The Ancient Hope by Horatius Bonar, D. D.

International Tract and Missionary Society · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Feb 4, 1886

The Ancient Hope.

By Horatius Bonar, D. D.

THE hope which God furnishes is not merely the hope of a quiet close to this world's weariness, but the hope of infinite gladness which is to come. There is a passage in Job which exemplifies both of these very fitly. Groaning under the pressure of no common grief, he cries out: "Oh that thou wouldst hide me in the grave, that thou wouldst keep me secret until thy wrath be past!" As if he would be glad to be hidden anywhere, even in the grave, from such calamities.

But then this is not enough. This is mere negative comfort. It is the mere cessation of suffering. And this does not content him. He bethinks himself, and cries out again, Oh "that thou wouldst appoint me a set time, and remember me!" He cannot bear the thought of always lying in the dust, even though it is a secure hiding-place from the storms of earth. He would not be forgotten there. He would have a set time, at the end of which God might remember him. Then abruptly he asks, "If a man die shall he live?" And evidently answering himself, "Yes, he shall live again," he calmly adds: "All the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come." For it is resurrection-change he looks for, and rejoices in as his hope. When that day arrives, the trumpet shall sound, and the voice of God shall speak. "Thou shalt call, and I will answer."

But how is he so assured of being thus remembered of God? He knows how precious in his eyes is the dust of his saints. "Thou wilt have a desire to the work of thine hands." Thus, though Job begins with what is merely negative, that is, the ending of his grief and shame, he cannot rest there, but presses on, in rapid hope, to the beginning of his joy and glory. It is the morning, with all its new life and reviving sunshine, that rises before his view, and from afar pours into him its healing light.

"The fashion of this world passeth away." This cheers us, for it assures us that no grief shall live long. But the fashion of "the world to come" endures. This is unspeakably gladdening; for all that that better "age" brings with it shall abide forever. The inheritance is vast, the city is "joyous," the mansions are many, the title is sure, and the possession is everlasting.

"Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Would God I were in thee! Oh, that my sorrows had an end, Thy joys that I might see!"

Thus sweetly sung one of Scotland's holiest sons in the olden time. Broken with many griefs, he thus poured out his soul—weary and homesick, as a stranger here.

And will not "night" fail in one of its objects if it does not make us long for the "day?" Will not tribulation be frustrated if it does not stir within us "earnest expectation," this "groaning within ourselves," this "fervent longing," this home-sickness which the saints in other days felt so tenderly and truly? And all the more, because "now is our salvation nearer than when we believed;" for we have arrived at the last stage of our journey, and a few more days will suffice to bring us home.—Horatius Bonar, D. D.