Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 28, 1857
SELECTIONS.
COME.
"My sheep hear my voice," says the good Shepherd. Like all the rest of the children of Adam, they had gone astray from their birth, and had said to God, "Depart from us, for we desire not the knowledge of thy ways." Peter beautifully sets forth the condition of believers, before and after conversion, in his first Epistle, chap. ii, 25: "Ye were as sheep going astray; but are now returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of your souls."
"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me." And what is his voice to them? It is that sweet word which we have set at the head of this article—"Come unto me." No other word is more expressive of love—not of benevolence merely, but of love, of delight in the object beloved; hence, says Zephaniah, "The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love; he will joy over thee with singing." This is wonderful; and to whom is it addressed? To all who hear and obey, when he says to them, "Come."
God said to Noah, "Come thou and all thy house into the ark." Thus plainly implying that he would be with him there. This, in its general acceptation, is a true gospel invitation: for Christ is our only ark of safety, our refuge, our hiding place, our covert from the tempest, and corresponds with his own, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
"Come, my people, enter into thy chambers, and shut thy door about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be over past." Isaiah xxvi, 20. He does not send them away to find a place of safety, he does not say, Go, but, Come, for the chambers of safety are with him and in him.
"Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye; buy and eat, yea, come, buy wine and milk, without money and without price." Isa. lv, 1. And in the third verse he says, "Incline your ear, and come unto me." How beautifully do the invitations and promises of the Old Testament agree with those of the New! Compare the foregoing with what we find in Rev. xxii, 17. "And the Spirit and the Bride say, Come, and let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come: and whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely."
But it is not enough that Christ invites us to come to him, he also promises to come to us. "In all places where I record my name, I will come unto thee, and I will bless thee." Ex. xx, 24. "I will not leave you comfortless," says Jesus, "I will come unto you." And again, "If a man love me he will keep my words, and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." And again, "Surely I come quickly." And what is the response of the true believer to all this? "Even so, come, Lord Jesus;" and with these blessed words, the volume of inspiration closed.
The sum of the gospel of peace is expressed in two words—"Return, Come." Isa. xxi, 12. The whole subject is so simple and plain that a little child may comprehend it. We all went astray, wandering farther and farther from our Father's house, our Shepherd's fold: and the gospel is his voice calling to us to come back. "Return unto me and I will return unto you, saith the Lord of hosts."
—Preacher and Presbyterian.
What God the Saviour is to His People.
He is their Sun, their Shield, their Shade, their Shepherd, their Shelter, their Salvation, and their Song.
He is their high Tower, their Help, their Hope, their Habitation, their Hiding-place, and the Horn of their Salvation. He is their Fortress, their Fountain, and their Father. Their Goodness, their Guide and their Glory. He is their Praise, their Portion, their Physician, their Prince, their Prophet, Priest and King. He is to them a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night. He is their Keeper, their Buckler, their Beloved, their Bread, and their Elder Brother. He is the Rock of their defence, and their Deliverer, and the Dwelling-place.
He is their Counsellor, their Captain, their Conqueror, their Creator, their Comforter, and the Angel of their Covenant.
He is their Light, their Joy, their Lord, their Judge, their Friend, their Rearward, their Righteousness, their Resurrection and Life, the bright and morning Star. He is their Advocate and their Redeemer.
He is a Strength to the needy, a Refuge from the storm, a Shadow from the heat. Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help—whose hope is in the Lord his God.
Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honor, and power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever!—Am. Mes.
Pride and Humility.
By Thomas Brown
PRIDE and humility are always relative terms. They imply a comparison of some sort with an object higher or lower; and the same mind, with natural excellence exactly the same, and with the same comparative attainments in every one around, may thus be either proud or humble, as it looks above or looks beneath.
In the great scale of society, there is a continual rise from one excellence to another excellence, internal or external, intellectual or moral. Wherever we may fix, there is still some one whom we may find superior or inferior; and these relations are mutually convertable as we ascend or descend. The shrub is taller than the flower which grows in its shade; the tree than the shrub; the rock than the tree; the mountain than the single rock; and above all are the sun and the heavens. It is the same in the world of life. From that Almighty Being who is the source of all life, to the lowest of his creatures, what innumerable gradations may be traced, even in the ranks of excellence on our own earth—each being higher than that beneath, and lower than that above; and thus, all to all, objects at once of pride or humility, according as the comparison may be made with the greater or with the less.26
Of two minds, then, possessing equal excellence, which is the more noble—that which, however high the excellence attained by it, has still some noble excellence in view, to which it feels its own inferiority; or that which, having risen a few steps in the ascent of intellectual and moral glory, thinks ever of those beneath, and rejoices in an excellence which would appear to it of little value if only it lifted a single glance to the perfection above? Yet this habitual tendency to look beneath, rather than above, is the character of mind which is denominated "pride;" while the tendency to look above, rather than below, and to feel an inferiority, therefore, which others perhaps do not perceive, is that character which is denominated "humility."
Is it false, then, or even extravagant, to say that humility is truly the nobler; and that pride, which delights in the contemplation of abject objects beneath, is truly in itself more abject than that meekness of heart which is humble because it has greater objects, and which looks with reverence to the excellence that is above it, because it is formed with a capacity of feeling all the worth of that excellence which it reveres?
The accomplished philosopher and man of letters, to whom the great names of all who have been eminent in ancient and modern times, in all the nations in which the race of man has risen to glory, are familiar, almost like the names of those with whom he is living in society—who has thus constantly before his mind images of excellence of the highest order, and who even in the hopes which he dares to form, feels how small a contribution it will be in his power to add to the great imperishable stock of human wisdom—may be proud indeed; but his pride will be of a sort that is tempered with humility, and will be humility itself if compared with the pride of a pedant or sciolist, who thinks that in adding the result of some little discovery which he may have fortunately made, he is almost doubling that mass of knowledge in which it is scarcely perceived as an element.
Pride, then, as a character of self-complacent exultation, is not the prevailing cast of mind of those who are formed for genuine excellence. He who is formed for genuine excellence has before him an ideal perfection—that semper melius aliquid—which makes excellence itself, however admirable to those who measure it only with their weaker powers, seem to his own mind, as compared with what he has ever in his own mental vision, a sort of failure. He thinks less of what he has done than of what it seems possible to do; and he is not so much proud of merit attained, as desirous of a merit that has not yet been attained by him.
It is in this way that the very religion which ennobles man, leads him, not to pride, but to humility. It elevates him from the smoke and dust of earth; but it elevates him above the darkness, that he may see better the great heights that are above him. It shows him, not the mere excellence of a few frail creatures, as fallible as himself, but excellence, the very conception of which is the highest effort that can be made by man: exhibiting thus constantly what it will be the only honor worthy of his nature to imitate, however faintly; and checking his momentary pride, at every step of his glorious progress, by the brightness and vastness of what is still before him.
May I not add to these remarks, that it is in this way we are to account for that humility which is so peculiarly a part of the christian character, as contrasted with the general pride which other systems either recommend or allow? The christian religion is, indeed, as has been often sarcastically said by those who revile it, the religion of the humble in heart; but it is the religion of the humble, only because it presents to our contemplation a higher excellence than was ever before exhibited to man. The proud look down upon the earth, and see nothing that creeps upon its surface more noble than themselves: the humble look upward to their God.—Thomas Brown.
THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.
Beside the toilsome way,
Lowly and sad, by fruits and flowers unblest,
Which my worn feet tread sadly day by day,
Longing in vain for rest,
An angel softly walks,
With pale sweet face, and eyes cast meekly down,
The while from withered leaves and flowerless stalks
She weaves my fitting crown.
A sweet and patient grace,
A look of firm endurance, true and tried,
Of suffering meekly borne, rests on her face,
So pure—so glorified.
And when my fainting heart
Desponds and murmurs at its adverse fate.
Then quietly the angel's bright lips part,
Murmuring softly, "Wait."
"Patience!" she sweetly saith—
"The Father's mercies never come too late.
Gird thee with patient strength and trusting faith
And firm endurance—wait."
Angel!—behold—I wait—
Wearing the thorny crown through all life's hours—
Wait till thy hand shall ope the eternal gate,
And change the thorns to flowers! [Sel.
Self-Righteousness.
It is no uncommon thing for men to flatter themselves that God cannot be displeased with them because they have omitted to do a great many bad deeds, which they would have done, had they not been restrained by the fear of public opinion. The soundness of such morality is very well exhibited in Lossing's parable of "The wolf on his death-bed."
"A wolf lay at his last gasp, and was reviewing his past life. 'It is true,' said he, 'It am a sinner, but I hope not one of the greatest. I have done evil, but I have also done much good. Once, I remember, a bleating lamb that had strayed from the flock came so near me that I might easily have throttled it, but I did it no harm.'
"'I can testify to all that,' said his friend the fox, who was helping him to prepare for death. 'I remember perfectly all the circumstances. It was just at the time when you were so dreadfully choked with that bone in your throat!'"
The Believer's Support.
By Ambrose Serle
I MAY be faint and weary, but my God cannot be. I may alter and fluctuate, as to my frames; but my Redeemer is unchangeably the same. I might utterly fail and come to nothing, if left to myself; but I cannot be so left to myself, for the spirit of truth hath said, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." He will renew my strength, either by changing my weakness into strength, or by enduing me with his own power. He is wise to foresee and provide for all my dangers; he is rich to relieve me and succor me in all my wants; he is gracious to hear and answer all my prayers; he is omnipotent to deliver and defend me from all my enemies; he is faithful to perfect and perform all his own promises; he is eternal and immortal to bless my poor depending soul with eternal blessedness and immortality.
O what a great and glorious Saviour for such a mean and worthless sinner! O what a bountiful and graciously indulgent Friend for such a base and insignificant rebel! What am I when I compare myself, and all I am of myself, with what I can conceive of my God, and of what he hath kindly promised me! What a mystery am I to myself, to angels, to men! A worm of earth, to be like a star of heaven; a corruptible sinner, to be an incorruptible saint; a rebel to be made a child; an outlaw to become an inheritor of heaven; a stronghold of the Devil to be changed into a temple of God; an enemy and a beggar to be exalted to a throne; to be in friendship with God, one with Christ, a possessor of his Spirit, and of all this honor, happiness and glory, forevermore; and all without any right to any one thing on my part, but the miseries of the lowest hell!
O what manner, and what matter of love is this! Lord, take my heart, my soul, my all. I can render thee no more, and I would render thee no less.—Ambrose Serle.
ANCIENT CHRISTIAN ZEAL.
Good old Chrysostom, in his epistle to Cyriacus, said :
"Should the empress determine to banish me, let her banish me; 'the earth is the Lord's and the27fullness thereof.' If she will cast me into the sea, let her cast me into the sea; I will remember Jonah. If she will throw me into a burning fiery furnace; the three children were cast there before me. If she will throw me to the wild beasts; I will remember that Daniel was in the den of lions. If she will condemn me to be stoned, I shall be the associate of Stephen, the proto-martyr. If she will have me beheaded, the Baptist has submitted to the same punishment. If she will take away my substance; naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return to it."
MISTAKES.
By Editor
As one observes more and more, he accounts it of less importance to correct mere intellectual misapprehensions. Mistakes that do not involve pernicious errors of doctrine, and that have not energy enough to keep themselves alive, it is best to let them die of neglect.
The Wise Choice.
If God be the highest perfection in himself, and the highest good to the creature, then it is the highest wisdom of the creature to choose him, and the highest piece of his duty to live in observance of God.
If all the creatures must certainly appear before this great Majesty, and bow unto him, I admire the wisdom of the godly, and wonder at the folly of the wicked. And seeing this certainly and of necessity must be, Lord, let me be of the number of those who choose thee here, so as forever hereafter I may enjoy thee; and not of those who refuse thee here, and must forever hereafter be separated from thee.
The Saviour.
To Joseph it was said by the angel of the Lord, "And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus," that is, Saviour, "for he shall save his people from their sins." Matt. i, 21. And to Mary it was announced by the angel Gabriel, "Thou shalt bring forth a son, and shall call his name Jesus." Luke i, 26-33. Because he saves from sin, he is called Jesus, Saviour. Remember,
1. You are a sinner. Of this you are conscious. You feel it in your own heart. Your conscience condemns you, and you are condemned by God's broken law, which thunders its anathemas against you. Yes, you are a sinner.
2. You need salvation. You must perish without it. Salvation is deliverance from sin, its pollution, and its curse; and if not delivered you must perish. Yes, you are perishing, and you need salvation.
3. None but Jesus can save you. You cannot save yourself; men cannot save you; angels cannot save you. There is but one name under heaven given among men whereby you can be saved—the name of Jesus. Acts iv, 12. He is able to save, and willing, and none but he can save.
4. You must come to Christ, if you would be saved by him. Coming is believing, and they who believe shall be saved; but they who believe not, must be damned. Mark xvi, 16. The way to heaven lies by the cross of Christ—there is no other way to the celestial city.
5. You should come to Christ now. There is need of it, and there is abundant encouragement. He invites, he offers himself to you, and he will not cast you out, if you come to him. John vi, 37. Christ is for you if you want him; yes, for you. Come to him now. There is danger in delay. Time is short, the Spirit may depart, there is danger. Come to Christ now, and he will save you from your sins. Come to Jesus, and you shall have eternal life.—Am. Mes.
"A Great Way Off."
By American Messenger
"And when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck and kissed him."
Our heavenly Father is a great deal more ready to receive us than we are to come to him. We are apt to fancy that it will be very difficult to make our way to him, and to get ourselves accepted by him, after we have made up our minds to try it. We are apt to think that our hearts must become very pure, and our faith very strong, before he will kindly regard us. But no, he sees us when we are yet "a great way off," and he pities us; and the moment he sees us from never so far off, beginning to return to him, that instant he is with us, ready to embrace us.
We must be careful not to confound two very distinct things. In order to be worthy of God's approbation, our hearts must be perfectly pure; but in order to have his pity and his redeeming grace, we have only to be willing to confess our impurity and to desire to be delivered from it in his revealed way.
Does your heart turn to him—feebly, yet sincerely? Are you ready to forsake all the vain objects for the love of which you have gone from him? Do you wish to return to him? Are you willing to be his servant, feeling yourself unworthy to be called his child?
Then be assured, you have not a long journey to go, in order to come to him, toiling your weary way in rags, and in hunger, and in sorrow. O no, he has seen you from afar, and lo, here he is, looking on you with all a Father's tenderness, and ready to have you speedily dressed in the best robe of his children—and put a ring on your hand the sure token of his affection, and shoes on your feet, in proof of his tender care.
O how glad I am that I have not that long journey to take alone! My Father has met me at the very outset, and his arms will uphold me to the end. And how glad I am that I have not one fellow-creature so guilty, nor one so weak, whom I may not assure of the same kind and hearty welcome to the arms of our heavenly Father.—Am. Mes.
Teach Children to Pray.
If you love your children, says Ryle, do all that lies in your power to train them to a habit of prayer. Show them how to begin. Tell them what to say. Encourage them to persevere. Remind them if they become careless and slack about it. Let it not be your fault if they never call on the name of the Lord.
This is the first step in religion which a child is to take. Long before he can read you can teach him to kneel by his mother's side, and repeat the simple words of prayer and praise which she puts in his mouth. If there is any habit which your own hand and eyes should help in forming, it is the habit of prayer. Many a gray haired man could tell you how his mother used to teach him to pray, where he knelt, and what he was taught to say. It will come up as fresh before him as if it were but yesterday.
"Not an Enemy in the World."
HASN'T! Well, we are sorry for him; for he has very little character who has no enemies. He is nobody who has not got pluck enough to get an enemy. Give us rather, as our ideal of virtue and manliness, one who has made them by his manhood, and downright sincerity, candor and fearless love of the thing he sees to be right. The man of earnest purposes, strong will, and love of principle, for its own sake, may have enemies. But this, so far from being ill, is to him a good. The strong tree is more deeply rooted and fastened in the soil by the blast than the Summer breeze. A man never knows how much there is of him till he has confronted and braved bitter opposition.
Prosperity of the Wicked.
WHY should I fret myself at the prosperity of the wicked? Indeed, when I looked upon the spreading bay tree, and forgot the withering herb; when I viewed their quails, and forgot their curse, my feet had almost slipped; but since I went into the sanctuary of God, I find that all the blossoms of their glory must disflourish under the blastings of God's wrath; and all their eternal felicity doth but only perfect the judgments of the Lord, and fill up the measure of their misery; for what is their pleasure, but just like the deceitful salute of Joab with Amasa? What is their honor, but like Absalom's mule? It only mounts, and carries them to the gallows. What are their riches, but like Jael's present in a lordly dish? It only makes way for the fatal nail, for their sad account at the day of judgment. This their prosperity slays them. Now, who esteems that ox happy, that hath a goodly pasture to feed himself for the slaughter? Who envies that malefactor that hath a fair day to ride to execution in? And why is it that the workers of iniquity flourish? Is it not that they may be destroyed forever? And the larger their pasture, the sooner they are fitted for the slaughter. I therefore for my part, when I see a sinner prosper in his wickedness, will turn the flame of envy into a tear of pity.
The Vanity of the World.
DOTH Satan tempt thee, either by pleasures, dignities or profits? O my soul, stand upon thy guard; gird on thy strength with such thoughts as these: What can the world profit me, if its cares choke me? How can pleasure comfort me if the sting poison me? Or what advancement is this, to be triumphing in honor before the face of men here, and to be trembling for shame before the throne of God hereafter? What are the delights of the world to the peace of my conscience, or the joy that is in the Holy Ghost? What are the applauses of men to the crown prepared by God? or what is the gain of the world to the loss of my soul? The vanity of the creature is far beneath the excellency of my soul; therefore, Satan, you and I must keep at an everlasting distance, or I shall be lost forever.
Evil Age.
People in this wicked age have grown so eminently hardened in sin, that it is now a days counted one of the greatest shames to be ashamed of sin; but for my part I had rather be accounted the world's fool than God's enemy.
"I Don't Feel Like it."
Don't you? indeed; and so, my brother, you stay away from the prayer-meeting; you do not feel like going, and therefore you excuse yourself, and try to feel that you are justified in staying away, but really you are not satisfied with this; you do not appear about this matter like a man who is perfectly at ease in regard to the course he pursues. The fact is, as a Christian, you cannot be contented to neglect a duty with no better reason for such neglect, than "I do not feel like it."
A word in your ear, dear brother, before you try any harder to still the voice of conscience with this poor excuse. At the time when the Lord Jesus appeared as your Redeemer, and you promised to serve him all your days, did you throw in the proviso that you could discharge your duties only when you felt like it? No, indeed, there was no such condition as that; the language of your heart was, Lord, I will be thine, I consecrate my all to thee.
Do consider also the fact that your pastor and brethren are greatly encouraged when you present yourself with others at the regular weekly prayer-meeting. Should not this consideration have some influence with the man who will acknowledge that he is as much bound as any other member of the church to help his minister and brethren?
Ask yourself if it is not important for every church to sustain the prayer-meeting. Has not every member as much right to stay away as you? and if every member should follow your example, and stay away, what would become of the prayer-meeting? Have you a right to pursue such a course as would destroy this meeting if others did as you do?
"Do not feel like it." Well, suppose you do not—what then? Neglect duty? No, that will never do. We must not be governed by our feelings, but act from a sense of duty, from principle. Our feelings, too often, are as variable and changing as the weather vane upon the church steeple. It will not do to let them guide us. "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" may we say with the Apostle, and then do whatever the Lord tells us to do, whether we feel like it or not.
Beginning Family Prayer.
THE commencement of this sacred delightful duty must often be attended by difficulties, where the head of the family has neglected it. "I have never done anything since I became a christian," writes one, "which required so much self-denial and which was so truly a bearing of the cross, as beginning family worship. I felt that it was duty, from the time I devoted myself to the service of Christ, but I shrunk from its performance so painfully, that day after day, and week after week, passed away without my attempting it. At length conscience remonstrated so loudly, and my conviction that it was a sin to neglect it was so strong, I determined to make the effort to perform it the next morning, cost what it would. It occasioned me a wakeful night: again and again I implored strength from on high. I was constitutionally timid, and when the morning came I was much agitated.
"Before breakfast, I said to my wife, 'I feel, C—, as if we ought to have prayer in the family. We have all souls to be saved, and need God's blessing. I am sure you will not object to it.' 'No,' she replied, but the tone in which she said it was not encouraging. When we rose from the breakfast-table, it seemed to me the children had never been so noisy before, and it required an effort to request them to keep silence and be seated. They did so, but I felt their eyes were fixed wonderingly upon me. I took the large Bible from the shelf and sat down. I wished to preface the service with some remarks, but could not trust my voice, and I opened the book and read the first chapter that presented itself. I then knelt, and with a faltering voice began to address the Creator. But my hesitation soon passed off. I knew not why it was, but during the performance of this service my soul was so filled with thoughts of God's goodness in permitting me to approach him, and to place myself and those dear to me under the shelter of his protecting love, that I forgot the presence of others, and poured out my heart in supplications for his blessing, with as much freedom and fervor as I had ever done in secret. When I arose, I perceived that my wife's eyes were moisted with tears.
"The conflict was over—the duty was entered on—and the peace which follows the consciousness of having done right, came into my heart. Prayer with my beloved ones was no longer a burden, but a delightful privilege: and ere long I had the satisfaction of knowing that the heart of my companion ascended in full unison with my own to the throne of grace. I can speak freely in my family of the value and sweetness of this service, and to many of them I believe the hour of prayer has become one of the most highly prized of all the day brings us."
Eternal Life.
O MY soul, thou canst not comprehend the magnitude of the promise of everlasting life! All the glories of this world fade before it. When the sun shall have cast its last ray, and the stars have set in endless night, thou mayest be enjoying and increasing in happiness, and that forever.
JEHOVAH QUESTIONS JOB
By Julius Chapelle Clarke
From "The Star in the West"
JEHOVAH QUESTIONS JOB.
PARAPHRASED BY REV. JULIUS CHAPELLE CLARKE.
Then to Job replied Jehovah—
Answered him out of the whirlwind:
Gird thy loins, Job! Answer promptly
To the things that I now ask thee.
Where wert thou—what wert thou doing,
When I laid the earth's foundation?
Tell me if thou understandest
Who hath laid the measure of it?
Who hath stretched the line upon it?
On what rests its strong foundations?
Who the corner stone hath placed there,
When the stars of the first morning
Twanged their harps and sang together—
When God's sons for joy were shouting,
Praising God with hearts o'erflowing?
Tell me, Job—tell, if thou knowest—
Who hath made the world a mantle,
Of the clouds hath cut and made it—
Made it flowing loose and graceful,
So the wild winds swing it, sway it,
Make it flap like window curtains?
Tell me, Job—tell, if thou knowest—
Who hath swaddled with thick darkness
The young earth when in its cradle?
Tell me, Job—tell, if thou knowest—
Who hath fettered the big Ocean,
Strongly fettered all the waters,
That they leap not from their places—
That they come not on the dry land,
To devour those living on it?
Since thy birth hast thou commanded
That the red eye of the morning,
O'er the eastern hills come peering,
Not delaying, neither hastening,
But his wonted time e'er keeping?
Hast thou walked upon the sea-floor,
Marked the depths of the big Ocean,
Counted all the springs that feed it,
Counted all the fish that swim it?
Hast thou entered Death's dark door-way?
Answer, Job, to these things promptly.
Hast thou found the habitations
Where light dwelleth, where dwells darkness?
Hast thou entered both their dwellings,
Traveled all the road between them?
Hast thou lived so long and wisely,
As to know these things I ask thee?
Hast thou entered in my store-house,
Where the storm supplies are hoarded,
Where the rain, the snow and vapor
Are reserved for times of trouble—
Times made scarce by war and famine?
Hast thou pointed with thy finger,
Pointed out a way for lightning?
Hast thou given a tongue to thunder,
Thunder that doth madly mutter,
Hoarse in throat and dark with anger?
Canst thou turn the key that opens
To the treasures of my storm-barn—
Treasures which, poured out in Winter,
Robe the earth in bridal garments—
Treasures which, poured out in Summer,
Make the earth smile with new beauty,
Make her green robes greener, brighter,
Places flowers in her bosom,
Fills her lap with gracious plenty?
Answer me, Job—answer promptly
To the things that I now ask thee.
In my hand the earth is mellow,
Mellow as a full ripe apple;
With my thumb I made the sea-bed,
Poured the briny waters in it—
From my hand I poured its waters,
Set the islands in their places,
Told the water to play round them;
I can hold the earth in one hand,
Poise it on my little finger,
Make it spin and whirl upon it;
I can take the wicked out it,
Shake them out as dust is shaken
From an old and dusty garment.
Therefore let the nations fear me—
Let them know that I, JEHOVAH,
Will bring down the proud and haughty,
Will lift up the humble, contrite,
Will chastise the sinful, wayward,
Will bind up the broken-hearted,
Will break every arm uplifted
In oppression of my children;
Will adjust between my children,
All disputes that now divide them;
Righteously will judge the nations.
"AND NO MAN CAN SHUT IT,"
By Editor
We read in one place in the Revelation, "that the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament." To the church which should be living when this took place, Christ says, referring manifestly to the same event; "Behold I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it."
What connection the two events here brought to view have with each other will not probably be apparent at first to those by whom the Bible is but little read, or who have not made the plan of man's salvation a particular study. But to those who are acquainted with the teachings of the scriptures on the subject of the Sanctuary, the ministration therein performed, the nature of its cleansing, and the entrance of our High Priest from the Holy into most Holy Place, at the appointed time, we need offer no explanation.
Another consideration engages our attention: it is that when Christ opens before his church a door which no man can shut, there is seen the ark of his testament. This ark of the testament, whether contemplated on the earth, as man was connected with it under the former dispensation, or in heaven as it is here introduced to us, is equally an object of interest.
Considering that the Sanctuary of the first covenant was but a type or shadow of the Sanctuary of this, which now exists in heaven, who may tell us that the ark of the true tabernacle which the Lord pitched and not man, differs from the former, either in the purposes for which it was used, or the things which it contains? The ark of the earthly sanctuary was called the ark of the testimony, or testament, Ex. xxv, 22. It contained the tables of stone, on which were engraved by the finger of God the ten commandments, and just as he engraved them. Ex. xxv, 16; xxxi, 18. The ark of the heavenly Sanctuary, called also the ark of his testament, as in the text at the head of these remarks, must also contain similar tables, else it was not prefigured by the former.
The ark, then, under whatever dispensation we view it, suggests to our mind the same idea: the commandments of God, as he uttered them from Sinai, and engraved them with his own finger.
But who can suppose that thoughts of the ark, or the writing it contained, suggested to the mind of a Jew, the observance of the first day of the week as a day of rest! Neither does it suggest such an idea to our minds, but quite another, according to the reading of the fourth commandment contained in it, which says the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God, &c.
Such are some of the considerations which naturally connect themselves with the ark of God. But, says the Revelation, "The temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament;" therefore considerations like the above have been agitating the minds of the people; and as we have seen through the declarations of his word, those tables of the law carefully preserved in the holy temple of the Highest, impressions of the immutability and perpetuity of that royal law have rolled over us, and we could do no otherwise than turn our feet to the keeping of all those holy commandments.
Here is a nail in a sure place. The tables of the testimony are enthroned in heaven. There they exist without liability of changing or perishing. Men may legislate and hold councils, and pass decrees, and vent their rage against those who will acknowledge the claims of the royal law, but they cannot touch the law: as high as heaven from earth it still remains above their reach. What must man do to change it? He must ascend to heaven, dethrone Jehovah, burst through the angel guards into the sacred temple, wrest from the ark the mercy-seat, and with his own would-be omnipotent finger, change the writing of the imperishable tables.
And yet people will talk about the change of the law as a very little thing, or even proceed further, and speak of its abolition. They might as well talk of abolishing earth and heaven.
The temple has been opened in heaven, and there is seen the ark of his testament. I have set before thee an open door; and no man can shut it. Men may endeavor with all their energies to obscure the claims of the law, but they cannot obscure them. They may raise all the stir they please amid the dirt of earth, and chuckle over the dust they succeed in throwing into their own eyes; but we have only, as it were, to look to heaven, and behold the ark of his testament.
We have told what man must actually do if he would affect in one jot or tittle the law of God, provided the view we have taken of the passages in Revelation be correct. To prove that we are not correct in our application, it must be shown that the ark of the former dispensation, and consequently that dispensation itself with its attendant ministry, looked forward to no antitype; that there is no temple nor literal city, called the New Jerusalem, in heaven; that there is no ministration in this dispensation in behalf of mankind, of which the former was a figure; that the expression, the ark of his testament, does not now mean what it used to, or that the scene of Rev. xi, 19, is not laid in this dispensation, or that the language has no intelligible meaning.
But we have no fears for the bulwarks of truth on these points; and we feel safe for the present in resting down upon the evidence that a door which reveals to us the ark of God's testament has been opened in heaven, with the divine assurance that no man can shut it.