THERE is scarcely a more powerfully drawn or deeply affecting moral picture in Scripture, than this: “When Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his Father, Bless me, even me also, oh my Father. . . . Hast thou not reserved a blessing for me? . . . Hast thou but one blessing, my Father? Bless me, even me also, oh my Father.” Why these tears, these passionate entreaties, this “great and exceeding bitter cry?” Because the blessing was gone, that blessing which recognized, fixed, and conveyed the “birthright,” including the family priesthood, the inheritance of the father’s dignity and position, whatever it was, patriarchal headship and precedence in all things, and a double share of the estate. The vast and mysterious hopes associated with the expectation of that glorious person who was to be a lineal descendant from Abraham, and in whom all the families of the earth were to be blessed, must also have been included in it. What a blessing must that have been in which all this was comprehended, and which was conveyed in such words as these: “God give thee of the dew of heaven, and the fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn and wine. Let people serve thee, and nations bow down to thee: cursed be every one that curseth thee, and blessed be he that blesseth thee!” This blessing, uttered by holy and inspired lips, and sealed by the venerable father’s kiss, carrying with it abundant riches, and unconquerable might, and wide dominion, going down, too, like a rich heirloom, to the future generations which should descend from the happy possessor;—how great and magnificent a possession must it then have appeared! But it was gone—gone from him and from his line—gone for ever. The consciousness of its utter and hopeless loss awoke him to a just sense of its value. Our blessings never seem so great as when we find they are no longer ours. Paradise never probably looked so sweet to Adam as when he turned his last glance upon it, and saw the way of the tree of life kept by the flaming sword of the cherubim. Esau had “despised his birthright”; but now it was lost he knew its value. Lost, too, by his own folly and wickedness—that thought must have greatly increased his anguish. Our misfortunes are greatly embittered by the consciousness that we have brought them upon ourselves, either by our own folly, carelessness, or criminality. That which befalls us by a resistless outward necessity the soul will often bear up against with a huge fortitude. But when we feel that we have been betrayed within, that our own folly has opened the door (or left it open) to calamity, how keen is the anguish of self-reproach! We once knew a gentleman born to great affluence, who impoverished himself by extravagant courses, and was at length obliged to part with his noble patrimonial house and property on the Hudson. The lawyer in whose office the transfer was made, told us that it was a deeply-moving scene. When the unhappy man saw the act consummated by which that which was once his, and should have gone down to his children, passed away from him and them for ever, and reflected on the cause of the calamity, his feelings of sorrow and self-reproach quite overpowered him. Esau had this anguish in its greatest intensity. He had “despised his birthright”; “he had sold his birthright”; sold that which was beyond all price, for which gold and gems could be no equivalent—sold it too for how mean a price—“a morsel of meat”—“a mess of pottage.” It is said that an ancient king was besieged in one of his fortresses, and that the utter failure of water compelled him, after suffering almost to the point of death, to surrender without terms or reserve to his enemy. After he had given himself up and taken the draught of water which was given him, he said, “For how small a consideration have I, who was a king, made myself a slave!” Esau had despoiled and ruined himself without such extreme necessity. When the relief of his hunger was at hand, he had “sold his birthright,” because he “despised” it. He had not expected to lose it, however, though he had “sold” it. It is quite plain that he meant to have both the “morsel of meat” and the birthright too. All his arrangements prove that he made his preparations to “inherit the blessing” just as if he had not bargained it away long before, and sealed the impious and infatuated transaction by a solemn oath to his brother. How confidently did he come to his father, asserting his right and saying, “I am thy son, thy first-born Esau.” But “he was rejected;” when he would have inherited the blessing, and evidently expected to inherit it, he was rejected. The disappointment of his deluded hopes must have greatly embittered his distress. Despair adds the last and most terrible aggravation. “He found no place of repentance.” In vain did his kind old father “tremble very exceedingly,” and exclaim, “What shall I do unto thee, my son?” The transaction was immutable. The blessing and the birthright had departed from him and gone to another. “He found no place of repentance, though he sought it earnestly with tears.” But see now the magnificent contrast presented by the freeness of the grace of God in our Lord Jesus Christ. We, too, have sold our birthright. Worse than that, we have sold ourselves. “Thus saith the Lord, ye have sold yourselves” (and for even less than a mess of pottage) “for naught.” What then? “I have redeemed thee.” We have even done more and worse. We have destroyed ourselves. “Oh Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself.” What then? “In me is thine help.” Oh the depth of the riches of the grace of God! Our Father has “reserved a blessing for us.” It is not in the least diminished by the multitude who have got it before and are accepting it every hour. It is not lost utterly and hopelessly even by our own folly and sin. It is an accepted time, a day of salvation. Every soul that repents shall “find a place of repentance.” Our generous elder Brother offers to share with us his own boundless inheritance—to make us “heirs of God and joint heirs” with him. Oh, shall not hope and thankfulness lend wings to our approach to that gracious Father so ready to forgive, so mighty to restore, so rich in blessing, so plenteous in redemption, lest neglecting the great salvation, and thus “failing even of the grace of God,” we fall into the misery and despair of Esau, and “when we would inherit the blessing be rejected, and find no place of repentance, though we seek it earnestly with tears.”—Independent.