publicans and sinners,
living and walking with them. So, Christian, be thou
like thy Master — one who can stoop ; yea, be thou one
wlio thinks it no stooping, but rather esteems others bet-
tei" than himself, counts it his honour to sit with the
poorest of Christ's people, and says, " If my name may be
but written in the obscurest part of the book of life, it is
enough for me, so unworthy am I of his notice ! " Be like
Christ in his humility.

So might I continue, dear brethren, speaking of the
various characteristics of Christ Jesus ; but as you can
think of them as well as I can, I shall not do so. It is
easy for you to sit down and paint Jesus Christ, for ycu
have him drawn out here in his word. I find that time
would fail me if I were to give you an entire likeness of
Jesus; but let me say, imitate him in his holiness. Was
he zealous for his master ? So be you. Ever go about
doing good. Let not time be wasted. It is too precious.
Was he self-denying, never looking to his own interest ?
So be you. Was he devout ? So be you fervent in your
prayers. Had he deference to his Father's will ? So sub-
mit yourselves to him. Was he patient? So learn to en-
dure. And best of all, as the highest portraiture of Jesus,
try to forgive your enemies as he did ; and let those sub-
lime words of your Master, " Father, forgive them, for
they know not what they do," always ring in your ears.
When you arc prompted to revenge ; when hot anger
starts, bridle the steed at once, and let it not dash forward
with you headlong. Remember, anger is temporary in-
sanity. Forgive as you hope to be forgiven. Heap coals
of tire on the head of your foe by your kindness to him.

ifMltriiiittilXiiiiii-aF^

^ m

SERMONS BY SPURGKON.

Good for evil, recollect, is god-like. Be god-like, then;
and in all ways, and by all means, so live that your ene-
mies may say, " lie has been with Jesus."

II. Now, when should ChriMians he thus ? For there
is an idea in the world that persons ought to bo very
religious on a Sunday, but it does not matter what they
are on a Monday. How many pious preachers are there
on a Sabbath-day, who are very impious preachers during
the rest of the week ! How many are there who conjc
up to the house of God with a solenui countenance, who
join the song and profess to pray, yet have neither ])art
nor lot in the matter, but ai-e " in the gall of bitterness
and in the bonds of iniquity !" This is true of some of
you who are present heie. When should a Christian,
then, be like Jesus Christ ? Is there a time when he may
strip ott'his regimentals — when the wariior may unbuckle
his armour, and become like other men ? Oh ! no ; at all
times and in every place let the Clnistian be what he
professes to be. I remember talking some time ago with
a person who said, " I do not like visitors who come to
my house and introduce religion ; I tliink we ought to
have reliijion on the Sai»batli-dav, when we i^o to the
house of God, but not in the drawing-room." I suggested
to the individual that there would be a great deal of
work for the upholstereis, if thej'e should be no religion
except in the house of God. " How is that ? " was the
question. " Why," I replied, "we shoidil need to have
beds Htted up in all our ])hices of worship, for surely we
need religion to die with, and consetpiently, every one
would want to die there." Aye, we all need the consola-
tions of God at last ; but how can we expect to enjoy
them unless we obey the precepts of religion during life ?
My brethren, let me say, be ye like Christ at all times.
Imitate him in public. Most of us live in some sort of

f)ublicity ; many of us are called to work before our fel-
ow-men every day. We are watched ; our words arc
caught ; our lives are examined, taken to pieces. The

CHRIST S PEOPLE — IMITATORS OF II IM.

eagle-eyed, arcjiis-eyed world observes everything we do,
and sharp critics are upon us. Let us live the life of
Christ in public. Let us take care that we exhibit our
Master, and not ourselves — so that we can say, " It is no
longer I that live, but Christ that livcth in me." Take
heed that you carry this into the chur :h too, you who are
church-members. Be like Christ in the church. How
many there are of you like Diotrcphes, seeking pre-emi-
nence ? How many are trying to have some dignity and
power over their fellow Christians, instea<l of remember-
ing that it is the fundamental rule of all our churches,
that there all men are e(|u;il — alike brethren, alike to be
received as such. Carry out the spiiit of Christ, then, in
your churches, wherever ye are ; let you fellow members
say of you, " He has been with Jesus."

But, most of all, take care to have religion in your
houftes. A religious house is the best proof of true piety.
It is not my chnpel, it is my house — it is not my minister
it is my home-companion who can bi»st judge me; it is
the servant, the child, the wife, the frientl, that can dis-
coi-n the most of my real character. A good man will
ini])rovc his household. Rowland Hill once said, he would
not believe a man to bo a true Christian if his wife,
his children, the servants, and even the dog and cat,
were not the better for it. That is bcincf relioious. If
the household is not the better for your (Jhristianity — if
men cannot say, "This is a Ixitter house than others,"
then be not deceived — ye have )io*hing of the grace of
God. Let not your servant, ()i\ leaving your employ, say,
" Well, this is a queer sort of a religious family; there
was no prayer in the morning, I began the day with my
drudgery ; there was no prayer at night, I was kept at
home all the Sabbath-day. Once a fortnight, perhaps, I
was allowed to go out in the afternoon, when there was
nowhere to go where I could hear a gospel sermon. My
master and mistress went to a iilace where of course they
heard tlio blessed g<.'.'4'0i of Cod — that was all for them,

•l--^'

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

as for me, I might have the dregs and leavings of some
overworked curate in the afternoon." Surely Christian
men will not iict in that way. No ! Carry out your god-
liness in your family. Let everyone say you have prac-
tical religion. Let it be known and read in the house, as
well as in the world. Take care of your character there ;
for what we are there, we really are. Our lite abroad is
often but a borrowed part, the actor s part of a great
scene, but at home the wizard is removed, and men are
what they seem. Take care of your home duties.

Yet again, my brethern, before I leave this point, imi-
tate Jesus in secret. When no eye seeth you except the
eye of God, when darkness covers you, when you are
sliut up from the observation of mortals, even then be ye
like Jesus Christ. Remember His ardent piety, his sec-
ret devotion — how after laboriously preaching the whole
day, he stole away in the midnight shades to cry for
help from His God. Recollect how His entire life was
constantly sustained by fresh inspirations of the Holy
Spirit, derived by prayer. Take care of your secret life :
let it be such that you will not be ashamed to read at
the last great day. Your inner life is written in the
book of God, and it shall one day be open before you.
If the entire life of some of you were known, it would
be uo life at all: it would be a death. Yea, even of
some true Christians, we would say it is scarce a life. It
is a dragging on of an existence — one hasty prayer a
day — one breathing — just enough to save their souls
alive, but no more. O, my brethren, strive to be more
like Jesus Christ. These are times when we want more
secret prayer. I have had much fear all this week. I
k.iow not whether it is true ; but when I feel such a
thing I like to tell it to those of you who belong to v ^'
own church and confacgation. I have trembled le.^
being away from our own place, you have ceased to ^y
as earnestly as you once did. I remember your eanio«t^
groans and petitions — how you would assemble together

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CHRIST S PEOPLE — IMITATOIIS OF HIM.

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in the house of prayer in multitudes, and cry out to God
to help His servant. We cannot meet in such style at
present ; but do you still pray in private ? Have you
forgotten me ? Have you ceased to cry out to Goil ?
Oh ! my friends, with all the entreaties that a man can
use, let me appeal to you. llccollect who I am, and what
I am — a child having little education, little learning,
ability or talent, and here am I called upon, week after
week, to preach to this crowd of people. Will ye nob,
my beloved, still plead for me ? Has not God been
pleased to hear your prayers ten thousand times ? And
will ye now cease, when a mighty revival is taking place
in many churclies ? Will ye now stop your petitions ?
Oh ! no : go to your houses, fall upon your knees, cry
aloud to God to enable you still to hold up your hands
like Moses on the hill, that Joshua below may fight and
overcome the Amalekites. Now is the time for victory :
shall we lose it ? This is the high tide that will float us
over the bar ; now let us put out the oars, let us pull, by
earnest prayer, crying for God the Spirit to fill the sails !
Ye, who love God, of every place, and every denomina-
tion ; wrestle for your m.inisters ; pray for them ; for why
should not God even now put out His Spirit ? What is
the reason why we are to be denie<l Pentecostal seasons ?
Why not this hour, as one mighty band, fall down before
Him and entreat Him, for His Son's sake, to revive His
drooping church ? Then would all men discern that we
are verily the disciples of Christ.

HI. But now, thirdly, ivhy shoidd Christians imitate
Christ ? The answer comes very naturally and easily,
Christians should be like Christ, first, /or their mvn sakes.
For their honesty's sake, and for their credit's sake, let
them not be found liars before God and men. For their
own healthful state, if they wished to be kept from sin
and preserved from going astray, let them imitate Jesus,
For their own happiness' sake, if they would drink wine
on the lees well refined; if they would enjoy holy and

fir-::

\'w4 I'

II :.

:r I

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

ha]>py communion with Jesus ; if tlicy would be lifted up
above the cares and troubles of this world, let them imi-
tate Jesus Christ. Oh ! my biethren, there is nothing
that can so advantage you, nothinn^ can so j)rosper you, so
assist you, so make you walk towards heaven rapidly, so
keep your head upward towards the sky, and your eyes
radiant with i;l<»ry, like the imitation of Jesus Christ. It
is when, by the power of the Holy Spirit, you are en-
abled to walk with Jesus, in his very footsteps, and tiead
in his ways, you are most hap])y and you are most known
to be the sons of (Jod. For your own sake, my brethren,
I say, be like Christ.

Next, (or rdlff ion 8 std-e, strive to imitate Jesus. Ah !
poor religion, thou hast boon sorely shot at by cruel foes,
l)ut thou hast not boon wounded one-half so much by
them as by thy friends. None have hurt thee, O, Chris-
tianity, so much as those who proft ss to bo thy follovv^ors.
Who have made those wounds in this fair hand of godii-
ness ? ] say. the professor has done this, who has not
lived up to his ]>roiossion; the man who with pretences
enters the fold, bi-ing naught but a wolf in shoo])'s clothing.
vSuch men, sirs, injure the gospol more than others: more
than the laughing iniidol, mor(^ than the sneering critic,
<loth the nuin hint our cause who profosst^s to love it, but
in his actions doth belie his love. Christian, lovost thou
that cause ? Is the name of !;he dear Rodoomor precious
to thee ? Wt)uldst Ihou see the kingdoms of the world
become the kingdoms of our Lord and his (Christ? Dost
thou wish to see the proud man humbled and the nnghty
abased ? Dost thou long for the souls of perishing sin-
ners, and art thou desirous to win thorn, and save their
soids from the everlasting burning ? Wouldst thou pre-
vent their fall into the regions of the danmed ? l.s it thy
desire that Christ should see the travail of his soul, and
be al)undantly satisfied i Doth thy heart yearn over thy
fellow-immortals ? Dost thou long to see them forgiven !
Tlien be consistent with thy religion Walk hcfore Ood

l«l

K»3XSUESjite

Christ's people — imitators of nii\f.

in the land of the living. Behave }i8 an elect man should
do. llecollect wluit manner of people we ought to be in
all holy conversation and god lini'ss. This is tlie best way
to convert the world; yea, such conduct would do more
than even tlie ellbrts ot" nussionary societies, excellent ns
they are. Let but men see that our conduct is superior
to others, then they will believe there is something in
our religion; but, if they see us (piite the contrary to
what we avow, what will they say ? "These religious
people are no better tlian others ! Why should we go
amongst them V And they say (piite rightly. It is but
connnon sense judgment. Ah! my friends, it' ye love re-
ligion for her own sake, be consistent, and walk in the
love of (Jod. Follow Christ Jesus.

Then, to put it in the strongest form I can, let me say,
for (Jhrif<t\s sake, endeavour to be like him. Oh ! could
I fetch the dying Jesus hear, and let him speak to you !
My own tongue is tied this morning, but I would make
his blood, his scars, and his wounds sprak. Poor <linnb
mouths, 1 bid each of them plead in his lu'half. How
would Jesus, standing here, show you his hands this
morning! "My fiiends," he wouM say, "behold me!
these hands were pieived for you ; and look you here at
this my side. It was opened as the fountain of your sal-
vation. See my lee t ! there entered the cruel nails. Each
ot" thej^e bones were dislocated for your sake. These eyes
gushed with tori'eiits of tears. This head was ci'owncd
with thorns. These cheeks were suiitti'ii; this hair was
plucked ; my body Iteeanie the centre and tbcus of agony.
1 hung (piivering in the l)urning sun; and all for you, my
people. And will ye not love me now. 1 bid you be lik(5
me. Is there any fault in me ? Oh ! no. Ye believe
that I am fairer than ten thousand fairs, and lovelier than
ten thousand loves. Have 1 injured you ? Jlave 1 not
rather done all for your salvation ? And do 1 not sit ot
my Father's throne, and e'en now intercede on your be-
half ? if ye love me," — Christian, hear that word ; let the

IHlli

t'4

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

sweet syllables ring forever in your ears, like th« prolonged
sounding of silver-toned bells; — "if ye love uio if ye love
me, keep my comuiandnients." Christian, let that "if*
be put to thee this morning. " If ye love me." Glorious
Redeemer ! is it an " if " at all ? Thou })recious, bleeding
Lamb, can there be an "if?" What, when I see thy
blood gushing from thee ; is it an " if '{ " Yes, I weep to
say it is an "if." Oft my thoughts make it "if," and oft
my words make it " if." But yet methinks my k)u1 feels
it is not " if," either.

'* Not to mine eyes is light so dear,
Nur frieiidsliip half su sweet."

" Yes, I love thee, 1 know that I love thee. Lo*«1, thou
knowest all things, thoii knowest that 1 love th***^," can
the Christian say. " Well then," says Jesus, lo»»king
down with a glance of affectionate approbation, "since
thou lovest me, keep my conunandiiients." O beKn'ed,
what mightier reason can I give tlum this ? It is the
argument cf love and atl'ection. Be like Christ, since
gratitude demands obedience ; so shall the world know
that ye have been with Jesus.

IV. Ah! then ye wept; and I iiereeive ye felt the
force of pity, and some of you are intpiiring, " How can
I imitate him ? " It is my business, then, before you de-
j)art, to tell you how you can become transformed into
the image of C'lirist.

In the fust i)laee, then, my beloved friends, in answer
to your in(juiry, let me say, you must know Christ as
your Redeemer before you can follow him as your Exem-
plar. Much is said about the example of Jesus, and wo
scarcely find a man now who does not believe that our
Lord was an excellent and holy man, nmch to be admired.
But excellent as was his example, it would be impossible
to imitate it, had he not also been our sacrifice. Do yo
this morning know that his blood was shed for you ?
Can ye join with me in this verso? —

1.TVJ -

fti^fii^SUCSflPiB

CHRIST S PEOPLE — IMITATORS OF HIM.

can

the

can

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luto

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ist as
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It our
hired,
ssible
|)o yo

" O, the sweet wonders of that cross,

Where (Jod the Saviour lov'd and died ;
Her noblest life my spirit draws
From his dear wounds and bleeding side."

If SO, you are in a fair way to imitate Christ. But do
not seek to copy him until you are bathed in the foun-
tain tilled with blood drawn from his veins. It is not
possible for you to do so ; your passions will bo too
strong and corrupt, and you will be building without a
foundation, a structure, which will be about as stable
as a dream. You cannot mould your life to his patlern
until you have had his spirit, till you have been clothed
in His righteousness. " Well," say some, " we have pro-
ceeded so far, what next shall we do ? We know we
have an interest in Him, but we are still sensible of
manifold deficiencies." Next, then, let me entreat you
to study Christ's character. This poor Bible is become
an almost obsolete book, even with some Christians.
There are so many magazines, periodicals, and such like
ephemeral productions that we are in danger of neglect-
ing 'to search the Scriptures. Christian, wouldst thou
know thy Master ? Look at Him. There is a wondrous
power about the character of Christ, for the more you
regard it the more you will be conl'oiined to it. I view
myself in the glass, I go away, and foiget what 1 was.
I behold Christ, and 1 become likt», Christ. Look at Him,
then ; study Him in the evangelists, studiously examine
His character. " But," says you, " we have done that
and we have proceeded but little farther." Then, in
the next place, correct your poor copy every day. At
night, try and recjint all the actions of the twenty-four
hours, scrupulously putting them under review. When
I have proof-sheets sent to me of any of my writings, I
have to make the corr:ctions in the margin, I might
read them over tifty times, and the printers would still
put in the errors if 1 did not mark them. So nmst you
(Jo; if you Jind anything faulty at night, make a mark

,1' 1

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III

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1
'>*,

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

in the margin, that you may know where the fault is,
and to-morrow may amend it. Do this, day after day,
continually noting your faults, one by one, so that you
may better avoid them. It was a maxim of the old
philosophers, that, three times in the day, we should go
over our actions. 8o let us do ; let us not be forgetful ;
let us rather examine ourselves each night, and see
wherein we have done amiss, that we may reform our
lives.

Lastly, as the best advice I can give, seek more of the
Spirit of God ; for this is the way to become Christ-like.
Vain are all your attempts to be like Him, till you have
sought His spirit. Take the cold iron, and attempt to
weld it if you can into a certain sha[)e. How fruitless
the eilbrt ! liay it on the anvil, seize the blacksmith's
hammer with all your might, let blow alter blow fall
upon it, and you shall liave done nothing. Twist it,
turn it, use all your implements, but you shall not be
able to fashion it as you v/ould. But put it in the fire,
let it be softened and niadc malleable, then lay it on the
anvil, and each stroke shall have a mighty efiect, so that
you may fashion it into any form you may desire. " So
take your heart, not cold as it is; not stony as it is by
nature, but j)ut it into the furnace ; there let it be molten,
and after that it can be turned like wax to the seal, and
fashioned into the image of Jesus Christ.

Oil, my brethren, what can I say now to enforce my
text, but that, if ye are like Christ on earth, ye shall be
like Him in heaven? If, by the power of the Spirit, ye
become followers of Jesus, ye shall enter glory. For at
heaven's gate there sits an angol, who a<lniits no one
who has not the same features as our adorable Lord.
There comes a man with a crown upon his head, " Yes,"
he says, " thou hast a crown, it is true, but crowns are
not the medium of access here." Another approaches,
dressed in robes of state and the gown of learning.
" Yes," says the angel, " it may be good, but gowiis and

■t«

CHRISTS PEOPLE— IMITATORS OF HIM.

my
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one

lord.

r >»

,es,
are
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learning are not the marks that shall admit yon here."
Another advances, fair, beautiful and comely. " Yes,"
saith the angel, " that might please on earth, but beauty
is not wanted here." There cometh up another, who is
lieralded by fame, and prefaced by the blast of the
clamour of mankind ; but the angel saith, " It is well
with man, but thou hast no right to enter here." Then
there appears another, poor he may have been ; illiterate
he may have been ; but the angel, .is he looks at him,
smiles and says, " It is Christ again ; a secoi:/' edition of
Jesus Christ is there. Come in, come in. Eternal glory
thou sh alt win. Thou art like Christ; in heaven thou
shalt sit, because thou art like him." Oh ! to be like
Christ is to enter heaven ; but to be unlike Christ is to
descend to hell. Likes shall be gathered together at
last, tares with tares, wheat with wheat. If ye have
sinned with Adam and have lied, ye shall lie with the
spiritually dead forever, unless ye rise in Christ to new-
ness of life, then shall we live with him throughout
eternity. Wheat with wheat, tares witli tares. " Bo
not deceived ; God is not mocked : whatsoever a man
soweth, that shall he also rea])." Go away with this one
thought, then, my brethren, that you can test yourselves
by Christ. If you are like Christ, you are of Christ,
and shall be with Christ. If you are unlike hiu), you
have no portion in the great inheritance. May my poor
discourse help to fan the floor, and reveal the chati"; yea
may it lead many of you to seek to be ])artakers of the
inheritance of the saints in light, to the praise of his
grace. To him be all honour given 1 Amen.

liMlM

FAITH.

" IVithout faith it is impossible to please God."
— Hejjkews vi : C.

HE old Assembly's Ctatechisin asks, " What is
the chiot' end of man ? " snid its answer is,
)/^"To ^loj'ify God, and to enjoy him forever."
^ The answer is exceedingly correct ; but it might
' have been e([nally truthful if it had been shorter.
The chief end of man is " to please God ;" for, in so
doing — we need not say it, becnuse it is an un-
J^ doubted fact — in so doing he will please himself.
The chief end of man, we believe, in this life and
in the next, is to please God his Maker. If any
man pleases (jlod, he does that which conduces most
to his own ten»poral and etei'nal welfare. Man can-
not please God without bringing to himself a great
amount of happiness; for, if any man pleases God,
it is because God accepts him as a son, gives him the
blessings of adoption, pours upon him tb.e bounties ot
his grace, makes him a blessed man in this life, and in-
sures him a crown of everlasting life which he shall wear,
and which shall shine with unfading lustre, when the
wieaths of earth's glory have all been melted away ;
while, on thu other hand, if a uuin docs not please God,

Lat--%^.w "^w^.

iUft*; iijMat>art<faim— ^aa

FAITH.

iway ;
le God,

he inevital)ly brings upon himself sorrow and suffering
in this lite; lie puts a worm and n. rottenness in the core
of all his joys ; ho fills his death-pillow with thorns, and
h". supplies the eternal the with Ijigots of tlame which
shall foreviir consume him. He that pleases God is,
through divine grace, journeying onward to the ultimate
reward of all those that love an<l fear God ; but he who
is ill-pleasing to God nmst, for Sc]ij)ture has declared it,
be banished from the presence of God, and consecpiently,
from the enjoyment of happiness. ]f, then, "we be right
in saying that to j)lease God is to be ha})py, the one im-
portant question is, how can I please God ? and there is
something veiy solemn in the utttnance of our text,
" Without faith it is im[)ossible to please God." That is
to say, Do what you may, strive as earnestly as you can,
live as excellently ms y(»u please, make wliat sacrifices you
(dioose, be as emini'ut as you can for cveivthin<' that is
lovely and of good rei)ute, yet none of these things can
be pleasing to God unless they he mixed with faith. As
the Lord suid to the Jews, " Wirl; all your sacrifices you
must offer salt," so he says to us : " With all your doings
you must bring failh, or else 'without faith it is impossible
to please God.' "

This is an old law; it is as old as the lirst man. No
HOcHier were ('ain and Alud Ih-rn into this world, and no
sooner had they attained to manhood, than God gave a
pi'actical proclamation of this law, that "without faith it
is impossible to please him." Cain and Abel, one bright
day, errected an altar si«le by side with each other. Cain
fetched of the fruits of the trees and of the ahundani^e of
the soil, and placed them ui)on his altai*; Abel brought of
the fir^tiings of the tiock, and laid it upon his altiir. It
was to 1)0 decided which God would accept. Cain had
brought his best, hut he brought it without faith; Abel
brought his .sacrifice, but he brought it with faith in
Christ. Now, then, which shall best succeed ? The offer--
ings are ctpial in value; so far as tiny tlieniselvcs are

f r! 1

S-lLt
it

SKllMONS UY Hi'l'IlUKON.

coticeineil, they arc alike crood. Upon which will the
heavenly fire descend ? Which will the Lord God con-
sume with the lire of his pleasure ? ! I see Abel's otfer-
ing burning, jind Cain's countenance has fallen ; for, unto
Abel and unto his oflei ing the Lord had res[)ect, but unto
Cain and his oli'ering the Lord had no respect It shall
be the same till tlie last man be gatheied into heaven.
Tliere shall never be an acceptable offering which has not
been seasoned with faith. Good tlu-ugh it nniy be, as
apparently good in itself as that which has faith, yet un-
less faith be with it, God never can and never will accept
it ; for he here declares, " Without faith it is impossible
to please God,"

I shall endeavour to pack my thoughts closely this
morning, and be as brief as I can, consistently with a full
explanation of the theme. I shall first, have an ejcposit'ion
of what is faith; secondly, I shall have an cm/arnent,
that, without faith it is impossible to be saved; and,
thirdly, I shall ask a question, — Have you that faith
which pleases God ? We shall have, then, an exposition,
an aigument, and a question.

]. First, for the exposition. What is faith ?

The old writers, who are by far the most sensible — for
you will notice, that the books that were written about
two hundred years ago by the old Puritans have more
sense in one line than tliere is in a page of our new books,
and more in a page than there is in a whole volume of
our modem divinity — the oil writers tell you that faith
is made up of three things: first knowledge, then assent,
and then what they call affiance, or, the laying hold of
the knowledge to which we give assent, and making it
our own, by trusting in it.

L Let us begin, then, at the beginiung. The first thing
in faith is kiunule<l(je. A man cannot believe what he
does not know. That is a clear, self-evident axiom. If
I have never heard of a fhing in all my life, and do not
know it, 1 cannot believe it. And yet there are some

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FAITH.

persons who have a fiiith like that of the fuller, who,
when he wjis asked what he believed, said, " I believo
what the Church believes." — " Wliat does the Church be-
lieve ? — "The Church believes what 1 believe." — "And
pray what do you and the ('hui-ch believe ? " — " Why, we
both believe the same thing." Now, this man believed
nothiu<]f, except that the Church was right; but in what,
he could not tell. It is idle for a man to say, " I am a
believer," and yet not to know what h*; believes ; but yet
1 have seen some persons in this position. A violent ser-
mon has been preached which has stirred up their blood ;
the minister has cried, " J3elieve I Believe ! Believe ! " and
the people on a sudden have got it into their heads that
they were believers, and have walked out of their place
of worship and said, " I am a believer." And if they
were asked, " Pray, what do you believe ? " they could
not give a reason for the hope that was in them. They
believe they intend to go to chapel next Sunday; they
intend to join that class of peo})le ; they intend to
be very violent in their singing, and very wonderful in
their rant ; therefore they believe they shall be saved ;
but what they believe they cannot tell. Now, I hold no
man's faith to be sure faith, unless he knows what he
believes. If he says, " I believe," and does not know
what he befieves, how can that be true faith ? The apostle
has said, " How can they believe on him of whom they
have not heard ? and how can they hear without a
preacher? and how can they pi'tach exce})t they be
sent?" It is necessary, then, to true faith, that a man
should know something of the Bible. Believe me, this
is an aire when the Bible is not so much thouefht of as it
used to be. ►5ome hundred years ago, the woild was
covered with bigotry, cruelty, and superstition. We al-
ways run to extremes, and we have just gone to the other
extreme now. It was then said : " One ♦'aith is right ;
down with all others, by the rack and by the sword !"
Now it is said, " However contradictory our creeds may

];

'[ !ii

SERMONS BY SPUROEON.

^ a f

K'j'i;

l>e, they are all rii^lit." If we did l>ut use our common
senso, we should know that it is not so. P>ut some reply,
" Such-and-such a doctrine need not he ])reached, and
n(!e 1 not he hclieved." Then, sir, if it need not be })re;iched,
it need not he revealed. You impugn the wisdom of
God, wlieii you say a doctiine is unnecessaiy ; for you do
as much ;is say, that God has I'evcalcd something which
was not necessaiy, and h . would be as unwise to do more
than was necessary as if he had done less than was neces-
sary. We believe that every doctrine of God's Word
oui;ht to be studied by men, and that their faith should
lay hold of the whole matter of the Sacred Scriptures;
and more especi;illy upon all that part of the Scripture
which concern the person of our all-blessed Redeemer.
There must be some decree of l^nowledire before there
can be faith. " Search the Scriptures" then, "for in them
ye think ye have eternal life, and they are they which
testify of Christ; " and, by searchin;; and )•eadinL,^ cometh
kn*)\vledire. and bv knowledjxe conietii faith, and throuirlv
faitli cometh salvation.

'2. But a man may know a thing, and yet not have
faitli. i may know a thing, and yet not believe it.
Therefoi'e, assent nuist go with faith: that is to say, what
we know we nuist also agree unto, as being most certainly
th verity of God. Now, in order to have faith, it is neces-
sary that I should not only read the Scriptures and under-
stand them, but that 1 should receive them in my soul as be-
ing the very truth of the living God, and should devoutly,
with my whole heart, receive tluj whole of Scripture as
being inspired of the Most -High, antl the whole of the
doctrine which he re(iuires me to believe to my salvation.
You are not allowed to halve the Scriptures, and to be^
lieve what you please; you are not allowed to believe the
Scripture.} with a half-heartedness ; for, if yon do this
wilfully, you h »ve not the faith which looks alone to
Christ. True faith gives its full assent to the Scriptures ;
it takes a page and sa}s, " No matter what is in the page,

FATTH.

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be-
utly,
e as
the
tion.
be^
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this
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ires ;
age,

I believe it ; " it turns over the next chapter and says :
" Herein are some things hard to be understood, which
they that are unlearned and unstable do wrest, as they
do also the other Scriptures, to their destruction ; but,
hard though it be, I believe it." It sees the Trinity ; it
cannot understand the Trinity in Unity, but it believes
it. It sees an atoning sacrifice ; there is something diffi-
cult in the thought, but it believes it ; and, whatever it
be which it sees in revelation, it devoutly puts its lips to
the book, and says : " I love it all ; I give my full, free,
and hearty assent to every word of it, whether it be the
threatening, or the promise, the proverb, the precept, or
the blessing. I believe that, since it is all the Word of
God, it is all most assuredly true." Whosoever would be
saved, must know the Scriptures, and must give full as-
sent unto them.

3. But a man may liave all of this, and yet not possess
true faith; for the chief part of faith lies in the hwt head,
namely, in an ajjiance to the truth ; not the believing it
merely, but the taking hold of it as being ours, and in
the resting on it for salvation. Recumbency on the truth
was the word which the old preachers used. You will
understand that word. Leaning on it : saying, " This is
truth ; I trust my salvation on it." Now, true faith in
its very essence rests in this — a leaning upon Christ.
It will not save me to know that Christ is a Saviour; but
it will save me to trust him to be my Saviour. I shall
not be delivered from the wrath to come, by believing
that his atonement is sufficient ; but I shall be saved, by
making that atonement my trust, my refuge, and my all.
The pith, the essence, of faith lies in this, — a casting one-
self on the promise. It is not the life-buoy on board the
ship that saves the man when he is drowning, nor is it
his belief that it is an excellent and successful invention.
No ! he must have it around his loins, or his hand upon
it, or else he will sink. To use an old and hackneyed il-
lustration : Sup[)ose a fire in the upper room of a house,

|i;i^

SERMONS BY SPURGKON.

I'-

if'iit

; hi'

<ll!|

I I :.i:

and tlie people gathered in the street. A child is in tho
upper story : how is he to escape ? He eannot leap down
— that were to Vte (hished to pieces. A sti\)nf( man comes
heneath, and cries, " Diop into my arms." It is a pait of
faith to know that the man is there; it is anotlier part of
faith to believe that the man is strong ; but the essence
of faith lies in the dropping down into the man's arms.
That is the proof of faith, and the real pith and esseii(;e
of it. So, dinner, thou art to kno\s that Christ died for
sin; thou art also to understand t/iat (Mnist is able to
save, and thou ai t to believe th.at ; but thou art not saved,
unless, in addition to that, thou puttest thy trust in him
to be thy Saviour, and to be thine forever. As Hait says
in his hymn which really expresses the gospel —

'* Venture on him, ventiire wholly ;
Let no othor t; i»t intrude :
None but .Ie»us, none but Jesus,
Can do helpless sinners L'ood."

This is the faith which sa^es; and, however unholy may
have been your lives up to this hour, this faith, if given to
you at this moment, will b'ot out all your sins, will change
yoi'** nature, make you a new man in Christ Jesus, lead
yon to live a holy life, and make your eternal salvation
as secure as if an ixu^A shouM take you on his bright
wings this morning, antl carry you immediately to heaven.
Have you that faith ? That i.j the one all-important
question; for, while with faith, men are saved, without it,
men are damned. As Brookes hath said, in one of his
admirable works : " He that believeth on the Lord Jesus
Christ, shall be saved, be his sins never so many ; but he
that believeth not on the Lord Jesus, must be danmed,
be his sins never so few." Hast thou faith ? For the
text declares, " Without faith it is impossible to please
God."

II. And now we come to the argument, — why, with-
out faith, we cannot be saved

FAITH.

Now, there are some gentlemen present wlio are sa}'-
in«,', " Now we shall see whether Mr. Spurgeon has any
l();^nc in him." No, you won't, sirs, Viecanse I never pro
tend to exercise it. I hope 1 have the logic which ean
appeal to men's hearts ; but 1 am not very prone to use the
less powerful logic of the head, when I can win the heart
in another manner. But, if it were needful, I should not
be afraid to prove that I know more of logic, and of many
other things, than the little men who undertake to cen-
sure me. It were well if tiiey knew how to hold their
tongues, which is at least a tine part of rhetoi'ic. My
argument shall be such as, I trust, will appeal to the
heart and conscience, although it may not exactly please
those who are always so fond of syllogistic demonstration.

" Who could a hair divide

Between the west and nurthw»!st side."

1. "Without faith it is impossible to please God." And
I gather it from the fact, that there never has been the
cjise of a man recorded in Scriptuie who did please God
without faith. The 11th chapter of Hebrews is the
chapter of the men who pleased C^.i. Listen to their
names : " By faith Abel otlered unto God a more
excellent sacrifice;" " By faith Enoch was translated;"
By faith Ntjah built an ark;" By faith Abraham went
out into a place that he should afterwards receive ;"
" By faith he sojourned in the land of promise;" " B3'
faith Sarah 1 ire Isaac ;" " By faith Abraham offered up
Isaac;" By faith Moses gave up the wealth of Egypt;"
" By faith Isaac blessed Jacob ; " " By faith Jacob blessed
the sons of Joseph ; " " By faith Joseph, when iio di'^d.
made mention of the departure of the cliildren of Israel ; "
" By faith the Red Sea was dried up ; " By faith the walls
of Jericho fell ; " " By faith the harlot Rahab was
saved;" "And what shall I more say? for the time
would fail me to tell of Gideon, and of Barak, and of Sam-

til!,

SKUMONS BY SPURGEON.

« ^ .Ml

son, and of j('j)litlicah, of David also, and Saniiiol, and of
the proolic'ts." But all these were men of faith. Others
mentioned in SL'ri})tiire have done something ; but God
did not accept them. Men have hund»led themselves, and
yet God has not savoil them. Ahab did, and yet his sins
were never forgiven. Men have repiiited, and yet have
not bc^n saved, because theirs was the wron^ re])e'itanee.
Judas repented, and went and haiiij^ed himself, and
was not saved. Men have confessed their sins, and have
not been saved. Saul did it. He said to David, "I have
sinned against thee, my son David ; " and yet he went on
as he did before. Multitudes have confessed the name of
Christ, and have done miiiiy marvellous things, and yet
they have never been pleasing to God, for this simple rea-
son, that they had no faith. And, if there be not one men-
tioned in Scripture, which is the history of some thousand
years, it is not likeh' that, in the other two tliousand
years of the world's liistoiy, there would have been one,
when there was not one during the first four thousand.

2. But the, next argument is : fnKh is the sioopimj
grace, and nothing can make a man stv)op without faith.
Now, unless a man iloes stoop, his sacrifice cannot be ac-
cepted. The angels know this. When they praise God,
they do it veiling their faces with their wings. The re-
deemed know it. When they praise CJod, they cast
tlioir crowns before liis feet. Now, a man who has not
faith, proves that lie cannot stoop ; for he has not faitli,
for this reason, because he is too j»roud to believe. He
declares, he will not yield his intellect, he will not be-
come a child, and lielieve meekly what (^io<l tells him to
believe. He is too proud, and he cannot enter heaven,
because the door of heaven is so low that no one can
enter in by it unless they will bow their heads. There
never wa-« a man who could walk into salvati(m erect.
We must go to Christ on our bended knees ; for though
lie is a door biix eiiouirh for the <rreatest sinner to conu^
in, he is a door so low that men must stoop if they

PAiTir.

tan

K't.

Would be saved. Tlieitforc it is, that, faith is necessary,
hocauso a want of Tuitli is c<Mtain evidence of absence of
humility.

.'J. But now for otlicr reasons, faitli is necessary to sal-
vation, because we are told in Scripture that ivorks can-
not save. To tell a very familiar storv, that even the
poorest may not misunderstand wdiat I say : A minister
was one day jj^oin^,' to preach. He climbed a hill on his
road. Beneath him hiy the villaLjes, sleeping in their
beauty, with the corn-fields m(»tioidess in the sunshine,
but lie did not look at them, fur his attention was
arrested by a M'oman standing,' at n,r door, and, who,
upon seeiiinr him, came up to him with the ^n-eatest an-
anxiety, and said ^ "O! sir, have you any keys al)out
you ? 1 have l>roken the key ol my drawers, and there
are some thinj^s that 1 must get <lireetly." Said he, '* I
have no keys," She was disappointed, expecting that
every one would luive some keys. " But suppo.->e," he
said, " I had some keys, they might not fit your lock,
atid thrrefore you could not get the articles you want.
But do not distress yoursr'f; wait till some one else
co!iies up. But," said he, wishing to impiove tin; ocea-
sion, " have you ever heard of the key of heaven i* "

•' Ah ! yes," she said, " I have lived long enough, and
I have gone to church long enough, to know that, if we
w<»rk liard, and get our bread by the sweat of our brow,
and act well towards ou'" neighbours, and behave as the
Catechism savs, h/.. ly and reverentlv to ;;11 otir hettn-s,
and if we do om* '^wly in that station of lift^ in which
it has pleased (»o<. to place us, and say our prayers regu-
larly, \ve shall bo saved."— -"Ah ! " said he, " my good
woman, that is a broken kev, f<»r you have broken the
commandments; you have not fultillcd all your tluties.
It is a good key, but you have broken it." " Fray, sir,"
said slie, believing that he undcrstootl the matter, and
looking fiightened, " What have I lelt out ? "— " Why,"
said he, "the all-important thing, the blood of Jesus

SERMONS BY SfURGEOl^.

I'lin

Christ. Don't yon know it is said, tlio key of licaVon is
at his girdle; lie o|)en('th, and no man shnttotii ; lie slnit-
tctli, and no man ojK'netli ? " And, oxplaining it nioro
fully to licr, he said, " It is (^lu-isf. and (Jlirist alone, that
can open heaven to yon, and not your goo<l works," —
" What ? minister," said she," '! are our good works use-
less, then ? " — "No," said lie, "not after faith. If yon
believe first, you may hav(i ns many gnoil woiks as you
]>lease , but if you helieve, yon will never trust in then),
foi", if you trust in them, you have spoilt tiiem, iind
thoy are not good works any longer. Have ns many
good works as you ])lea^(! ; still, ])ut youi- tiust wholly
in th(^ Iii)i"d Jesus ('hrist; for, if you do not, your key
will never uidoek heaven's gate." So then, my hear-
ers, we nuist have true faith, because tin; old key of
work is so broken by us all, that we never shall enter
Paradise by it. If any of you pretend that you liave
no sins, to bo very plain with you, you deceive your-
selves, and the truth is not in you. If you conceive
that, by your good works, you shall enter heaven, never
was there a more fell delusion ; and you sluiU find, at
the last great day, that your hopes were worthless, and
that, like sere leaves from the autumn trees, your noblest
doings shall be blown away, or kindled into a llame,
wliorein you, yourselves, nuist suH'er forever. Take
heed of your good works ; get them after faith, but re-
mend n-r, the way to be saved is simply to believe in
Jesus ( 'liiist.

4. Again : without faith it is impossible to be saved,
and to please (lod; because, without faith, theie is no
union to (Christ. Now, union to (""hrist is indisjien.sable
(o our salvation. If I conu; befoie (iod's throne with my
))rayers, I -hall n(»ver get them answeivd, unless 1 bring
Christ witli me. 'i'lie Molossians of old, when they could
not get a favour from their king, adopted a sijigulnr
expe<lient: they took the king's only son in their arms,
and, falling on their knees, cried, "O king, for thy son's

FAITH.

re-
|in

hi,

I'.v

In
.1

sake jrrant onr reqiaest." He smiled, an*l sai<l, "I deny
nothing to thoNv who ]>lead my son's name."

It is so \Vith <i<)(i. Hi; will «leny nothinjj; to the man
who comes, havini^ Christ at his elbow; hut, it" he come
alone, he nuist he C}i>t away. Union to Christ is, after
all, the <;reat point in salvation. Let me tel) you a story
to illustrate this: the stupendous Falls of Niagara have
heen spoken of in every part of the world ; hut, while they
arc marvellous to hear of, and wonderful us a s})t'ctaclc,
they have hcen vei y destructive to huniau life, when by
accident any have bee!i carried down the cataract. Some
years ago, two uieu, a bargeuian and a collier, were in c
boat and found themselves unable to manage it, it being
carried so swiftly down the current that they nuist both
inevitably be borne down and dashed to pieces. Persons
on tne shore saw them, but were unabU; to do nuich for
their rescue. At last, however, one man was saved by
floating a rcjpe out to liim, which lie grasped. 'J'he same
instant that the rope came into his hand, a log floated by
t'le other man. The thoughtle.ss and confused bargeman,
instead of seizing the rope, laid hold on the log. It was
a fatal mistake ; they were both in imminent peril, but
the one was drawn to .shore, becau.se he had a connection
witli the peoplf on the land ; whilst tlie other, clinging to
tlie log, was borne irresistibly along, and never lieard of
afterwaids. J)o you not see that here is a practical illus-
tration? Faith is a connection with Christ. < 'hrist is on
tlie shore, so to speak, liolding the rope of faith, and if wo
lay hold of our confidence, he ]>ulls us to shore; but our
good works, having no connection with Christ, are drifted
along down the gulf of fell despair. Grai)ple them as
tightly as we may, even with hooks of steel, they cannot
avail US in tlie least degree. You will see, I am suie,
what 1 wi.sh to show to you. Some object to anecdotes ;
I .shall use them till they have done obj«>cting to them.
The truth is nevermore powerfully .set forth to men than
by tolling them, ari Christ did, a story of a certain man

h f

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V' '

1 ' !

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f

SERMONS BY SPURGEON.

with two sons, or a certain householder, who went a
journey, divided his substance, and gave to some ten
talents, to another one.

Faith, then, is an union with Christ. Take care you
have it ; for, it" not, cling to your works, and tliere yon go
floating down the stream ! Cling to your works, and you
go dashing down thi^ gulf ! Lost, because your works
have no hold on Christ, and no connection with the
blessed Redeemer ! But thou, poor sinner, with all thy
sin about thee, it* the rope is round thy loins, and Christ
has a hold of it, fear not !

'* His honour is engage«l to savo
The nieitnest uf it is slieep ;
All that His Heavenly Father gave
His hand securely keeps."

6. Just one more argument, and then I have done with
it. *' Without laith it is impossible to pleasi; God," be-
cause it is impossible to persevere in holiness without
faith. What a multitude of fair-weather Chiistians wo
have in this age ! Many Christians resemble the nautilus,
which, in tine, smooth weather, swims on the surface of the
sea, in a sj)lendid little sijuadron, like the mighty ships;
but, the moment the first breath of the wind rutlles the
waves, they take in their sails, and sink into the deptiis.
Many Christians are the same. In good eompan^^ in
cvangelieal drawing-rooms, in pious parlours, in chapeis
and vesti ies, they are tremendously religious; but, if they
are exposed to a little ridicule, if some should smile at
them, and call them Methodist, or Presbyterian, or some
name of reproach, it is all over with their religion till iho
next tin(^ day. Then, when it is Hne weather, and reii-
Ldon will answer the*

purp

ip go

agan

and they are as pious as l)efore. Believe me, that kind
of i-eligion is worse than irreligion. I do like a man to
be thoroughly what he is, — a downright man; and, if a

FAITH.

lie-
out
we

his,
the

man docs not lovo God, do not lot him say he does ; but if
he he a true Christian, a follower of Jesus, let l»im say it
and stand u\) for it ; there is nothin_t>- to be ashaiiied of in
it ; the oidy thing to be ashanuMl of is to be hypocritical.
Let us be honest to our profession, and it will be our
^dory. Ah! what would you do without faith in times
of persecution ? You <^'ood and pious people that have no
faith, what would you do if the staki; were a<^'ain erecti'd
in Smithtield, and if once more the lires consumed the
.saints to ashes? if the L-"ards' tower weie again opened,
if the rack were again piled, or if even the stocks were
used, as they have heen used by a I'rotestant Church —
as witness the persecution of my piedecessor, lienjamin
Reach, who was onee set in the stocks at Aylesbury, for
writing a book against Infant baptism. If even the mild-
est form of persecution were revived, )iow would the peo-
ple be scatteied abroad ! And some of the shepheids
would be leaving their Hocks. Another anecdote now,
and 1 hope it will lead you to see the necessity of faith,
whiK» it may lead mo on insensihly to the last part of my
discours*;. A slaveholding American, on one occasion,
buying a slave, said to the person of whom he was pur-
chasing him, " Tell me honestly what are his faults T'
Said the seller: " Ife has no faults, that I am aware of,
but one: thatone fault is, he will pray." — "Ah!" said the
puichascr, " 1 don't like that; hut I know something that
will cure him of it j)retty soon." So, the next night, Cuf-
fey was surprisevl by his master in the plantation while
in earnest prayer, ])raying for his new master, and his
masti^r's wife and fandly. The man stood and listened,
but said nothing at the time; i»ut the next morning he
called CuHey, and said, " I do not want to (puirrel with
you, my man, but 1*11 have no ])iaying on my premises :
bo you just drop it." — " Massa," saiil he, " me canna leavu
ort' praying ; me must prny." — " I'll tench you to |»iay, if
you are going to kee{» on at it." — " Massa, me must keep
on." — " Well, then, I'll give you live and-twenty lashes a

f •

1 ' '

SEUMONS BY srUUGKUN.

day till you leave off." — " Massa, if you give me fifty, I
must l>ray." — " If that's the way you are sauey to your
master, you shall have it directly." So, tying him up, he
gave him five-and-twenty lashes, and asked him if he
Would pray again. "Yes, massa, me must })ray always;
me canna leavt; off." The master looked astonished ; he
could not understand how a j)oor saint eouhl keep on
praying, when it seemed to do no good, but only hi ought
persecution up(jn him. Ht; told his wife of it. His wife
said : "Why can't you let the poor man pray ? He does
his work very well; you and 1 do not care al)out pray-
ing, hut there's no harm in letting him pray, if he gets
on with his work." — '* But 1 don't like it," said the mas-
ter, "he almost Iriglitened me to death. You shouUl see
how he looked at me." — "Was he angry?" — "No, I
should not have min<led that; but after I had beaten
him, he looked at me with tears in his ey«'s, as if he ])iti«'d
me moif than himself." That ni<;ht the master could not
sleep; he tossetl to and fro on his bed; his sins were
brought to Ids renuMubrance ; he renu^mbered he had per-
secuted a saint of (Jo(l. [vising in his bed, lie said, " Wife,
will you pray for me { " — " 1 never piayed in my life,"
said she ; "■ I eannot pray for you." " 1 am lost," he said,
" if somebody «loes not pray for me ; 1 cannot ])ray for
myself."--" I don't know any one on the estate that knows
how to pray, except Cufi'ey," .said his wife, 'i'he bell was
run:/, and ('ulley was brou'dit in. 'i\ikin<r hold of his
black servant's hand, the master said, " Cu Hey, caii you
]»ray for your nuister i " — " Massa," said he, " me been
praying for you eber since you flogged me, and me mean
to pray always for you." IJown went ( 'utfey on his knees,
and poured out liis soul in tears, and botit husband and
wife were converte«i. 'I'hat negro could not hav<^ done
this without faith. Without faith he would have gone
away <liiectly, and said, "Massa, me le»ve off praying ;
me no like de white man'-; whip." But becauHehe pet.M—
vere.] through his faith, m" Lord honoure«i him. and gav«r
him his master's soul fur Ids hire.

FAITH.

III. And now, m conohision, TIIK qi'kstion, the vital
question. Dear hearer, have you faith ? Dost thou be-
lieve on the Lord Jesus Clirist with all thy heart ? If so,
thou niayest hope to be saved. Aye, thou niayest conclude
with absolute certainty that thou shalt never see perdi-
tion. Have you laith ? Shall I help you to answer that
(|uestion ? I will give you three tests, as biiefly as ever
I can, not to weary you ; and then farewell this mornint^'.
He that has faith has renounced his own righteousness.
If thou puttest one atom of trust in thyself, thou hast no
faith ; if thou dost place even a particle of reliance upon
anything else but wiiat Christ did, thou hast no faith. If
thou dost trust in thv works, then thv works are anti-
christ, and Christ and antichrist can never go together.
Christ will have all or nothing; he must be a whole
Saviour, or no Saviour at all. If, then, you have faith,
you can say :

" Nothing in my hand I bring,
Siniply to the cross I cling."

Then true faith m;iy bt; known by this, that it begets a
great esteem for the person of Christ. Dost thou love
Christ ? Couldst thou die for him ? Dost thou seek to
serve liim ? Dost thou love his people ? Canst thou say :

*' JosuH, I lovo thy charming name,
'Tia music to my ear,"

Oh, if thou dost not love Christ, thou dost not believe in
him; f*)r to believe in Christ beg«!ts love. And yet more :
he that has trut^ faith will have true obedience. If a
man savs he has faith and has no works, he lies; if anv
man declares that he iielii'ves on (Jhrist, and y«'t does not
lead a holv life, he makes a mistake ; for while we tlo not
trust in good works, we know that faith always begets
good works. Faith is the father of holiness, and he has
not the parent who loves not the child. (Jod's blessings
arc blessings with both his hands. In the one hand lie

ill

mu.

SERMONS BY SPURGLON.

gives pardon, but in the other liand ho always ijjivcs holi-
ness ; and no man can have the on(\ unless the other.

And now, dear hearers, shall I down upon my knees,
and entreat you for Christ's sake to answer this question
in your own silent chamber : Have you faith ? O ! an-
swer it. Yes — or No. Leave off sayinj^, " I do not know,
or 1 <lo not care." Ah ! }'ou ivill care, one day, when the
earth is reding, and the world is tossing to and fro ; ye
will care, when God shall summon you to judgment, and
when he shall condemn the faithless and the unbelievintx.
O ! that y(! weie wise, — that ye would care now ; and it'
any of you feel your novA of Christ, let me beg of you, for
Christ's sake, now to seek faith in him who is exalted on
high to give repentance and remission, and who, if he har-}
given you repentance, will give you remission too. O,
sinners who know your sins ! " believe on the Lord Jesus,
and ye shall be saved." Cast yourselves upon his love
and blood, his doing and bis dying, his miseries and his
meiits ; and if you do this you shall never fall, but you
shall be saved now, and saved in that great day when
not to be saved will be horrible indeed. " Turn ye, turn
ye; why will ye die, O house of Isiael ?" Lay hold on
him, touch the hem of his garment, an<l ye shall be healed.
May (lod help you so to do; lor Christ's sake! Ameu
and Amen.

It-

DWIGHT LYMAN MOODY.

^R, D. L. MOODY was burn in Northfield, Mass., on

tho 5th day of February, 1837. Wlien but four yeara

of age, his father died suddenly, leaving the widnwod

r.f^ mother with a family of seven (Dwight being the sixth), tho

j \^ 4^ eldest but thirteen years of ago. Tho widow's sole possession

'j^ was the homestead and about two acre? of land, on which was

a mortgage. It can easily be understood that the homo was

not provided with many luxuries, but it had the greatest of all

treasures, a Christian Mother who did her utmost to train her

children aright. Tho eai'.y life of the young lad was marked

by many vicissitudes, but, with a strong ccjustitntion and in-

I doniitablo energy ho overcame all obstacles. It was evident

^ to all that ho had " something in him," but that something

seemed to bo almost anything else rather than a preacher of

tJoCiospel. At tho age of seventeen, young Moody started from

home to seek his fortune in tho great world. Ho found his way to

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DWIGHT LYMAN MOODY.

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Boston, where ho entercil the service of his uncle, Samuel Ilolton,
a dealer in boots and shoes. One of his uncle's conditions of en-
gai^euient with him was that he should regularly attend tlu) Mount
Vernon Church and Sabbath Schoid. \n that Sabbath School ho
was placed in the iJibl'^ Class of Mr. Kd. Kimball, under whoso
careful and loving insti uctions the young man's heart began to soften.
One day Mr. Kimball cilled on him at the store, and putting his
hand on his shoulder, asked if he would not give his heart to Christ.
That question awakened him and led to his conversion. Mr. Moody
has often been heard to say, " I Cc.'i feel the touch of that man'a
hand on my shoulder even yet."

The enthusiasm which had narked his life up to that time was
now manifested in his religion. He became a member of Mount
Vernon Church. In September, 18G5, young Moody moved to
Chicago, and entered the employ of Mr. Urswill, in the same busi-
ness as that of his uncle ITolton. Here ho entered heartily into
church work. He started a mission schod, and it grow rapidly, and
great interest was aroused in his work. After about four or live
years' business career in Chicago, he decided to enter entirely into
Christian work, and that in simple trust upon God to supply his
needs. In 1870, at the International Convention of the Young
Men's Christian Association, held in Indianapolis, U. S., he first
met with and enlisted into service with Mr. Ira D. ti'ankey, the
''Sweet Singer" and from that time to this the names of INIessrs.
Moody and Sankey became as funiliar as " household words " in
every part of the world.

Mr. Moody paid a couple of visits to England, previous to 1872,
an "■ during his second visit in the spring of that year, Mr. Sankey
had full charge of the work in Chicago. When Mr. Moody returned
to America the two workers again entered the Held, but their preach-
ing and iiinging bccime marked b}' a more Ijibliijal and 8cripf,ural
love, and tlio work was much blessed to the conversion of souls.
Jn Juno, 1.8713, the two evangelists sailed froiu New York for Kng*

DWIGHT LYMAN MOODY.

land, and before starting they decided to take no salaries in any
form, to ask no collections, to engage in no business, but to devote
themselves solely to the work of God, and to rely upon Him for all
things requisite and necessary, as well for the body as for the soul.

A short time before Mr. Moody's departure, he was asked, " Why
do you goto England again so soon?" "To win ten thousand
souls to Christ," was the reply. With this great hope in his heart
he started. The lirat meeting held in York was not very assuring.
In a small room of the Y. M. 1. A., were gathered eight persons.
But he was not daunted. A vhole week passed without much
interest being manifested. The .econd week was more encouraging,
and from that time the barriero seemed to break down, and as a
result of the month's labour 250 persons professed to 6nd Christ.
The chief difficulty in the way at the outset was the coldness with
which the workers were received by the clergymen and ministers,
a coldness which wmild have disheartened men of ordinary determi-
nation, but Moody was never the man to retire from a field because
others did not receive him with open arms.

Sunderlantl Avas his next point, and here ho again met with cold-
ness and opposition, in fact so marked was it that one person wrote,
" Mr. Moody had one whole minister, three-fourths of another,
and nothing, or next to nothing of all the rest to injip him in his
meetings." But the tire was kindled, and when he left Sunderland
for Newcastle be found the field more inviting, and from this point
increased blessing, rich and abundant, marked the labours of the two
faithful workers.

In 1873 they visited Scotland, where, having preached in difteront
cities, they finally on the 21st November reached Edinburgh. From
the first, no place in the city could contain the crowds which gathered
to hear them. From Edinburgh they went to Glasgow, where they
were received with the same enthusiasm by the people, and great
good resulted from the visit. After a tour through the north of
Scotland, they next visited Ireland. At Belfast, Londonderry and

If •

DWIGHT LYMAN MOODY.

Dublin, the Gospel was preached wiUi power and blessing. They
next returned to England, where, after work at Manchester, Shef-
field, Birmingham and Liverpool, they, on the 9th March, 1875,
entered for the first time upon the long contemplated visit in Lon-
don. Of the work in that great city, the world knows full well.

His visit to Toronto, in December, 1884, though only for a few
days, proved a time of refreshing from Gf)d, and many homes were
gladdened by the preaching of Mr. Moody, and by the entry of
that peace which the world cannot give nor take away.

ii'

THE

FOUR GREAT PREACHERS

SERMONS BY D. L. MOODY,

"WHERE ART THOU?"

^' And the Lord God called n)do Adam, and said unto him,
* H here art thni .?'" — Genesis : iii, 9.

HE very first thing that happened after the
news readied heaven of the fall of man, was
that God came straight down to seek out the
lost one. As he walks through the garden in
cool of the day, you can hoar him calling, "Adam!
Adam! Where art thoaV It was the voice of grace,
of mercy, and of love. Adam ought to have taken the
n seeker's place, for he was the transgressor. He had
fallen, and he ought to have gone up and down P]den
crying " My God ! my (Jod ! where art thou ? " But
God left heaven to seek through tlie dark woi'ld for
the rebel who had fallen — not to hurl liim from the
face of the earth, hut to plan him an escaj»e from tlio
misery of his siti. And he linds him — vvliere ? Hid-
ing from his Creator ainongthe bushes of the garden.
The moment a man is out of eonununion with God, even
tlie professed child of God, he wants to hide away from

■i . " t;

III

',!'!!

111

SERMONS BY MOODY.

Him. When God left Adam in the garden, he was in
communion with his Creator, and God talked with him ;
but now that he has fallen, he has no desire to see his
Creator, he has lost communion with his God. He cannot
l)ear to see Him, even to think of Him, and he runs to
hide from God. But to his hiding-place his Maker fol-
lows him. " Where art thou, Adam '^ Where art thou ? "
Six thousand years have passed away, and this text
has come rollino: down the aorcs. T doubt whether there
has been any one of Adam's sons who has not heard it at
some period or otlier of his life — sometimes in the midnight
hour stealing over him — " Where am I ? Who am 1 ?
Where am I going ? and what is going to be the end of
this ? " I think it is well for a man to pause and ask
himself that (piestion. I would have you ask it, little boy ;
and you, little girl ; and you, old man with locks turn-
ing gray, and eyes growing dim, and natural force abating,
you who will soon be in another world. I do not ask you
where you are in the sight of your neighbours ; I do not
ask you whei'e you are in the sight of your friends ; I do
not ask you where you are in the sight of the community
in which you live. It is of very little account where wo
are in the sight of one another, it is of very little account
what men thi/ik of us ; but it is of vast importance what
God thinks of us — it is of vast imjwrtance to know where
men are in the sight of God ; and that is the question
novv^ Am I in conuuunion with my Creator, or out of
connnunion ? If 1 am out of comnuniion, there is no
peace, no joy, no happiness. No man on the face of the
earth, who was out of communion with his Creator, ever
knew what peace, and joy, and happiness, and true com-
fort are. He is a foreigner to it. But when we are in
communion with God, there is light all around our path.
So ask yourselves this question. Do not think I am
preaching to your neighbours, but remember I am trying
to speak to you, to everyone of you as if you were alone.
It was the iirst question ^)ut to man after his fall, and it

" t

"WHERE ART THOU?

was a very small audience that God had — Adam and his
wife. But God was the i)reacher; and although they
tried to hide, the words came home to them. Let them
come home to you now. You may think that your life is
liid, that God does not know anything about you. But
He knows our lives a great deal better than we do; and
His eye has been bent upon us from our earliest child-
hood until now.

" Where art thou ?" I should like to divide my audi-
ence into three classes — the professed Christians, the
Backsliders, and the Ungoilly.

First, I would like to ask the professors this question,
or rather let God ask it — Whwe art thou ? What is my
position in the chui'ch, and among my circle of acquain-
tance ? Do my friends know me to be, out and out, on
the Lord's side ? You may have been a ])r')fossing Chris-
tian for twenty years, perhaps thirty, perhaps forty years.
Well, wdiere are you to-night ? Ai-e you making pro-
gress towards heaven ? And can you give a reason for
the hope that is witliin you ? Su})pose I were to asiv
those who are really Christians here to rise, would you
be ashamed to !s»,<uid up ? Suppose I should ask every
})rofessed child, of God here, " If you should be cut
down by the hand of death, have you <jood reason to be-
lieve you would be saved ? " Would you be widing to
stand up before God and man, and say that you have
good reason to believe that you have passed from death
unto life ? Or would you be ashamed ? Run your mind
back over the past years : would it be consistent for t/oii
to say, " I am a Christian ; " and would your life corre-
si)ond with your piofession ? It is not what we say so
much as how we live. Actions speak louder than words.
Do your shopmates know that you are a Christian ? Do
your family know ? Do they know you to be out and out
on the Lord's side ? Let every professed Christian ask,
Wliero am I in the yight of God ? Is my heart loyal to
the king of lieaveu ? Is my life here as it should be in

|l^

I
i 1 1

:ii

100

SERMONS BY MOODY.

Am I

light

in this dark

the community I live in ?

world ? Christ says, " Ye are my witnesses." Christ
was the Light of the world, and the world would not
have the true Light ; the world rose up and put out the
Light, and now Christ says, " I i.^ave you down here to
testify of Me ; I leave you down here as My witnesses."
That is what the apostle meant when he said that Chris-
tians are to be living epistles, known and read of all
men. Then, am I standing up for Jesus, as I should in
this dark world ? If a man is for God, let him say so.
If a man is for God, let him come out and be on God's
side ; and if he is for the world, let him be in the world.
This serving God and the world at the same time — this
being on both sides at the same time — is just the curse
of Christianity at the present time. It retards the pro-
gress of Christianity more than any other thing. " Ii
any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and
take up his cross daily, and follow Me."

I have heard of a great many people who think if
they are united to the church, and have made one pro-
fession, that will do for all the rest of their days. But
there is a cross for every one of us daily. Oh, child of
God, where are you ? If God should appear to you to-
night in your bed-room, and put the question, what
would be your answer ? Could you say " Lord, I am
serving Thee with my whole heart and strength ; I am
improving my talents, and preparing for the kingdom to
come ? " When I was in England, in 1867, there was a
merchant who came over from Dublin, and was talking
with a business man in London ; and as I happened to
look in, he introduced me to the man from Dublin.
Alluding to me, the latter said to the former, " Is this
young man all O O ? " Said the London man, " What
do you mean by ? " Replied the Dublin man, "Is
he Out-and-Out for Christ ?" I tell you it burned down
into my soul. It means a good deal to be O for
Christ; but that is what all Christians ought to be, and

"WHERE ART THOU?"

101

this dark
" Christ
^ould not
it out the
n here to
itnesses."
lat Chris-
ad of all
should in
m say so.
on God's
be world,
me — this
the curse
the pro-
ng. " li
iself, and

think if
one pro-
^s. But
child of
you to-
1, what
, I am
; I am
dom to
was a
talking
3ned to
•ublin.
I Is this
What
HI, "Is
down
10 for
|e, and

their influence would be felt on the world very soon, if
men who are on the Lord's side would come out and take
their stand, and lift up their voices in season, and out of
season. As I have said, there are a great many in the
church who make one profession, and tliat is about all
you hear of them ; and when they couie to die you have
to go and hunt up same musty old church records to
know whether they were Christians or not. God won't
do that. I have an idea that when Daniel died, all the
men in Babylon knew whom he served. There was no
need for them to hunt up old books. His life told his
story. What we want is men with a little courage to
stand up for Christ. When Christianity wakes up, and
every child that belongs to the Lord is willing to speak
for Him, is willing to work for Him, and, if need be,
willing to die for Him, then Christianity will advance,
and we shall see the work of the Lord prosper. There
is one thing which I fear more than anything else, and
that is the dead, cold formalism of the Church of Goil.
Talk about the isms ! Put them all together, and I do
not fear them so much as dead, cold formalism. Talk
about the false isins ! There is none so dangerous as
this dead, cold formalism, which has come right into the
heart of the Church. There are so many of us just sleep-
ing and slumbering while souls all around are perishing.
I believe honestly that we professed Christians are all
half-asleep. Some of us are beginning to rub our eyes
and to get them half-opened, but as a whole we are
asleep.

There was a little story going the round of the Ameri-
can press that made a great impression upon me as a
father. A father took his little child out into the field
one Sabbath, and, it being a hot day, he lay down under
a beautiful shady tree. The little child ran about gather-
ing wild flowers and little blades of grass, and coming to
its father and saying, " Pretty ! pretty ! " At last the
father fell asleep, and while he was sleeping the little

■H!

fill-;

.:! I i

. *

102

SKHMOXS BY MOODY.

cliilil \v{iTi(lorcd away. When he awoke, liis first thought
was, " Where is my child ? " He looked all around, but
he could not see him. ITe shouted at the top of his
voice, but all he heard was the echo of his own voice.
Runnin<^^ to a little hill, he looked around and shouted
af^ain. jSo response ! Then going to a }>recipice at some
distance, he looked down, and there upon tlie I'ooks and
briars, he saw the inan'ded form of his loved child. He
rushed to the spot, took up the lifeless cor))se and hugged
it to his bosom, and accused himself of beiniLT the mur-
derer of his child. While ho was slee])ing his child had
wandered over the precipice. 1 thought as I heard that,
what a picture of the church of God !

How many fatliers aufl mothers, how many Christian
men, are slec'}>ing now while their children wander ov^er
the terrible precipice right into the bottomless pit of hell.
Father, where is your boy to-night? It may be just out
there in some publicdiouse; it may be reeling through the
streets ; it may be pressing .onwards to a drunkard's
grave. Mother, where is your son ? Is he in the house
of the publican, drinking away his soul — everything that
is dear and sacred to him ? Do you know where your
boy is ? Father, you have been a professed Christian for
forty years ; where are your chiMren to-night ? Have
you "Ived so godly, and so Christ-like, that you can say,
Follow me as I followed Christ ? Are those children
walking in wisdom; are they on their way to glory ; have
they been gathered into the fold of Christ; are their
names written in the Lamb's Book of Life ? How many
fathers and mothers to-day would be able to answer? Did
you ever stop to think that you were to blame ; that you
had not been faithful to your children ? Depend upon it,
as long as the church is living so much like the world, we
cannot expect our children to be brought into the fold.
Come, O Lord, ond wake up every mother, and may every
one of us who are parents feel the worth of the souls of
the children that God has given us. May they never

"where art tiiou?"

103

your

Lan for

Have

|n say,

lildren

liave

their

never

()i-iiig our grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, l)ut niny
tliey become a blessing to the churcli and to the world.
Not long ago the only daughter of a wealthy friend of
mine sickened and died. The father and mother stood
by her dyin^ bed. He had spent all his time in accumu-
lating wealth for her ; she had been inti'oduced into gay
and fashionable society ; but she had been taught noth-
ing of Christ. As she came to the Inink of the river of
death, she said, " Won't you help me; it is very dark,
and the stream is bitter cold." They wrung tlieir hands
in grief, but could do nothing for her ; and the poor girl
died in darkness and despair. What was their wealth to
them ? And yet, you mothers and fathers are doing tlie
same thing in London to-day, by ignoring the work God
has given you to do. I beseech you, then, each one
of you, begin to labour now for the souls of your chil-
dren !

A young man, some time ago, lay dying, and his mother
thought he was a Christian. One day, passing his room
door she heard him say, "Lost! lost! lost!" The mother
ran into the room and cried, " My boy, is it possible you
have lost your hope in Christ, now you are dying ? " " No,
mother, it is not that ; T have a hope beyond the grave,
but I have lost my life. I have lived twenty-four years,
and done nothing for the Son of God, and now I am dy-
ing. My life has been spent for myself; I have lived for
this world, and now, while I am dying, I have given my-
self to Christ ; but my life is lost." Would it not be said
of many of us, if we should be cut down, that our lives
have been almost a failure — perhaps entirely a failure as
far as leading any one else to Christ is concerned ? Young
lady 1 are you working for the Son of God ? Are you try-
ing to win some soul to Christ ? Have you tried to get
some friend or companion to have her name written in
the book of life ? Or would you say, " Lost lost ! long
years have rolled away since I became a child of God, and
I have never had the privilege of leading one soul to

I|! ii !^
i!

104

SERMONS BY MOODY.

Christ ?" Tf tlioro is one professed child of God who never
had the joy of leading even one soul into the kingdom of
God, oh ! let him begin at once. I'liere is no greater privi-
lege on earth. And I believe, my fiionds, there lias never
been a time, in our day, at least, when woik for Christ
was more needed than at present. I do not believe there
ever was in your day or mine a time when the Spirit of
God was more poured out npon the world. There is not
a part of Christendom where the work is not being
carried on; and it looks very much as if the glad tidings
were just going to take, as it were, a fresh start, and go
round the globe. Is it not time that the Church of God
should wake up and come to the help of the Lord as one
man, and strive to l)eat back those dark waves of death
that roll through our streets, bearing upon their bosom
the noblest and the best we have ? Oh, may God wake up
the Chureli ! And let us trim our lights, and go forth and
work for the kingdom of His Son.

Now, Secondly, let me talk a little while to those who
have gone back into the world — to the Backslider. It
may be you came to some great city a few years ago a
professed Christian. You were a member of a church once,
and a teacher in the sabbath-school, perhaps ; but when
you came among strangers you thought you would just
wait a little — perhaps take a class by and by. So you
gave up teaching in the Sunday-School ; you gave up all
work for Christ. Then in your new church you did not
receive the attention or the warm welcome that you ex-
pected, and you got into the habit of staying away. You
have gone so far now, that you are found in the theatre,
perhaps, and the companion of blasphemers and drunk-
ards. Perhaps I am speaking now to some one who has
been away from his father's house for many years. Come,
now, backslider, tell me are you happy ? Have you had
one happy hour since you left Christ ? Does the world
satisfy you, or those husks that you have got in the isj

"WHERE ART THOU?"

lOi

never
rduin of
;r j)nvi-
is never
■ Christ
7e there
spirit of
•e is not
t being

tidings
, and go

1 of God
d as one
of death
r bosom
wake up
Dvth and

ose who

der. It

,rs ago a

ch once,

it when

juld just

So you

e up all

did not

■■J

country ? I have travelled a good deal, but I never found
a happy backslider in my life. I never knew a man who
was really born of God that ever could find the world
satisfy him afterwards. Do you think the Prodigal Son
was satisfied in that foreign country ? Ask the })rodigals
in this city if they are truly liappy. You know they are
not. " There is no peace, saitli my God to the wicked."
There is no joy for the man in rebellion against his
Creator. Su})pose he has tasted the heavenly gift, and
been in communion with God, and had sweet fellowship
with the King of Heaven, and had pleasant *"ours of
service for the Master, but has backslidden, is it |i nssible
that he can be ha})py ? If he is, it is good evidence he Was
never really converted. If a man has been ■ orn vgain
and has received the heavenly nature; this wor^ I can
never satisfv tb( cravinij^s of his nature. Oh, b;iek lider.
I pity you ! But I want to tell you that the Loi-d Jesus
pities yju a good deal more than any one els: can.
He knows how bitter your life is ; . He knows how
dark your life is ; He wants you to come iiorae. Oh,
backslider, come home to-night ! I have a loving mes-
sage from your Father. The Lord wants you, and
calls you back to-night " Come home, oh wanderer,
this night; return from the dark mountains of sin."
Return, and your Father will give you a warm welcome.
I know that the devil has told you that God won't have
anything to do with you, because you have wandered
away. If that is true, there would be very few men in
heaven. David backslid ; Abraham and Jacob turned
away from God; I do not believe there is a saint in
heaven but at some time of his life with his heart has
backslidden from God. Perhaps not in his life, but in his
heart. The prodigal's heart got into the far country be-
fore his body got there. Backslider ! to-niglit come home.
Your Father docs not want you to stay away. Tliink
you the prodigal's father was not anxious for him to come
home all those long years he was there ? Every year the
a

106

SERMONS BY MOODY.

father was looking and longing for him to return home.
So God wants you to coine home. I do not care how far you
have wandered away; the great Shepherd will receive you
back into the fold to-night. Did you ever hear of a
backslider coming home, and God not willing to receive
him ? I have heard of earthly fathers and mothers not
being willing to receive back their sons ; but I defy any
man to say he ever knew a really honest backslider want
to eet home, but God was williuix to take him in.

A number of years ago,

before

Chicago, they used to bring in

any railway came into
the grain from the Wes-
tern prairies in waggons for hundreds of miles, so as to
have it shipped ott' by the Lakes. There was a father
who had a large farm out there, and who used to preach
the gospel as well as attend to his farm. One day, when
church business engaged him, he sent his son to Chicago
with grain. He waited and waited for his boy to return,
but he did not come home. At last he could wait no lon-
ger, so he saddled his horse and rode to the place where
his son had sold the grain. He found that he had been
there and got the money ibr the grain ; then he began to
fear that his boy had been murdered and robbed. At
last, with the aid of a detective, they tracked him to a
gand>ling den, where they found that he had gambled
away the whole of his money. In hopes of winning it
back again, he then had sold the team, and lost that mo-
ney too. He had fallen among thieves, and like the man
who was going to Jeiicho, tliey stripped him, and then
they cared no more nbout liim. What could he do ? He
was ashamed to go home to meet his fathei', and he lied.
The father knew what it all meant. He knew the boy
thought ho would be very angry with him. He was
grieved to think that his boy sliould have such feelings
towards him. That is just exactly like the sinner. He
thinks because he has sinuiid God will have nothing to
do with him. But what did that father do ? Did he say,
*' Let the boy go ? " No ; he went after him. Ho ar-

"Wiieue Art thou?"

107

home.
:ar you
vc you
r of a
receive
3VS not
;fy any
ir want

no into
le Wes-
o as to
a, father

preach
Y, when
Chicago
► return,

no lon-
where
lad been
>egiin to

a. At

ni to a
ambled
y it
iiat mo-
ihe man
(1 then
? He
10 lied.
|,he boy
e was
reelings
Ir.

liing to
ne say,
He ar-

ranired his business and started after the bov. That man
went from town to town, from city to city. He would
get the ministers to let him preach, and at the close he
would tell his story. " I have got a boy who is a wan-
derer on the face of the earth somewhere." He would
describe his boy and say, " If you ever hear of him or
see him, will you not write to me?" At last he found
tliat he had gone to California, thousands of miles away.
Did that father say, " Let him go ? " No ; off he went to
the Pacific coast, seeking the bo}'. He went to San Fran-
cesco, and advertised in the newspapers that he would
preach at such a church on such a day. When he had
preached he told liis story, in h^pcs that the boy might
have seen the advertisement and come to the church.
When he had done, away under the gallery there was a
young man who waited until the audience had gone out;
then he came towards the pulpit. The fathiu* looked, and
saw it was that boy, and he ran to him, and pressed him
to his bosom. The boy wanted to confess ^vhat he had
done, but not a word would the father hear. He forgave
him freely, and took him to his home once more.

Oh,pi()(ligal, you may be wandering on the dark moun-
tains of sin, i)ut God wants you to come home. The devil
has been telling you lies about God ; you think He will
not receive you back. I tell you, He will welcome you
{.his minute if you will come. Say, " I will arise and go
to my Father." May God incline you to take this .step.
There is not one whom Jesus has not sought far longer
than that father. There has not been a day since you
left Him but he has followed you. I do not care what
the past has been, or how black your life, he will receive
you back. Arise then, O backslider, and come home once
more to your Father's house.

Not long ago, in Edinburgh, a lady who was an earnest
Christian worker, found a young woman whose feet had
taken hold of hell, and wl o was pressing onwards to a
harlot's grave. The lady begged her to go back to her

108

sr.HMONS r.Y MOODY.

'I ',

home, but she said no, licr parents would never receive
her. This Christian woman knew what a mother's heart
was ; so she sat (h)wn and wrote a letter to the mother,
telling her how she had met her daugliter, who was sorry,
and wanted to return. The next post brought an answer
Itack, and on the envelope was written, " Immediately — ■
inuuediately ! " That was a mother's heart. They opened
the letter. Yes, she was forgiven. They wanted her
back, and they sent money for her to come immediately.
Sinner, that is the pioclamation, " Come immediately.'*
Tliat is what the gi'cat and loving Cod is saying to every
wandering sinner — imitw.diaU'ly. Yes, backslider, come
home to-night. He will give you a warm welcome, and
there will be joy in luiaven over your return. Come now,
for everything is ready.

A iViend of mine said to me some time ago, Did you
ever notice what the prodigal lost by going into that
country ? He lost his food. That is what every poor
backslider loses. Tlu^y get no manna from heaven. The
Bible is a closed Ixjok to them ; they see no beauty in the
Word of Cod.

Then the prodigal lost his iro7'l\ He was a Jew, and
they made him take care of swine ; that was all loss for
a Jew. So everv backslider loses his work. He cannot
do anything for Cod ; he (^aiuiot work for eternity. He
is a stundiling-block to the world. My friend, do not -et
the woild stumble oviu" you into hell.

The prodigal also Idst his icdimiony. Who believed
him ? 1 can inuiglnc! some of these men came along, na-
tives of that country, and they saw this ]>oor prodigal in
his rags, bar(;-fo(jted and bare-headed. Thei'o he stands
among the swine, and some one says to another, " Look at
that poor wretch." " What," he says, "do you call me a
j)oor wietch i My father is a wealthy man; he has got
more clothes in his wardrobe than you ever saw in your
lif". My father i:s a man of great wealth aiid positiov
1)() you suppi.se these men would believe him ? " Thib.

" WHERE ART THOU ? "

109

receive
s heart
iiother,
5 sorry,
answer
itely — •
opened
ed her
liatdy.
lately."
) every
r, come
ne, and
le now,

)id you
to that
y poor
I. U'he
in the

fw, and
joss for
Icannot
He
Inot 'Ct

plieved
lie:, T^^~
ligal in
stands
)ok at
nie a
Its got

your

li. ■ *•

ItlOk

Tht.,

poor wretch the son of a wealthy man ! " Not one of
tlieiii would believe hiiii. " If he had *;()t sticJi a wealtliy
lather he would go to him." So with the hackslider.s ;
the world does not helieve tliat they are tlie sons of a
King. They say, " Wliy don't they go to Him, if there
is bread enougli and to spare ? Why don't they go
home ? "

Then, another thing the prodigal lost was his home.
He had no home in that foreign country. As long as his
mone}' lasted, he was (piite popular in the |)ublic-liouse
and among his ac([uaiiitances; he had protfessed friends,
but as soon as his moiit\v was gone, where were his
fiit'nds ? Tliat is tlio condition of every poor backslider
in London.

But now I can imagine someone saying, "There would
be httle use of me attemj)ting to come back. In a few
(hiys I shouhl just be where I was again. 1 should like
vi'iy much to go to my Father's home again, but I'm
afraid J wouldn't sttty there." Well, just j)icture this
scene. The p(X)r prodigal has got home, and the father
had killed the fatted call'; and there they are, sitting at
the table eating. 1 can imagine that was about the sweet-
est morsel he ever got — perhaps the nicest dinner he ever
had in liis life. His father sits opposite ; he is full of joy,
and his heart is leaping within him. All at once he sees
Ids boy weeping. •" My son, what are you weeping for ?
Are you not glad to have got home ? " " Oh, yes, father ;
I never was so glad as I am to-day : but I am so afraid I
will go I tack into that foreign countty !" Why, you can-
not imagine such a thing! When you liave got one meal
in your Father's house, you will never be inclined to wan-
der away again.

Now let me speak to the Third class. " If the righteous
scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and tluj simuir
appear?" Sinner, what is to become of you ? How shall
you escape? " Where aii ihouf" Is it true that you
are living without Cod and without hope in the world 1

■It.

PNI*

' II'

a i

1^^.11

I '

110

S\^r04f ;\'S BY MOODY.

Did you ever stop to tiu \'. what would become of your
soul if you should be oak ji away by a sudden stroke of
illness — where you wouid stand in eternity ? I read that
the sinner is without God, without hope, and without ex-
cuse. If 3''ou are not saved, what excuse will you have
to give ? You cannot say that it is God's fault. He is
only too anxious to save you. I want to tell you to-niglit
that you can be saved if you will. If you reall^' want to
pass from death to life, if you want to become an heir of
eternal life, it' vou want to become a child of God, make
up your mind this riii^ht that you will seek the kingdom
of God 1 tsjll you, upon theauthoi-ity of this Word, that
if you p •'. the kiiigilom of God you will fhid it. No
man e /cr .>oit. I-*: 'hiist with a heart to find Him who
did nO'. Hn i Ilim, never knt!\v a man make up his
mind to iui v- Ctw '. :. tion settled, but it was scttle<l sown.
This last year ,';c ^i has been a solemn feciling stealing
over me. I am in w^afc they call in the middle of life, in
the prime of life. I I ,uiv upon lile as a man who has
reached the top oTa Itii';, and just begins to go ilown the
other side. 1 have got to the top of the hill, if I sliould
live the full term of life — tlireescore years and ten — and
am just on the other side. I am speaking to many now
who are also on the top of the hill, and I ask you, if you
are not Christians, just to pause a few minutes, and ask
yourselves where you are. Let us look back on the hill
that we have been clind)ing. What do we sec ? Yonder is
the cradle. It is iiot far away. How short life is ! It
all seems but as > esterday. Look along up the hill, and
yonder is a tombstone ; it marks the resting-place of a
loved mother. When that mother died, did you not
promise God that you would serve Him ? Did you not
say that your mother's God should become your God ?
And did you not take her hands in the stillness of the dy-
hig h»mr, and say, " Yes mother, I will meet you in
heaven ! " And have you kept that promise ? Are you
trying to keep it ? Ten years iiave rolled away : fifteen

"WHERE ART THOU?"

Ill

f your
oke of
,d that
)ut cx-
u have
He is
3-mght
vant to
heir of
I, make
ingdom
id, that
it. No
ill! who
3 up his
ed soon.
st<>alin^
t hre, la
wiio lu\s
)\vii the
should
n — and
,iiy now
I, "if you
land ask
the hill
oudev is
is! It
lill, and
ace of a
ou not
you not
ir God ?
the dy-
you in
re you
I: fifteen

years — hut are you any nearer God ? Did the promise
work any improvement in you ? No, your heai't is »(et-
tinL^ hai'der ; the niglit is getting darker ; by and by death
will be throwing its shadows around you. My friend,
Where art thou ? Look again. A. little {urther up the
hill there is another toudtstone. It m.-M'ks the resting-
place of a child. It may have been a little lovely girl —
perhaps her name was Mary ; or it may have been a
little boy — Charley ; and when the little boy was taken
from you, did you not promise God, and did you not
prouuse the child, that you would meet it in heaven ? Is
the promise kept? Thiidv ! Are you still lighting
against God ? Are 3'ou still hardening your heart ? Ser-
mons that would have moved you live years ago — do they
touch you now ?

Once more look down the hill. Yonder there is a grave ;
you cannot tell how many days, or weeks, or 3'ears it is
away; you are hastening tovvanls that grave. Even
should you live the life allotted to man, many of you are
near the end, you are getting very feeble, and your locks
are turning grey. It may be the colHn is already made
that this body shall be laid in ; it may be that the shroud
is already w^aiting. My friends, is it not the height of
madness to put oil' salvation so long ? Undoubtedly I
am speaking to some wdio will be in eternity a week
from now. hi a large audience like this, during the next
week death will suiely come and snaich some away ; it
may be the speaker, or it may be some one who is listen-
ing. Why j)ut off the question another day ? Why say
to the Lord Jesus again to-night, " Go thy way for this
time ; when I have a convenient season, I will call for
thee ? " Why not let him come to-night ? Why not open
your heart, and say, " King of Glory, come in ? "

Will there ever be a better opixu'tunity ? Did not you
promise ten, ilfteen, twenty, thirty years ago that you
would serve God 1 Some of you said you would do it
wlien you got married and settleil down; some of you

112

SERMONS BY MOODY.

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ill

said you would serve Him when you were your own
master. Have you attended to it ?

You know there are three steps to the lost world ? let
me give you their names. The first is Ncgleet. All a
man has to do is to neglect salvation, and tiiat will take
him to the lost world. Some people sa}'', " What have I
done ! " Why, if you merely neglect salvation, you will
be lost. I am on a swift river, and lying in the bottom
of my little boat. Down yonder, ten miles below, is the
great cataract. Every one that goes over it perishes,
I need not row the l)oat down ; I have only to pull in the
oars, and fold my arms and neglect. So all that a man
has to tlo is to fold his arms in the current of life, and he
will drift onwards and be lost.

The second step is Refusal. If I met you at the door
and pressed this question on you, you would say, " Not
to-night, Mr. Moody, not to-night ; " and if I repeated,
" I want you to press into the Kingdom of God," you
would politely refuse : " I will not become a Christian to-
night, thank you ; I know I ought, but I luoiiH to-night."

Then the last step is to Despise it. Some of you have
already got on the lower round of the ladder. You des-
pise Christ, you hate Christianity ; you hate the best
people on the earth, and the best friends you have got ;
and if I were to offer you the Bible, you would tear it
up and put your foot upon it. Oh, despiscrs ! you will
soon be in another world. Make haste and repent and
turn to God. Now, on which step are you, my friend ;
neglecting, or refusing, or despising ? Bear in mind that
a great many are taken off from the first step ; they die
in neglect. And a great many are taken away refusing.
And a great many are on the last stej), despising salva-
tion.

A few years ago they neglected, then they got to re-
fuse ; and now they despise Christianity and Christ.
They hate the sound of the church bell ; they hate the
Bible and the Christian ; they curse the very ground

"WHERE ART THOU?"

113

r own

d? let

Alia

11 take

have I

311 will

jottoin

, is the

Irishes.

ill the

a man

and he

le door
, "Not
peated,

:,i;vn to-
night."
u have
)u des-
le best
^e got ;
tear it
)u will
nt and
riend ;
d that
[ey die
fusing,
salva-

:..jl

tliat we walk on. But one more step, and they are gone.
Oh, ye dcspisers, I set before you life and death ; which
will ye choose ? ^Vhen Pilate had Christ on his hands,
he said " What shall I do with Him ? " and the multi-
tude cried out "Away with Him! Crucify Him?"
Young men, is that your language to-night ? Do you
say, " Away with this Gospel ! Away with Christian-
ity ! Away with your prayers, your sermons, your Gos-
pel sounds ! I do not want Christ!" Or will you bo
wise and say, " Lord Jesus, I want Thee, I need Thee, I
will have Thee ? " Oh, may God bring you to that de-
cision I

to re-
Jhrist.
Ite tho
rround

!'i;

;i. , '

*' THERE IS NO DIFFEEENOE."

f".Eivn the rigJUeovsnii^s of God, which is hy faith of JesvA
Christ UHH) nil and iijxm all tliem that belicce : for there is no
i, A difference.''' — Ruaianh iii : 22.

jn^yl^^HAT is one of the har<lcsi ti'uths man has to
^ c^i^'^l^f^ learn. AVe ave a])t to tliink that we are iuHt
^W/% '^ little better than our neighbours, aiul if wo
% find that they arc a little better than our-
^ selves, we go to work and try to pull them down to
our level. It' you want to tind out wdio and what
I man is, go to the third chapter of llomans, and
h there the wdiole story is told. " There is none right-
eous, no not one." " All have sinned and come
short." All. Some men like to have their lives
written before they die ; if any of you would like
to read your biography, turn to this chapter, and
you will lind it already written.

I can imagine some one saying, " I wonder if
he really pretends to say that * there is no difference.' "
The teetotaller says, " Am I no better than the drunk-
ard ?" Well, I \vant to say right here, that it is a good
deal better to be temperate than intemperate ; a good
deal better to be honest tlian dishonest ; it is better for a
man to be upright in all his transactions than to cheat
right and left, even in this life. But when it comes to the

"there is no difference."

115

Ith of Jem*

r there is no

vm has to
'e are just
arul if wo
lian our-
1 down to
and what
uins, and
lone right-
land come
;heir lives
'^ould like
i,j)ter, and

Iwonder if
l« > >»

rrerence.

lie drunk-
is a irood
; a ijood
Rtter for a
ji to cheat
lues to the

great question of salvation, that docs not touch tlie ques-
tion at all, because "all have sinned, and come sJii>rt of
the glory oi (iod." Men are all bad by nature ; tlie old
Adaui-stock is ba<l, and we cannot briiiL,^ forth ^'(xkI fruit
until we are irraltcd into the one True Vine. If 1 have
an orchard, and two apple trees in it, which both bear
some bitter apples, perfectly woithless, does it make ;iny
ditlerence to me that the one tree has got jierhaps five
hundred appleii, all bad, and the other only two, both
bad ? There is no ditlerence ; only one tree has more
fruit than the other. But it is all btul. So it is with
man. One thinks he; has got one or two very little sins
— God won't notice that; why that oilier man has liroken
every one of the ten connnandments ! No matter, there
is no dilfn-ence ; they are both guilty; they have both
broken the law. The law demands complete and perfect
fulfilment, and if you cannot do that, you are lost, as far
as the law is concerned. " Whosoever shall keep tlie
ivhole law, and yet offend in one 'point, he i^ U'^Hly of
all" Suppose 3^ou were to hang up a man to the roof
with a chain of ten links; if one were to break, does it
matter that the other nine are all sound and whole ?
Not the least. One link breaks, and down comes tlie
man. lUit is it not rather hard that he should fall when
the other nine are perfect, when only one is broken ?
Why, of course not; if one is broken, it is just the same
to the man, as if all had been broken ; he falls. So the
man who breaks one commandment is guilty of all. Jle
is a criminal in God's sight. Look at yonder prison.
with its thousand victims. Some are there for murder,
some for stealing, some for forgeiy, some for cme thing
and some for anotlier. You may classify them, but
every man is a criminal. They have all broken the
law, and they are all paying the penalty. So the law
has brought every man in a criminal in the sight of
God.

1 .-

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110

SERMONS BY MOODY.

If a man should advertise that he could take a correct
photograpli of people's hearts, do you believe he would
find a customer ? There is not a man amonir us whom
you could hire to have his ])hotogrMph taken, if you couhi
photof,naph the I'eal man. We go to have our faces taken,
and carefully arrange our toilet, and if the artist flatters
us, we say, " Oh, yes, that's a first-i'ate likeness," as we
pass it around among our friends. But let the real man
be brought out, the photograph of the heart, and see if a
man will pass that round among his neighbours. Why,
you would not want your own wife to see it ! You would
be frightened even to look at it yourself. Nobody knows
what is in that heart but Christ. We are told that " the
heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked;
who can know it? " We do not know our own hearts ;
none of us have any idea how bad they are. Some bit-
ter things are written against me, but f know a good
many more things about myself that are bad than any
other man. There is nothinu' ffood in the old Adam na-
ture. We have got a heart in rebellion against God by
nature, and we do not even love God unless we are born
of the Spirit. I can understand why men do not like
this third chapter of Romans — it is too strong for them
It speaks the truth too 2)lainly. But just because we do
not like it, we shall bo all the better for having a look at
it ; very likely we shall tind that it is exactly what wo
want, after all. It's a truth that men do not at all like,
but I have noticed that the medicine we do not like is
the medicine that will do us most good. If we do not
think we are as bad as the description, we must just take
a closer look at ourselves. Here is a man who thinks he
is not just so bad as it makes him out to be. He is sure
he is a little better than his neighbour next door ; why,
he goes to church regularly, and his neighbour never goes
to church at all ! " Of course." he congratulates himself
" I'll certainly get saved easier." But there is no use
trying to evade it. God has given us the law to measure

"THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE."

117

ourselves by, and by this most perfect rule " we have all
sinned and come short," and " there is no difference."

Paul bi'inufs in the law to show man that he is lost and
ruined. God, being a perfect God, had to give a perfect
law, and the law was given not to save men, but to mea-
sure them by. I want you to understand this clearly,
because 1 believe hundreds and thousands stumljle there.
They try to save themselves by trying to keep the law :
but it was never meant for men to save themselves by.
The law has never saved a single man since the world
began. Men have been trying to keej) it, but they have
never succeeded, and never will. Ask Paul what it was
given for. Here is his answer, " That every mouth might
be stopped, and the whole world become guilty before
God." In this third chapter of Romans the world has
been put on its trial, and found guilty. The verdict has
been bi'ought in against us all — these ministers and elders
and cliurch members, just as much as the pro<ligal and
the drunkard — " All have sinned and come short."

The law stops eveiy man's mouth. God will have a
man humble himsell clown on his face before Him, with
not a word to say for himself. Then God will s})eak to
him, when he owns that he is a sinner, and gets rid of all
his own righteousness, I can always tell a man who hfis
got near the kingdom of God : his mouth is stopped. If
you will allovv me the expression, God always shuts up a
man's lips l)efore lie saves him. Job was not saved un-
til he stopped talking about himself. Just see how God
dealt with him. First of all, He afflicts him, and Job be-
gins to talk about his own goodness. " I delivered the
poor," he says, " and the fatherless, and him who had
none to help him. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was
I to the lame. I was a father to the poor ! " Why, they
would have made Job an elder, if there had been elders
in those days ! He had been a wonderfully good man !
But now God says, " I'll put a few questions to you.
Gird up now thy loins like a man ; for I will demand of

It ; *

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118

SEUMoNS BY MOODY.

thee, anrl answer tlioii me." And Job is down directly;
he is aslijuned of himself; he cannot speak of his works
any more. " Behold," he cries, " I am vile ; what sliall I
answer Thee ? [ will lay mine hand upon my mouth."
But he is not low enoui^h yet, perhaps, and God puts a
few more questions. " Ah ! " says Job, " I never under-
stood these thiuirs before — I never saw it in that li'jrht."
He is tliorounhly humbled now; he can't help confessing
it. " I have lieard of Thee by the hearing of the ear : but
now mine eye seeth Thee, Wherefore I ahJiov rnyself,
and repent in dust and ashes." Now he has found his
riglit position before (Jod, and now God can talk to
liim. And God helps him and raises him up, and gives
liim the double of all that he had before. The clouds,
and tlie mist, and the darkness round his path are driven
away, and light from eternity bursts into his soul when
he sees his nothingness in the sight of a pure and holy
God.

This, then, is what God gives us the law for — to show
us ourselves in our true colours."

I said to my little fanjlly, one morning, a few weeks
before the Chicago lire, " 1 am coming home this after-
noon to give you a ride," My little boy clapped his
hands. " Oh, papa, will you take me to see the bears in
Lincoln Park V " Yes." You know bo3^s are very fond
of seeing bears. I had not been gone long when my little
boy said, " Mamma, I wish you would get me ready."
"Oh," she said, "it will be a long time before papa
comes." " But 1 want to get ready, mamma." At last
he was ready to have the ride, face washed, and clothes
all nice and clean. " Now you must take good care and
not get yourself dirty again," said mamma. Oh, of
course he was g*)ing to take care ; he wasn't going to get
dirty. So oii'he ran to watch for me. However, it was
a long time yet until the afternoon, and after a little he
began to play. When I got home, I found him outside,
with his face all covered with dirt. " I can't take you to

"TIlEilE IS NO difference/*

110

ectly;
work 3
;liaU I
outh."
puts a
under-
light."
'essing

clouds,

driven

1 when

id holy

o show

the ?;u-k that way Willie." Why, papa ? you said you
would take me." *' Ah, but I can't ; you're all over
mud ; I couldn't be seen with such a dirty little boy."
" Why, I'se clean, papa ; nianima washed me." " Well,
you've got dirty since." But he began to cry, and I could
not convince him that he was dirty. " I'se clean ; mam-
ma waslied me !" he cried. Do you think I argued with
him ? No. I just took him up in my arms, and carried
him into the luMise, and showed hiju his face in the look-
ing-glass. He had not a word to say. He could not
take my word for it ; but one look at the glass was
enough ; he saw it for himself. Ho didn't say he wasn't
dirty after that !

Now the looking-glass showed him that his fjicc was
dirty — hut 1 did not take the lookinu-ijlass totvash it;
of couise not. Yet that is just what thousands of people
do. The law is the looking-glass to see ourselves in, to
show us how vile and worthless we are in the sight of
God : but they take the law. and try to luash themselves
v/ith it ! Man has been trying that for six thousand
years, and has miseral)ly failed. Jhj the deeds of the hiw
there shall no jiesh be justified in His sitjht. Only one
Man ever lived on the earth who could say He had kept
the law, and that was the Lord Jesus Christ. If He had
coumiitted one sin, and came short in the smallest degree.
His ottering Himself for us would have been useless. But
men have tried to do what He did, and have failed. In-
stead of sheltering under His righteousness, they have of-
fered God their own. And God knew what a miserable
failure it would be. " There is none that doeth good, no,
not one."

I don't care where you put man, everywhere he has
been tried he has proved a total failure. He was put in
Eden on trial ; and some men say they wish they had
Adam's chance. If you had, you would go down as
quickly as he did. You put live hundred children into
this hall, and give them ten thousand toys; tell them they

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120

RKRMONS BY MOOnY.

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ran run nil over tlio Ijiill, jiiul ihny ('.in liavo iUiytliiiiL^
tlu^y want except oiio thing, placed, U\t us sjiy, in one of
the corners of Mr. Sankey'.s or<jjan. You go out for a lit-
tl(^ while, and do you tliink that is not the very lirst place
they will go to ? Why, nothing e1s(> in the room would
have any attraction for them hut just the thing tlu^y
were told not to touch. And so let us not think Adam
was any worse than oui-selves. Adam was put on trial,
and Satan walks inio l^lden. I do not know how long lie
was t.her(\ but 1 should think ho, had not luMm there
tAventy minutes Itefore he stiipped Adam of oviM-ything
ho had. There he is, fresh from the hands of his Crea-
tor ; Satan counts uj)on i\\v scene, and ])res(MitH a tempta-
tion, and down he goes. Jlr ?/vrs (t fii/iDr.

Then (Jod took man into covenant with llim. Ho said
to Abraham, " Look yonder at the stars in tlio lieavens
and the sands on the seashonv, I will make your seed
like that. 1 will bless thee and multiply theo upon the
earth." I»ut v.hat a stupendous failui'o man was under
tlu^ covenant. (!o ])ack and voin\ about it.

Thev are brought out of l^igypt, see many signs and
wonders, and stand at last at the foot of Mount Sinai.
'IMicn CSiod's l\()ly law is given them. Did they not pro-
mise to keep it? "O yes," they cry, " we'll keep the law,
certainly !" To hour tliem talk you might think it was
ixoinix to be all riuht now. ihit just w^ait till Joshua and
Moses have turned their backs ! No sooner have their
leaders gone up the inountain to have an interview with
(lod than they boijin saying, " Wonder what's become of
this man Abuses ? We don't know where lie's got to.
Come, let us make unto us another God. Aaron 1 make
us a golden calf ; here are the golden ornaments we got
from the Kgyptians, come and make us another God."
So when it is made, the people raise a groat shout, and
lall down and worship it. " Hark ! listen; what shout
is that I hear ? " says Moses, as he comes down the moun-
tain side. " Alas," says Joshua, " there's war in the camp,

"TITEUK IS NO PIFFKRKNCK."

121

it in tlio shout of fclio victor." " Ali, no," siiys Mosps, " it
isn't tlu'. shout of vi(;tory or of war, .loshuu, it is tht; ciy
of tho idolaters. They have fori;ott(3ii the (j}o<i vvlio d*;-
livorod th(!Ui from tlio l^!)L(yptiahs, wlio h^i tlioin through
tho Jved Hoa, who fml tli<!ni witli hread froiu hcavoii —
anL^d's food. They havi- for^'ott(!n tlieir promises to keep
tho conuuauiluK'nts, Already tho first two ol" them ar(3
l»r()kcn, 'no oth<!r jj^ods,' 'no ^^'ravcn iiiuii^o.' Tlmy'vo
niado tlieni anothur ;^fod — a golden god!" And that's
wh;it men have heen doinir ever sinec.

There arc more men in tho land worshipping tlie gol-
(h^i calf tluiTi tlio God of heaven. Look around you.
They bring l»(;foro it licjilth, atid ha|>piness, and p(;aee.
"(hvo me tlni'ty ])ieces of silver, ;ind 1 will S('ll you
Christ," is the world's ciy to-(lay. "(live m(; fashion, and
1 will sell you Christ ! " "1 will sacriliei; my wile, my
cliilth'cn, my life, my all, for a little driidv. I will sell
my soul for driidc ! " It is easy to hiame thesii men for
worshipping the golden calf. Ihit what are we doing
ourselves 'i Ah, n>an was afadarc then, and he has been
a failure ever since.

Then (iod put him under the judg(.'s, and wondcilul
judges they were; ])utonce mon^, what a failure lie was!
After that came the j)rophets, and what a failure he was
luidor them ! Then came the Son from heaven liimself,
riglit out of the bosom of tlio Father, lie left the throne
and came down here, to teach us how to live. We took
Him and mur<lered IJim on (Jalvary 1 Man was a failure
in Christ's time.

And now we are living under tho dispensation of
grace — a wonderful dispensation. God is showering down
l»lessings from above, iiut what is man under grace ? A
stu])endous failure. Look at that man reeling on his way
to a drunkard's grave, and his soul to a drinikard's hell.
Look at tho wretched harlots on your streets. Look at
tho profligacy, and the pauperism and the loathsome sick-
ness. Look at the vice and crime that festers every-
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122

SERMONS BY MOODY.

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where, and tell me is it not true that man is a failure
under grace ?

Yes, man is a failure. I can see light down the other
side of the miileniiium ; Christ has swayed his sceptre
over the eartli for a thousand years ; but man is a failure
sti)l. For "when the thousand years are expired, Satan
shall be loosed out of his prison, and shall go out to
deceive the nations which are in Uie four (piarters of the
earth, Gog and Magog, to gather thcni together to battle

, and they com})asse<l the camp of t-he saints

about, and the beloved city ; and the lire came down from
God out of heaven, and devoured them." What man
wants is another nature ; he must be boi'n again. What
a foolish saying " Experience teaches." Man has been a
long time at that school, and has never learned his lesson
yet — liis own weakness and inability, lie still thinks
great things of his own strength. "1 am going to stand
after this," he says, " I have hit upon the right plan this
time. I am able to keep the law now." But the first
temptation comes and he is down. Man will not believ<
in God's strength. Man will not acknowdedire himself a
failure, and surrender himself to (Jhrist to save him
from his sins.

But is it not better to find out in this world that wo
are a failure, and to go to Christ for deliverance, than to
sloe[) on and go down to hell without knowing we are
sinners ?

1 know tiAis doctrine that we have all failed, that we
have all siimed and come short, is exceedingly objection-
able to the natural man. If I had tried to find out th«
most disagi-eeable verso in the whole Bible, ))erhaps I
could not have fastened uj)on one more universally dis-
liked than " There is no diferencG.."

I can imagine — and I think I have a i-ight to imagine
it — Noah, leaving liis ark and going off jireaching for
once in a wliile. As the passers-by stop to listen, there is
00 sound of the hannner or thy plane. Noah has stopped

"THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE."

123

failiire

he other

s sceptre

a failure

L}«1, Hatan

rO out to

'.i-s of the
to battle
he saints
own f ron\
Vhat man
\n. What
has been a
I bis lesson
till tbinks
ig to stan-l
it \)lan tbis
t tbe first
i^ot believe
e biniseU a
save bini

Id tbat wo
)cc, than to
v'xng wo arc

^ed, tbat we

objection-

liind out tbii

pcrbaps 1

'crsally dis-

to imagino.
[eacbing for
Iten, there is
Ihasstoppt^^l

)r>

work. He has gone off on a preacliing tour to warn his
country men. Perliaps lie was telling them that there was
a great deluge coming to sweep away all the workers of
iiii(juity; perhaps he was warning them that every man
who was not in the ark nnist perish ; that there would bo
no di(f('rence. I can imagine one man saying, " You had
better go back and iiuish your work, Noah, rather than
come here preaching. You don't think we are {.ijoing to
believe in such nonsense as that. You tell us that all
are going to perish alike ? Do you really expect us to
lielieve that the kings and governors, the sherifls and the
princes, the rulers^ the beggai's and thieves and hai'lots,
arc all going to be alike lost ? " " Yes," says Noah ; " the
deluge that is coming by and l)y will take you all away
— every man that is not in the ark nuist die. There
will be no ditterence." Douljtless they thought Noah had
i'one ravinu' mad. But did not the Hood come and take
them all away ? Princes and pau})ers and knaves, and
kings — was there any diH'crence ? No diii'erence.

When the destroyiu'c anwl was about to i)ass throuijfh
Kgypt, no doubt the liauglity Egyptian laughed at tiie
•jioor Israc^lite putting the blood on his door-post and
lintel. " What a foolish notion," lie would say flerisively,
" the very idea of sprinkling blood on a door-post! If
there were anything coming, that would never keej) it
away. 1 don't believe there is any death coming at all ;
and if it did, it might touch these |)oor people, but it
would certaiidy never come near us." But when the
niiiht came, there was no dilference. The kin«r in his
palace, the captive in his prison, the beggar by the way-
side — they were all alike. Into every house the king oi
terrors had come, and there was universal mournin<'' in
the land. In the home of the poor and the lowly, in tiio
home of the prince and the noble, in the home of the
(^^ovcrnor and ruler, the eldest son lay dead. Oidy the
poor Israelite escaped who liad the blood on the door-post
and liutel. And when God conies to us in judgment, if

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we are not in Christ, all will Le alike. Learned or un-
learned, high or low, priest or scribe — there will be no
difference.

Once more, I can imagine Abraham going down from
the hills to Sodom. He stands up, let us say, at the cor-
ners of the streets, before Sodom was destroyed — " Ye
men of Sodom, I have a message from my God to you."
The people stand and look at the old man — you can see
his white locks as the wind sweeps through them — " I
have a warning for you," he cries. " God is going to de-
stroy the live cities of the plain, and every man who does
not escape to yonder mountain must perish. When he
comes to deal in judgment with you there will be no dif-
ference; every man must die. Tiie Lord Mayor, the
princes, thu chief men, the mighty men, the judges, the
treasurers — all must perish. The thief and the vagabond
and the drunkard — -yes, all must perish alike. There can
be * no difference.' " But these Sodomites answei-, " You
had better go back to your tent on the hills, Abraham.
We don't believe a word of it. Sodom was never so
prosperous ; business was never so flourishing as now.
The sun never shone any brighter than it does to-day.
The lambs are skipping on the hills, and everything mov-
ing on as it has done for centuries. Don't preach that
stuff to us; we don't believe it." A few hours pass, and
Sodom is in ashes ! Did God make any difference among
those who would not believe ? No, God never utters any
opinion; what he says is there is no ditterenee. I read
of a deluge of fire that is going to roll over this earth,
and when God conies to deal in judgment, there will be
no difference, and every man who is out of Christ must
perish.

It was my sad lot to be in the Chicago fire. As the
flames rolled down our streets, destroying everything in
their onward march, I saw the great and the honourable,
the learned a>id the wise, fleeing befoi'e the fire with the
beggar, and the thief, and the harlot. All were alik'^

"THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE.

125

As the flames swept through the city it was like the
judgment day. The mayor, nor the mighty men, nor wise
men could stop these flames. They were all on a level
then, and many who were worth hundreds of thousands
were left paupers that night. When the day of judg-
ment comes, there will be no difference. When the de-
luge catne there was no diflVrcnce ; Noali's ai'k was worth
more than all the world. The day before, it wjis the
world's lau(^' ig stock, and if it had been put up to auc-
tion, you couid not have got anybody to buy it except
for firewood. But the deluge came, and tlien it was
worth more than all the world together. And when the
day of judgment comes, Christ will be worth more than
all this world, more than ten thousand worlds. And if
it was a terrihie thing in the days of Noah to die out-
side the ark, it will be far more terrible for us to go down
in our sins to a Christless grave.

Now I hope that you have seen what I have been tr}'-
ing to prove — that we are all sinners alike. If I have
failed to prove that, then the meeting to-night has been
a failure. I shoidd like to use another illustration or
two. I should like to make this tiulh so plain that a
child might know it. In the olden times in England, we
are told, they used to have a game of firing arrows
through a ring on the top of a pole. The man that fail-
ed to get iiil his arrows through the ring was called a
"sinner." Now I should like for a moment to take up
that illustration. Su|>pose our pol(> to be u|) in the gal-
lery, and on the top of it th(» ring. I have got ten arrows,
let us say, and Mr. Sankey has got another ten. I take
up the first arrow, antl take a good aim. Alas ! I miss
the mark. Tlierefore I am a " siiuier." " But," I say,
"1 will do the best I can with the other nine; I have
only missed with one." Like some men M'ho try to keep
all the commandments but one ! I fire again and miss
the mark a second time. "Ah, but," I say, "I have got
eight aii'ows still," and away goes anotlier arrow — uTlss,

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SERMONS 13Y MOODY.

I fii-c all the ten an'ows and do not sret one thronofh the
rin<]r. Well, I was a "siniKT" after the fij-st miss, and 1
can otdy be a " simier " alter the tenth. Now Mr, Sankuy
conies with his ten arrows. He fires and cfets his iirst
arrow thl•()^l^■h, " Do you see that i* '' he says. " Well,"
I reply, " g-o on; don't boast until you get them all
tlii'onnh." Hc^ takes the second arrow and gets that
thn)ugh. "Ha! do yon see that?" " Don't boast," I
repeat, " until all ten are through;" if a man lias not
broken the law at all then he has u'ot something to boast
of! YVway i/oes the thii'd, and it iroes throu«di. Then
another an<l another all rinht, and anothei' until nine are
through. " Now," he says, " one more arrowy and I am
not a sinner" He takes up the last ai'i'ow, and his hand
trembles a little ; ha juM inis.srs the mark. yhjrZ Jte is a
" si I) )it'r" as ity;ll (IS I am.. My friend, have you never
missed the maik ? Ibive you not come short? I should
like to see the man who never missed the mark. He
vever lived.

Let me ijive vou just one more illustration. When
Chicago was a small town, it was incorporated and made
a city. When we got our charter for the city, there was
one clause in the constitution that allowed the Mayor to
appoint all the police. It worked very well when it was
a small city; but when it had three or four hundred thou-
sand inhabitants, it put too much power in the hands of
one man. So our leading citizens got n, new bill passed
that took the power out of the hands of the Mayor, and
put it into thi> liands of Commissicmei's appointed ))y Gov-
ennnent. There was one clause in the new law that no
man should be a policeman who was not a certain height
— 5 feet i) inches, let us say. When the Commissioners
got into power, they advertised for men as candidates,
and in the advertisement they stated that no man need
apply who could not bring good credentials to recommend
him. I remember going ]ust the othce one day, and there
was a crowd of them waiting to get in. 'J'hey quite

"thkre is no difference.*'

127

nine are
and I am

his hand
ul ha ?■« a
you never

I should
nark. ./i«

blocked up the side of the street ; and they were com-
paring notes as to their chances of success. One says to
another, " I have got a good letter of recommendation
from the Mayor, and one from the supreme judge." Ano-
ther says. " And I have got a good letter from Senator
So-and-so; I'm sure to get in," The two men come on
together, and lay their letters down on the Commis-
sioners' desk. " Well," say the otticials, " you liave cer-
tainly a good many letters, but we won't read them till
we measure you." Ah ! they forgot all about that. So
the first man is measured, and he is only five feet. " No
chance for you, sii" ; the law says the men nuist be 5 feet
G inches, and you don't come up to the standard." The
other says, " Well, my cliance is a good deal better than
his. I'm a good bit taller than he is," — he begins to mea-
sure himself 1^3' the other man. That is what people are
always doing, measuring themselves l:)y others. Measure
yourselves by the law of God, or by the Son of God Him-
self ; and if you do that, you will find you have come
short, lie goes up to the oificers, and they measure him ;
he is 5 feet 5 inches and nine-tenths of an inch. " No
good," they tell him; "you're not up to the standard."
" But I'm only one-tenth of an inch short," he remon-
strates. " It's no matter," they say ; " there's no differ-
ence." He goes with the man who was five feet. One
comes short six inches, and the other only one-tenth of
an inch, but the law cannot be changed. And the law of
God is that no man shall go into the kingdom of heaven
with one sin on him. He that has broken the least law
is guilty of all.

" Then, is there any hope for mc ? " you say. " What
star is there to relieve the nndnight darkness and gloom ?
What is to become of me ? If all this is true, I am a poor
lost soul. I have committed sin from my earliest child-
hood." Thank God, my friends, this is just where the
gospel comes in. " He was made sin for us who knew no

Ho was

SUl.

*' He was wounded for pur transgressions.

128

SERMONS BY MOODY.

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bruised for our iniquities ; the chastisement of our peace
was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed."
" We all like sheep have gone astray, we have turned
every one to his own way, and the Lord hath laid upon
Him the iniquity of us all."

You ask mo what my hope is ; it is, that Christ died
for my sins, in my stead, in my place, and tlicrefore I
can enter into life eternal. You ask Paul what his hope
was. " Christ died for our sins accordino^ to the Scrip-
ture." This is the hope in which died all the glorious
martyrs cf old, in which all who have entered heaven's
gate have found their only comfort. Take that doctrine
of substitution out of the Bible, and my hope is lost.
With the law, without Christ, we are all undone. Tlie
law we have broken, and it can only hang over our head
the sharp sword of justice. Even if wo, could keep it
from this moment, there remains the unforgiven past.
" Without shedding of blood there is no remission."

He only is safe for eternity who is shelt(^red l)ehind the
finished work of Christ. What the law cannot do for us,
He can do. He obeyed it to the very lettei', and undei"
His obedience we can take our stand. For us he has sutlered
all His penalties, and paid all that the law demands.
" His own self bare our sins in His own body on tlio tree."
He saw the awful end from the beginning; He knew
what death, what ruin, what misery lay before us if we
were left to ourselves. And He came fi-om heaven to
teach us the new and living way by which "all that
believe are justified from all things from which they could
not be justilied l)y the law of Moses."

There is a well-known story told of Napoleon the First's
time. In one of the conscriptions, during one of his
many wars, a man was bal lotted as a conscript who did
not want to go, but he had a friend who ofleied to go in
liis place. His friend joined the regiment in his name,
and was sent olf to the war. By and by a battle came
on, iu which ho was killed, and they buried him on the

THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE.

129

peace
3aled."
turned
i upon

st died
-efore 1
is hope
) Sciip-
^lovious
icavcn's
.loctrinc

is lost,
le. Tbe
)\u' head
I keep it
ran past.
(1.

fhind the
lo for us,
lid under
s su tiered

Icniands.

the tree."
e knew
us if we

eaven to
" all that

hey could

battle-field. Some time after the Emperor wanted more
men, and by some mistake the first man was ballotted the
second time. They went to take him but he remon-
strated. " You cannot take me." " Why not ! " "I am
dead," was the reply. " You are not dead ; you arb alive
and well." " But I am dead," he said. " Why, man, you
must be mad. Where did you die ? " " At such a battle,
and you left me buried on such a battle-field." " You
talk like a mad-man," they cried; but the man stuck
to his point that he had been dead aiul buried some
months. " You look up your books," he said, and see
if it is not so." They looked and found that he was
right. They found the man's name entei'cd as drafted, sent
to the war and marked off as killed. "Look here," they
said, " you didn't die ; you must have i^ot some one to go
for you; it must have been your HiilMltide" " I know
that," he said ; " he died in my stead. You cannot touch
me ; I died in that man, and I go free. The law has no
claim aixainst me." 'J'hov would not rccf>ixnize the doctrine
of substitution, and the case was carried to the Emperor.
But he said that the man was right, that he was dead and
buried in the eyes of the law, and that France had no
claim against lum.

The story may be true, or it may not, but one thing I
know to be true, that the Emperor of heaven recognizes
the doctrine of substitution. Christ died for me ; that is
my hope of etei-nal life. "There is no condemnation to
them which are in Christ Jesus." If you ask me what
you must do to share this bhissing, I answer, go and deal
personally with Christ about it. Take the sinner's place
at the foot of the cross. Strip yourself of all your own
lighteousness, and j)ut on Christ's. Wiap yourself up in
His perfect roV)e, and receive Him b}^ simple trust as your
own Saviour. Thus you inherit the ])riceless treasures that
(Jhrist hath purchased with his blood. " Asnifiny as re-
ceived Him, to them (j tve He pmrfv to hcrome the sons of
God." Yes, sons of God ; power to overcome the world,

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180

SERMONS BY MOODT.

the flesh, and the devil ; power to crucify every besetting
sin, passion, lust ; power to shout in triumph over every
trouble and temptation of your life, " 1 can do all things
through Christ whicli strengtheneth me."

I have been trying to tell you tlie old, old tale that men
are sinners. I may be speaking to some one, perhaps,
who thinks it a waste of time. " God knows I'm a sin-
ner," he cries ; " you don't need to prove it. Since I could
speak, I've done nothing but break every law of earth
and hen ven." Well, my friend, I have good news for you.
It is just as easy for God to save you, who have broken
the whole decalogue, as the man who has only broken
one of the commandments. Both are dead — dead in sins.
It is no matter how dead you are, or how long you have
been dead ; Christ can bring you to life just the same.
There is no difference. When Christ met that poor widow
coming out of Nain, following the body of her darling boy
to tlie grave — he was just newly dead — His loving heart
could not pass her ; he stopped the funeral, and bade the
dead arise. He was obeyed at once, and the mother was
clasped once more in the living embrace of her son. And
when Jesus stood by the grave of Lazarus, who had been
dead /oM,r days, was it not just as easy for Him to say,
** Lazarus, come forth ? " Was it not as easy for Him to
bring Lazarus from his tomb, who had been dead four
days, as the son of the widow, who had been dead but one ?
Yes, it was just as easy; there was no difference. They
were both alike dead, and Christ saved the one just as
easily, and as willingly, and as lovingly as the other. And
therefore, my friend, you need not complain that Christ
cannot save you. Why, Christ died for the ungodly.
And if you turn to Him at this moment with an honest
heart, and receive Him simply as your Saviour and your
God, I have the authority of His Word for telling you
that He will in no wise cast you out.

And you who have never felt the burden of your sin —
you who think there is a great deal of difference — you

"THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE."

131

,ctting
every
things

at men
erhaps,
[1 a sin-
I could
Df earth
Eor you.

broken

broken
[ in sins,
'ou have
he same.
)r wiJow

:ling hoy
ing heart
bade the
»ther was
n. And
[had been
|m to say,
,r Him to
idead four
but one ?
^e. They
ne just as
Iher. And
lat Christ
ungodly.
an honest
and your
lelUng you

who thank God that you are not as other men — lieware.
God has nothing to say to the self-righteous. And unless
you humble yourself before Him in the dust, and confess
before Hiin your iniquities and sins, tlie gate of heaven,
which is open only for sinners, saved by yrac% nmst be
chut against you for ever.

rour sin —
mce— you

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GOOD NEWS

*Mfr))7'(iivT htcilirm, I diclarc unto yon ihc yospdvhich 1
pyidclnd n»./o i/ni/, uhirh also nc liavc received, and trfierciii ye

fitahd. — 1 I OKINI IllANS, XV : 1.

)})0 not tliink there is a word in the EnMish

Jan<>un<>o so little understood as the word

"^^ospeJ." We hear it every day, and we

have licard it fVoiu our earliest cliildliood, yet

,^ tliere ai'e many people, and even many Christians,

^ who do no! leally know what it means. I believe

I was a chihl of God along time before I really

knew. The woid "gospel" means " God's spell," or

good spell, or iji other words, "good news." The

g()s})el is good tidings of great joy. No better news

ever eame out of heaven than the gospel. No bet-

w ter news ever fell upon the ears of the family of

t nian than the gos^x'l. When thf» angels came down

'^'- to i^roelaim the tidings, what did the}' say to those

' shepherds on the plains of Bi'iliiehem ? " Behold I

bring you .s((t/ tidings ?" No ! " iiehoM, I bringyou had

news ? " No! " lithcVl, 1 bring you good tidings of r/reat

joy, which shall be to all people; for unto you is born

this day, 'm the city of David, a Saviour." If those

shepherds had been like a good many people at the ])re-

ecnt time, they would have said, " We do not believe it is

GOOD NEWS.

133

pood news. It is all excitemont. These anf^els want to
i^et up a revival. These an_t,n>ls arc tryini( to excite us.
Don't you believe them." That is what Satan is saying
now. "Don't you believe the j,^)s|)el is good news; it
will only make you miserable." He knows the moment
a man believes good news, he just receives it. And no
one who is under the power of the devil really believes
that the gos})el is good news. But these sht.'pherds be-
lieved the messai^e that the an«;els brou;;ht, and their
hearts were filled with joy. It' a boy came with a de-
spatch to some one here, could you not tell by tlie re-
ceiver's looks what kind of a message it was ? If it
brought good news you would see it in his face in a mo-
ment. If it told him that his boy, away in some foreign
land, a prodigal son, had come to himself, like the one in
the loth of Luke, do vou not think that father's face
would light up with joy ? And if his wife were here, lie
would not wait till they got home, or till she .asked for it,
he would pass it over to her, and her face would brighten
too, as she shared his joy. But the tidings that the gos-
pel brings are more glorious than that. We are dead in
trespasses and sins, and the gospel otters life. We are
enemies to God, and the gospel otters reconciliation. The
world is in darkness, and the gospel otters light. Because
man will not believe the gospel that Christ is the light
of the world, the world is dark to-day. But the moment
a man believes, the light from Calvary crosses his path
and he walks in an unclouded sun.

I want to tell you why I like the gospel. It is because
it has been the very best news I have ever heard. That
is just why I like to preach it, because it has done me so
much good. No man can ever tell what it has done for
him, but I think I can tell what it has undone. It has
taken out of my path four of the bitterest enemies I ever
had".

There is that terrible enemy mentioned in i Cor. xv.,
the last enemy, Death, The gospel has taken it out of

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134

SERMONS BY MOODY.

lili;

the '\-n.y. I\Iy liiind very often rolls back twenty yeara
ago, Lefore 1 was converted, and I tliink how dark it
used to seem, as I tlioui-ht of the future, I well reiueiii-
ber how I used to look on death as a terrible monster,
how he used to throw his dark shadow across my ])ath ;
how I trembled as I thought of the terrible hour when he
should come for me ; how I thougal I should like to <Uo
of some lingering disease, such as consum])tion, so that I
nnght know when he was coming, it was the cust(jm in
our village to toll from the old church bell the age of any
one who died. l)('ath never entered that village and toie
away one of the iidiabitants but 1 counted the tolling of
the bell. Sometimes it was seventy, sometimes eighty;
sometimes it would he away down among the t(jens;
sometimes it would toll out the death of some one of my
own ago. It made a solenni impression upon me. I f<dt
a coward then. I thought of the cold hands of death
feeling for the cords of life. 1 thought of being launchetl
forth to spend my eternity in an unknown land.

As I looked into the grave and saw the sexton throw
the earth on the cotlin-lid, "Earth to eaiih ; ashes to
ashes ; dust to dust," it seemed like the death knell of my
soul. But that is all changed now. The grave has lost
its tei'ror. As 1 go on towards heaven I can shout, "
death! where is thy stinir?" and 1 hear the answer
rolling down from Calvary — "burie.l in the bosom of the
Son of Cod." He took the sting riiiht out of death for
me, and received it into His own bosom. Take a hornet
and pluck the sting out; you are not afraid of it aftei-
that any more than of a lly. So death has lost its sting.
That last enemy has been overcome, and I can look on
death as a crushed victim. All that death can get now
is this old vVdam, and 1 do not care how quickly 1 get rid
of it. I shall get a gloriiied body, a body nujch better
than this. Suppose death should come stealing up into
this pulpit, and la}' his icy hand ui)on my heart, and it
should cease to throb, 1 should rise to the better world to

GOOD NEWS.

135

•k it
iiem-
ister,
)atb ;
an. he
X) «Ue
that I
oin in
jf any
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be present with the King. The gospel has made an
enemy a friend. Wliat a glorious thought, that wlien you
die you but sink into the arms of Jesus, to be borne to
tlie land of everhisting rest ! " To die the apostie says is
gain." I can imagine when they laid our Lord in Joseph's
tomb one miglit have seen death sitting over the sepul-
elire saying, "I have Him, He is my victim. He said he
was the resurrection a mI the life. Now I hold him in
my cold embrace. Tiiey thought he was never going to
die; but see Him now. He lias liad to pay tribute to
me." Never! Tln^ glorious morning comes, tlie So!i of
man bursts asunder the bands of deatli, and rises, a Con-
queror, from tlie grave. "Because I live," He shouts,
" ye shall live also." Yes, ye ^hall live alno — is it not good
news? Ah, my friends, there is no bad news about the
gospel, which makes it so sweet to live, so sweet to die.
Another terrible enemy that troubled me was aS'/v?/.
What a terrible hour I thought it would be, when my
sins from childhood, every secret thouglit, every evil de-
sii'e, everything doni; in the dark should be l)rought to
the light, and spread out l)efore an assend)le(l universe !
Thank God, these thoughts are gone. The gospel tells
lue my sins are all ])ut away in Christ. Out of love to
me He has taken all my sins and cast them l)ehind his
back. That is a safe |)hice for them. God never turns
back ; He always marches on. il.j will never see your
sins if they are behind his Vci,cl< -^Vat is one of his own
illustrations. Satan lu'^s to get behind God to find them.
How faraway are they ;d can they never come back
again i " At^far as tho ed'-t is from the iresf, so j\("h<>^h
lie removed owr tnuisi/n'sy'ions fnnn us." Not sonn., ot
them ; He takes them all away. You may pile up youi
sins till they rise like a daik mountain, and then malti-
l<ly them by ten thousand for those you cannot think of ;
and after yon have tried to enumerate ali the sinsi you
have ever committed, just let me bring one verse 5n, and
th.it' i)H)Ufttaiu will melt away : " The bl(/od of Jesus

ffFlS

136

SERMONS BY MOODY.

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Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin," In Ireland,
some time ago, a teacher asked a little hoy if there was
anything God could not do ; and the little fellow said,
" Yes; He cannot see my sins through the blood of
Clirist," That is just what He cannot do. The blood
covers them. Is it not good news that you can get rid
of sin ? You come to C/hrist a sinner, and if you re-
ceive His gospel your sins are taken away. You are
invited to do this ; nay, he intreats you to do it. You
are invited to make an exchange ; to get rid of all your
sins, and to take Christ and His righteousness in the place
of them. Is not that good news ?

There is another enemy which used to trouble me a
great deal — Juihjmnit. I used too look forward to the
terrible day when I should bo sunmioned before God.
I could not tell whether I should hear the voice of Christ
saying. " Dei)art from Me, ye cursed," or whether it would
be, " Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord," And I thought
that till he stood before the great white tlu'one, no man
could tell whether he was to be on the riii-ht hand or the
left. But the gospel tells me that is already settled :
" There is now no condemnation to them which are in
Christ Jesus." " Verily, Verily" — and when you see that
word in Scripture, you may know there is something very
important coming — " Verily, Verily, I say unto you, he
that heareth My word, and beliuveth on Him that sent
Mo, hath everlasting life, and ,sh(dl not come into condeiu-
nation, but is ixi^^ed from death unto life." Vv'ell, now,
/am not coming into judgment for sin. It is no open
question. God's word has settled it. Christ was judged
for me, and died in my stead, and I go free. He that
believeth liath — h-a t-h, hath. Is not that good news ?
A man prayed for me the other day that I might ol)tain
eternal life at last. I could not have said Amen to that.
If he meant it in this sense, I obtained etcMiial life nine-
teen years ago, when I was converted. What is the gift
of God, if it is not eternal life ? And what makeu tho

St;

GOOD NEWS.

137

'laiul,
a was
/- said,

lod ^^^
blood

fct rid
ou rc-
ou avo
You
W your
le place

Le luc a

I to the

»ve God.

,f Clu-iHt

it would

tliouglit
no man

id or tlic
settled :

'\\ are in

I see that
\iug very
you, be
.bat sent
conde.n.i-
[v\'ll, now,
no open
las judged
lie tbat
|()d news ]
lit o\)tain
[n to tbat.
U£e nine-
is tbe gitt
liiaketi tbo

gospel such good news ? Is it not that it offers eternal
life to every poor sinner who will take it ? If an angel
came straight from the throne of God, and proclaimed
that God had sent him here to offer us any one thing wo
might ask — that each one should have his own petition
granted — what would be your cry ? There would be but
one response, and the cry would make heaven ring :
" Eternal life ? eternal life !" Everything else would float
away into nothingnep^,. It is life men want, men value
most. Let a man worth a million dollars be on a wrecked
vessel, and if he could just save his life for six months
by giving that million, he would give it in an instant.
But the gospel is not a six months' gift. " The gift of
God is eternal life." And is it not one of the greatest
marvels that men have to stand and plead, and pray and
l''5seech their fellow men to take this precious gift of
God ? -"

My friends, there is one spot on earth where the fear
of Death, of Sin, and of Judgment, need never trouble us.
the only safe spot on earth where the sinner can stand —
Calvary. Out in our western country, in the autunm,
when men go hunting, and there has not been any rain
for months, sometimes the prairie gi-ass catches fire. Some-
times, when the wind is strong, the flames may be seen
rolling aXo^ig! *^.wenty feet high, destroying man and beast
in their en war rush. When the frontiersmen see what
is comi^v..' w'lat do i-liey do to escape ? They know they
cannot ra^ v fast as the fiie can run. Not the fleetest
horse can escape i :. They just take a match and light
the gr"ss around them. The flames sweep onwards ; they
take their stand in the burnt district, and ai'C safe. They
hear the flames roar as they come ah)ng; they see death
Itcaring down upon them with resistless fury, but they
<l() not fear. They do not even tremble as the ocean of
Ihimo eurgc^i around them, for over the place where they
stand tVo! filrc has already passetl, and there is no danger.
Tliero is rothing for the fire to burn. And there is one

Tf.tlfrff'r'

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138

SERMONS BY MOODY.

spot on earth that God has swept over. Eigliteen hun-
dred years ago the storm burst on Calvary, and the Son
of God took it into his own bosom, and now, if we take
our stand by the Gross, we are safe for time and for eter-
nity.

Sinner, would you be safe to-night ? Would you be
free from the condemnation of the sins that arc past,
from the power of the temptations that are to come ?
Then take your stand on the Rock of Ages. Let death,
let the grave, let the judgment come, the victory is
Christ's and yours through Him. Oh, will you not receive
this gospel to-night this wonderful message.

Some peo|)le, wh» ^^^n yospel is preached, put on a
long face, as if they h mi o attend a funeral, or witness
an execution, or hear soui Uy, stupid lecture or sermon.
It was my privilege to go into Richmond with General
Grant's army. I had not been long there before it was
announced that the negroes were going to have a jubilee
meeting. These coloured people were just coming into
liberty ; their chains were falling off, and thej" were just
awakening to the fact that they were free. I thought it
would be a great event, and I went down to the African
Church, one of the largest in the South, and found it
crowded. One of the coloured chaplains of a northern
regiment had offered to speak. I have heard many elo-
quent 'nen in Europe and in America, but I do not think
I ever heard ehxpience such as 1 heard that day. He
said, " Mothers ! you rejoice to-day ; you are for ever
free ! That little child has Ijeen torn from your embrace,
and sold off to some distant state for the last time. Your
hearts arc never to be broken again in that way: you
are free." The women clapped their hands and shouted
at the top of their voices. " Glory, glory to God." It
was good news to them, and they believed it. It filled
them full of joy. Then he turned to the young men and
said, " Young men ! you rejoice to-day ; you have heard
the crack of the slave-driver's whip for the last time ;

ijii

GOOt) NEWS.

130

ou be
past,
come ?
(leatb,

;ory is
receive

>ut on a
witness

sermon.
General
e it was
a jubilee
ing into
ere j^'^t
loui^bt it
African

iound it
northern

nany elo-
not tbink
ay. He
for ever
cnibrace,
me. Your

way. yo"
,1 shouted
God." It
It filled
cr men and
Swe heard
last time ;

your posterity shall be free ; young men rejoice to-day,
you are for ever free ! " And they clapped their hands,
and sliouted, " Glory to God ! " They believed tlie good
tidings, '* Young maidens ! " he said, " you rejoice to-
day. You have been put on the auction-block and sold
for the last time ; you are free — for ever free ! " They
beUeved it, and lifting up their voices, shouted, " Glory
be to God ! " I never was in such a meeting. They be-
lieved that it was good news to them.

My friends, I bring you better tidings than that. No
coloured man or woman ever had such a mean, wicked,
cruel master as those that are serving Satan. Do I speak
to a man who is a slave to strong drink ? Christ can
give you strength to hurl the cup fro2n you, and make
you a sober man, a loving husband, a kind father. Yes,
poor wife of the drunkard. He gives you good news ;
your husband may become a sober man again. And you,
poor sinner, you who have been so rebellious and way-
ward, the g()S[)el brings a message of forgiveness to you.
God wants you to be reconciled to llim. " Be ye recon-
ciled unto God." It is His message to you — a message of
friendship. Here is a little story of reconciliation which
I was told lately ; perhaps it may help you a little :

There was an Englishman who had an only son ; and
oidy sons are often petted, and humoured, and ruined.
This boy became very headstrong, and very often he and
his father had trouble. One day they had a quarrel, and
the father was very angry, and so was the son ; and the
father said he wished the boy would leave home and never
come back. The boy said he would go, and would not
come into hts father's house again till he sent for him.
The father said he would never send for him. Well,
away went the bo3^ But when a father gives up a boy,
a mother does not. You mothers will understand that,
but the fathers may not. You know there is no love on
earth so strong as a mothor's love. A great many things
may separate a man and his wife ; a great many things

gii itVi'iiuAi'iitinri'i I It'll

■HHiBBaaawiMii

SEUMONS BY MOODY.

(Si;

■

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'Mli.||»J

may separate c father from a son; but there is nothing m
the wide world that can ever separate a true motlier IVom
her child. To b(; sure, there are some mothers that have
drunk so much l^cjuor, that they have drunk up all their
affection. But I am talking about a true mother ; and
she would never cast off her boy.

Well, the mother began to write, and plead with the
boy to write to his father first, and he v^ould forgive him ;
but the boy said, " I will never go home till father asks
me." Then she pled with the father, but the father said,
"No, I will never ask him." At last the mother came
down to her sick-bed, bioken-hearted, and when she was
given up by the physicians to die, the liusl^and, anxious
to gratify her last ish, wanted to know if tiiere was
notliing he could do tor her before she died. The mother
gave him a look ; he well knew what it meant. Then she
said, ** Yes, there is ne itung you can do. You can send
for my boy. That is the only wish on earth you can
gratify. If yoM do not pity him and love him when I am
dead and gone, who will ? " " Well," said the father, " I
will send word to him that you want to see him." " No,"
she says, "you know he will not come for me. If ever I
see him you nnist send for him. At last the father went
to his ofHce and wrote a despatch in his own name, ask-
ing the boy to come home. As soon as he got the invita-
tion from his father he started off to see his dying mother.
\\ hen he opened the door to go in he found his mother
dying, and his father by the bedside. The father heard
the door open, and saw the boy, but instead of going to
meet him he went to another part of the room, and re-
fused to speak to him. His mother seized his hand — how
she had longed to piess it ! She kissed him, and then
said, " Now, my son, just speak to your father. You speak
first, and it will all be over." But the boy said, " No,
mother, I will not speak to him until he speaks to me."
She took her husband's hand in one hand and the boy's in
the other, and s|)ent her dying moments in trying to bring

h tlie
3 him ;
;r asks
jr said,
r came
he was
mxious
ere was
mother
:hen she
ian send
,you can
ben 1 am
vther, " I

" 1^0,"

J ever I
her went
ime, ^f^-
le invita-
g mother.
Ts mother
ler heard
going to
., and re-
,nd— how
and then
on gpeak
Isaid/'No;
Iks to me.
[ne boy's in
ft to brini*

GOOD NEVrS.

141

aViout a reconciliation. Then just as she was expiring — •
she could not speak — so she put the hand of the wayvvanl
boy into the hand of the father, and pas.se<l aAvay ! The
boy looked at his mother, and the father at his wife, and
j\t last the father's heart broke, and he opened his arms,
and took that boy to his bosom, and by that body they
were reconciled. Sinner, that is only a faint type, a poor
illustration, because God is not angry with you. I bring
you to-night to tlie dead body of Christ. I ask you to
look at the wounds in liis hands and feet, and the wound
in his side. And 1 ask you, '' Will you not be reconciled ? "
When He left heaven, He went down into the manger,
that He might get hold of the vilest sinner, and put the
hand of the wayward ju'odigal into that of the Father,
and He died that you and I might be reconciled. ]f you
take my advice you will not sleep to-night until you are
reconciled. " l>e ye reconciled." Oh, this gospel of re-
conciliation ! My f I'iends, is it not a glad gospel ?

And then it is a free gospel; any one may have it. You
need not ask, " For whom is this good news." It is for
yourself. If you would like Christ's own word for it,
conie with nie to that scene in Jerusalem where the dis-
ciples are bidding lliiu faiewell. Calvary with all its
horrors is behind Hiui ; Ccthsemane is over, and Pilate's
judgment hall. He has ))a.ssed the grave, and is about
to take His place at the right hand of the Father.
Around Him stands His little hand of disciples, the little
Church He was to leave behind Him to be His wit-
nesses. The hour of parting has come, and He has some
" last words " for them. Is He thinking about Himself
in these closing moments? Is He thinking about the
throne that is waiting Him, and the Father's smile that
will welcome Him to heaven ? Is He going over in
uu'inory the scenes of the |)ash ; or is He thinking of the
friends who have followed llim so far, who will miss
Him so much when He is gone ? No, He is thinking
aVtout you. You imagined He would think of thoso

Ui-

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142

SERMONS BY MOODY.

1/ t

IM'

lii:

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) .

i^i ,

■■kill

til

wlio loved Him ? No, sinner, He thought of you then.
He thought of His enemies, those who shunned Him,
those who despised Him, those who killed Him — He
thought what more he could do for them. He thought
of those who would hate Him, of those who would have
none of His Gospel, of those who would say, it was too
good to be true, of tho«e who would make excuse that
He never died for them. And then, turning to His disci-
ples, his heart just bursting with compassion. He gives
them His f^irewell charge, " Go ye into ALL the world
and preach the Gospel TO EVERY CJIEATUUE." They are
almost His last words " to every creature."

I can imagine Peter saying, " Lord, do you really mean
that we shall preach the Gospel to every creature ? "
".Yes, Peter." " Shall we go back to Jerusalem, and
preach the Gospel to those Jerusalem sinners who mur-
dered you ? " " Yes, Peter, go back and tarry there
until you are endued wiih power from on high. Olfer
the Gospel to them first. Go search out that man who
spat in my face ; tell him I forgive him ; there is nothing
in My heart, but love for him. Go, search out the man
who put that cruel crown of tlijrns on my brow ; tell
him I will have a crown ready for liim in My kingdom,
if he will accept salvation ; there shall not be a thorn in
it, and he shall wear it for ever and ever in the kingdom
of his Redeemer. Find out that man who took the reed
from My hand, and smote My head, driving the thorns
deeper into My brow. If he will accept salvation as a
gift, I will give him a sceptre, and he shall sway it over
the nations of the earth. Yes, I will give him to sit
with Mo upon My throne. Go, seek that man who
struck Me with the palm of his hand ; find him and
preach the Gospel to him ; tell him that the blood of
Jesus Christ clean- eth from all sin, and My blood was
shed for him freely." Yes, I can imagine Him saying,
" Go, seek out that poor soldier who drove the spear
into My side ; tell him that tiiere is a nearer way to My

GOOD NEWS.

143

then.

aim,

-He

have
[IS too
3 that

disci-
s gives

world
ley are

y mean
,ture 'i "
m, and
w inur-
y there
. Otfer
lan who
nothing
the man
w ; tell
ingdom,
thorn in
kingdom
the reed
c thorns
,tlon as a
,y It over
m to sit
nan who
him and
hlood of
,lot)d was
u saying,
the spear
ay to My

hcai-t than that. Tell him that I forgive him freely ; and
tell him I will make him a soldier of the cross, and My
banner over him shall be love."

I thank God that the Gospel is to be pre.-iched to
every creature. I thank God the commission is so free.
There is no man so lar gone, but the grace of God can
reach him ; no man so desperate or so black, but He
can forgive him. Yes, I thank God I can preach the
Gospel to the man or the woman who is as black as hell
Itst'lf. I thank God for the " whosoevers " of the invi-
tations of Christ. "God so loved the world that He
gave His only begotten Son, that 'whosoever belie veth on
Him should not perish, but have everlasting life," and
" Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."

I heard of a woman once who thouijjht there was no
promise in the Bible for her, they were all for other
people. One day she got a letter, and when she opened
it, found it was not for her at all, but for some other
woman of the same name. It led her to ask herself, " If
I should find some promise in the Bible directed to me,
how should I know that It meant rue, and not some other
woman?" And she found out that she must just take
God at His word, and Include herself among the " who-
soevers " and the " every creatuies " to whom the Gos-
pel Is freely preached. I know that word " whosoever "
means every man, every woman, every child In this wide
world. It means that l)oy down tliere, that grey-haired
man, that maiden In the blush of youth, that young
man breaking a mother's heart, that drunkard steeped In
misery and sin. Oh, my friends, will you not believe
tills good news ? Will you not receive this wonderful
Gospel of Christ ? Will you not believe, poor sinner,
that it means you ? Will you say it is too good to be
true ?

I was in Ohio a few years ago, and was invited to
preach in the State prison. Eleven hundred convicts
were brought into the chapel, and all sat in front of mo

r'Mrj'irm giin'ii

144

SERMONS BY MOODY.

; ''

1 '''

in-i

(

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After I had got through the preaching, the chaplain said
to me : "Mr. Moody, I want to tell you of a scene which
occurred in this room. A few years ago, our commission-
ers went to the governor of the State, and got him to
promise that lie would pardon five men for good beha-
viour. The governor consented, with this understanding
— that the record was to be kept secret, and that at the
end of six months the five men highest on the roll should
receive a pardon regardless of who or what they were. At
the end of six months the prisoners were all brought into
the chapel ; the commissioners caine up, and the Presi-
dent stood up on the platform, and putting his hand in his
pocket, brought out some papers, and said, ' I hold in my
hand pardons for five men.' " The cha])lain told me he
never witnessed anything on earth like it. Every man
was as still as death ; many were deadly pale, and the sus-
pense was awful ; it seemed as if every heart had ceased
to beat. The commissioner went on to tell them how
they had got the pardon ; but the chaplain interrupted
him. " Before you make your speech, read out the names.
This suspense is «.wful." So lie read out the first name,
*' Reuben Johnson will come and get his pardon ; " and
he held it out, but none came forward. He said to the
governor, " Are all the prisoners here ? " The governor
told him they were all there. Then he said again, "Eeu-
ben Johnson will come and get his pardon. It is signed
and sealed by the governor. He is a free man." Not one
moved. The chaplain told me ho looked right down where
Reuben was ; ho was well known ; he had been nineteen
years there, and many were looking round to see him
spring to his feet. But he himself was looking round to
see the fortunate man who had got his pardon. Finally,
the chaplain caught his eye, and said, " Reuben, you arc
the man." Reuben turned round and looked behind him
to sec wdiere Reuben was. The chaplain said the second
time, " Reuben, you are the man ; " and the second time
he looked round, thinking it must be some jther Reuben.

GOOD NEWS.

145

said

hich

=uon-

m to

jeba-

\ding

lb the

hould

;e. At

it into

Presi-
in his

in my
me ho

y man

he sus-

. ceased

m how

rrupted
names,
t name,
and

d to the

fovernor
Beu-
signed
Not one
n where
nineteen
see him
round to
Finally,
, ymi ave
iiind him
„ second
:ond time
Keuben.

So men do not believe the gospel is for them. They think
it is too good, and pass it over their shoulders to the next
man. But you are the man to-night. Well, the cha})lain
could see where Reuben was, and he had to say three
times, " Reuben, come and get your pardon-" At last the
truth began to steal over the old man ; he got up and
came along down the hall, trembling from head to foot,
and wh"n he got the pardon he looked at it, and went
back to his seat, and buried his face in his hands and wept.
When the prisoners got into the ranks to go back to the
cells, Reuben got into the ranks too, and the chaplain had
to call to him, " Reuben, get out of the ranks ; you are a
free man, you are no longer a prisoner." And Reuben
stepped out of the ranks. He was free ! That is the way
men make out pardons. Tliey make them out for good
character or good behaviour, fjut God makes out pardons
for men who have not got any character, who have been
very, very bad. He offers a pardon to every sinner on
earth if he will take it. I do not care who he is, or what
he is like. He may be the greatest libertine that ever
walked the streets, or the gnnitest blaci\guard who ever
lived, or the greatest drunkard, or thief, or vagabond;
but I come to-night with glad tidings, and preach the
gospel to ever^ creature.

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WHAT THINK YE OF CHKIST?

iJ/ ^* Saying, JVJicd tJiiiik ye of Christ 1 M'/iase
^ :^, \ unto him, The son of JJacid. — Ma'J

son is he ? Tliey sa^
TT. xxii : 42.

vSUPPOSE there is no one here who has not

'thou<;ht, more or less, about Christ. You have

lieard a1ii)ut Him, and I'oail about Him, and

lieard men preach about Him. For eighteen

lnni(h'ed years, men liave been tallying about Him,

and thinking about Him; and some have their

minds made up about who He is, and doubtless

some have not. And although all these years have

A rolled away, this question comes up, addressed to

each of us, to-day, " What think ye of Chi'ist ? "

I do not know why it should not be thought a

V P^'opei* (question for one man to put to another. If

Y I were to ask you what you tlii^ik of any of your
A prominent men, you would already have your mind
t made up about him. If 1 were to r',sk you what you

think of our President, you would speak right out, and
tell me your opinion in a minute. If 1 were to ask about
your governor, you would tell me freely what you had
for or against him. And why should not people make up
their minds about the Lord Jesus Christ, and take their
stand tor or against Him ? H' you think well of Him,
why not speak well of Him, and range yourselves on His

WHAT THINK YE OF CHRIST?

Jlicy say

lias not
M bave

i oh teen

t Hiui,

tlieir

)uhtless

s liave

ssed to

?"
ouo-lit a
ic?. H
of your
ur mind
hat you
out, and
;k about
you '

side ? And if you thing ill of Ilim. and believe Him to
be an impostor, and that He did not die to save tho
world, why not lift up yoin* voice, and say you arc against
Him ? It would be a bappy day for Christianity it men
would just take sides — if we could know positively who
was really for Him, and who was ag;»inst Him.

It is of very little importance what the world thiid-cs of
any one else. All the great on(^s, all the noble people of
ihis world must soon bo gone. Yes; it matters little com-
paratively what we think of tliem. Their lives can only
interest a few ; but every living soid on the face of the
earth is concerned with this Man. The (juestion for the
world is, " What think ye of Christ ? " I do not ask you
what you think of the Episcopal Church, or of the Pres-
byterians, or the Baptists, or the Roman Catholics; I do
not ask you what you think of this minister >r that, of
this doctrine or that; but I wai:t to ask you what you
think of the livinir i)erson of Christ?

I should like to ask. Was He really the Son of God —
the great God-man ? Did He leave heaven and come
down to this world lor a purpose ? Was it really to seek
and to save ? I should like to beyin with the manger,
and follow Him up through the thirty-three years He
was here upon earth. I should ask you what you think
of His comini; into this world, and leinij born in a man-
ger when it might have been a palace; why He left the
grandeur and the glory of heaven, and the royal retinue
of angels ; why He passed by palaces and crowns and do-
minion, and came down here alone ?

I should like to ask what you think of Him as a
teacher? He spake as never man spake. I should like to
take Him up as a preacher. I should like to bring you
to that mountain side, that we might listen to the words
as they fall from His gentle lips. Talk about the preach-
ers of the present day ! I would rather a thousand times
be five minutes at the feet of Christ, than listen a life-
time to all the wise men in the world. He used just to

148

SKRMONS BY MOODY.

H i

hanj;,' trutli upon anything. Yonder is a sower, a fox, a
\nid, iiud He just gathers the tiutli round them, so that
you cannot see a fox, a sower, or a biid, without thinking
what Jesus said. Yonder is a lily of the valley, you can-
not see it without thinking of His words, " They toil not,
neither do they spin." JL makes the little sparrow chirp-
ing in the air preach to us How fresh those wonderful
sermons are, how they live to-day ! How we love to tell
theui to our children, how the children love to liear !
i' Tell nie a story ahout Jesus," how often we liear it ;
how the little ones love his seiinons ! No story-hook in
the world will ever interest them like the stories that He
told. And yet how jjrofound He was ; how He puz/led
the wise men ; liow the Scribes and the l^harisees could
never fathom Him! Oh, do you not think He was a
wonderful preacher ?

I shoukl like to ask you what you think of Him as a
physician. A man would soon have a reputation as a
doctor if he could cure as (lirist did. No case was ever
brought to Him but what He was a matcli for. He had
but to speak the word, and disease fled before Him. Here
comes a man covered with le])rosy. "Lord, if Thou wilt
Thou canst make me clean," he cries. "I will." says the
Great Physician, and in an instant the leprosy is gone.
The world has hosjiitals for incurable disea;jes; but there
were no incui-able diseases with Him.

Now see Him in the little home at Bethany, binding
up the wounded hearts of Martha and Mary, and tell nie
what yo»i think of II im as a coinforlcv. He is a husband
to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. The weary
may lind a resting place upon that breast, and the friend-
less may reckon llim their frientl. He never varies, Ho
never fails. He never dies-'. His sympathy is ever fresh.
His love is ever free. O widow and orphans, O Sorrow-
ing and Mourning, will you not thank God for Chiist the
com fo iter {

WHAT THINK YE OP CHRIST?

149

OX, a
that

can-
1 not,

\crful
,0 tell

hear !
sar it ;
iiok in
lat tie
)uz/le(l
, could

was a

im as a

on as a

■as ever

He had

Here

ou wilt

iays the

bs gone.

tt there

I binding

tell nie

husband

e weary

L friend-

Li'ies, Ho

Icy fresh.

ISorrow-

\rist the

Biifc those are not the points I wish to take up. Let
us go to those wh.! knew Christ, and asl^ what tliey
tliouijflit of Iliin. If you want to find out what a man is
now-a-<]ays, jou in({uire about him from those who know
hiui best. J do not wisli to be |)artiai ; we will go to his
enemies and to his friends. We will ask them, What
think ye of Christ? We will ask his friends and Ins
enemies. If we only went to those who iik<'d Him, you
would say, "Oh he is so blind; he tliinks so much of the
man that he can't see his faults. You can't got any thing
out of him, unless it be in Ids favour; it is a o!ie-sided
affair altogetlier." S(j we shall go in the first place to
his enemies, to those who hated Him, perscjcuted Him,
cursed and slew Him. I shall put you in the jury-box,
and call upon them to tell us what they think of Him.

First among the witnesses, let us call upon the Phari-
sees. We know how they liated Him. Let us put a few
questions to theni. Come, Pharisee's, tell us what you
have against the Son of God. What do yoit think of
Christ? Hear what they say! Tkis man rrcelvelk sin-
iipvs. What an argument to bring against Him ! Why,
it is the very thing that makes us love Him. It is the
glory of the gospel. He leceives sinners. If He had not,
wluit would have become of as ^ Have you nothing
more to bring against Him than tkU ? Why, it is ono of
the greatest compliments that was ever paid Him. Once
more, when He was hauijing on the tro(i, yon had this
to say of Him, "He saved others, Himsi^lf Ho cannot
save," And so He did save othei-s, but He could not save
Himself and save us too. So He laid down His own life
for yours and mine. Yes, Pharisees, you liave told the
truth for once in your lives ! Jfe saved others. He died
for others. He was a ransom for many ; so it is quite
true what yoii think of Hiiu — He saved others, IlirnselJ
He cannot save

150

SERMONS BY MOODY.

Ill

:|r

' J. *

i m

' Now lot us call upon Ciiiaphas. Let hiin stand up here
in his flowing robes; let us ask him for his evidence.
" Caiaphas, you were chief priest when Christ was tried ;
you were president of the Sanhedrim ; you were in the
council-chamber when they found Him guilty; you your-
self condemned Him. Tell us, what did the witnesses
say ? On what grounds did you judge Him ? What
testimony was brought against Him ?

"He hath spoken blasphemy," says Caiaphas. "He
said, 'Hereafter shall ye see the Son of Man sitting .
the right hand of power, and coming in the cloud;, of
heaven/ When I heard that, I found Him guilty of
blasphemy ; I rent my mantle, and condemned Him to
death." Yes all that they had against Him was that He
was the Son of God ; and they slew Him for the promise
of His cominn; for His bride.

Now, let us summon Pilate. Let him enter the wit-
ness-box. Pilate, this man was brought before you ; you
examined Him ; you talked with Him face to face, what
think you of ChriHt ? " I find no fault in Him," says Pilate.
" He said He was the King of the Jews" (just as he wrote
it over the cross) ; " but 1 find no fault in Him." Such
is the testimony of the man who examined Him ! And,
as he stands there, the centre of a Jewish mol), there comes
along a man, elbowing his way, in haste. He rushes up
to Pilate;, and, thrusting out his hand, gives him a mes-
sage. He tears it open ; his face tuiiis pale as he reads —
" Have thou nothing to do with this just muu, for I have
suffered many things this day in a dreau) because of
Him." It is from Pilate's wife — her testimony to Christ.
You want to know what His enemies thought of Him (
You want to know what a heathen thought ? Well,
here it is, " no fault in Him ; " and the wife of a hoathen,
" this just man !"

And now, look — in conies Judas. He ought to make a
pood witness. Let us address him. " Come, tell us,
Judas, what think you of Christ. You knew the Master

WHAT THINK YE OF CHRIST?

151

well; yon sold Him for thirty pieces of silver; you be^
trayed Him with a kiss ; you saw Him perfo: m thoso
miracles ; you were with Him in Jerusalem. In Bethany,
when He summoned up Lazarus, you were there. What
think you of Him ? " I can see him as he comes into the
presence of the chief priests ; I can hear the money ring
as he dashes it upon the table — " / have bet rayed in-
nocent blood!" Here is the man who betrayed Him,
and this is what he thinks of Him ! Yes, my frit^nds,
God has made every man who had anything to do with
tlie death of His Son put their testimony on record that
He was an innocent man.

Let us take the Centurion, who was present at the exe-
cution. He had charge of the Roman soldiers. He had
told them to make Him carry His cross ; he had given
orders for the nails to be driven into His feet and hands,
for the spear to be thrust in His side. Lot the Centurion
come forward. " Centurion, you had charge of the exe-
cutioners ; you saw that the order for His tleath was cnr-
lied out; you saw Him die; you heai'd Him speak upon
the cross. TqW us, ivhat think you of Chr'hst?" Hnrk !
Look at him; he is smiting his breast as he cries, " Truly,
this was the Son of God ! "

I might go to the tliief upon the cross, and ask what
he thought of Him. At first he railed upon Him and re-
viled Him. But then he thought better of it. " This
laan hath done nothing ami.ss," he says. I might go fur-
ther. I might sununon the very devils themselves and
ask them for their testimony. Have they anything to
say of Him ? Why, the very devils cmU Him tlie Son of
(Ii)d ! In Mark we have the unclean spirit crying, " Jesus,
Thou Son of the most High (uxl." Men say, (), I believe
('hi'ist to be the Son of God, and because 1 believe it in-
tellectually, I shall be saved. I tell you the devils did
that. And they did more than that, fhey trembled.

Let us bi-ing in His friends. We want to hear their
tiieMaster I evidence. Let us call that prince of preachers. Let us

p here
idence.
i tried ;
in the
Li your-
Ltnesses
What

,. "He

ttinp -
loud;, of
uilty of

Him to

that He
; promise

the wit-
you ; you
ace, what
i,ys Pilate,
he wrote
' Such
m 1 And,
lere'conies
rushes up
im a mes ■
\G reads —
for I have
lecause of
to Christ.
t of Hiui i
Iht? Well,
a h oath en,

to make a
he, tell us,

fti. *'K

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SERMONS BY MOODY.

hear the forerunner, the wiklerness preacher, John. Save
the Master Hhnself, none ever preached like this man —
tliis man who (h'ew all Jerusalem and all Judea into the
wilderness to hear him ; this man who burst upon the
nations like the flash of a meteor. Let John the Baptist
come with his leathern girdle and his hairy coat, and
let him tell us what he thinks of Christ. His words,
though they were echoed in the wilderness of Palestine,
are written in the Book forever, " Behold the Lamb of
God which taketh away the sin of the world." This is
what John the Baptist thought of Him, " I bear reconl
that He is the Son of God." No wonder he drew all
Jerusalem and Judea to him, because he preached Christ.
And whenever men preach Christ, they are sure to have
plenty of followers.

Let us bring in Peter, who was with Him on the
mount of transfiguration, who was with Him the night
He wa,s betra3'ed. " Come, Peter, tell us what you think
of Christ. Stand in this witness-box and testify of Him.
You denied Him once. You said, with a curse, you did
not know Him. Was it true, Peter? Don't you know
Him?" "Know Him!" I can imagine Peter saying:
" It was a lie I told them. I did know Him." After-
wards I can hear him charging home their guilt upon
these Jerusalem sinners. He calls Him " both Lord and
Christ." Such was the testimony on the dayofPenti-
cost. "God hath made that same Jesus both Lord and
Christ." And tradition teljs us that when they came to
execute Petei-, he felt he wjis not worthy to die in th<'
way his Master died, and he requestr ' to be crucified
v»rith his heatl downwards. So much did Peter think of
Him !

Now let us hear from the beloved disciple John. H*'
knew more about Christ than any other man. He ha<l
laid his liead on his Saviour's bosom. He had heard tho
throbbing of that loving heart. Look into his gospel it
you wish to know what he thought of Him.

WHAT THINK YE OF CHRIST?

153

Save
lan—
,0 the
.u the
aptist
b, and
words,
est me,
imb of
This is
record

re\v all
Christ,
to have

on the
he night
ou think

of Hin^-

you did

ou know

sayinj,' •■
After-

aWt upon
Lord an<\
of Penti-

iLord and
came t«)

ie in th''
cruciticd

|r think oi

[ohn. Ho
He ha'l

I heard ti^o
gospel \i

i\Tatthcw writes of Him as the Royal Kinj^ come from
Ills throne. Mark writes of Him as the servant, and Luke
as the Son of Man. John takes up his ]ien, and with
one stroke, for ever settles the question of Unitarianism.
He goes right back before tlie time of Adam. " In the
beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God." Look into Revelation. He calls
II im "the bright and tlie Morning Star." So John
thought well of Him — because he knew Him well.

We might bring in Thomas, the doubting disciple.
" You doubted Him, Thomas ? You would not believe
llo had risen, and you put your fing«irs into the wound
in His side. What do you think of Him ? " '' My Lord
and my God !" says Thomas.

Then go over to Decapolis and you will find Christ has
been there casting out devils. Let us call the men of
that country and ask what they think of Him. "He
hidh done all things luell" they say.

But we have other witnesses to brinfj in. Take the
persecuting Saul, once one of the worst of His enemies,
breathing out threatcnings, He meets him. " Saul, Saul,
why persecutest thou Me ?" says Christ; and He might
have added, " What have I done to you ? Have I injured
you in any way ? Did I not come to bless you ? Why
do you treat Me thus, Saul ? " And then Saul asks,
" Who art Thou, Lord ? " "I am Jesus of Nazareth,
whom thou persecutest." You see. He was not ashamed
of His name ; although He had been in heaven, " I am
Jesus of Nazareth," What a change did that one inter-
view make to Paul ! A few years after we hear him say,
" 1 have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them
hut dross that I may win Christ." Such a testimony to
the Saviour ! \

But I shall go still further. I shall go away from earth
into the other world. I shall summon the angels and ask
what they think of Christ. They saw Him in the bosom
of the Father before the world was. Before the dawn of

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154

BERMONS BY MOODY.

creation ; before the morning stars sang together, He was
there. They saw Him leave the throne and come down
to the manner. "What a scene for them to witness ! Ask
these heavenly beings what they thought of Him then.
For once they are permitted to speak ; for once the silence
of heaven is broken. Listen to their song on the plains
of Bethlehem, " Behold, I bring you good tidings of great
joy which shall be to all people. For unto you is born
this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ
the Lord." He leaves the throne to save the world. Is
it a wonder the angels thought well of Him ?

Then there ai'e the redeemed saints — they that sec
Him face to f^ce. Here on earth He was never known,
no one seemed really to be acquainted with Him ; but
He was known in that world where He had been from
the foundation. What do they think of Him there ? If
we could hear from heaven, we should hear a shout which
would glorify and magnify His name. We are told that
when John was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and being
caught up, he heard a shout around him, ten thousand
times ten thousand, and thousands and thousands of
voices. " Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive
power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour,
and glory, and blessing ! " Yes, He is worthy of all this,
Heaven cannot speak too well of Him. Oh, that earth
wo\ild take uj) the echo, and join with heaven in singing,
" Worthy to receive power and riches, and wisdom, and
strengtli, and honour, and glory, and blessing ! "

But there is yet another witness, a higher still. Some
think that the God of the Old Testament is the Christ of
the Now. But when Jesus, came out of Jordan, baptized
by John, there came a voice from heaven. God, the Fathei',
Bpoke. It was His testimony to Christ : " This is ]\ly
beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." Ah, yes!
God the Father thinks well of the Son. And if God is
■well phrased with Him, so ought we. If the sinner and
God arc well pleasied with Christ, then the hinner and

WHAT THINK YE OF CHRIST?

155

3 was
down

Ask

then.
iilencG
plains
I (fvcat
is born

Christ

•Id. I«

hat sec
known,
im; hut
en fvou\
eve

? It

ut which
told that
nd being
.liousanvl
isands oi

receive

1 honour,
i all this,
iiat earth

. singiuL^
dow, and

II. Sonic
I Christ oE
, baptized
he Father,
bus is My
Ah, yes.
if God is
pinner ivn'^
dnner and

God can meet. The moment you say, as the Father said,
"I am well pleased with Him," and accept Him, you are
wedded to God. Will you not believe the testimony ?
Will you not believe this witness, this last of all, the
Lord of hosts, the King of kings, Himself ? Once more
He repeats it, so that all may know it. With Peter and
James and John, on the mount of transtiguration, He
cries again, " This is my beloved Son ; hear Him." And
that voice went echoing and re-echoing through Pales-
tine, through all the earth from sea to sea, yes, that voice
is echoing still, Hear Hivi ! Hear Him !

My friend, will you hear Him to-day ? Hark ! what
is He saying to you ? " Come unto Me, all ye that labour
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 'J'ake my
yoke upon you, and learn of Me ; for I am meek and
lowly in heart ; and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
For my yoke is easy, and my l)urden is light." Will you
not think well of such a Saviour ? Will you not believe
Him ? Will yon not trust in Him with all your heart
and mind ? Will you not live fur Him ? If He laid
down His life for us, is it not the least we can do to lay
down ours for Him ? If He bore the Cross and died on
it for me, ought I not to be willing to take it uj) for
Him ? Oh, have we not reason to think well of Him.
Do you think it is right and noble to lift up your voice
ai^'ainst such a Saviour ? Do you think it is just to cry,
" Crucify Him ! crucify Him ! " Oh, may God help all
of us to glorify the Father, by thinking well of His
only-begotten Son.

^CKt

Iff I

i'l

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1 1

CHRIST SEEKING SINNERS.

•* Th'' So7i of Man is come to seek and to save that which wa$

lost." — Luke xix : 10.

me this is one of the sweetest verses in tlie

whole Bible. In this one little short sentence

we are told what Christ c;uiie into this world

for. He came for a purpose ; He came to do

work, and in this little verse the whole story is

told. He came not to condemn the world, but that

the world, through llim, might be saved.

A few yeais ago, the Prince of Wales came to
America, and there was great excitement about this
Crown Prince coming to our country. The papers
took it up, and began to discusss it, and a great
many were wondei'itig what he came for. Was it
to look into the republican government ? Was it for
his health ? Was it to see our institutions ? or for
this, or for that ? He came, and went, but he never told
us what he came for. But when the Prince of Heaven
came down into this world, He told us what He came for.
God sent Him, and He came to do the will of His Father.
What was that ? " To seek and to save that which was
lost" And you cannot find any place in Scripture where
a man was sent by God to do a work in which he failed.

ti
tl

inc

CHRIST SEEKING SINNERS.

157

i, voa*

n the
itence

to do

|ory is

t that

God sent Moses to Ef^'^ypt to bring three millions of bonds-
men up out of the house of bondage into the promised
land. Did he fail ? It looked, at first, as if he were
going to. If we had been in the Court when Pharaoh
said to Moses, " Who is C?od, tliat I should obey Him ?"
and ordered him out of his presence, we might have
thought it meant failure. But did it ? God sent Elijah
to stand before Ahal), and it was a Itold thing when he
tohl him there should be neither dew nor rain ; but
didn't he lock up the heavens ibr three years and six
months ? Now here is God sending His own beloved Son
from His bosom, I'rom the throne, down into this world.
Do you think He is going to fail ? Thanks be to God,
He can save to the uttermost, and there is not a man in
this city who may not find it so, if he is willing to be
saved.

I find a great blessing to myself in taking up a pas-
sage like this, and looking all around it, to see what
brought it out. If you look back to the close of the
eighteenth chapter, you will find Christ coming near the
city of Jericho. And, sitting by tho wayside, was a poor,
blind beggar. Perhai)s he has been there for years, led
out, it ma,y be, by one of his children, or perhaps as we
sometimes see, he had got a dog to lead him out. There
he had sat for y^ars, and his cry hail been, " Please give
a poor blind man a farthing." One day, as he was sitting
there, a man came down from Jerusalem, and seeing the
poor, blind man, took his seat by his side, and said, " Bar-
timeus, I have good news for you." " What is it ? " said
the blind beggar. "There is a man in Isi-ael who is able
to give you sight." " Oh, no ! " said the blind beggar,
" there is no chance of my ever receiving sight. I was liorn
blind, and nobody born blind ever got sight. I shall never
see in this world ; I may in the world to come; but I must
go through this world i)lind." " But," said tho man, " let
me tell you, I was at Jerusalem the other day, and the
great Galilean prophet was there, and I saw a man who

■h

il''

t-i

f ;>:

I *

-J

!li|!!i,

158

SERMONS BY MOODY.

was born Llind that IkuI roceived his siirht ; and T never
saw a iiuin with better si'dit. ITe does not need to use
glasses ; he can see cjuite clear." Then for the first time,
hope rises in the poor man's heart, and he asks, " How
was it done ? " Wh}', Jesus spat on the ground and made
some clay, and anointed his eyes," (why, that is enough
to put a man's sight out, even if he can see !) " and sent
him to wash in the pool of Siloam, and while he was do-
ing so, he got two good eyes. Yes, it is so. I talked with
him, and I didn't see a man in all Jerusalem who h.id
better sii>ht." " What did he charixe ?" says Bartimvus.
" Nothing. There was no fee or doctor's bill ; he got his
sight for nothing. You just tell Him what you want ;
you don't need to have an influential committee to call
on Him, or any important de}>utation. The poor have as
much influence with Him as the rich ; all are alike."
" What is his name ? " asks Ijartimeus. " Jesus of Naza-
reth. And if He ever comes this way, don't you let Him
-by, without getting your case laid before Hun." And the
blind man says, " That you may be sure of ; He shall
never pass this way without my seeking Him."

A day or two after, he is led out, and takes his seat at
the usual place, still crying out for money. All at once
he hears the footsteps of a coming multitude, and begins
to cry, " Who is it ? " " Tell me, who is it ? " Some one
said that it was Jesus of Nazareth thpo was passing by.
The moment he hears that, he says to himself, " Why, that
is the man who gives sight to the blind," and he lifted up
his cry, " Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy upon
me ! " I don't know who it was — perhaps it was Peter —
who said to the man, " Hush ! keep still." He thought
the Lord was going up to Jerusalem to be crowned King,
and He would not like to be distui-bed by a po(U' blind
bciiuar. Oh, thev did not know the Son of God when
He was here ! He would hush every harp in heaven to
hear a sinner pray ; no nmsic delights Him so much. But
Bartimeus lifted up his voice louder, " Thou Son of David

CHRIST SEEKING SINNERS.

159

ever
) use
Liiue,
How
iiade
ough
. sent
IS (lo-
with
h:i<l

1U"US.

ot bis
want ;
to call
ave as
alike."
Naza-
it Hi'.ii
nd the
shall

soat at
t once
begins
ne one
ing by.
1

V, that
("toil np
upon
etei—
bought
I King,
blind
when
aven to
h. But
David.

have mercy on me." His prayer reached the car of the
Son of God, as prayer aiways will, and His footsteps were
arrested. He told them to brinof the man. "Bartimeus,"
they said, " be of good cheer, arise, He calleth thee ; " and
He never called any one, but He had soi.iething good in
store for him. Oh, snmer! rememl>er that to-night. They
led the blind man to Jesus. The Lord says, " What shall
I do for you ? " " Lord, that I may receive my sight."
" You shall have it," the Loi'd said ; and straightway his
eyes were opened.

I should have liked to have been there, to see that won-
derful scene. The first object that met his gaze was the
Son of God Himself, and now among the shouting multi-
tude, no one shouts louder than the poor blind man that
has got his sight. He glorifies God, and I fancy I can hear
him shouting, " Hosanna to tlie Son of David," morfi
sweetly than Mr. Sankey can sing.

Pardon me, if I now draw a little on my imagination.
Bartimeus gets into Jei'icho, and he says, "I will go and
see my wife, and tell her about it." A young convert al-
ways wants to talk to liis friends about salvation. Away
he goes down the street, and he meets a man who passes
him, goes on a few yards, and then turns round and says,
" Bartimeus, is that you ? " " Yes." " Well, I thought
it was, but I could not believe my eyes. How have you
got your sight?" "Oh, I just met Jesus of Nazareth
outside the city, and asked Him to have mercy on me."
" Jesus of Nazareth ! What, is He in this part of the coun-
try ? " " Yes. He is right here in Jericho. He is now
going down to the western gate." " I should like to see
Him," says the man, and aw.iy he runs tlown the street ;
but he cannot catch a glimpse of Him,' even though he
stands on tiptoe, being little of stature, and on account of
the great throng around Him. " Well, he says, " I am not
going to be disappointed ; " so he runs on, and climbs up
into a sycamore tree. " If I can get on to that branch,
hanging right over the highway, He cannot pass without

II' .• Si

li ;
l»

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SERMONS BY MOODY.

my getting a good look at Ilim." That must liavc "boon
a very strange sight to see tlie rich man climbing u\) a
tree like a boy, and hiding among the leaves, where he
thought nobody would see him, to get a glimpse of the
passing stranger ! There is the crowd bursting out, and
he looks for Jesus. He looks at Peter ; " Tluit's i^ot Him/'
He looks at John ; "That's not Him." At last his eye
rested on One fairer than the sons of men ; " Tliat's Him ! "
And Zaccheus, just peeping out from among the branches,
looks down upon the wonderful God-man in amazement.
At last the crowd comes to the tree ; it looks as if (Jhrist
were going by ; but He stops right under- the tree, looks
up, and says, "Zaccheus, make haste and come down." I
can imagine, the first thought in his mind was, " Who told
Him my name ? I was never iiitroduced to Him." Ali !
He knew him. Sinner, Christ knows all about you. He
knows your name and your house. You need not try to
hide from Him. He knows where you are, and all about
you.

Some people do not believe in sudden conversion. I
should like them to answer me when was Zaccheus con-
verted ? He was certainly in his sins when he went up
into that tree ; he ccrtaiidy was converted when he
came down. He must have been converted somewhere
between the branch and the jjround. It didn't take a
long while to convert that publican ! " Make haste and
come down. I shall never pass this way again ; this is
my last visit." Zaccheus made haste, and came down
and received Him joyfully. Did you ever liear of any
one receiving Christ in any other way ? He received
Him joyfully. Christ brings joy with Him. Sin, gloom
and darkness ilva away ; '* .;lit, peace and joy burst ii
the soul. May there be many that shall come doN
from their high places, and receive Christ to-night !

Some one may ask, " How do you know he was con-
verted ? " I thnik he gave very good evidence. I would
like to see as fruitful evidence of conversion here to*

con-
flit up
'11 lie
where
,ake a
,e and
ill is is

down
|f any

;cived
Igloom

5tii
do\

LS COM-

''O-ald

Lb tO'

CHRIST SEEKING SINNERS.

IGl

nii^lit. Lot some of you rich men he converted, and
give half your ijoods to feed the poor, and peojjle will
believe pretty quickly that it is genuine work I But
there is better evidence even than that. "If I have
taken anything from any man falsely, I restore him four-
fold." Very good evidence that. You say if people aro
converted suddenly, they won't hold out. Zaeeheus held
out long enougli to restore four-fold. \Vc should like to
have a work \vhieh reaelies men's poekets. I can imagine
one of his servants .^'"'"o to a iieighl»our next morning,
with a check for ^^100, and handing it over. ** What is
this for ? " Oh, my mast<;r defivauded you of S25 a few
years ago, and tliis is restitution money." That would
give confidence in Zaeeheus' conversion ! I wish a few
cases like that wouhl hn])p(!n now, and then j)eople would
stop talking against .'•.udden conversions.

The iiord goes to he the publican's guest, and while
He is there the Pharisees began to murmur and complain.
It would have been a good thing if Pharisees had died
off with that generation; but, unfortunately, they have
left a good many grand-children, living down here in the
afternoon of this nineteenth centuiy, who are ever com-
plaining, " This man rcceiveth sinners." But while the
Pharisees wee complaining, the Lord uttered the text
1 have to night, " I did not come to Zaeeheus to make
him wretched, to condemn him, to torment him; I came
to bless and save him. The Son of tnan is come to seek
and to save that u'hlch '(cas lost."

If there is a man or w^oman in this audience to-night
^ ) b'dievcs that he or she is lost, I have good news to
tell you — Christ is come after you. I was at the Fulton
8t et prayer meeting, a good many years ago, one Satur-
day night, and when the meeting was over a man came
to me and said, " I woidd like to have you go down to
the city prison to-morrow, and preach to the prisonei*s.
I said I woi 1 be very glad to f!;(). There was no chapel
in connection with that prison, and I was to preach to

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SERMONS BY MOODY.

tliein in their cells. I had to stand at a little i)'on railing
and talk down a great, long, narrow passage-way, to some
three or four hundred of tliem, I suppose, all out of sight.
It was pretty difficult work ; I never preached to the
bare walls before. When it was over I thought I would
like to see to whom I had been preaching, and how they
had received the Gospel. I went to the first door where
the inmates could have hoard me best, and looked in at
a little window, and there were some men playing cards.
I suppose they had been playing all the while. " How is
it with you here ? " I said. " Well, stranger, we don't
wan't you to get a bad idea of us. False witnesses swore
a lie, and that is how we are here." " Oh," I said,
" Christ cannot save anybody here, there is nobody lost."
I went to the next cell. " Well, friend, how is it with
you ?" "Oh," said the prisoner, "the man that did the
deed looked very much like me, so they caught mo, and I
am here." He was innocent too ! I passed along to the
next cell. " How is it with you ? " " Well, we got into
bad company, and the man that did it got clear, and we
got taken up, but we never did anything." I went along
to the next cell. " How is it with you ?" " Our trial
comes on next week, but they have nothing against us,
and we'll get free." I went round nearly every cell, but
the answer was always the same — they had never done
anything. Why, I never saw so many innocent men to-
gether in my life ! There was nobody to blame but the
magistrates, according to their way of it. These men
were wrapping their filthy rags of self-righteou.sness
about them. And that has been the story for six thous-
and years. I got discouraged as I went through the
piison, on, and on, and on, cell after cell, and every man
liad an excuse. H* he hadn't one the devil helped him to
make one. 1 had got almost through the prison, when 1
came to a cell and found a man with his elbows on his
knees, and liis head in his hands. Two little streams of
teal's were running down his cheeks; they did not come
by drops that time.

CHRIST SEEKLXG SINNERS.

163

30ine
;iglit.
) the
^ould

they
Arhere
. in at
cards,
low is

don't

swc)re
[ said,

y lost."

t with
[lid the
, and I
; to the
rot into
and we
t along
trial
inst us,
;cll, but
er done
men to-
but the
ise men
iousness
thous-
igh the
,ry man
\ him to
when 1
; on his
■cams of
tot come

" What's the trouble ?" I said. He looked up, the
picture of remorse and des}iair. " Oh, my sins are more
than I can bear." "Thank God For that" I replied.
" Wha,t," said he, " you are the man that has been preach-
ing to us, ain't you?" "Yes." "I tliink you said you
WQVQ a friend ?" "lam." "And yet you are glad that
my sins are more than I can boar !" "1 will explain," I
said; "if your sins are more than you can bear, won't you
cast them on One who will bo.ir them for you ?" " Who's
that?" "The Lord Jesus." "He won't bear my sins."
"Why not?" " I have sinned against Him all my life."
" I don't care if you have ; the blood of Jesus Christ, God's
Son, cleanses from all sin." Then I told him how Christ
had come to seek and save that which was lost; to open
the piison doors and set the captivts free. It was like a
cup of refreshment to find a man who l)elieved he was
lost, so I stood there, and held uj) a crucified Saviour to
him. " Christ was delivered for our oH'ciices, diet I for our
sins, rose again for our justificaticjn." For a long time
the man could not believe that such a miserable wretch
could be saved. He went on to enumerate liis sins, and
I told liim that the blood of Christ could cover them all.
After I had talked with him I said, "Now let us })ray."
He got down on his knees inside the cell, and I got down
outside, and I said, " Wm pray." " Why," he said, " ifc
would be blasphemy for me to call on God." " You call
on God," I said. He kr.elt down, and like the poor
publican, he lifted up his voice and said, "God be merci-
ful to me, a vile wretch !" I put my hand through the
window, and as I shook hands witli him a tear fell on my
hand that burned down into my soul. It was a tear of
lepentance. He believed he was lost. Then I tried to
get him to believe that Christ had come to si\ve him. I
K'ft him still in darkness, " I will be at the hotel," 1 said,
"between nine and ten o'clock, and f will pray for you."
Next morning, I felt so much interested in him, that I
thought I must see him before I go bat k to Chicago. No

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sooner liad my eye lighted on his face, than I saw remorse
and despair had tied away, and his countenance was
beaming with celestial light; the tears of joy had come
into his eyes, and the fears of despair were gone. The
Sun of Righteousness had broken out across his path ;
his soul was leaping within him for joy ; he had received
Christ, «s Zaccheus did, joyfully, "Tell me about it," I
said. " Well, I do not know what time it was ; I think
it was about midni<jht. I had been in distress a lon^r
time, whon all at once my great burden fell off, and now
T believe I am the happiest man in New York." I think
he was the happiest man 1 saw, from the time I left
Chicago till I g(;t back again. His face was lighted up
with the light that comes from the celestial hills. I bade
him good-by, and I expect to meet him in another world.

Can you tell me why the Son of God came down to
that prison that night, and, passing cell after cell, went
to that one and set tlx; captive free ? It was because the
man believed he was lost.

But you say, " / do not feel that." Well, never mind
your feelings ; believe it. Just ask yourself, " Am I saved,
or am I lost ?" It n.ust be one or the other. There is no
neuti'ality about the matter. A man cannot be saved
and lost at the same time ; it is impossible. Every man
and woman in this audience must either be saved or lost,
if the Bible be true; and if I thought it was not true, I
should not be here preaeliiug, and I would not advise you
people to come ; but if the Bible is true, every man and
every woman in this room must either be in the ark or
out of it, either saved or lost.

I do not believe there would be a dry eye in this city
to-night, if we would but wake up to the thought of
what it is to be lost. The world has been rocked to sleep
by Satan, who is going up and down and telling people
that it doesn't mean anything. I believe in the old-
fashioned heaven and hell. Christ came down to sav*^
us from a terrible hell, and any man who is cast down to

ell
til

CnmST SEEKING SINNERS.

165

orse
was
loinc
The
lath ;
jived
it." 1
:,hink

long

now
think
I lea
ed up
[ bade
world,
wn to
, went
ise the

mind
saved,
e is no

saved
:y man
or lost,
true, ]
ise you
an and

ark or

"liis city
(uuht of
M sleep
peopk'
lie old-
Ito save
town to

hell from this land must go in the full blaze of the gos-
pel, and over the mangled body of the Son of God.

We hear of a man wlio has lost liis health, and we
sympathize with him, and we say it is very sad. Our
hearts are drawn out in sympathy. Here is another man
who has lost his wealth, ami we say, " Tliat is very sad."
Here is another man who has lost his reputation, his
standing among men. " That is sadder still," you say.
We know what it is to lose health and wealth, an*! repu-
tation, but what is the lois of all these things compared
wdth the loss of the soul ?

I was in an eye-infirmary in Chicago some time ago,
before the great fire. A mother brought a beautiful
little babe to the doctor — a babe only a few month's old
— and wanted the doctor to look at the child's eyes. He
(lid so, and pronounced it blind — blind for life — it will
never see again. The moment he said that, the mother
seized it, pressed it to her bosom, and gave a terrible
scream. It pierced my heart, and I could not but weep.
What a fearful thought to that mother ! " Oh, my dar-
ling," she cried, "are you never to see tlie mother that
gave you birth ? Oh, doctor, I cannot stand it. My
child !" It was a sight to move any heart. Jiut what is
the loss of eyesight to the loss of a soul ? I had a thou-
sand times rather have these eyes taken out of my head
• nd go to the grave blind, than lose my soul. I have a
son, and no one but God knows how I love him ; but I
would see those eyes dug out of his head to-night rather
than see him grow up to manhood and go down to the
grave without Christ and witliout hope. TIMie loss of a
soul ! Christ knew what it meant. That is what brou'dit
Him from the bosom of the Father; that is what brought
Him from the Throne; that is what brought Him to Cal-
vary. The Son of God was in earnest. \Vhen he died on
Oalvary it was to save a lost world ; it was to save your
Boul and mine.

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SERMONS BY MOODY.

O tlie loss of the soul — how terrible it is ! If you are
lost to-ni<^4it, I Ijesecch you do not rest until you have
found |-eace in Clu-ist, Fathers and mothers, if you have
children out of the Ark, do not rest until they are brought
into it. Do not discourage your children from comin;:^ to
Christ. I am glad to see those little boys and girls here.
Dear children, rememher the sermon is for you. The Son
of Man came ior you as nmch as for that old gray-haired
man, yonder. He came for all, rich and poor, young and
old. Young man, if you are lost, may God show it to
you, and may you press into the kingdom. The Son of
Man is come to seek and to save you.

Till re is a story told of Rowland Hill. He was once
})reachingin the open air to a vast audience. Lady Anne
Erskine was riding by, and she asked who it was that
was atldrossing the vast asseudjly. She was told that it
was the celebrated RowHud Hill. Says she, " I have
heard of him ; drive me near the platform, that I may
listen to him." The eye of Rowland Hill rested on her;
he saw that she belonged to royalty, and, turning to some
one, he inquired who she was. He went on preaching,
and all at once he stop})ed. " My friends," he said, " 1 have
got something here for sale." Everybody was startled to
think that a minister was going to sell something in his
sermon. " I am going to sell it by auction, and it is worth
more tl-.an the crowns of all Europe : it is the soul of Lady
Anne Eiskine. Will any one bid for her soul ? Hark!
inethiidvs I hear a bid. Who bids? Satan bids. What
will you give { 1 will give riches, honour and pleasure;
yea, 1 will give the whole world for her soul. Hark! I
hear another ])id for this soul. Who bids? The LomI
Jesus Christ. Jesus, what will you give for this soul (
I will iiivG ]H'ace, and joy, and comfort that the world
knows not of; yea I will give eternal life for her soul."
Turning to Lady Anne Erskine, he said, " You have
heaid tiie two bidders for your soul — which shall havt;
it i " She ordered tho footman to open the door, an< 1

CHRIST SEEKING SINNERS.

167

u are
have
have
)ught
Lii*^ to
here,
e Son
iaire<l
igand
s' it to
Son of

,s once
' Anne
a,s that
that it
I have
1 may
n her ;
o some
aching,
1 have
tied to
in his
wortli
A La.ly
Hark !
What
leasure ;
iarkl I
le Lo!<l
is soul (
world
jr soul.
ju have
all hav«;
oor, an- 1

pushing her way through the crowd, she says, "The Lord
Jesus shall have my soul, if He will accept it." That may
be true, or it may not ; but there is one thing I knoiu to
be true — there are two bidders for your soul to-night. It
is for you to decide wdiich shall have it. Satan offers you
what ho cannot give ; he is a liar, and has been from the
foundation of the world. I pity the man who is living
on the devil's promises. He lied to Adam, and deceived
him, stripped him of all he had, and then left him in his
lost, ruined condition. And all the men since Adam, liv-
ing on the devil's lies, the devil's promises have been dis-
appointed, and will be down to the end of the chapter.
But the Lord Jesus Christ is able to give all He offers,
and He offers eternal life to every lost soul here. " The
gift of God is eternal life." Who will have it ? Will
any one flash it over the wires, and let it go up to the
throne of God that you want to be saved ? As Mr.
Sankey sang of that shout around the throne, my heart
went up to God, that there might be a great shout for
lost ones broucfht home to-nifjht.

Last night, a young man told me he was anxious to be
saved, but Christ had never sought for him. I said,
" What are you waiting for ? " " Why," he said, " I am
waiting for Christ to call me : as soon as He calls me, I
am couung." There may be others here who havo got
the same notion. Now, 1 do not believe there is a man
in the city that the S[)irit of Gt)d has not striven with at
some period of his life. I do not believe there is a person
in this audience but Christ has sought after him. IJear
in ndiul, He takes the place of thesteker. Every man who
has ever been saved through these six thousand years was
sought after by God. No sooner did Adam fall, than God
sought Him. He had gone away frightened, and hid
himself away among the bushes in the garden, but God
took the place of the Seeker ; and from that day to this,
God has always had the place of the Seeker. No man
or woman in this audjej]ce has been saved but that He
bought tUoiij fjrst.

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SERMONS BY MOODY.

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u ■

What do we read in the fifteenth chapter of St. Luke ?
There is a shepherd bringing home his sheep into the
fold. As they pass in, he stands and nuniljers them. I
can see him counting one, two, three, up to ninety-nine.
" But," says he, " I ought to have a hun(h"ed; I must have
made a uii.jt'dvc ; " and he counts tliem over again.
" There are only ninety-nine here ; I must have lost one."
He does not say, " I will let him find his own way back."
No 1 He takes the place of the Seeker ; he goes out into
the mountain, and hunts until he finds the lost one, and
then he lays it on his shoulder and brings it home. Is it
the sheep that finds the shepherd ? No, it is the shep-
hei'd that finds and brings back the sheep. He rejoiced
to find it. Undoubtedly the sheep was very glad to get
back to the fold, but it was the shepherd who rejoiced,
and who called his friends and said, " Rejoice with me."
Then there is that woman who lost the piece of money.
Some one, perhaps, had paid her a bill that day, giving her
ten pieces of silver. As she retires at night, she takes
the money out of her pocket and counts it. " Why," she
says, " I have only got nine pieces ; I ought to have ten."
She counts it over again. " Only nine pieces ! Where
have I been," she says, " since I got that money ? I am
sure 1 have not been out of the house." She turns her
pocket wrong side out and there she finds a hole in it.
Does she wait until the money gets backs into her pock-
et ? No. She takes a broom, and lights a candle, and
sweeps diligently. She moves the sofii and the table and
the chairs, and all the rest of the furniture, and sweeps in
every corner until she finds it. And when she has found
it, who rejoices ? The piece of money ? No ; the woman
who finds it. In these parables, Christ brings out the
great truth that God takes the place of Seeker. People
talk of finding Christ, but it is Christ who first finds
them.

Another young man told me last night that he was too
great a sinner to be saved. Why, they are the very men

CHRIST SEEKING SINNERS.

1G9

she

ten."
'here

I am

IS her
in it.
pock-
and

[le and

jeps in

found

roman

it the

|People
finds

ras toe
:y men

Christ came after. *' This man receivotli sinner?!, and
cateth with them." Tlie only cha)"j:^e tliey could brin^f
aerainst Christ down here was that He was reeeivine: had
men. They are the very kind of men He is willinf,' to
receive. All that you have got to do is to prov^e that
you are a sinner, and I will prove that you have i:,^ot a
Saviour. And tlie greater the sinner, tlie greater need
you have of a Saviour. You say your heart is hard ;
well, then, of course, you -want Christ to vsoften it. You
cimnot do it youi>elf. The harder youi' heart, the more
need you have of Christ ; the blacker vou ai-e, the more
need you have of a Saviour. If your sins r'se up before
you like a dark mountain, bear in mind that ':he blood of
Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin. There is no sin so
big, or so black, or so corrupt and vile, br.fc the blood of
Christ can cover it. So I preach the old Gospel again,
" The Son of Man is come to seek and t) save that which
was lost."

It was Adam's fall, his loss, that brouiiht out God's
love. God never told Adam when he ])uthim into Eden,
that he loved him. It was his fall, his sin that brouirht
it out. A friend of mine, from Manchester, was in
Chicago, a few years ago, and le was very much in-
terested in the city — a great city with its oOO,000, or
400,000 inhabitants, with its gre;\t railvvay centres, its
lumber market, its pork market, and its gi-ain market,
lie said he went back to iNlanchester and told his friends
about Chicago. Ihit he could not get anyV)ody very
nnich interested in it. It was a great many hundreds of
Jiiiles away; and the people did not seem to care for hear-
iiii,' about it. But one day there came ilashing along th(i
wire the sad tidings, that it was on lin^ ; and my frieiid
said the Manchester people became suddenly interested
in Chicago ! Every despatch that came they read ; they
Itonght up the papers, and devoured every ])article of
Hews. And at last, wh»m the despatch came that Chicago
was burning up. that 100,000 people were turned out of
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170

SERMONS BY MOODY.

house and homo, tlien every one became so interestea
that they began to weep for us. They came forward and
laid down their nionev — some tr'ive hundreds of dollars
for the relief of the poor sufferers. It was the calamify
of Chicago that brought out the love of Manchester, and
of London, and of Liverpool. I was in that terrible fire,
and I saw men that were wealthy stripped of all they
had. That Sunday night, when tiiey retired, they were
tlie richest men in Chicago. Next morning they were
paupers. But I did not see a man weep. But when the
news came Hashing along the wire, " Liverpool gives ten
thousand dollars ; Manchester sends five thousand dollars ;
London is ^giving money to aid the city;" and as the
news kept llashing that help was coming, our city was
broken-hearted. I saw men weep then. The love that
was shown us broke our hearts. So the love of God
ought to break every heart in this city. It was love that
broujxht Christ down here to die for us. It was love
made Him. It was love that made Him leave His place
by the Father's throne and come down here to seek and
to sdve that ivkich luas lost.

But now for the sake of those men who believe Christ
never sought them, perhaps it would be well to say how
He seeks. There are a great many ways in which He
does so. Last night I found a man in the Inquiry-room,
and the Lord had been speaking to him by the prayers
of a godly sister, who died a while ago. Her prayers
were answered. He came into the Inquiry-room trem-
bling from hea<l to foot. T tnlked to him about the plan
of salvation, and the tears trickled down his cheeks, and
at last he took Christ as his Saviour. The Son of Man
sought out that young man through the prayers of his
sister, and then through her death.

Some of you have go.ily, praying mothers, who have
prayed whole nights for your soul, and who have now
gone to heaven. Did m>t you take their hand and
[)romise that you would meet them there ? That was

CHRIST si:f,k:.\(; sin'Nkrs.

171

tea

ind

lavs

an<l
firo,
bbey
v\ere
weri3
a the
!S ten
liars ;
3 the
y was
Q that
f God
e that
IS love

place

k and

Christ
uy liotc
lich He
'-room,
[Dvayers
n-ayers
[i trem-
\e plai»
:s, and
)f Man
of his

10 have

Ive now

id and

ka^ was

the Son of God soo!<IiilJ you by your mother's prayers,
and your mother's death. Some of you li.ivc got faith-
ful, godly ministers, who weep for you in the pulpit, and
plead with you to coinc to Chri.st. Yc u have heard
heart-searching soi-mrms, and the truth has gone down
deep into your heart, aiid tears have come down your
cheeks. That was the Son of God seeking you. Somo
of 3'ou have godly, pra3nng Sabhalh-seh'tol teachers and
suj-'crintendents urging you to conic to Christ. Some of
you, perhaps, have gut young men converted round you,
and they have talked wit-ii you and pleaded with you to
come- to Christ. Tiiat was the Son of God seeking after
your soul. Some of you have had a tract put in your
hand with a startling title, "Eternity: Where will You
sp.'iid it?" and the arrow has gone home. That was
the Son of God seeking aft'-r you. Many of you have
been laid on a bed of sickness, when you had time to
think and meditate. And in the silent watches of the
night, when everybody was asleep, the Spirit of God has
come into your chainl)or, has come to your bedside, and
the thought came stealing through your mind that you
oucrht to be a child of God and an heir of heaven. That
was the Son of God seeking after your lost soul. Some
of you have had little children, and you iiave laid them
yonder in the cemetery. When that little child was
dying you promised to love and serve God (ah, have you
kept that promise ?) Tliat was the Son of God seeking
you. He took that little child yonder to draw your
all'ections heavenwards.

It would take me all night to tell the different ways in
which the Lord seeks. Can you rise in this hall to-night
and say that the Son of God never sought ?/(/(t ? I do not
helieve there is a man or woman in this audience, or in
the whole city, who couhl do it. My friend, He has been
calling for nou from vour earliest childhood, and He havS
put it into the hearts of God's own people just to call you
together in this hall. Prayer is going up all over the

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SERMONS BY MOODr.

Christian world for you. Purliii|)s tlicro lias never been
a time in the history of your life when so many w<.'ro
prayinj^ for yc u as at the present time. That is the Son
ot God seeking for your soul tlirouufh the ]>rayers of the
Church, through the prayeis of ministers, through tho
prayers of the saints, not on.y about you, hut throughout
the world. I am receiving letters almost daily from both
.sides the ocean, saying continual prayer is going up to
God for this worlc. What does it mean ? God has laid
it upon the heart of the Church throughout tlie world to
pray for this work. It must be that (Jod lias something,
good in store for us here ; the Son of Man is come to seek
and to save that which was lost ; and I pray that the
Good Shepherd may enter this hall tu-night, and may
come to many a heart, and that you may hear the still
small voice : " 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." friends,
open the door to-night, and let the heavenly Visitor in.
Do not turn Ilim away any longer. Do not say with
Felix, " Go thy way this time, and when I have a conve-
nient season I will call for thee." Make this a convenient
season ; make this the night of your salvation. Receive
the gift of God to-night, and open the door ot your heart,
and say, " Weleouio, thrice welcome into this heart of
mine."

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REV. THOMAS DE WITT TALMAGE,

EEV. THOMAS DE WITT TALMAGE.

if.

'^i^^lL"^ REV. MR. TALMAllE was born in New Jersey,

'J, 1832. He waa

M ^S^!/^ United States, on the 7th J

*yy^ the youngest of twelve children, tive girls and seven
^ boys. Three of his brothers preceded him in the Min-
istry. TTis parents are said to have been persons of excellent
Christian cliaracter. He was cducatt'd at the New York
University, and graduattd from ihe Theological Seminary of
New BrHn*i>vick, in his native State.

He Icv.iine a Christian wlun eighteen years of age, and
entered the Ministry at Helleville, New Jersey, where he
remained about three years. He then took a charge at
Syracuse, New York State, and after labouring there for
other three years, removed to Philadelphia, Penn. , where
he preached forseven years, his congregation being the largest in
that city. During this time his preaching was very fruitful in
spiritual results. Afterwards ho removed to Brooklyn, New York,
and undertoook charge of a church with only nineteen voting
members.

Ill

170'

REV. THOMAS DE WITT TALMAGE.

ill

I I

1
1

Mr. Talmago had already sot his liuart upon trying to build np
a froo church. Whon it bocauio necossary to procure more accom-
modation for the people «ho attended his services, he laid before
his trustees liia plan for free seats, aiul oU'erod to make his lialary
dependent upon its s.iccess. His propositit n was accepted, and
tlie plans for the " Taberuiiclo " were prepared and the seats soar-
ranged that all should have an eipnil opi)ortunity to see and hear
the speaker, and bo brought into tiio closest possible relation with
him.

Tiiis "Tabernacle" was built in 1870, and although it would
acccmmodate about three thousand people, it had soon to be en*
larged. It was de8troye<l by tire in December, 1S72. Mr. Tal-
nuige and hifi fai lily were on their way to Church when the
news of its destruction reached him. He was not the least dis-
mayed, and simply remarked : — " Well, tlie building was never
large onovigh ; now the people throughout Ihu country will hel[>
us to build a more roomy structure." During the lire nis church
trujteoB met and resolved to erect a larger building.

Mr. Talmage is an extraordinary preacher. He j)reache8 the
(.jospel, literally as he tinds it, with a simplicity and thoroughness
that withhold nothing, and he defers to no prejudiced interest or
ism. He feels the closest sympathy with humanity, and possesses
descriptive itowors of the highest order anil has great fertility in
illustration.

Personally, Mr. Tahnuge is one of the most uiuiasuming of men.
He is of vivacio\is temperment, of pleasant nddivs.'*, ra'*y to ap-
proach, is jovial with his associates, and a utruu^uv would uut tuku
him to bo a world-ruuowcd proaciier.

np
im-

oro
ary
and
i)!ir-

llCiVV

with

oulJ
a on-
Tal-
[1 tho
t dia-
novci"
I UoU»
plivircU

s Uio

est or

3808SO3

lility in

If men.

I to ii\)-
A tuku

THE

FOUR GREAT rJlEACIIERS.

•,^.^.\r.*\.X'V'\.".\^-.-\,-.v\'\\v\.*v'vx

SERMONS BY T. DE WITT TALMAGE.

CHRIST EVERYTHING.

lans.

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178

SERMONS BY TALMAQE.

;: ri

Platonism, Orientaiism, Stoicism, Brahminism, and Bud"
dhisiu. considering the ages in which they were established,
were not lacking in ingenuity and force. Now, in this
line of heneHcent institutions and of nolJe men, there ap-
peared a personage more wonderful tlum any predecessor.
He came from a family without any royal or aristocratic
pretension, lie became a Galilean mechanic. He had no
advantage from the schools. There were jieople beside
him, day after day, who had no idea that He was going
to be anything remarkable, or do anything remarkable.
Yet, notwithstanding all this, and without any title, or
scholary pretension, .or lluming rhetoric. He .startled the
world v/ith the strangest anouncements, ran in collision
with solemn ])riests and ]>roud luler.s, and with a voice
that rang through temple and [)alace, and over ship's deck
and mountain top, exclaimed: "I am the light of the
world !" Men were taken all aback at the idea that that
hand, yet hard fiom the use of the axe, and saw, and adze,
and hatchet, should wave the s<-epti'e of authority ; and that
u])on that brow, from which tliey had so often seen Him
wipe the sweat v)f toil, there would yet couu^ the crown of
unparalleled splendour and of universal dominion. We
all know ho\.' dillicuU it is to be anything g]"eat or famous ;
and no wonder that those who had hei-n boys with Clirist
in the streets of Na/ai'eth, and seen Hiui in after years in
the days of His complete obscurity, sliould have been very
slow to aeknowledge ('hrist's wonderful mission.

From this humble point the stream of life Howed out.
At lirst it was just a faint lill, hardly able to lind its way
down the rock ; but the tvuvs of a weeping Christ ad«le«l
to its volume, ami it Howed on until by the beauty an«l
greenne-,.s >i its baidvs you might know the path tin;
crystal stream was taking; on mikI on, until the lepers
were brongiit down and washed off their leprosy, and the
dead w«'re lifted into the water that they might have life,
and pearls of joy and prondse wei" g}ith«ieil from the
brinlv,a!i I innumerable churches gathered on i itlit-r bank;

out.

way
/ au'l

in the

CRRIST EVERVTiriN'G.

170

ami the tide ffows on deeper, and stronger, and wider,
until it rolls into the river from under thr throne of God,
minLdinir Inllow with billow, and briuditness with l.trifjht-
ness, and joy with joy, and hosanna witii hosanna I

I was lookinij a few davs airo at some of the paintini;s
of the late artist, Mr. Kensett. I saw some pieturrs that
faint outlines; in some

.1'

only the branches of a tree and no trunk, and in another
ease, the trunk and no branches. He had not lini'-hed the
work. It would have taken him days, anil months, per-
haps, to have completed it. Well, my fiiends, in this world
we net only thr faintest outlines of what Christ is. It
will take all cteinity to fill up the picture; so lovinjj^, so
kind, so meiTifid, so !:;Teat ! Paul <loes not in this chapter
say of Christ, He is good, or He is loving, or He is ])atient,
or He is kind ; but in his exehmuition of the text he em^

ever

ytl

iin<' wlien

say:

Christ is all and in

I remark in the first place, Christ is evevytluiKj in the
ll\bl<>; I do not care when* 1 open the Bible, 1 find Jesus.
In wliatevei- path I start, I conu^ after awhile, to the
Hethk'hem manger. I go back to the old tlispensation
and see a land> on tlie altar and say: " IJehold the Land)
of Cod that t.aki>th away tlie sin of the world." Then I
go and see the manna provided for the Israelites in the

ild

wiioerness, an(

1 I

'^>'

Jesus, the bread of life

I look at the I'oek which was smitten by prophet's rod,
and, as the water gushes out, I say: "It is Jesus, the
fountain opened for ^in and uneK^anness." 1 go back and
look at the writings of Job. and I liear him e»\elaim: " I
know

at tl
that

Ile<T

eemer hvetli." Tlu!n I l'o to K/ekiel,

and 1 find (Jhrist j>resented there as "a plant of renown;"
and then I turn over to Isaiah, and (Christ is spoken of
"as a sh«'ep l>efon' lier shearers is ddudt, so Ht; o|iens not
Mis mouth." It is Je.susall the way between (Jeiiesis and
Mahiehi. Then I turn over to th«3 New Testament, and
it is Chiist in tlie parable, it is Christ in the miracle, it u

180

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

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Chnst in the Evan<:,^elists' stoiy, it is Christ in the apostles*
epistles, and it is Christ in the trumpet peal of the Apoc-
alypse.

I know there are a j:^reat many people who do not fnul
Christ in the Bible. Here is a man who studies the Bible
(IS (1)1 h't.<f<)rian. Well, if you come as an historian, }ou
will lind in this book how the world was made, how the
seas tied to their places, how emi)irr'S were e->tabli.shed,
how nation fou(i;ht with nation, javelin rini^dni,' against
harbegeon, until the earth was ghastly with the death
You will see the coronation of princes, the triumph of
concjuerois, and the world turned ujfside down, and back
again, and d«)wn again, cleft and scarred with great
agonies of eartlnjuake, and tempest, and battle. It is ;i
wonderful history, ])utting to the blush all others in th«-
accuracy of its recital, and in the stupendous events it
records. Homer, and Thucydides, and Gibbon, could
make great stories of little events ; but it took a Mo.ses to
t(ll how the heavens and tlie earth were made, in on<'
chapter, and to give the history of thousands of years u])-
on two leaves.

There are others who come to the Bible merely as (mi!-
quarlauH. If you come as an antiijuarian, you will tin!
a great many odd things in tiic Bible; jx-cularities of
dress — tunics, sandals, crisping jiins, amulets and girdle-,
and tinkling ornaments. If you come to look at militai v
arrangements, you will lind coats of mail, an<l javelin-,
and engines of war, and circumvolutions, and encam^'-
ments. If you look for pecidiar musical instruments, yo^i
will Hnd psalteries, shigionalhs, and rams' liorns. Tin
antii|uarian will Hnd in the Jiible cnriosities in agricultur- ,
and in commerce, and in art, and in religion, that wn'
keep him absorlu'd a great wbile. 'I'liere are those wit ■
come to the Bible as you would to a cabinet of curiosities,
and you pick uj) this and say. "What a strange sw. r.i
that is;" and " What a peculiar hat this is;" and " Wl,.:t
an unlooked for lump that is;" and the Bible to sucli
becomes a British M useuui.

CHRIST EVEPwYTIIING.

181

)stles'
Apoc-

it fin»l
Bible
n, >ou
)W the
lislie<l,
Lirainst
! clean.
a\>h of
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lars up-

as
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Inilitan
iivelins,
;ncann»-

Ints, you

Then there arc others wlio find notliini^ in the Biblo
but the foetry. Well, if you come as a poot, you will find
in this book faultless rliylhni, and bold ima^^^ery, and
startling antithesis, and rapturous lyrio, and sweet pas-
toral, and instructive narrative, and devotional psalm-
thoughts, expressed in. a style more solcnni than that of
Montg(Uiiery, more bold than that of Milton, more terrible
than that of Dante, more natural than that of Wordsworth,
more impassioned than that of oUock, more tender than
that of (Jowper. more weird than that of Spenser. This
great poem brings all the gems of the earth into its coro-
n<>t, and it weaves the flames of judgment in its garlands,
and pours eternal harmonies in its rhythm. lOveiything
this book touches it makes beautiful from the plain stones
of the summer thresh ing-Hoor to tlie daughteis of Nahor
tilling the trough for the camels ; and the fish pools of
Heshbon; up to the psahnist praising God with (liai>!ison
of storm and whirlwind, and Job leading forth Orion,
Arcturus and the Pleiades. It is a wonderfid poem, aiul
a great many people read it as they do 'j'homas Mooj-e's
" Lalla Rookh," and Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake,"
and Southey's "Curse ot Gehenna." 'i'hey sit down and
are so absorbed in looking at the sliells on the shore, that
they forget to look otf on the great ocean of God's mercy
and salvation.

Then there are otheis who come to this book a.s weptica.
They marshal ])assage after passage, and try to get
Matthew and Luke in a <iuaii-el, and would have a dis-
crepancy between what Paul and James say about fnitli
ami works; and they try the account of Moses c(»ncerning
the creation by modern decisions in sciunee, and resolve,
that in all <piestions between the scientific explorer and
and the inspired writer, they will give the ])reference to
the geologist. These men — these spiders I will say — suck.
]K)ison out of the sweetest Howers. 'i'hey fatten their
infidelity upon the trutlks which have led thousands to
heaven, and in their distorted visions, prophet seems to

I ' I

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182

SEUMOXS BY TALMAGE.

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1 1

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-tii

war with prophet, aiid ov\an;^elist with evaiiijoli: i, and
apostle with apostle ; and it" they can find some bad trait
of character in a nian of (lod mentioned in that Bible,
these carrion crows caw and fhij) their wings over the
carcase. Because they cannot understand how the whale
swallowed Jonah, thov attempt the more wonderful feat
of swallowing the monster wliale of modern scepticism.
They do not believe it possibK' that the Bible story sliould
be true which says that the dmnb ass spake, while they
thenjselves j>rove the thing ]»ossilile by their own utter-
ances! lam annised Ixyond bound when 1 hear one of
these men talking about a future life. Just ask a man
who rejects that Bible what heaven is, and hear him be-
fog your soul, lb- will tell you that heaven is merely the
development of the internal resources of a man ; it is
ctHorescence of the dynamic To)-ees into a state of ethereal
and transcendental h'.cubiation ii». close juxtapositi<m to
the ever jiresent "was," and the great "to be," and the
everlasting "no"! Considering themselves to be wise, they
are fools for time and etei-nity.

Then, there is another class of persons, who come to tlie
Bible as co}if)'ov<'t'si<i/ist''i. They are enormous Presby-
terians, or tierce Baptists, or violent Methodists. Tlwy
cut the Bible to suit their creed, instead of cutting theii'
creed to suit the Bible. If the Scripture thinks as they
do, well ; if not, so nuieh the worse for the Scriptures.
The Bibl(» is merely the whetstone on which they sharpt-n
the dissecting-knife of controversy. They come to it as
a irov(M'nm«'nt in time of war comes to armories or arsen-
als for weapons and munitions. They have declare!
everlasting war against all other sects; an<l they want so
many broad swords, so man}' muskets, so many howitzers
so many cohunbiads, so nnich graj)e and canister, so man\
field pieces, with which t^) take the field of dispute, for
they mean to get the \ iCtory thoiigli the heavens bt
darkened with smoke and tiie cart.b rend with the thim-
ier. What do they cure a'f'-Mit tit^ religion of the Lonl

CHRIST EVERYTHING.

is:}

Jesus Christ! I have seen some such men come 1)ack from
an ecclesiastieal massacre as proud of thoir achievement
as an Indian warrior boasting of the number of scalps he
has taken, I have more admii'ation for a man wlio goes
forth witli his ti.sts to get the oliampionshi]) — for a Heenan
or ii Morrisey — than I have for tlicse thcoloMica! pugilists,
who make our theological magazines ring with their horri-
ble warcry. There are men who seem to think the only use
of the sword of truth is to stick somebody. There is one
passage of the Scriptures that they like better than all
others, and that is this : " jik'ssc*! is the Lord which teach-
eth my hands to war and my fingers to figlit." Woe to
us if we come to God's word as controversialists, or as
sceptics, or as connoiHseuvs, or as fault-tinders, or merely
as poets. Those only get into the heart of God's truth
who come secJdiig for Christ Welcome all such. They
will find, coming out froih behind the curtain of pro-
l)hecy, until He stands in the full light of New Testament
disclosures, Jesus the Son of God, the Saviour of the
world. Thoy will find Him in gonealogical table and
cluvmological calculation, in poetic stanza and in historical
narrative, in piofound parable and in startling miracle.
They will see His foot on every sea, and his tears in the
"Ivops of dew on Her!P.o!i, and liear His voice in the wind,
ami boh(dd PFis words all abloom in the valley betwcrn
mount Olivet and Jciusalcm. There are som.e men who
come and walk around this teujple of truth and merely
see the outside. There are others who walk into the
l>orch and then go away. There are others who come in
and look at the i)ictures, but they know nothing what are
the chief attractions of the Bible. Jt is only the man
who comes and knocks at the ixate, savinir: "1 wo\dd .see
Jesus" — for him the glories of that Ijook open, and he goes
in and finds Christ; and with Him, peace, ])ardon, life,
C'>nifort, and heaven, " All in all is Jesus " in the Bible,
1 remark again, that Christ is everything in the great
:hn of redemption. Wo are slaves; Christ gives deliver-

^^1

184.

SERMOXS r.Y TALMA OK.

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I ' ■

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Hif

'■W!?''

anco to ilio cajiiivr.'-?. Wo aro tlilrsty; ('lirist is tlw rivor
of salvjitioti to slake otii" tJiiisb. Wo aro lmni;Ty ; .Josiis
says: "1 jim tlio Iticad of Jife." Wo arc oondemnod to
(lie; Cluist says : "Save tliat man from fruiiiir down to
the pit. I am tlio ransom," We are tossod on a sea of
troubles; Jesus conies over it saying: Jt is I, be not
afraid." We are in darkness; Jesus says: "I am the
bright an<l morning star." We are sick ; Josus is the
liahn of Giload. Wo aro dead ; lioar tlio shrouds rend and
the grave hillocks heave, as llo ci'ios : "1 am the resur-
rection and the lii'o, he that boliovoth in mo though he
were dead, vot shall he live." Wo want justification:
" being justitiod Ity fnith, we have peace with God throuf/h
our Lord Jcsusi (.'Iiri^t." We want to exercise faith;
" Believe in the Lord Josus Christ and thou shalt be
saved." I want to got from under condemnation; "There
is now, thcrei'oro, no ci>ndonuiation to them who are in
Christ Jesus." The cross — He cnrriod it. The flames of
hell — He sull'orod thoin. The shame — He endured it.
The crown — Ho wore it. The heights of heaven sing it,
and worlds of light to worlds of light, all around the
heavens cry : "Clory! glory!"

Lot us go forth and gather the trophies for Jesus.
From Goloonrla mines wo gather the diamonds; from
Ceylon banks we gather the pearls; from all lands and
kingdoms we gather precious stones ; and wo bring the
glittering burdens and put them down at the foot of Jesus,
and say : " All those are thine. Thou art worthy." We
go forth again f(;r more trophies, and into one; sheaf wo
gather jill the sceptres of the Ca'sars, and the Alexanders,
and the Czars, and the Sultans of all royalties and domin-
ions, and then wo bring the sheaf of sceptres and put it
at tlie feet of Josus, and say: "Thou itrt King of kings,
and these thou hast con(|uered." And then we go forth
again to gather more trophitvs, and wo bid the redeemed
of all ages, the sons and daughters of the Lord Almighty,
to come. We ask tliera to como and otier their tru*»

CHRIST EVERYTHING.

185

vivor

p(l to
^n to
ica of
»e not
n the
is the
1(1 ami
resiir-
f;h he
Nition :
hrouflh
faith ;
alt be
"There
are in
^mes of
red it.
sing it,
IK I the

thanksprivin^s, and tlie liosts of heaven bring crown, and
pahn, and sceptre, and here by these bleeding feet, and by
this riven side, and by this wounded heart, cry: " Bless-
ing, and honour, and glory and power be unto Him that
sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever and for
ever." Tell me of a tear he did not wee[), of a burden
that He did not carry, of a battle He did not tight, of a
victory that He did not achieve. " All in all is Jesus" in
the great plan of redemption.

1 remark again: Christ is everything to the Christian
in time of troiihJe. Who has escaped trouble ? We must
all stoop down an<l drink out of the bitter lake. 1'he
moss has no time to grow on tJ>e i)uckets that come up
out of the heart's well, dripping with tears. Great trials
are upon our track as certain as grey-hound pack on the
scent of deer. From our hearts, in every direction, there
are a thousand cords reaching out, binding us to loved
ones, and ever and anon some of those tendrils snap. The
winds that cross this sea of life aro not all abaft. The
clouds that cross our sky are not feathery and afar, stray-
ing like Hocks of sheep in heavenly pastures, but wrath-
ful, and sombre, and gleaming with terror; they wrap the
mountains in tire, and come down braying with their
thunders through every gorge. The richest fruits of
blessing have a prickly shell. Life here is not lying at
anchor, it is weathering a gale. It is not sleeping in a
soldier's tent, without arms stacked ; it is a bayonet
charge. We stumble over grave-stones, and we drive on
with our wheel deep in the old rut of graves. Troulde
lias wrinkled your hrow and it has frosted your head.
Falling in the battle of life, is there no angel of mercy to
hind our wounds ? Hath God made this world with so
many things to hurt and none to heal ? For this s.iakc-
hite of sorrow is there no herb growing by all the brook.*?
tuheal the poi.son ? Blessed be God that in the gospel we
iind this antidote. Christ has bottled an ocean of teai-s.
11 uw many thorns He has plucked out of human agony.

] '

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186

SEIl.MOKS 15V TALMAGK.

Oh, He knows too well what it is to cany a cross, not to
liclp us carry ours. Hi; knows too well what it is to climh
the mountain, not to lu'lp us up the .steep. He knows too
well what it is to be persecuted, not to help thos(! who
are imposed upon. He knows too well what it is to he
sick, not to help those who sutler. Aye! lie knows too
well what it is to die, not to helj) us in our last extremity.
Blessed Jesus, Thou kiiowest it all. Seeiui,^ 'I'hy woundci
siilo, and Tliy wounded hands, andThy wounded feet, aiil
'i'hy wound(;d brow, we are sure Thou know st all. Oli.
wlnn thos(! on whose bosom wt; used to breathe oiii
sorrows are snatchtd from us, ble sed be (Jod, the heart ol
Jesusstill beats; and when all other li;4hts j^oout.and the
worM <^ets dark, then we see cominLT "Ht from behind a
cloud .somethini,^ so laint we hardly !<now what it is; hut
at last \\v, descry it- star of hope, lu-iald of the mornin.:.
There are dillerent kinds of hands. The hand of caiv
may smite you, and the hand of bereavenu'nt may cru>h
you into the dust, and the hand of temptation may pll^ll
you back into the darkness; but theie is a hand amid>t
it so «^o'ntle,and it is so kind that it wipeth away all tears
from all facea.

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LIFE AT HOME.

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188

8ERM0NS BY TALMAGK.

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our deficits and suipluses of cliaracter beini^f the wheels
ill the great social mechanism. One person has the
patience, another lias the courage, another has the plac-
idity, another has the enthusiasm ; that wliich is lacking
in one is made up by another, oi' made up by all. Bul-
ialoes in herds ; grouse in broods; (piails in liocks ; the
human race in cii'cles. God has nuist beautifully an'ang('<l
this. It is in this way that He balances society — this con-
servative and that ra<lical keeping things even. Every
ship must have its mast, cutwatei", taflrail, ballast. Thardc
God, then for Princeton and Andover for the 0])posites.
I have no more right to blame a man for being different
from me than a driving wheel has a ri<dit to blame the
iron shaft that holds it to the centre.. John Wesley bal-
ances Calvin's institute. Dr. M'Cosh gives to Scotland
the strong bones of theology. ])r. Guthrie clothes them
with a throbbing heart and warm flesh. The difficulty
is that we are not satisfied with just the work that God
has given us to do. 'J'he water-wheel wants to come in-
side the mill and grind the grist, and the hopper wants
to go out and dabble in the water. Our usefulness antl
the welfare of society d(,'pend ui)on our staying in just
the place that God has put us, or intended we should oc-
cupy. For more compactness, and that we may be morti
useful, we are gathei-ed in still smaller circles in the
home group. And there 3T)u have the same vaiieties
again, brothers, sisters, husband and wife — all different
in teraperaujents and tastes. It is fortunate that it
should be so. If the husband be all impulse, the wiiV^
must be all prudence. If one sister be sanguine in lur
temperament, the other must be lymphatic. Mary and
Martha are necessities. There will be no dinner for
Christ if there be no Martha ; there will be no audieiXf s
for Jesus, if there be no Mary. The home organization
is most beautifully constructed. Eden has? gone ; tlic
bowers are all broken down ; the animals that Adiim
btroked with his hand that morning wlien they cainc up

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rAFE AT HOME.

189

■■< '' question clui,.- .,1 w ? ^5 "'■^'I'^'iec or wa,-,lr,io '
^«aven or hell. Ala.s for !>'""'";• ''^>' '^'- •-"'■■■ow-u-it!
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'tunal Jcath tiiat kill th,.7, '" 'I'" ".,ite fronts nf

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^ ti'T '■■•''•'='""'^^« <"• "".SOS a '.TT ^■'/"""-■^•ial onto.

•''^'^'■^ancl divorces V P^-"''. ^'"^ ^v^iM ca s A f '

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SERMONS BY TALMAQE.

worst rcV(jlution that France ever .«aw. It was only tlio
first course in that banquet of hell ; and I tell you what
you know as well as I do, that wrong notions on the suli-
ject of Christian niari'iage are the cause at this day of
more luoial outrage before God and man than any other

cause.

J'here are some things that I want to bring before you.
I know there are those of you who have had homes
set up for a great many years, and notwithstanding the
hardships and trials that come to them you would not
surrender them ; and then there are those here who have
just established their home. They have only been in it
a few months, or a tew years. Then there are those who
will, after a while, set up for themselves a home, and it
is right that I should speak out upon these themes.

My fii'st council to you is: Itdve Jesus in your nem
home, if it is a new home ; and h't him who was a guest
at Bethany be in your household ; let the Divine bless-
ing drop upon your every hope, and plan, and expecta-
tion. Those young people who begin with God, end with
heaven. Have on your right hand the engagement ring
of the Divine affections. If one of you be a Christian,
let that one take the Bible, and read a few verses in the
evening time, and then kneel down and commend your-
self to Him who setteth the solitary in families. I w.ant
to tell you that the destroying aiigel passes by without
touching or entering the door-post sprinkled with the
blood of the everlasting Covenant. Wii^ is it that in
some families they never get along, and in others they
alwa^-s get along well ? I have watched such cases, and
have come to a conclusion. In the first instance, nothing
seeii.ed to go pleasantl3%and after a while there came de-
vastation, domestic disaster or estrangement. Wh}' ?
They started wrong. In the other case, although there
were liardships, and trials, and some things that had to
be explained, still things went on j)leasantly until the
Very last. Why ( They started right

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LIFE AT HOME.

My second advice to you in your home is, to exerciso
to the very last possibility of your nature fhe laivofforr-
hearancr., Praj-ers in the household will not make u\\
for everything. Some of the best people in the world
are the hardest to get along with. There are people who
stand up in prayer meetings and pray like an angel, who
at home are uncompromising and cranky. You may not
have everything just as you want it. Sometimes it will
be the duty of the husband, and sometimes of the wife
to yield ; but both stand punctiliously on your rights,
and you will have a Waterloo with no Blucher coming
up at nightfall to decide the contiict. Never be ashamed
to apologise when you have done wrong in domestic
affairs. Let that be a law of your household. The
best thing I ever heard of my grandfather, whom I never
saw, was this : that once having unrighteously rebuked
one of his children, he, himself, having lost his })atience,
and, perhaps, liaving been misinformed of the child's
doings, found out his mistake, and, in the evening of the
same day, gathered all his family together, and said :
" Now, I have one explanation to make, and one thing to
say. Thomas, this morning, I reViid^ed you very un-
fairly. I am very sorry for it. I reV)uked you in the
presence of the whole family, and now I ask your for-
giveness in their presence." It must have taken some
courage to do that. It was right, was it not ? Never be
ashamed to apologise for domestic inaccuracy. Find out
tlie points — what are the weak points, if 1 may call it so
— of your companion, and then stand aloof from them.
Do not cany Ihe tire of your temper too near the gun-
powder. If the wife be easily fretted by disorder in the
household, let the husband bo careful where he thrown
his slippers. If the husband comes home from the store
with his patience all exhausted, do not let the wife un-
necessarily cross his temper ; but both stand up for yoiu'
rights, and I will promise the everlasting sound of the
war-whoop. Your life will be spent in making up, and

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SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

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marriage will be to you an unmitigated curse. Cowpei
said :

*' The kindest and the happiest faith

Will find occasion to forbear ;

And something every day they livo

To pity and, perhaps, forgive,"

T advise, also, that you make your chief pleasure circle
around about that home. It is unfortunate when it is
otherwise. If tlie husband spends the most of his nights
away from home, of choice, and not of necessity, he is
not the head of the household ; ho is only the cashier.
If the wife throw the cares of the household into tlie
servant's lap, and then spend five nights of the week
at the opera or theatre, she may clothe her children
with satins, and laces, and ribbons that would confound
a French milliner, but they are orphans. Oh, it is sad
when a child has no one to say its prayers to, because
mother has gone off to the evening entertainment. In
India, they bring children and throw them to the croco-
diles, and it seems very cruel ; but the jaws of New
York and Brooklyn dissipation, are swallowing down
more little cliildren to day than all the monsters that
ever crawled upon the banks of the Ganges. I have
seen the sorrow of a Godless mother on the death of a
child she neglected. It was not so much grief that slio
felt from the fact that the child was dead, as the fact
that she had necflected it. She said: "If I had onlv
watched over and cared for the child, I know God would
not have taken it." The tears came not. It was a dr\',
blistering tempest — a scorching simoon of the desert.
When she wrung her hands, it seemed as if she would
twist her fingers from their sockets ; when she seized
her hair, it seemed as if she had, in wild terror, grasped
a coiling serpent with her right hand. No tears ! Com-
rades of the little one came in and wept over the coffin ;
neighbours came in, and the moment they saw the still
face of the child, the shower broke. No tears for her.

LIFE AT HOAIE.

God gives tears as the summer rain to tlie j)aiclied soul ;
but in all the univcvsc, the dryest, the hottest, the most
scorching, and consuming thing is a mother's heart, if
she has nenrlected her child when once it is dead. God
may forgive her, but she will never forgive herself. The
memory- will sink the eyes deeper into the sockets, and
pinch the face and whiten the hair, and eat up the hoajt
with vultures that will not be satisfied, forever plunging
deeper their iron beaks. Oh, you wanderers from your
liome, go back to your duty ! The brightest tloweis in
all the earth are those which grow in the garden of
a Christian household, clambering over the porch of a
Christian home.

I advise you also to cultivate HyrnpafJiU of occupation.
Sir James M'Intosh, one of the nost eminent and elegant
men that ever lived, while staii^linc: at the verv heiufht of
his eminence, said to a great company of scholars : " My
wife made me." The wife ought to be the advising part-
ner in every firm. She ought to l)e interestd in all tho
losses and gains of shop and store. She ought to have a
right — shv hnn a right to know everything. If a man
goes into a business ti'ansaction that lie dare not tell his
wife of, you may dejiend that he is on tlio way either to
bankru])tcy or moral ruin. There may be some things
which he does not wish to trouble his wife with, but if
he dare not tell her, lie is oi\ the road to discomfiture.
On the other hand, the husV)and ought to be sympathetic
with the wife's occupation. It is no easy thing to keep
house. Many a woman that could have endui-ed martvr-
dom as well as ]\lai'garet, the Scotch girl, have actually
been worn out by house management. There are a
thousand martyrs of the kitchen. It is very annoying,
after the vexations of the day, around the stove, or the
table, or in the nursery, or parlour, to have the husband
say: "You know nothing about trouble; you ouglit to
ue in the store half-an-hour." Sympathy of occupation !
If the husband's work cover him with the soot of the

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SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

furnace, or the odours of leather, or soap factories, let not
the wife be easily disgusted at the begrimed hands oi
unsavoury aroma. Your gains are one, your interests are
one, your losses are one ; lay hold of the work of life
with both hands. Four hands to h'uht the battles. Four
eyes to watch for the danger. Four shoulders on whicli
to carry the trials. It is a very sad thing when the painter
has a wife who does not like pictures. It is a very sad
thing for a pianist when slie has a hrisband who does not
like music. It is a verv sad thinuf when a wife is not
suited unless her husband has, whut is called, a "genteel
business." As far as I undei'stand a " genteel business,"
it is something to which a man goes at ten o'clock in the
morning, and comes home at two or three o'clock in the
afternoon, and gets a large amount of money for doing
nothing. That is, I believe, a "genteel business;" and
there has been many a wife who has made the mistake
of not being satisfied until the husband has given up the
tanning of hides, or the turning of tlie banisters, or the
building of the walls, and put himself in circles where he
has nothing to do, but smoke cigars and drink wine, and
get himself into habits that upset liim, going down in
the maelstrom, taking his wife and children with him.
There are a good many trains running from earth to
destruction. They start all the hours of the day, and all
the hours of the night. There are the freight trains,
they go very slowly, and very heavily ; and there are
the accommodation trains going on towards destruction,
and they stop very often, and let a man get out when he
wants to. But genteel idleness is an express train :
Satan is the stoker, and Death is the engineer ; and
though one may come out in front of it, and swing the
red flag of " danger," or the lantern of God's word, it
makes just one shot into perdition, coming down the
embankment with a shout, and a wail, and a shriek —
crash, crash ! There are two classes of people sure of
destruction ; first, those who have nothing to do j secondly

LIFE AT HOME.

195

those who have something to do, but who ar^ too lazy, or
too ])rou(l to do it.

I liavc one more word of advice to <^ive to those who
woiikl have a hapj)y home, and tliut is: let love }yreside
in it. When your beliaviour in the domestic circle
becomes a mere matter ot" caknilation — when tlie caress
you give is merely the I'osult ot" deliberate study of the
position you occupy, happiness lies stark dead on the
hearth-stone. When the husband's position as head of
the household is maintained by loudness of voice, by
strength of arm, by tire of temper, the republic of domes-
tic bliss has l)ecomo a despotism that neither Cnjd nor
man will abide. 01), ye who promised to love each other
at the altai', how dare you commit perjury ? Let no
shadow of suspicion come on your atie( tion. It is easier
to kill that tlower, than it is to make it live again. The
blast from hell that puts out that light leaves you in the
blackness of darkness for ever.

Here is a man and wife ; they agree in nothing else,
but they agree thevowill have a home. I'hey will have
a splendid house, and they think that if they have a
house they will have a home. Architects make the plan,
and the mechanics execute it ; the house to cost one hun-
dred thousand dollars. It is done. The carpets are
spread ; lights are hoisted ; curtains are hung ; cards of
invitation sent out. The horses in gold-plated harness
prance at the gate ; guests come in and take their places ;
the flute sounds ; the dancers go up and down ; and with
one grand whirl, the wealth and the fashion, and the
mirth of the great town wheel amid the pictured walls.
Ha ! this is happiness. Float it on the smoking viands ;
sound it in the music ; whirl it in the dance ; cast it on
the snow of sculpture ; sound it up the brilliant stair-
way ; flash it in the chandeliers. Happiness indeed !
Let us build on the centre of the parlour floor, a thi-one
to happiness ; let all the guests, when come in, bring their
flowers, and pearls, and diamonds, and throw them on

196

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

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this pyramid, and let it be a throne ; and then let Hap-
piness, the Queen, mount the throne, and we will stand
around, and all chalices lifted, we will say, " Drink, oh
Queen, live for ever ! " But the guests depart, the Hutes
are breathless, the last clash of the impatient hoofs are
heard in the distance, and the twain of the household
come back to see the Queen of Hap])iness on the throne
amid the parlour Hoor. But, alas, as they come back the
flowers have faded, the sweet odours have become the
smell of the charnel-liouse, and instead of the Queen of
Happiness, there sits there the gaunt form of Anguish,
with bitter lip and sunken eye, and ashes in her ii^ir.
The romp of the dancers who have left seems crumbling
yet, like jarring thunders that quake the floor and jattle
the glasses of the feast, rim to rim. The spilt wine on
the floor turns into blood ! The wreaths of plush have
become wriggling reptiles. Terrors catch tangled in the
canopy that overhangs the couch. A strong gust of
wind comes through the hall, and the drawing-room,
and the bed-chamber, in which alb the lights go out.
And fi'om the lips of the wine-beakers come the words .
" Happiness is not in me ! " And the arches respond :
" It is not in me I " And the silenced instruments of
music, thrumuicd on by invisible fingers answer : " Hap-

Einess is not in me ! " And the frozen lips of Anguish
rer.k open, and seated on the throne of wilted flowers,
she strikes her bony hands together, and groans : " It is
not in me I "

That very night, a clerk with a salary of a thousand
dollars a year — only one thousand — goes to his home, set
up three months ago, just after the marriage-day. Love
meets him at the door; love sits with him at the table ;
love talks over the work of the day ; love takes down
the Bible, and reads of Him who came our souls to save ;
and they kneel, and while they are kneeling — right in
that plain room, on that plain carpet — the angels of God
build a throne, not out of llowers that perish and fade

LIFE AT IIOMF:.

107

away, hut out of guilaiuls of heaven, wreath on top of
wreath, junaranth on amaranth, until the throne is done.
Then the harps of God sounded, and suddenly there
appeared one who mounted the throne -with eye so
bright, and brow so fair, that the twain knew it was
Christian love. And they knelt at the foot of the throne,
and putting one hand on each head, she blessed them,
and said : " Hapjtir.ess is with me ! " And that throne of
celestial bloom withered not with the passing years ; and
the Queen left not the throne till one day the married
pair felt stricken in years — felt themselves called away,
and knew not which way to go, and the Queen bounded
from the throne, and said: " FoMow me; and I will
show you the way up to the realm of everlasting love."
And so they went up to sing songs of love, and walk on

{)avements of love, and to live together in mansions of
ove, and to rejoice for ever in the truth that God is love

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THE FATHER'S KISS.

When he was yet a great u-ay off his father saio him and
had comjtassion, and ran and fell on his neck and
kissed him.'' — St. Luke xv : 20.

i HAVE often described to you the going away
I ^} of this prodigal son from his father's house and
J^^p""^^ I have showed you what a hard time he had
down in the wilderness, and what a very great
mistake it was for him to leave so beautiful a home
for such a miserable desert. But he did not always
stay in the wilderness ; he came back after a while.
We don't read that his mother came ta greet him.
I suppose she was dead. She would have been the
first to come out. 'J'he father would have given tlie
second kiss to the returning prodigal; the mother
the first. It may have been for the lack of her ex-
ample and prayers that he became a prodigal. Some-
times the father does not know how to manage the
children of the household ; the chief work comes up-
on the mother. Indeed, no one ever gets over the calam-
ity of losing a mother in early life. Still, this young
man was not ungreeted when he came back. However
well appareled we may be in the morning, when we start
out on a journey, before night, what with the dust and
the jostling, we have lost all cleverness of appearance,

THE father's kiss.

100

Eufc this prodigal, when he started from liis swine-trough,
was raggL-d and wretched, and his appearance after ho
had gone througli days of journeying and exposure, you
can more easily imagine than describe. As the people
see the prodigal coming on honiewai'd, they wonder who
he is. Tliey say : " 1 wonder wliat piison he lias broken
out of. I wonder what iazfii-etto he lias escaped from.
I wonder with what phiL-'ue he will smite the air." Al-

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th.ougli these people may have been well acquainted with
the family, yet they don't imagine that this is the very
young man who went o(f only a littio while ago with
quick step and ruddy cheek and beautiful - , paiel The
young man, I think, walks very fast, lie lo()ks as though
he were intent upon something very im: ortant. Th' peo-
ple stop; they look at him; they woUv..;r wher^" lie came
fiom ; thf V wonder \vhere he is going. Yo have heard
of a soii ^>ho went off to sea and never retained. All the
p'^nple in the neighbourhood thought that the son would
never return, but the parents came to no such conclu. 'on.
They would go by the hour and day and sit upon the
beach, looking off upon the water, expecting to see the
sail that would bring home the long absent boy. And
so, I think, this father of my text sat under tlic vine
looking out towards the ro«d on v/hich his son had de^
parted ; but the father has changed very much since we
saw him last. His hair has become white, his cheeks are
furrowed, his heart is broken. What is all his bountiful
table to him when his son mav be lackinof bread ? What
is all the splendour of the w^ardrobe of that homestead
when the son may not have a decent coat ? What are ail
the sheep on the hillside to that father when his pet
lamb is gone ? Still he sits and watches, looking out on
the road, and one day he beholds a foot traveller. He
sees him rise above the hills, first the head, and after a
while the entire body, and as soon as he gets a fair glance
at him he knows it is his recreant son. He forgets the
crutch and the cane and the stiffness of the joints, and

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bounds away. I think She peo[)le all around were amazed.
They said : *' It is only a foot-pad ; it is only an old tramp
of the road ; don't go out to meet him." The father knew
better. The change in the son's appearance could not hide
the marks by which the father knew the boy. You know
that persons of a great deal of independence of character
are apt to indicate it in their walk. For that reason the
sailor almost always has a peculiar step, not only because
he stands much on shipboard, amid the rocking of the sea,
and he has to balance himself, but he has for the most part
an independent character, which would show itself even if
he never went on the sea, and we know what transpired
afterward and from what transpired hcfore that this prod-
igal son was of an independent and frank nature, and J
suppose that the characteristics of his mind and heart
were the characteristics of his walk. And so the father
knew him. He puts out his withered arms toward him.
He brings his wrinkled face against the pale cheek of his
son. He kisses the wan lips, He thanks God that the long
agony is over. " When he was yet a great way off his tather
saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck
and kissed him. '

Oh, don't you recognize that father ? Who was it ?
It is God ! I have no sympathy with that cast iron the-
ology which represents God as hard, severe, and vindictive.
God is a father, kind, loving, lenient, gentle, long-suffer-
ing, patient, and he flies to our immortal rescue. Oh,
that we might realize it to-day. A wealthy lady in one
of the eastern countries was going off for some time and
she asked her daughters for some memento to carry with
lier. One of the daughters brought a marble tablet,
beautifully inscribed, and another daughter a beautiful
wreath of flowers. The third daughter came and said :
" Mother, I brought no flowers or tablet, but here is my
heart. I have inscribed it all over with your name, and
wherever you go it will go with you." The mother re-
cognized it as the best of all the mementos. Oh, that

tHE father's kiss.

201

to-day our souls might go out towards the Lord Jesus
Christ, towards our Father — that our hearts might be
written all over with the evidences of his loving kind-
ness, and that we might never again forsake him. Lord
God, this day by thy Holy Spirit move upon our affec-
tions !

In the first place, I notice in this text, the father's eye-
sight; in the second place, I notice the father's haste; and
in the third place, I notice the father's kiss.

To begin : The fatlier's eye-sight " When he was yet
a great way off his father saw him." You have noticed
how old people sometimes put a book off on the other
side of the light ; they can see at a distance a great deal
easier than they can close by. I don't know whether he
could see well that which is near by, but I do know that
he could see a great way off. " His father saw him."
Perhaps he had been looking for the return of that boy,
especially that day. I don't know but that he had been
in prayer and that God had told him that that day the
recreant boy would come home. " The father saw him a
great way off."

I wonder if God's eye-sight can descry us when we are
coming back to him ? Tlic text pictures our condition —
we are a great way off. That young man was not far-
ther off from his father's house, sin is not farther off
from holiness, hell is no farther from heaven — than we
have been by our sins, away from God ; aye, so far off
that we could not hear his voice, though vehemently he
has called us year after year. I don't know what bad
habits you may have formed, or in what evil places you
have been, or what false notions you may have enter-
tained ; but you are ready to acknowledge, if your heart
has not been changed by the grace of God, that you are
a great way off, aye, so far that you cannot get back of
yourselves. You would like to come back. Aye, this
moment you would start if it were not for this sin, and
that habit, and this disadvantage. But I am to tell you
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SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

r of the Father's eyesiglit. " He saw hhn a gr-cat way of!."
He has seen all your IVaiUies, all your struggles, all your
disadvantaij^es. He has been louijiui; for your coiiiinij:.
He has not been looking at you with a critic's eye, or a
bailiff's eye, but with a Father's eye, and if a pai'ent ever

* pitied a cliild, God ])ities you. You say : " Oh, 1 had so
many evil surroundings when I started life." Your
Father sees it. You say : "I have so many bad surround-
ings now and it is very diflicult for me to break away
from evil associations." Your Father sees it, and if this
moment you should start heavenward, as I pray j'ou may,
your Father would not sit idly down and allow you to
struggle on up toward Him. Oh, no! Seeing ^'ou a great
way off, he would Hy to the rescue. How long does it
take a father to leap into tlie middle of the highway if
his child be there and a swift vehicle is coming and may
destroy him. Five hundred times longer than it takes
our heavenly Father to spring to the deliverance of a lost
child. " when he was a great way off his father saw
him."

And this brings me to notice the father's haste. The
Bible says he ran. No wonder. He didn't know but

» that the young man would change his mind and go back.
He diiln't know but that he would drop down from ex-
haustion. He didn't know but something fatal miijfht
overtake him before he got up to the door-sill, and so the
father ran. The Bible, for the most part, speak'' of God
as walking. " In the fourth watch of the night," it says,
"Jesus came unto them walkhifj on the sea." 'H-nwall'-
eth upon the winds." Our first parents heard the voic((
of the Lord, walk'ing in the garden in the cool of the day ;
but when a sinner starts for God, the father runs to meet
him. Oh, if a man ever wants help it is when he tries to
become a Christian. The world says to him, " back with
you, have more s})irit, don't be hampered with religion,
time enough yet ; wait until you get sick, wait until you
get old." Satan says, " back with you ; you are so bad

THE PATIIER^S KISS.

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1(1 nmy
t takes
if a lost
icr saw

that God will have nothijii,^ to do with you," or, "you are
good enough and need no Redeemer. Take thine ease ;
eat, drink, and be merry." Ten tliousand voices say:
" baek with you. God is a hard master. The cliurch is
a collection of hypocrites. Back into your sins, back into
your evil indulgences, baek to your prayerless pillow.
The silliest thing that a young man ever does is to come
home after he has been wandering." Oh, how much hel))
a man does want when he tries to become a Christian.
Indeed the prodigal can't find his way home to his father's
house alone. Unless some one comes to meet him he had
better have staid by the swine-trough chewing the carobs
of the desert. When the sea comes in at full tide you
might more easily with your l)room sweep back the surges
than you could drive back the ocean of your unibrgiven
trans<;ressions. What aie we to do? Are we to fiofht
the battle alone and trudge on with no one to aid us, and
no rock to shelter us, and no word of encouragement
to cheer us. Glory be to God we have in the text the
announcement : " When he was yet a great way otl' his
father rany When the siinier starts for God, God starts
fbr the sinner. God does not come out with a slow
and hesitating pace ; the inhrute spaces slip beneath
His feet and He takes worlds at a bound. " The father
ran ! "

Oh, wonderful meeting, when God and the soul come to-
gether. "The father ran!" You start for God and God
starts for you, and this morning and this house is the
time and the place when you meet, and while tlie angels
rejoice over the meeting, your long injured father falls
upon your neck with attestation of comi)assion and par-
don. Your poor wandering, sinful, polluted soul and the
loving, the eternal Father's have met.

I remark upon the father's kiss. " He fell on his neck,"
my text says, " and he kissed him." It is not every father
that would have done that way. He would have scolded
him and said : " here, you went off with beautiful clothes,

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204

SfcUMONS BY TALMAOE.

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but now you are all in tatters ; you went off healthy and
come back sick and wasted with your dissipations." He
didn't say that. The son, all haggard and ragged, and
filthy and wretched, stood before his father. The father
charged him witli none of his wanderings; he just received
him, he just kissed him. His wretchedness was a recom-
mendation to tliat father's love. Oh, that father's kiss !
How shall I describe the love of God ? The ardour with
which he receives a sinner back again ? Give me a plum-
met with which I may fathom this sea; give i.ie a ladder
with which I can scale this height ; give me words with
which I can describe this love. The apostle says in one
place: "unsearchable;" in another, "past finding out."
Height overtopping all height, depth plunging beneath
all depth, breadth compassing all immensity. Oh, this
love. Don't you I clieve it ? Has he not done everything
to make you think so ? He has given you life, health,
friends, home, the use of your hands, the sight of your
eye, the hearing of your ear; He has strewn your path
with mercies. He has fed you, clothed you, sheltered you,
defended you, loved you, importuned you, all your life
long. Don't you believe He loves you ? Why, this morn-
ing, if you should start up from the wilderness of your
sin, he would throw b )th anus around you. To make
you helieve that he lov-'s you he stooped to manger, and
cross, and sepulchie. With all the passions of his holy
nature roused he stands before you to-day and would
coax you to happiness and heaven. Oh, this father's kiss !
There is so much meaning, and love, and compassion in it
— so much pardon in it— so much heaven in it. I pro-
claim Him the Lord God merciful and gracious, long-
Buffering and abundant in goodness and truth. Lest you
would not believe him, he goes up Golgotha, and while
the rocks are rending, and the graves are opening, and the
mobs are howling, and the sun is hiding, he dies for you.
See him. See him on the mount of Crucifixion, the sweat
on his brow tinged with the blood exuding from hib"

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THE FATRERS KISS.

205

V anil
He
1, and
father
reived
•ecorn-
I kiss!
r with
plum-
ladder
Is with
in one
ig out.
Deneatli
:)h, this
rything
health,
•f your
T path
•ed you,
ur lite
s morn-
of your
make
er, and
is holy
would
•'s kiss !
on in it
I pro-
is, long-
.est you
while
and the
'or you.
^e sweat
rom hi:y

lacerated tempies. See his eyes swimming in death.
Hear the loud breathing of the sufferer as he pants with a
world on his heart. Hark to the fall of blood from brow
and hand, and foot on the rock beneath — drop, drop, drop!
Look at the nails ! How wide the wounds are — wider do
they gape as his body comes down upon them. Oh, this
crucifixion agony. Tears melting into tears; blood flow-
ing into blood ; daikness droping on darkness ; hands of
men joined with the han<ls of devils to tear apart the
heart of tlie son of God ! Oh, will he never speak again ?
Will the crimson face ever light up again ? He will speak
again, while the blood is sullusing his brow, and reddening
his check, and gathering on nostril and lip, and j'ou think
he is exhausted and cannot speak ; he cries out until all
the ages hear him : " Father, forgive them, they know not
what they do!" Is there no empliasis in such a scene as
that to make your dry eyes weep, and your hard heart
break ? Will you turn your back upon it and say by
your actions what the Jews said by their words : "His
blood be on us, and on our children i" What does it all
mean, my brother, my sister ? Why, it means that for our
lost race theie was a Father's kiss. Love brought him
down ; love opened the gate ; love led to the sacrifice ;
love Shattered the grave; love lifted him up in resur-
rection — sovereign h)ve, omnipotent love, infinite love,
bleeding love, everlasting love.

Oh, for thisi love let rocks and lills
Their laatieg silence break,
And all harmoniona human tongues,
The Sivi'>ur*a praiaes speaic.

Now will jiou accept that Father's kiss ? The Holy
Spirit asks you to. The Holy Spirit comes to yo\x this
morning with his arousing, melting, alarming, inviting,
vivifying inHuence. Hearer, wh;it creates in thee that
unrest ? It is the Holy Ghost. What sounds in your ears
to-day, the joys of the saved and the sorrows of the con-

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206

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

demned ? Tt is the Holy Ghost. What influence now
tells thee that it is time to fly, that to- morrow may bo
too late, that there is one door, one load, one cross, one
sacrifice — one Jesus ? It is the Holy Ghost. Don't you
think he is here ? I see it in these solemn looks; I see
it in these tearful eyes; I see it in these blanched cheeks ;
I see it in the upturned face of childhood and the earnest
gaze of old a^j^e. I know it from tliis silence like the
grave. The Holy Ghost is here, and while I s)>eak the
chains of captives are falliui^, and the duuf^eoiis of sin are
opening, and the prodigals coming', atid the fathers run-
ning, and angels are shouting and devils are trerjibling.
Oh, it is a momentous hour. It is charged with eternal
destinies. The shadows of the eternal world flit over this
assemblaijje. Hark ! I hear the son;jrs of the saved — I
hear the bowlings of the damned. Heaven and hell
seem to mingle and eternity poises on the pivot of this
hour. Thy destiny is being decided, thy doom is being
fixed. The door of mercy so wide open begins to clo.se.
It trembles on its hinges and soon will be shut. These go
into life and those go into death. These have begun to
march to heavaMi and those have commenced to die.
These have begun to rise and those have begun to sink —
Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! Woe ! Woe ! It seems to me as
if the judgment weie past. I imagine it is past. I ima-
gine that all the sentences have been awarded, the right-
eous enthroned, the wicked driven away in his wicked-
neSvS. Shut all the gates of heaven ; there are no more
to come in. Bolt all the gates of darkness — no more to
be allowed to come out. Hark! the eternal ages have
begun their unending tramp ! tramp I

now

ly be
i, one
t yon
I sec
leeks ;
arne^t
le the
ik the
•An arc
s run-
nblin^.
Lutein al
/er this
ved — I
id hell
of this
s being
,0 close,
hese go
jgun to
I to die.
sink —
me as
I ima-
right-
;ickcd-
10 more
h[iore to
U have

WOMAN'S LAMENTATION OVER A WASTED

LIFE.

" How have I hated instrndion and my heart despised reproof.^'
— Piiov. v: 12.

N this world, women are in a largo mnjority.
They outnumber us in the family, in the
Church, in the State, In Massachusetts they
have 70,000 majority. In the State of New
^ York they have 140,000 majority. They ought to
.»^ be preached to. They decide eternal destinies. They
''' adorn or blast the domestic circle. They help or
they hinder the State. Where there is one sermon
preached to men, there ought to be two sermons
preached t« women. The trouhle is that, for the
most part religious counsel comes too late. We
stand on Staten Island, and we see a ship go out
thi'ough the " Narrows," and we say : " I could have
suggested something better in regard to that ship if
I had only known it in time ; but it is too late."
The only time to have suggested anything in regard to
the construction of that vessel was before it came away
from the hammers of the shipwright. So we come out,
and we accost men and women in regard to the things of
eternity. We speak to them after they have started on
the voyage of life, and are sailing far out toward the

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208

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

ocean of eternity. We are five years too late, ten years
too late, forty y -ars too late. Let the young women of
this generation be evangelized, and the world's redemp-
tion is done. Literature will be right ; the laws will be
right ; the Church will be right ; the State will be right.
Failing here we fail everywhere. The character and posi-
tion of women decide the character and position of the
State. In Turkey, woman is imbruted, and the empire is
imbruted. In France, woman is an embellishment, and
it is a nation of embellishments. A God-loving, God-fear-
ing womanhood will make a God-loving, God-fearing na-
tionality : so that if you will tell me the position, the
moral and Christian position, occupied by women in any
land, or in any part of any land, I will tell you the char-
acter of the. law, the character of the literature, the char-
acter of the Church, the character of the State.

Having in several discourses told woman what I believe
to be her opportunity for being and doing something
grand and Christ-like, I shall in this morning's sermon
make manif^.^t what will be a woman's lamentation over
a wasted lifetime, if it indeed be found, at the last, to have
been wasted. And, in the first place, I will suppose that
a young woman omits her opportunity of making home
happy. So surely as the years roll around, that home in
which you now dwell will become extinct. The parents
will be gone, the property will go into other possession,
you yourself will be in other relationships, and that home
which, last Thanksgiving Day, was full of congratulation,
will be extinguished. When that period comes, you will
look back to see what you did or what you neglected to
do in the way of making home happy. It will be too late
to correct mistakes. If you did not smooth the path of
your parents toward the tomb ; if you did not make their
last days bright and happy ; if you allowed your brother
to go out into the world, unhallowed by Christian and
sisterly influences ; if you allowed the younger sisters of
your family to come up without feeling that there had

woman's lamentation over a wasted life. 209

been a Christian example set them on your part, there
will be nothing but bitterness and lamentation. That
bitterness will be increased by all the surroundings of
that home ; by every chair, by every picture, by the old-
time mantel- ornaments, by everything you can think of
as connected with that home. All these things will rouse
up agonizing memories. Young woman, have you any-
thing to do in the way of making your father's home
happy ? Now is the time to attend to it, or leave it for-
ever undone. Time is Hying very (^[uickly away. I sup-
pose you notice the wrinkles are gathering and accumu-
lating on those kindly faces that have so long looked upon
you ; there is frost in the locks ; the foot is not as firm in
its step as it used to be ; and they will soon be gone. The
heaviest clod that ever falls on a parent's coffin-lid is the
memory of an ungrateful dau<jhter. 0, make their last
days bright and beautiful. Do not act as though they
were in the way. Ask their counsel, seek their prayers,
and, after long years have passed, and you go out to see
the grave where they sleep, you will find growing all over
the mound something lovelier than cypress, something
sweeter than the rose, something chaster than the lily —
the bright and beautiful memories of filial kindness per-
formed ere the dying hand dropi)ed on you a benediction,
and you closed the lids over the weaiy eyes of the worn-
out pilgrim. Better that, in the hour of j'^our birth, you
had been struck with orphanage, and that you had been
handed over into the cold arms of the world, rather than
that you should have been brought up under a father's
care and a mother's tenderness, at last to scoff' at their ex-
ample, and to deride their influence; and on the day when
you followed them in long procession to the tomb, to find
that you are followed by a still larger procession of un-
filial deeds done and wrong words uttered. The one pro-
cession will leave its burden in the tomb, and disband; but
that longer procession of ghastly memories will forever
march and forever wail. 0, it is a good time for a young

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210

SERMONS BY TALMAGK

womun when she is in her father's house. How careful
they are of her welfare. How watchful those parents
are of all her interests. Seated at the mornini; repast,
father at one end of the table, children on either side
and between; but the years wmU roll on, and great
chanjTfes will be effected, and one will be missed from one
end of the table, and another Avill be missed from the
other end of the table, God pity that young woman's
soul who, in that dark hour, has nothiuLi* but rouretful re-
collections !

Again : I will su|)|)Ose that a young woman spends her
wliole life, or wastes her young womanhood, in selfish dis-
play. Worldliness and frivolity may seem to do very
well while the lustre is in the eye, and the flush is on the
cheek, and the gracefulness is in the gait ; but when years
and trouble have clipped otf those embellishments, what
a life to think of! O, if there be nothing to remember
but flowers that faded, and splendid apparel that is worn
out, and brilliant groups that are scattered ! Belshazzar's
feast is full of sport until the tankards are upset and the
enemy marches in, and nothing is left but torn garlands,
and the slush of the wine cup, and the rind of dcs|)oiled
fruit, and fright, and teri'or, and woe ! Alas ! Alas 1
Alas ! tlien. Better than that sinful banqueting, a plain
table, with a ])lain loaf; and a })lain companionship, with
a blessing at the start, and a thanksfriving at the close of
the meal. When the trinkets are all gone! when the gay
feet have halted ; when the rev^el is done — what then ?
What then ? I go into her dying room. I see that there
are lace-fans to cool her cheek, and gorgeous upholstery
to shield her eyes, and a godless group to look down on
the scene ; but no ])leasant memory of the past, no hope-
ful consideration of the future. She worshipped her own
eye, or cheek, or wardrobe, and her God has cast her off.
Like Queen Elizabeth in the last hour, she writhes on the
couch, and clutches the air, and cries : " A kingdom for
an hour I " In the theatre, it is the tragedy first, and it is

■i;i:i

woman's lamentation ovkr a wasted life. 211

the farce afterwanl ; but that young woman has reversed
the order in her life. It is first tlie farce of a useless ex-
istence, followed by the tragedy of a lost eternity. The
actress asked in her closing moments that all the jewels
might be brought that hail been presented to her by for-
eign courts ; and jis they were brought in the casket, and
with her pale and dying hand she turned over the dia-
monds, she said : " 0, you dear jewels, wliat a pity it is
that I have to part with you so soon! " The pleasures, the
adornmiiiits, the riches of this world are a poor satisfaction
to us in the last hour ! We want something grander,
deeper, better.

Again : I will snpjiose that a young woman wastes her
opportunity of doing good. There is no age in life when
a woman can accomplish so much for Christ, I believe, as
between sixteen and twenty-five. But now suppose those
years have passed along, and she has come to the after-
noon of life, or to the eternal world, and she looks back
and says . " 0, how much sickness there was in that day
in which I lived my girlhood life: how much sickness
there was : and I never alleviated ajay of it. There were
all those children that 1 might have picked out of the
street fifteen years ago, but who are to-day in houses of
abandonment, because I did not, while they were in
childhood, come to the rescue. There are twenty, thirty,
forty years, which I might have made tell for the welfare
of the world which I then lived in, all gone for nothing
and worse than nothing." Can you tell me any place
dark enough for such a soul to weep in ? '* To think :
there was that city of Brooklyn, with scores of them, and
thousands and thousands of them ; and 1 lifted no hand of
help, I uttered no word of comfort." O, to crawl away
into eternity without a crown or a plaudit, when you
might have entered, hailed by a bannered procession and
a great shout from all the battlements. I would to God
that all the young women of this congregation might rise
up in soul to-day, and say : " Lord, here I am for time

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ill

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212

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

and eternity. If there is anything in my arm, anything
in my look, anything in my soul, anything in my vivacity,
it is all Thine, and Thine foiever."

Again : I will suppose that a young woman omits her
opportunity of personal salvation. A great multitude of
women have gone into heaven, led on by Deborah, ard
Hannah, and Abigail, and Elizabeth, and Mary, of Bible
story, and the gates of heaven are open for women's en-
trance. The Lord never yet thrust one out. He who
pitied the Syro[)h(enician woman, and who raised the
damsel to life, is ready to-day to give resurrection to
every woman's soul. But suppose now that you cast all
these things behind your back, and in the close of life, or
in the eternal world, you look back upon this state of
things, and this state of opportunity, how will you feel ?
Do you suppose there will be any organ with wailing
stops enough to utter your lamentation ? How strange it
is that there are intelligent women who will just trample
under foot the jewels of their innnortal souls, and travel
on in darkness and in .sin when God's chariots are har-
nessed to wheel them up the king's highway ! O, to sit
down at the close of life and to feel : " All my opportuni-
ties are gone. No Cross. No Christ. No God. No hea-
ven. With a lifetime that might have been made a tri-
umphal march to glory, I have despoiled everything with
selfishness and with sin." God ! what will such an one
do ? What apology will such an one make ? Having
fought back and foun;ht down all the advantages of a life-
time, such an one will stand on the banks of the cold
river, wringing the hands while tears drop into the foam-
ing Hood, crying : "How have I hated instruction and my
heart despised reproof. The harvest is past, the summer
is ended, and I am not saved." What can soothe such a
grief as that ? Could all the music of the earth play
down that dirge ? Could all the flowers of the earth,
gathered in one garland and flung on the soul, bury u])
that sepulchre of dead hope ? Could all the pearls, and

^ 1

nge ifc
p,mple
ravel
hai'-
Ito sit
tuiii-
liea-
a tri-
wiih
In one
Lving
.life-
cold
toam-
p my
imer
ich a
play
feartli,

|y «P

and

Woman's lamentation oVeii a wasted life. 21:^

diamonds, and jewels of the earth buy her out of that
captivity ? Nay. Nay. Opportunity gone, is gone for-
ever. Privih^ges wasted, waited forever. The soul lost,
lost forever.

I come out this morning, just to avert that catastrophe.
0, young woman, this is the year, this is the month, this
is the day, this is tlie hour, tiiis is tlie minute in which
you ought to take Jesus Christ as your personal Saviour.
You are immortal. The stars shall die and tlie sun be
snuffed out lil<e a candle ; but you are immortal. King-
doms shall fade and thrones perish, and the islands of the
sea fly at the presence of the Lord, and all the world will
burn up, and the agvs strike their death-knell ; but you
are immorta You are going to live. Death cannot stop
your existence. The judgment will not bound your life.
Ages, on ages, on ages. Forever ! Forever ! B^orever I
Eternity ! Eternity ! Eternity ! O, yoiing woman ! Jesus
Christ died for you. He bore the shame and the cross.
The heavens palled with blackness at the martyrdom of
a God, and He stretches out to-day His torn and bleed-
ing hand, that He may lift you out of the deep damna-
tion of your sin into that place where angels sing and
con(picrors forever triumph. It seems to me this morn-
ing, that though the air is full of storm, it is full also of
mercy. Messenger angels seem to poise mid-air in the
Taberr acle, wing to wing; and as when the atmosphere
is struck through with Christmas chimes, so it seems to
me as if all the air were musical with mercy, mercy, mercy,
merey. For you, the harp is already strung, the crown
already burnished, the throne already hoisted, and the
bell-man of God, with silver hammer lifted, ready at the
first news to strike the triumph and let all heaven know
that your soul is free. I proclaim it full and fair. Bidsara
for all wounds. Resurrection for all graves. Eternal
Fatherhood for all orphanage. Sunrise for all darknes.s.
Calmness for all rough seas. Emancipation for all that
are bound ; and the Lord, long-suffering, and patient, and

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SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

merciful, and good, and kind, and loving, and sympathet-
ic, and gentle, for all who will accept His grace. Away
with your money, this grace is free. Other embellish-
ments fade, other music will hush, other grandeur will
wither ; but I tell you to-day of sometliing that no frosts
can chill, and no fires can burn, and no Hoods can drown,
and death cannot kill, and eternity itself cannot exhaust.
The Arab crossing the desert was starving, and suddenly
his eye fell upon a bundle in the desert. It had been
dropped by a passing caravan. He said : " I suppose that
sack is full of figs or dates." He ran to it and tore it
open with great avidity, and f(nuid that they were dia-
nKmds, and he burst into a fiood of tears, and said : " No-
thing but diamonds ! and I thought they were figs and
dates." And all the treasures of this world, my friends,
will at last be poor satisfaction to that soul that wants
bread — that bread which comes down from heaven — that
bread of which, if you eat, you shall never again hunger.
O woman ! there are some things that you ought to have,
there are some things that you may have, there are some
things that you wilt have ; but there is one thing that
you wMst have, and that is the grace of God. You can-
not with your arm, beat your \»'ay through the trials of
life. Your heart is not iron. Your nerves are not bras.s.
Your brow is not adamant. 0, when the storms come,
when the lights go out, when a messenger from the other
world stands in your room and says : " This hour you
must be off," and you stand on the brink of the great sea,
without helm, or pilot, or compass, will you then, do
you think, with your two weak arms, amid the thunder
and the darkness, be able to pull away to the other
beach ?

I stand before you this morning with a message from
the skies. If you at last miss heaven, will T be to blame ?
No. I ofi'er you full and free salvation through the blood
of my Lord Jesus Christ. I offer it not only to those of
you who havti been brought up in respectable and Chris-

woman's lamentation over a wasted life. 215

)athet-
Away
)cllish-
ir will
) frosts
drown,
shaust.
ddenly
d been
ise that
tore it
3re dia-
: "No-
Sgs and*
friends,
■j wants
n — that
hunger,
to have,
re some
njx that
ou can-
,rials of
it brass.
s come,
le other
)ur you
•eat sea,
hen, do
ih under
e other

je from

blame ?

le blood

Ihose of

Chris-

tian circles, and who have been admired and apjilauded ;
bnt if there be in this house to-day one soul that has
wandered in from the outside, an outcast and forlorn
spirit, wandered away from your Father's house, no one
to pray for you, and none to pity you, the Spirit of G(jd
haviiij^" brought your wandering feet to this place, and
you sit, and no one knows where you sit, and your heart
is broken, and the wing of a starless night is overspread-
ing all 3^our soul — oven to you I preach pardon, and
peace, and eternal salvation, the pity of C'hrist for Mary
Magdalen, and a home in heaven amid shining seraphim.
May God take your feet off the burning marl of hell
where they are travelling, and set them on the road to
heaven. But wliat I say to you, I say to all. O mi)thers,
wives, sisters, and daughters — the charm of the home cir-
cle — choose, with Ruth, the Christian choice, and say
with her: "Thy people shall be my ])eople, thy God my
God ; where thou diest will I die, and there will I be
buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught
but death part thee and me." I want you, in the last
day, to be amid the great sisterhood of the elect. In that
hour, when stout hearts will fail, and ruddy cheeks be
blanched, I want you to be as calm as the face of Jesus
into which you will then be called to look. V/lien the
mountains are falling, I want you to stand firm. 0, what
a day that will be for a Christian woman ! her kingdom
come, her robe glistoiing in the light of an nnsetting
sun. Let her have coronation, and reign queen forever.
The snow v/as very deep, and it was still falling rapidly,
when, in the first year of my Chiistian ministry, 1 has-
tened to see a young woman die. It was a very humble
home. She was an orphan ; her father had been ship-
wrecked on the banks of Newfoundland. She had earned
her own living, As I entered the room I saw nothing at-
tractive. No pictures. No tapestry. Not even a cush-
ioned chair. The snow on the window casement was not
whiter than the cheek of that dying girl. It was a face

rfe

■ -t|

■■ •; l|

II' H

'i^ li

IffP

■HUffi

K t

Hiir

•»

21G

SEUMONS BY TALMAGE.

novcr to be forgotten. Sweetness, and mcajesty of soul,
and faith in God, Iiad given lier a matchless beauty, and
the sculptor who could have caught the outlines of those
features, and frozen them into stone, would have made
liimself immortal. With her large, blown eyes she looked
calmly into the gieat eternity. I sat down by her bed-
side and said : " Now, tell me all your troubles, and sor-
rows, and struggles, and doubts." She replied : " I have
no doubts or sti-uggles. It is all piiiin to me. Jesus has
smoothed the way for my feet. I wish when you go to
your pulpit next Sunday, you would tell the young peo-
})le that religion will make them happy. ' O Death, where
is thy sting r Mr. Tahnago, I wonder if this is not the
bliss of dying ? " I said : " Yes, I think it must be." I
lingered aroimd the couch. The sun was setting and her
sister lighted a candle. She lighted the candle for me.
The dying girl, the dawn of heaven in her face, needed
no candle. I rose to go and she said : " I thank you for
coming. Good-night ! When we meet again it will be in
heaven — in heaven. Good-night! good-night!'' For her,
it was good-night to tears, good-night to poverty, good-
ni<j:ht to death ; but when the sun rose again, it was
good-morning. Tb.o light of another day had burst in
\ipon her soul. Good-morning ! The angels were singing
her welcome home, and the hand of Christ was putting
upon her brow a garland. Good-morning! Her sun
rising. Her palm waving. Her spirit exulting before
the throne of God. Good-morning ! good-morning ! The
white lily of poor Margaret's cheek had blushed into the
rose of healtli immortal, and the snows through which we
carried her to the country graveyard were symbols of that
robe which she wears, so white that no fuller on earth
could whiten it.

My sister, my daughter, may your last end bo like hers !

1:1

1 1

THE WRATH OF THE SEA.

^'And so it ccune to pa.s.s, <md they escaped all safe to land.'*—'

Acrti xxvii : 44.

iNE November day, lyini^ snui^dy in port at

Fair Havens, was an Alexandrian corn-ship,

Tliese Alexandrian corn-ships stood amidst

the ancient shippin<^^, as the Cunarders stand

now anndst modern steamers. Respect was paid to

them esp(;cially ; and they were the only vessels that

had a right to go into any port without lowering

their top-sail.

On board that vessel at Fair Havens are two dis-
tinguished passengers: one, Jose[ihus, the historian,
as we have strong reason to believe, the other a
convict, one I'aul by name, who was going to piison
for upsetting things, or, as t^'<'y termed it, "turning
the world upside down." Tills convict had gained
the confidence of the captain. IndecMl I think that
Paul knew almost as much about the sea as did the cap-
tain. He had been shipwrecked three times alnsady ; ho
had dwelt much of his life amidst capstans, and yard-
arms, and cables, and storms; and he knew what ho was
talking about. Seeing theecpiinoctial storm was coming,
and perhaps noticing something unseaworthy in the ves-
sel, he advised the capain to stay in tho harbour. But

218

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

1 ''

; t

til

I hear the captain and first mate talking together. They
say, " we cannot afford to take the advice of this kinds-
man, and he a minister. He may be able to preach very
well, but I don't believe he knows a marline- spike irom
a luff-tackle. All aboard ! Cast off I Shift the hehn for
headway ! Who fears the Mediterranean ! " They had
gone only a little way out when a whirlwind, called
Euroclydon, made the torn sail its turban, shook the
mast as you would brandish a spear, and tossed the hulk
into the heavens. Overboard with the cargo ! It is all
washed with .salt-water, and worthless now ; and there
are no marine insurance companies. All hands ahoy, and
out with the anchors !

Great consternation comes on crew and passengers.
The sea-monsters snort in the foam, and the billows clasp
their hands in glee of destruction. In a lull of the storm
I hear a chain clank. It is the chain of the great apostle
as he walks the deck, or holds fast the rigging amidst
the lurching of the ship — the spray dripping from his
long beard as he cries out to the crew: " Now I exhort
you to be of good cheer ; for there shall be no loss of
man's life among you, bat of the ship. For there stood
by me this night the angel of God, whose I am, and whom
I serve, saying, Fear not, Paul ; thou must be brought
before Cajsar ; and lo, God hath given thee all them that
sail with thee."

Fourteen days have passed, and there is no abatement
of the storm. It is midnight. Standing on the look-out^
the man peers into the darkness, and, by a flash of light"
ning, sees the long white line of the breakers ; and knows
they must be coming near to some country ; and fears
that in a few moments the vessel will be shivered on the
rocks. The ship flies like chaff in the tornado. They
drop the sounding- line, and by the light of the lantern
they see it is twenty fathoms. Speeding along a little
farther, they drop the line again, and by the light of the
lantern they see it is fifteen fathoms. Two hundred

h0L^

THIS WKATH O*' TffE SEA.

219

They
lanels-
li very
e irom
ihii for
3y had

called
ok the
le hulk
:t is all
id there
Loy, ami

sengers.
ws clasp
le storm
t apostle
g amidst
from his
exhort
loss of
c stood
d whom
brought
lem that

and seventy.six souls within a few feet of awful ship-
wreck ! The managers of the vessel, pretending they
want to look over the side of the ship and undergird it,
get into the small boat, expecting in it to escape ; but
Paul sees through the sham, and he tells them that if they
(JO off in the boat it will be the death of them. The ves-
sel strikes! The planks spring! The timbers crack!
The vessel parts in the thundering surge ! Oh, what
wild st- gling for life ! Here they leap fi-om plank to
plank. Here they would go under as if they would never
rise, but, catching hold of a timber, come floating and
panting on it to the beach. Here, strong swimmers spread
their arms through the waves until their chins plough the
sand, and they rise up and wring out their wet locks on
the beach. When the roll of the ship is called, two hun-
dred and seventy-six people answer to their names. " And
so," says my text, it came to jjass that they escaped all
safe to land."

I learn from this subject :

First, that those ivho (jet U8 into trouble will not stay
to help us out. These ship-men got Paul out of Fair
Havens in the storm ; but as soon as the tempest dropped
upon them, they wanted to go off in the small boat, car-
ing nothing for what became of Paul and the pa^senn^ers.
Ah me ! human nature is the same in all ages. They
who get us into trouble never stop to help us out. They
who tempt that young man in a life of dissipation will be
the first to laugh at his imbecility, and to drop him out of
d(3cent society. Gamblers always make fun of the losses
of gamblers. They who tempt you into the contests with
fists, saying, " I will back you," will be the first to run.
Look over all the predicaments of your life, and count the
names of those who have got you into those [)redicaments,
and tell me the name of one that ever helped you out.
They were glad enough to get you out from Fair Haven.s,
but when with damaged rigging you tried to get into the
harbour, did they hold for you a plank, or throw you a

220

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

j«

!•

; /

l|!

io[)e ? No one. Satan has got thousands of men into
trouble, but he never got one out. He led them into
theft, but he would not hide goods or bail out the defen-
dant. The spider shows the fly the way over the gossa-
mer bridge into the cobweb; but it never shows the fly
the way out of the cobweb over the gossamer bridge. I
think that there were plenty of fast young men to help
the prodigal to spend his money; but when he had
wasted his substance in riotous living, they let him go
to the swine-pastures, while they betook themselves to
some other new-comer. They who take Paul out of Fair
Havens will be no help to him when he gets into the
breakers of Melita. Hear it, young man, hear it !

I remark, again, as a lesson learned from the text, that
it is dangerous to refuse the counsel of competent advisers.
Paul told them not to go out with that ship. They thought
he knew nothing about it. They said, " He is only a
minister ! " They went, and the ship was destroyed.
Thete are a great many people who now say c^ ministers,
"They know nothing about the world. They can not
talk to us ! " Ah ! my friends, it is not necessary to have
the Asiatic cholera before you can give it medical treat-
ment in others It is not necessary to have your own
arm broken before you can know how to splinter a frac-
ture. And we who stand in the pulpit, and in the office of
a Christian teacher, know that there are certain styles of
belief and certain kinds of behaviour that will lead to de-
struction as certainly as Paul knew that if that ship went
out of Fair Havens it would go to destruction. " Rejoice,
oh, young man ! in tby youth ; and let thy heart cheer
thee in the days of thy youth ! but know thou that for
all these things God will bring thee into judgment." We
may not know much, but we know that.

Young people refuse the a<lvice of parents. They say,
" Father is over-suspicious, and mother is getting old."
But those parents have been on the sea of life. They
kiiow where the storms sleep, and during their voyage

ni'l Ml* .

THE WKATH OF THE SEA.

221

into

3fen-

ossa-

letly

e. I

bad
im go
ves to
f Fail-
to tlie

t, that
[visevs.
lougbt
only a
troyed.
' listers,
;au not
,0 have
[l treat-
v own
a f rac-
»ffice of
yles of
to de-
p went
,ejoice,
b cheer
that for
We

|ey say,

icT old."

^They

Ivoyago

have seen thousands of battered hulks marking the place
where beauty burned, and intellect foundered, and moral-
ity sank. They are old sailors, having answered many a
signal of distress, and endured great stress of weather,
and gone scudding under bare poles ; and the old folks
know what thev are talking about. Look at that man —
in his cheek the glow of infernal fires. His eye flashes,
not as once with thought, but with low passion. His
brain is a sewer through which impurity floats, and his
heart the troufjh in which lust wallows and drinks. Men
shudder as the leper passes, and parents cry, " Wolf I
wolf ! " Yet he once said the Lord's Prayer at his mo-
ther's knee, and against that iniquitous brow once pressed
a pure mother's lip. But he refused her counsel. He
went where Euroclydons have their lair. He foundered
on the sea, while all hell echoed at the roar of the wreck
— Lost Pacifies ! Lost Facijics !

Another Ics.son from the subject is, that Christians are
always safe.

There did not seem much chance for Paul getting out
of that shipwi'eck, did there ? They had not, in those
days, rockets with whicli to throw ropes over foundering
vessels. Their life-boats were of but little worth. And
yet, notwithstanding all the danger, my texts says that
Paul escaped safe to land. And so it will always be with
God's children. They may be plunged into darkness and
trouble, but by the throne of the Eternal God, I assert it,
" they shall all escape to land."

Sometimes there comes a storm of commercial disaster.
The cables break. The masts fall. The cargoes are
scattered over the sea. Oh ! what struggling and leaping
on kegs, and hogsheads, and cornbins, and store- shelves !
And yet, though they may have it very hard in commer-
cial circles, the good, trusting in God, all come safe to
land.

Wreckers go out on the ocean's beach, and find the
shattered hulks of vessels ; and on the streets of our great

'•itg

mam

222

SERMONS BY TALMAQE.

■ I

r S

cities there is many a wreck. Mainsail slit with banker's!
pen. Hnlks aV)enm's-en(l on insurance counters. Vast
credits sinkinLj, Laving suddenly sprung a leak. Yet ail
of them who are God's children shall at last, through His
goodness and mercy, escape safe to land. The Scandi-
navian warriors used to drink wine out of the skulls of
the enemy they had slain. Even so, God will help us
out of the conquered ills and disasters of life, to drink
sweetness and strength for our souls.

You have, my friends, had illustrations, in your own
life, of how God deliveis His people. I have had illustra-
tions in my own life of the same truth.

Two weeks ago, last Thursday, the steamer Greece, of
the National line, swung out into the River Mersey at
Liverpool, bound for New York. We had on boai'd seven
hundred, crew and j.assengers. We came together
strangers — Englishmen, li'ishtnen, Italians, Swedes, Nor-
v/egians, Americans. Two Hags floated from the masts —
British and American ensigns. So may they ever Hoat,
and no red hand of war snatch either of them down. In
the ,<ame prayer that we put up for our national pros-
perity, we will send up the petiti(m, "God save the
Queen !" We had a new vessel, or one so thoroughly re-
modelled that tlie voyage had around it all the uncer^
tainties of a trial trip. The great steamer lelt its way
cautiously out into the sea. The i)il()t was discharged ;
and committing ourselves to the care of Him who holdeth
the winds in His fist, we were fairly started on oin-
voyage of three thousand miles. It was rough nearly all
the way — the sea with strong buli'eting disputing our
path. But one week ago last night, at eleven o'clock,
after the lights had been put out, a cyclone — a wind just
made to tear ships to pieces — caught us in its clutches.
It came down so suddenly that we had not time to take
in the sails or fasten the hatches. You may know that
the bottom of the Atlantic is strewn with the ghastly
works of cyclones. Oh ! they are cruel winds. They

THE \tfiATH OF THE SEA.

223

have hot breath, as though they came up from infernal
furnaces. Their merriment is the cry of affrightened
passengers. Their play is the foundering of steamers.
And, when a ship goes down, they laugh until both con-
tinents hear them. They go in circles, or, as I describe
them with my hand — rolling on ! rolling on 1 With fin-
ger of terror writing on the white sheet of the wave this
sentence of doom : " Let all that come within this circle
perish! Brigantines go down ! Clippers go down ! Steam-
ships go down ! " And the vessel, hearing the terrible
voice, crouches in the surf, as the water gurgles through
the hatches and port-holes, it lowers away, thousands of
feet down, farther and farther, until at last it strikes the
bottom ; and all is peace, for they have landed. Helms-
man, dead at the wheel ! Engineer, dead amidst the ex-
tinguished furnaces ! Captain, dead in the gangway !
Passengers, dead in the cabin ! Buried in the great cem-
etery of dead steamers, beside the Citij of Boston, the Lex-
ington, the President, Ihe Cambria — waiting for the
archangel's trumpet to split up the decks, ^nd wrench
open the cabin doors, and unfasten the hatches.

I thought that I had seen storms on the sea before; but
all of them together might have come under one wing of
that cyclone. We were only eight or nine hundred miles
from home, and in high expectation of soon seeing our
friends, for there was no one on board so poor as not to have
a friend, But it seemed as if we were to be disappointed.
The most of us expected then and there to die. There
were none who made light of the peril, save two : one
was an Englishman, and he was drunk ; and the other was
an American, and he was a fool ! Oh ! what a time it
was ! A night to make one's hair turn white. We came
out of the berths, and stood in the gangway, and looked
into the steerage, and sat in the cabin. While seated there,
we heard overhead something like minute-guns. It was
the bursting of the sails. VVe held on with both hands
to keep our places. Those who attempted to cross the

224

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

:■;::! 'I

:,i

floor came back bruised and gashed. Cups and glasses
were dashed to fragments ; pieces of the table getting
loose, swung across the saloon. It seemed as if the hur-
ricane took the great ship of thousands of tons and stood
it on end and said, " Rhall I sink it, or let it go this once?"
And then it came down with such force that the billows
trampled over it, each mounted of a fury. We felt that
everything depended on the propelling screw. If that
stopped for an instant, we knew that the vessel would
fall into the trough of the sea and sink ; and so we prayed
that the screw, which three times since leaving Liverj)ool
had already stopped, might not stop now. Oh ! how
anxiously we listened for the regular thump of the ma-
chinery, upon which our lives seemed to depend. After
awhile some one said, " l^te screw is stopped!" No ; its
sound had only been overpowered by the uproar of the
tempest, and we breathed easier again when we heard
the regular pulsation of the over- taxed machinery, going
thump, thump, thump. At three o'clock in the morning
the water covered the ship from prow to stern, and fJie
shy lights gave way ! The deluge rushed in, and we felt
that one or two more waves like that must swamp us for
ever.. As the water rolled back and forward in the
cabins, and dashed against the walls, it sprang half-way
up to the ceilijig. Rushing through the sky-lights as it
came in with such terrific roar, there went through the
cabin a shriek of horror which I pray God I may never
hear again. I have dreamed the whole scene over again,
but God has mercifully kept me from hearing that one
cry. Into it seemed to be compressed the agony of ship-
wreck. It seemed to say *' I shall never get home again !
My children shall be orphaned, and my wife shall be
widowed 1 I am launching now into eternity ! In two
minutes I shall meet my God ! "

There were about five hundred and fifty passengers in
the steerage ; and as the water rushed in and touched the
furnaces, and began violently to hiss, the poor creatures

THE WRATH OF THE SEA.

225

igain ■
tall be
n two

^ers in
fed the
laturea

in the steerage imagined that the boilers were giving wa}"-
Those passengers writhed in the water and in the mud
some praying, some crying, all terrified. They made a
rush for the deck. An otHcer stood on deck, and beat
them back with blow after blow. It wa« necessary.
They could not have stood an instant on the deck. Oh !
how they begged to get out of the hold of the ship ! One
woman, with a child in her arms, rushed up and caught
hold of one of the officers, and cried, " Do let me out ! I
will help you ! do let me out ! I cannot die here ! " Some
got down and prayed to the Virgin Mary, saying, "
blessed Mother, keep us ! Have mercy on us ! " Some
stood with white lips and fixed gaze, silent in their ter-
ror. Some wrung their hands and cried out, " O God !
what shall I do ? what shall I do ? " The time came
when the crew could no longer remain on deck, and the
cry of the ofiicei's was, " Below ! all hands below ! " Our
brave and sympathetic Captain Andrews — whose praise
I shall never cease to si)eak while I live — had been swept
by the hurricane from his bridge, and had escaped very
narrowly with his life. The cyclone seemed to stand on
the deck, waving its wing, crying, " This ship is mine !
I have captured it ! Ha ! ha ! I will command it ! If
God will permit, I will sink it here and now ! By a
thousand shipwrecks I swear the doom of this vessel ! "
There was a lull in the storm ; l)ut only that it might
gain additional fury. Crash ! went the life-boat on one
side. Crash ! went the life-boat on the other side. The
great booms got loose, anr], as with the heft of a thunder-
bolt, pounded the deck and beat the mast — the jib-boom,
studding-sail boom, and s(piai'e-sail boom with their
strong arms, beating time to the awful march and music
of the hurricane.

Meanwhile the ocean became phosphorescent The
whole scene looked like lire. The water dripping from
the rigging, there were ropes of fire ; and masts of fire ; and
there was a deck of fire. A ship of fire sailing on a sea

^:|:

III

{ I

!!■

I t
I I

!i!

S f

ill

226

SERMONS BY TALMAGE,

of fire, through a night of fire. my God ! let me never
see anything like it again.

Every b(jdy prayed. A lad of twelve years of age got
down and prayed for his mother. "If I should give it
up," he said, " I do not know what will become of mother."
Tliere were men who, I tliink, had not prayed for thirty
years, who got down on their kneei--. When a man who
has neglected God all his life feels that he has come to
his last time, it nnahes a very hasij night. All our sins
and shortcomings passed through our minds. My own
life seemed utterly unsatisfactory. 1 could only say,
" Here Lord, take me as I am. I can not mend matters.
Lord Jesus, thou didst die for the chief of sinners. That's
me ! Into thy hands I commit myself, my wife, and my
children at home, the Tabernacle, the College — all the
interest of Thy kingdom. It seems, Lord, as if my work
is done, and poorly done, and upon Thy infinite n ercy I
cast myself, and in this hour of shipwreck and darkness
commit myself and her whom I hold by the hand to thee,
O Lord Jesus ! and praying it may be a short struggle in
the water, and that at the same instant we may both
arrive in glory ! * C)li ! I tell you a man prays straight
to the mark when he has a c3"clone above him, an ocean
beneath him, an eternity so close to him. that he can feel
its breath on his cheek.

The night was long. At last we saw the dawn look-
ing through the port-holes. As in the olden time, in the
fourth watch of the night, Jesus caruc walking on the sea,
from wave-clitf to wave-cliff; and. v. hen he puts his foot
upon a billow, thougli it may be c*;.sscd up with might, it
goes down. He cried to the wmds, Itush ! They knew
His voice. The waves knew His foot. They died away.
And in the shining track of His feet I read these letters
on scrolls of foam and fire, " The earth shall be filled with
the knowledge of God as the waters cover the sea." The
ocean calmed. The path of the steamer became more
and more mild j until, on the last morning out, the sun

1!'.^

THE WRATH OP THE SEA.

227

look-
in the
le sea,
is foot
ght, it
knew
away,
etters
with
The
more
e sun

^hrew round about us a glory such as I novor witnessed
before. God made a pavement of mosaic, reaching
from horizon to horizon, for all the splendours of earth
and heaven to walk .ipon — a pavement bright enough for
the foot of a seraph — bright enough for the wheels of the
archangel's chariot. As a parent embraces a child and
kisses awav its ijrief, so over that sea, that had been
writhing in agony in the tempest, the mornmg threw its
arms of beauty and of benediction: and the lips of earth
and heaven met.

As I came on deck — it was very early, and we were
nearing the shore — I saw a few sails against the sky.
they seemed like the spirits of the night walking the
billows. I leaned ovei- the taff-rail of the vessel, and
said, " Thy way, God, is in the sea, and Thy path in
the great waters."

It grew lighter. The clouds were hung in purple clus-
ters along the sky; as in those purple clusters were
pressed into red wine and poured out u[)on the sea, every
wave turned into crimson. Yonder, tire-cleft stood oppo-
site to firo-clef't ; and here, a cloud rent and tinged with
light, seemed like a patace, with flames bursting from the
windows. The whole scene lighted up, until it seemed
as if the anijels of God were ascendinjx and descending
upon stairs of fire, and the wave crests changed into jas-
per and crystal, and amethyst, as they were tiung toward
the beach, made me think of the crowns of heaven cast
before the throne of the great Jehovah. I loaned over
the taff-rail again, and said, with more emotion than he-
tore^ "Thy way, God, is in, the sea, and Thy path in
the great waters."

So, I thought, will be the going off of the storm and
night of the Christian's life. The darkness will fold its
tents and away.

The golden feet of the rising morn will c me skipping
upon the mountains, and all the wonderful billows of the
world's woe break into the splendour of eternal joy.

-5 f* -

feyn^

1:1

yji t

228

SERMONS BY TALMAGF.

And so we came into the harbour. The cyclone behind
us. Our friends before us. God, who is always God, all
around us ! And if the roll of the crew and the passen-
gers liad been called, seven hundred souls would have
answered to their names " And so that v/e all escaped
safe to land."

To that God who delivered me and my comrades, I
commend you. Wait not for the storm before you Hy to
Him. Go to Him now, and seek His pardon. Find refuge
in his meicy.

And may God gi'ant when all our Sabbaths on earth
are citV^iI, we may find that, through the mercy of our
Lord Jesus Christ, we all have weathered the gale I

1 1
, {1

;

i< i

i '/I I

" Into the harbour of heaven we now glide,

Honie at last !
Softly we drift on tlie bright silver tide,

Homo at last !
Glory to God ! All our dangers are o'er ;
Wo stand secured on Ihe gloritied shore.
Glory to God ! we will shout evennore.

Home at last !

Home at last ! "

►^ j^

THE OOMINa SEEMON.

*' Go thou and preach the J<ingdom of Gnd." — Luke ix : GO.

HE Gospel is to be regnant over all hearts, all

circles, all governments, and ?11 lands. The

kingdom of God spoken of in the text is to

be a universal kingdom, and just as wide as

will be the realm sermonic. " Go thou and

preach the kingdon of God."

We hear a great deal in these days about the com-
ing man, and the coming woman, and the coming
time. Some one ought to tell us of tlte coining ser-
mon. It is a simple fact that everybody knows that
the sermon of to-day does not reach the world. Of
our own city, as moral .< = ity as there is on the planet
—of our 600,000 .o ; Jiition, not 100,000 come into
the churches, ixul oi liic 100,000 supposed to be in
the churches. ^ Ij not think that 20,000 carry away
practical help anl inspiiation.

The sermon of to- lay carries along with ic r.,. dead-
wood of all ages. Kindreds of years ago it was decided
what a sermon ought to be, and it is the attempt of many
theological seminaries, and do'^tors of divinity, to hew the
modern pulpit utterances into the samo old style propor-
tions. Booksellers will tell you they dispose of a hundred
histories, a hundred novels, a Lundivd poomj to one book
of sermons.

2S0

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

I ?

► f ,

What Is the matter ? Some say the age is tne worst
of all the ages. It is better in many respects. Some say
religion is wearing out, when it is wearing in. Some say
there are so many who despise the Christian religion. I
answer, there never was an age when tliere were so many
Christians, or so many friends of Christianity as this ago
has — our age — as to others a hundred to one. What is
the matter, then ? It is simply because our sermon of to-
day is not suited to the age. It is the canal-boat in an
age of locomotive and electiic telegraph. The sermon
will have to l)e sliaken out of the old gi'ooves, or it will
not/ be lu-ard and it will not be read.

The sermon must i)e converted before the world is con-
verted. You miuht as well <j:o into the modern Hft<lan or
Gettysburg with bows and arrows, instead of rifles, and
bombsliells, and parks of artillery as to ex])ect to coiKpier
this world for i\o(\ by the old styles of sermoiiology.
Jonathan Edwards preached the sermons most adapted
to the age in which he lived, but if those sermons wei-e
})reached now they would divide an audience into two
classes : those sound asleep and those wanting to go home.

But there is a coming G ;spel sermon. Who will preach
it I have no idea, in what part of the earth itAvill be born
I liave no idea, in whicli denomination of Christians it
will be delivered I cannot <''uess. That cominijf sermon
may be born in the country meeting-house on the banks
of the St. Lawrence, or the Oregon, or the Ohio, or the
Tombigbee, or the Alabama. The person who shaii de-
liver it may this moment lie in a cradle under the shadow
of the SieriM Nevadas, or in a New England farm house,
or amid tiie rice lields of Southern s..vamias. Or this mo-
nieiit theie may be some young men in some of our theo-
logical seminaries, in the junior, or middle, or senior class
shaping that weapon of power. Or there may be coming
Home ne .v^ baptism of the Holy Ghost on the churches so
that some of us who now stand in the watch-towers of
Zu-n, waking to the realization of our present hiethciency.

THE COMING SERMON.

231

may preach it ourselves. That coming sermon may not
be fifty years off. And let us pray God tliat its arrival
may be hastened, while I announce to you what 1 think
will be the chief characteristics of that Sermon when it
does arrive ; and I want to make my remarks appropriate
and suggestive to all classes of Christian workers, and
there are hundreds, if not thousands here.

I. I remark here that that coming sermon will be full
of a Living Christ, in contradistinction to didactic techni-
calities. A sermon may be full of Christ, though hardly
mentioning His name, and a sermon may be empty of
Christ while every sentence is a repetition of His titles.
The world wants a living Christ, not a Christ standing at
the head of a formal system of theology, but a Christ who
means pardon, and sympathy, and condolence, and brother-
hood, and life, and heaven. A poor man's Christ. An over-
worked man's Christ. An invalid's Christ. A farmer's
Christ. A merchant's Christ. An artisan's Christ. An
every man's Christ.

A symmetrical and fine-worded system of theology is
well enough for theological classes, but it has no more
business in a pulpit than have the technical phrases of an
anatomist or a physiologist, or a ph^'sician in the sick-
room of a patient. The world wants help, immediate and
woric '';^-lifting, and it will come through a sermon in
which iirist shall walk right down into the immortal
• u^^ .' nd take everlasting possession of it, iilling it as full
ui J.. • *■ as is this noonday firmament.

That s(M .non of the future will not deal with men in
the threadbare illustrations of Jesus Christ. In that com-
ing sermon there will be instances of vicai'ious sacrifice
taken right out of e"ery-day life, for there is not a day
but somebjily is dying for others.

As the physician, saving his diphtheritic patient by sac-
xificing his own life ; as the ship captain, going down
w \th his vessel, while he is getting his passengers into the
)i^( h^.U; %s the fireman, consuming in the burning build-

#vvf

232

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

( !

ing, while he is taking a child out of a fourth story win-
dow ; as this suuiraer the strong swimmer at Long Branch,
or Cape May, or Lake George, himself perished trying to
rescue the drowning ; as the newspaper-boy this summer,
supporting his nnother for some years, his invalid motlier,
when oii'ered by a gentleman fifty cents to get some
especial paper, and he got it, and rushed up in his anxiety
to deliver it, and was crushed under the wheels of the
train, and lay on the grass with only strength enough to
say, " Oh, what will become of my poor, sick mother
now?"

Vicarious sufferir '^he world is full of it. An engi-
neer said to mei)n a lO' >i0tive in Dakota the Coher day :
" We men seem to be coix^ing to better appreciation than
we used to do. Did you sec that account the other day
of an engineer wlio, to save his })assengers, stuck to his
place, and when he was found dead in tlie locomotive,
which was upside down, he was found still smiling, his
hand on the air-l)rake ? " And as the engineer said it to
me, he i)ut his hand on the air-l)rake to ilhistrate his
meaning, and I looked at him and thought, " You would
be just as much of a hero in the same crisis."

Oh, in that coming sermon of the Christian Church
there will be living ilhistrations taken out from everyday
life of vicarious sulfering — ilhistrations that will bring to
mind and enforce the ghastlier sacrifice of Ilim who in
uhe high places of the held, on the cross fought our bat-
tles, and wept our griefs, and endured our struggle, and
died our death.

A German sculptor made an image of Chi-ist, and ho
asked his little child, two years old, who it was, and she
said, " That must be some very great man." The sculptor
was displeased witli the criticism, so he got another block
of marble and chiselled away on it two or three years, and
tlien brought in his little child, four or five years of age,
and he said to her, " Who do you think that is ? " She
sa,id, " That must bo the One who took little children »n

THE COMING SERMON. gSS

rnagisterial CJuist but n l L^^^''"^' ^ot a severek

No more need o/ onS'1,''f-'''<^ "='' '"^hich we ]ive

to lje hydra-headed. In othp wl? "' " "ay be said

formation from the puU t ^^ '"'" ^'" ^" "'«'• in-
here were „„ new^^'X an f ?1 '^"'' ^'^'^ l-^o^s, and

timcs there was enJu- roo ' t.'' '''''''"'"'*■ ^" ^e ■
to warm himself up to theTbie.'' T" 1° ''''^« «" W
But wl>at was a necessity t "en is ."'^ ""'i"""- '« «°»1 oft

Congregations are full r,f l ^ «"PerHuity now
".ewspape?s, from rap and ^T'^^S" from boolcl from
^on and long dis^Si^^ ' ^XtTf '"'f— '-i a
wll not be abided. If a reli,,io„rt .'"^ ''""«' already
what he wislies to sav to th° *,'''"''"='' <=annot comnrel^

he act that the brakes weni out nf' T "'S^"" =«■"« f.'om

■anted to stop the trai.rthov .* ? r''""' ''"<' ^hen thev

the ca-sualty was t.rrific 1,7.^?"'' •""' '''"P. and hence

= ir s CE sH"*-"" ™^ £

I ;

', !

I !

234.

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

whole subject to hear a man s^y, "now, to recapitul^t","
and " a few words by way of application," and " once
more," and '* finally," and " now to conclude."

Paul preached until midnight, and Eutychus pfot sound
asleep and fell out of a window and broke his neck. Some
would say, " Good for him." I would rather l)e sympa-
thetic like Paul, and resuscitate him. That accident is
often quoted now in religious circljs as a warning against
somnolence, but Paul made a mistake when he ke-pt on
until midnight. He ought to have stopped at eleven
o'clock, and there would have been no accident. If Paul
might have gone to too great length, let all those of us
who are now jjreaching the Gospel i-emember that tkere
is a limit to )• j'loiis discourse, or ought to be, and that
in our time we have no npostolic power of miracles.

Hapoleoii I .in an address of seven minutes, thrilled his
army and thrilled Purope. Christ's sermon on the mount,
the model sermon, was less than eighteen minutes long
at ordinary mode of delivery. It is not electricity scat-
tered all over the sky that strikes, but electricity gathered
into a thunderbolt and hurled ; and it is not religious
truth scattered over, spread out over a vast reach of time,
but religious truth projected in compact form that flashes
light upon the soul and rives its indifference.

When the coming sermon arrives in this land and in
the Christian Church, the sermon which is to arouse the
world and startle the nations, and usher in the kingdom,
it will be a brief sermon. Hear it, all theological students,
all ye just entering upon religious work, all ye men and
women who in Sabbath Schools and other departments
are toiling for Christ and the salvation of immortals.
Brevity ! Brevity !

III. But I remark also that the coming sermon of which
I speak will be a pf)pular sermon. There are those in
these times who speak of a popular sermon as though
there must be something wrong about it. As these critics
are dull themselves the world gets the impression that a

THE COMING SERMON.

236

, " once

it son ml

. Some
sympa-

cident is

r against

' kept on

t eleven
If Paul

)se of us

,hat tliere
and tliat

slcs.

u-illed liis

he mount,

,utes long

^city scat-
gathered
religious
h of time,
lat flashes

nd and in
irouse the

kin':]i;dom,
I students,
men and
partments

ra mortals.

of which
|e those in
las though
liese critics
lion th£».t a

sermon is good in proportion C3 it is stupid. Christ was
l>he most popular pieacher the world ever saw, and con-
sidering the small number of tlie world's ])()puU\tion, had
the largest audiences ever gathered. He never preached
anywhere without mr.king a great pcusation. People
rushed out in the wilderiie-is to hoar Him, reckless of
their physical necessities. So great was their anxiety to
hear Clu-ist, that taking no food with them, they would
have fainted and starved had Christ lot performed a mira-
cle and fed them.

Why was Christ so popular ? Why did so many peo-
ple take the truth at Christ's hnnds ? Because they all
understood it. Ho illustrated His subject by a hen and
her chickens, by a busliel measure, by a handful of salt,
by a bird's flight, and by a lily's arouia. All the people
knew what He meant, and thev llncked to Him. And
when the coming sermon of the (Jhristian (Jhurch appears,
it will not be academic, or theologic, or philosophic, but
Olivetic — plain, ])ractical, uniqe, earnest, comprehensive,
of all the woes, sins, sorrows, and necessities of an audi-
tory.

But when that sermon does come, there will a thou-
sand gleaming scimitars to charge on it. There are in so
many theological seminaries professors telling young men
how to preach, themselves not knowing how. and I am
told that if a young man in some of our theological semi-
naries says anything quaint, or thrilling, or unique, faculty
and students tiy at him, and set him right, and straighten
him out, and smooth him down, and chop him oft' until
he says everything just as everybody else says it.

Oh, when the coming sermon of the Christian Church
arrives, all the churches of Christ in our great cities will
be thronged. Every church and chapel will be filled.
The world wants spiritual help. All who have buried
their dead want comfort. All know themselves to be mor-
tal and to be immortal, and they want to hear about the
ijreat future. I tpll you, my friends, if the people of these

ill ^

1 1' i

1 !

236

SERMONS B'f TALMAGE.

great cities who have had trouble only thou f,'ht they could
get practical and syinpathetic help in the Cliristian Church,
there would not be a street in New York, or Brooklyn,
or Chicago, or Chark'stown, or Philadelplna, or Boston,
which would be pass-.ble on the Sabhath-day, if there
were a church on it ; for all the people would pi'ess to
that asylum of mercy, that great house of comfort and
^ consolation.

A mother with a dead babe in her arms came to the
god Veda, and asked to have her child restored to life.
The god Veda said to her : " You go and get a handful of
mustard-seed from a house in which there ha'=' been no
sorr(jw and in which there has been no death, an<l I will
restore your child to life." So the mother went out, and
she went from house to house, and from home to home,
looking for a place where there had been no sorrow, and
where there had been no death, but she found none. She
went back to the god Veda and said : " My mission is a
failure ; you see 1 haven't brought the mustard-seed ; I
can't find a place where there has been no sorrow and no
death." " Oh," says the god Veda, " understand that your
sorrows are no worse than the sorrows of others ; we all
have our griefs and all have our heart-breaks."

" Lauj^h, and the world lauylis with yon,
Weep, and you woep alone ;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
Hut has trouble enouj^h of its own."

We hear a great deal of discussion now all over the
land about why people do not go to church. Some say
it is because Christianity is slowly dying out, and because
people do not believe in the truth of God's Word, and all
that. They wcq. false reasons. The reason is because our
sermons are not interesting and practical, and sympthetic
and helpful. Some one might as well tell the whole truth
(jin this subject, and so I will tell it. The sei-mon of tlic
future, the CJospel sermon to copio forth ^ind shjvke tiiu

THE COMING SERMON.

237

V conH
Uhurch,
ooklyn,
Boston,
if there
press to
brt i-.ud

e to the
I to lii'e.
mdf ul of

been no
n<\ I will

out, and

to home,
row, and
ane. She
ssion is a
|d-seed ; I
AV and no
[that your

■s ; we all

over the
5ome say
because
[d, and all
Icause our

^nipthetic
[lole truth
Ion of thf'
V.hivka thii

nations and lift people out of darkness, Avill be a popular
sermon just for the simple reason, that it will n»eet the
woi?s and the wants and the anxieties of the people.

There arc in all our denominations ecclesiastical mum-
mies sitting around to frown upon the fresh young pulpits
of America, to try to awe them down, to cry out, " Tut,
tut, tut I sensational ! "

They stand to-day, preaching in churches that hold a
thousand people, .tikI there are a Jiundred ])GV>n>ns present,
and if they cannot have the world saved in their way it
seems as if they do not want it saved at all.

I do not know hut the old tvay of making ministers of
the Gospel is bettei'. A collegiate education and an ap-
prenticeship under tlie caic and home attention of some
(earnest, aged Christian minister, the young man gettirig
the patriarch's spirit and assisting him in his religious
service. Young hiwyers study with old lawyers, young
])hysicians study with old physicians, and I believe it
would be a great help if every young man studying for
the Gospel ministry could put himself in the home and
heart and sympathy and under the benediction and pcr-
jjetual presence of a Christian minister.

IV. But I remark again : the sermon of the future will
be an awakening sermon. From ]>ulpit-rail to the front
doorstep, under that sermon an audience will get up and
start for heaven. It will not be a lullaby ; it will be a
batLle-cha!-ge. INIen v.'ill drop their sins, for they will feel
the hot breath of pursuing retribution on the back of their
necks. It will be a sermon sympathetic with all the
physical distresses, as well a.^ the spiritual distresses of the
\vorld, Christ not only preached, but He healed paralysis,
and tie healed epilepsy, and lie healed the dumb, and the
blind, and ten lepers. •

V. That sermon of the future will be an every a.iy ser-
mon, going right down into every man's life, and it will
teach him how to vote, how to bargain, how to plough,
bow to do any work he is called to, how to wield trowel,

i'.

;■ : a

238

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

and pen, and pencil, and yardstick, and plane. And it will
teach women how to preside over their households, and
how to educate their children, and how to imitate Miriam
and Esthcr,and Va.shti,and I^unice, the mother oi Timothy ;
jiiid Maiy, the mother of Christ ; and those women who
on Nortliein and Southern hattle-tields were mistaken by
the wounded for angels of mercy, fresh from the throne
of Go.1.

VI. Yes, I have to tell you the sermon of the future
will be a reported sermon.

If you have any idea that printing was invented simply
to print secular books, and stenography and phonography
were c )ntrived merely to set forth secular ideas, you are
mistaken. The printing-press is to be the great agency
of Gospel proclamation. It is high time that good men,
instead of denouncing the press, em[)loy it to scatter forth
tlie Gospel of Jesus Christ. The vast majority of peoj)le
in our cities do not come to church, and nothing but the
printed sermon can reach them and call them to pardon,
and life, and peace, and heaven.

So I carniot understand the nervousness of some of my
brethren of the ministry. When they see a newpaper
man coining in, they fc;ay : " Alas ! there is a reporter ! "
Every added reporter is ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, a
thousand inmiortal souls added to the auditory. Time
will come when all the village, town, and city newspapers
will reproduce the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and sermons
preached on the Sabbath will reverberate all around the
world, and, some by type, and some by voice, all nations
will be evangidized.

The practical bearing of tliis is upon those who are en^
gaged in Ciiristian work, not (mly upctn theological stu-
dents and 3'oung ministers, but upon all who preach the
Gospel, and that is all of you if you are doing your duty.

Do you exhort in prayer-meeting ? Be short and be
spirited. Do you teach in Bible-class ? Though you have
to study every night, be interesting. Do you accost peo-

The coming sermon.

239

id it will
Dlds, and
i Miriam
.'imothy ;
lion who
taken \)y
le throne

he future

;d simply
nogiaphy
3, you are
it agency
rood men,
itter forth
of peoi)le
g but the
,0 pardon,

tme of my
newpaper
porter !
lundred, a
y. Time
wspapers
I sermons
round the
1 nations

ho are en^
crical stu-
Dreach the
our duty,
rt and be
you have
ecost peo-

j)le on the subject of religion in their homes, or in public
places, study adroitness and use common sense. The
most graceful, the most beautiful thing on earth is the
religion of Jesus Christ, and if you awkwardly present
it, it is defamation. We must do our work rapidlv, and
we nmst do it ttfectively. Soon our time for work will
be gone.

A dying Christian took out his watch and gave it to a
friend, and said : " take that watch, I have no more use
for it : " time is ended for me and eternity begins." O
my friends, when our watch has ticked away for us the
last moment, and our clock has struck for us the last
hour, may it be found we did our work well, that we did
it in tlie very best way, and whether we preached the
Gospel in pulpits, or taught Sabbath-classes, or adminis-
tered to the sick as physicians, or bargained as merchants
or were busy as artisans, or as husbandmen, or as me-
chanics, or were like Martha, called to give a meal to a
hungry Christ, or like Hannah, to make a coat for a pro-
phet, or like Deborah, to rouse the courage of some timid
Barak in the Lord's contlict, we did our work in such a
way that it will stand the test of the Judgment ! And
in the long procession of the redeemed that march around
the throne, may it be found there are many there brought
to God through our instrumentality, and in whose rescue
we are exultant !

But oh, you unsaved, you people without Christ, wait
not for that coming sermon. It may come after your
obsequies. It may come alter the stonecutter has chiselled
your name on the grave-slab. Do not wait for a great
steamer of the Cunard or White Star Line to tal.. ou
otf the wreck, but hail the first craft with however low a
mast, and however small a hulk, and however poor a rud-
der, and however weak a captain. Better a disabled
schooner that comes up in time than a full-rigged ship
that comes up after you have sunken.

''.

.■ if,

240

SKRMONS BY TALMAQE.

Instead of waiting for that coming sermon — it may be
years off — t.'ikc this plain invitation of a man who, to
have given you spiritual eyesight, would be glad to be
called the spittle, by the hand of Christ, put on the eyes
of a blind man, and who wouM consider the highest com-
pliment of this service, if at the close five liundred men
should start from these doors, saying : " Whether he be a
sinner or no, I know not. This one thing I know, whereas
I was blind, now I see."

Swifter than shadows over the plain, quicker than birds

in their autumnal flight, hastier than eagles to their prey,

hie you to a sympathetic Christ. The orchestra of heaven

have already strung their instruments to celebrate your

rescue.

•' And many were the voices around the throne :
liejoice, for the Lord brings back His own."

I ■ i ' i

I *

1 1

THE liED OOPtD IN Tx^E WINDOW.

'And

sJic hi)

\T \ ^^ you have any i
f \ A ^^^^ because it is

uu'i Ihp. scarlet line /u the window/*
— Joshua ii. : 21.

dea that
IS odd. you

I have chosen this

do not know me

nor the errand on which I come. Eternity is

too near, and life is too short for men to take

fL texts merely because they are ])eculiar, I take this
^because it is full of the old Gospel.
'*''^ There is a very sick and sad house in the city of
Jericho. What is the matter ? Is it poverty ? No.
Worse than that. Is it leprosy ? No. Worse tluvn
that. Is it death ? No. Worse than that. A

f daughter has forsaken her home. By what infernal
plot she was induced to leave, I know not ; but they
. looked in vain for her return. Sometimes they hear
X a footstep very much like hers, and they start up
i* and say: "She comes!" but only to sink back
again into disappointment. Alas ! Alas ! The father
sits by the hour with his face in his hands, saying not
one word. The mother's hair is becoming grey too fast,
and she begins to stoop so that those who saw her only a
little while asfo in the street know her not now as she
passes. The brothers clench their fists, swearing ven-

1 ■ ■:

242

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

;i i Ml

gearice against the despoilcr of the home. Alas ! will thd
poor soul never come back ? There is a long, deep
shadow all over the household. Added to this there is
an invading army six miles away, just over the river,
coming on to destroy the city ; and wliat with the loss
of their child, and the coming on of that destructive
army, I think the old ])eople wished tlioy cwulddie. That
is the first scene in this drama of the Lible.

In a house on the wall of that city is the daufjhter.
That is her home now. Two spies have coine from the
invading army to look around through Jericho, and see
how best it may be taken. Yonder is the lost child, in
that dwelling on the wall of the city. The police hear
of it, and soon there is the shutlling of feet all around
about the door, and the city government demands the
surrender of those two spies. First, Rahab — tor that
was the name of the lost child — tirst, Rahab s'ecrets the
two spies, and gets their pursuers off the track ; but
after awhile she says to them : " I will make a bargain
with you. I will save your life if you will save my
life, and the life of my father and my mother, and my
brothers, and my sisters, when the victorious army comes
upon the city." O, she had not forgotten her home yet,
you see. The wanderer never forgets home. Her heart
breaks now to think of how she has maltreated her
parents, and she wishes she were back with them again,
and she wishes she could get away from her sinful en-
thralment ; and sometimes she looks up in the face of
the midnight, burdiiKj into aijonizhuj tears. No sooner
have these two spies promised to save her life, and the
life of her father and mother, and brothers and sisters,
than Rahab takes a scarlet cord and ties it around the
body of one of the spies, brings him to the v/indow, and
as he clambers out — nervous lest she have not strength to
hold him — with muscular arms such as woman seldom
has, she let him down, hand over hand, in safety to the
ground. Not being exhausted, she ties the cord around

|:i '

THE RED CORD IN THE WINDOW.

243

the other spy, brings liim to the window, and just as
successfully lots him down to the ground. No sooner
have these men untied the scarlet cord from their bodies
than they look up and say : " You had better get all your
friends in this house — your father, your mother, your
brothers, and your sisters; you had better get them in
this house. And then, after you have them here, take
this red cord which you have put around our bodies, and
tie it across the win low ; and when our victorious army
conies up, and see that scarlet thread in the window they
will spare this house, and all who are in it. Shall it be
so ? " cried the spies, " Aye, aye," snid Rahab, from the
window, " it shall be so." That is the second scene in
this Bible drama.

There is a knock at the door of the old man. He looks
up, and says : " Come in," and lo ! there i.s Kahab, the
lost child, but she has no time to talk. They gather in
excitement around her, and she says to them " Get ready
quickly, and go with me to my house. The army is
coming ! The trumpet ! Make haste ! Fly ! The
enemy !" That is the third scene in this Bible drama.

The hosts of Israel are all around about tlie doomed
city of Jericho. Crash, goes the great metropolis, heaps
on heaps. The air sullbcating with the dust, and horrible
with the screams of a dying city. All the houses Hat
down. All the people dead. Ah, no, no. On a crag of
the wall — tlie only piece of the wall left standing — there
is a house which we must enter. There is a family there
that have been spared. Who are they ? Let us go in
and see. Kaliab, her fatliei", her mother, her brothers
her sisters all safe, and the only house left standing in
all the city. What saved them ? Was the house more
firmly built? no, it was built in the most perilous
place — on the wall ; and tlie wall was the tirst thing that
fell. Was it because her character was any better than
any of the other popuhition of the city ? O, no. Why
then was she spared, and all her household ? Can you

t§;

'ij'

I'll

»'!!■

I I

il'^'

;i;l

244

SERMONS BY TALMAOE.

tell me vvliy ? O, it was the scarlet line in the window.
That is the fourth scene in tliis Bible drama.

When the destroying angel went through K.ir.vpt it
was the blood of tlie lamb on the door-posts that saved
the Israelites ; and now tliat tlie ven-jfeance has come
upon Jericho, it is the same colour tliat assures the
safety of Rahab, and all her household. ^ly friends,
there are foes coin'nu/ upon ux, more deadly and more
ti'emendous, to overthrow our iuimoital interests. They
will trample us dow!i and ciush us otit for ever, unless
there be some skiliul niode of rescue open. The | .leo
of death already begin to clamour for our surrcn<ler; but
Ijlessed be God there is a way out. It is through the
window, and by a rope so saturated widi tlie bl()!;d of the
cross, that it is as red as that with which the spies were
lowered ; and if once our souls shall be delivered, then
the scarlet cord stretched across the window of our oseape,
we may defy all bombardment, earthly and satanic.

In the first place, carrying out the idea of my text, we
must stretch tliis scarlet cord across the lulnaoiv of o2ir
rescue. There comes a time when a man is surrounded.
What is that in the front door of his soul ? It is the
threatenin&s of the future. What is that in the back
door of his soul ? It is the sins of the past. He cnnnot
get out of cither of these doorways. If he attempts it
he will be cut to pieces. What shall he do ? Escape
through the win<low of God's mercy. That sunshine has
beeri pouring in for nsany a day. God's inviting mercy.
Gods pardoning mercy. God's all-conqueiing mercy.
God's everlasting mercy. But you say the window is so
high. Ah, there is a rope, the veiy one with which the
cross and its victim were lifted. That was strop.!; enough
to hold Christ, and it is strong enough to hold you. Bear
all your weight- upon it, ail your hopes for this li^'r all
your ho|)es for the life that is to come. Escape now
through the window. "But," you say, " that cord is too
buiall to save me: that salvati(»n will never do at all for

THE RED COIID IN THE WINDOW.

245

[scape
has

[ercy.

is so

\i tlie

lougli

JBcar
le, all
now
Is too
III for

Huch a sinner as I have been." I suppose that the rope
with which Rahab let the two spies to the ground was
not thick enough, but they took chat or notiiing. An<l,
my dear brother, that is yo;n' alteniative. There is only
one scarlet line that can save you. There have been
hundreds and thousands who have been borne away in
safety by that scarlet line, and it will bear you away in
safety. Do 3'ou notice what a very narrow escape those
spi3s had ? I supposo tlioy came with flustered cheek
and with excited heart. They ha<l a vary narrow escape.
They went in the lu-oad door of sin ; but how did they
come out ? Tiiey came out of the window. They went
up by the stairs of stone ; they came down on a slender
thread. And so, my friends, we go easily and unabardi-
edly into sin, and all the doors are open; but if we get
out at all, it will be by beini^ let down over precipices,
wriggling and heljiless, the strong grip above keeping us
from being dashed on the rocks beneath. It is easy to
get into sin, young man. It is not so easy to get out of
it.

A young man to-night goes to the marble counter ot
the bar-room of the Fifth Avenue hotel. He asks for a
brandy smash — called so, I suppose, because it smashes
the man that takes it. There is no intoxication in it.
As the young man receives it, he does not seem to be at
all excited. It does not give any glossiness to the eye.
He walks home in beautiful apparel, and all his prospects
are brilliant. That drink is not going to destroy him,
but it is the first step on a bad road. Years have passed
on, and I see that youn<T man after he has gone the whole
length of dissipation. It is midnight, and he is in a hotel
— perhaps the very one where he took the first drink.
He is on the fourth story, and the delirium is on him.
He rises from the bed, and comes to the window, and it
is easily lifted ; so he lifts it. Then he pushes back the
blinds and puts his foot on the window-sill. Then he
gives QUO spring, and the watchman tinds his disfigure4

246

SERMONS BY TALMAGE.

! li ' 'Ih

body, unrecognizable on the pavement. 0, if he had
only waited a little — if he had come down on the scarlet
ladder that Jesus holds from the wall for him, and for
you, and for me; but no, he made cue jump, and was
gone. A minister of Christ was not long ago dismissed
from his diocese for intoxication, and in a public meeting
at the West, he gave this account of his sorrow. He said :
" I h;id a beautiful home once ; but stroni>' drink shattered
it. I had beautiful children ; but this fiend of rum took
their dimpled hands in his, and led them to the grave.
I had a wife — to know her was to love her ; but she sits
in wretchedness to-night while I wandei' over the earth.
I had a mother, and the pride of her life was me ; but
the thunderbolt struck her. I now have scarcely a friend
in the world. Taste of the bitter cup I have tasted, and
then answer me as to whether I have any hatred for the
agency of my ruin. Hate it ! I hate the whole damning
trafhc. I would to God to-night that every distillery was
in flames, for tlien in the glowing sky I would write in
the smoke of the ruin : ' Woe to him that putteth the
bottle to his neighbour's lips!'" That minister of the
Gospel went in through the broad door of temptation;
he came out of the window. And when I see the temp-
tations that are about us, and when I know the proclivity
to sin in every man's heart, I see that if any of us escape
it will be a very narrow escape. O, if we have, my friends,
got off from our sin, let us tie the scarlet thread, by which
we have been saved, across the window. Let us do it in
praise of Him, whose blood dyed it that colour. Let it
be in announcement of the fact, that we shall no more be
fatally assaulted. " There is no condeuination for them
tliat are in Christ Jesus." Then let all the forces of this
world come up in cavalry charge, and let spirits of dark-
ness come on an infernal storming party, attempting to
take our soul, this rope twisted from these words : " The
blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin," will hurl
them back defeated for ever.

THE RED CORD IN THE WINDOW. -

247

ae had
scarlet
and for
nd was
smissed
meeting
Je said :
liattcred
urn took
le grave.
: she sits
he earth,
me ; but
' a friend
sted, and
id for the
damning
illery was
1 write in
itteth the
m of the
iH)tation;
the tcrnp-
iroclivity
us escape
[y friends,
by which
iS do it in
Ir. Let it
more be
for them
[es of this
of dark-
inpting to
Is : '• The
will hurl

Still further : we must take this red cord of the text,
aiid stretch it across the window of our houspJtoIds.
When the Israelitish army came up against Jericho, they
said : " What is that in the window ? " Some one said :
" That is a scarlet line." " 0," said some one else, " tliat
must be the house that was to be s|>ared. Don't toucli
it." That line was thick enouGfh, and lono- cnouirh, and
conspicuous enough to save Rahab, her father, hcrmothei",
her brothers and her sisters — the entire fnniily. Have
our households as good protecti(m ? You have bolts on
the front door, and on the back, and fastenings to the
window, and perhaps burglar-alarms, and perhaps an
especial watchman blowing his whistle at midnight be-
fore your dwelling; but all that cannot protect your
houseliokl. Is there on our houses the sign of a Savi-
our's sacrifice and mercy ? Is there a scarlet line in the
window ? Have your children been consecrated to Christ ?
Have vou been washed in the blood of the atonement ?
In what room do you have family prayers ? Show me
M'here it is you are accustomed to kneel The sky is
bhick with the coming deluge. Is your family inside or
outside of the ark ? It is a sad thing for a man to reject
Christ ; but to lie down in the night of sin, across the
path to heaven, so that his family come up, and trip over
him into an infinity of horrors — that is the longest, the
deepest, the mightiest. It is a sad thing for a mother to
reject Christ ; but to gather her family around her, and
then take them by the hand, and lead them out into
paths of worldiiness, away from God and heaven — O, it
will take all the dirges of earth and hell to weep out that
again. I suppose there are in this church to-night fam-
ilies represented whore there has not been an audihle
prayer offered for ten years. There may he geranium
cactus in the window, and upholstery hovering over it,
and childish faces looking out of it; but there is no
scarlet thread stretched across it. Although that liouso
may seem to bo on the finest street in all the city, it iy

248

SERMON? BY TALMAGE.

^^ ^1

I '!

' 1

!■.!!

really on the edge of a marsh across which sweep most
poisonous malarias, and it has a sandy foundatiun, and
its splendour will come down, and gre;it will be the fall
of it. A home without God ! A pray erl ess father ! An
undevout mother ! Awful ! Awful ! Is that you ? Will
you keep on, my brother, on the wrong road, and take
your loved ones with you ? May God arrest you before
you complete the ruin of those whom you ought to save.
You see 1 talk plainly to you, just as I would have you
talk plainl}' to me. Time is so short that we cannot
waste any of it on apologies, or indirections, or circum-
locutions. You owe to your children, O father, O mother,
more than food, more than clothing, more than shelter —
you owe them an example of a prayerful, consecrated,
pronounced, out-and-out Christian life. You cannot afford
to keep it away from them.

Now, as I stand here, you do not see any hands out-
stretched towards me, and yet there are hands on my
brow, and hands on both my shoulders. They are hands
of parental benediction. It is quite a good many years
ago now since we folded those hands as they began the
last sleep on the banks of the Raritan, in the village
cemetery; but those hands are stretched out towards me
to-night, and they are just as warm, and they are just as
gentle as when 1 sat at their knee at five years of age.
And I shall never shake off those hands. 1 do not want
to. They have helped me so much a thousand times
already, and I do not expect to have a trouble or a trial
between this and my grave where those hands will not
help me. It was not a very splendid home, as the worM
calls it ; but we had a family Bible there, well worn by
tender perusal ; and there was a family altar there, where
we knelt morning and night : and there was a holy Sab-
bath there ; and stretched in a straight line or hung in
loops or festoons, there was a scarlet line in the window.
O, the tender, precious, blessed memory of a Christian
home I la th^t the impression you are making upon

"• »k i

THE RED CORD IN THE WINDOW,

249

most

le fall
1 Aa
Will
d take
before
save,
ve you
cannot
-ircuni-
motlier,
lelter —
ecrated,
3t atfonl

nds out-
s on my
■e liand-i
^y years
g-aii the
°v ill age
irards nie
e just as
Is of age.
^ot want
lid times
ir a trial
will not
tic world
worn by
■e, where
,oly Sab-
hung in
window.
Christian

jng ui'on

your children ? When you are dead — and it will not be
long before you are — when yon are dead, will your child
say : " If there ever was a good, Christian father, mine
was one. If there ever was a good Christian mother,
mine was one ! " Will they say that after you are dead ?
Standing some Sabbath night in church preaching the
glorious Gospel, as I am trying to do, will they tell the
people in that day how there are hands of benediction
on their brow, and hands of parental benediction on both
their shoulders ?

Still further : we want tliis scarlet line of the text
drawn across the luindoiv of our prospect!^. I see Rahab,
and her father, and her mother, and her brothers, and
sisters, looking out over Jericho, the city of palm trees,
and across the river, and over at the army invading, and
then up to the mountains and the sky. Mind you, this
house was on the wall, and I suppose the prosj)ect from
the wdndow must have been very wide. Besides that,
I do not think that the scarlet line at all interfered
with the view of the landscape. The assurance it gave
of safety must have added to the beauty of tlie country.
To-night, my friends, we stand, or sit, in the window of
earthly prospects, and we look off' towards the hills of
heaven and the landscape of eternal beauty. God has
opened the window for us, and w^e look out; but how
if we do not get there ? If we never get there, better
never to have had even this faint glimpse of it. We
now only get a dim outline of the inhabitants. We
now only here and there catch a note of the exquisite
harmotiy.

But blessed be God for this scarlet line in the winderw.
That tells me that the blood of Christ bought that home
ior my soul, and I shiill go thei'e wlien my work is done
here. And as I put my hand on that scarlet line, every-
thing in the future brightens. My eyesight gets better,
and the robes of the victors are more lustrous, and our
loved ones, who went away some time ago — they do not

2.'0

SERMONS V.Y TALMAGE.*

A '■

stand any more with their backs to us, but their faces
are this way, and their voices drop through this Sabbath
air, saying with all tenderness and sweetness : " Come !
Come! Come !" And the child that you think of as
only buried — why, there she is, and it is May-day in
heaven ; and they gather the amaranth, and they pluck
the lilies, and they twist them into a garland for her
brow, and she is one of the May queens of heaven. !
do you think they could see our w^avering to-night ? It
is quite a pleasant night out-doors, pretty clear, not many
clouds in the sky, quite starlight. / iconder if they can
see us from that good land ? 1 think they can. If from
this window of earthly prospects we can almost see them,
then from their towers of light, I think they can fully
see us. And so I wave them the glory, and I wave them
the joy, and I say : " Have you got through with all your
troubles?" and their voices ansver : "God hath wiped
away all tears from our eyes." I say, " Is it as grand
up there, as you thought it would be ? " and the voices
answer : " Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath
it entered into the heart of man, the things which God
hath prepared for those that love Him." I say, " Do you
have any more struggle for bread ? " and they answer :
" We hunger no more, we thirst no more." And I say :
" Have you been out to the cemetery of the golden
city ? " and they answer " There is no death here." And
I look out through the night heavens, and I say : " Where
do you get your light from, and what do you burn in the
temj)le ? " and they answer ; " There is no night here,
and we have no need of candle or of star." And I say :
" What book do you sing out of?" and they answer;
"The Hallelujah Chorus." And I say: "In the splen-
dour and magnificence of the city, don't you ever get
lost?" and they answer: "The Lamb which is in the
midst of the throne Icadeth us to living fountains of
water." O 1 how near it seems to night. Their wings —
Uu you not feel them ? Their harps— do you not hea

!,i|!

fchem ? And ll fi ^

. J see where you are V ''^"'^'^^"fir it ! "^"-^ °"

moment on earth better, "'"' ''"^' ""'J i" ou rew"''
ncacle,ho,veve,.|;i,,h" 1 ""; *">- other defence „T"^

i'.

i;i

* -{'Aim
I

f'li

^11

1i!

I ■ !!

•• ^e n«si rtfra{^, oniti bcilet>«»"

.->.■*. ■\."\.^t-\.'>."\.-V.-v.-\.-\.'\.

My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,

Saviour divine :
Now hear me while 1 pray ;
Take all my guilt away ;
O let me from this day

Be wholly Thine !

May Thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart,

My zeal inspire ;
As Thou hast died for me,
O may my love to Thee
Pure, warm, and changeless be,

A living fire.

While life's dark maze I tread,
And griefs around me spread.

Be Thou my guide ;
Bid darkness turn to day,
Wipe sorrow's tears away,
Kor let me ever stray

From Thee aside.

When ends life's transient dream.
When death's cold sullen stream

Shall o'er me roll.
Blest Saviour, then, in love,
Fear and distrust remove ;
O boar me safe above,

A ransomed souL

r:''

III .

i ;
■ 1,

i. (M

■ 'it

1 ' <"'

t . ^H '

! ■-If:

■ '!
t

1 :

:i
ii

= ^=^^ »- !K----^ niA-'^

HEV. HENRY WARD BEECHEB.

6- :

KEV. HENEY WARD BEEOHER.

HE Rev. Mr. Bcecher was born in Litchfield, Con-
necticut, United States, in 1813. Mr. Beecher'a
father, Rev. Lymiin Beecher, was born in New Haven,
Connecticut, in October, 1775. He devoted himself to
Theology, and after holding the pastorate of Congregational
churches at Litchfield and at Boston, he was, in 1832, ap-
pointed president of the newly founded Lane Theological
Seminary, near Springfield. He became celebrated a& a power-
ful preacher and platform orator, aiid died at Brooklyn, in
January, 1863. Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, his second son,
received his early education at Amherst College, Connecticut,
and after graduating, studied Theology with his father at Lane
Seminary. After ten years pastorship of two churches in the
State of Indiana, he removed to Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, New
York, an "organization of Orthodox Congregational believers."

256

REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER.

t !

He lias one of the largest congregations in the Uniced States, and
his popularity as a pulpit speaker and a lecturer speedily became
prodigious, owing partly to his rich fund of illustration, his dra-
matic manner, and his keen sense of humor.

For nearly twenty years Mr. Beecher was editor of the New York
Independent, a religious newspaper, and for nearly twelve of the
Christian Union, anotlier i)aper of the same class. Although dur-
ing his long piiblic career he has experienced a good deal of trouble,
yet his influence is said hardly to have suffered, and the fidelity of
his congregation still remains unshaken in him.

Mr. Beecher's Sermons, known aa the " Plymouth Pulpit," his
"Lectures to Young Men," "Life Thoughts," "Life of Christ,"
and " Yale Lectures on Preaching " have been largely read all over
the world.

Mr. Beecher, though now well advanced in years, is still vigorous
and strong, and continues to attract as large crowds of people at
Plymouth Church as he did when he first took charge of it as a
young man.

;tl!iiii!i

<£^

;eB, and
became
his dra-

'ew York
e of the
iigh dur-
trouble,
idelity oi

Ipit," hifl
: Christ,"
d all over

1 vigorous
people at
of it as a

THE

FOUR GREAT PREACHERS

SERMONS BY REV. H, W. BEECHEK.

:♦

THE OLD AND THE NEW.

*' And for this came, he m the mediator of the. New Testament^
that by means of death, for the redemption of the transfjresdova
that icere under the first testament, they which are called m'>g\t
receive the promise of eternal inheritance."
Hebukws ix : 15.

^ERE there is a contrast between the Okl and
the New Testament of Cod. This contrast
I yj-x^ is not incidental. It was a i)art of the
!^{/^ mission of the Apostles not to transfer the

allegiance of the Jews from one god to another,
but to teach tliem how to serve the sami' God in a
higher dispensation, under a no])le disclosure of His
\l character and attributes by new and better methods,
f It was to be the same heart and the same God ; but
there was a new and livin^j- way opened. The Old
was good, the Now was better. Tlie New was not
an antagonism of tie Old, \n\t only its outgrowth,
related to it as the blossom and the fruit are to the
root and the stalk. We coidd scarcely conceiw; of
Christianity as a system developed in this world,
if it had not been preceded Ity the Mosaic economy — by
the whole teaching of the Old Testament.

f-^-B-

258

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

There are striking differences between the Old and the
New ; but no opposition. The Old was local and national
in its prime intents, and in its results. The New was for
all ages. It is true that the seeds of the truth in the Old
Testament had their adaptations, and that there were
possibilities of a universal application, under the genius
of the system. And the general effects of the system
were to produce national character. It was religion de-
veloped for the Jew. 1'he New Testament dispensation,
the New Testament of Christ Jesus, was for mankind.
There was to be neither Jew now Gentile ; neither bond
nor free, neither male nor female. All were to be one in
Christ.

The Old was a system of practices. It aimed at con-
duct — of course implying a good cause of conduct. The
New is a system of {)rinciples, and yet, not principles in
a rigid philosophical sense, but principles that are great
moral imp dses or ti-ndeiicies of the heart. I do not mean
that the Old Testament had no principles, but that these
were not its clmract<;iistics. They were incidental. It
was, " Do tills, and live;" or, "Disobey, and die." It
was a system of rules anil regulations adapted admirably
for certain specific results wliieli were attained, but not
broadly adapted to tlu; ultimate wants of the whole de-
veloped race. For a system of practices is never flexible
and therefore not adaptable. Ordinances which fit one
age and one race, on that very account cannot tit another
age and another race. Principles arc infinitely flexible.
Retaining the same heart, they are susceptible of a hun-
dred different devel()])ments, plastic and movable. Prin-
ciples are adapted to tins universal need. Ordinances,
forms, methods, rules, practices, must of necessity be
manacles for a time, to those that wear them ; and thev
must be dispossessed and broken to pieces, if the world is
to go on and grow. The Old Testament was not alto-
gether bound up in ordinances, nor in types, nor in sacri-
fices ; but still, these were the central elements.

THE OLD AND THi: NLW.

259

id the
itional
vas for
he Old
e were
genius
system
rion de-
Qsation,
ankind.
er bond
e one in

1 at con-
ct. The
iciples in
are <i;veat
not mean
[lat these ^
ntal. It *
die." It
liiura\»ly
l.ut not
iviu)lo de-
jr llexible
Ih tit one
anotlier
tlexible.
it* a tmn-
le. Vv\n-
[dinanees,
jssity be
and they
world is
wot alto-
ill sacri-

The Old built men for this world. Therefore it hardly
looked beyond this world. It is mournful to see how
death was regarded at the end ; as the dark slumberous
chamber ; as the final extinction of hope and life. I do
not mean that there were not traces in the Old Testament
of the dawning doctrine of futurity and immortality ;
but certainly it was no })art of the Mosaic economy. It
never was employed as a sanction, nor as a motive. It
fell out incidenUilly, as it weie, like some poetic Hash, or
some divine inspiration, as the experience of a devotee or
a prophet, But in the formal and methodized work in
which the nations were to be trained, the great power
which Christianity has was utterly ignored. The whole
force of the New dispensation, or Testament, is derived
from that which scarcely appeared at all in the Old — its
supereminent doctrine of the future. That is its very en-
ginery. The aims of Christianity are supramuudane.
The aims are drawn from immortality — its joys, its hon-
ours, its promises, its rewards. The fervour of the apostle
scarcely designed, except incidentally, to refer to earthly
fruitions and enjoyments. Not that the New Testament
utterly discards these tilings ; not that it is silent in re-
spect to them ; but the genius of the New Testament is
in the future, looking on, looking u}), looking forward,
looking ever beyond this present state of existence.

The Old addressed the conscience through fear, and
soon overreached its aim, losing some by under-action,
and others — and the better natures — l)y over-action.
What the law could not do, in that it was weak, it is de-
clared, God sent His own Son to do. The law was found
impotent to reach beyond a certain point of development
in human experience. Indeed, it may be said to have
been scarcely more than a secular polity. It fitted men
to be virtuous in this life. It taught them to fulfil their
civic duties. It set up before them, to be sure, a God to
be worshii)ped and to be obeyed ; but the fruit was to be
HHen in this mortal state, in character, in conduct, and in

260

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

condition. The New aims at the very springs of moral
power in the soul, and that through love. It is a total
change, it is an absolute difference, in this regard. I do
not mean that the love principle was left out in the 01<l
Testament ; but it was not the characteristic and work-
ing principle. I do not mean that fear was not known in
the JSew Testament. In the vast choral harmony, you
now and then hear tue thunderous undertones of fear ;
but, after all, we are to be saved by the powei- of love,
and not by the impulsion of fear. This is the peculiar
element of Christianity — that it appeals to love, and
teaches it to predominate over all other powers, and holds
all other elements in subjection to it. It is that faith
which works bv love that is to save the soul.

The Old sought to build up around the man physical
helps. It was a system of crutches and canes. It was as
a nursery to teach children to walk, with all ap[)liances
to hold up their feeble and trembling limbs. As a re-
ligious system of tJucation, it was purely physical and
artiticial — full of symbols an<l ordinances. It tau<dit men
how to use their senses so as to find out something super-
sensuous. It taught them through bodily organs and
agencies to rise above the body a little way; which was
the best, probably, that could then have been done for
man. liut the New, counting that the time has come
for something higher and better than this, strikes straight
lor character, by the force of a man's own will. It is the
power of the inward man that is evermore appealed to —
the new man: not the new man alone ; but the new man
enlightened and inspired by the spirit of God, and made
mighty for all change and for all acquisition. While tlu;
Old taught men how to observe days and months, how to
maintain signs, and symbols, how through types anil
shadows to discern substances, the New brushes all tliese
away, and says, " Neither in this mountain, nor yet in
Jerusalem ; not in any consecrated place, nor in any par-
ticular place, but anywhere and everywhere, every man

THE OLD AND THE NEW.

261

of moral
is a total
id. I <\o
t the Oia
nd work-
known in
lony, you
!s of fear ;
er of love,
peculiar
love, and
;ind holds
that faith

m physical
It was as
sippliances
, As a re-
ysical and
alight men
ling siiper-
)rgai»s and
which was
u done for
e has come
OS straight
It is the
>ealed to —
e new man
and made
'AVhile the
|ths, how to
types and
les all tliese
|nor yet in
n any par-
every man

may be his own priest, and stand worshipping God, and
call Him Father."

The Old Testament was not wholly without its natural
religion. Indeed, the most\eminent natural religion that
can be found in literature is that which is contained in
the recordtfl piety of the Old Testament. We have not
yet in our times advanced, anywhere near so far as the
prophets and the sweet singer of Israel had advanced, or
{IS the Hebrew mind had advanced, to whom nature itself
was one vast symbolism; to whom storms, and seasons,
and mountains, and plains, and rivers, and seas, and day
and night, the processions of nature, were all mighty
symbols significant of certaii.\ great truths behind them.
There was a vast store of natural religion held up in the
Old Testament, so that over and above the specialities of
the temple and of the Mosaic economy, there was a larger
spirit of worship. Nevertheless, the system was charac-
terized by ordinances. And every system that multiplies
ordinances, every system that runs after rites and cere-
monies, runs back to Judaism — that is, runs back to
cluldhood. It is not a question as to whether men may
or not. Certainly they may. May not men write their
prayers, and recite them ? May not men make their
services to consist in elaborate ceremonials ? Certainly
they may. There is no law that prevents adults wearing
babies' clothes. There is no law that prevents a man's
going back to his spelling book. There is no law that
prevents a man's gamboling again in the street, just as he
did when he was six years old Men may become child-
ren. Men may be children in social and in fiscal matters ;
and they may bo children in matters of religion. When
eagles are once hatched, they remain eagles. It is men
that, having been hatched, try to go back again into the
egg — and a sorry business they make of it !

With a far lower aim in character, the Old kept men in
bondage. With immeasurably higher aim and largei*
requisition, the New yields liberty. It would seem hs

, ■

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;ii1i

2C2

SERMONS BY BEECHEll.

though if there was less to do, and it were easier of
attainment, there would be greater freedom, and as
though if you multiplied tasks, and set higher stantiards,
and increased the force of motives, men would Ing be-
hind. But it comes to j)ass the other way. For no men
were ever so much iu bondage as those who attempted to
perfect manhood un^ier the old ritualistic system; and no
iiicn are so free as those who attempt manhood under the
spiritual system of the New 'I'estument are so free as
those whose idi'ji of inardiood is the amplest. No man is
sj free as he tluit aims the highest. It is a simple and
absolute natural law, as I believe, that bondage goes with
the baser faculties, and that liberty goes with the moral
sentiment. It is a part of the genius, I will not say of
Christianity, except as Christianity is a part of God's
universal nature, but of creation; it is a part of the
peculiar tlevelopinent of God's thought in the liuman
constitution, that if you live by the use of the reason
and the higher moral sentiments, through faith and
hope and love, you live in the realm and by faculties
whose essential nature it is to work out liberty. Your
idea comes by faith, and your attainment still lags, as
under any system it will ; yet, after all, the s})irit has the
very remuneration and the very atmosphere of liberty.
No man is free but he who lives in the very highest
realms of religious life. As a man goes down toward the
lower and economic faculties, and as he goes down
through these to the passions and appetites, and says to
them, " Ye are our God," more and more he goes down in
circumscription ; more and more he is limited ; and more
and more he works toward bondage. Bondage is of the
tiesh, and liberty is of the spiiit.

The Old was a dispensation of secular morals. It lived
in the past. The New is a system of aspirations. It
lives in the future. The Old said, " Remember all the
way in which the Lord hath led thee." It recited law
and ordinance and government It chanted, in the sub-

jasicr of
and as
andanls,
. lag be-
• no men
[npteiJ to
; aTitl no
mder the
) free as
\o man is
uplc and
Toes with
i\iQ moral
ot say of
of God's
L-t of the
e human
he reason
'aith and
faculties
,y. Your
I higs, as
it has the
f liberty.
•y highest
ward the
es down
d says to
Is down in
and more
is of the

It lived

i,tions. It

jr all the

kited law

the sub-

THE OLD AND TJIF, NEW.

2fi3

lime strains either of the singer or of the prophet, the
national history of deliverances. The New snys, " For-
getting the things that are behind, press forward to those
tilings which are before." The Old said, " Rising up or
sitting down, teach your children God's mighty acts."
The New says, " Set your aii'ections on things above. Go
out, and up, and beyond."

The Old was a system, therefore, in which men remem-
bered, and the New is a system in which men aspire.
Not that there was not aspiration in the ()M — drawings
of it, elements of it, collateral and incidental ; bub the
workiniT force was not that. Not that there are not in
the New Testament the elements also of consideration, of
reflection ; not that there is not to be memory of past
experiences and past deeds ; but that the characteristic
drift and inspiration of the New Testament is toward the
future.

It is a system vitalizing aud life-giving. It does not
take so much account of the graiuxry as it does of the
sowing of the seed. It is not the reaping that it empha-
sizes : it is the harvesting.

The Old, I might say, had a muffled God. Sinai, all in
robes of darkness, the earth shaking, thunders and
trumpets, a voice of terror, a God invisible, commencing
with his piiest or servant Moses — that is the God of the
Old Testament. Jesus lifted up before all the people, a
sufferer for others, pure himself, and without spot, pour-
ijig his life out freely, that Uie whole world might have
life, with clear features lifted up against the sky, that all
men mio;ht see him-'-ho is the visil)le God of the New
Testament. The Old Testament was God hidden ; and
the New Testament is God made known through Jesus
Christ — a living force: not an idea, not an imagination,,
certainly not an abstraction, but a living force. You will
recollect how much emphasis is put upon the thought of
^living God. He is the living Head, ho is the living
Way, as we are told. It is not a God that is concealed, it

264

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

,1 tml

is not a God that we draw near to through types and
ordinances and shadows : it is the actual revelation of a
God with whom we may hold personal communion ; to
whom the heart finds its way ; on whose bosom it rests ;
with whom it speaks. It is a living Saviour, companion-
able, communicable, ever-present.

We are the children of the New Testament, and not of
the Old. Woe be to us if, living in these later days, we
find ourselves groping in the imperfections of the Old
Testament, instead of springing up with all the vitality
and supereminent manhood which belongs to the JSew
Testament. We are the children of a living Saviour. We
are a brood over which he Stretches his wings. He is
our Brother, he is our elder Brother, he is our Saviour,
and our Deliverer, and our everlasting Friend.

We ought to have more than a creed which is only a
modern ro})resentation of an old ordinance or institution.
We ought to have something more than an ordinance.
We are not Christians because we keep the Sabbath day,
nor because we pray, nor because we read the Bible, noi
because we perform duties. They are Christians through
whose soul is struck that vitalizing influence by which
the soul says, " Father," and beholds God. To be a dis-
ciple of the New Testament is to have a living Head. It
is to have a vital connection with that Head. It is to be
conscious, while all nature speaks of God, and while all
the exercises of religion assist iridirectly, that the main
power of a true religion in the soul is the sotll's connec-
tion with a living God.

Is there such a connection in you ? You would scorn
the imputation of being Jews, and Mosaic Jews. I would
that some of you were as good. You would scorn going
back to the cast-off rubbish of those far-otf days ; and yet
they are all of them shadows of your beliefs. In what
respect do you differ from those of the old dispensation,
if there is to you no personal Saviour, no absolute com-
munication between your soul and God ? If all that you

ME 0,.D AND THE NW. ^g.

>oM possesions; to se lis „ousT;''""^' ">o.efoi „

Jt pro,„,ses the l.e.eafto,, "' "" ^"^'^^^^ beyon.l that
-"■it! till Voiir fli'iv 1

. "eaven clear ? Tv. n.^ i , » •- ^ '' '*e revealrxl ? /^^

;;; -hieh yo,„. tLught .;::'/ W'^ ^"'"« "-'>..«.;;

" '"the present, If yo^. ] r;-^"' « «'e ,,ast, nor
« •* " '" '" the present, ami

i I

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266

SERMONS BY BEECH ER.

in these lower things, then ye are yet the disci j'lcs of the
Old, and not the New,

Do you still aim at conduct, or is it character after
which you strive ? It was conduct that belonged to the
Old dispensation ; and through that, character was to be
wrought out. Ii the New dispensation, it is character
that is to be wrought out ; and conduct is to flow from
that. Conduct is to be spontaneous. When a man's heart
is riglit, he will let go everything else. Then conduct
w^ill always go right. Are you living imder certain
schemes of moral excellence ? or have you the conception
of a Christian manhood ? Is this the irlowiujr ambition ?
Is tliis the earnest desire ? Is this the daily strife ?

Standing, as we do, on th'? first Sunday of the year, I
have bet'ii led into this tiain of thought, I suppose, by a
sort of fugitive analogy between the Old and the New as
represented by the departed year and the coming year. I
know not by what other suggestion I fell upon it. I am
moved to speak to you to-niglit, if I cam with some motive,
some propelling power toward the future.

I cannot bear, my.self, to go into the coming year just
as I came out of the old one. I would fain believe each
year to be a mother, and that I am born into the next
year, that I may, as it were, with renewed childhood have
a fresh start, and go forward with the experience and
the strength of the past yeai*. I would fain believe that
1 might take a new life, as it were, each year. In my
fraternal relations to you, I fain would have your com
panionsliip in entering upon this new year, upon whos<
threshold we stand — only three days of which hav^
elapsed. I fain would have you, in the spirit of the New
Testament, look forward, cast your life forward, and tako
steps of })urpose and inspired will, which shall lead you
to greater eminence in the year that is to come, than you
have attained in the year that is passed. Let me help
you, therefore, somewhat.

WE OLD A.VO Tin, KM..

Since clianict..,- i, „„. ^^'

^.-fiim who/n J know 11 ^''''" ^^-^<^ ^v],i,.], j ,L ,;.'"'*

"''•■iilowon tl,i.l \ ""ucliof ,„y e,. 'l'^^'' f'at have

.->'ite cCd'th, r;::;i?!t:« ■' "«- h.!'' r;; it;- "

'" me t)mt is clivi„o "',, ' "f "'"'J •' """' iittio . ■''
I'ositions, I kno'v h.Tr '''"'"'"'' ' AI,„vo all ,fl ''?•"*
»''ich subdue I V"' ''««ei'--ut i„ W tA" '"*•
i look to spp wi '"'"'^^ "'« power f r ■"■ '" """t

ol , have eraclfoatoJ o, eve„ ,rrr'''''1' '""' ^'^I'iXe^'t-

■I am not content T n.> ! -^ '^^^' ^^t'en. Anr? f J. r
fe'enerosities ;m „. """' ^'^^ ^'^ntent when r V T"''"^^^^"^

2G8

SERMONS BY REKCHER.

< '!

I am not content with my official life amon^^ you. It
is most iiicagrc, it is more barren than 1 wv)uld have it.
By this I do not mean niorely that I do not preacli as
well as I would — thouf^^h I do not ; or that I do not ex-
ort as much or as noble influence as 1 would — thoui'h that
is true. 1 try to ]>re}tch, and 1 do preach, as well as I
caA, unless I am a better jiu»,<» There is the trouble. It
is the want of essential ;^M;*ce an»l goodness. It is the
want of a higher type ot spiritual life. It is the want of
depth. It is the want of powor. It is, in shoit, tiie v ,iut
of grace in me, the hope ot glory. I should preach brtter,
and work more eH'ectually, if 1 had more of that. I am
not content.

How is it with yoti, my Christian brother ? How is it
with yuu, my ChriNiian sister? Are you content with
the character which you brought out of the old year, and
with which you are setting forward upon the new year ?
How is it in this matchless elemejit, in this very divinity
of love, that subdues all the mind, and brings it into a
sweet submission to God ? Have you enough of it ?

Is not this, then, a time for you to revive your char-
acter, and see what are the elements of it, how you are
shaping it, v hat yor mean by it, and what you have ob-
tained thus tar ? Is it not a time for vou to look into
the future ? No matter how old you are, it is not too
late for you to learn in the school of Christ, surely. And
it is a noble ambition with which you should begin the
year — not to swell your colters, not to have more of
this world's good, (though that you may have also,) but
to begin the year chiefly with the ambition to be more
like Christ, and to have the power of God testing upon
you, and to know the will of God, and so to live that
whosoever meets you shall know that you have been with
(Jhrist.

Out of this spirit what Islessings will flow I Oh ! if you
were holier, how much hap[)ier would you be ! Oh ! if
you were holier,how would fall dowu from you straightway

^'"= OtD A.VI, XUK K.,..

^'■Wmontin «,? ^°"; "^"'l «o n,»el, have , 'vro "'
3;"" are not good tlT, "''''' '"■« P"«e,,I ? J -l-'r ' >"'"■

in<' of /I y 'oneivin yo,n-s,.|fT ■• ,• '' "ot a time
-^,';f those feeuitie, w,ir:.^to''ti't„'"'^^-<'-
How seldom doe, a mn ' ' '" '"^

!'"Sf'ly p.-oud man •' "d h'''^ >-> himself, "U„, ^ .^
'I '>"'««;■. «ay it to him" A„T '"'^''"" ''»«" ""S no';
-vill .iy it s- ''' " '""« Powerlo. = Your /""' ," "^^''^
tlmt d/re tell'lr T '""'her a,ed u e ^"••'"' ^'=''^'=''1 V

-gh i„t:.rt^L^^ir;t"^, ^« hav-e^n'on'^lharar""-'
We have none H,„f '^''iance them and t^ i ^''" ""'

thron,,/, the r '•"''" ^'P'-'ak to „, f ' '° ';"°«' '''en,.

'''•"•-u but «,;d"I 1" ?^ '°^«. «o that it";'. "'^''I: ''"-"

Men explode the f T*?'' "' "" "^ bomb, at i f ■'''"''^••^"•
ourselvis. A ,d " "^""^-^ "»' "-^ '"atef" ;!"" '°' ^\ '"'ts.

themselves to be other ^L T 'f ''• "n^' w" .""t n"""-'
Jiardnes« • ).o«o • "'^'^ ^lan a „,j .1 \ "^■'^ permit

'^^^'^' grown rich ?'' ^Vhn" '"''" -'"^^^ «elfish n«
come excassivelv x,.- o / '^'^^'^ ^ you " v'^ ^ ^'^'^

t-.V excess beJot-n?:;. ,, .'J''-..->- "o 3.I:" .'7- '«-

generosity of vo.„- ,„ T, ^ ' Who say. *„ ' ^"" "'«
^ 'you, y„„t,. ,, evaj,„,,m„!>^\ " yon. "The

o like t! e moniini!

11'

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. K

f ■

\ .

< H-:

j (;:

* ■

!:,

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i if

■\r\

270

SERMUNS RY BEKCHER.

row, and you are ^Towijii^ up into life wlrli a coarse
f-ticngtli, and not witli a fine .streiif^th ?" \Vho nieasuies,
wlio explores, and who makes known to us our faults ?

Wo may go to our ])liy.sician, and lio can examine the
hnigs and s'>und the clu-st, and rejxjrt their condition; he
can tell us the state of the licart ; he can tell us the con-
dition of our wliole nervous system. But uheroisthc
pliysician tliat can make an examination of the spiritual
man, and give us a diagnosis of our spiritual life? If it
is done, must it not l>e done by ourselves ? An<l is tliere
any other time when a num should ajijily himself to this
work with so much vigour as upon the very threshold of
the yea)'.

You have this year hefore you. ])•> you want to know
the truth ahout youiself { ])o y(Mi want to feel the whole
weight and iniportancc of the truth i If a man couhl
enter into the secret chamher where character is, an<l set
in onler hefoi'o you; if tlie Sj)irit of God should knock
at the door of the soul, and would fain hring in the light
liy which you should see which were evil and which weiv
divine elements, would you want to know your condition?
^lostly, no. Men do not want to know all these things.
Men are like holting-clolhs, tlwit s.'paiate the wheat and
the bran, an<l throw one tliis way, and the other that way.
All that is pleasant; all that ndidsters to self-indulgence
— that they fain woidd liave ; l>ut tliat which is critical,
and exact, and painl'ul ; that which cuts into imj)erfec-
tion or fault.s, like a surgeon's knife into Jnn(/L or gan-
grenous llcsli, they do not want to know or feel.

Is there anvthiiiir in this world that outrht to bo so

ecior.s to a man as his manhood '. I love to see a ii

own Ids estate. I lovotoseeldm decorate it. He cannot
niakt^ it moie beautiful than I ap}>rove. Plant it royally.
Ueautd'y it with landscape pictures. He cannot build
Ids mansion too regally, nor I'unnsh it too ex(pnsitely, if
it bo conformal)le to his means and position. And 1 will
wttlk with lum tlirou;;!) the te.s.selated Jialls; and I wilt

THE OLD AND THE NEW.

271

\ coarse
oasiires,
lulU \
nine the
;iou; he
the con-
re is the
spiritual
e? If it
I is there
■If to this
esliold ol

■to know
the whoU'
nan conhl
is, ami set
iil.l knock
I tlie li^^ht
liicli were
ondition?
•se tliinj^s.
Aheat ami
that^vay.
iuUilL,'t'nce
is eiitieal,
in»|)ertec-
Ml't or gan-
,1.

lit to bo 80

see a man

llle cannot

it royally.

Imot l>uiM

uisitely, il

nd 1 will

and I will

look with him upon the art wliich adorns the aj)artment ;
I will look through the alcoves of his library, and I will
applaud, and be liappy as he is happy. It is not this that
1 (lisapi)rove. But that a man should till his gi-ound,
and let his soul go fallow ; that heshouhl build his costly
mansion, and let his spiritual dwelling be ruthlessly
beaten in upon by every di'iftirig storm; that he sliould
take care ol his substance, a»id let his soul go to eternal
dauuiation — this is that whieh 1 marvel at.

Now, is this not a time for forethought ? Is it not a
time for earnest thon<dit ? Is it n (*^^ a time for searchintj
thouLrht ? I shall be called to vour funeial before lontr,
and then it will be too late? What itiny tongue be
jtlain ? What if it seems bitter ? What if it thresh like
a ilail ? It is a better kindness than the tongue of th(i
riatterer. If 1 make you disc()nt«'tite<l, it is a discontent
tiiat has love in it. It is better that you should condenui
yourself than that God should condemn you. It is better
that I should put you upon an inspired lif«; by making
vou fliseontenti'd with the one that you have followed,
than that by following it j ou should go down to shau»e
and everlasting contempt.

Ye are the children of the New and not of the Old. Let
your life mount up toward God. And remember who is
}our Father. Remember whom ye hope to be companions
with. Ye are ''oinij: " to the<o'neral asscndilv and church
of the first-born;" ^'' f::iints; to " the spirits of just men
made perfect." ot'c lluit ye an; habited gloriously for that
loyal abode. And is it not tin; time now to begin such a tit
Avork for the ybnX ? You have exchangr'd salutations of
good-fellowship one with another; and that is a beautiful
)>ractice. It is a beautiful fiiactice for a man to lay aside
all animosities at the begimiing of the year, and to n ach
forth an open palm to evi-ryone that he meets, as if ho
•Slid, " Let the past bury the past. Let us b'gin anew."
That is riiiht nobh; between man and num. liut then* an?
thousands ol guardian angels about you. ho you greet

272

SERMONS BY IJEECHER.

,1'

tht'in ? " The Spirit and the hiide say Come." You aro
beheld by iiinnniemble spectators be3'ond. All heaven is
near to you. J)o you give greetings to them ? To your
little child that you si^nt 'lome to glory, and for whom
your heart lias yearned, oh 1 how nuieh ! do you say, dara
you say, "All hail ! 1 reach out haiuls of gratidation to
you. I am changing; I am drawing near?" Can you
nay to your mother (iiietliinks mine walks jiigh up among
the saintly throng — she who, hy Ciod'w giace, has been
sent to be my guaidian, I doubt not ; who has brooded over
my life, and whom 1 beliold, oh ! how mucli higher than
I am !) — cjin you say to your mother, with heart tiMie and
sincere to-night, " 1 bid you joy of the new year ; and my
heart is comiiiLT to meet thine {" And " .lesus the medi-
ator of the new Covenant ; " he who bought us with His
own precious blood ; He wliose love to us is greater tlian
all the heat and light that the sun sheds tlirough ages on
th«' «dol)e ; He of" llu! j'-reat aud roval heart ; He in whom
is our ho\)ii — can you stand at the ijeginning of the year,
and reach heart and hand to Him, and, with new cove-
nant and new pact, say, " Thine — living or dying, thine !"

1 linger; and yet I know it is in vain, by added woi'ds,
or by intenser exj)r(ssions, to reach the heart. My dear
bretnren and friends, I am joined to you, to-night in sym-
pathy. I am joined to you in love. We are pilgrims to-
gether. We are moving on. Of this wo aro conscious.
My sight grows dimmer. Whiteness is connng on these
locks. And you aro keeping company. 1 observe it.
Those that were little duldren when I came here, are
now earryiixjf their littli^ children in th«'ir arn»s. The
young men with whom 1 took cotinsel are now sjieaking
with their grandchildicn.

We are all moving (;n togetlier. Thank God, wo have
moved together in the dear an<l swi^et sympathy of love.
But let us now take one Htep in advatice, one step up,
for the new ycHr Let us lot)K up, let us l<Mjk away, lie-
yund, wlieie Christ sittetli, i\iu\ set our ftfiections ther<'

FHE OLD AND THE N'EW.

273

roll avo
aveii is
'o your
r whom
ly, dar(i
ation to
3an you
p aiium^'
las Vjeeu
,(lc(l over
luT Uiau
tnu- an«l
; an J ii\y
the lufttU-
with His
iiiter thiin
rh }>S^'s on
} in Nvliom
the year,
new cove-

Uh\ words,
My d^'U^i'
lilt in sym-
I'llgriuis to-
conscious.
,T on these
l)\)Sorve it.
here, are
rn^s. The
L speaking

h wo havo

L'y of U)Ve.

lie step up,

away, he-

ions then'

And a.s we have lived to^othpr, and are livin^^, and shall
yet live, hy God's irood [providence, let us have a com-
mon faith, and a coiimion hope, and a common con.secra-
tion, nntil the day of departure comes (happy is he to
whom it comes tirstj, and the heart hears (Jod saying,
" Lons^ enough from home, () my child, come up, come
up," and the ani^ads fly to meet the emancipated spirit.
If you go first, I shidi Ihuidc (lod for you ; if ynu fol-
low, I shall give LMiitulntion to your victory, and if I
go first, do ye thank (Jod for my release, and for my vic-
tory. Anil may may God grant that then, in the heavenly
land, when these clogs and these hindrances are all laid
aside, in a })etter siuiimer, with a better teacher, with a
holier coinpanionship, we may hold on together in eternal
hlessedness. — ^4 imiu

l,iT»^

■■■■■■I

iiV

THE DUTY OF USING ONE'S LIFE FOR

OTHERS.

** Who wr- hiwselffor VH, i],nt he wi<ihi rclcrm un fmm all
A. inupiit[i a„il jinrinj unto hitnsdj a jjecxihar pcujAc, zealous of
\W 9'^^''" 'fforh." — Tins ii : 14.

i .

fl«r

THE DUTY OF USING ONK S LIFE FOR OTHERS. 2io

in froiH 0^1
zealous uf

\\'n\v with
ijiire 11 i^^

litmle ot'
ivc move
jrist g-avc
Iwhilc lie
either to
|() disease,
•es wbich
to ti^'bt
[no moral
lulition of
loHH it l>e-
[ath as a
l3tlaii bc-
I a family,
I'st siti^'l''
Ictivc aiiU

inclusive of all the great reasons which make life desir-
able. Wlien one consents to die, he does not consent
simply to take the puia of death — lor that usually is
very little. In half the deaths there is no more pain than
in falling asleep. It is seldom tbat men do not sutlrr in
single days or weeks, while ])ursuiiig tlu'ir avocations, as
much or moi-e uneasiness and pain, fourfold, than death
inflicts. In some cases death is preceded by great suffer-
ing; but these cases are exce[)tionaI. (/oiiimonly it is
balm, not anguish. In ''gestion, and its train of horrors ;
neuralgia, and its wai'^ u,nd woof of rteiy threads ; rheu-
matism, and many other ills that are coiumon to man, are
a hundredfold harder to lM>ar than dviii'^ It may be
said generally, that life suffers, and that death soothes.
The moral worth, then, of dying, if by no means to be
measured by its sufiering, as if to take on so much sutfer-
insf was an act of transcendent heroism.

It is that wliich one gives up, also, that in part is to
enter into the moral estimate of a voluntary dying. For
to die willingly, for a reason, is to offer the sum total of
life, and all its hopes, joys, and aspirations, to that reason.
All })leasures of lite, all innocent enjoyments, all affec-
tions, all honours and inspirations, all things which one
would count riches in life, awt voluntarily given up when
we give, not yield, life. In this view, dying is really the
offering a s;icriliee of one's livinij — that is, of all the ele-
ments which make life desirable; and the moral si^nifi-
Ciince of the act is to be measured by th(> value of life, in
;dl its pursuits, honours, enjoyments and dignities, to the
victim.

13ut you have noticed, in the passage wlu-nco we liavo
taken our text, that it is said that Christ gave, not His life,
\i\\t Iliiiiself. He gave Himself in dying; but He also
gave Himself in /</v'//f/. Ail His life was a giving. Al-
though comprehensively viewed, it was a single gift, yet
it was a continuous gift, developing in every direction.
It was a multiple force, ever varying. It was one |)ro-

276

SERMONS BY BKKCIIKR.

f !'

iMi

•• !

longed giving of HiiiisL'lf^way to others. For He lived
not for Himself. He sought not His own. He did not
eni[)loy His reason, nor His moral sentiments, nor His ac-
tive forces, nor His time, nor His power, for Himself.
He lionoured His Father, and sought the welfare of men.
And three years, or nearly three, that preceded His death,
were in some respects a far more remarkable gift than
was the death itself. And in the case of uuv divine Lord,
He '^ave Himself hoth while living and while dving.

It is true that there entered into the death (.f Christ
other elements than those which belong to any, even the
giuatest, man's death ; that there were in it avowed,
though unexplained, relations to the visible world, and to
moral influences. 1 believe that the death of Chri^t had
souie inlluence that was far ditferent from anything which
we appieciate, and other than anything that we know.
What it is 1 cannot tell. It is declaied simply as a fact,
and left there. Tlieso inlluences men dying do not need.
It is not necessary that in their death for others they
should have a lelation to the universe, as Clirist liad.
Tile salient fact which we put forward is this: that
Christ i/<tce H'nnt^cJf. living and «lying, for the world. lb;
ut^ed His life for others as really as he laid it down for
them. He gave His life while it was in His own keep-
ing, as really as when it w^as taken away from Him. And
the gift of Christ is the gift in its totality, in all the vari-
ations of His experience. 1'hough on some accounts the
tragic circumstances of His death lift it up into conspicu-
ity, though by reason of man's fears and man's education,
there is given to it a sombre importance that t)elongs to no
single act of His life, yet I think we become clearer in
our moral perceptions, and finer in our naturi', and learn
not only not to discsfjM'm that j.art uf Christ's example,
but also to go back an<l give far n»ore emphasis to th*-
other part, and to lift up the daily conveisati. >ns ti.r
daily patience, th*^ daily love, thf ten thousand tvl' uti'S
which belong to so grrat » life, <'arr;"d wholly fur its

THE DUTY OF USING ONk's LIFE FOR OTIIEKS. 277

lo lived

(lid not

His ac-
ll'uiiself.

ot" men.
is death,
rift thati
iMo Lord,

i'K^'- .
(,f Chnst

even the
avowed,
[d, and to
Ihrist bad
n^ which
wo know,
as a fact,
not need,
.hers they
:]uist had.
his: that
(,ihl. U^i
(h)wn for
l)\vn koep-
llini. And
11 the vari-
ounts the
conspicu-
I'ducation,
li.ni^^tono
clearer in
;ind learu
exiUDple,
> to th*'

!; 11^ t <•

• 1 Ai' -

, \'-i it-1

V)en('fit upon others, and not at all for His own mere per-
sonal convenience or gain. We leain to give to this an
euipliasis which it lacks too often.

So the lesson to be derived, it seems to me, from many
of the descriptions of Christ's gift of Himself, i.s a Ies.son
to be pondered in regard to the use of our lives, rather
than in regard to their termination. We irive our life
l)est, not when we die, but while yet we are living.

It is true that men often give tlieir lives in some sense
as Clni--t did ; but the more obvious a'ld the more com-
mon and attainable imitation of the Lord Jesus (Mirist is
that whii'h seeks to imitate His life, rather than His
death. No man can give his life for the world as (,'hrist
did. Though a man may give his life for the world, no
man can stand sinliiss ; but He did. No man is relatetl
to God as was the Saviour. From no man reaches out
those tineaiis which connect him with the spiritual and
invisible realm as Christ was connected with it. What
the other-side intluenee was Ihave .said we do n(jt knovv;
but that there was one we are told. And tliis we cannot
have. Here is agrand olllcial ditfereiice. There is a uni-
viT.sal character i>elonging to the influence of the death
of Christ whicii does not and cannot belong to that of
any man. Yet, ni so far as moral inlluence is exerted l)y
one's death on his fellow-men, it is po.ssihlt', though in a
far lower spliere, and in a far less degree, that we should
follow and imitate our Lord by giving our life for one
another.

I'^very {)atriot who is .sacrificed, on account of the heroic
fidelity of his life, to the public weal ; every martyr
who.se blood is shed as a seal and witness of that holy
faith by which he would illumine ainl bless the world;
every prisoner lingering in dungeons, and with long
dying, auH'ering unseen and forgotten by the multitudes
for who.se welfare his life is .spent; every man that goes
forth to lands of fever and nulla ria, and to early death,
kuowing that he carries religion, ci vlization, and lilmrty

278

SERMONS BY BKEfllKR.

to tliG jornoraiit, at the price of his own life, anil cheoifully
dies in the liarness there, where men, being most degraded
and tliankless, are on that very account more needful of
this very sacrifice of some one — all these, and all others
whose death is brought about by persistent adhesion to
the welfare of man, follow their Lord not less reallv be-
cause the sphere is lower and narrower. They lollow
their Lord ui death, and iliroiKjh death. For, does not
the little five year-old child follow his father because it
ie(juires three of his litthi footsteps to measure a single
stride of his father ^ He follows him in speech, though he
prattles. He follows him though it be in weakness, and
more slowly and wearisomely. And all who willingly
yield life for the sake of a moral cause, or a beneficent
influence, follow their Loid and Master just so far as these
thinfTs are concerned.

And so, too, in their Innnbler sphere, do all those follow
Christ who cheerfully put their life in jeoj)aidy, oi' offer
it up in the fulfilment of their public duties.

Every humble watchman, guarding the pence of the
city, and its property, who falls down bleeding under the
brutal strokes of thieves or bur;rl«'^is ; everv faithful
policeman, who, to preserve the public peace, is slain in
neighbourhood tussles or public riots, is a martyr to duty,
and to pahl'tc duty. Nor sh(;uld the ob>curity of their
name lead us lightly to esteem this great gift, which they
otier to society, of life.

There are men of wealth in New-York, honored,
because })rosperous, who heap up riches, and hoard them.
and live in a magnificent selfishness. They use the
whole of society as a cluster to be squeezed into their
cup. They are neither active in any enterpiise of gooil,
except for their own prosperity, nor generous to their
fellows. They build palaces, and fill them sumptuously ;
but the poor starve and freeze around about them. N(j
Btrugghng creature of the army of the weak ever blesses
them. And yet their names are heralded. They walk

THE DUTY OF USING ONE's LIE'E FOR OTHERS. 270

L'eifully
e (graded
edf 111 of
I others
lesion to
jally be-
y lollow
(Iocs not
icc'iuisc it
? a single
hough he
ness, and
willingly
jeneticent
^r as the-oe

ose follow
V. 01" otter

ce of the
under the
faithful
is slain in
,',• to duty,
V of their
fc'hich they

honored,
oard theni:
use the
into their
ic of good,
L to their
Inptuously ;
Itheiu. ^'<'
Iver blesses
iThey walk

in specious and spectacular lionor. Men flatter them, and
fawn upon them. J-)ying, the newspapers, like so many
trumpets in procession, go blaring after them to that
grave over which should be incribed the text of Scrij)-
ture, " The name of the wicked shall rot." But in his
very ward, and right under the eves of his dwelling,
walks an honest and faithful policeman, who guards
him and all his neighbours. And when villainy grows
bold and defiant, and this faithful man is attacked, and
falls wounded, and dies, a moment's shock, a morning
paragraph, is all the honor that is given to this obscure
liero, who did all that man can do. He gave his life for
the peace of the city; and dead he is a monument of
honor to that city more than scores and thousands that
live. How much greater is he than the cocooned rich
man ! How much nobler is his death than the whole
gorgeous uselessness of the selfish millionaire!

In this class of noble martyrs who give their lives for
others, I rank, also, all tho.se gentle nurses who wear out
in sick-rooms, watching the. suffering, and undermining
their own health, for the sake of children, of brothers, of
sisters, of comjjanions, of parents. Tlioy exemplify tlie
truth which is symbolized by the bird mythical which
plucks feathers from its own breast to make the nest soft
for its young.

And what shall I say of all those who have followed
armies ; who have buffeted storms ; who have ventured
into the infernal edge of battle ; who have toiled night
and day in military hospitals — those faithful surgeons,
who, while others smote to destroy, cut only to make
alive who bore the heat and burden of campaigning, the
perils of climate, and of battle, an<l fuially fell willing t(
die, but not willing to relin([uish their humane and noble
devotion to the suffering ?

And what shall I .say of heroic chaplains wlio, in the
leisure of the camp, are instructors and servants of all,
and who, like the noble Butler of New-Jei-sey, in battle,

280

SKRMONS BY REECHER.

kept up witli tlie liin; of fire, drawini;" out the wouiKlcd
from among the dead, until lie, too, fell dead, pierced to
the heart ?

Ami how shall I worthily enoui^h speak of those annrel
bands of women who <^avc themselv«'s, and in scores of
instances gave their lives, to the unweariefl performance
of the duties of humanity ? They coitntcd not their Hcch
dear iLiito them. Tiiey oflered uj) their souls unto God,
in hospitals, in fields far from home, aii<l among strangers,
that they might be joined to their Lord, in giving their
lives for others.

Among the poor and lowly, among servants, and
humbly laborers, how many have given their lives in
atiectionate fidelity to otiiers ! In the noise of the great
grinding world their name and acts are not heard; but
they are all marked in heaven. Not one in all the annals
of time, nor in all the races of men, has ever given life for
others willingly, that God did not mark and register and
remember.

While, then, it is impossible, literally, to give our life
for others, and while we may sometimes be called in the
performance of our duty to do it, so that we shall not say
that dying for others is anticpiated ; yet, in the main, if
Ave are to follow our Lord, and to give our lives for
others, it must be by the use which we make of those
lives.

Now, he who devotes the active hours of his life to
those spheres of which Providence calls men, is really
giving himself for others. It is not necessary that a man
should go apart from life in order to do the work of
piety. Piety is the right performance of a common duty,
as well as the experience of a special moral emotion. Too
often men think that religion, like music, is something
that belongs to a department which is exceptional and
quite outside of the ordinary routines of life. We leave
religion to go to our work and duty. We forsake work
and duty, at appropriate periods and pauses, to go back

THE DUTY OF USING ONE's LIFE FOR OTUEUS. 281

kVOlin<lt'(l
iuiced to

Dse angel
scores of
formance
heir Ihu'ti
Linto Gotl,
strangers,

ving their

ants, anJ
r lives in
' tlie great
earil; but
the annals
ven lite foi
C'dster and

^'0 ovir life
Uecl in the
all not say
ui main, ii
!• lives tor
e oi: those

to roligion. But a bettor conception of religion is that it
is the cunihjct of a num's disposition in work by work.
It is tliat whicli is inseparable from his identity. It is
liis nature, his carriage. It is the illtre of liis feeling, and
the sphere in wliich it develops itself. It is not upon
liolydays, but upon common days more than upon any
others that it acrts. For though upon special days his
distinctively moral feelings may llame up and have more
measure and conspicuity thjui upon others, they are not
therefore his liv.t days.

I have noticed tliat the slender brook which carries tho
mill is more music^al on Sunday than on. any other day;
because the mill stands still, and the brook, having no-
thing to do with its water, gurgles over the rocks, and
it flounder.^ over the dam, and makes a thousand times
more merry noise th<in on jvny other day. J^iut Monday
comes, and the gates are hoisted, and the mill runs, and
the brook is not so nuisical ; but the mill is more so.
The mill did nothing on Sunday; and the brook is doing
more on Monday than it did on Sunday. It played on
Sunday, but it works on Monday. And Christians, as it
were, play in the spirit, and have a holy jolity, on Sun-
day. It is a holiday for them. Nor W(juld I undervalue
their experience or joy. l>ut I say tliat they are not so
busy when they sing and pray and rejoice; in the sanc-
tuary, as when l)y the power c»f some moral emotion, and
resisting pride, and overcoming seltishnes.s, and building
again the kingdoms of this world with the holy stones
of the New Jerusalem. Then when ])iety costs; then,
when it means bearing, heroism, and achievement; not
then when it seeks joy, l)ut when it seeks battle —
then men are nearest to (Jod, and most like Christ.
When a num stands upon the deck, an. I at tho bench,
and by tho forge, and in the furrow, and in the colliery
—then, if ever, if ho has to live of true piety, is the
time; and there, at the post of duty, is tho place.
For, all the humblest ftvopations ^nd employments are »o

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282

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

iJl

arranged that, while they serve to support the actor, tliey
do a hundred times as niucli for the community as they do
for him iliat follows them. It is unfortunate that our
habits of thought have not been more christianized, and
that our phrase lias not been convoited, as well as the
people who use it. For, we aie accoustuud to speak of
trades, various manual emplo^'mcnts, and professions, in
their lowest relations. If we speak of the car|)entei"'s
business, it is either as a toil or as a support. It is a toil,
and it is a support: and these in their relative positions
are not unwortliy of consideration ; but that is not the
whole, nor the half — that is the least part. What a man
himself derives i'vom the cunning craft that he ])ursues, is
not half so important, as it is not half so much, as what
he gives by it.

The carpenter that builds a mansion, rearing it through
the whole season, receives a few thousand dollars, and is
supposed to be well paid, and is himself satisfied. And
men seem to think that it is the whole that he has done.
He has worked diligently during the sunnner, he has
earned his thousands to support his family ; and perhaps
a thousand or two is laid up lor the time to come. And
what has he • -one ? Earned his money ? Yes, he has
earned his money, but he has built a mansion in which a
family shall be sheltered through a hundred years. He
has built a temple where the old patriarch shall ofier sacri-
fice and incense of devotion in the presence of comini;'
generations many. He has built the halls where social
joy shall be. Here is the room that giief shall fill with
funeral ; and here is the room that joy shall fill with wed-
ding. Hero is the room where children shall sport through
the livelong year. Here are the threads of life, dark ov
light, gold and silver or black, to be wrought out and
woven together. And here, when he is dead, and his
children die, his work stands, and is the home of peace,
and comfort, and piety — the very temple of God. He built
one, and ten, and twenty, and it may be a hundred of

THE DUTY OF USING ONE'S LIFE FOR OTHERS. 283

I actor, they
;y as they do
ate that our
ianized, and

well as the
\ to speak of
rofessions, in
e carpenter's
It is a toil,
tive positions
xt is not the

What a man
ho pursues, is
uuch, as Avhat

iiig it througli
dollars, and is
atisfied. And
Lt he has done,
miner, he has
; and perhaps
,0 come. And
Yes, he has
ion in which a
;d years. Ih-
lall ofier sacri-

.ce of comiii.L^
[s where social
shall fdl with
fill with wed-
sport through
>i life, dark ov
jught out aiul
[dead, and hi^
onie of peace,
;od. He built
a hundred of

such dwellings ; and he got what ? A few pitiful thou-
sands of dollars. And lie gave what ? he gave to the
community benefits, opportunities, in.st'-uments, influences.
In his skill, in his iiiind, or incarnated in timber or in
metal, he gave to thecomnumity pticuless gifts. And are
we to take these ])rocious inwanlnrsscs of men which are
imbedded in theij- labour, and to think of them only in
the poor, pitiful light of pelf, ot" what they brought back
to the ])ocket, and not of wliat through them, the man
brought back to the community.

Why, tliat old snnth, rug.fed liiinsolf, almost as the
storms he prepares to combat, hammcis morning and night
upon the links tluit Ibrm the chain which clasps the cable.
It may be, as in the oldon time, yet more ponderously,
that he is in the stithy works on the huge s'lank of the
anchor; and when his summer's work or winter's toil is
done, and it is sold for the ship, men ask him, " What
got you for your labour?" Nobody ever thinks of say-
ing to him, " You have worked a whole winter to make
a, gift; what have you given to the connnunity ; What
has he given ? It niay not be known for a long time. On
voyage after voyage the ship goes, and there lies his gift,
useless and unsuspected. Some day, the ship bears back
a thousand precious souls, among them mothers whose
llowers lie at home waiting for them to return ; fathers,
wdio cannot be spared from the neighl>ourhood ; public
men of signal service — the very salt of the times in which
they live ; heroes and patriots many. Then it is that the
storm beats down and seeks to whelm them all in the sea,
and to whelm the connnunity in mourning. Then it is
that, when every other ellbrt has been made in vain, the
anchor is thrown out. And now the storm rages with in-
creased violence, as if it were yet more angry because it
is thwarted. But the good blacksmith's work holds.
Sinking far out of sight, and grappling the foundations
of the earth, it will not let go. And we, for the first time,
Bee the value of his gift. Kvery link lias been properly

284

SERMONS BY DMKCIIKR.

iHII

■^llllliiifll

i 1

'■^(■.i- il

welded ; and, thougli the wind howls, and tliG sea wages
a fierce and despcrjite battle, and the .strain is tremendous,
the storm passes b}'-, and there rides the sijalhint ship safe !
There is what he gav^o. He i^ave a chain, an anchor, to
the community, and s dvation to all on board the ship,
and joy and peace wheie the tidings come of souls saved
from the remorseless deep. And yet how many men think
simply that he made an anchor, and got so many hundred
dollars for it ! He made an anchor and saved a hundred
lives.

So men that fill our houses with conveniences, with
comforts, with various instruments by which our time is
redeemed to higher and nobler uses ; men that make im-
plements — they give my brain a gift. He that makes a
machine emancipates me. For if matter cannot be made
to toil upon matter, then men must toil upon it. And
just in proportion as jou make slaves — the only slaves
that are fit for this w^orld — machine slaves — just in that
proi)ortion you redeem the mind to greater leisure, and
to a larger sphere for the moral functions of manhood.
And all men that labour thus productively and skilfully
are real benefactors of the community. And why do not
they know it ? Why do not they feel the honour ? Why
do not men preach it to them ? Why are they not told
that they should not look upon the mere self-side of their
avocations ? The merchant, the mechanic, the day-labourer,
bearing endless benefactions to the community — why do
they not regard their labours in a higher light ? Why do
they not feel that they are contributing to the wellare of
their fellow-men, as well as to their own welfare, and so
that they are following Christ ? If they only did their
life-work on purpose to follow Christ, if they only did it
because ii was following Christ, if they only joyed in
following Him, and if the consciousness of following Him
was their reward, then they would rise to the dignity of
some remote imitation of the Master ; whereas they are
without the reward, even though they do the same tiling,
if they do it onlv for selfish pitjfn) nnlf,

THE DUTY OF USING ONE'S LIFE FOR OTHERS. 285

SGca wages
remendous,
t ship safe I
I aiicbor, to
d the ship,
souls saved
^r men think
,ny hun<li'ed
1 a hundred

iencGS, with
o\ir time is
at make im-
,hat makes a
Lnot be made
)0U it. And
; only slaves
-just in that
v leisure, and
of manhood.
,nd skilfully
why do not
,nour? Why
,hey not told
'-side of their
day-labourer,
ity— why do
ht ? Why do
[he welfare of
'Ifare, and so
[nly did their
\y only did it
Inly joyed in
llowing Him
^he dignity of
ireas they are
same tlnni;-,

Lot every man, then follow the occupation that God
has given him, and understand that in Ibllowing it he is
renderini^ a service to his lellow-men ; and let him feel,
"I am honoured in these appointed channels of God's
piovidence, that I am permitted to give my life for my
feUow-men— tliat is, to live it for them."

The accumulations of industry, of skill, and of eiiter-
piise ; the power which comes from them, and the power
which comes fiom study, from experience, and from re-
iinement, are nil of them but so much wjiich men have
the means of giving for their fellow-nun. 'J\)o often, nov,',
as men grow wiser, they despise the vulgar and the igno-
rant. As men grow richer, they cannot consort with com-
mon people. As men grow tiner, the vulgarity and the
coarseness of the rude is insufl'erable to their moibid re-
finement. As men becomt^ better, it is said — I say luorse
— they go further ;nid further from the example of the
Lord Jesus Christ, who brought with Him the glory of
that nature which Ho could not relincjuish : " Who,"
though He " thought it not robbery to be equal with God,"
" made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Him the
form of a servant, and humbled Himself, and l)ccanio ohe-
(iient unto death, even the death of the cross: whej'cfore
Ood hath exalted Him."

Now, in pio})()rtion as you are. noble, in proportion as
God has made you wise and stronger than anybody else,
ill proportion as study and o})portunity have rciined you
and cultui'cd you — in that proportion God reipiires that
you should give the beneiit of your gifts and attainments
to the whole community. You cannot follow Christ ex-
cept you do it. Do I not see men who think they follow
Christ, but who manifest }ione of the spirit of Christ?
What is the nature of that religion which satisfies itself
with empty compliance of the sanctuary ? Do I not see
many men who honour the Sabbath, but care nothinrr for
tliose peo]ile for whom the Sabbath was made ? Many
men honour the sanctuary, they really love prayer, they

!■

4?i

♦I

ill

il!

II
Iff

)

» V ■'■'',

r 1

III

286

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

really glow under the liymn, tliey delight in taking official
part in the services and duties of religion ; nevertheless,
HO soon as they have performed their own duty to God,
what l)ecomes of their life ? How many tliere are that
begnn life as the worm begins it, and fed voraciously un-
til they were full, and then silently sloughed their wcrni-
skin,and spun around them a silken house ! They retired
from life. And ^ou shall find a gieat many such Chris-
tian worms, that have had the benefit of the whole sum-
mer, and have retired to some out oi" the way place, where,
suspended, as it were, from the limbs of trees in theso
silk-wound cocoons the chrysalis waits for the next.

The chrysalis is not a fool. There is a next siunmcr
for him. JBut if a man attemjits to do the same thing; i.\
he feeds upon all God's bounties, and only succeeds in
spinning out of his own bowels for himself a silkirn dwel-
ling, and then wraps himself up in that, there is no next
summer to him. Jle will never come to be a buttertiv,
though the chrysalis will, and will rise up in judgment
ajxainst him. He will be danuied ! For that which is
very well for a bug, is very poor for a Christian. And
yet, how many men there are wdio hold themselves bouiMl
by arguments, and bound by doctrines, and bound by
churches, and bound by all the various prescriptive rights
which are innocent enough in themselves — which, if they
do not do any good, do not do nuich harm — how many
there are that spend their lives in the midst of all the
pleasing triHes of that vast museum of curiosities which
are labelletl " reliiiious," and think themselves Christians 1
Jlere are all the forces of the understanding ; here are all
the populous thoughts that have been trained to go
ibrth ; here are all the mighty agencies and inspira-
tions of the moi'al nature ; here is the whole wealth of the
affections ; here is a soul that stands as a light-house on
the dark promontory, and casts its beams far out over the
troubled sea, to men that need guidance thereby ; and yet
how many there are who never think of living for their

Vn^ DUTY" OF USING ONE's LIFE FOR OTHERS. '28?

fc1 low-men ! I do not know but that they will die mar-
tyrs ; for to be a martyr requires a great deal of obsti-
nacy as well as f,n-acc. There have been a great many
stiilfjj martyrs. There have been martyrs outside of the
Christian religion, as well as inside of it. It is not very
hard for a man to die, if he is built right. A great many
men would rather die than give up. I tell you, it is not
hard for a man to die for Christ, nor for his iaith, nor for
Ids party, nor for his side. It is ten thousand times harder
to live right than to die riofht. It is not difficult for a
man to give his life up through the chamber of death.
J>ut to give your life while you hold it, yes, and to use it ,
so that it is a perpetual benefaction all through — that is
hard, and that is the special Christian duty. To live in
such a way tliat, as from the stars by night and from the
sun by daylight and guidance are issuing, so from you
shall proceed an intluence that comforts, cheers, instructs,
and alleviates the troubles and sufferinnrs of life — this is
a true following of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Contrast with tliis idea, also, the life of moral men who
think they are good, and good enough, because they simply
avoid evil. A moral man, as distinguished from a Chris-
tian man, is one who is negative. A Christian is one who
is positive. A Christian is a fruit-bearer. A moral man
is a vine that does not bear fruit. But then, it bears
everything else — good leaves, a good, strong stem, a heal-
thy root, everything that is good and nice in it, except
the fruit. A Christian man is one that develops graces
into positivity. He acts out of himself and u])on others.
A moral man is one that simply defends himself from the
action of evil. A moral man is like an empty bottle, well
corked, so that no defilement can get into it, .so that it
may be kept pure within. Pure ? And what is the use
of a bottle that is ])ure, if it is empty and corked up ? A
moral man, I repeat, is negative. He docs not swear, and
he does not steal, and he does not murder, and he does
not iret drunk, and his whole life is not. His law is,

wmm

288

SERMONS BY BEECLEll.

if.Cf

■t • ;■

' liiilr'il

" Thou shalt TioC and " Thou shalt not," and " Thou shalfc
not." He is not all over, and nothing more ! He i.-j not
positive. There is no avcrsness to him.

Stakes are very gooii ; Irai they are better made of dead
wood than of living. Moral men are stakes, put up for
uses. There are n^) b/anche.-; and there is no shade to
them. We can dniw lines of (icmarcation by them; we
can do a great many things v.ith them; but these are
lower uses, they aie servile usf'S. Moral men are good,
they are admirable, and are to be encouraged ; not, how-
ever, for these low or uses wliich they serve, but in the
hope that by and by, by pruning, by teaching, and by in-
spiration, they may be so trained that they shall bear
fruit. He that lives through his whole life, concentrating
upon himself all the bounties of God, and gives nothing
to his fellow-men, in not a Christian, though he may be a
very moral man.

Lastly, consider the wickedness of what seldom passes
for a wicked life. I am not speaking of a life of vice and
of crime, which is the diseased form of all wickedness —
♦vickedness carried to its most morbid condition. But
see how, all through life, men of repute, men of standing,
men of influence, men tliat are praised v/hile they live
and are eulogized when they die, are men that are given
to the lust of pride and vanity. They live inordinately
for themselves. They do not actually do harm, it may be ;
but they are men who are full of ambition all for them-
selves. They are like the oak which stands in the night
to gather dew for itself, and then, if the wind in the
morning shakes it, it is willing to part with the few drops
that it really cannot hold on to; and they call themselves
benevolent ! There are men that spread abroad gigantic
arms, and gather the wealth of heaven — whatever God's
bounty can give them — meaning it all for thenn selves ;
and a few accidental drops of kindness here and there
give them some claim to generosity and benevolence.
But where are the channels into which their life flows ?

THE DUTY OF ITSIXG ONe's LIFE FOR OTHERS. 2S0

rhou ^lialt
He i-j nob

ide of dead
put up for
:) shade to

them; we
i these are
Q are good,
; not, how-

but in the
, and by in-

shall bear
incentrating
ves nothing
le may be a

hlom passes
i of vice and
iokedness —
.ition. But
of standing,
k^. they live
[at are given
nordinately
|i, it may be ;
,11 for them-
n the night
,vind in the
e few drops
themselves
3ad gigantic
itever God's
Ithem selves ;
le and there
Dcnevolence.
life flows ?

Where are the uses that these great forces, concontrating
in them, subserve ? They live for pride, for vanity — the
meanest of allfeolinof when it is in excess — and for self.
They live for everything but others. Now and then a
stray benefaction alleviates their conscience ; now and
then a douceur, as it were, they give to the Lr»rd, that He
may not bring accusation against them : but the vast
mine which they work from day to day ; the wide spread-
ing net by which they drag the depths of the wonch-oiis
ocean; the vast harvest-field which they reap — tliese nre
all for self. Revengeful, jealous, full of rivalries and
competitions, and full of injuries to other men in thought
or in deed, or in both, tliey live through life, and are at
death mourned over as beini; men that had some flaws,
but that, after all, were very excellent men.

Ah, when a man is dead, and you are suie that he is
out of the ^vay, you can aflbrd to praise him. It is when
men are living that we are not so charitable about it. I
have not the least particle of prejudice against the thistles
that were on my place last year. It is those that are
there now that I do not like. The nettles that I remem-
ber when I was a boy 1 am very charitable toward ; but
the nettles that were in my hands last week I do not feel
so about. When I look at the stramonium thcat is swell-
ing on the bloated ground, when I look at the thistles
and the various noisome pestilent w<!feds that spring up
from the dunghill, and see how rank they are, filling the
air with vapour, and hovv they subsist on that which be-
longs to nutritious plants, how I abhor them !

There is many a man in Raymond Street jail who is
better than many a man that goes honoured and praised
in your midst; and God h.is more complacency in the
former than in the latter. He has not nmch in the
former: but He has none at all in the hitter.

A bloated self-indulgent man, a man who keei)s with-
in the bounds of the law only because there is safety, be-

■ ... ^mm

' ' ^futjj i J j ' I ?

tift;

' ;i

200

BEKMONS BY BEECIIKR.

cause there he may more abundantly indulge his selfish-
ness ; the obese, prospered man, that lives for his lower
nature, and vet is counted not far from the kinsfdom of
heaven — what shall we say of such men, and of lives such
as theirs ?

You need not be a criminal, you need not be a \evy
wicked man, jn^u may neither riot or debauch, you may
neither steal nor gamble ; and yet you may live stained,
leprous, spotted, and hideous before God, before all holy
angels, and before right-thinking men. Your life may
be a vast activity ; and yet it may be a huge vortex
where everything tends to that centre — self. And that
is to be wicked enough. You do not need to be ^ny
wickeder. And yet you may be as wicked as that, and
still be very respectable in the eyes of men.

M}'- dear Christian brethren, this question comes home
very nearly to us. What we are doing for others, is to
measure our following the Lord Jesus Christ; and not
what we are doing of necessity, but what we are doing
on purpose, what we are doing consciously, what we are
striving to do, what we put our heart and soul into.

If there be any of you, then, that desire to follow the
Lord Jesus Christ, and to give yourselves for others, as
He gave Himself for our comfort, I'tving or dying ye are
the Lord's — living or dying, and the one as much as the
other.

A: id now my sermon is done. We are accustomed, on
the first Sunday after my return from the summer va-
cation, to hold a Communion — fit and beautiful service
for our reunion; and we shall to-day sit down together
as a Christian family to break the broad that signifies the
broken body of our Lord, and to take the wine that sig-
nifies His blood which was shed for us. And can you do
it without making a more solemn and earnest consecra-
tion of yourselves to His life and example than you have
made before i In that consecration will you not, pur-

is selfi i1^'
his lower
ingJom of
lives sucli

be a very

, you may

^e stained,

Te all holy

r life may

J ere vortex
°And that
to be ^•ny

Ls that, and

;omes home
others, is to
st ; and not
re are doing
\rhat we are
. into.
follow the
)r others, as
ying ye are
nuch as the

astomed, on
summer va-
biful service
Iwn together
]signities the
f.ne that sig-
can you do
^st consecra-
in you have
U not, p^r-

THE DUTY OF URING ONe's LIFE FOR OTHERS. 291

pnscly, from this hour, endeavour so to carry all that
which God gave you in the royal making of your nature,
that you shall be a light, a staff, a fortress, and a refuge,
that you shall be a cloud laden with rain, a summer of
lionnty, immoasural)le, and constant to the very end, to
those that are ai'ound about you ?

'--'*■

r «

THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

" Wherefore 1 snii unto thee, her sins, xi-hii-h arc v. any, ars
forifni'ii , for she Itivi^d nivxh, bat to wJionx li tie is j'ov'jitcn, the
same loceth little." ~Lv he 7 : 47.

'V /^J;^ri|X,HTS whole scone, whicli I liavo read in tlie
Vf^^v i/^ opening service, is one of the most toiicliing
' ^W/^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ most instructive in the wliole
^ history of our Lord ; althou^^li I observe, as one
' after another comes up for review, I am in the liabit
of sa^'ing this in respect to them all. The last one
whose flavour lingers on the lip, seems tlie sweetest
/^ of these remarkal)Ie scenes of the life of our Saviour.
He had been pveacliing. Among those that heard
Ilim, as usual, were a gieatniany that were outcasts.
They not only wei-e esteemed to be very v>^icked by
tlie religious community, but they ivere wicked. On
one of these occasions a Pharisee who had listened to
Him apparently with patronizing kindness, invited
Him to dinner. He accepted the invitation. In the train
of His disciples entered with Him a woman, who had been,
and up to that time probably was, a great sinner. She had
been profoundly stirred b}'- His teaching. It had reached
the very secret of her moral sense. She was so absorbed,
apparently, in her own thought and feeling, that she was
quite unconscious of idl that went on around her.

Tin: VALUK OF DEEP FEELINGS.

293

10.

''ovi'ivcn, </i«

:^a(l in tlic
b touching
the whole
rve, as one
the habit
e hist one
e sweetest
r Saviour,
hat heard
outcasts,
vicked by
iked. Oil
istened to
ss, invited
the train
had been,
She had
d reached
absorbed,
lit she was
jr.

It was the custom of Orientals to recline at dinner.
They did not lie parallel with the cl^'e of their taV)les,
but on wide couches, nearly s(juare in form. They w^ero
accustomed to lie with their liead near to the table, and
with their feet thrown away from it, leaninor on their
left arm, and serving themselves thus with their right.
Consequent!}', to the servants, or to anyone that ap-
proached them, tlie feet of the guests lay outermost and
were most accessible.

This woman, whose heart liad been touched by His
searching discourse, for a time seems to have restrained
herself; but finally, having doubtless seen how those who
sought instruction of the Ilabbis were accustomed to throw
themselves down before them and cLasp their feet, em-
ployed the little that she knew about leligior. ser^■'ce
towards this great Teacher. She clasped His xeet. He
bore without remarks the familiarity. Overcon^ie,. as
people often aio, Ly the first effort at religious .-.ersice,
she burst bito uncontrolhable tears. And seeing that th^y
coursed down her cheek and spattered and covered His
feet, she sought, in her heli)less way, as it were to repair
the mischief, the inconveinence, the annoyance ; and she
wiped them off with tiie hair of her head.

As the desire to do grows with the doing, she took that
which she had been accustomed to employ in her bad
vocation to perfume herself and render herself grateful
and attractive, and poured it out upon the feet of Him
whom now she was beginning to look upon as a Saviour.
To one that beheld this from without, it would certainly
have been a remarkable scene. The host noticed it. He
seems to have been a moral and a good man, in many re-
spects, but observing the patience of Christ under this
infliction of grateful love, he reasoned with himself thus:
" n this man were what He professes to be — a prophet —
He would have insight into character. He would know
who this woman was. Fe would not allow her to touch
Him,

SERMONS BY UEECHER.

You will observe the very striking instance here of the
difference between natux j,l feeling and conventional feel-
To this man, who may be supposed to have been a
fairly good man, the violation of a conventional ecclesias-
tical arrangement, which made it improper for a religious
Jew to be touched by an impure person, the touching of
Christ (that was what lie found fault with) seemed ex-
traordinary. But to see a woman broken-hearted, to see
her pouring out her very soul, unconscious of everything
round about her — in other words, this most wonderful
development of nature, and grace struggling with nature
did not seem to have attracted his attention at all.

There are thousands of people in the world who are
just like that. There are thousands of persons who feel
shocked at the violation of a canon of the church, but
who look with complacency upon the wickedness of a
faculty. There are many persons who would not dese-
crate, by wearing the hat, any cathedral or church, but
who are not troubled by sin in their own souls — by
pride, malice, envy or uncharitableness. There are mul-
titudes of persons who think that if a man keeps the
Sabbath day, anfl is sound in his creed, and belongs to a
respectable communion, and does nothing to thwart the
end and object of church association, he is a Christian
and a hopeful man, although he may be a very wordly
and a very proud man. But if a man is full of love and
gentleness, and forgives his enemies, and is reverent
toward God, but does not belong to any communion, or
to the wrong one, because he has not this external con-
formity with ecclesiastical arrangement they do not per-
ceive the beauty, the divinity that is in his soul.

This woman was heart-broken in the presence of the
Saviour, the contract of whose purity and truth threw
such a light of revelation upon her own past life ; but in
all her feelings, so strikingly manifested, the Pharisee
saw nothing. And that such a woman touched Christ —
that she touched His feet even — and that He permitted

THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

i95

here of the
ational feel-
have been a
lal ecclesias-
r a religious
touching of
) seemed ex-
jarted, to see
,f everything
st wonderful
; with nature
. at all.
^orld who are
sons who feel
e church, but
^kedness of a
Duld not dese-
,r chui-ch, but
^vn souls — by
here are mul-
,ian keeps the
\[ belongs to a
|to thwart the
a Christian
very wordly
lU of love and
is reverent
jmmunion, or
external con-
!y do not per-
soul.

Iresence of the
1 truth threw
it life; but in
the Pharisee
\ched Christ-
He permitted

it— Miat Vv'as an evidence to this man that Christ was not
the inuri that he had taken Him to be, or that He had
made Himself appear to be. poor blind human nature !

Then came that imaginary instance by which our
Saviour sought to reveal to the man the real truth and
merit of this case. " 1 have something to say to thee."
" Master, say on." Prompt, as an innocent and consciously
pure man would be. " Of two persons tliat owed a man,
one five hundred pence, and another fifty, and neither
having anything to pa}^, he frankly forgave both : which
of these would most love the man V Said Simon, " I sup-
pose the man that had been forgiven most." *' Yes," said
the Master. "Which of you two, then, would nnturally love
most ? You, a Pliarisee : you, that profess to have had no
debts of God to pay or to forgive ; you, that pride your-
self upon 3^our purity, and upon your excellence ; you,
that think, therefore, that you have no need of me or my
Father — you must needs love but little. But this poor
creature, who knows that she is deeply indebted to divine
mercy, and wdiose sins look her in the face, and blast all
her hopes — if she is forgiven, oh! what love will her's be I
And this is her love. She has sinned much, she is con-
sciously forgiven much, and she loves much." This was
the teaching.

Let us, then, pursue this thought in some of its practi-
cal relations to ourselves. ■

1. In the beginning it must not be supposed that love
is to be derived only from a sense of benefit conferred,
and that the conscious benefit of forgiven sin is the true
fountain of the highest love. For love will be in propor-
tion to the strength of the love-principle in the subject of
it. Nevertheless, it is that love which, in the nature of
things, must precede all other experiences — the conscious-
ness of God's goodness to us in saving us. We do not
love God merely on account of what He has done for us.
We bcfjln to love God by a perception of His great mercy

1
1

' I

• Mm

SERMONS BY BEECUEll.

to US. This is the first step in the experience, but not the
whole of it. It then goes higher, and widens and purities
itself.

2. Nor must we reason falsely upon the implications of
this passage. For we might say, " If love is to be in pro-
portion to the forgiveness of sins, then men should sin
freely in order that they may love greatly."

Paul had precisely the same case i>resented to his mind
by an objector. He had been urging that God's grace was
in proportion to a man's sin ; and the objector said, " Must
we, then, go on and sin that grace ma}^ abound ? " " No,
God forbid !" said the apostle. " That would be contrary
to the very nature of love. It is impossil;le for a man
who loves to go on sinning for the sake of loving more,
or for the sake of winning more irrace. The two ideas
are practically incompatible with each other."

Nor are we to say, " As I have not been a great sinner,
I am not bound to love nmch. Externally a man may
have been preserved ; but there is no man that lives who
can say, if he takes a heart-account, " I have not been a
great sinner." And aside from that, every nature, every
moral nature, not tarnished by sin — even admitting that
one is not sinful — should have a tendency to love even
more than if it had been tarnished.

3. But not to speak longer upon these possible perver-
sions of this truth here, I proceed further to say that it is
a truth which opens for consideration the question of the
value of greet feelings, deep feelings — especially a \^ro~
found experience of pergonal sinfulness incident to a
Christian life.

There is a powerful effect wrought upon a man's moral
nature by the mental experience through which he goes.
If a man has had such a struggle with himself that lie is
profoundly impresscl with the might of evil in him ; if
there has been in his experience a revelation of the de-
structive tendencies of sin ; if he has been made to feel
thoroughly that he was utterly undone not only, but that

-n^t:

THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

297

it not tVie
d purities

cations of
be in pro-
should siu

) liis mind
i grace was
lid, " Must

? " " No,
)e contrary

for a n\an
>ving more,

two ideas

reat sinner,
a man may
,t lives who
not been a
iture, every
nitting that
love even

lible perver-
uy that it is
Istion of the
jally a
;ident to

j^VQ-

mn's moral
tch he goes.
If that he is
in him ; it'
of the de-
cade to feel
[ly, but that

his ruin would go on to be eternal ; and if he has been
made to feel that he was hel})less, without divine aid, to
rescue himself, all this experience would tend to produce,
most vividly and most powerfully, a sense of God's grace.
His sense of the gift is to be measured by this OKperience.
No man that has a low conception of sin will ever have a
very high conception of grace. God's rescue will seem great
in proportion to your conscious peril. How much has been
forgiven you will be determined by how much you con-
sciously have been in debt. If you seem to yourself to
have lived a very good life, what is there that you can
thank God much for ? If your heart seems to you
to have been bad, and your life, from the issues of this
bad heart, seems to you to be disfigured by sin, and God
consciously has spared your life, forgiven your sin, and re-
called you to grace and to holiness, then the debt seems
immense that you owe. And gratitude may be supposed
to be in some proportion to the sense of obligation.

While, then, it does make a great difJ'erence whether a
man has a profound experience in the matter of sinfulness;
while a shallow feeling of one's own sinfulness tends to
produce a shallow Christian character and a shallow
Christian experience, and a profound sense of personal
sinfulness tends to produce a profound sense of obligation
to God ; yet on the other hand, the popular impression on
this subject is all wrong. As a practical matter, almost
all men know that eminent experiences have grown out
of profound convictions of sin, and come up to this point
of conviction of sin, and stopped there. Men begin, usu-
ally, under sympathetic influences, under the indirect in-
fluences of the preaching of the Gospel, to be serious.
Then they grow somewhat thoughtful. Then there is a
nacent purpose in them to enter upon a bettei* life. And
they begin to correct some of their sins, to conform to
some duties, and to seek places where religious truth will
be made known to them. And at last, perhaps, they put
themselves in communication with Christian teachers, or

-to
•a-

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298

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

with Cliristian brethren. But they go no further, they
say to you, " I have no sense of sin as others have. I
cannot be Christ's unless I am convicted. But I ain pray-
ing tliat God will show my sins to me. I am praying
that God will convict me deeply and profoundly."

So, round about this point of conviction men are h'ing,
just as in the instance recorded in the gospels, men were
lying sick around the pool of Bethesda, waiting for an
angel to come down and stir the waters that they might
go in. I have known men to wait for weeks and months
for a more profound sense of their sinfulness. The mis-
take consists in uuiting. It may be that you ^lave not
lenough conviction of sin ; you have enough to begin a
fife oi reformation with. It may be that the amount ( ;
feeling and conviction is not vet grown to anything like
the degree that it should, or that it will ; but the (jues-
tion is not this : " Should a man have all liis conviction
instantly after conversion ? " The question is simply this ;
"What in the beginning is conviction of sin good for but
to break a man away from his sins ? " You have enou;;]i
for that. Begin with that. What is it good for but t>
press a man from sin toward a Christian life ? Begin u
Christian life. Then what will happen ? In proportion
as a man goes toward that which is right, his conscienci'
becomes firm, his moral sense becomes stronger, and cou-
viction of sin, like every other Christian experience, will
develope and grow. And there arc thousands of ni<;i
who begin a Christian life with a faint and feeltle sense
of sinfulness, but who, after years of Christian life, gradu-
ally come to that ; so that the sum total of their expei i-
ence amounted to a profound conviction of personal uii-
worth and sinfulness. The question is, whether a man
shall stop for conviction of sin as a capital, and the wholo
of it at once, befoi-e he takes the first step in a Christirui
life ; or whether having feeling enough to show him wliit
is wrong, he sliall begin to break away from it, a;, I
whetlier, having enough feeling to show him the right

THE VALUE OF DKEP FEELINGS.

290

he slitiil begin to seek i(, and tlien, by prayer, by tidelity,
with tlie blessing of Got I upon iiistriiction, pivss forward,
receiving more and more, day by day, of tenderness of
consciene'\ and (.f sensibility in the interpreting moral
sense, by wliicli he sliail see what he is and what his life
lias beeii.

Let the sense of bi'in grow as you grow. A profound
experience ot' unwortli will open more and iu(»re upon
you, as you go on in the divine life. The magnitude of
the debt that has been forgiven you, will constitute a
growing practical Christian experience. It is a bail sign
to see men living professedly in the Christian church
who have less and less sensibility to sin. It is the ex-
pectation — or should be — of every one that enters upon a
Christian life, that his sense of sin will be as the sense of
sound is in a musical education, tiner and liner the more
you cultivate the ear and the more you cultivate the
voice.

If there aT-e tliose, then, who have been thinking of a
Christian life, and meaning, as soon as they should i'eel
that they had cleansed themselves by profv)und conviction
of sin, to enter upon it, let me say, You have mistaken
the whole function of conviction. You have not mis-
taken the fact that a man should have a profound con-
viction of sin, but you have mistaken the time and place
for it.

Many persons think they are not Christians because
they cannot say that they have had any overmastering
experience of this kijid. Have you ever had such a con-
viction of sin as led you to be discontented with your
daily life ? Have you ever experienced so much dissatis-
faction with yourself that you felt that your life nmst be
reformed ? Have you ever had such a sense of sin that
you felt that Cod nmst help you, and that it was a case
which was beyond mere human power ? Have you ever
had such a sense of sin that you felt, "If I might, I would
begin to-day to live a different life ?" Have you eve*'

800

SERMONS BY BEKCHER.

jr>i

■\

^ I S

\ !|

had such a sense of sin tliafc you made it a part of your
daily business to correct the faults and to resist the temp-
tations to which you were subject? Have you ever had
such a sense of sin that it seemed hateful to you to do
wrong, even when you were doing it — more hateful then
than at any otlier time ? Have you ever had such a
sense of the repellency of sin that you earnestly longed to
live a pure, noble. Christian, devout, devoted life ? Have
you ever had those impuLes ? \Miy have you not obeyed
them then? You are like a child that wants to read a
book, but will not learn his letters because he does not
want to touch a book till he can go otf all at once You
must learn your letters before you can read. Many men
who want to be Christians would be glad if there was a
process by which they could be taken and cleansed, as a
filthy garment is cleansed. All white it was ; all soiled
and stained it is. It is sent to the dyer, and he puts it in
a vat; and there it is swung round, and washed, and
cleansed ; and when it comes out it shall be white as ful-
ler's soap can make it. And many people would like to
have God's work performed in the same way. They
would be glad to have all their evil habits, all their
ptissions and appetites, all their flagrant faults corrected
by God's lightning hand. They would like to be seized
and plunged into the bath of cc<nviction, as it were, and
swung round and cleansed, so as to be able to say, when
they come out, "I was a sinner; but now I am washed,
and am clean and white as snow."

There is no such experience as that. There never will
be such an experience. A man's heart is very much like
a man's tree. It grew up from some chance seed thrown
out near the house. It is beginning to bear ; and when
it bears, there is no man or beast that can eat the sour
stuff' that grows on it. The farmer says, " It is good
stock; it is tough; it grows rampantly; so I will graft
it." He cuts off a few branches, and grafts them this
year. The other branches continue to grow ; but he kept

-'m

THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

801

b of your
:he temp-
ever had
you to do
eful then
aI such a
longed to
[3 1 Have
.ot obeyed
to read a
I does not
)nce You
Many m«n
here was a
ansed, as a
all soiled
3 puts it in
ashed, and
[lite as ful-
uld like to
ay. They
all their
corrected
be seized
were, and
say, when
,in washed,

never will
much like
led thrown
and when
Lt the sour
lit is good
will graft
them this
Ut he kept

down the water-shoots that are round about the grafts
If they were neglected for one summer, the new shoots
would overofrow the ijrafts, and the jxrafts would come to
nothing; but he keeps the shoots down, and the grafts
grow, and they make a good growth the first year. The
next year he cuts off a few more ; and the third year he
cuts off the rest. Then the wliole ti-ee is grafted. But
the old stock is in the tree ; and if there come out water-
shoots below the gi'.-ifts, and they w^ere allowed to grow,
they will bear tliL! old apple, and not the new one.
Therefore everything must bo watched, and all the shoots
that do not bclonix to the i^raft must be rubbed ofl". Then
the natural power of the tree shall run into these new
grafts, and at last, after two, three, four or five years, the
tree will have made itself a new head.

Did you ever see a mm that could take a knife and cut
off a branch of an old tree, and slap in a scion, and have
it instantly shoot out, bearing new and precious apples ?
And did you ever see a man that, when he had been
going wrong, could, with the excision of the Holy Ghost,
cut off a habit so that it should never bleed, and put in a
graft, and, without requiring any time for growth, de-
velope new fruit instantaneously and mii-aculously? That
is not according to your observation ; nor is it according
to mine. That is not the way that God's Spirit works.
We see that it is not so. Men begin at the seminal point,
and devolope from that, and devolope just in proportion
to the means of grace wliich they have, and the enterprise
which they address to their new life.

I have, on my little farm, a tree that bore poor apples,
but that has now been grafted with a choice sweet
variety. A friend put in the grafts for me, and I forgot
all about them. It was done last year ; and when I went
back tliis year and saw a rousing top to the tree, and re-
collected that it had been grafted, I went to examine it,
and found that almost all the grafts had " taken," but
that the old tree had been there too, and overgrown them,

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302

SERMONS BY BEECriEU.

and tliat they ■were lying liid in the Liancl es, so that I
would have defied any man to see them at a distance of
ten feet off'. And I said, " O my professor of religion 1
you tire just like hundreds that I have in my church.
They all have grafts in tliem; but the natural tree has
ovei'grov/n the j^-rafts, so that you cannot find them."

So it is. The experience of every trait, of every
element of Christian life, is an experience that hegiiis
Bni.'dl and waxes larger, and hy and by comes like a
0" branch of a tree in full top. Aiid that whicli is true of
every other feeling is true of this one— namely, conviction
of sin.

If, then, you have enough feeling to condemn you, you
have enough for yeast. If you have enough feeling to
bicak off one sin, then you. have enough sin to raise a
sail ; nnd the less wind there is, the more sail does the
ship-master raise. If, therefore, you have enougli feeling
to show you which is the riglit and which is the wrong
course, do not wait till it becomes stronger. Feelings do
not become stronger by waiting, but by usinrj.

I say to every man who is within t!>e hearing of my
voice, if there are any of you who have made up your
mind that you will be Cliristians wlien God shall enlight-
en your consciences, and shall enable you to judge b(;-
tween right and wrong, and who are waiting for such en-
lightenment, you are waiting needlessly. For there is not
a man in this congrc^gation who does n(»t, in regard to the
great essentials of life, knowing what is right and wliat
is wrong. In the large dej)artments of life you are just
as sure of what is right and what is wrong as you ever
^ will be. Heaped up your coriclusions have been. You
have stores of conclusii^ns on this subject. The trouble
is, that you want motive power. And there are hundreds
of men wlio, if they would for.sake the evil that they
know, and perform the right tliat the y know', would find
the first result to be the feeling that their cojivictions,
their moral sense, had become more powerful and sen-
sitive.

THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

303

111 yoii, you

4. Very wicked men ought to become very eminent
aii'l active Christian^. I tlo not mean by this tliat men
who have been brought up religiously, in the " nurture
and admonition of the Lord," ought not to become emi-
nent Christians. They ought; though for other reasons.
But there are especial reasons, why men who have lived
a very wicked course of life should become eminently
Christian men. Some of these reasons I will develope.

Usually, men who have been very wicked, are men
wdio have very strong natures. Men who have been dis-
sipated, are men who have very strong passions and
appetites. Men who have been cruel, are usually men
who have very strong governing faculties, who could not
bear to be thwiirted and wdio crushed all opposition. Men
wdio have been very stingy, and very grasping, are usu-
ally men wdio have very strong commercial instincts.
Strenrrth is characteristic, usual Iv, of wickedness. There
is, however, a form of wickedness called " iiicanness,"
wdiich does not require strength. That is the peculiar
wickedness of weakness. It is the slave's way, it is the
cow^ard's way, it is the sneak's way, of being wicked. It
indicates, not a prolific nature, but a moiisbuj nature.
It works down toward the inferior animals. I have
great hope of a ivic'ced man ; slender hope of a mean one.
A wdcked man may be converted, and become a pre-
eminent saint. A mean man ought to be converted six
or seven times, one right after the other, to give liini a
fair start, and put him on an equality with a bold wicked
man !

Usually, a wicked man is a man of power and audacity,
if he is very wicked; but where there is great power to
do wrong, there is a great power to react from wrong ;
and if a man has been going away from God with vigour,
that same vigour should supply him with the elements
by wliich to return. If a man has been holding his own
way with amplitude of being, with stress of faculty, and
with fruitfulness of endeavour, even the ordinary concep-

304

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

I ■• - !

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tion of society would say to him, " If you are going over
to the other side, you ought to labour as energetically as
you did on this." It is a pitiful sight to see a man vali-
ant for Satan, and very softly spoken for God. It is
pitiful to see a man fruitful, energetic, from day to day,
and constantly diversifying his experience in wickedness,
but sterile, and close, and formal, and proper when he
becomes a Christian. That man has not entered into the
fundamental conceptions of religion, who, while he is a
bad man, is at the same time generous and free, but who,
when he is converted, is spoiled, so that people say of
him, "I would not give a farthing for his society now.
I used to enjoy being with him, and liked to hear him
talk, but since he became a Christian, I do not care
half so much about it." I have seen a great many men
who were spoiled by going into the church ; but I never
saw a man who was spoiled by coming into the spirit of
the Lord Jesus Christ. For Christ is simply an inocula-
tion of the Divine Spirit in tlie soul, and all men should
make it bear fruit. It should spring up in men, and
under its influence they should work vigorously, and
work in right directions.

When, therefore, I see a man that has been a bold,
wicked man become a Christian, I watch him with solici-
tude, " Is he going now to be as large in the right as he
was in the wrong ? There is all that power, w^hat is he
going to do with it ? Suppress it, hold it in check ? "
Ah ; your passions are never doing their work unless
they are like locomotives behind a train. Your moral
sentiments want energizing, and the function is to go
behind conscience and love, and make them powerful and
fruitful. And when a man has been a wicked man, and
you convert him, you ex|)ect him to be as good as he was
Dad ; and the expectation is a reasonable one.

Bad men also are usually acquainted with human life.
They know the dispositions of their fellow-men ; and
whatever knowledge there is of bad men they have. And

THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

305

such men are bound to consecrato their knowledge, and
to bring it into the knowledge of the Lord Jesus 'Jhrist,
who has forgiven them, and renewed their life, if they
are born again. No man ought to be so glad to pluck
men out of the burning as tliose men who have been
themselves brands in the burning and have been rescued.
If a man has been rescued from drunkenness, he ought to
take a special interest in those who are in that burning
realm. If a man has been a fjambler, and is converted
from his wicked way, that ought to be a sphere in which
he feels peculiarly called to labour. If a man has been a
dissipated man, he more than all others, ought to feel
that he is an apostle to the Gentiles in that regard. If a
man has from his youth gone step by step down towai'd
wickedness, when he is converted he ought not to be
ashamed of his past life in such a way that he will not
use it for the good of others. I have known persons,
who having gone through much wickedness, did not like
to have it thrown up to them. There is one side on
which it is an amiable experience, and there is another
side on which it is not. If you look back upon your
own past course, you see that there are tens of thousands
who are going in the same way ; and God calls you, by
that experience, sanctified, and brought to the Lord Jesus
Christ, to go after them. You are an apostle ordained of
God to those who are in the same peril that once you
were in and that came near wreckin'^ vour soul. There
are fleets that are running toward wreck ; and who shall
save them but you ?

I have known men who thought the object of conver-
sion was to clean them, as a garment is cleaned, and that
when they were converted they were to be hung up in
the Lord's wardrobe, the door of which was to be shut,
so that no dust could get at them. A coat that is not
used the moths eat ; and a Christian that is hung up so
that he shall not be tempted — the moths eat him; and
they have poor food at that !

i tf J

•

30G

SKRMONS BY BEKCllEU.

•i

'IV.

:i «

When a man is called out of a worldly and wickfMl VSq
into tiie service of the Lord Jesus Christ, he is not to tor-
swear his old company, he is not to I'oi-sake his acquain-
tance; he is not to say, "That time of my life I cannot
bear to look upon." (Jod calls you to he a workman in
the respects in which you are best educated, and in which
you have the most vigour.

There is also a sense of divine sjoodnesa that ought to
go with cases of conversions of had men, and that ought to
he specially Jillecting and iulluential. W^hen a m:in looks
with an erdightened consjiiiice and a glorified under-
standing along his ]>ast life, if he has been a very wicked
man, how wonderful to him must seem the divine good-
ness ! Because when men ai'e wick<(l, heady, obstinate
and under the full impetus of sin, they do not consider.
That is one of the peculiar traits of wickedness. " My
people doth not consider." They do not weigh their
moral conduct. If a man has been snatched as a brand
from the burning, how approj^riate, how philosophically
wise it is that man should o-o back and see through what
perils he has passed, and who shielded his head ; what
imminent dano-ers there were, and who rescued him from
them, who lifted Ins feet from the snare ; what precipices
there were ; down which if he had fallen he v/ould have
been dashed to pieces, and who plucked him away from
those precipices. Are there not men v/ho in many memo-
rably notable instances, have been saved from shipwreck,
disgrace, and ruin ? If you had been found out, if you
had been exposed, you would have been destroyed years
ago, and the grave would have closed over you. How
many men are there who owe their life to God's kind pro-
vidence, their res])ec{ ability to God's sparing mercy ; and
at last, when they are converted, oh ! what sparing mercy,
oh ! what saving grace, would they see themselves to bo
indebted for, if they would be true to their own actual
life-experience ! Shall not a man, all of whose life in the
past risea up before him, so that on one side he sees

TlIK VALUE OF DEKP FKEMNQS.

no-

rnonumonts of wickediu'ss, and on the oilier side iponu-
nients that testify of tlie aniazin^^ f^race, goodness, and
l^'indness of (Jroil — shall not such a man say, " In [)ro{)or-
tion as I have hcen a sinner ;ind have heen forL,'iven, must
1 now love : niiieli I have hetMi fori;-iven ; much 1 love."

The reason why many whohavi! been mii^hty in wicked-
ness fall back after their reformation, is that, havin;^ been
impetuous in life, and thus havinj^^ succeeded in wicked-
ness, they attempt a mihl gradualism in the life upon
which they enter. Thei'c is uotliini^^ that a man needs to
bleak oil' so absohitely from as that in which he has been
thoroui;hly worldly and thoi'omjjly wicked. There is no
place in a man's whole life where he nee<ls to lie so abrupt,
so perem})tory, as ' ; breakin;;- off from wickedness; and
there is no place v^.icre im{)etus should be such a means
of ixrace as in attemptin':;: to live a i-iuht life. If there is
anybody that may be mild and ({uiet and gentle, it is the
])erson v/lio has not been betrayed into great wickedness.
If there are those here who are conscicnis that they are
very wicked before God, no mild course will do for you.

I see a great many persons who try to serve God softly.
The devil puts excuses into their mouths like these : " I
ought not to meddle with sacred things. I ought not to
])ut on airs in religion, or give people rea.son to su])poso
that I do." And under these guises they do l)ut little,
and very soon wither and go back to their old state.
Now, no matter how wicked you have been, make hasle

to redeem the hours that God gives you wiien you

when

are converted, to serve him with energy and fsxithfulness.
Oh ! how unmanly and dishonourable it is that a great
simier should accept grace, and then be a dwarf in God's
work, when he has been a giant in the work of sin ! How
peculiarly mean it is, how ungrateful it is, that a man
should liave served the world with vigour, and great sue-
cess, and shown himstdf to be a master- work man in wick-
edness, but that, when he becomes a Christian, lie should
begin to plead ca^.tlon, and over-sensitiveness of con-

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308

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

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science, and every other excuse by wliich he may be
dwarfed, and become unfruitful.

If, therefore, within the hearing of my voice, there aie
those who are thinking about a Christian life, I open the
door of the church to you — but on this condition ; come
in luith all your might ! If you have been a swearing
man, your lips must not be dumb now in the praise of
that God whom you have been blaspheming all your life.
Have you, in all the ports of the world, known all iniquity ?
Then wherever you go now, you are, to be sure, to " eschew
evil ; " but are you not going to be a witness for good ?
Ten thousand men have known you to be a wicked man !
and is there to be no signal by whicli tliey shall know
that you have abandoned sin and left the dominion of
Satan ? It is bad enough for a man to hang out a i)iratical
flag ; but w^hen he has heartily repented, and come back
to allegiance, and is engaged in lawful commerce, shall
he be ashamed to hoist the flag of his own country and
carry it ? and are you ashamed of the colours of Him who
is your salvation ? Are you ashamed to speak for Christ
— to wrestle with men, and plead with them, in his behalf?
Ought you not, in all places, and in all company, freely,
boldly, and manfully to say, " Christ is my Master. Once
the devil was, and all men know it : now Christ is, and I
mean that all men shall know it, by the grace of God."
There are a great many men who have been brought out
of unbelief ; there are many who have been brought out
of atheism and scepticism ; but nobody would know it
from anything that they say. They shut it up as a se-
cret in their bosoms. Ah ! that is not fair.

If you were sick, and your case had been given over by
all the physicians, and a stranger should come to your town,
and should examine into your difliculty, and should say
" It is a struggle with death itself, but I am in possession
of knowledge by which I think I can heal you ; " and he
should never leave you day nor night, but should cling to
you through weeks and weeks, and at last raise you to

THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

S09

may

there are
open the
)n ; come
swearing
praise of
your Ufe.
iniquity ?
( " eschew
for <^ood 1
ked man !
lUiU know
•niinion of
a piratical
iomc back
.erce, shall
luntry and
[Him who
for Christ
lis behalf?
ny, freely,
Iter. Once
it is, and I
i of God."
•ouoht out
mit^ht out
} know it
ip as a se-

[n over by
/our town,
jliould say
)OSsession
;" and he
Id cling to
lise you to

health, would it not be contemptibly mean if you should
be asliamed to acknowledge him to be your physician,
and testify to what he had done for you ? If I was that
physician, would I not have a right to have my name and
my skill made known by you ?

Everyvvhere there are thousands of men who seem
ashamed of nothing so much as to mention that name
that is their hope ; that name that hovered over them,
though they did not know it, in all the days of their wick-
edness ; that name in which they secretly trust, but
which they did not avow ; that name which is to save
them in death ; that name before which all eternity shall
thutider praises ; and that name which, above all others,
they should speak.

1 know that I appeal to the sense of manliness in every-
one of your bosoms. There is not a man here who does
not say, " If a man has been a sinner, and has become a
Christian, he ought to let it be known." Then what is
the reason you are hiding it ? There are some here among
you to-day who have sometimes thought that they were
Christiatis ; and yet they will not come into the church.
No ; they are going to have religion like a dark- lantern,
and carry it in their pocket, where nobody but themselves
can get any good fioui it. May God put out your dark-
lantern, for vou ! When a man becomes a Christian, he is
a light, not for his own feou alone, but to make the j)ath
plain, so that those who are on the road may see the right
way, and follow after. Av/ay with your hopes that are
locked up in the cup^'oard of your soul ! Away with that
extraordinary delicacy that leads you to have silent
thoughts and secret purposes which you do not disclose,
because you do not want to make a profession till you
know whether you are going to hold out ! Away with
that super-refinement by which a man stys, " When I have
lived thirty or forty years, J shall have established my
character for godliness by my life. I want men to see thfifc
I am a Christian, and not to hear me say that I am one 1"

Sffi

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310

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

Why do you not do Loth — let tliom see that yen are a
Christian, and hear you say it ? You arc not afraid of
confesdn^' an^'thinu" else, as vou are afraid of coiifu-sin<^'
that you are a Cliristian. You are not afraid to have
m<'n know that you are prosperous. If you have been
sick, and you are bettei', you are not af raiil to say, " I am
better."

A man, from one cause and anotlior, has become dis-
eased an<l is rundown, and everybody has noticed it, and
has pitied him ; pnd at last, h:ivin<jf ivied a thousand
thiuL^s in vain, he savs, "I am iJ'oinLi: to drink jMissisinioi
water ; and he .Sfoes to the s{)rings, and spends tlie v/hole
sunnner, and drinks the water, and his health improves,
and the colour returns to his clieek, and by the autumn
he is (piite strong. And suppose on his way home, he
should say, " When my friends meet me, and say, ' How
are you ? ' I am going to say, ' Not \ery well.' I am not
going to tell anybody that I am getting well. I am going
to let them see that I am getting well." Would that be
natural ? Under such circumstances, when your friends
met you and said, " Why, old fellow! I am glad to see
you looking so rosy," would you not say, " I am butter.
I have not been so strong in many a d;iy. Thank God, I
am going to get well. I begin to feel like myself again ? "
That is what you would say about your bodily health.

And where God has done everything for your soul ;
when you have drunk, not the water of medicinal springs,
but the " water of life," and you are being healed all
through, are you not the very man that ought to speak
out autl say, " Gov.. is uing me. I feel better. I am
not well yet, but I am going to get well!" This is the
])rofession which a man makes when he joins the church
— "I am better, not I am good, but I am better, and 1
am going to get well."

Some of you ask me, " Do you think that a man who
has been wicked ought to rush right into the administra-
tion of holy things ? Is wickedness so harmless that

i:ii

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THE VALUE OF DEEP FEELINGS.

311

whon a man has wallowed in it for years, and then come
out of it"., he is ns lit to be a preach<'r, a teacher, and wliat
not as if lie had been religious from his childhood up ? "
Oh ! no. I do not say that because a man has entered
upon a Christian life, he is ready to attempt everything
i.i the administration of a Christian life. A man may
ri')h himself be fit for a physici{in because he has been
cured; but lie may point men to the physician that cured
him. It does not follow because a man has been relieved
from disease, that lie is to be a general medical practi-
tioner. It does not follow, because a man is converted,
that he is to be a minister, or that he ought to be sent
out as a pultlic teacher. It is the nature of vice or crime
that it takes away moral stamina ; that it destroys the
fibre of a man's better parts ; and wi(;ked men when con-
verted, are not, except in extraordinary cases, qualified to
be guides in matters of conscience to other people, be-
cause their own consciences are blunted.

Jhit tliat does not touch the (piestion that there arc yet
left oilier spheres where j^ou can do very gi'eat good. I
can, as a reformed drunkard, go down and jilead with
drunkards, although I may mjt be a proper teacher lor
temperate men that never were intcunperate. I, as a re-
formed thief, may plead with men who arc tempted with
dishonesties, althou,;h I may not be a proper moral teacher
in college, or seminary, or family, in respect to all verities.
It does not follow that you arc to become a teacher of
everything, becau-e God has rescued your soul; but you
may become a witness of that which he has done for you,
and a woiker with him in the rescue of those that are
imperilled as you were.

5. Men who have sinned, not by their passions, but by
their liiglicr faculties, if they would bo true Christians,
must have just the same spiritual momentum — thouidi
for different reasons — its those who have sinned by their
lower faQulties,

i
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312

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

There are many men who have been dreamers in life.
It is as if a man having a farm should let it grow up to
thorns and thistles and weeds. There are many men
who have been spiritually self-indulgent all their lives.
They had no gi'eat impulse to abnormal conduct ; they
had no inordinate passions, they were surrounded by in-
stitutions, household and social customs which held them
up ; and they lived simply to make themselves happy.
There are many who have lived fastidious lives. Instead
of conscience they have had taste. They have valued
things in proportion as they conformed to the law of
beauty, and not in proportion as they conformed to the
law of purity, or love of goodness. Many have had a
cautious and sujDerstitious conscience, and they have lived
a life that was barren — not fruitful, not useful. Thou-
sands of men are like a wax-candle in a solitary room,
which some ono has kindled and placed there. It spends
its whole life in burning itself out, and does good to none.
Many a man commences and burns the wick of life, using
it up and throwing his light out upon nobody. He is a
light to himself — that is all.

Now, I say that when such men who have been tempted,
and have given way to outrageous transgressions, to overt
sins, are converted, they ought to enter upon the Christ-
ian life with a spiritual momentum in proportion to the
goodness of God in delivering them from these uncon-
sidered and imminently dangerous tendencies to sin

Although the sins of our passions are more obvious,
and in some sense more disorganizing than the sins of
our higher faculties, yet the sins of the higher faculties
are more dangerous, because they are not suspected — be-
cause they do their work secretly and silently, without
being watched or medicated. Whichever place a man
starts from, let him begin the Christian life with this con-
ception : that it is a life of higher activity — not of quies-
cence; that it is a life of rebound from wickedness,
within and without, that it is a life which is to grow

^^S^

THE VALUE OF DEEt» FEELINGS.

3lS

3 in life,
w up to
ny men
eir lives.
ct; they
;d by in-
eld them
s happy.
Instead
ra valued
e law of
ted to the
VQ had a
lave lived
1. Thou-
,ary room,
It spends
d to none,
life, using
He is a

tempted,
|s, to overt

le Christ-
lion to the
5se uncon-

more fruitful by the breaking in of divine summer upon
the human soul.

6. Let every man who is going to begin a Christian
life pursue the same course that she pursued whose name
has been made memorable, and whose soul this day
chants before her Beloved in heaven — or she is one of those
of whom Christ says : " The publicans and the harlots
go into the kingdom of God before you," Pharisees. Let
every, man whosf* ear has been reached by the truth, and
whose consciei^, and heart have been touched by the
Spirit of God, reform as she reformed. How was that ?
Did she — this child of a guilty life — after hearing the
Master, go away to the silence of her own chamber, and
say, '* I will return to virtue ? " No. Without asking
permission, with the intrusiveness of a heart bent on
purity, she mingled herself at once with the train of
Christ's disciples and all unasked and unwanted too, she
pressed through the portals of the proud man's dwelling
as Christ, her Lord sat at meat ; and, while, tilled with a
sense of her own deep need, stood waiting, until at last,
surcharged, she broke forth in an anguish of tears. When
she came to Christ first, she came to the right one ; and
going to Him, it was not to Him, nor to His heart, but
to His feet, Come ye to Christ. Come to the feet of
Christ.

And, friend ! do as she did ; for when she came she
took the precious ointment, by which she made herself
beautiful for sin — the instrument of her transgression —
and consecrated it to holy uses, pouring it upon the feet
of the Beloved, worshipping Him, and weeping as she
worshipped. Bring whatever you have used before in
the service of sin, and at the feet of the Beloved bow
down yourselves, with holy desires, and consecrate your
powers, within and without, to the service ov Him, who
loved you and redeemed you that he might j. resent you
spotless before the throne of His Father, and your Father.
Come to Jesus.

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SUFFERING, THE MEASURE OF WORTH.

** And through th\i hioivJcdge shall the weak brother perish,
for whom CJirist died ? LiU when ye. sin so against the brcthreii,
and wound their xceak conscimce, ye sin against Christ."
1 Cor. viii. : 11, 12.

HIS is the exact state of facts which is recur-
iiii<4 in every age, and which, from the very
nature of human society and of the human
mind, must continually recur. Mei_ in the
beginning are educated largely by rules or by sym-
bols ; and this kind of instruction, though necessary
I from the nature of man, always involves more or
JL less of limitation and of erior. And as men rise in
the scale, there will always be those who will shoot
faster forward, and discern piinciples instead oi
rules, and will, therefore, be in a condition to drop a
thousand instruments that are concerned in riii'ht
living, while they hold on to the substantial spirit of
J right living. But while they are doing this, they are
obliged to do it in the presence and under the inter-
pretation of those that are lower than they are. A man
all his life long has a superstitious notion regarding cer-
tain observances which, when he comes to be twenty-fivo
i-T: thirty yearc of age, he sees that he may dispense with ;
that they were mere instruments ; that there was no san-
Oity ia them, though there was some use.

SUFFERlxa, THE MriASt^RE OF WukTH.

S15

IBTH.

,rother perish,
■,t the brethren^

icli is recur-
pm the vevy
r the human
[Mei- in the
or by s}'ui-
rli necessary
es more or
nien rise in
.0 will shoot
instead oi
on to drop a
.ed in right
tial spirit ot
his, they are
]er the inter-
xe. A man
(yarding cer-
twenty-fivo
;pense with ;
was no san-

But thope that are below him, and round about him,
have a supei-stitious feeling with respect to these things ;
and his example is very apt, not so much to erdigliten
them, as to shock them ; and they are led to feel that
there is no wrong in certain things wliich before they al-
ways supposed to be wrong; and tilings are right which
to them are not right. And the apostle lays clown this
rule : — that it is a ])oor use to make of one's su[)erior in-
telligence, and the liberty that goes with it, to set such
an example as leads men to stumble to their hurt ; as mis-
leads their weaker judgment. And he goes on to instance,
in the latter part of the chapter which I rea<l in the
opening service, how he took the sum total of his man-
hood, and refused to use it for himself, according to his
own perceptions — according to the high scale on which
he saw the truth. He made himself anything and
everything to his fellow-men. If he was with the Jews,
he would not vi(jlate their prejudices. He preferred to
conform to them in things tliat were not absolutely in
themselves wrong, for the sake of keeping an inlluence
upon them. When he went out from among them to
the Gentiles — who had no such institutions, ordinances,
and notions as the Jew^s had, but who had a certain
sort of natural theology, he a.' sumed their ground ; but
there was no inconsistency in him ; for there was some
truth in it. There is something of truth in everything.
And wherever he went, he made himself all things to ail
men ; because the business of his life was to save men —
to do good to men.

In this case, a man has taken the notion that the meat
which has once been offered before an idol has received
no moral taint, and is changed in no wdiit. He therefore
nits down and eats such meat. At the same time he under-
Htands that he is not worshipping a god, or giving his assent
to this pagan principle. Hut some weak brother, seeing and
knowing it, says, " He eats that meat for nn idol, and
thinks it right to worship an idol ; " and he goes in and

'^^

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81G

SEHMONS BY BF.ECHER.

eats the meat and worships the idol. And under such
circumstances Paul says, "Your knowledge misleads huii.
You act from one interior set of motives, and he inter-
])rets your action according to the motives wdiicli act on
him ; and so he misjudges you. But you have no right
to make your supei'ior excellence a snare."

This is the view which we are very apt to lose sight
of — and the more because there is an opposite view, ^len
say, and say rightly, " If you never were to go faster
and further than the ignorances and the prejudices of
your fellow-men, society could never rise. If a man is
enlightened, he must do something to enlighten other
men." That is true, and just as true as the other. Both
these things are to be carried on together. It is only
another illustration of the universal fact that all truths
are in opposition — in o})posite pairs. We have, in one
way or another, to pull men up from a lower to a higher
degree of knowledge, and character, and activity; and
yet we are to do it all the time without eye and heart
sensitive to this thing — That we are not to go faster than
other men, or in such wa3's as to snare them into doing
things that are wiong. We are not by our liberty or by
our superior knowledge, to imperil tliem. So much foi
the introduction of the subject.

The thing for which I selected this text is the phrase,
"For ichoni Chrid died," Therein is the key-note of
value. ** Through thy knowledge shall the weak brother
perish ? " The '' weak brother " is not of much value in
himself; but he is made valuable by the fact that Christ
died for him. Christ's suffering for him is the measure
of his value.

This doctrine of Christ's suffering has stirred the human
mind with innocent activity, and opened illimitable
ranges of thought in many directions; but it is not ex-
hausted yet. Why must he suffer? What was the na-
ture of the suffering? Is it possible for the divine to
bufibr i Was it net merely human nature that suffered ?

SUFFERING, THK MEASURE OF WORTH.

317

Bid tlie sufferings of Christ act upon the divine policy ?
or upon the heavenly intellisT^ence ? or upon the human
race? Were the sufferings of Christ a literal assumption,
measure for measure, of anticipated human suffering ?
Did His suffering solve unrevealed difficulties of adudnis-
l ration ?

These largely forensic questions have drawn out the
heart and the reason of the Christian world, and rendered
them extraordinary productive. The o})inions have been
exceedingly diverge, exceedingly combative, and exceed-
ingly divisive. Again, on the most precious point of the
life of Christ, his garment has been divided, and almost
endlessly ; but there is one view of the suffering and
death of Christ which has always been fruitful of good,
and which can hardly be too much insisted upon. Leav-
ing these other and more accustomed discussions in re-
spect to the suffering of Christ, I purpose to call your
attention to this view — I mean the moral effect which the
suffering of Christ has had in determining the value and
the dignity of human nature. Christ's death for all
mankind has inspired the imagination and the under-
standing of the world with a humanity, a justice, a con-
siderate and active pity, which could hardly have sprung
from any other source or view.

Suffering, in its most comprehensive sense, is universally
accepted as the measure of value which one puts upon an
object. By suffering I do not mean simply pain ; but
care, labour, time, endeavour. How nuich of themselves
men will give for one another, measures the worth in
which hat other is held. " I love you," may mean only,
" you are my plaything." To say " I love you," may mean
only, " 1 love myself." But they that love truly, love
under conditions in which they will be willing to give
themselves for the object loved ; and how much they es-
teem, value, love, is measured by what they are willing to
suffer. A man mav love another without beintj obli*jed
to suffer for him. Tiiat is, there may be no necessity for

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318

SERMONS BY BEECH ER.

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putting the stniii^tli of liis love to a test. Hut if one is
brouglit into circu instances where his affection is to be
proved and tested, it will ])e found th;it sutiering is the
measure of affection. In other words, liow much of one's
self one will part with for another, indicates the value
put upon tliat other. True love will give up for another's
sake time and convenience. It will forsake its own course
to take on care and .-ictivity for that other. It will con-
tinue to do this through long periods. It will employ
reason, moral sense, affection, and, in short, all the resour-
ces of its being, for tlie sake of that friend. It will, as it
were, stop the How of life in the channels of one's own
being, and pour it into the life of another, to give him
pleasure, power, honour, and hapi)ij)ess. And when, in
some trreat exiicencv, all this will not avail, and nothing
will do but to yield up the very substance of secular life,
then love, in the glory of its power, goes to death as to
the consumination of itself, and leaves a witness to itself
wliich all mankind recognizes. For it is the universal in-
stinct, and judgment as well, that (/n'a/f?;' love thda this
can no riica sliow : that he lay down his life for his
friend.

Even when this is the fruit of instinct, it is impressive.
The bear that dies dei'endinijf its cubs — who does not ad-
mire it ? The elephant that puts itself between the hunter
and its grotesque liitle calf, bristling with sj)ears all over,
thrust into its hide, an<l marking every footstep with
blood — who can do other than admire it ? The hound
that pines and dies on its master's grave — can any human
being see it unmoved ? The little sparrow that fights
the hawk and owl, not for itself but for its ne.st — who
but admires the bravery of tl'.e little hero ? One must be
heartless indeed, to feel no admiration for these fidelities
•f love, where love, after all, is but an instinct, and not a
rational judgment.

But how much more when one's love and suffering spring
from the peictption of excellence in an object loved ? The

■»,:

l.t'

if one is

is to bo

ig is tho

I of one's
he value
another's

II cour.-je
will con-
l employ
ic resour-
will, as it
one's own

give him
when, in
1 nothing
scalar life,
ieath as to
ss to itself
iversal in-
tkdit tills
fe for Ids

mprcssivc.
» \s not ad-
he hunter
s all over,
,step with
lIic hound

y human

,hat fights

.est — who

e must be

|e fidelities

and not a

ling spring
red? The

SUFFERING, THE MKASURE OF WORTH.

819

greater the nature that suft'ers, the hi'^lior is tho (stimate
whicli his example ii'ives of tliat lor which hcsullcis. And
bv this analou'ue, the sutf'critijjf and sacritice of a Divine
Being carries out the witness to its utmost conceivable
extent. For it was supposed that Go 1 was manib'st in
the Hcsh, and that He nu-ant His living, passion, and
death to hi the measure of His judgment of tiie value of
mankind. What must be the testimony and the force
brouMit to the v^alue of man bv such a Beini-'s sufferincr =

We see at once a new element in the haTids of the apos-
tles after tliis testimony of the Master. No sooner was
He gone up, than they began to preudi that man was
valuable on account of what Christ sullered for him. A
man for whom (Jlnist died became a very ditterent crea^
ture in imagination from a man before Christ had died
for him. The fact that Christ died for a man built l»ul-
warks round a1»out him, and made him worth protecting,
if he ivas weak. It laid a shield before him, and made it
worth while to keep him unpierced by temptation or l)y
rude assault. Though he was ignohle and unknown, it
AV^as the mysterious power of tliis testimony of this great-
est Being that ever lived upon the earth, respecting each
individual of the whole human fauuly, that he was in His
sight of such value that he was worth sultering for, ami
worth doing for. It was this that gave man his true po-
sition in liistory, and gives him his true dignity and his
true position now.

Althouu'ii we have but begun to read this lesson, it is
indispensable for all the purposes of instruction derived
from this view that we should reflect that our Saviour
died for the whole world. It was not simply Ijecause Ho
despised ])ride aud luxury that He refused to ha counted
with the rich in life; it was not alone because Ho did iK^t
believe in dynasties: it was a part of His life's work to
bear a testimony, not so mucli to individuals as to the
race. He died for the world — not for those that then
dwelt upon the earth, but for the whole human family in

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in,

320

SERMONS BY BEECHEU.

its entirety — in its whole historical development. Christ
died to bear testimony to the worth that there was iu
mankind. Any man is intrinsically of such di<,^nity, scope,
value, that he is to be measured by nothing so worthily
as by the love, the sufferings and the death of his God.

This suffering was not founded, either, upon man's char-
acter. It would be a testimony to the value of good
character if Christ had come to die for it; but that was
the very point of conflict between Him and the Pharisees.
They held that Christ, as the divine Teacher, ought to
suffer and identify Himself with them ; but He most
scornfully rejected that, and said, " I did not come to seek
the righteous : I came to call sinners to repentance." Not
simply because they were in peril, but because the testi-
mony that He was bearing to mankind required that He
should not identify Himself with a particular class, and
that He should not on that account identify Himself witli
character. For he who identifies himself with character
in this world ere long will be borne into a class. Our
Master, therefore, says, " I died for the ungodly ; for the
unvighteous ; for My enemies. I came to give my life for
the lowest and the worst men." He more sharply than
any other being that ever dwelt on the earth discrimi-
nated between good character and bad character, and gave
emphasis to the value of goodness, and heaped up terrible
woes against wickedness, and made awful threats of its
doom. Yet there was something behind character to
which Christ was bearing witness, and that was the ab-
stract original value v/hich inheres in Mdiat we call human
life — human being. The death of Christ is a testimony
to the value of man in his very suUsti.nce, if I may so
say ; so that the least and the love/o, the most unde-
veloped, have the essence of value in them. The Hotten-
tot, the Nootka Sound Indian, the most degraded African
tribes, the lowest races of men about which philosophers
calmly and coolly talk as to whether they are men, or
monkeys sprouted in the hotbed of extreme civilization

SUFFERING, THE MEASURE OF WORTH.

321

;re was m

and growing a little way — these have their value. Of
the whole human fainiiv, in all its diversities, there is this

testimony — Christ died fur them. You may separate men
from each other by the shape of their heels ; you may
separate them by the peculiarity of their hair, or the colour

of their skin ; you may st^parate them by some trilling
variation of bone structure ; but there is no difference
between one race and another in this — that every one of
them has reason, and its special faculties ; the imagination
and its special relations; the moral sense, and its special
developments. The original elements are traceable in
every human being; in every tribe upon the globe, how-
ever low and undeveloped it may be. The rudiments of
every faculty that the highest have are in all, and iden-
tify them as one great brotherhood ; and for all, however
despised, however degraded, however worthless in politi-
cal economy they may be, there is this testimony, which
stands directly through the ages — Christ died for them ;
and death, as the highest exposition of suffering was the
measure of value, as well as the measure of love.

Let us look, then, after this annunciation of the prin-
ciple, at the effect which this fact has of determining
man's place, his rights and his worth.

Consider, first, what the world's way of estimation has
been in judging men. We estimate men's value by
measuring their power. Earliest, men measure physical
power. They are the great men who are strong, and
courageous withal. Men who had strength, and capacity
to use the strength, were the first heroes, the first leaders,
the first legislators, the first demigods ajid demidevils.
Next came men that were fruitful, effect-producing in
the next higher range of faculties — not in the physical
elements, but in the civic and social elements, till they
reached to what is called " civilization," where we stand
ourselves. And now the habit of society is to classify
men into relative ranks of value by the effects which
they are able to produce and exhibit. The man that pro-

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322

SKRMONS BY BEECTIER.

duces tlic most effects is considered the most of a man ;
and insensilily we liave slii! into tins idea, that a man
who cannot dc anything is not anything ; that a man's
vahio lies in his productive power. In other words, be-
cause this is a truth in tlie range of poHtical economy,
we have adopted it as the sole measure of men. Because
we measure men rightly by this princii)le in their rela-
tions to human society ; because we rightly apply this
principle in estimating their value to society organi'a-
ti<ms, we have come to think that men are valuable only
by what they are worth to society. Th'jrefore, when a
great man dies men say, " The world has met with a
great loss." It has met with a much greater loss than if
a poor man had <lied. If a poor man dies men say, " The
world has one less incumbrance." Regarding this world
as a mere oi'ganization of secular society, that too, is true ;
but behind the pauper's usulussness, di'cper than the ques-
tion of his eil'ect-prodiR'ing ])o\ver, there is a human
nature. Tliere is somethiuLT in every man — the lowest
and the least. If he camiot weave; if he (;annot forge;
if he cannot shove the ])lane, or hold the Mdieel, or the
helm ; if he cannot paint nor wiite ; if he cainiot reason
with philosophy, nor adorn with art; even if he lie
almost torpid, t'lieri; is a substance in him. He is thi;
rich undui; ore of the mountain. And that is in itself
absolutely the most valuable thing that thei'e is on eartli.
The dog that hunts \\(A\ is better than the pauper that
does not do anything, in the estimation of men. A horse
that is worth fifty thousand dollai's in the market has
n.ore honour as well as more care bestowed on him, than
a man that can neither turn at the lathe, nor work at the
alembic, nor speak, nor do anything that is regarded as
useful. We judge men by this standard of political econ-
omy — by what they can do, and what they are worth*
and when men contrast them even with the i)rute animals,
their enthusiasm rises hiiiher for these dumb creatures
than for their fellow-men. There i3 no such contempt c

SUFFKRING, THE MJ'ASURE OF WORTH.

323

the globe for anything as man has for man. If a tribe
can do nothing, they are regarded as conteniptously
woitldess. If a race are not able to hold tlieir own
against aggressive races, people say, "It is a pity that
there should be any cruelty ; but what else C(^ald you
expect ? There is no way but that they should be swept
from the face of the earth. They must all go." Nations
of men that are dull, that are gentle, that are kind — the
Chinese, for instance, who are not aggressive — with what
superlative contempt we have looked upon theni ! In
many respects they are more ing(>nious and skili'ul than
we are, and yet what a pagan Atiglo-Saxon spirit has
irone out from us in resiicct to them ! We are Pau-an in
our notions. Our law is a law of i)ower. He that has
power is princely, and he that is weak is a fool, in our
estimate of our fellows.

We ne;;d therefore to go back to this testimony of our
Master's example, who came not to luake the prince more
authoritative ; who came not to make the philosopher
more widely iuHuential ; who came nob to make the rich
man more an object of admiration; who came not to
make the laborious and productive man more emiu'ont ;
but who came by his sufiering and death to bear a tesii-
timony of that element in human nature which every
man has like every other. The king and the pauper;
the great and the small ; the strong and the weak ; the
ijood and the bad — God causes His ':^:n to rise on tiie one
and the other; and the death F ' '>rist is a testimony to
the one as well as to the otii..r, ti/a'j the original, funda-
mental, inherent elements -r*. human nature are of trans-
cendent value in the sigh;. o'<' Uod. He d.-spises no-iuan.
iMan it is that despises id,- fellow-man if he is not ^
creature of power and proiluctivetiess.

Thus it is that wo ciassifv society in our thouixht.
When you tlunk of society, you think of its inlluenL.al
parts. When you thiidv of country, and ar<i proud of
your race, and of your people, it is the strong cues ihxt

324>

SERMONS BY BEECH ER.

.;' i:'

subtly affect your imagmation and your judgment. There
are very few men who carry in their thoughts and in
their sympathy, the weak, the poor, the outcast, the
neglected. It was our Saviour that did that ; and ohj!
how few there are that have learned yet even to under-
stand — still less to imitate !

There is, then, this substratum of value in human
nature. It is independent of character, independent of
education, independent of what it can do, arising from
what inherently it is — from its absolute universal value.
And the testimony of that great fact is, Christ died for
the ungodhj. And there can be no estimate of value like
that which is evinced by willingness to die for another.

This view dimly interprets also the future. For if
men may iiot be estimated by what they can do here, we
more than suspect that it must ai'ise from the fact that
the potential relations of men are not all developed
here, and that they are creatures of another latitude, of
another summer, with another chance in other spheres.
It is more than dimly intimated that man lives again.
That is " brounfht to li^-ht." And from the treatment
which we perceive that our Saviour administered to the
bad, to the evil, in this world — to men, whose lives ha<l
been wasted here — we cannot but gather a sense of the
value of men that inheres in those relations which are
yet to take hold of higher realms, and to become more
fruitful.

It is not for me to say, here, whether in the g'^cai
experiment which we are now making, we are making all
of our ex})eriment. I merely point to the general fact
that a man in the lowest condition I'ore is not tiie man
that he is to be; and that when you have measured him,
and weighed him, and ascertained just what he is worth
to his family, to his nation, to the industry of the world,
or to its affections or moral elements, you have not esti-
mated what his value is. You have no estimate of what
he is worth in the kingdom that is yet to come. Ho han

SUFFERING, THE MEASURE OF WOIlTH.

825

snt. There
its and in
itcast, the
b ; and ohj!
1 to under-

in human
•pon<lent of
•ising from
ersal value.
st died for
I value like
r another,
re. For if
do here, we
lie fact that
. developed
latitude, of
her spheres,
lives again,
treatment
,ered to the
Q lives had
,ense of the
which are
icome more

the gT-cal
making all
Ireneral fact
ot the man
isured him,
he is worth

the world,

fb not esti-

ite of what

He has

before him another world, another orb, another clime; and
we are told most solemnly by our Saviour that the men
who are worth tlie most, and are the most honored, tlie
most regarded, here, will be worth the least there. " The
first shall be last," we are told, and " the last .shall be
first." Therefore I believe that there is many an obscure
and outcast race, that thei'e is many a clas-< in society,
that there are individuals innumerable, whom men
scarcely deign to notice, but who, when they come to
take hold upon the other life, and when the relations
which they sustain to that sj)iritual realm come to be
known, will lift themselves m^htily above all others. In
measuring men by what they are worth to us here, we
mismeasure, we under-estimato, in every conceivable way,
ieaving out of site the blossoming period which is to come
jiereafter.

There are many of the plants of our northern summer
which come up (piickly, which rush to their Howering
periods, and do exceedingly well ; but they are coarse and
rank at that. And there are many seeds that I jtlant l»y
the side of them every spring which in the first summer
only grow a few leaves high. There is !iot sun enough in
our hemisphere, nor heat enough iri the bosom of my soil
to make them do what it is in them to do. Ihit if I take
them r.nd '-"t them in some sheltered hot-house, and <dvo
them the toTii lous growth of autumn and winter, and
then aga'n, w.-n June begins to burn in the next sum-
mer, p'^u vht.; i out once more, they gather strength l»y
this .second ^.u.nting, and lift up their arins, and spread
out the abundai^ce of their blossoms, and arc the pride
and giory of the spring. The plants that grew quickest
the year before, are now called weeds by their side. And
I doubt not that there is many a man who rushes up to a
rank growth in the soil of this world, and of whom men
seeing him, say, "That is a great man," but there are
many .'•tarveling, poor, fe(!l)le and cH'ectless creattires in
tliia woiid who will be carried safely on and up, uud

I' ■

.,t1i

S26

SERMONS BY BEECH ER.

rooted in a better clime ; and then, liftin;^ up their whole
nature, they will come out into that glorious summer of
fervent love in heaven, where they will be more majestic
more transcendently beautiful in blossoms and more
sweet in fi'uit, than those who so far surpass them
here. " The last shall be lirst, and the first shall be last."

Do not despise men that are less than you are. Do not
undervalue men because they are not of much account in
this world. A man may be a very good man if he is not
a cajpcnter, if he does not know how to wield the hand
of skill. A man may not be able to make money, and yet
he may be rich. A i a may not have the power to gen-
erate thoughts here, 1 ' ' arid by he will. Birdp do not
sing the moment they ar .Mit of their sheU. They must
have a season in which to lectin to sinjx. And men do not
unfold their true natures, or .sing their best songs, many
of them, in this world. There is another world beyond ;
•and there is no man that has appearance so much against
him in this world that you can atiord to despise him, to
feel contempt for him, or to regard him as worthless.
That term wortJilcss, applied to uuaccomi)lishing weakness
in this world, is j>aganl

Next, let us point out with some aegice of particularity,
thi elTects which this doctrine, so far opened, will have
upon our feelings, our conduct, and our relations to our
fellow-m m.

Let us assume that we have come into the full sym-
pathy of Christ's doctrine, and that we have learned to
measure man's value as he did. Or, not being able to sec
it, as he did, let us suppose that we are in full possession
of the Christian feeling — Christ died for that man.
When we meet a man, now, how seldom does any other
thought arise in our mind than of his physiological struc-
ture, of his age, of his comeliness, and of his relation to
society. Unconsciously, as we pass men, we look at their
garb, at their port and movement, at their face; wo study
them altogether iu the light of their lower education, in

SUFFEiaNG, THE MEASURE OF WORTH.

sf:,

tl)o light of this world. How seldom, looking at a man.
does tiie thought come into our mind, " Christ dieil lor
him!" We think men to be worthy of our pause and
our attention it" they have some intrinsic value. IJut wo
that believe in Christ Jesus, and have his word in our
hand, or volubly upon our lips, every day behold men ;
and the highest relationship, the one salient feature that
belongs to human life is the very one that v/e almost
never think of — namely, Christ died for them.

No man but a Chiistian can enter into tiiis spirit; and
all Christians do not. That large sympathy with human
nature which comes with fellowship with Christ's feeling;
that rising of your spirit until you come to the stand-
point from which Christ, looking upon the human race,
says of every one of them, "They are so vahiable, poor
and weak as they are, that they are worth my thought,
my care my suffering, and my very death. And yet, how
few Christian men there are tliat iiave any such valuation*
of human nature ! If, however, one has it, it will be
powerful restraint upon lawless liberty, and will bring
him into such universal sympathy with all his fellow-
men, that, at the sacritice of his own convenience and his
own rights, it will be a privilege and a pleasure for him
to serve them.

Some men, if they are called deliberately to give up
their rights, never can forget it. It is a solitary thing, it
may be that they are called to give up, which causes tliem
a severe struggle; and the circumstances is emphasized
in the joui-nal of experience. If they are caught, for in-
stance, and compelled to give, or to yield for another's
sake, they will say, "I know what it is to give up my
rights for anotliL'r; for I had a struggle once and did it,"
Have you ever seen a miser, in some unexpected moment,
betrayed into a charity ? He is amazed at himself after
it is over; and he recounts the fact again and again.
" Give ?" he says, "yes, I did give once. I know what it
is to give." He tells it scores and scores of times. It is,

1:^28

SERMONS BY BEECHEU.

Mi ■'

like an old man's woin-oufc stories, repeated, repeated, re-
peated. So that that which ought to be the easy carriage
of a noble man's nature, becomes, after all, the special,
exceptional, and much-praised single instance.

If I look upon my fellow-men as being all that they
ought to be ; if I consider myself at liberty to measure
them simply by their moral development, by their intel-
lectual development, or by their social development; if I
feel myself at liberty to look upon tliem and classify
them in this sphere, I go on the theory that we are all
scrambling for development, that everybody is trying to
devolope himself, and that the law of development is that
in the struggle of life the weak must go under the strong.
And so men go through life, saying, " I will take care of
myself, and you mr... take care of yourself;" and they
feel that they have a right to go through life thus.

Now can any map tha' ^rt,s the first element of Christ's
spirit in him so look apoj* his fellow-men ? Can anyone
who has drunk deeply of the spirit of the Master, refuse
io accept the injunction of the apostle, "We that are
strong ouijht to bear the infirmities of the weak ? " It is
as if a strong swimmer should turn back and lend a help-
ing hand to buoy up and lift across the flood one that
was weaker or less able to swim than himself. We have
no right to disregard, much less to hinder, the welfare of
any human being. Have I a right to go tramp, tramp,
tramp, according to the law of my physical strength,
among little children ? If I am where they are, I am
Ijound so to walk as not to tread upon or injure them,
if I have had better privileges than others, and have
come to conclusions which they cannot understand, have
I a right to scatter those sceptical notions through society ?
I say sceptical notions, because advanced notions are to
those whose notions are behind them always sceptical.
Has a man a right to take any theory of kfe which is in
advance of the theories of his time, and which may
be a safe theory five hundred years hence, and promul-

II 0.

SUFFERING, THE MEASURE OF WORTH.

329

iated, re-

carriage

e special,

hat they

measure
leir intel-
neut ; if I
d classify
ve are all

trying to
2nt is that
,he strong,
bke care of
' and they

hus.

of Christ's
^an anyone
[ster, refuse
e that are
Ik % " It is
nd a help-
,d one that
We have
welfare of
Imp, tramp,
|l strength,
are, I am
ijure them,
i, and have
,tand, have
;h society ?
Aons are to
:s sceptical,
vhich is in
hich may
.d promul-

gate it among men who are not sufficiently developed to
comprehend it ? A man is bound to hold his knowledge,
his conscience, his affections, his pleasures, his privileges,
his influence, subject to this great law, "Christ died for
men, and I must Jive for men, and restrain my power,
and forego my rights, even for their sake. There is
nothing on earth that ought to be so sacred to me. Myself
should not be more sacred to myself than is that human
being for whom Christ died." But how paganism yet
linorers in us ! How we love to lash with our tonn^ue men
that do not believe as we do ! We love to specify differ-
ent gradations and classifications of men, and indulge in
contemptuous remarks conceruing them ! And yet, there
is not a man born in Ireland, or in France, or in Italy, or
among the Cossacks, or in Ethiopa, or in Caffraria, on
whom God does not look every day, «and say, " I died for
him." There is not a human being who has not stamped
on him the image and superscription of the dying God.
And what right have I to impugn him, or treat him with
contempt ? What right have I to walk over him in my
liberty, real or fancied ? What right have I to tyrannize
by my superiority over any man for whom Christ died?
Any estimate of man which is founded upon this fact
that Christ died for him, will destroy at the very root
the practice and the principle of using him, in the offen-
sive sense of the term xiae.

We have a right to employ men, of course. All the
relations of life are based on industrial inter-employments
— and I do not object to that ; but there is a habit which
prevails in society of thinking that a man has a right to
just so much of his fellow-men as he is able to extract
from them. A man says, " Look out ! I have the power
of combinations. Here is this great comumnity. They
are mere witlings. I will lay my plans, and they will
suck out that man's substance, and that man's. I will
do it in legitimate ways ; and so long as the ways are legi-
ijmate, it does not nrntt^r ^Q "?^ wliat becomes of the mv'n

330

SERMONS BY BIilECIIER.

is;

themselves. They <are poor sticks, and if I destroy five
hundred of them in getting rich, T cannot help it. I am
strong enough ; and if 1 do not do an ythir)g that is wrong,
I have a perlect i-ight to use them." A man employs a
hundred labourers in his factory, and ins'ca I of using his
superior skill and talents, ho keeps them <iown to the
lowest condition, in order that he may make the greatest
use of them. He does not recognize any brotherhood as
existing between him and tliem, or any obligation on his
part to nourish them from liis abundance. But that
great law of fellowship which knits every man to every
other man on the globe says not only, " Thou a* t his
brother, but " Thou aix responsible for his weal as wqW
as thine own. Thou shalt not in anv wdse harm him,
or suffer him to bo harmed by any cause which thou
canst resti-ain — certainly not by any plans of thine own.
Thou shalt look upon every human being as a part of thy-
self, and as a part of thy God."

Would it not stop a gtoat many operations of society
if this law should become a part of orthodoxy ? Now a
man may fleece a himdred men during the week, and
wip3 his mouth and take the communion on Sunday, and
nobody thinks that there is any violation of good-fellow-
ship or of orthodoxy. A man applies for admission into
the church, and he is examined. The question is asked
him, " Do you believe in the Trinity ? " He says, " Well,
it is so vast a subject that I have had my mind staggered
in the contemplation of it, and I really do not understand
God." '* Do not understand Him ! " exclaimed the com-
mittee. " Brethren, this thing must be looked into. It
is a fatal defection. If he is loose there, he is loose all
the way through. You must be held over to another
communion, that wo may have time to examine you fur-
ther. What! do not believe in the fundamental doctrine
of the Trinity and the Godhead ! "

Let the next candidate como up, He has lived in the
Oitechiam. He believes it from bpgiwning to end, IJ9

SUFFERING, THE MEASURE OF WORTH.

331

^onlil boUove in a luindrerl <;oils if it were necessary !
He believes in a total de])ravitv ; he believes in the doc-
trine of the Holy Sj)irit; he believes in baptism ; he be-
lieves in all the ordin inces ; he believes in anythinj^ that
vou want him to believe in — and he seems to wait for more!

•

He goes into the church ; and })eople say, " Ah that is the
kitid of confession. I like a man that is really well-
informed, and that acquits liiniself well." An«l that man
goes to-morrow, and lays his }>1 ms, knowing that they will
run down this poor widow's estate; knowing that they will
ruin a dozen young men who ai-e strnggliu;^ on the thres-
hold of life for the liberty to get food. He goes as an
elephant would go through a f(3undling Jiospital, never
looking where he stej)S, and without any consciousness
that he is bound to give any heed to the infantile crea-
tures among which he stalks. He crushes one here and
another there, saying, " 1 must t dvc care of Number One;
and if you would do as 1 do, you would get along all
right." He has no sense of the obligations of humanity.
He would not put a pin into a man — not at all; but he
would put a i>lan into him, and pierce him to the heart.
He wovdd not p «t his hand into a man's pocket; but he
would take stocks in the street, and influence them in
such a way as to destroy five hundre 1 men, without even
crying, " Stand from under !" He goes through life mak-
ing his conunercial power the means of tri[)[)'ng men up
to their ruin.

Such men are not producers, tliey are oonf users. They
are not men who are working in society to increase eni-
bodied thought or skill. They are not men who are build-
ing up the community in any way. They are men that use
men. " In allowable ways," it is said. Allowable? Yes,
so far a,s cold law is concerned ; but the man that hugs
the law liugs danmation ! The law ? Do you supp ;
the law can ever be enough to measure honour ? Can it
ever be moro than enough to mark its coarse features ?
A man tbftt doQs not live bigber than tl»o h^v, s^ nmr>

i '■

iff

ill

I i !

II i-

111

V t

ff;

t'SI

332

SEILMONS BY BEtCHER.

that has not more truth, more honest}'', more purit}', thai)
the hiw requires, is scarcely tit to he ranked among our
fellow-men. And shall a man, all his life long, in tho
spirit and tem})er of his mind, he as a vintner who plucks
grapes that he may crush them r.ud cxtiact the wine and
put it in his cellar ? Slia!l a man plwcls: his Icllow-men, and
squeeze their blood out of their veins that he may make
his own prosperity ? There are s ich men who believe in
the Trinity, in the Holy Ghost, in the church, in baptism,
in the Lord's Supper, in everything that they can think of,
and in everything that they ever heard about, pretty
nnich, except that Christi died for sinners, and that siti-
ners are unspeakably precious because Christ died fur
them. Woe be to that inhumanity which nestles in
the heart of orthodoxy. If a man does not love his
brother, do you believe that he loves God ? I do not.

This is one of the most precious of doctrines to those
that look and long for a better period of the world. It
was almost the only thing that we could urge when slav-
ery rent our land ; when it was habitually told us that
the slave was not a man — at any rate that he was so low
that the only condition in which he could profitably exist
was this condition of circumscription. Because he was so
low, he must not learn to read. Because he was so low, he
must not learn the sacredness of marriajje. Because he
was so low, he wa,s stripped of every higher function.
And in order to make their paganism more hideous, men
enshrined it in the statute-books of the nation, that the
slave was a creature that had no rio-hts ; that he was a
chattel ! And against this nefarious doctrine what had
we to oppose ? Here were these men of dilierent haii',
and different features, and a different coloured skin, and
of a low degree of civilization ; and we had but this t >
oppose to the efforts of men to keep them in a state of
degradation — " Christ died for every one of them." Ti
every old mother imrse that prayed and wept for h.r
HcatterefJ family ; to every o](l ^reydja-ircd paint th..'

SUFP^TRING, THE MEASURE OF WORTtt.

nsn

tru«.torl in Chrisl ; to evcr}^ y^i^J^o ^'•''^•^ ^'' rnairlen in
anguish tiiat looked up and cried, '* Lord, remember me,"
tile only argument we could give was, " Christ died for
you." The single strand that held against the storms of
avarice, and against the tire of lurid lusts, was the single
argument, "For these Christ died." And that held ; an<l
tlie most wonderful change toward regeneration that the
world ever saw, has taken place, I think, by the simple
opeiation of the great law, " A man for whom Christ
died is of unspeakable value."

And what have we now for the weak races ? T see how
commerce is extending, and how open communication is
briniring all the countries of the world together. I .see
how this land is going to be the battle-tield of the world
in respect to these great oppressions. I perceive that the
weaker races are coming among us ; as, for instance, the
hordes of Cldnamen that are swarming our western bor-
ders. And I perceive that there are men of a hard heart,
and an iron shod foot, who are preparing to tread these
people down, and deny them their rights. And I take
my stand by the side of every weak creature, whatever
his nationality may be, and I .say, " For him Christ died."
Take him ; respect him ; educate him. Let him have a
chance. Let no man despoil him. Keep the vulture from
him. Bend down arrogant piide, and let no combination
of men t^n-annize over him. And the weaker he is, tho
more stand off. Christ died for hinic He is the babe of
providence. He is the infant of ages. Giv^e men at tho
bottom a cliance to come up. Shall the world for ever roll
with the same disastrous experiments ? Shall the strong
be made stronger by grinding the weak, and pouring out
their blood ? When shall we learn that while natu.ro
makes the weak suffer for the strong, grace and God
reverse it, and make it the duty of the strong to sutler
for the weak ? God, the highest, bowed down his head,
and came upon the earth, and suffered for the weakest
and the worst. There is the law of heaven, the law of
the aeea. the law of the universe.

334.

SERMONS BY BEECH EH.

l.in I

Cliristiaii brothron, we innst arm ourselves l)cMine5i.
Tlio seeds of a better public sentiment must be sown.

Thru let no man lie diseouraged because he is lahom
in^' in burnlih^ circumstances ; because he is labouriiiL;-
with a veiy mncli neglected class; because he spends a
i;ie:it many houia on most unpromisin<jf materials. There
is no material in this world that is unpromisinij^. The
fundamental value of human life is such that you cannot
pick amiss. For, though some will disclose what you dn
in this world (pucker tlian others, yet there is no one
toward wliom you can show the spirit of Christian brothei-
hood and fidelity, that you will not meet by and by, v^heie
you will see that you have worked better than you knew.

1 have heard of somnanihulists that rose in the niuflit
and sat themselves down at their ea^el. and painted with
that mystic lideltv and skiil whicii belouifs to abnormal,
or rather uid^nown conditions of po'ver. And when the'
morning li^ht came, they lose and looked upon their
easel and said, " Who hath \vrou_ii^ht this i" It was their
own work in the hours of the unknowinv ni^rht ; and in
the moi'nini]f they heheld it and marvelled.

My dear brethren, you are somnambulists, walkini:^ in
thisdaiksome vale; and you, by every touch that you
put upon the poor and needy and weak, are working out
a portrait ; and when the bright morning of the resur-
rection comes, you will be struck with amazement, and
will sav, " Who hath wrouijht this?" And with etfahle
joy, Cnrist shall say, " This is your ai't taught of me,
copied from my love, inspired by my tidelty ; and inas-
much as ye have done it unto me." Every single tear,
every single act of fidelity which 3'ou have bestowed upon
the poor, you will see rising and making the character of
Christ and the glory of God n)ore eminent ; and God
will say, " Ye did it unto me."

Work on ; be patient ; be believing ; hope ; hope to
the end, and then go to your reward !

THE GRIME OF DEGEADING MEN.

^' But iL'Jiosu skull offend one of these little ones, which believe

^ in me, it were hetftr for him that a iniUstone were hawjnl about

liia iK'ck. and that he wne drtnvned in tJie depths of the sea.

Woe unto the tcorld because of o [fend' s ! for it ■niu.'il needs be thai

offences cone, tmt icue to tibut man, from wlujm the ojj'cnce

comcih!" — Matt, xviii : G-7.

HIS is one of tl)o most .stiikiii.;- scenes in tho
vvliolo life of the Saviour, one ot the most
strikinij^ instances of teacliini;, wliere he took
a little child and set him in the midst of the
disciples, and declared imto tliem, that oi such was
the kingdom of heaven ; that unless they became as
a little child — that is, were born again — they should
* in no case see the kingdom of heaven. And then he
declaied that whosoever should cause one of them to
offend — you will mark tlie difference ; not whosoever
should otiend one of tliem, in our sense of making him
'^ angry, was so culpable ; but whoever should cause a
child to go wrong; whosoever should so treat a child
as to damage its moral constitution, its afiectional
nature, its present life or its prospect for the life to
corae — it were better for him not to have been born ; it
were better for him that a millstone were hanired about
his neck, and that he were cast into the depth of the sea.
You, of course, in interpreting this figure, are not to im-
acfine our millstones, which would seem rather difficult to

I i-

riff

■

ii!

I ■

336

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

lie about one's neck. The mills of the ancients were hand-
mills ; and the grinding was done with stones in basins ;
and these stones were quite manageable, and of just about
enough weight, if tied about one's neck, to sink the head
below the wave. This was — certainlj'' in the time of
Christ — a Roman punishment, and many were executed
in the sea of Galilee in that wa}^, by being sunk with
stones attached to them. So that, dropping it as a specitic
form of capital otfence, we may state that it is a capital
offence in the judgment of our Saviour for one to so in-
fluence a fellow-creature as to be harmful to him, as to
do him an injury.

This is not a consideration of those thousand injuries
which we do to men, and which are external, as stealing
from them, as puttinfjf them to pain, or as putting them to
shame. It may involve all these ; but the point of offence
which is here prominent, and which is the thing to be
considered, is that it is some form of conduct, whether it
be injurious or pleasant to persons, which causes them to
offend ; which makes them worse than they were before.
You are bound so to treat men as negativel}'^ not to hurt
them, and so as positively to do them good, in their
dispositions, in their nature, as well as in their external
feelings and circumstances.

The whole passage teaches, in an eminent manner, the
value of children. Productively, they are of no value.
It is supposed by commentators that this was a little
orphan child. Some shade of the original language leads
to that impression. A little child, and certainly one
without parents and home, can return nothing for the
service rendered to him. Of all things that you can
think of, a child in its earlier years reaps the most of care
bestowed, with the least remuneration received — unless
you take your pay in loving. It pan say but little. It
can furnish little for the taste. Very little can its hands
do. It has to be watched, rather than to watch. It has
to be served, rather than to serve. It is the seed of hope ;
it is the prophecy of love ; but as sncioty reckons men's

THE CRIME OF DEaRADING MEN".

S37

•e h^nd-

basins ;
it about
he head

time of
sxecutcd
nk with
I specitic
a, capital
to so in-
hn, as to

injuries
stealing
T them to
)f offence
ing to be
hether it
' them to
e before,
t to hurt
in their
external

mer, the
10 value.
a little
ige leads
|nly one
for flie
'^ou can
[t of care
-unless
Ittle. It
bs hands
It has
)f hope ;
lis men's

value — namely, from their productive force — a child is
about as valueless in political economy, as anything that
you can imagine. Compared vvith men in power, men in
])lace, and men of influence, it would seem as if children
must get out of the wa.y, and let their superiors pass by.
But the Saviour takes a little child, in all its helplessness,
and an orphan child at that, and says, " So far from great
and swelling men being superior, unless they be converted,
and become like this little child, they shall not see the
kingdom of God."

If injuring the lowest possible state of human life is a
capital offence, how much more wicked is it to in jure a
greater sum of being ? If our Saviour had said that to
destroy a king was a high crime, everj^body would have
believed that ; and without any profit to the rest of man-
kind, because the king is a representative character. All
men agree that it is evil to strike down an eminent and
rich and counselling man, in whom the state itself has an
interest. Everybody would say, "Of course, a noble, a
prince, a general, a president, a monarch, a philosopher, a
genius, a poet, a painter — to slay these men is an out-
rage." But it is the painter that is slain; it is the king;
it is the magistrate; it is the philosopher.

Our Saviour wanted to show that with God, indepen-
dent of these intrinsic reasons, there was somethinjx that
was unspeakably precious in the mere element of n\an-
hood, in the mere element of being ; and therefore he
goes to the very lowest type of man's life. He takes not
the king, nor the king's child; he takes not the great
man, nor the petted children of great men ; he picks out
the little orphan that had neither father nor mother alive,
that nobody knew or cared for, aj)parently, arid said, " He
that causes as much humanity iis there is in this little
child to offend, he that damages this little child, had
better lose his life. It is a capital offence.

Now, if beginning at the bottom, and putting such a
measure to comprehenive manhood as is developed there
in its least power, and in its lowest as[)ects ; if manhood is

338

SERMONS BY BEECHES.

as valuable there as it is at every step in which it de-
velopes itself; then every step of its ascent, every added
virtue, every added stress of power, all that goes to de-
velope a diviner model and nature in the soul, makes it
more impeiative that you should be careful that you
honour, and do not harm, human nature.

Men need their duties and dangers on this subject to
be often and clearly pointed out. It is an unconscious
damage that we are doing, and that we need most to have
set before us, that we take heed.

1. Parents are frequently the cause of many of ti
faults which grow into great depravities in their children.
It is true that there are children who receive a nature im-
practicable — almost unmanageable. It is true that the sins
of the fathers are in such a sense visited upon their chil-
dren, and their children's children ; and that parents fre-
quently have to manage children that task their wisdom,
and would task the highest wisdom. But these are excep-
tional cases. Ordinarily, our children are very much
what we make them. A great many bad men are made
bad by the moral government and the mistakes of their
parents. The very theory of family government fre-
quently destroys the child. He is snubbed as if he had
no feelings. He is frequently provoked — and to such a
degree that the Scripture stepped in and said, " Fathers,
provoke not your children to angor, lest they should be
discouraged," and become desperate, and do not care how
they act.

We see that still. It grew out largely from the old
Roman and Oriental notion of sonship. For parents were
the owners of their children, just as they were the own-
ers of anything else that was their property. But v/e an;
living in communities wliere diti'erent ideas prevail ; and
now, children will not submit as once they would hu^
submitted. It is said that children are a world smarter
than they used to be. They are ; and you cannot help
it. Society is ditferont. The theory of society is differ-
ent. Government does not mean the same to us that it

THE CRIME OF DEGRADING MEN.

339

niennt to antiquity. And in such a liberalized commu-
nity it is imj)os5ible to continue the old Roman doctrine
of family government. If cliildren are living in such an
atmosphere, or are surrounded by such inHuences, it will
lead to resistance and recrimination. Worse than that, it
leads children to resistance and deceit. Being treated as
slaves, they imbibe the vices of slaves, one of which is
craft. Weakness alway,^ emplo^^s deceit against force.
Since it cannot resist it openly and overthrow it, it under-
mines it to its harm.

In that way children are over-governed, and sinfully,
almost brutally governed in the houseliold. It is a mercy
and a special providence of God if they grow up uncon-
taminated. They are twisted, they aie bent, they are
fatally damaged ; and there is many and many parent, I
doubt not, who in amazement will rise in the last day to
hear the Judge declare, "The ruin of that child I lay at
your door. Ye caused Jiim to otiend !"

On the opposite side is also the mischief and the in-
jury done unintentionally, but nevertheless just as really,
by those wdio love their children weakly, who love them
without any sense of equity, who love them with such
self-indulgence that they cannot bear to pain them even
as much as is necessary to make them well-governed
children.

Over-severity and relaxation of government are the two
extremes which meet in the common destruction of chil-
dren; and the one and the other are crimes — not simply
crimes against a technical law, but crimes a^'rainst hu-
manity, and crimes, too, of which the Saviour said, "Whoso
shall oiiend one of these little ones which believe in me,
it were better for liim that a millstone were hanged about
his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the
sea."

It is a very solelm and serious matter for you to be in-
trusted with the care of God's little children. One would
think, to see the mating that goes on in society — and it
is a beautiful thing in its way — that buttertiies were let

■

\ii i

SERMONS BY BEECHES

loose, so light, anrl ga3^ and happv are the hen.^-ts that
sail together and play round each other. One would think
to hear the cheerful congratulations that accompany the
putting out of a young life in the family state, that there
was no responsibility connected with the event. And
when there begin to be " angels unawares " coming into
the household, one after another, how joyous it is ! And
the silver cups and little congratulatory notes are plenty.
But how few there are who ieel that, from the time the
door of life opens, and a child is l)orn, God has drawn
His han'l out from near to His own heart and lent some-
thing of Himself to the parent, and said, " Keep it tid I
come, take tins, my own child, and educate it for mo, and
bring it to lieaven, and let its improving and its profiting
appear when ye and it stand together -in the last day."*

2. Our pride and inconsideration may, and often do,
result in a train of evils to the character of our servants,
of our clerks, and of the working-men that are under our
care. In the ordinance of society, it will always be that
there will be the wise and not the wise, the strong and
the weak, the superior and the inferior. It is not a dis-
grace to be in a suboi'dinate position ; and it ought not
to he even painful. When society shall be thoroughly
christianized, so that all parts shall l)e tempered together
both in equity and in love, the inferior in society will be
gi'ieved no more than little children arc in the household.
The little cliild is a subordinate ; but he does not feel that
his low estate is a misfortune. And when the stronij
bear the infirmities of the weak, when the superior feel
that upon them are laid high obligations, that they are
benefactors, that they are light carriers, that they are
sent for the defence of the feeble, that they are not to
treat them as their jirey, but as their wards, then superior
and inferior will be stripi)ed of many invidious feelings
and discriminations that now wait upon these terms.

Too often, Christian men, as well others, do not con-
sider cither the inteiests or the feelings of those whom
they employ. The whole transaction is summed up in

THE CHIME OF DEGRADING MEN.

841

.T5
'I

foel

are

)fc to

\rior

lings

3on-
11 om

b in

this : " For so much you serve me in such a sphere. Here
are your wages, and here are your duties," That is bar-
barous. A man is not a ma("hine that has no feelings,
and that run^ with so much iiilling water, or with so
much steam. Tliere is not a servant that vou emplov who
is not just like you in conscience, in sympathy, in love, in
hope, in ambition, in pride, and frequently in delicacy
of feeling. There is not one of them that does not, like
you, desire recognition, praise, gentleness, forbearance, pa-
tience. And to take such a one, and suppose that all your
duties are discharfred in those industrial relations which
we sustain one to another, measuring so much service by
so much money — is that to be a Christian ? Is it to be
even a larf;e-minded man of the world ? But too often
men feel that there is no further duty incumbent upon
them ; that they may procure the services of men for just
as little requitj^l as possible ; that, having engaged them
to perform certain duties, they are at liberty to put on
the screw of requisition just as severely as they can ; and
that, in discharging their part of the obligation, they are
to pay to the |)enny what they argee to pay, but are not
called upon to return anything of generosity or sympathy.
Under these circumstances, men, feeling that they are
men, are perpetually tempted by this rigorous and exact-
ing course, by this mechanism of justice, to take advant-
age. They very soon come to feel, " If this man does not
care for me, why should I care for him ? If my interests
are nothing; to him, then his interests are nothinfj to me.
If he measures just so much service by so much money,
then I will measure just so much money by so much
Bervice." And after a time there comes to be a system of
suppressed warfare between the employer and the em-
ployed. We see it break out in a thousantl forms. It
exists throughout society where Christian feeling does
not produce a dill'erent and a better result. And it will
go on. Nothing but a larger Christian idea and practice
will save us from more violent ruptures than any that
hftve yet taken plo-ce. For iDferior men in inicrioj!

342

SERMONS BY BEEUHER.

.1 i

1, i

stations will be tempted to deceit, and will practice deceit.
They will cover up facts. They will resort to false jn-e-
tences. They will give short -work for their wages. They
will count every man that is superior to them as in some
sense their enemy ; and their sui)eriors will be all the time
treating them as if they were in some sense their enemies.
Society is organized like two camps ; and the two parties
are watching each other perpetually. Fear, dislike, and
avarice are thuir weapons. How far is this from that large
Christian feeling which regards every man as a brother,
and every man, before God, in some sense, as an equal !

3. By the inconsiderate use of our liberty we are in
danger of causing men to offend^ and of essentially dam-
aging human nature. As society is made up of ditferent
classes, and as these classes have different advantages,
some are more and some are less informed than others.
In a loving Christian family, which is the true type of a
generous commonwealth, all things gravitate to the cradle.
If you can sing, then you have a song for the baby. If
you can frolic, then you must frolic with the baby. If
you are expert in making merriment, the baby must have
the advantaf]:e of it. If the child is sick, the grown folks
are the ones to be still. Every thing at the top goes to the
bottom in the realm of love. But in society it is the re-
verse. If a man is wise, he thinks all ignorant folks
must follow his lead and beck. If a man is refined., he
sits in judgment on all vulgar and unrefined people. A
man in the kingdom of love goes down to serve by the
amount of sujieriority which he has, hearing always, in
his own moral nature, Christ saying to him, " Ye that
would be first become the servants of the rest" — which
is the true law. But in the kingdom of this world men
put the crown on their own l^eads, because tliey are so
strong, and look to thr weak to come and serve them.
They put the laurels on their head, and are angry with
their fellow-men because they do not chant their praises.
And so men use their liberty as a means of oppressing
ihau' foUow-men.

THE CRIME OF DEGRADING MEN.

345

There are a thousand ways in which this is clone ; but
those ways in which the strong lead those who are weak
into temptation and mischief, are the cruel ways. Persons
resent very much, frequently, the intrusion upon their
liberty, when it is said, " You ought not, in this com-
munity, to play cards." A card is nothing. In itself it
is no more than a piece of newspaper. A game of cards,
is just as innocent as a game of checkers ; and a game ot
checkers is just as innocent as a game of backgammon.
They are innocent in and of themselves, and are perfectly
permissible in the majority of families here among our-
selves ; but there are circumstances and places in which
they are prejudicial, and you could no go and sit and
play a game of cards, being known as a professor of re-
ligion, without producing the impression among the
young people that they might do it. And they, by rea-
son of loose instruction and narrow views, have the im-
pression, also, that if they may play cards, they may
gamble and drink wine, and give way to dissipation in a
multitude of ways. It may be perfectly harmless to you,
and you may say, " If every one would do as I do, what
harm would there be in playing cards ? " But they can-
not do as you do.

There are men that are, for various reasons, able to do
things which those round about them are not able to do, and
will perish in the doing ; and yet these men go heedlessly
on doing these things and saying, " Oh ! if they will only do
as we do, they will not be harmed ! " That is, you arro-
gant, selfish men are taking the liberty that God gave
you to despotise over those that are round about you. If
one or the other must give way, you mtist. If you are
enlightened, and are strong, and you can do these things
without harm, remember that you are in the midst of those
who cannot do them without harm.

There are many persons who, in the same way, use
their liberty in religion, I never go into a Catholic
church ; though I have no fear that I should be injured by
it. I never take holy water; tho^U^)} j in'^ht, ap'd not be

344

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

harmed by it j «
not o-ivpn h ^^^ *'^e si'm of ftl * ^^"^^ that

. » ,t^^^^ because vou SPP fi H "® P^^ce of it

For there is tt a 3117^''.' '» ^^bX^^lZ'T'^^'^^
truth and piety :„r.ti«''"e'> on the globe tL^tt^ ^ '

" on y faithful to the°?ight hit K " '»'"''» ^ouUfTe
i'et us not use m,,. iw L " "" "as. ' "®

IS 1

THE CRIME OF DEGRADING MEN.

84;

m aware of.
jf cross my-
have a ser-
ut Catholic;
hese things,
touch that
s." I havo
id on, put
taken from
ich she has
id which to
stage of de-
h is a kind
'. And she
ot read her
ff from her
er. I take
ant mine,
liave given
root and

for, do not
ihe roots,
place. I
[rotes tant,
it would
)m their
as they
lere they
It is
lortality
|hey are. ^
has not
d, if he

'^ho are
^re. If
Jhurch,

then tijey do not understand me. I have never said a
word against any other church, that I know of, since I
have been a minister. I criticise beliefs freel}', and al-
ways will ; but I never lifted my hand to proselyte a
person. I never strove to take a person out of one reli-
gion and put him into another. The kingdom of Christ
is not proiited by such a process, any moie than I am by
taking a ten-dollar bill out of one pocket and putting it
into another. It may serve my vanity, it may gratify
the carnal feeling of God's so-called disciples ; l3ut it
is not wise nor right. I never have done it, and never
will do it. T

4. Men del ijriorate their fellow-men, and weaken nociety,
by such conduct as puts men in their commercial inter-
course into very tempting relations to each other. I am
afraid there is not muc-h pleaching on the subject of the
relative duties of buyer and seller ; of manufacturer and
consumer ; but there is a great kingdom of duty here,
which of course I can only glance at, though it is worthy
of analysis with innumerable particulars. I look upon
the ways of men in this regard as being peculiarly
unchristian. It ought to be so that a little child
could take in its hand a sum of money, and go to any
stor(i for a commodity, and hand that money over the
counter, and, telling what it wants, receive an article as
much better than its own uninstructed judgment could
choose as the knowledge of the merchant is superior to
its knowledge ; but 1 am afraid it would not be safe to
go shopping in that way. I am afraid that if you were
no judge of material, and bought accordingly, you would
have poor garments. I am afraid that if you had no
judgment of prices, you would pay inordinately for many
things.

But do not slander the merchant. I think it is the
front part of the counter that corrupts the back part.
N(vw and then, in the mercantile business, just as in any
other relation, there are men who incline to fraud, to

34(5

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

guile; l>nt ojdinarily men that sell are perverted "by tliebitl
men that bu\'. You go forth hunting tor a merduiiit ontdejl
of whom you can get a " hargain." What is a bargain ?haH
A true bargain is that tranaction in which you n-ncer an(yh|
equivalent for what you get — in wliich you give thatstal
which is worth as much as that which you receive, l^utovc
what you call a l)argain is going out and iinding some one thel
with whom you can trade, so that you can come homeleab
conscious that 3'ou have got five times as much as you not]
have given. And strange as it may seem, men take pridehui
in this thing! It is part purpose, and part excitement, inei

For instance, you go into the store of a man who keepsdea
musical instruments fur sale. He has an okl violin. It do 1
is cracked, and has been mende 1. You take it and go tostor
the light, and looking down through the opening, youthei
see, " Amati, IGDo."" You say to the man, "How nmch is can I
this ?" He says, "Twenty dollars," You take it. Only Ana
twenty dollars ! You tremble for fear he will look again, meni
You go home with your "Amati," and .^^a}', "That violin of nc
is worth five hundred dollars, and I would not take two they
hundred in gold for it 1" " How much did it cost you ?"thei]
" Guess." And you sit expectant like one waiting for liis^ello
crown ! At last you say, " I only gave twenty dollars for|nos<
it !" " No, you don't mean that 'f " It is a fact ; that is' 5.
all it cost me." And how happy you are! And youis co
show that violin the rest of your life, congratulating of tl
yourself that it was worth four or tive hundred dollars, |New
and that you got it for twenty. That is to say, you stok scarri
all the ditference between what you got it for and what it land
was worth ; and God will judge you so I pf ac

Ah ! but as men say, frequently, " There is a trick an a
worth two of that," That violin was doctored and fixed >vou'
up on purpose to deceive, and it was not worth t.n dollars, tend
The man that sold you that instrument was happy too ;coul»
and as you left his store, ho chuckled and said, *' I got thin
that violin for a dollar and a half, and that mau thinks eoci^
it is an " Amati." ^ ; It

Are men worms ? Is life but a scene of crawling anc^in st

THE CRLME OF DEGRADING MEN.

34:

t'vertedin' tliebitinof? Is barfraininoj but this isfnoble coining^ of fie
. meicluiht out depraved feelings ? And is that what the blood of Christ

is a bargain? has produced in you? Have eiglitecn hundred years of
you rcnccr an Christian teaching come to this, that professors of religion
you give thatstart out in the morning to see who cm be the shai"{>est

receive, initover the counter, who can pay the least money and got
iding some one the most goods, or who can take most juoney and give tlie
m come homeleast goods? Is not this a part of the play of li;e ? Do

much as you not men go oit shopping just as men go out fishing or
neri take pride hunting, to see how much game they can get ? Do not

excitement, men pride themselves on their being shrewd in their
)an who keeps dealings ? Are not clerks bothered and provoked ? and
dd violin. It do not they know that if such persons come into their
:e it and go to store they must fall from their price, or not sell? and

opening, you therefore do they not put their price so high that they
"How nmch is can afford to fall ? And thus are they not taught guire ?
take it. Only And are not persons that practice this kind of traffic often
:ili look ijgain. members of the church, and persons that have a great deal

"That violin of moral excellence ? Notwithstanding all their virtues,
not take two they are so inconsiderate in these things that they damage
it cost you ?" their own consciences, and damage the consciences of their

aiting for his fellow-men, and fill the relations of commerce with the

ty dollars for^nost pernicious and unchristian feelings.

fact ; that is ■ 5. Avarice — and that, too, in its most ignoble forms —

! And you is continually tempting so-called good men to the injury

ngratulating of their fellow-men. Perhaps you have noticed in some

dred dollars, |New York papers an investigation that has been quietly

ay, you stold isarried on as to the weights and measures and qualities

and what itknd adulterations of things sold. I suppose the practice

bf adulterating food, and medicine even is carried on to

re is a tricken alarming extent, I suppose many a patient dies that
d and fixed Would be saved were it not that the medicines given are

|h tin dollars, rendered of no value whatever by adulteration. If you
happy too ;could see how much corruption there is in this regard, I
aid, " I got think you would be almost afraid to deal with men in
man thinks eociety.

^ ! It is not, however, your injury in pocket, or your injury

rawling anuin stomach, that I am now considering; what T am con-

S48

SERMONS BY BEECH ER.

sidering is the fact that men sTiould allow In theii
business this element of fraud; that tliey should train
not only themselves, but their clerks, their correspoiideiits,
those from whom you buy, those to whom they soil, every-
body with whom they have to do, to a species of deception.

Now, when a man sells eleven ounces for twelve, ho
makes a compact with the devil, and sells himself for the
value of an ounce. -And that is not all, lie sells himself
to as many devils as the number of times that he sells
eleven ounces for twelve. I do not say that they under-
value themselves in such a sale as this. I think that they
do not, ordinarily. But consider what a man will do for
the sake of a few pence. How such a man can look at
himself in a glass, or bear to be alone with himself, I
cannot imagine. A man that practices this system of
petty frauds, in which he has trained young men, his
correspondents, all that are connected with him in busi-
ness, making them lawful, covering them over, so that
they shall not excite alarm, and weaving nets and excuses
to hide them ; a man that goes on in this course from
v/eek to week, damaging and damaging people while ho
enriches himself all the way through — do you suppose
that such a man can enter the kingdom of God ? Would
it not be kind if some angel were to sound the trumpet
in his ear every single day, saying, " It were better that a
millstone should be hanged about thy neck, than that
thou shouldest have made this profit by such means ?"

Do you believe in a hereafter? Do you believe in a
judgment seat ? Do you believe that your victims and
pupils will meet you there face to face, and that Gud will
tear away all disguises, and that you will see thini^s ae
they are ?

0. There is another relation (for since we have la-

secting-table to night, and are using the knife in ibid
anatoma, we may as well go to the very root of thing j —
there is another relation in which I perceive that grept
damage is done by men professing godliness as well as
men professing honesty, though not avowedly Christian,

THE CRIME OF DEGrAT-ING MEN.

C49

tTieii
train
ideiits,
every-
3ption.
ve, lie
for tho
limseif
e sells
under-
it they
do for
ook at
iself, I
tern of
en, Ills
n busi-
so that
excuses
from
ile ho
uppose
Would
umpet
that a
that
eans ?
^^e in a
ns and
xl will
nG::s sl>

-bid

grept
^ell aa
|-istian,

by the injustice which luiks and is alnio'^t inlioren^ in
their vanity. There are very few men who have sucli
essential justice in their very nature tiiat they can say
that they do not want anything that is not their own,
nor any more than their own. There are very few men
whtj have that native good sense — I uiiuht almost call h
grace — by which they say, " I (lo not want to appear any
letter than I am." 'J'hore is not, one jeisim in a thous-
and that docs not want to. Indee!, we almost never
consider, or are taught to consider, that in the matter of
dress, many of us are all our lives long seeking to a]ipear
better than we can afford to appear, Uf cour.se, v/iien
persons are wealtliy, they can atibrd to dress to any de-
cree either of ostentation or richness, as the case mav be ;
but all the way down .-re tl-' o ihat are not al»le, and are
not content not to do it. And so people want better
goods than they can afford to wear.

This is not equitable. You cannot afford to wear any
better clothes than you can afford to {)ay for. It is a
mark of true nobility for a young man to come into the
cily, and be introduced, it may be, into his em[)loyer"s
family, and stand up without Idushing, in his plain home-
made coat, and say, " I cannot afford anything bettei*. I
must be an honest man, whatever I am. I cannot afford
it, and I shall not ha^'c it." But oh ! how few there are
that can do that ? ^ Young men feel that they must have
ihat which shall make them look like their companions.
And what is the result, too often ?

In a large establishmeait in New York, a boolo-keeper,
in whom was reposed unbounded trust, was found, at
iHst, to be a defaulter, and to have appropriated money
^'•om the establishment to his own use. Why ? V/as it

inking ? W'as it any lustful dissipation ! No. He
had been made the leading member of a literary society,
among rich people, and he had to live as they did with
whom hi' " happy lot" was cast. He had to dress
better than his circumstances would warrant. Ho liad to
pav mnny little incidental expenses, He had not tie

350

SERMONS BY BEI'X'HER.

money ; nnd yet he could not resist the temptation. So
he stole it ; he was found out ; and he lost his place. I
I do not know what has become of him. How dress, as
in this instance, often tempts men ! This is one reason
why the young should be instructed.

You wish to dress your wife better than your circum-
stances will allow. She wants to have you. She is a
luoman of sjnvit, as it is said, and she does not mean to bo
a drudge. " Why should our neighbours," she says to
her husband, "diess any better than we ? They are made
of the same flesh tind blood that we are. See how they
come out. I don't think a man of any spirit would let his
wife and children go to church dressed as you let us go.
Look at these children. You would tldnk that they had
just come out of some slop-house ! If I had married as
I might have married, we should have liad ditferent times
— I and niy children ! " liow many men are stung to the
quick by such remarks from their wives ! Often-times,
their moral sense revolts, at first, and they feel indigna-
tion ; but "continual dropping wears a stone ;" and by
and by the man is dressed a little better than h(? can afford ;
and his wife and children are dressed better th m he can
afford, and homebody must pay lor the extravagance. I
do not say that they are tem[)ted to steal ; but I do .say
that tliey grind. They mean somehow to get it out of
the milliner, out of the dressmaker, or out of the mer-
chant. They intend to make one hand wash the other
sonu'how, and they go into petty meanness to bring it
about. And this desire to dress better than they can
afford is taking off the very enamel of their virtue, and
taking out the very stamina of their religious life. Un-
important as it seems, ostentatious vanity in dress has
ruined many a family, and damned many a soul !

The same princii)](i it is that largely corrupts trade. A
man wants to build, lie has money enough t ) build
tliree houses; but he wants to build five. He gets bids.
And when it is understood what he wants to do, men say
to him, " You cannot build five houses with that aTuonut

THE CRIME OF DEGRADING MEN.

351

ion. So
)lace. I
dress, as
e reason

circum-
She is a
jan to bo
; says to
are made
low they
Id let bis
let us go.
they hiid
lavried as
ent times
ng to tbe
pen-times,
indigna-
and by
\n afi'ord ;
n lie can
r^ance. I
I do say
it out ot
tbc mer-
tbo other
bring it
bhey can
|rtue, and
ife. Un-
llress has

trade. A
t) build
rets bids,
men say
amount

of money. Bricks are so much, ]uud)er is so much, and
work is so much a day, and it will cost moi'o tiiuti you
]iropose to lay out." .But the mau is determined to l.uild
tive houses with hi.s money, and lui gets other bj]s ; and
by and by he linds a man that is willing to undertake the
job on the terms oti'ered. The five bonuses are built; and
they are built lor that money. H<jvv is it done ? By a
system of cheating — for builders are smart cn(3Ugh very
often to make a man build five houses wliere he ouidit to
build three. The man tliat ]>iulds tbcm is smarter than
the man that employs hiui to build them. The latter
does not know how the foundaions are laid; he does not
know how the ]'artitions are tilled up; he does not know
how the plumbing is done, or how the glazing is done.
The man meant to cheat tlie builder, and the builder
cheated him. And every tenant that goes into the house
will pay for it.

And that which takes place in the htulding of tlie house
takes place in the furni.shing of the house. All the way
through, men want more than is ju.st. They are avari-
cious, an<l tliey serk to get all they can out of other men.

Men and brethi'cn, am I speaking at random ? Am I
not telling things that you know b^'tter than I ? Can you
not, in looking in the store or in the shop, think of some
whose cases I have described ? Have you not been part-
ners to a greater or less extent in the wrong courses
which T have exposed ? Can you not bear witness that I
am speaking the truth, and that men in all avocations
are violating not only the spirit, but the letter of the law
of love ? Are they not causing God's litlle ones to offjnd
— to stumble lieadlong into temptation and into woes.

I will not speak of the intentional misleadinirs which
go on in society, and of which there are many. I will
stay the further progress of this discussion in its special
applications, only to set before you, in tlie closing time
that I have, the consideration of the value of man in tho
sight of God.

You are blinded ; and many of your mistakes arise from

352

SERMONS BY BEECHER.

the fact that you take your estimate of men as you fi-^cl
them in society. We judge of a man's worth by what he
can do. We speak of a man as we do of goods ; and we
speak of goods as being worth more or less according to
what they will bring in tHe market. We measure a man's
value by his position. We are not taught to think of
men in regard to their intrinsic relations to God, nor in
regard to their adaptibility to indefinite and eternal
intercourse. The Glory of manhood is never seen in
this world. What a man is you would not suspect from
what 3^ou see of him here. Our summer is too short and
too cold for that. Men do not blossom on the earth — at
any rate, in their higher attributes. The live unknown
and almost unseen, and die almost unwept and unla-
mented, to rise into a better sphere, where they begin,
under more auspicious circumstances, to take on a dignity
and proportion of which we have no conception here.
You damage a man here because he is of little value to
society, and he passeth from your sight, and you think
no more of him ; but when you see him again he shall be
a prince before God. And Christ says, warning you,
" The last shall be first, and the first shall be last."

You are living in the midst of terrible realities. But
lands, and houses, and furniture, ships and goods, and
•^governments — these are not the realities. These are
transcient. The littb child, the throbbing heart of a
woman, the soul-natuio of man — these are the durable
things that we are living among. Every heart beats
pgainst some other heawt. Every thought is as the sculp-
tor s chisel. Your whole WW.', is a mighty power in the
niidst of the vaiious eienicnls in this world; and the
command of the Muster is, ' Beware 1 beware ! whoso shall
cause to err the poorest man, the lowest man, the least
man, and make him worse — it were better for him that a
millstone weie hanged about his neck, and that he v.'cro
fliowned in the de[)th of the sea."

THE END.

you fi'"!cl
what he
and we
rdinor to
a man's
think of
3, nor in
eternal
seen in
ect from
aort and
irth — at
nknown
id unla-
y begin,
L dignity
on here,
value to
u think
shall be

ng you,

v.ej'e

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