THE MATERIAL WORLD AN ILLUSTRATION OF THE POWER OF DEITY.
The subjoined reflections from the pen of Mr. Thomas Dick, LL. D., the well-known “Christian Philosopher,” in regard to Almighty Power, greatly tend to beget feelings of reverence and awe as we contemplate the material world. As Mr. D. well observes, the most appropriate and impressive illustrations of omnipotence are those which are taken from the permanent operations of Deity, which are visible every moment in the universe around us. The immense quantity of matter contained in the universe presents a most striking display of Almighty Power. In endeavoring to form a definite notion on this subject, the mind is bewildered in its conceptions, and is at a loss where to begin or to end its excursions. In order to form something approximating to a well-defined idea, we must pursue a train of thought commencing with those magnitudes which the mind can easily grasp, proceeding through all the intermediate gradations of magnitude, and fixing the attention on every portion of the chain, till we arrive at the object or magnitude of which we wish to form a conception. We must endeavor, in the first place, to form a conception of the bulk of the world in which we dwell, which, though only a point in comparison to the whole material universe, is in reality a most astonishing magnitude, which the mind cannot grasp without a laborious effort. We can form some definite idea of those protuberate masses we denominate hills, which arise above the surface of our plains; but were we transported to the mountainous scenery of Switzerland, to the stupendous range of the Andes in South America, or to the Himalayan mountains in India, where masses of earth and rocks, in every variety of shape, extend several hundreds of miles in different directions, and rear their projecting summits beyond the region of the clouds—we should find some difficulty in forming an adequate conception of the objects of our contemplation. For, to use the words of one who had been a spectator of such scenes, “amidst those trackless regions of intense silence and solitude, we cannot contemplate, but with feelings of awe and admiration, the enormous masses of variegated matter which lie around, beneath, and above us. The mind labors, as it were, to form a definite idea of those objects of oppressive grandeur, and feels unable to grasp the august objects which compose the surrounding scene.” But what are all these mountainous masses, however variegated and sublime, when compared with the bulk of the whole earth? Were they hurled from their bases, and precipitated into the vast Pacific Ocean, they would all disappear in a moment, except, perhaps, a few projecting tops, which, like a number of small islands, might be seen rising a few fathoms above the surface of the waters. The earth is a globe whose diameter is nearly 8,000 miles, and its circumference about 25,000, and, consequently, its surface contains nearly two hundred millions of square miles—a magnitude too great for the mind to take in at one conception. In order to form a tolerable conception of the whole, we must endeavor to take a leisurely survey of its different parts. Were we to take our station on the top of a mountain of a moderate size, and survey the surrounding landscape, we should perceive an extent of view stretching forty miles in every direction, forming a circle eighty miles in diameter, and two hundred and fifty in circumference and comprehending an area of five thousand square miles. In such a situation the terrestrial scene around and beneath us—consisting of hills and plains, towns and villages, rivers and lakes—would form one of the largest objects which the eye, and even the imagination, can steadily grasp at one time. But such an object, grand and extensive as it is, forms no more than the forty-thousandth part of the terraqueous globe; so that before we can acquire an adequate conception of the magnitude of our own world, we must conceive forty thousand landscapes of a similar extent, to pass in review before us; and were a scene of the magnitude now stated, to pass before us every hour, till all the diversified scenery of the earth were brought under our view, and were twelve hours a day allotted for the observation, it would require nine years and forty-eight days before the whole surface of the globe could be contemplated, even in this general and rapid manner. But such a variety of successive landscapes passing before the eye, even although it were possible to be realized, would convey only a very vague and imperfect conception of the scenery of our world; for objects at the distance of forty miles cannot be distinctly perceived; the only view which would be satisfactory would be that which is comprehended within the range of three or four miles from the spectator. Again: I have already stated that the surface of the earth contains nearly 200,000,000 of square miles. Now, were a person to set out on a minute survey of the terraqueous globe, and to travel till he passes along every square mile on its surface, and to continue his route without intermission, at the rate of thirty miles every day, it would require eighteen thousand two hundred and sixty-four years before he could finish his tour, and complete the survey of “this huge rotundity on which we tread;” so that, had he commenced his excursion on the day in which Adam was created, and continued it to the present hour, he would not have accomplished one-third part of this vast tour. In estimating the size and extent of the earth, we ought also to take into consideration the vast variety of objects with which it is diversified, and the numerous animated beings with which it is stored; the great divisions of land and water, the continents, seas, and islands into which it is distributed; the lofty ranges of mountains which rear their heads to the clouds; the unfathomed abysses of the ocean; its vast subterraneous caverns and burning mountains; and the lakes, rivers, and stately forests with which it is so magnificently adorned;—the many millions of animals, of every size and form, from the elephant to the mite, which traverse its surface; the numerous tribes of fishes, from the enormous whale to the diminutive shrimp, which “play” in the mighty ocean; the aerial tribes which sport in the regions above us, and the vast mass of the surrounding atmosphere, which encloses the earth and all its inhabitants as “with a swaddling band.” The immense variety of beings with which our terrestrial habitation is furnished, conspires, with every other consideration, to exalt our conceptions of that power by which our globe, and all that it contains, were brought into existence. The preceding illustrations, however, exhibit the vast extent of the earth, considered only as a mere superficies. But we know that the earth is a solid globe, whose specific gravity is nearly five times denser than water, or about twice as dense as the mass of earth and rocks which compose its surface. Though we cannot dig into its bowels beyond a mile in perpendicular depth, to explore its hidden wonders, yet we may easily conceive what a vast and indescribable mass of matter must be contained between the two opposite portions of its external circumference, reaching eight thousand miles in every direction. The solid contents of this ponderous ball is no less than 263,858,149,120 cubical miles—a mass of material substance of which we can form but a very faint and imperfect conception—in proportion to which all the lofty mountains which rise above its surface are less than a few grains of sand, when compared with the largest artificial globe. Were the earth a hollow sphere surrounded merely with an external shell of earth and water, ten miles thick, its internal cavity would be sufficient to contain a quantity of materials one hundred and thirty-three times greater than the whole mass of continents, islands and oceans, on its surface, and the foundations on which they are supported. We have the strongest reasons, however, to conclude, that the earth, in its general structure, is one solid mass, from the surface to the center, excepting, perhaps, a few caverns scattered here and there amidst its subterraneous recesses; and that its density gradually increases from its surface to its central regions. What an enormous mass of materials, then, is comprehended within the limits of the globe on which we tread! The mind labors, as it were, to comprehend the mighty idea, and after all its exertion, feels itself unable to take in such an astonishing magnitude at one comprehensive grasp. How great must be the power of that Being who commanded it to spring from nothing into existence, who “measureth the ocean in the hollow of his hand, who weigheth the mountains in scales, and hangeth the earth upon nothing!” THE SOUL.
By R. M. Kilgore
Bro. A.—I have come, Parson C., to inquire of you concerning the soul. I have just been hearing Rev. H. preach on its condition after the body dies. He does not believe it goes to purgatory, and stoutly denies that it existed prior to the formation of the body. As to its return to this earth to converse with the living, he is not fully prepared to adopt that view; but he ridicules the doctrine held by those who believe that it remains unconscious between death and the resurrection. He gave a very glowing description of that land “beyond the bounds of time and space,” and of the enjoyment which awaits our souls if we are only prepared to die. He also presented a horrible picture of that place where the souls of the wicked are cast when they die, where the fire is not quenched, and the soul does not die, for there they have to suffer eternally and “die that death that never dies.” Now, Parson, I would like to have you tell me what the soul is; and if it goes off to happiness or torment when the body dies, what is the object of a day of general Judgment, about which the minister talked, when the soul and body will be again united? Parson.—The soul is an immaterial, invisible, immortal substance, that was given to man at his creation. It is deathless in its nature, and therefore cannot die; and as to the object of bringing the souls of the righteous out of their place of happiness, and those of the wicked out of torment at the day of Judgment, that is prying into the mysteries of God, which I think, Bro. A., we had better let alone, and interest ourselves about the salvation of our own immortal souls from that spiritual, temporal, and eternal death which never dies. Bro. B.—Pardon me for speaking. Your conversation brings to my mind what once occurred at a meeting of a philosophical association in Paris. A question something like this came up for solution: What is the reason why a tub of water containing a fish which weighs ten pounds, will not weigh more than it would without the fish? After a great deal of time and thought had been spent in order to furnish a good reason for it, one of their number, who had been silent during the discussion, arose and said, “Gentlemen, is that thing so?” This led them to test it by weighing, when they found that the tub weighed just ten pounds more with the fish in it, than it did without the fish. I have been listening to your talk about that immortal, immaterial, and deathless soul that survives the death of the body. Now, I would most respectfully inquire, Is it a fact that we have an immortal, undying, entity, which you call the soul, that lives in a conscious, intelligent state after the body is dead? And if it does, what use can there be of a resurrection? Bro. A.—Perhaps it would be better for us to prove, indeed, that we have a soul that lives after we are dead, that can enjoy happiness or suffer torment without the body. Let those who talk, pray, and sing so flippantly about the “immortal,” “deathless,” and “never-dying” soul that can live, think, act, and enjoy the bliss of Heaven or suffer the pains of hell without the body, first put their theory on the scales of eternal truth, and discover whether in fact they are in possession of any such entity, and whether, without Christ, they will ever have immortal life. R. M. KILGORE. He Mistook the Light: A Lesson from the Great Britain
HE MISTOOK THE LIGHT.—And what was the consequence? Why, the largest steamship ever built, which cost two hundred thousand pounds in building, and left port in fine trim, with a company of three hundred souls on board, and a rich cargo, was wrecked in a dark and stormy night, on the most dangerous part of the coast of Ireland. Yet the captain and his officers were on the lookout—the chart was well examined; the usual precautions seemed to have been taken. But a light appeared which was not noted on the chart, and the captain was misled by it. He mistook it for another light which was on the chart, and so when he supposed82he was running out to sea, he was really running in upon the breakers. Such was the mistake, and so terrible were the consequences! The fate of the Great Britain contains a moral lesson of incalculable value. Every reader of these lines is voyaging on a dangerous sea, where thousands of false lights are lighted to deceive. Let all remember the only true course is to keep close to the unerring chart of Holy Scripture. Trust to no other guide. Trust to no other light.—Baptist Weekly. I am crucified with Christ—
With him nailed upon the tree;
Not the cross, then, do I bear,
But the cross it beareth me.
Solemn cross on which I died,
One with Him, the Crucified. Shall I take that blood-stained cross,
Cross of agony and shame,
Cross of Him who fought my fight,
Cross of Him who overcame?
Shall I deck myself with thee,
Awful cross of Calvary? Shall I drag thee through the crowd,
’Mid the laughter that is there;
Whirl thee through the giddy waltz,
Bound upon my neck or hair?
Awful cross of Calvary,
Shall I deck myself with thee? Shall I make that lowly cross
Minister of woman’s pride,
Drawing eyes to me that should
Fix upon the Crucified?
Awful cross of Calvary,
Shall I deck myself with thee? Shall I call this glittering gem,
Made for show and vanity—
Shall I call this gaud a cross,
Cross of Him who died for me?
Shall I deck myself with thee,
Awful cross of Calvary? “THE WORDS OF THE LORD JESUS.”
By Frank Starr
These are the words: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Acts 20:35. Our Lord talked a great deal about giving, and Paul said we ought to remember his words; but many seem to have forgotten this gospel requirement, and some are surprised to learn that believers are required to give anything in this dispensation. They know that in the old dispensation liberal, systematic giving was required; but have the idea that that requirement ceased at the cross, where so many vainly imagine the Sabbath ceased also. Some think it wrong to apply passages of Scripture, as enforcing the tithing system now. Such proof is too far-fetched and irrelevant for them. But let us see how Paul applied the Scriptures in this matter. In Deut. 25:4, we read: “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn.” I have often read the passage, stopping only to wonder at the liberal provision made for the ox. If oxen were threshing wheat, they must be allowed to eat that grain instead of being compelled to satisfy themselves with coarser grain or grass. But what application does the apostle make of this passage? He quotes it in 1 Cor. 9:9, 10, and says: “Doth God take care for oxen? Or saith he it altogether for our sakes? For our sakes, no doubt, this is written.” In this chapter, Paul treats of the duty of the church to support the ministry. He says the Lord has ordained that they which preach the gospel shall live of the gospel. Paul makes an application of this requirement here in the Christian dispensation. And does he do it on his own responsibility? No. He says, “Say I these things as a man? or saith not the law the same also? For it is written in the law of Moses, Thou shalt not muzzle the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn.” Surely we should not have understood the passage but for this inspired comment. The law, then, is adequate authority on this question of supporting the cause of God. Well, in the law, as well as in the prophets, the tithing system is strictly enforced. Lev. 27: 30-32; Mal. 3: 10. Says one, If I let my light shine in my own neighborhood, and warn my acquaintances, I shall do all that is required of me; the Lord does not want my money. Let us see if this will answer the requirement of Rev. 10:11, which we all admit applies to us. We are required to carry this message to many nations, tongues, and kings. If we do not fulfill this requirement, wanting will be found written against our names in the Judgment. Can we fulfill it, and confine our efforts to our own limited vicinity? By no means. Distant nations must be reached. But must each one learn some foreign tongue, and become an ambassador himself? This would be impossible. God has laid this burden on proper persons, and he has laid on us the burden of sustaining with our means these his servants, both in our own and foreign countries. Do we love this work, and are our prayers going up to God daily that he will send more laborers into the harvest? If so, can we be so inconsistent as to withhold the tithe which belongs to God, and thus hinder the success of his servants who are already in the field? “Bring ye all the tithes into the store-house.” The tired ox must not be left after his hard day's work to “pick his living.” That might be cheaper for his owner; perhaps nothing would bring him the cash so readily as the wheat of which his ox had been allowed to freely eat; but the ox that treadeth out the grain must not be stinted to a poor living. Surely the Lord meant that his servants should be liberally sustained, and he meant that we should make a sacrifice to sustain them. “Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” PAUL’S MEETING AT TROAS.
By J. F. Ballinger
Does Paul’s meeting at Troas furnish any evidence that the fourth commandment has been changed? Those who claim that this commandment has been changed, so as to recognize the first day of the week as the Sabbath, urge, as evidence, the apostle’s meeting with the brethren at Troas on the first day of the week, to break bread. The following illustration will show the bearing of this supposed change of the law: The people of the State of Illinois wish to change the time of holding the school election from the first Saturday in April of each year, to the first Monday of the same. They petition to the legislature to make the change. When that body meets, the wishes of the people, as presented in the petition, are taken into consideration. All concur in the change. The time is fixed when the law, as changed, shall take effect. It then becomes the duty of the legislature to furnish the State superintendent of public instruction with a copy of the law. It is his duty to furnish a copy to each county superintendent. It is then the duty of the county superintendents to furnish a copy of the law to the clerk of each school district; and the clerks are obliged to post up notices in three public places in their respective districts ten days before the election, so that all the voters in the district may understand the change in the law. Now, if it is so important that the action of human legislation should be made known, so that all may understand their duty, how much more important is it that the action of divine legislation should be made known, where the penalty for transgression is infinitely greater than that for the violation of human law. In contrast with the fore-mentioned action of the legislature and the executors of the law, we will suppose that when that body met, nothing was said concerning the change of the law. But some time after they adjourn, Mr. Jones, a member of that body, concludes to take a trip to California, and on his way stops at Omaha, Neb. He arrives there on Monday evening, and finds the citizens met for a school election. They invite him to take part in the meeting, and also to make a speech. He does so, and they talk a long while, even until daybreak, when Mr. Jones gets aboard the train, and continues his journey. Now, when the time comes for the people of Illinois to hold their school election, the clerks write their notices for the meetings to be held on the first Monday in April. The people, not knowing of any change in the law, ask the clerks for the reason of their conduct. They reply, Did not Mr. Jones, our representative, meet with the people of Omaha, who were holding a school election, on Monday? Well, say they, what has that to do with changing the time of holding the school elections in Illinois? The clerks reply, Can we not infer from his meeting with the people of Omaha on that occasion that the law is changed, and that now the lawful time to hold our school election is on Monday? Now who would not look upon the action of these clerks as betraying symptoms of insanity? And yet the evidence to justify these men in making the change in the school law is full as good as the evidence drawn from the action of the apostle Paul in the meeting at Troas, for the change of the fourth commandment. “Be it ever so humble there is no place like home;” that is, if we strive to let the sunshine in, and to make it the spot of peace and contentment which home should be. There is so much depending upon the influences of home that whenever we see one that is mismanaged we are shocked beyond the power of expression. From the cradle out through the sports of childhood to the verge of manhood, the warmth of the fireside expands the virtues of the soul into bloom and matures them into sweet and charming beauty, or the coldness of the hearthstone freezes the heart into an unsympathizing, unloving, and wicked exclusiveness and selfishness. The soul that begins to live amidst the soft glow of a happy, virtuous, and charitable home will never entirely forget that the world is full of sunshine and flowers,—although it may, in after life, struggle through many midnights and feel the pricking of many a thorn,—or that it was born for Heaven, although it may grovel in filth or lounge in the tents of wickedness. On account of the weakness of human nature, often nothing on earth is capable of saving us from the commission of sin, and from scarring the soul from its blistering influences; but however low a man or woman whose childhood has been passed in the sunshine of a pure home may fall, it is always safe to conclude that but for these mellowing influences a still lower depth would have been found. And for the boy or girl who has never known what home is, who has never beheld the sweet, dear face of mother beaming at the fireside more brightly than the fire in the grate ever does, and with greater loveliness than the sun of the morning, the human heart, with all its wealth of sympathizing love, cannot bear too warm or deep a sympathy. To expect a perfect manhood or womanhood from a child who has never known the sweet influences of home, is expecting the bud to develop into the flower without the developing warmth of the sunshine. For a perfect development of nature, for the strengthening of all that is pure, and noble, and good in the soul, and the destruction of all that is evil, the home must be depended on. If we would have the boys and girls go out into the world like ministering angels to their kind,—if we would have their hearts so full of gentle love that their words will fall upon kindred souls, and awaken their drooping hopes into new life, as the shower imbues the fading grass with fresh vitality, we must train them in the home, and freight them with gentleness at the fireside. But upon noble manhood and womanhood rest the interests of the world. If every man and woman were pure, and upright, and noble, we should have no crime and comparatively little wretchedness. Government would never be in danger of treason’s assaults or treachery; mind that is now wasted in wrong-doing would be turned into channels in which its energies would bear rich harvests of blessings for the world; the sword would cease its bloody work, and the tread of armies would no longer shake the earth, and blight the verdure and the flowers of the fields. What a vast responsibility, therefore, rests upon the heads of families, and how few realize it. If every boy and girl in America had a home to-day, and if every home was what it should be, the abode of virtue, the temple of forgiving charity, the school of industry, culture, and gentility, the history of the American Republic a hundred years hence could even now be written. With so much depending upon it, therefore, the management of the home should be the subject of constant, earnest study and ceaseless anxiety. It should always be pleasant—the pleasantest spot on earth to the child. Our children will seek the sunshine and beauties of life, and if the home does not furnish them, they will go elsewhere to enjoy them. Pictures, and books, and flowers should be abundant, and as beautiful as the means will admit of. Neatness and order should be visible everywhere. Politeness should always characterize the intercourse between the members of a family. Especially should the children be taught the beauties of gentleness, charity, and kindness, by their constant and unostentatious practice by the parents, not only toward the children, but toward the world. It must never be forgotten that these tender little hearts are easily hardened, and that nothing will so quickly harden them as a constant exhibition of uncharitableness and cruelty toward mankind. If parents are selfish, and live as if they were natural enemies of their kind, the child develops a similar nature, and goes through life, perhaps, in consequence, without knowing how rich a happiness comes from drying a scalding tear, or healing a wounded heart. It is so easy for a man or woman to speak a kind word or to do a kind act, that a failure to do either is almost unaccountable. We do not fully know what happiness is until we have learned that “man liveth not for himself alone.” Velvet carpets, lace curtains, elegant furniture, magnificent libraries, paintings and statuary may adorn the home, but they are powerless to confer happiness, and if an attempt is made to center the affections of the heart upon them, we become less and less happy in proportion to our success in doing it. It is only when we are charitable, and loving, and kind to our fellows, when we try to cover with flowers the ragged edges of the rocks which frown in the pathway of a brother, that we begin to realize that83Heaven begins here. The writer is now thinking of a beautiful home. Its rooms and halls are radiant with sunshine. Its appointments are tastefully elegant. It is a lovely bower of grace and beauty. It is a spot in which selfish indolence would delight to lounge, away from the responsibilities and perplexities of life. But the charming lady who presides over this little place of beauty finds her greatest happiness in ministering to the wants of the needy, and in painting the sunshine upon the clouds which have gathered over less fortunate hearthstones. Closing her elegant piano, and leaving her tastefully ornamented parlors, she seeks pleasure in going into the home of poverty, and with her delicate hand, not afraid of work, assisting to kindle the dying embers upon the hearthstone into a cheerful blaze. She is a friend to the friendless, a sister to those in need of a sister’s influence and advice, and a kind Christian, loving mother to the orphan. In a home like hers, not only children, but those who are older, learn the grand purposes of life, and are mellowed into better beings; and it is to such homes that the world must look for the men and women who are to make it great and noble.—Sel. There's never a day so sunny
But a little cloud appears;
There's never a life so happy
But has had its time of tears;
Yet the sun shines out the brighter
When the stormy tempest clears. There's never a garden growing
With roses in every plot;
There's never a heart so hardened
But it has one tender spot;
We have only to prune the border
To find the forget-me-not. There's never a cup so pleasant
But has bitter with the sweet;
There's never a path so rugged
That bears not the print of feet;
But we have a Helper promised
For the trials we may meet. There's never a sun that rises
But we know 'twill set at night;
The tints that gleam in the morning
At evening are just as bright;
And the hour that is the sweetest
Is between the dark and light. There's never a dream that's happy
But the waking makes us sad;
There's never a dream of sorrow
But the waking makes us glad;
We shall look some day with wonder
At the troubles we have had. There's never a way so narrow
But the entrance is made straight;
There's always a guide to point us
To the “little wicket gate;”
And the angels will be nearer
To a soul that is desolate. There's never a heart so haughty
But will some day bow and kneel;
There's never a heart so wounded
That the Saviour cannot heal;
There is many a lowly forehead
That is bearing the hidden seal. There's never a day so sunny
But a little cloud appears;
There's never a life so happy
But has had its time of tears;
Yet the sun shines out the brighter
When the stormy tempest clears. WHAT CONVINCED ME.
By Chas. E. Whitlatch
One evening I attended a meeting held by Adventists at Oskaloosa, Iowa. After services I had an argument with Eld. Farnsworth on the Sabbath question, but was foiled in every point I presented to demonstrate my theory for first-day observance. As a last resort, I quoted the passage which says that he that confesseth and forsaketh, the same shall have mercy. “Now,” said I, “by complying with the terms here given, I have a divine assurance that I will be saved, and I can keep any day. It does not say that I must keep Saturday any more than that I must keep Sunday.” “My friend,” said Eld. F., “will you stick to that argument?” “Most assuredly, sir, I will,” was the reply. “Very well; what must we confess?” To evade answering this question, I endeavored to bring up some new argument, but Eld. F. would not permit me to do so, and held out stoutly for an answer. After a short hesitation, I replied, “Evil doing.” “My friend,” said Eld. F., “I want the answer that was first on the end of your tongue—‘Sin is the transgression of the law.’” “Well, what of that?” I asked. “The law says, ‘Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.’” “But Christ’s law does not say so.” “Show me Christ’s law,” said Eld. F., offering me the Bible. “Show me where we are told not to remember the Sabbath day.” I made it a point to get away from him as soon as possible; but his argument had made a deep and lasting impression. After investigating for two weeks, I came to the firm conclusion that there had been no divine change made in the Sabbath; that I was mistaken in supposing that I was a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ; and that I was only a follower of his pretended vicegerent, the antichrist of Rome. I see now that it was prejudice that prevented me from seeing this gospel truth long ago, and I thank God, with all my heart, that I have accepted the truth at last. Dear reader, the earnest desire of one who loves your soul, is that you will accept the truth, and that we may meet where we can drink of the fountain of life that is freely gushing forth from beneath the throne of God. Brethren, in presenting our views, let us do so with a spirit of humility and love that will melt its way to the hearts of the people. May God help us to overcome prejudice. CHAS. E. WHITLATCH. KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD THROUGH FAITH.
By Rev. D. Steele
The keeping power of Jesus is fitly illustrated by the superintending Providence which guided and protected Noah in the ark. Did you ever notice, in the minute description of that ship which was built to make a voyage from the old world to the new, bearing the seeds of all precious things with which the new world was to be sown, there is no mention of the rudder? Our modern ship carpenters would laugh at the idea of launching a rudderless ship, just as unbelief sneers at committing one's ways unto the Lord instead of a so-called manly, self-reliant self-guidance. A good type of the fully trusting Christian is good old Noah, sitting serene and unconcerned in his ark, as it floats over the drowned world, confiding in the skill of his invisible Pilot to keep his craft from the rocks, and to land it in safety on some appropriate spot. How could a man, who had been “moved with fear” to build his ark, sail in it, month after month, with no chart nor compass, no rudder; and be kept from distressing fears on that long and perilous voyage? There is but one answer—his perfect trust in Him who had commanded the building of the ark. It requires a higher style of faith to be passively borne along under the guidance of our Heavenly Father than it does to be active in fulfilling the Divine command. Obedience is the soil out of which such faith grows. If Noah had not obeyed Jehovah in building the ark and embarking in it, he could not have trusted Him so unwaveringly. The Christian's ark is already prepared. All he is required to do is to put all on board, and to keep himself there. If he should be so unwise as to extemporize a rudder, he has no chart by which to lay his course, for each individual life is mapped out only in the mind of the great Pilot. We are as ignorant of our individual future as was Noah ignorant of his course and destination when he climbed up the side of the ark and the Lord shut him in. If Noah had unwisely taken the direction of the ark into his own hands, he would probably have wrecked it and lost its inestimable cargo. Thus thousands, in their distrust of God, lay their own hand upon the helm, and ship a crew of fears to torment their whole voyage, and run their vessel upon some reef and lose all at last, or save themselves with great difficulty, when, through “the rest of faith,” they might have had a joyful voyage, and an abundant entrance into the haven of eternal life. How many, through unbelief, miss the keeping power of Christ, and the ineffable peace which it brings. “If our love were but more simple,
We should take Him at His word;
And our lives would be all sunshine,
In the sweetness of our Lord.” The very simplicity of the keeping which Christ exerts over all who “know the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe,” renders it impossible to describe it. Blessed indeed are they whose grasp upon the divine promises makes their lives a perpetual twenty-third psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd.” Other ancient worthies as well as Noah were led into the secret of the Lord which made their lives cheerful and victorious. How calm and unmoved was good old Elisha when the Syrian horses and chariots and a great host of soldiers came thundering and tramping about the little city of Dothan, where the prophet was. They had come expressly to capture him, because God enabled him to tell the king of Israel the words which the Syrian monarch whispered in his bed-chamber. Why was he calm and unterrified? He did not look at this noisy Syrian army investing the walls of Dothan. He had an eye which saw a mightier army filling all the mountain above them, under the command of the celestial Captain who appeared to Joshua before the gates of Jericho. This host and its General absorbed all his thoughts. He could look at nothing else. Not so Elisha's servant. Arising early in the morning and going forth, he sees the beleaguering army of foemen. With breathless haste and pallid cheek he rushes back into the house exclaiming, “Alas, my master, how shall we do?” In my mind's eye I see Elisha sitting on the side of his bed tying on his sandals. The alarming news produces no tremor in his limbs, no change in his countenance. He coolly replies, as he completes his toilet, “Fear not; for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.” But the fears of the trembling servant were not allayed. He saw no such friendly army as his master was gazing intently upon. Then Elisha, in pity toward his frightened servant, kindly prayed, “Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes that he may see.” And the Lord opened the young man's eyes and he saw, and behold the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire, round about Elisha as his body-guard. The servant trembled no more. He who keepeth Israel, who doth not slumber nor sleep, is at hand to protect all who trust in him. Reader, you see no such celestial army forming a hollow square about you. But you may believe that more than twelve legions of angels are bivouacked about you, and God will honor your faith more than he would if you had seen these guardians with your natural eyes. “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”—Rev. D. Steele.