p. 50 | Review and Herald, Vol. 22, No. 7. (7/14/1863)

Review and Herald

Jul 14, 1863

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 14, 1863

I Must Pray More.

By Nesme

I habitually feel this necessity, but the other day the conviction came to my mind with strange power, and I said with greater emphasis than ever, I must pray more. It struck me with indescribable wonder that so little time should be employed, and so little energy expended in prayer, even by those who are prompt to acknowledge its dignity as a privilege, and its efficacy as a means of obtaining good. It is not now as it was in patriarchal times. We do not pray as Jacob did. He wrestled until the breaking of the day. Yes his praying was wrestling, and it lasted all night. We put forth no such power in prayer, and we do not allow the repose of our nights to be interrupted by it. It is not because our wants are all supplied that we are so feeble and brief in prayer—nor is it that God's bounty is exhausted. We are, as poor as creatures ever were, and He as rich, and as munificent as ever. His hand is not shortened, neither his ear heavy.

Only think how small a portion of each successive day is spent in prayer. I wonder if any Christian ever thought of it, without being so dissatisfied as to resolve that he would spend more time in prayer the next day. Just add together the minutes you daily occupy in supplication, and the kindred exercises of devotion, scriptural reading and meditation, and see to what it will amount. Will the sum total be one hour? What? less than an hour a day in devotion?—not one twenty-fourth part of time! And is this all which can be afforded? Let us see. How much time has business? Could not a little be saved from business for prayer? Do you not give an hour or two more to business every day than it absolutely requires? Then how much time has sleep, for the refreshment of the body? Might not some little time be redeemed from sleep and spent in prayer, with more profit to the whole man than if it were given to repose? Would not the soul thereby obtain a rest which would most favorably re-act on the body? I do not believe that the Psalmist suffered any thing in the day for the hours of night he spent in communing on his bed with his own heart and with God. I do not believe that even "tired nature" had any reason to complain of that interruption of the repose due to her. I suspect he enjoyed as good health, and was as vigorous through the day as we, though he arose at midnight to give thanks unto God, and prevented the dawning of the morning with his prayer. Such interruptions of sleep are no loss even to the body. I am sure, and I think no one can doubt, that considerably more time might be afforded for prayer than is actually given to it. If we take none from business and none from sleep, yet could not some be spared from the table, or conversation, which is not always the most profitable? Perhaps some of us spend more time in barely receiving the body's nourishment, than we do in the entire care of the soul! But not to dwell to tediousness on this topic. You have only to look back on a day, to perceive how much of it might have been spent in prayer and devotion without interfering with any thing which ought not to be interfered with.

Seeing then that we can pray more—that time can be afforded for it, I am amazed that we do not pray more. If prayer was nothing but a duty, we ought to pray more. We do not pray enough to discharge the mere obligation of prayer. We are commanded to pray more than we do, aye, to pray "without ceasing." But prayer, while it is a duty, is rather to be viewed by us in the light of a privilege. And O, it is such a privilege! What a favor that we may petition God and ask of him eternal life, with the confidence that we shall not ask in vain! How strange it is that we no more value and exercise this privilege of prayer! It is astonishing that the sense of want, or the desire of happiness, does not carry us oftener to a throne of grace, and that we should ever require to be incited to prayer by the stimulus of conscience. Oh! I wonder that we do not oftener go unto the King, whose gracious sceptre is ever extended toward us—I wonder we have not more frequent and longer interviews with our heavenly Father. It is strange we do not pray more, when prayer is the easiest way of obtaining good. What is so easy as to ask for what we want? How could we receive blessings on cheaper terms? Surely it is easier than to labor, and less expensive than to buy. It may be hard to the spirit to ask of men. To beg of them you may be ashamed. But no such feeling should keep you aloof from God. He giveth and upbraideth not.

But prayer is not merely the easiest way of obtaining good. It is the only way of obtaining the greatest of all good. The subordinate necessaries of life we get by labor or purchase; but the things we most need are given in answer to prayer. The one thing needful is a divine donation. We ask, and receive it. Now we labor much. Why do we not pray more? Do we seek a profitable employment? None is so profitable as prayer. No labor makes so large a return. If you have an unoccupied hour—and you have many, or might have by redeeming time,—you cannot employ it in any way that shall tell so favorably on your interests as by filling it up with petitions to God. Yet when we have such an hour, how apt we are to spend it in unprofitable intercourse with our fellows, rather than in communion with God. It is wonderful that we talk so much, when, "the talk of the lips tenderly only to penury," and pray so little, when prayer "brings a quick return of blessings in variety."

Is there any thing attended by a purer pleasure than prayer? One who knew, said, "It is good for me to draw near to God"—and again, "It is good to sing praises unto our God: for it is pleasant, and praise is comely." All the exercises of devotion are as full of pleasure as they are abundant in profit.

But prayer is not only a means of getting good. It is such a means of doing good, that I wonder our benevolence does not lead us to pray more. We are commanded, "as we have opportunity," to do good unto all men. Now prayer affords us the opportunity of being universal benefactors. Through God we can reach all men. We can make ourselves felt by all the world, by moving the hand that moves it. In no other way can we reach all. Prayer makes us, in a sense, omnipresent and omnipotent. It prevails with Him who is both.

The world needs your intercessions. It lies in wickedness. Zion needs them. She languishes because few pray for her peace; few come to her solemn assemblies. Whose family needs not the prayers of its every member? Who has not kindred that are out of Christ? With such a call upon us for prayer so urgent, and from so many quarters, I wonder we pray no more.

I must pray more, for then I shall do more—more for God, and more for myself; for I find that when I pray most, I accomplish more in the briefer intervals between my devotions, than when I give all my time to labor or study. I am convinced there is nothing lost by prayer. I am sure nothing helps a student like prayer. His most felicitous hours—his hours of most successful application to study, are those which immediately follow his seasons of most fervent devotion. And no wonder. Shall the collision of created minds with each other produce in them a salutary excitement, and shall not the communion of those minds with the infinite intelligence much more excite them, and make them capable of wider thought and loftier conceptions?

I must pray more, because other Christians, whose biography I have read, have prayed more than I do.

God is disposed to hear more prayers from me than I offer; and Jesus, the Mediator, stands ready to present more for me.

If I pray more I shall sin less.

I will pray more. The Lord help to fulfill this resolution.

Finish thy Work.

Finish thy work, the time is short, The sun is in the west; The night is coming down—till then Think not of rest.

Yes, finish all thy work, then rest; Till then, rest never; The rest prepared for thee by God Is rest forever.

Finish thy work, then wipe thy brow; Ungird thee from thy toil; Take breath, and from each weary limb Shake off the soil.

Finish thy work, then sit thee down On some celestial hill, And of its strength-reviving air Take thou thy fill.

Finish thy work, then go in peace; Life's battle fought and won; Hear from the throne the master's voice, "Well done! well done!"

Finish thy work, then take thy harp, Give praise to God above; Sing a new song of mighty joy And endless love.

Give thanks to him who held thee up In all thy path below, Who made thee faithful unto death, And crowns thee now!

Go to God as a Sinner

Go to God as a sinner, if you question your right to go in any other character: he always receiveth sinners.

Oh, That I Knew Where I Might Find Him!

If God had not said, "Blessed are those that hunger," I know not what could keep weak Christians from sinking in despair. Many times, all I can do is to complain that I want Him, and wish to recover Him.

Bishop Hall, in uttering this lament, two centuries and a half ago, only echoed the wail which had come down, through living hearts, from the patriarch, whose story is the oldest known literature in any language. A consciousness of the absence of God is one of the standard incidents of religious life. Even when the forms of devotion are observed conscientiously, the sense of the presence of God, as an invisible Friend, whose society is a joy, is by no means unintermittent.

The truth of this will not be questioned by one who is familiar with those phases of religious experience which are so often the burden of Christian confession. In no single feature of 'inner life,' probably, is the experience of many minds less satisfactory to them than in this. They seem to themselves, in prayer, to have little, if any, efficient emotion. They can speak of little in their devotional life that seems to them like life; of little that appears like the communion of a living soul with a living God. Are there not many 'closet hours,' in which the chief feeling of the worshiper is an oppressed consciousness of the absence of reality from his own exercises? He has no words which are, as George Herbert says, 'heart deep.' He not only experiences no ecstasy, but no joy, no peace, no repose. He has no sense of being at home with God. The stillness of the hour is the stillness of a dead calm at sea. The heart rocks monotonously on the surface of the great thoughts of God, of Christ, of eternity, of Heaven—

As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

Such experiences in prayer are often startling in the contrast with those of certain Christians whose communion with God, as the hints of it are recorded in their biographies, seems to realize, in actual being, the scriptural conception of a life which is hid with Christ in God.

We read of Payson, that his mind, at times, almost lost its sense of the external world, in the ineffable thoughts of God's glory, which rolled like a sea of light around him, at the throne of grace.

We read of Cowper, that, in one of the few lucid hours of his religious life, such was the experience of God's presence which he enjoyed in prayer, that as he tells us, he thought he should have died with joy, if special strength had not been imparted to him to bear the disclosure.

We read of one of the Tennents, that on one occasion, when he was engaged in secret devotion, so overpowering was the revelation of God which opened upon his soul, and with augmenting intensity of effulgence as he prayed, that at length he recoiled from the intolerable joy as from a pain, and besought God to withhold from him further manifestation of his glory. He said, 'Shall thy servant see thee and live?'

We read of the 'sweet hours which Edwards enjoyed on the banks of Hudson's River, in secret converse with God,' and hear his own description of the inward sense of Christ which at times came into his heart, and which he 'knows not how to express otherwise than by a calm, sweet abstraction of soul from all the concerns of this world; and sometimes a kind of vision of being alone in the mountains, or some solitary wilderness, far from all mankind, sweetly conversing with Christ, and wrapt and swallowed up in God.'

We read of such instances of the fruits of prayer, in the blessedness of the suppliant, and are we not reminded by them of the transfiguration of our Lord, of whom we read, 'As he prayed, the fashion of his countenance was altered, and his raiment was white and glistening?' Who of us is not oppressed by the contrast between such an experience and his own? Does not the cry of the patriarch come unhidden to our lips, 'Oh that I knew where I might find Him?'

Much of even the ordinary language of Christians, respecting the joy of communion with God,—language which is stereotyped in our dialect of prayer,—many cannot honestly apply to the history of their own minds. A calm, fearless self-examination finds no counterpart to it in anything they have ever known.

In the view of an honest conscience, it is not the vernacular speech of their experience. As compared with the joy which such language indicates, prayer is, in all that they know of it, a dull duty. Perhaps the characteristic of the feelings of many about it is expressed in the single fact, that it is to them a duty as distinct from a privilege. It is a duty which, they cannot deny, is often uninviting, even irksome.

If some of us should attempt to define the advantage we derive from the performance of the duty, we might be surprised, perhaps shocked, as one after another of the folds of a deceived heart should be taken off, at the discovery of the littleness of the residuum, in an honest judgment of ourselves. Why did we pray this morning? Do we often derive any other profit from prayer, than that of satisfying convictions of conscience, of which we could not rid ourselves if we wished to do so, and which will not permit us to be at ease with ourselves, if all forms of prayer are abandoned? Perhaps even so slight a thing as the pain of resistance to the momentum of a habit, will be found to be the most distinct reason we can honestly give for having prayed yesterday or to-day.

There may be periods, also, when the experiences of the closet enable some of us to understand that maniacal cry of Cowper, when his friends requested him to prepare some hymns for the Olney Collection. 'How can you ask of me such a service? I seem to myself to be banished to a remoteness from God's presence, in comparison with which the distance from East to West is vicinity, is cohesion.'

If such language is too strong to be truthful to the common experience of the class of professing Christians to which those whom it represents belong, many will still discern in it, as an expression of joylessness in prayer, a sufficient approximation to their own experience, to awaken interest in some thoughts upon the

Causes of a Want of Enjoyment in Prayer

The evil of such an experience in prayer, is too obvious to need illustration. If any light can be thrown upon the causes of it, there is no man living, whatever may be his religious state, who has not an interest in making it the theme of inquiry. 'Never any more wonder,' says an old writer, 'that men pray so seldom. For there are very few that feel the relish, and are enticed with the deliciousness, and refreshed with the comforts, and acquainted with the secrets, of a holy prayer.' Yet, who is it that has said, 'I will make them joyful in my house of prayer?'—The Still Hour.

Give Way a Little.

In the crowded streets of a great city, where multitudes are passing in opposite directions, while some are passing obliquely, and others at right angles, it is necessary for every one to give way a little to those he meets, by which means they can have a free passage. Were the whole multitude to pass directly onward, without any one's yielding an inch of ground to anybody else, all would be obstructed more or less, and confusion ensue.

Or if a churlish individual should take it into his head to march forward in a straight line, and in no case make way for man, woman or child, or even for a procession, he would be sure to jostle some one or other, at almost every step, and would receive an insult, and perhaps hard blows, for his obstinacy and impudence. And very much is it so in the journey through life, and with respect to our general intercourse with mankind. In the march of life, no one's path is so clear as not in some degree to cross another's; and if each is determined with unyielding sturdiness to keep his own line, it is impossible but he must give and receive many a rude shock. In society, in neighborhoods, and even among close friends, there will spring rivalries, and be sometimes a close line of opinion; and if we were naturally obstinate, there could be no bounds or ends to contention. Whereas, by the bonds of natural condescension, social harmony is preserved, and the pleasure of society enjoyed.

Judgment and Sins.

By Dr. Sunderland

THE very things which now strain and try this nation are traceable to the sins of the nation. It is not ignorance that is trying us now, but willful, wanton blindness, unreasoning selfishness, and the practical atheism of the people from which all the outgrowth springs of all our follies and errors, our crimes and sins and miseries; passion and prejudice, mutual jealousy, suspicion, lust for power, attended by all the arts of the demagogue, by the reeking venality and unblushing wickedness of the public press. These are the real judgments which now lie upon the land—which now confuse and bewilder those who would be honest, who desire to be true, who want nothing in this controversy but what is right, but what is in accordance with the will and law of God, and who would gladly do what they may to establish the institutions of the Government upon a sure foundation of public righteousness; who feel it is no time for sophistries and technicalities, for quibbles and formalities, but who go for the substance of doctrines, the eternal righteousness of God in all the relations of man to his fellow man as well as of men to God. And because we are confounded in these things and do not even yet know whether a lie is in our right hand, we are still groping and stumbling in the dark mountains of sin and shame, our eyes blinded, our ears heavy, our hearts hardened and our

hands paralyzed. We are as a nation in a swoon, feeling the sharp sting of God's goads, spurring us out of our stupor, but yet drowsy and but little awake.

And now we have no right to shut our eyes to the sins which form the ground of indictment against us. We are guilty if we attempt to do this, guilty in the attempted concealment, and we are really the more culpable if we undertake to blink or flinch from the full acknowledgment and recognition of any one of the sins of which we as individuals, or as a nation, have been guilty in the sight of Heaven. But where shall we begin the catalogue of these iniquities? It is even difficult to classify and document them, so manifold and variant; private sins and public sins, secret sins and open sins, personal sins and social sins, sins of the heart and sins of the life, sins in the family and sins in the church, sins in business life, sins in fashionable life sins of the flesh and sins of the spirit, sins of omission and sins of commission, sins of ignorance and sins of wantonness, sins of civil and sins of official life, sins political and ecclesiastical.—Dr. Sunderland.

Was Judas at the Supper?

Was he present at the institution of the Lord's Supper? It is said in Luke xxii, 21, "Behold, the hand of him that betrayeth me, is with me on the table."

Which table was this, that of the paschal supper or the Lord's? It is not necessarily the latter; Luke gives a connected account of the two suppers, and then adds the fact respecting the traitor; leaving us to otherwise learn at which of the tables he was present. In John's reference to the event, it is said (xiii, 30), "He then, having received the sop, went immediately out, and it was night." Now, the sop pertained to the paschal feast, and if, on receiving it, Judas went immediately out, he could not have been at the Lord's Supper. With this agrees the record both of Matthew and of Mark. They state what was said of the traitor, before giving the account of the last supper. His character was made known while eating the passover, and soon as revealed, he went out, having no farther lot with the eleven, and the Master he was so soon to betray. It seems clear, then, beyond a doubt, that Judas did not partake at the Lord's table.—Examiner.

Patience in Trials.

“Patient in tribulation.”—Rom. xii, 12.

THE Church grows by tears, and withers by smiles; God's vine thrives better for pruning. Queen Elizabeth is reported to have said, The skill of a pilot is best known in a storm, the valor of a soldier in a field of battle, and the worth of a Christian in time of trial. Let us view

THE NATURE OF THE CHRISTIAN'S TRIALS. “Tribulation” is often spoken of as his lot in this world; and it is of two descriptions—

Common.—Man is said to be “born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward.” The world is a wilderness of thorns and briers, and not a garden of beautiful flowers.

Peculiar.—I mean trials peculiar to, and inseparable from, the Christian life. It is an easy thing to go with the stream of sinful custom and fashion, but to sail against it exposes us to continual opposition.

THE MANNER IN WHICH THEY ARE TO BE BORNE. We must be “patient in tribulation.”

How is this patience to be exercised? So as to bear our trials without murmuring; so as not to despair of deliverance; to remember from whom they come, and for what they are designed; and that this has been the common lot of Christ's followers in every age.

What are its advantages? The discovery of sin; the improvement of grace; the manifestation of our sonship; deliverance from the world's condemnation; and preparation for eternal glory. Thus God gives grace in the day of conversion, and tries it in the period of affliction. We are chastened of the Lord, that we should not be condemned with the world. By this God separates the sin that he hates from the soul that he loves.—Sel.

The Bible a Guide.

THE word of God, as a means of safety to the young, is the great infallible guide. "Wherewith shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed thereto according to thy word." This will be a "light to your feet, and a lamp to your path." Here we have unfolded to us the character of God, and the duty of man; here we have laid open to us our own hearts, with so much accuracy, that he who has made any advances in self-knowledge must admit the portraiture to be faithfully drawn; here we have delineated, as on a map, the paths which lead to heaven and hell, and are shown in which of those paths we are traveling—are shown, indeed, what we are, what we have been, and shall be hereafter. Here we have a sure directory to guide us through all the mazes of this life, a sovereign arbiter to which we may repair when questions of duty arise. Here we have that which has led multitudes to glory. Here are the most glorious examples to animate young men; examples of those who resisted temptation, and won the crown of victory. Of Joseph, who, without a moment's hesitation, replied to the insidious tempter, "How can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?" Of Daniel, who, with a world in arms against him, prayed three times a day, with his face toward Jerusalem; and of a greater than all, who overcame the adversary by weapons drawn from the armory of heaven: "Get thee behind me, Satan; for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve."

Drink Less with your Meals.

ONE great error, we drink too much at our meals. Before we have sufficiently masticated and insalivated our food, to enable us to swallow it, we force it down by taking water or warm drinks. This not only dilutes the saliva, but weakens the action of the gastric juice after the food gets into the stomach. Most persons take a swallow of fluid with almost every mouthful of food. Look along the side of the dinner-table in any of our hotels, and you will be surprised at the quantities which are drank during the meal: and, if your mind be not too much taken up with observing the errors of others, you may discover the same evil in yourself, and thus be led to correct it. This habit, sooner or later, ends in producing dyspepsia and constipation, than which there are no affections more destructive of comfort and health. When we are thirsty, at our meals, or at other times, we should drink to allay such thirst only. All solid food should be thoroughly ground and mixed with saliva in the mouth, unaided and undiluted by water or other drinks. Rely upon it, this apparent necessity for drinking is a mere habit, which we can correct at will; and all who prize health at its true value, will not consider its preservation or purchase too high at the cost of attention to so simple a matter.

In this age of tobacco-smoking and chewing, the salivary glands seem to be turned to a new office—that of cleansing this filthy narcotic from the teeth and gums. Were they endowed with language, verily might they exclaim—

"To what vile uses have we come at last,"

Who can wonder at the hollow and wan cheeks of mankind, when such a continuous drain is established upon them—a kind of perpetual catarrh or lachrymosis of the mouth. Take warning by what we say. If you would have good digestion, proper action of the system, and full, ruddy cheeks, eat slow, masticate your food better, drink less at your meals, and you who smoke, if smoke you will, avoid spitting as much as possible. The latter have a two-fold reason for observing our last injunction: they will save, at the same time, their own health and the feelings of their friends.—Sel.

Temptations of Young Men.

SOME vainly imagine themselves exempt from the common laws and infirmities of human nature, and that where others have fallen they can be safe. But true security lies not in a fancied superiority to mankind, but in the careful avoidance of temptation, and the ability to withstand when it comes.

Others think lightly of the beginnings of evil, and what they call little sins. The general progress of sin is gradual; and one indulgence prepares the way for another: and he who began with little sins finally becomes a veteran in iniquity. ‘He that is unjust in the least, is unjust also in much.’ Luke xvi, 10. Sin cannot be small in God's sight; it is rebellion against his authority, contempt of his wisdom, an impeachment of his goodness, and a defiance of his power.

Many seem also to suppose, that sin acquires its guilt from the circumstances under which it is committed, or the consequences that follow it. The darkness of night or an obscure hiding-place may screen offences from the eye of man, but they afford no refuge from the all-searching eye of God. The excursion on the steamboat, or journey to some distant land, may free the individual from the restraints which kept him moral and upright at home, but do not change his accountability to God, who is strict to mark and strong to punish every transgressor. The guilt of sin must be estimated from the state of the heart, and the obligations which are violated, as well as from the consequences which follow the outward act. The man who matures a plan of murder, but fails in its execution, is as certainly guilty as if he were stained with blood. God regards our motives, and ‘will bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.’ Eccl. xii, 14. ‘The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’ 1 Sam. xvi, 7.

Boasting in the Lord.

By William Jay

What a Friend have I! a tried, kind, almighty, everlasting Friend, a Friend who loveth at all times, and has sworn that he will never leave me nor forsake me. "This is my beloved, and this is my Friend, O ye daughters of Jerusalem."

What a shepherd have I! "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."

What a God is mine! The God of truth, the God of all grace, a God in covenant, a God in Christ. "This God is my God for ever and ever; he will be my guide even unto death."

What a portion is mine! The Lord is the portion of my inheritance and of my cup; thou maintainest my lot. "The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage."

"My soul shall make her boast in the Lord; the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad."

Pretty Preaching

By Robert Hall

Pretty Preaching.—I am tormented with the desire to preach better than I can. But I have no wish to make fine, pretty sermons. Prettiness is well enough, when prettiness is in its place. I like to see a pretty child, and a pretty flower, but in a sermon prettiness is out of place. To my ear it would be anything but commendation should it be said to me, “You have given us a pretty sermon.” If I were upon trial for my life, and an advocate should amuse the jury with his tropes and figures, burying his argument beneath a profusion of the flowers of rhetoric, I would say to him:

“Tut, man; you care more for your vanity than my hanging. Put yourself in my place, speak in view of the gallows, and you will tell your story plainly and earnestly.”—Robert Hall.

The Helpless Poor.

God helps those who help themselves—so says the adage; and it ought, clearly, to be so. What would be the mortal use of assisting anybody who would only want still more help after you had performed your service for him? It is not the highest kindness we can do for a man, to take his burden on our own backs; nor was strength given us to do so, either; one can no better help his brother than by putting him in a way to help himself; if he finds that his work will be done for him, out of some misguided sympathy, then is his prime motive and stimulus for work gone at the start; he will not labor, it is not in human nature, if he finds that there is after all no need of it but that he can get along just about as well without.—Sel.

Saving for Old Age.

No one denies that it is wise to make a provision for old age, but we are not all agreed as to the kind of provision it is best to lay in. Certainly, we shall want a little money, for a destitute old man is indeed a sorry sight, and suggests to every one the suspicion that his life has beeu foolishly, if not wickedly spent. Yes, save money, by all means. But an old man needs that particular kind of strength which young men are most apt to waste.

Many a foolish young fellow will throw away on a holiday a certain amount of nervous energy, which he may never feel the want of until he is seventy; and then, how much he will want it! It is a fact, that over-tasking the eyes at fourteen may necessitate the aid of spectacles at forty, instead of eighty. We advise our young readers to saving of health for their old age, for the maxim holds good with regard to health as to money—waste not, want not. It is the greatest mistake to suppose that any violation of the laws of health can escape its penalty. Nature forgives no sin, no error. She puts off the offender for fifty years, sometimes, but she catches him at last; and inflicts the punishment just when, just where, just how he feels it most.

Save up for old age, but save more than money, save health, save honor, save knowledge, save the recollection of good deeds and innocent pleasures, save pure thoughts, save friends, save love. Save rich stores of that kind of wealth which time can not diminish, nor death take away.

Dr. Chalmers on Preaching.

In conversation with an American clergyman, Dr. Chalmers said, A sermon, properly considered, consists of two parts, exposition and application. The truth lies in the text, like a sword in its scabbard. The business of the minister is first to draw the sword, that is exposition; and next to cut and thrust with it on the right and on the left, that is application.

The hearers, first of all, must see what is the mind of God in the text, and then that mind of God is to be used for their reformation. It is not enough that the preacher preach the truth; the hearers must know for themselves that it is the very truth of God. The power does not lie simply in the truth, but in the truth perceived to be of God. When this point has been gained, then the power of preaching is the power of God. Hence careful exposition, showing beyond all question what is the mind of God in the text, is the indispensable first thing in every sermon. Without this, the sword of the Spirit is, practically, not there. The sword sheathed is of no avail. Let it be first drawn by exposition, and then let it be wielded with a will.

Mind Your Own Business

You have no business to have business with other people's business; but mind your own business, and that is business enough for any business man.

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