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Review and Herald, Vol. 20, No. 7.

THE PRODIGAL SON.—LUKE XV

Review and Herald

Jul 15, 1862

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 15, 1862

THE PRODIGAL SON.—LUKE XV.

By C. Monroe

THE history of the two sons has been regarded, primarily, as a parable of two nations, Jews and Gentiles, there being, in this view, many points of resemblance; but for our better instruction we shall treat of the younger son according to the letter of the text, as an individual.
The story of the prodigal son is a type of human nature; and his call for the portion of goods that fell to him, and the haste he made to throw off the yoke of parental restraint and be gone, is characteristic of youthful folly, and of our poor, blind, fallen nature.
After the division of the property, he gathered all together, and, full of pride and promise, took his journey into a far country. He meant to be well out of the sight and call of his father, that is so disagreeable to an unruly son. This shows also our proneness to wander from God, our heavenly Father, far, far away. Many wander, few return.
There the prodigal son lived as he listed, having no parental, watchful eye to look after, molest, or make him afraid—unsuspecting that he himself was his own, worst enemy. As all by nature are blind to the right, so he, in his blindness, became the dupe of a mad and ruinous philosophy. Though enslaved to licentiousness, to him it was boasted liberty. Such has always been the philosophy of libertines; and in these last days especially of abounding iniquity.
Having full confidence in themselves, they despise the counsel of others, especially of age and experience. "He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool." Facts go to prove that blind mortals, unfit to act wisely, are sure to err. Their very wishes often ruin them for time and for eternity.
The prodigal did not improve nor enjoy—he was incapable of this—but wasted his substance with riotous living. Many know how to waste the gifts of God, and abuse themselves; but few know how to enjoy, or improve them to his glory and their own best good. All are prodigals by nature. They waste and destroy, or corrupt, the earth in their march through it. The track of their footsteps is everywhere seen. Even the miser ranks with prodigals; for, besides keeping his gold in a napkin, he is lavish of what is far better than gold or silver—the day and means of grace allotted and sacred to salvation. These are trampled under foot, the soul neglected and undone.
“And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land.” Sin is a land of famine—mighty famine—a dreary waste—no living green, nor flowers, nor fruits, nor rivers of delight. It sweeps all, it reduces its inhabitants to starvation, wretchedness, and ruin. And yet how large and populous a region it is! For its numbers and vices, it is alike famous. The monarch of this region is supposed to say after his expulsion, "Better reign in hell than serve in heaven." This solves the mystery of its popularity. The wicked, that are of no esteem in the kingdom of God, can there find promotion. So they flock together there, where pride and wickedness is the order of the day.
“And he began to be in want.” We should think so. His eyes begin to open. The results of his folly and madness now begin to stare him full in the face. He spent all—saved nothing—nothing for his future wants—presuming, "to-morrow shall be as to-day, and much more abundant." He practiced no economy, no self-denial. It would require an unlimited estate long to survive such a course. He plunged headlong—leaped at stars, and fastened in the mud—the horrible pit and the miry clay.
Thus poor sinners throw themselves away, where none but God himself can find or save them. The results of such paroxysms proclaim in terms not to be misunderstood, the desperateness of the disease of sin and wickedness. No wonder the conversion of such sinners should produce joy in the family of God, both in heaven and earth.
“And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country.” A drowning man will catch at a straw—anything to save life. Being worthless, he sold himself for nought. But who is this citizen to whom he joined himself? Plainly the Devil, the prince of this world, the prince of darkness. He is the author of sin. The land of sin is his territory, his element, his home. Here stands his throne. Here are found his numerous, faithful subjects, prodigals and all. Here he sways his mighty scepter.
“He is monarch of all he surveys, His right there is none to dispute.” He is lord of the rake and the brute, and of all he is proud.
“And he sent him into his fields to feed swine.” Being poor, he must needs go and come at the bidding of his adopted master. Feeding swine shows the low and degrading employment of poor sinners. Their apostate master calls them to the performance of no dignified or ennobling service, for he has no such service to perform. All is in keeping with his character and kingdom—mean and disgraceful.
He sent the prodigal into his fields—using the plural number. This shows, as above, that the Devil is a great land-holder, as he told the Saviour, claiming all the kingdoms of the world. This shows he has ample room, and ample employ, for a world of prodigals, and they are kept snug to it, doing up all his work as fast as possible, knowing he hath but a short time.
“And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat, and no man gave unto him.” This shows the hard fare of sinners, and the melancholy results of their folly and madness; also that Satan is a poor paymaster and provider; for good wages and good economy make a good living; but with him and his subjects there are neither. The prodigal, therefore, was reduced to a level with the swine. Like brutes they live, like brutes they die. They feed on trash—eat voraciously, but are never filled, never satisfied. A soul of vast desires, the trash of earth can never fill.
“And when he came to himself.” This shows that he went off, as all sinners go, insane, and so lived till now. It is spiritual insanity, the worst kind of insanity, incurred to all by the advent of Satan, and the great apostasy, and incurable to all but God. As insanity induced the prodigal to ramble from his Father's house, so it induces all sinners to ramble from God and the fullness of his house, far away into a land of famine, where most of them stay, starve, and die. The few that do return, return by a sound conversion to God—repentance, faith, love, and obedience, through our Lord Jesus Christ—the only way they can return.
“And when he came to himself” he began to talk rational. “How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare.” His eyes are still opening to a clear view of things. Experience is a dear school, and fools will learn in no other, and hardly in that. But the prodigal learned in it what he failed to learn at home—the value of a father's house and its numerous blessings.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight—all blessings, temporal or spiritual. Thus brightened his gold when gone; and the palace—home of his youth, when now confined to the sty of a noisy, filthy race of animals, and dying with hunger! In the hour of his pride his property went like the dew, or chaff in the wind. He saw too late his mistake. He learned the value of his estate by its loss. Thus it is with sinners generally; they learn the value of the heavenly inheritance, if at all, by its loss. Like the prodigal with his gold, they can see the golden sands of their probationary time fast falling, without emotion or regret; but when, like a certain queen, they come to die, it is then—“millions of money for an inch of time” to prepare to meet their God. But with their last, falling sands, they fall short of heaven, and never reach the celestial fields, nor walk the golden streets. They return not to the Father's house, but perish in the land of the enemy—die in their sins and sink to rise no more.
“I perish!” said the prodigal in his extremity.Sin is no trifle. Its wages is death. After a headlong career of riotous living, in which he spent all, he was obliged to stay and consider. He had got to the end of his case. He is now sober-minded, and awake to his perilous condition. "I perish!" Here is his crisis—the turning point with the prodigal, or of the awakened sinner. It is life or death—death to remain where he was—but a single hope of life remained. This he saw, and was decided. "I will arise and go to my father." Well said! This was his last hope. He did so, and was saved. Let every prodigal do likewise.
Never, till the sinner sees himself perishing, will he take this decided, humiliating step; for no slight conviction of sin will ever produce this saving effect. Till he feels deeply he will never act wisely, and flee the wrath to come.
The prodigal is now ready to make his confession, free and full, which no one will ever do with a heart full of pride and arrogance. Humility and broken-heartedness are essential to confession. This is attended with the fear of God, which is the beginning of wisdom, and a departure from evil, which is understanding.
“And he arose and came to his father, and said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.” The penitent, returning sinner, stripped of his pride and self-esteem, is no longer difficult. He feels no more worthy. If loaded with proud, flattering titles of men, he throws them off at once, as worthless, and seeks the honor that comes from God only. He aspires to no proud distinction, nor even to be great but as he is good. Any place now is good enough; yea, too good for him in the family of God. He aspires to the precious feet that once for him were by rude iron torn—his safe, best place.
Thus with the prodigal; he came at once upon gospel ground, where he covered himself as it were with dust and ashes of penitence—the last ground that sinners will take—for it is here, and here only, the heart breaks, stubbornness yields, and they submit to its claims. The prodigal therefore confessed, forsook, and found mercy. The meeting of the father and son was cordial, sweet, and melting, as in the case of every penitent, returning sinner to the Father of mercies.
The father met him with no reproaches for the past. His safe return was satisfactory. It silenced all his complaints. Thus our heavenly Father receives penitent, returning sinners. He freely forgives all, and remembers their sins and their iniquities no more. Blessed be his name!
“No more worthy,” said the prodigal. So important a declaration claims additional consideration. However high he stood before in his own esteem, he now finds himself low enough. His race of pride is run. He now walks with God. “Before honor is humility.” Till now, he knew nothing but the name of honor—all that sinners generally know. The most moral, self-approving, unconverted individual, when convicted, feels deeply, as do others, his sins; and when soundly converted to God, feels like the reformed prodigal—“no more worthy.” All is gone. Christ is now his righteousness, sanctification, and redemption—his all in all forever.
“But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet.” Very good. The Christian panoply in part is here recognized. The filthy rags of his reproach and ignominy are stripped off, and he is clad in the best robe—typical of the robe of Christ's righteousness, the best of all robes, and the most honorable. The ring and shoes were ornaments, as well as tokens of the father's love and affection. The latter, needful to the pilgrim, as he journeys to his heavenly home—the former, a lasting memorial of his salvation. As the children of a king have their family ornaments, or tokens of distinction, so have the children of the King Eternal. They are known by a profusion of ornaments, among which is "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price," though of little esteem by a world of prodigals.
“And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat and be merry.” The fatted calf is a type of the gospel feast, rich and costly, to which poor sinners are invited, that they may eat and live forever. "Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man," says Christ, "and drink his blood, ye have no life in you." Those who do this have eternal life, and he will raise them up at the last day.
“And they began to be merry.” There is a beginning, but no end, to the joys of heaven. The guilty joys of earth commence in lunacy and end in wailing and in death.
“Now his elder son was in the field; and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing.” Not the frothy song of the drunkard, or libertine, nor the giddy dance of fops and flirts, but the sweet music, the dance, of sober, sensible, grateful souls.
“And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant.” This was reasonable and proper—to inquire into the cause, or basis, of this joyful scene. All scenes of merriment will not bear inquiry; for it would be attended with sadness, or pity for the actors, being found senseless, or ill-founded. The wicked, as such, are incapable of real joy. There is no true joy in the loudest laugh of hell, so to speak. The criminal on his way to the place of execution, if capable of music, would be incapable of real joy; for the errand on which he goes is death to his joy as well as to himself. Hence no sinner, in the journey of life, is capable of true joy, because his errand is bad; and his joy, having no root in God, or goodness, dies like a rootless plant. Carpet, if you please, or scatter his path with flowers, it matters not. His errand is death! It bids defiance to joy, flowers, or flattery. All is absorbed in the scene that awaits him.
Not so of the returned prodigal. His case will bear inquiry, and reward the inquirer, if he is a friend of virtue or reform; for here is a sinner converted from the error of his way—a son, a brother, that was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found. O, how glad and joyful must have been that father, like the father of Joseph in Egypt, thus to receive as from the grave a long-buried son. With sweet surprise he saw him at a distance, coming, and knew him. His heart was touched, his tears flowed like rain, he ran as with the feet of youth, met, fell on his neck, and, amid a shower of joyful tears, embraced and kissed that long-lost, new-born son.
“Likewise I say unto you, There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.” Thus we have both the type and the antitype of the story. It is fraught, as we are about to see, with lessons deeply instructive to all.
If there is anything here below that can produce joy in heaven, or among the saints of earth, it is a change like this—the conversion of a sinner—the more the better—to see a prodigal return, to see an heir of glory born. It is the Lord's doing, and marvelous in our eyes. Blessed be his name!
“It was meet,” said the over-joyed father, “that we should make merry, and be glad; for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.” This was enough. It silenced the complaints of the elder brother. He bowed to the hand of a merciful God, that was seen in the return of his brother, and was won to submission by the moving eloquence of a father's love and gratitude for the salvation of a long-lost, beloved son and brother.
How many pious fathers or mothers, whose eye falls upon this article, can tell of a dear son or daughter, whose wanderings and captivity in sin have been terminated by a sound conversion to God and the Lamb. “This my son, my daughter, was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found!” Language like this is worthy to be written in letters of gold, upon the canopy of heaven, as well as the book of life, that both angels and men might read, and adore the glorious God of the great salvation.
But few such sons or daughters now, we fear, thus gladden heaven or earth, angels or men; while many are doomed to anguish as they look upon their dear children lost, or dead in sin, and, as they greatly fear, never to be found, or live again. But as God's long-suffering is salvation to some, they will cry mightily to him while life or breath remain, for their salvation, that when called to their last account, they may if possible, be prepared to say, “Here, Lord, are we, and the children thou hast given us.”
The story of the prodigal son is an important story. It is full of interest, full of instruction to all. It teaches the following lessons:
1. The blindness and depravity of our poor, fallen nature. It teaches by actions that speak louder than words, and is as mournful and mortifying as it is sad and ruinous. It should silence the infidel plaudits of human virtue, and place beyond controversy the fact of our native depravity.
2. It teaches the folly and madness of discontent when doing well, or in good and comfortable circumstances. Leaving such a position is like a refusal to let well enough alone. The object is gain—health, wealth, honor, or felicity—but in most cases proves hurtful or ruinous, as in the fall of Adam, the root of every fall. The calamities attending such a course are a just rebuke of divine Providence for thus underrating and abusing his mercies. Discontented and unthankful for what we have, and still for more we crave—more than we deserve, or can enjoy! This, again, is proof of our poor, blind, fallen nature.
3. It teaches the injury and expensiveness of sin. We pay dear for our vices, while virtue may be had at a cheap rate. It costs us more to make us miserable than would make us truly happy—happy as virtue can make us here. Were it costly, it should be sought at any price. As of truth, “buy and sell it not.” As the merchantman sold all he had and bought the pearl of great price, so must we to gain the pearl of life eternal—the best bargain ever made by man.
4. It teaches the necessity of a reform. It is plain to see what would have become of the prodigal in case of no reform, or return to his father's house. Death was inevitable. This he saw, and felt deeply. “I perish,” said he. Thus with all sinners. They must repent or perish. As the prodigal could not have been received home with all his vices, and his heart full of pride as he went off, neither can the proud, impenitent sinner be received to the Father's house on high without a reform. Heaven is a prepared place for a prepared people. No others enter there.
5. It holds out encouragement to penitent, returning sinners. As the father received his prodigal son kindly and affectionately, so the Father of all receives penitent, returning sinners, as with open arms and a parent's heart. His house is full of blessings. There is enough and to spare. The fountain is full—enough for all. None need perish for lack of bread, or any good thing. Would that every prodigal could feel his perishing condition, and return to God before it is too late.
6. Lastly, it shows a season of reform. As a reform is essential to salvation, God has granted to all a season sacred thereto. The prodigal had a season, though all but lost, and he improved it. A little longer delay and it would have been too late. A little longer delay and it will be too late for the reader, if yet in his sins. Let him lose no more time, but say at once with the prodigal, “I will arise and go to my Father”—my heavenly Father—rise by repentance, faith, and obedience, and secure a home in that blessed world where there is enough and to spare of all that is rich and precious, and none perish with hunger. Amen. C. MONROE. Waldo, Me.

THE FAVOR OF CHRIST.

O JESUS! Thy smile to my soul Is like sun to the day, That doth darkness dispel With its gladdening ray! Without it my soul is baptized In the depths of despair; But my sky is serene When thy sweet smile is there!
O Jesus! Thy love to my heart Is the moon to the night, That doth shine through the gloom With its pure, holy light! Without it, in darkness and fear I oft stumble and fall, Till the light of thy love Re-assures me of all!
O Jesus! Thy presence to me Is a heaven below; When I bask in thy beams, Joy of angels I know! But oh! when thy presence withdraws, Deep and dark is my gloom! A shroud covers my soul Like a desolate tomb!
Then rise on thy glorious wings, Sun of Righteousness, rise! Be the life of my soul, And the light of mine eyes! Immanuel reign in my heart, O Immanuel reign! Till the vict'ry is won, And the enemy slain!

HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES.

"Go out into the highways and hedges."
Scattered all over the country, on the hills, among the woods, in back-roads and cross-lanes, are many who almost never hear the words of life. With too poor health or clothes, without conveyances to go, and often without the habit or inclination to seek the house of God, they pass their lifetimes neglected. In the central parts of the same towns sit Christian women reading the stories of martyrs and missionaries, till their imaginations glow, and they think their hearts warm with a missionary zeal. They wish they could do great things for Christ—how they could labor and suffer if they only had a field! They sew in the sewing society and occasionally for the distant missionaries or the city poor, and think, perhaps, that their alms-deeds, like those of Dorcas, should rise upin remembrance of them. They deplore their lack of "opportunities;" they wish they lived in a city, that they might be actively engaged in missionary schools. For want of some great work many grow indolent and selfish, cherishing all manner of aches and nervous fancies.
To such come the commands of our Saviour: "Gather up the fragments;" "Feed my sheep; feed my lambs." We have often thought that these last simple commands of our Saviour to Peter were intended to rebuke his ambitious boasts. A little while before he had been vaunting, "I am ready to go with thee both to prison and to death!" The common everyday duties were too little for Peter. He must do the miraculous; he would walk on the water; he would volunteer for martyrdom! In his mean denial and wicked blasphemy he had been taught how few sacrifices he could make—how little he could brave for Christ's sake. Now, instead of a mission to mighty deeds, his Saviour only said, "Feed my lambs; feed my sheep." His pride and ambition humbled, he must take the lowly place of the shepherd, watching and feeding the sheep and lambs of the fold.
O Christian men and women! so heroic in fancy! so self-sacrificing in impulse! are you feeding the sheep? are you taking the tender lambs in your arms? Are there not within a few miles of your dwelling, scattered and wandering over the hills, many stray sheep, many neglected lambs? So, in the spring and early summer is the time for such to be clothed, and urged to come to church and Sabbath-school. They cannot come through the inclemencies of winter, and later in the summer may not think it worth their trouble to begin for so short a time. Some help in the way of garments may be necessary as a center for their efforts; then encourage them to help themselves to the rest, if this is possible.
Still, when all this is done, there will remain many who, through ill-health, or with young children, or from other causes, cannot come to church. They receive no religious teaching, except, perhaps, from a chance tract, or the rare visit of a minister, yet "it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should perish."
Here is missionary work for you, Christian sisters. Go to such as a Christian friend. Think what burdens they must bear! You find life sometimes pressing hard upon you, surrounded as you are with comforts and sustained by faith. Think what it must be to those who, crushed by poverty and affliction, are without pleasure in this life, or even hope in that which is to come!
Talk with them: pray with them. Let them see that you feel that life consists not in the abundance of the things that one possesses; that you too find this world unsatisfactory, and that you seek a "better country"—"a heavenly."
You will find backslidden and discouraged Christians, whom you may help to reclaim or encourage. What would have been your own Christian character if you had had no more helps than they?
You will find unhappy wives with worthless husbands, neglected and abused children, desolate widows, and still more desolate women who can look back on no tender memories of husband or child. They are people whose years pass in a dreary monotony, and whose only change is for the worse. Show them sympathy if you cannot bring them joy. Tell them of the precious sympathy, of the tenderness of his invitation, "Come unto me, all ye that labor, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
God grant us all the love of souls, and patient continuance in well-doing, that, like our Master, we may go about doing good—feeling that we are sent to seek and to save that which was lost.—From the country.

LITERARY MERIT OF THE SCRIPTURES.

We do not claim for the Scriptures simply the honor of having given the world its letters. This they might have done, and have left the field of literature barren, and with all the difficulties of cultivating it to be overcome by the tedious toil of successive generations. But they open upon you a "goodly land," every where fruitful and luxuriant, and ripened already to a full harvest. Mountain-meadow and pure streams diversify and adorn its surface; and at each step a mine is disclosed, yielding as it is explored new and exhaustless treasures. Who would not be a wayfarer amid such scenes?
If the Bible is of human origin, it must certainly be regarded as the most wonderful effort of created intelligence. That there should be so perfect a book in so early a state of the world; that no volume, either ancient or modern, and written in the most advanced and cultivated condition of human society, should compare with this ancient record, originating in a comparatively rude age, is to my own mind a fact not easily accounted for on the principles of infidelity. The world is filled with books that are the product of the mightiest sons of genius; but they are sterile and jejune, deformed and ungainly, in comparison with the riches of thought, the extent of researches, the accuracy, the grace and beauty, which distinguish the Bible.
Without the Scriptures the world would be profoundly ignorant of some of the most important and interesting points of historical inquiry. Within the narrow compass of the first few chapters of the book of Genesis we are furnished with a distinct and connected history of more than two thousand of the earliest years of time. The narrative of Moses completely covers that period of history which with other nations is called fabulous, and which is merged in the regions of fabrication and conjecture. There are no ages of uncertainty here—no regions of fable—no chasm. From the first dawn of the creation down to the capture of Babylon by Cyrus, the entire period is filled up with events, the effects of which are widely extended over the earth and are visible to the present hour.—Dr. Spring.

THE KIND-LOOKING TEACHER.

"I want to join Mr. Baxter's class if you please, sir," said a boy who was seeking admission to a Sunday-school.
"Why Mr. Baxter's class, my son?" asked the superintendent.
"Because," replied the boy, "I think from the look of the teacher he is a kind man. I have often seen him in church with his class and he seems very good-natured."
The kind-looking teacher got the new scholar, heart and all. The kind expression which played so beautifully about his features had made the boy open his heart to his influence. Happy teacher! His work with that boy was half done before he gave him his first lesson. In gaining his heart he had won the citadel of his nature! Remember the path to the brain and to the will runneth through the affections.
Kindness! Love! A gentle manner flowing from a loving heart is a teacher's mightiest weapon, next to his faith in God. Kindness melts the frost from the roughest natures. Kindness unbars the doors of the child's soul. Kindness is both introduction and application to the teacher's lessons. Kindness exemplifies the truth. Kindness conquers souls. Therefore, O teacher, let love fill your heart, and let the law of kindness be written by the finger of God upon thy lips and in all thy features.—Sunday School Journal.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A GOOD EDITOR.

Many people estimate the ability of a newspaper, and the industry and talents of its editor by the quantity of editorial matter which it contains. It is comparatively an easy task for a frothy writer to pour out daily, columns of words—words, upon any and all subjects. His ideas may flow in "one weak, everlasting flood," and his command of language may enable him to string them together like bunches of onions, and yet his paper may be a meagre and poor concern. But what is the labor and toll of such a man, who displays his "leaded matter," never so largely, to that imposed on the judicious, well-informed editor, who exercises his vocation with an hourly consciousness of responsibilities, and devotes himself to the conduct of his paper with the same care and assiduity that a sensible lawyer bestows on a suit, or a humane physician upon a patient, without regard to show or display. Indeed, the mere writing part of editing a paper, is but a small portion of the work. The care is the time employed in selecting far more important matter, and the fact of a good editor is better shown by his selections than any thing else, and that we know is half the battle. But as we have said, an editor ought to be estimated, and his labors understood and appreciated, by the general conduct of his paper—its tone—its temper—its uniform, consistent course—its principles—its aims—its manliness—its dignity—its propriety. To preserve these as they should be preserved, is enough to occupy fully the time and attention of any man. If to this be added the general supervision of the newspaper establishment, which most editors have to encounter, the wonder is how they can find room to write at all.—Sel.

CHRIST AND CHRIST ONLY.

He who will not believe in Christ must discover, if possible, some expedient to supply the need of his assistance. This neither you nor I can attempt; we require one who can raise and support us while we live, and lay his hands under our heads when we come to die. This He can do abundantly, according to what is written of Him; and we know none whom we can or ought to prefer. Never was love like His; nor has anything so good and great as the Bible testifies of Him ever come into the heart of man; it infinitely transcends his utmost desert. There is a holy form which rises for the poor pilgrim as a star in the night, and satisfies his inmost need, his most secret anticipations and wishes.

The Safety of Obedience

By Thomas a Kempis

No man can safely go abroad that does not love to stay at home; no man can safely speak that does not willingly hold his tongue; no man can safely govern that would not cheerfully become a subject; no man can safely command that has not truly learned to obey; and no man can safely rejoice, but he that has the testimony of a good conscience.—Thomas a Kempis.

Sowing Kindness in Children

Sow seeds of kindness in your children's hearts, and you will reap your reward.

UNIVERSAL WAR.

The New York Observer, speaking of foreign intervention says:
"If Europe will mind its own business we will attend to ours. Their soundest policy is to keep their hands off. Our position was taken twelve months ago. The British government having expressed to Mr. Adams a willingness to undertake mediation, a letter was dispatched to the latter a year ago this month, which said:
"The President, expects you to say on this point to the British government, that we cannot solicit or accept mediation from any, even the most friendly quarter. The conditions of society here, the character of our government, the exigencies of the country, forbid that any dispute arising among us should ever be referred to foreign arbitration."
In the letter of instruction to Mr. Dayton, it was declared:
"Foreign intervention would oblige us to treat those who should yield it as allies of the insurrectionary party, and to carry on the war against them as enemies. The case would not be relieved, but on the contrary would only be aggravated, if several European states should combine in that intervention. The President and the people of the United States deem the Union, which would then be at stake, worth all the cost and all the sacrifice with the world in arms, if such a contest should prove inevitable."
It would be highly inconvenient for us just now to fight England, France and our rebellious people. But we are better prepared to resist them all, than we were to cope with the rebellion a year ago. And in view of the recent intelligence from Europe, our government would be justified in putting in train the preparations for another army of half a million men, and fifty Monitors. We have the means and the will to defend ourselves against a world in arms.
How signally is the prophecy of Joel, now fulfilling,—"Prepare war, wake up the mighty men! let the weak say, I am strong," &c. These are important "signs of the times." Though awful in themselves, yet we say with Wesley:
Whatever ills the world befall, A pledge of endless good we call, A sign of Jesus near; His chariot will not long delay; We hear the rumbling wheels and pray, "Triumphant Lord appear!"

The Eloquence of Prayer

The eloquence of prayer is simply to make known our wants to the Lord.
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