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        Title: Spurgeon's Sermons Volume 06: 1860
   Creator(s): Spurgeon, Charles Haddon (1834-1892)
CCEL Subjects: All; Sermons;
   LC Call no: BV42
  LC Subjects:

               Practical theology

               Worship (Public and Private) Including the church year, Christian
               symbols, liturgy, prayer, hymnology

               Times and Seasons. The church year
     __________________________________________________________________

                               A Woman's Memorial

   A Sermon

   (No. 286)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, November 27th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   "Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in
   the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be
   told for a memorial of her."--Matthew 26:13.

   THE EVANGELISTS ARE of course the historians of the time of Christ; but
   what strange historians they are! They leave out just that which
   worldly ones would write, and they record just that which the worldly
   would have passed over. What historian would have thought of recording
   the story of the widow and her two mites? Would a Hume or a Smollett
   have spared half a page for such an incident? Or think you that even a
   Macaulay could have found it in his pen to write down a story of an
   eccentric woman, who broke an alabaster box of precious ointment upon
   the head of Jesus? But so is it. Jesus values things, not by their
   glare and glitter, but by their intrinsic value. He bids his historians
   store up, not the things which shall dazzle men, but those which shall
   instruct and teach them in his spirit. Christ valueth a matter, not by
   its exterior, but by the motive which dictated it, by the love which
   shines from it. O singular historians! ye have passed by much that
   Herod did; ye tell us little of the glories of his temple; ye tell us
   little of Pilate, and that little not to his credit; ye treat with
   neglect the battles that are passing over the face of the earth; the
   grandeur of Caesar doth not entice you from your simple story. But ye
   continue to tell these little things, and wise are ye in so doing for
   verily these little things, when put into the scales of wisdom, weigh
   more than those monstrous bubbles of which the world delighteth to
   read.

   And now my prayer is that we may be endued this morning with the same
   spirit as that which prompted the woman, when she broke her alabaster
   box upon the head of Christ. There must be something wonderful about
   this story, or else Christ would not have linked it with his gospel,
   for so hath he done. So long as this gospel lives shall this story of
   the woman be told; and when this story of the woman ceaseth to exist,
   then the gospel must cease to exist also, for they are co-eternal. As
   long as this gospel is preached, and wherever it is proclaimed, the
   story of this woman is to go with it. Our Lord's prediction goes on to
   be verified, while the memorial of this woman fills the church with its
   fragrance. There must be something, therefore, remarkable in it: let us
   pause, and look, and learn, and God give us grace to imitate.

   I shall want you first attentively to observe the woman; secondly, I
   shall invite you to look into the face of her loving Lord, and to
   listen to what he says about her; and then I shall close with an
   earnest suggestion that each one of us look to himself, for surely this
   is meant for our profit, and is not of any private interpretation.

   I. First, then, my friends, LET US OBSERVE THE WOMAN HERSELF.

   There is much dispute among commentators as to who she was. Some there
   are who confound this woman with that other woman who was a sinner, who
   came behind Christ, and washed his feet with tears, and wiped them with
   the hairs of her head. There are some too, who think that the woman in
   Matthew is the same as the one of whom I read just now in the gospel of
   John; while there are others who say, "Not so, for that incident
   occurred in the house of Lazarus, where Lazarus sat at the table, and
   Martha served, while this, on the other hand, is stated to have taken
   place in the house of Simon the leper that was at Bethany; You will
   recollect also that this narrative in Matthew happened two days before
   the Passover--(see the second verse of this twenty-sixth
   chapter)--while the transaction recorded by the evangelist John, is
   said to have taken place six days before the Passover. It will be an
   interesting study for you some Lord's-day afternoon, if you are at
   home, to sit down and find out these different women, and see how far
   they are all alike, or wherein there is a difference. I hare no time to
   spare on that subject this morning, and if I had I should not use it,
   for it will do you good to search the Scriptures and find it out for
   yourselves. Whether this, however, was Mary the sister of Martha or
   not, I will leave undetermined. We shalt not err in speaking of her as
   a certain woman. Christ was sitting, or reclining, at the table of
   Simon the leper. A sudden thought strikes this woman. She goes to her
   home, she gets her money, and expends it in an alabaster box of
   ointment, or perhaps she had it in store, all ready laid up. She brings
   it; she hastens into the house. Without asking any one's leave, or
   communicating her intention, she breaks the alabaster vase, which was
   itself of great value, and forth flows a stream of the most precious
   ointment, with a very refreshing fragrance. This she poured on his
   head. So plenteous was the effusion that it streamed right down to his
   feet, and the whole house was filled with the odour of the ointment.
   The disciples murmured, but the Saviour commended. Now, what was there
   in the action of this woman worthy of commendation, and of such high
   commendation too that her memory must be preserved and transmitted with
   the gospel itself throughout all ages?

   I think, in the first place, this act was done from the impulse of a
   loving heart, and this it was that made it so remarkable. Ah! my
   brethren, the heart is better than the head, after all, and the renewed
   heart is infinitely superior to the head; for, somehow or other, though
   doubtless grace will renew the understanding, yet it takes longer to
   sanctify the understanding, than it doth the affections; or, at least,
   the heart is the first affected; it is that which is first touched, and
   being swifter in its goings forth than the head; it is generally more
   uncontaminate by the atmosphere around, and more clearly perceives that
   which is right. We in our day fall into the habit of calculating
   whether a thing is our duty or not; but have we never an impulse of the
   heart more impressive, and more expressive, than the mere arithmetic of
   moral obligations? Our heart says to us, "Arise, go and visit such and
   such an one who is sick:" we stop and say, "Is it my duty? If I do not
   go, will not somebody else go? Is the service absolutely requisite?" Or
   thy heart has said perhaps, once upon a time, "Devote of thy substance
   largely to the cause of Christ." If we obeyed the heart we should do it
   at once; but instead of that, we stop and shake the head, and we begin
   to calculate the question whether it is precisely our duty. This woman
   did no such thing. It was not her duty--I speak broadly--it was not her
   positive duty to take the alabaster box and break it on the head of
   Christ. She did not do it from a sense of obedience; she did it from a
   loftier motive. There was an impulse in her heart, which gushed forth
   like a pure stream overflowing every quibble and questioning,--"Duty or
   no duty, go and do it,"--and she takes the most precious things she can
   find, and out of simple love, guided by her renewed heart, she goes at
   once and breaks the alabaster box, and pours the ointment on his head.
   If she had stayed a minute to consider, she would not have done it at
   all; if she had pondered, and reckoned, and reasoned, she never would
   have accomplished it; but this was the heart acting, the invincible
   heart, the force of a spontaneous impulse, if not of a very
   inspiration, while the head with its various organs hath not been
   allowed time to hold a council. It was the heart's dictate fully and
   entirely carried out. Now, in these times, we lace ourselves so tight
   that we do not give our hearts room to act, we just calculate whether
   we should do it--whether it is precisely our duty. Oh! would to God our
   hearts could grow bigger! Let our heads be as they are, or let them be
   improved; but let the heart have full play, and how much more would be
   done for Christ than ever has been done as yet! But I would have you
   remark, that this woman, acting from her heart, did not act as a matter
   of form.

   You and I generally look to see whether the thing our new heart tells
   us to do has ever been done before; and then, if, like Martha, we love
   Christ, we still think it will be the proper mode of showing our love
   to prepare him a supper, and go and stand and wait at the table. We
   look for a precedent. We recollect that the Pharisee gave Christ a
   supper; we remember how many others of the disciples have given him a
   dinner; and then we think that is the proper orthodox way, and we will
   go and do the same. "Mr. So-and-so gives ten guineas; I shall give ten
   guineas. Mrs. So-and-so teaches in the Sunday School; I shall teach in
   the Sunday School. Mr. This or That is in the habit of having prayer
   with his servants; I shall do likewise." You see, we look to find out
   whether anybody else has set us an example, and then we get into the
   habit of doing all these things as a matter of form. But Mary never
   thought of that; she never asked whether there was anybody else that
   had ever broken an alabaster box of ointment on that sacred head. No,
   she goes her way; her heart says, "Do it," and she does it all alone,
   breaks the box, and out flows the precious ointment. I would that we
   also obeyed the dictates of the heart; but no, we take second thoughts.
   Depend on it, in the things of Christ first thoughts are the best. It
   is that heavenly inspiration of the Spirit which comes into the soul,
   and says, "Do some great things for thy Master--go out and show thy
   love to him in some hazardous expedition." Oh! if we did but obey that,
   what results should we not see? We sit down and say, "Is it reasonable?
   Is it expected of me? Is it my duty?" No, my friend, it is not expected
   of you; it is not your duty; but are you going to stop short in bare
   duty? Will you give to Christ no more than his due as you give to
   Caesar, when you pay your tax? What! if the custom be but a shekel, is
   the shekel all he is to have? Is such a Master as this to be served by
   calculations? Is he to have his every-day penny, just as the common
   laborer? God forbid we should indulge such a spirit! Alas! for the mass
   of Christians, they do not even rise so high as that; and if they once
   get there they fold their arms, and they are quite content. "I do as
   much as anybody else, in fact a little more. I am sure I do my duty;
   nobody can find any fault; if people were to expect me to do more, they
   would be really unreasonable." Ah! then, you have not yet learned this
   woman's love, in all its heights and depths. You know not how to do an
   unreasonable thing--a thing that is not expected of you--out of the
   divine impulse of a heart fully consecrated to Jesus. The first era of
   the Christian Church was an era of wonders, because then, Christian men
   obeyed the prompting of their hearts. What wonders they used to do! A
   voice within the heart said to an apostle, "Go to a heathen country and
   preach." He never counted the cost--whether his life would be safe, or
   whether he would be successful; he went and did whatever his heart told
   him. To another it spake, "Go thou, and distribute all that thou hast;
   "and the Christian went and did it, and cast his all into the common
   store. He never asked whether it was his duty his heart bid him do it,
   and he obeyed at once. Now, we have become stereotyped, we run in the
   ancient cart-rut; we all do what other people do; we are just content
   with performing the routine, and accomplishing the formalism of
   religions duties. How unlike this woman, who went out of all order,
   because her heart told her to do so, and she obeyed from her heart.
   This, I think, is the first part of the woman's act that won a deserved
   commendation.

   The second commendation is--what this woman did was done purely to
   Christ, and for Christ. Why did she not take this spikenard, and sell
   it, and give the money to the poor? "No," she might have though", "I
   love the poor, I would relieve them at any time; to the utmost of my
   ability would I clothe the naked, and feed the hungry; but I want to do
   something for him." Well, why did she not get up, and take the place
   that Martha did, and begin to wait at the table? Ah! she thought,
   Martha was at the table, dividing her services, Simon the leper, and
   Lazarus, and all the rest of the guests, have a share in her attention.
   I want to do something directly for him, something that he will have
   all to himself, something that he cannot give away, but which he must
   have and which must belong to him. Now, I do not think that any other
   disciple, in all Christ's experience, ever had that thought. I do not
   find, in all the Evangelists, another instance like this. We had
   disciples, whom he sent out by two and two to preach, and right
   valiantly did they do it, for they desired to benefit their fellow-men
   in the service of their Lord. He had disciples too, I doubt not, who
   were very, very happy, when they distributed the bread and the fishes
   to the hungry multitudes, because they felt they were doing an act of
   humanity, in supplying the needs of the hungry; but I do not think he
   had one disciple that thought about doing something exactly and
   directly for him--something, of which no one else could partake,
   something that should be Christ's, and Christ's alone. This is
   something, my brethren, which I wish you to remember. How much of what
   we do in the cause of religion, fails to have any excellence in it
   because we do not perform it for Christ's sake! We go up to preach,
   perhaps, and we do not feel that we are preaching for Christ. Perhaps
   we are preaching with a sincere desire to do good to our fellow-men: so
   far so good; but even that is not so grand a motive, as the desire to
   do it for him who loved us, and gave himself for us. Do you not often
   catch yourself, when you put a coin into the hand of the poor, thinking
   there is a virtue in it? And so there is, in one sense; but do you not
   find yourself forgetting, that you should do that for him, and give
   that as unto Christ, giving unto the poor, and lending unto the Lord?
   Sabbath-school teachers! I ask you also: do you not find, in teaching
   your class, that you often forget that you should be teaching for him?
   Your act is done rather for the church, for the school, for your
   fellow-men, for the poor, for the children's sake, than for Christ's
   sake. But the very beauty of this woman's act lay in this, that she did
   it all for the Lord Jesus Christ. You could not say she did it for
   Lazarus, or did it for the disciples; no it was exclusively for him.
   She felt she owed him all, it was he who had forgiven her sins; it was
   he who had opened her eyes, and given her to see the light of heavenly
   day; it was he who was her hope, her joy, her all, her love went out in
   its common actings to her fellow men--it went out towards the poor, the
   sick, and the needy. but oh! it went in all its vehemence to him. That
   man, that blessed man, the God man, she must give something to him. She
   could not be content to put it in that bag there; she must go and put
   it right on his head. She could not be content that Peter, or James, or
   John, should have a part of it; the whole pound must go on his head;
   and though others might say it was waste, yet she felt it was not, but
   that whatever she could give unto him was well bestowed, because it
   went to him to whom she owed her all. Ah! my dear hearers, learn this
   lesson, I pray you. The scene is a very simple one, but it is extremely
   captivating. You will do your acts in religion far better, if you can
   cultivate always the desire to do them all for Christ. Oh! to preach
   for Christ! What precious work that is! When the mind is fatigued and
   the body weary, this will make a man strong to labor and to stiffer
   too, if he hears the whisper, "Go and do it for thy Master's sake." Oh!
   to visit the sick for Christ, and distribute to the poor for his sake!
   This will make toil light; self-denial will become a pleasure, it will
   cease to be self-denial altogether, if we remember that we are doing it
   for him! But we do not now as this woman did. I fear our love is but
   faint and cold. If the spark were kindled to a flame, we should never
   be content with attending to religion from a selfish motive; we should
   not assay to do holy works with the idea of getting good ourselves, but
   our one aim and desire would be, to glorify him--to spend and be spent
   for him who suffered on the cross for us. These two commendations were
   surely enough to immortalise this woman--she obeyed the dictates of her
   heart, and she did it all to him.

   There is yet a third thing. I fear, however, I have anticipated myself.
   This woman did an extraordinary thing for Christ. Not content with
   doing what other people had done, nor wishful to find a precedent, she
   ventured to expose her ardent attachment though she might have known
   that some would call her mad, and all would think her foolish and
   wasteful, yet she did it--an extraordinary thing--for the love she bear
   her Lord. Our church-acts at this day--as far as I know the church of
   Christ, from extensive travelling and considerable experience exhibit a
   dull, uniform, dead level. There are some few men who strike out every
   now and then a new endorse, who are not content to ask what the fathers
   did, what is canonical, what will be permitted and allowed by
   ecclesiastical polity or by public opinion--men will only ask, "Does my
   heart bid me do it for Christ, then I will go and do it?" and it is
   done. But the mass of Christians have not got a new thought, simply
   because new thoughts generally come from the heart, and they will not
   let their hearts work, and consequently they never get a new emotion. I
   believe that the origin of Sabbath schools is to be found in the heart
   of some one man. His heart prompted him, saying--"Take these little
   ragged urchins, and teach them the Word of God." If that thought had
   come into some of you, you would have said, "Well, there is not any
   Sunday-school connected with the church of Christ all over England; I
   am sure the minister will throw many obstacles in the way; nobody else
   has done it, but it would have been a good thing if it had been done
   many years ago." Robert Raikes never talked like that; he went and did
   it, and we, poor little creatures, can imitate him afterwards. If we
   would let our heart work, we should do new things. Within fifty years
   from this date, unless the Lord come before that era, there will be new
   operations for the cause of Christ, of which, if we heard them now, we
   should jump for joy. Perhaps they will never come to pass for years,
   simply because this is the age for intellectual reasoning, and not the
   age for heart impulse. If we did but hear our hearts, and heed the
   promptings of the Spirit within, there might be fifty schemes for the
   promotion of the cause of Christ started in as many days, and all those
   fifty, through the Holy Spirit's blessing might be useful to the souls
   of men.

   "But," says one, "you could make us all fanatics." Yes no doubt that is
   just the name you would very soon earn, and a very respectable name
   too, for it is a name that has been borne by all men who have been
   singularly good. All those who have done wonders for Christ have always
   been called eccentric and fanatical. Why, when Whitfield first went on
   Bennington Common to preach, because he could not find a building large
   enough, it was quite an unheard of thing, to preach in the open air.
   How could you expect God to hear prayer, if there was not a roof over
   the top of the people's heads? How could souls be blessed, if the
   people had not seats, and regular high-backed pews to sit in! Whitfield
   was thought to be doing something outrageous, but he went and did it;
   he went and broke the alabaster box on the head of his Master, and in
   the midst of scoffs and jeers, he preached in the open air. And what
   came of it? A revival of godliness, and a mighty spread of religion. I
   wish we were all of us ready to do some extraordinary thing for
   Christ--willing to be laughed at, to be called fanatics, to be hooted
   and scandallized because we went out of the common way, and were not
   content with doing what everybody else could do or approve to be done.

   And here let me remark, that Jesus Christ certainly deserves to be
   served after an extraordinary manner. Was there ever a people that had
   such a leader or such a lover as we have in the person of Christ? And
   yet, my dear friends, there have been many impostors in the world, who
   have had disciples more ardently attached to them than some of you are
   to Christ Jesus. When I read the life of Mohamed, I see men who loved
   him so, that they would expose their persons to death at any moment for
   the false prophet, dash into battle almost naked, cut their way through
   hosts of enemies, and do exploits out of a passionate zeal for him whom
   they verily believed to be sent of God. And even that modern delusion
   of Joe Smith lacks not its martyrs. When I read the history of the
   Mormonite emigrants, and of all the miseries they endured when driven
   out of the city of Nauvoo; how they had to pass over trackless snows
   and pathless mountains, and were ready to die under the guns of the
   United States marauders, and how they suffered for that false prophet,
   I do stand ashamed of the followers of Christ, that they should permit
   the followers of an impostor to suffer hardships, and loss of limb and
   life, and everything else that men count dear, for an impostor, while
   they themselves show that they do not love their Master, their true and
   loving Lord half so well, else would they serve him in an extraordinary
   manner, as he deserves. When the soldiers of Napoleon performed such
   unexampled deeds of daring in his day, people ceased to wonder. They
   said, "No wonder that they do that, see what their leader does." When
   Napoleon, sword in hand, crossed over the bridge of Lodi and bid them
   follow, no one wondered that every common soldier was a hero. But it is
   wonderful when we consider what the Captain of our salvation hath done
   for us, that we are content to be such every day nothings as the most
   of us are. Ah! if we did but think of his glory, and of what he
   deserves--if we did but think of his sufferings, and of what he merits
   at our hands, surely we should do something out of the common; we
   should break our alabaster box, and pour the pound of ointment on his
   head again.

   But not only does an extraordinary thing cease to appear extraordinary,
   when you think of the person to whom it is done, but surely when you
   think of the person who is bound to do it, an extraordinary thing
   becomes very ordinary indeed. My friends, if I should leave this place,
   and go into the midst of the abode of some wild Red Indians, and there
   be exposed to cold and hunger, and famine, and nakedness; if through
   long years I should preach the gospel to a people who rejected me, and
   if afterwards I should be roasted alive at the stake by them, I do
   acknowledge and confess that I feel it were but a slight thing I should
   have done for him to whom I owe so much. When I think of what my Master
   has done for me, surely the stripes and imprisonments, the perils, the
   shipwrecks, the journeyings, which even a Paul suffered, seem to be
   less than nothing and vanity compared with the debt of love I owe. Now,
   I do not expect all of you to love Christ as I think I ought, for
   perhaps you do not owe him so much as I do; perhaps you have never been
   such great sinners as I was, perhaps you have never had so much
   forgiven, and have never tasted so much of his love, and have never had
   so much fellowship with him, but this I know--if every atom of my body
   could become a man, and every man so made could suffer and be cut piece
   meal, all that suffering would not be a worthy recompense for what he
   has done for me. Methinks there are some of you that might stand up and
   tell the like tale. I can look round on some of you that were
   drunkards, that were swearers, but you have obtained mercy; and, my
   deer friends, if you do something extraordinary for Christ, while other
   people wonder with a vacant stare of astonishment, you may say, "Do you
   wonder at me?"

   "Love I much? I've more forgiven;

   I'm a miracle of grace."

   You for whom Jesus has done little, if any such there be, love him
   little; but I do beseech you--those of you whom he has loved with an
   extraordinary affection, and who feel that you owe much to his grace,
   that he has done "rest things for you, whereof you are glad, do not be
   content with doing what other people do. Think of others thus. "I have
   no doubt that what they do is their best, but I must do more than they,
   for I owe him more than they do." And oh! if every one of us could feel
   this, we should account labor light and pain easy, and be disgusted
   with ourselves that we spend so much of our lives doing nothing for him
   who has bought us with his most precious blood.

   I have but one more reason to add. It seems to me that Jesus praised
   this woman, and handed down this memorial, because her act was so
   beautifully expressive. There was more virtue in it than you could see.
   The manner, as well as the matter of her votive sacrifice, might well
   excite the rebuke of men, whose practical religion is mercenary and
   economical. It is not enough that she pours out the ointment with such
   reckless profusion, but she is so rash and extravagant she must needs
   break the box. Marvel not, beloved, but admire the rapt enthusiasm of
   her godly soul. Why! love is a passion. If ye did but know and feel its
   vehemence, ye would never marvel at an act so expressive. Her love
   could no more tarry to conform to the rubrics of service, than it could
   count the cost of her offering. A mighty impulse of devotion carries
   her soul far above all ordinary routine. Her conduct did but symbol the
   inspiration of a grateful homage. A sanctified heart, more beautiful
   than the transparent vase of alabaster, was that hour broken. Only from
   a broken heart can the sweet spices of grace give forth their rich
   perfume. "Love and grief, our heart dividing," we sometimes sing--but
   oh! let me say it--love, grief and gratitude, the spikenard, myrrh, and
   frankincense of the gospel blend together here; the heart must expand
   and break, or the odors would never fill the house. Every muscle of her
   face every involuntary motion of her frame, frenzied as it might appear
   to the unsympathising looker-on, was in harmony with her heart's
   emotion. Her every feature gives evidence of her sincerity. What they
   could coldly criticize, Jesus delivers to them for a study. Here is one
   on whom a Saviour's love has produced its appropriate effects. Here is
   a heart that has brought forth the most precious fruits. Not only
   admiration for her, but kindness to us, moved our Lord, when he
   resolved henceforth to illustrate the gospel, wherever it is published,
   with this portrait of saintly love, in one instant breaking the
   delicate vase, and bursting the tender heart. Why, that woman meant to
   say to Christ, "Dear Lord, I give myself away." She went home; she
   brought out the most precious thing she had; if she had had anything
   worth ten thousand times as much she would have brought that; in fact,
   she did really bring him all.

   II. Having described this woman as so well worthy to be remembered for
   ever, I NOW INVITE YOU TO LOOK INTO THE FACE OF THE LOVING LORD. Hark!
   what is all that muttering about? What are they saying to one another
   over yonder? Why, there is Judas, he has been taking out a little scrap
   of paper, and casting up a sum, and he makes out that that box of
   ointment is worth just three hundred pence. And what are Peter, and
   Thomas, and the other disciples talking about? "Oh dear," they say,
   "see what a waste; I am very sorry; if I had known what she was going
   to do I would have taken that box away from her; indeed I would, I
   would not have allowed that, what a waste! and all for this little
   smell--it is soon gone, and a little of it would have done. What
   multitudes of hungry mouths might have been filled, if it had been sold
   and given to the poor, "Oh!" says one of them, "I never saw such an
   insane thing in my life. I wonder the Lord Jesus was not angry with
   her. Do you hear that talk? Do you hear it? I have heard it many times
   before, and I hear it now. It is a kind of talk that is sometimes very
   rife in the church of Christ. If there is a man that does a little more
   than any one else, people say, "There is no occasion for it at all,
   there is no need for it." If some one gives more than any one else to
   the cause of Christ, they say, "Ah! I cannot understand such a motive
   as would lead him to do that; there is a medium in all things; there is
   a limit to which people should go, and they ought not to exceed it."
   And so they begin chatting and talking one with another, and if there
   is anything done that seems extraordinary, they will begin to pick a
   hole in it. Instead of emulating superior devotion themselves, they
   begin to murmur, and to consider how much might have been done with the
   same effort, if it had been conducted in an orthodox manner. That young
   man, instead of preaching at the corner of the street, if he taught in
   a Sunday School, how much good might he do? If--instead of rambling all
   over the country, some would have said, "If Whitfield had kept to his
   own congregation, or to his own parish, he might have done a great deal
   of good." Yes, I dare say; but you and Judas talk that matter over
   together; we have no time to trouble ourselves with it this morning;
   let us look at what Jesus Christ himself says. He says, "Trouble her
   not, trouble her not. I have three very good excuses for her; only
   listen to them." And the three interpretations our Lord gave of the
   woman were these.

   She hath wrought a good work upon me." Note these two last words "Upon
   me!" "Why," say they, "it is not a good work to go and spill all that
   ointment, and perpetrate so much waste." "No," says Jesus, "it is not a
   good work in relation to you, but it is a good work upon me." And,
   after all, that is the beet sort of good work--a good work that is
   wrought upon Christ--an act of homage such as faith in his name, and
   love to his person, would dictate. A good work upon the poor is
   commendable, a good work upon the church is excellent; but a good work
   upon Christ, surely this is one of the very highest and noblest kinds
   of good works. But I will be bound to say that neither Judas nor the
   disciples could comprehend this; and there is a mystic virtue in the
   acts of some Christian men that common Christians do not and cannot
   comprehend. That mystic virtue consists in this, that they do it "as
   unto the Lord, and not unto men," and in their service they serve the
   Lord Jesus Christ.

   Moreover, our Lord protects the woman with another apology. "Do not
   trouble her; do not reflect upon what might have been done for the
   poor, for ye have the poor always with you, but me ye have not always.'
   Ye can always do good to them, whenever you please." Why, he seems here
   to retort upon her accusers. "If there are any poor about, give to them
   yourselves; empty that bag of mine out, Judas; don't be hiding that
   away in your girdle. Whensoever ye will, ye may do them good.' Don't
   begin talking about the poor, and about what might have been done; go
   you, and do what might have been done yourselves; this poor woman hath
   done a good thing for me; I shall not be here long; don't trouble her."
   And so, beloved, if you murmur at men because they do not go in your
   ordinary ways, because they venture a little out of the regular line,
   there is plenty for you to do; your errand perhaps is not there
   exactly, but there is plenty for you to do, go and do it, and do not
   blame those who do extraordinary things. There are multitudes of
   ordinary people to attend to ordinary things. If you want subscribers
   to the guinea list, you can have them; it is those who give all they
   have, that are the varieties. Do not trouble those men. There are not
   many of them. They will not trouble you. You will have to travel from
   here to John o'Groat's house, before you knock against many dozen. They
   are rare creatures not often discovered. Do not trouble them; they may
   be fanatical, they may be excessive; but if you should build an asylum
   to put them all in, it would require but a very small sort of a house.
   Let them alone, there are not many who do much for their Master--not
   many who are irrational enough to think that there is nothing worth
   living for but to glorify Christ and magnify his holy name.

   But the third excuse is the most extraordinary that could be given.
   Saith Christ, "in that she poured this ointment on my body, she did it
   for my burial." What! did this woman forestal the Messiah's death? And
   had she the fond idea that, since no loving hand might embalm him, she
   would anoint his sacred body by anticipation? Did her faith just then
   penetrate those deep shades of mystery about to be gradually
   unravelled? I think not. I think her love was more conspicuous than her
   faith. It strikes me that in these words we have rather the
   construction that Christ put upon her act. If so, the virtue of her
   action was derived from him on whom it was wrought. "Your righteousness
   is of me," saith the Lord. Sometimes when your heart prompts you to go
   and do such-and-such a thing for Christ, you cannot tell what you are
   doing. You may be doing a very simple thing in appearance, but there
   may be some wonderful, some matchless meaning in it. Christ may be but
   sending you, as it were, to take hold of one golden link--mayhap there
   are ten thousand links that are hanging to it, and when you draw out
   that one, all the ten thousand will come after it. This woman thought
   she was just anointing Christ. "Nay," says Christ, "she is anointing me
   for my burial." There was more in her act than she knew of. And there
   is more in the spiritual promptings of our heart than we shall ever
   discover to the day of judgment. When first of all the Lord said to
   Whitfield, "Go and preach out on Kennington Common," did Whitfield know
   what was to be the result? No, he thought, doubtless, that he should
   just stand for once on the top of a table, and address some five
   thousand people. But there was a greater intent in the womb of
   Providence. The Lord meant that to set the whole country in a blaze,
   and to bring forth a glorious renewal of Pentecostal times, the like of
   which had not been seen before. Only seek to have your heart filled
   with love, and then obey its first spiritual dictate. Stop not. However
   extraordinary may be the mandate, go and do it. Have your wings
   outstretched like the angels before the throne, and the very moment
   that the echo vibrates in your heart, fly, fly, and you shall be flying
   you know not whither--you shall be upon an errand higher and nobler
   than your imagination has ever dreamed.

   III. Now I come to the conclusion, which is this,--TO APPEAL PERSONALLY
   TO YOU, and ask you whether you know anything about the lesson which
   this woman's history is designed to teach.

   Imagine your Saviour, who has bought you with his blood, standing in
   this pulpit for a moment. He lifts up his hands, once rent with the
   nails, he exposes to you his side, pierced with a spear. Now picture
   him. Lose sight of me for a moment, and see him! And he puts to each
   one of you the question--"I suffered all this for thee, what hast thou
   ever done for me?" Answer him now! Like honest followers of the Lamb of
   God, look back and see what you have ever done. You have gone up, you
   say, to his house. Was not that for your own profit? Did you do it for
   him? You have contributed to his cause. Ah! you have, and some of you
   have done well in this thing; but think, how much have you given in
   proportion to what God has given to you? What have you done for Christ?
   Well, you have perhaps, some years ago, taught children for him in the
   Sabbath school, but it is all over; you have not been a Sunday-school
   teacher these last many years. Jesus asks you, "What have you done for
   me? In three years," he says, "I wrought out your redemption; in three
   years of agony, of toil, of suffering, I bought you with my blood; what
   have you done for me in these ten, twenty, thirty years, since you knew
   my love, and tasted of my power to save?" Cover your faces, my friends,
   cover your faces. Let each man among us do so. Let us blush and weep.
   Lord Jesus! there was never such a friend as thou art; but never were
   there such unfriendly ones as we are. Christ has some of the most
   ungrateful followers that man ever had. We have done little. If we have
   done much, we have done little. But some of you have done nothing at
   all for Christ.

   That question answered, there comes another. I beseech you, let the
   vision of that crucified One stand before you. He says to you this
   morning, "What will you do for me." Putting aside the past--you have
   wept over that, and blushed,--what will you do now? Wilt thou not now
   think of something that thou canst give him, something that thou canst
   do for him, something thou canst consecrate to him? Come, ye Marys,
   bring out your alabaster box! Come, ye loving Johns, lift your heads
   for a moment from his bosom, and think of something that you can do for
   him who lets you lean your head upon his heart. Come, come, ye
   followers of Christ! Need I press you? Surely, if you needed it, my
   pressing would be in vain. But no; instinctively inspired by the Holy
   Spirit, you will each of you say, "Lord Jesus, from this day forth I
   desire to serve thee better; but, Lord, tell me what thou wouldst have
   me to do." He does tell you now. I do not know what it is. The Spirit
   shall tell that to each one among you. But I do entreat you think not
   about it, but do it.

   To the whole church of Christ I have one word to speak. I do feel--and
   I speak here of myself and of all Christians as in one mass--I do feel
   that the church of Christ in these days too much forgets her
   obligations to her Master. Oh! in the early church how did religion
   spread! It was because no man thought his life his own, or counted
   anything dear to him, so that he might win Christ, and be found in him
   at last. Look how the ancient church, which was but a handful, within a
   century had stormed every known nation, and had carried the gospel
   throughout the length and breadth of the entire known world. But now we
   stay at home, penned up in England, or cooped up in America. We go not
   abroad where heathens dwell. Though we send here and there a man--one
   drafted as it were out of thousands; we do little or nothing for the
   evangelization of the world, and the sending forth of the ministers of
   the truth. Why, the early church, if it were here now, and we were
   gone, would within another fifty years sound the trumpet of the
   heavenly jubilee throughout the entire earth. With our means of
   travelling, with our appliances, with our books and helps, give such a
   church as the first Pentecostal one but fifty years, and the whole
   earth would be covered with the knowledge of the Lord, God the Holy
   Spirit going forth with them. But no, we cannot spend our lives for
   Christ, we are not like the soldiers who marched to victory over the
   dead bodies of their brethren. We shall never sow the world with truth
   till it is sown with our blood again. "The blood of the martyrs is the
   seed of the church." I would that the church would burst forth from all
   her bonds, and send out her chosen warriors to do battle against the
   infidel hosts. And what if they should fall? What if they should die?
   With the Spirit of Christ inflaming our hearts, we should go forward,
   our courage nothing damped nor our ardor abated for all that--each one
   counting it an honor to die for Christ, each one throwing himself into
   the breach determined to win for Christ, and spread his name through
   the whole earth, or else to perish in the attempt. God give to his
   church this zeal and ardor; and then the time to favor Zion, yea her
   set time, shall have come.
     __________________________________________________________________

                            Dilemma and Deliverance

   A Sermon

   (No. 287)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 4th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   "Thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee."--Psalm 9:10.

   THERE ARE MANY MEN who are exceedingly well read in heathen
   mythologies; who can tell you the history of any one of the heathen
   gods, but who at the same time know very little of the history of
   Jehovah, and cannot rehearse his mighty acts. In our schools to this
   day there are books put into the hands of our youth that are by no
   means fit for them to read--books which contain all kinds of filth, and
   if not always filth, yet all kinds of fables and vanities, which are
   simply put into our hands when we are lads, because they happen to be
   written in Latin and Greek; and, therefore, I suppose it is imagined
   that we shall all the better recollect the wickedness that is contained
   in them, by having the trouble of translating them into our own mother
   tongue. I would that instead of this, all our youth were made
   acquainted with the history of the Lord our God. Would that we could
   give them for classics some books which record what he hath done, the
   victories of his glorious arm, and how he hath put to nought the gods
   of the heathen and cast them down even into the depths. At any rate,
   the Christian will always find it to be useful to have at hand some
   history of what God did in the days of yore. The more you know of God's
   attributes, the more you understand of his acts; the more you treasure
   up of his promises, and the more you fully dive into the depths of his
   covenant, the more difficult will it become for Satan to tempt you to
   despondency and despair. Acquaint thyself with God and be at peace.
   Meditate on his law both day and night, and thou shalt be like a tree
   planted by the rivers of water; thy leaf shall not wither; thou shalt
   bring forth fruit in thy season, and whatsoever thou doest shall
   prosper. Ignorance of God is ignorance of bliss; but knowledge of God
   is a divine armor, by which we are able to ward off all the blows of
   the enemy. Know thyself, O man, and that will make thee miserable; know
   thy God, O Christian, and that will make thee rejoice with joy
   unspeakable and full of glory.

   Now, this morning, in addressing you, I shall divide my text into three
   parts. First, I shall note a certain fiery dart of Satan; secondly, I
   shall point out to you heaven's divine buckler, as hinted at in the
   text--"Thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee;" and then, in
   the third place, I shall notice man's precious privilege of seeking
   God, and so of arming himself against Satan.

   I. First, then, I am to dwell for a little time upon A CERTAIN FIERY
   DART OF SATAN WHICH IS CONSTANTLY SHOT AGAINST THE PEOPLE OF GOD.

   There are many temptations, there are many suggestions and
   insinuations; and all these are arrows from the bow of the Evil one.
   But there is one temptation which exceeds all others, there is one
   suggestion which is more Satanic, more skilfully used in effecting the
   purposes of Satan than any other. That suggestion is the one referred
   to in these words of the Psalmist--viz., this, the suggestion to
   believe that God has forsaken us. If all the other arrows of hell could
   be put into one quiver, there would not be so much deadly poison in the
   whole as in this one. When Satan has used up every other weapon, he
   always betakes himself to this last, most sharp, moat deadly
   instrument. He goes to the child of God and pours into his ear this
   dark insinuation, "Thy God has forsaken thee quite; thy Lord will be
   gracious no more."

   Now, I shall remark with regard to this arrow, that it is one that is
   very often shot from Satan's bow. Some of us have been wounded by it
   scores of times in our life. Whenever we have fallen into any sin, have
   been overtaken by some sudden wind of temptation, and have staggered
   and almost fallen, Conscience pricks us and tells us we have done
   wrong. Our heart, like David's heart, smites us. We fall upon our
   knees, and acknowledge our fault and confess our sin. Then it is that
   Satan lets fly this arrow, which comes whizzing up from hell and enters
   into the soul, and while we are making the confession, the dark thought
   crosses our soul, "God has forsaken thee; he will never accept thee
   again. Thou hast sinned so foully that he will blot thy name out of the
   covenant; thou hast stumbled so fearfully that thy feet shall never
   stand upon the rock again--thou hast stumbled to thy fall; thou hast
   fallen to thy fell destruction." Have you not known this, Christian?
   When for a season you have been led to backslide, when you have lost
   your first love and have become degenerate, when you have put out your
   hand to touch the unlawful thing through some sudden surprisal--has not
   this been thrown in your teeth?" Ah, wretch that you are, God will
   never forgive that sin: you have been so ungrateful, such a hypocrite,
   such a liar against the Lord your God, that now--now he will cast you
   away, throw you upon a dunghill like salt that has lost its savor, and
   as fit for nothing." Ah, friends, you and I know what this means. And I
   dare say David did too. He had to feel all the power of this poisoned
   arrow after his great sin, when he went up to his chamber and wept and
   bemoaned himself, and there cried out in agony, "Wash me thoroughly
   from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin." A select opportunity
   this for shooting this arrow. Just where the sin has been Satan marks,
   and then he sends a suggestion. Wherever there is a wound of sin, it is
   wonderful how this arrow will work, and what a burning it will give to
   our blood till every vein becomes a road for the hot feet of pain to
   travel on, and all our flesh is made to tingle with this evil thought,
   "I have sinned, and the reprover of man has reproved me to my face and
   cast me from his presence, and he will be gracious to me no more."
   Another season when Satan usually shoots this arrow is the time of
   great trouble. There is a broad river across your path, and you are
   bidden to ford it. You go in and you find the water is up to your
   knees. Anon, as you wade on it becomes breast-high. But you comfort
   yourself with this thought, "When thou passest through the waters I
   will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow
   thee." Cheered with this you go on; but you sink, and the water becomes
   deeper still. At last, it is almost gurgling in your throat! it is
   flowing over your very shoulders. Just then, when in the very deepest
   part of the stream, Satan appears on the bank, takes out his bow and
   shoots this fiery arrow.--"Thy God has forsaken thee." "Oh," saith the
   Christian, "I feared not as long as I heard the voice saying, Fear not,
   for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God.' But now," saith
   he, "my God hath forsaken me." And now the Christian begins to sink
   indeed, and if it be not for the mighty power of God, it will not be
   Satan's fault if he doth not drown thee in the midst of the flood. What
   a malicious devil is this, that must always send us a fresh trouble,
   and most grievous of all, send it when we are in our very worst
   distress. He is a coward, indeed; he always hits a man when he is down.
   When I am up and on my feet I am more than a match for Satan, but when
   I begin to stumble through great trouble, out comes the dragon from the
   pit, and begins to roar at me, and to draw his sword, and hurl his
   fiery darts; for now, says he, "man's extremity shall be my
   opportunity; now that his heart and flesh fails--now will I make a full
   end of him." You also know, some of you, what that means. You could
   bear the trouble well, but you could not bear the dreary thought that
   God has forsaken you in your trouble. Another season, too, in which
   Satan shoots this fiery dart is before some great labor. I am often
   vexed and perplexed with this dark thought when I have to appear before
   you on the Sabbath day; I frequently come here with that ringing in my
   ears:--"God will forsake thee; thou shalt fall before the congregation;
   the word shall not go home with power; thou shalt labor in vain, and
   spend thy strength for nought." Thousands of times have I preached the
   gospel, yet to this day does that same arrow come flying up, and still
   does it vex and perplex my heart. If there be anything greater for a
   Christian to do, than he has been accustomed to do in former times, it
   is generally then that Satan levels this battle, when there is a deep
   soil to be ploughed, and the plough it heavy, and the oxen are faint,
   and the ploughman thinks he shall not accomplish his weary work, then
   it is that up comes this dark thought--"The Lord hath forsaken thee,
   and where art thou now?" The like doth he do at another season, namely,
   times of unanswered prayer. You have been up to God's throne asking for
   a blessing; you have been five, six, twelve times, and you have had no
   answer; you go again; and you are just wrestling with God and the
   blessing seems as if it must come; but no, it does not come, and you
   bring your burden away on your back once more. You have been wont to
   cast all your cares upon God, and come away rejoicing; but now you find
   that prayer hath no return of blessing; it seems to be a waste of
   words. Then up comes Satan, just at the moment, and he says, "God hath
   forsaken you, if you were a child of God, he would answer your prayer;
   he would not leave you crying so long in the dark as this, if you were
   one of his beloved children. Why, he hears his people! Look at Elijah
   how he heard him. Remember Jacob; how he wrestled with the angel and
   prevailed. Oh," says Satan, "God has forsaken thee." Ah, Satan we have
   heard that aforetime. "Yes, but," says he, "his mercy is clean gone for
   ever. The heavens have become like brass, the Shekinah is gone up from
   between the wings of the cherubim, his house is left empty and void;
   Ichabod is written on thy closet; thou shalt never have an answer
   again. Go speak to the winds, spread your griefs to the pitiless sea,
   for God's ear is shut, and he will never move his arm to work
   deliverance for thee."

   Now, am I not justified in saying that this arrow is very often shot. I
   may not have mentioned all the instances in which it has been shot at
   you, but I am certain that if you are a child of God, there have been
   times and seasons when this desperate insinuation has come up from
   hell--"God hath forgotten thee: he hath cast thee off: thou art left to
   thyself, and thou shalt perish." At any rate, if you have never said
   it, remember it is written in God's word that Zion saith "My God hath
   forgotten me;" and call to your recollection that gracious answer "Can
   a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion
   on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget
   thee." The arrow; then, is often shot.

   Then let me remark with regard to this arrow, again that it is most
   grievous. Other troubles only wound the Christian's' flesh; they do but
   pierce with skin deep wounds; but this is a shot that goes right deep
   into his heart. When Satan is shooting other arrows we can laugh at
   him, for they rattle against our buckler; but this one finds out the
   joints of the harness, and it goes right through from one side to the
   other, till we are compelled to say, "As with a sword in my bones, mine
   enemies reproach one; while they say daily unto me, Where is thy God?"
   This is hitting the target in the very center. This is skillful
   riflery, indeed, when Satan is able to send this arrow right into the
   eve of the soul. Other troubles are like surface storms. They toss the
   ocean into an apparent storm, and there are big waves on the top, but
   all is still and calm down in the caverns beneath. But this dark
   thought makes the ocean boil to its very bottom; it stirs the soul up
   until there is not one place in which there is rest; neither a cavern
   of the heart, nor a corner of the conscience in which the spirit has
   peace. This arrow, I say, is one of hell's masterpieces, there is more
   craft and skill in it than aught else Satan has ever done. It is the
   worst of his arrows because it grieves the Spirit exceedingly. And
   there is another thought I must throw out. Not only is this arrow
   grievous, but it is very dangerous. For if, my brethren, we believe
   this accusation against God, it is not long before we begin to sin. Let
   the Christian know that his God is with him, and temptation will have
   little power, but when God has forsaken us, as we think that he has,
   ah! then, when Satan offers us some back door by which to escape from
   our troubles, how very easily shall we be tempted to adopt his
   expedients. A merchant who knows that his God is with him, may see
   trade going from him, and his house verging to bankruptcy, but he will
   not do a dishonest thing. But let him imagine that God is against him,
   then Satan will say, "See, merchant, one of God's children, you have
   been deceived, he will never help you;" and then, he is tempted to do
   something which in his conscience he knows to be wrong. "God will not
   deliver me," he says; "then I will try to deliver myself." There is
   great danger in this. Take heed to yourself then that ye "take unto you
   the whole armor of God," and "above all, take the shield of faith,
   wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the
   wicked." I will make but one other observation upon this fiery dart;
   and that is, it bears the full impression of its Satanic maker. None
   but the devil could be the author of such a thought as this--that God
   has forsaken his people. Look it in the face, Christian, and see if it
   has not got the horns of the Evil One stamped on its brow? Does not the
   cloven foot peep out? Look at it; why, it is the devil's own child.
   Why, bethink thee, Christian, this Evil One is making thee doubt thy
   own Father. He is bidding thee distrust a faithful God. He is calling
   in question the promise which says, "I will never leave thee, nor
   forsake thee." He is making you accuse God of perjury. As if he could
   break his oath, and run back from the covenant which he has made with
   Christ on thy behalf. Why, none but the devil could have the impudence
   to suggest such a thought as that. Cast it from thee, believer; fling
   it away to the very depths of the sea; it is unworthy of thee to harbor
   it for a moment. Thy God forsake thee? Impossible! He is too good. Thy
   God forsake thee? It is utterly impossible! He is too true. Could he
   forsake his children, he would have forsaken his integrity; he would
   have ceased to be God, when he ceased to succor and help his own. Rest
   thou, then, in that, and ward the fiery dart off; for hellish, indeed,
   it is, and the name of its maker is stamped upon it legibly.

   II. In the second place, let me notice THE DIVINE BUCKLER WHICH GOD HAS
   PROVIDED FOR HIS CHURCH AGAINST THIS FIERY DART. Here it is; it is the
   fact that God never has forsaken them that fear him, and that,
   moreover, he never will do so.

   Ah, my brethren, if we could but once believe the doctrine that the
   child of God might fall from grace and perish everlastingly, we might,
   indeed, shut up our Bible in despair. To what purpose would my
   preaching be--the preaching of a rickety gospel like that? To what
   purpose your faith--a faith in a God that cannot and would not carry on
   to the end? To what use the blood of Christ, if it were shed in vain,
   and did not bring the blood-bought ones securely home? To what purpose
   the Spirit, if he were not omnipotent enough to overcome our wandering,
   to arrest our sins and make us perfect, and present us faultless before
   the throng of God at last? That doctrine of the final perseverance of
   the saints is, I believe, as thoroughly bound up with the standing or
   falling of the gospel, as is the article of justification by faith.
   Give that up and I see no gospel left. I see no beauty in religion that
   is worthy of my acceptance, or that deserves my admiration. An
   unchanging God, an everlasting covenant, a sure mercy, these are the
   things that my soul delights in, and I know your hearts love to feed
   upon them. But take these away, and what have we? We have a foundation
   of wood, hay, straw, and stubble. We have nothing solid. We have a fort
   of earth-works, a mud hovel through which the thief may break and steal
   away our treasures. Nay, this foundation stands sure--"The Lord knoweth
   them that are his;" and he doth so know them that he will certainly
   bring them every one to his right hand at last in glory everlasting.

   But to return to our text, and to offer you some few words of comfort
   which may tend to quench the fiery dart of the wicked one. The psalmist
   says, "Thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee." I call up
   before you now, one by one as witnesses, the saints of God in the olden
   time. You are in great trouble to-day and Satan suggests that now God
   has forsaken you. Come hither, Jacob! we read thy testimony. Wast thou
   a man of trouble? "Ah," saith he, "few and evil were my days." Evil,
   man?--what meanest thou? "I mean that they were full of sorrow, full of
   perplexity, full of fear and trouble." And what is thy testimony,
   Jacob? We have heard that thou didst seek God in prayer. Didst thou not
   wrestle with the angel at the brook Jabbok, and prevail? Speak, man,
   and tell these doubting hearts, did God forsake thee? Methinks I see
   that hoary patriarch lifting up his hands, and he cries, "I trembled to
   meet my brother, Esau. I stayed at the brook Jabbok, and I said, Lord,
   give deliverance from him whom I think bloodthirsty.' I crossed the
   brook full of fear and trembling, but tell it, O let it be known for
   the comfort of others in like trouble with me, I met my brother Esau,
   and he fell upon my neck and kissed me. He would not take the tribute
   which I offered him. He became my friend and we loved each other. God
   had turned his heart, and he took no vengeance upon me. But," continued
   the patriarch, "I was always a doubting man, I was always a careful
   man; I had so much cunning and craft about me that I could not trust
   anything in the hands of my Covenant God, and this always brought me
   into care and trouble. but," says he, "I bear my witness that I never
   had need to have troubled myself at all; if I had but left it all in
   the hand of God, all would have been well. I remember," saith he, "and
   I tell it to you now, when my son Joseph was sold into Egypt what
   sorrow I had in my heart, for I said, My grey hairs shall be brought
   with sorrow to the grave, for Joseph my son is, without a doubt, rent
   in pieces.' And then it happened on a day that Simeon was taken away
   from me; and there came a message out of Egypt that Benjamin must go
   down. And I remember well what I said Joseph is not, and Simeon is not,
   and now they will take Benjamin away. All these things are against me.'
   But they were not against me," says the old man, "they were for me,
   every one of them. Joseph, that I said was not, was; he was sitting
   upon the throne; he had prepared for me a habitation in Egypt. As for
   Simeon, he was a hostage there; and that was not against me, for
   perhaps I should scarce have sent my sons down at all if it had not
   been for the hope that they would bring Simeon back. And now," says
   Jacob, "I retract every word I have said against the Lord my God, and I
   stand before you to bear my testimony that not one good thing hath
   failed of all that the Lord God hath promised. My shoes were iron and
   brass, and as my days so was my strength."

   I hear a mourner say, "Mine is not a case of trouble and sorrow; mine
   is a case of duty. I have a duty to perform that is too heavy for me,
   and I am afraid I shall never accomplish it." Here comes another of the
   ancients to bear his witness. It is Moses; let him speak. "I thought,"
   said he, "when God called me from keeping the flocks of my father in
   the desert by the mount of Horeb, I thought I never could be strong
   enough for the office to which I had been ordained. I said unto my
   Lord, who am I, that I should go unto Pharoah? And I said unto him
   again, Lord, thou knowest I am not eloquent; the children of Israel
   will not believe me, for I shall not have skill enough in oratory to
   persuade them to follow my words. But the Lord said, Certainly I will
   be with thee. And lo," says Moses, "as my days so was my strength. I
   had strength enough to stand before Pharoah, strength enough to shake
   the whole land of Egypt, and strength enough to divide the Red Sea and
   drown all Pharoah's hosts. I had strength enough to endure with an evil
   generation forty years in the wilderness, strength enough to take their
   idol god and grind it in pieces, and make them drink the water upon
   which I had strewn the atoms. I had strength enough to lead them on
   from day to day, to command the rock and it gushed with water, to speak
   to the heavens and they sent down the manna. And when I went up at last
   to my grave, and looked from the top of Nebo, I, who had once been
   fearful, saw with transport the land to which the Lord's people had
   been brought, and my soul was taken away with a kiss, and I departed in
   peace." Hear that, then, O laboring one; the God that helped Moses will
   help thee. Moses sought God, and God did not forsake him; nor will he
   forsake thee.

   But saith another, "I am exposed to slander, men speak evil of me; no
   lie is too bad for them to utter against me." Ah, my friend, permit me
   to refer you to another ancient saint; it is the saint who wrote this
   psalm--David. Let him stand up and speak. "Ah!" saith he "from the
   first day when I went forth to fight Goliath even to the end of my life
   I was the subject of shame and slander. Doeg the Edomite, Saul, and
   multitudes of men, the men of Belial, like Shimei, all accused me. I
   was the song of the drunkard; I was the harlot's jest. Nothing was too
   bad for David. All mine enemies went round about the city like dogs,
   that bay all night and rest not even at morning." And what didst thou
   do, David? "Oh," said he, "I said, My soul, wait thou only upon God,
   for my expectation is from him.'" And didst thou prove that God was thy
   deliverer? "Ah, yes--yes," saith he, "I have pursued my enemies, and I
   have overtaken them.' Thou hast smitten all my enemies upon the
   cheek-bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly.'" And so shall
   you find it, my hearers, God has not forsaken you, even though you be
   slandered. Remember it is the lot of God's greatest servants to bear
   the worst character amongst worldlings. Whose character is safe in
   these days? What man among us may not be accused of any indecency? Who
   among us can hope to stand immaculate when liars are so rife, and
   charges are so abundant? Be content and bear the slander. Remember, the
   higher the tower the longer will be the shadow; and often, the higher a
   man's character the fouler will be the slander that comes out against
   him. But remember, "no weapon that is formed against thee shall
   prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou
   shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and
   their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord."

   If ye need any other witnesses I could bring them. Let Shadrach,
   Meshech, and Abednego come forth. Ye Hebrew children, ye stood in the
   midst of coals when the furnace was white with heat; did God forsake
   you? "No," they say, "our hair was not singed, nor had the smell of
   fire passed on our garments." Speak, O Daniel! Thou didst stand a night
   in the midst of the furious lions, who had been starved for days that
   they might devour thee in their hunger; what sayest thou? "My God,"
   saith he, "hath sent his angel to shut the lions' mouths; my God, whom
   I serve, hath not forsaken me." But time would fail me if I should tell
   you of those who have "shut the mouths of lions, quenched the violence
   of fire, obtained promises, wrought victories, put to flight the armies
   of aliens; "yet we might enlarge for a moment upon the history of great
   martyrs. Has God left one of them? They have suffered at the stake;
   their limbs have been stretched on the rack; every nerve has been
   strained; every bone has been dislocated. They have had their eyes
   plucked out; they have had their flesh rent away piecemeal to the bone
   with hot pincers, they have been dragged at the heels of horses, burnt
   on gridirons, hung up before slow fires. They have seen their infants
   cut in pieces before their eyes, their wives and daughters ravished,
   their houses burned, their country laid desolate. But has God forsaken
   them? Has the world triumphed? Has God left his children? "Nay, in all
   these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For
   I am persuaded, that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor
   principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor
   height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us
   from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

   Another question is suggested, however, for your comfort, Christian; I
   have brought many witnesses to prove that Christ does not forsake his
   children; let me ask you to step into the witness box. You say that God
   has forsaken you--I will put a question or two to you. When your wife
   lay sick, and there were three little ones in the house and she
   approached to death, and you cried in agony to God and said, "God, thou
   hast forsaken me. My business fails me, and now my wife is to be taken
   from me! what shall I do with these little ones?" Answer this question;
   did God forsake you then? "Nay," you say, "my wife still lives, she was
   restored to me." But when one of your children lay a-dying and the
   others were seized with fever, you then said, "My wife again is sick;
   what shall I do with this house of sickness? Now, God has forsaken me.
   I shall never bear this trial." Did you bear it? "Oh, yes," say you, "I
   passed through it and I can say, Blessed be the name of God, the
   affliction was sanctified to me.'" Do you recollect the heavy loss you
   sustained in business? Not one but many; loss came after loss; every
   speculation in which you had been engaged broke down under you. You had
   many bills coming in, and you said. "Now, I shall not be able to meet
   them; and as a Christian man you shuddered to think of bankruptcy. You
   even went up with your wife into your chamber--and you two went on your
   knees and poured out your case before God, and asked him to help you.
   Did God leave you? "No," say you, "as by a miracle I was delivered I
   cannot tell how it was, but I came out of it clean." And yet again,
   another question to another one of you. Do you remember when you were
   in sin, before you had received pardon, your guilt was heavy upon you,
   and you sought God and cried to him. Did God deny you? "No," you say,
   "blessed be his name, I can remember the happy day when he said your
   sins which are many are all forgiven.'" Well, you have often sinned
   since then. But let me ask you, when you have made confession of sin,
   have you not been restored? has he not lifted up upon you once more the
   light of his countenance? "Well," you say, "I must say he has." Then, I
   ask you in the name of everything that is true and holy, nay, in the
   name of everything that is reasonable, how dare you say that God has
   forsaken you now? Retract the word! Slay the thought! It cannot, must
   not be--

   "Each sweet Ebenezer you have in review,

   Confirms his good pleasure to help you quite through."

   He would not have done this much for you, if he meant to leave you.
   Thus, it cannot be, that he who has been with you in six troubles will
   leave you in the seventh. He has not brought you through so many fires
   to let you be burned at last. Nay, take heart--

   "His grace shall to the end

   Stronger and brighter shine,

   Not present things, nor things to come,

   Shall quench the spark divine "

   within thy heart; much less quench the fire even which still burns in
   his infinite breast. God hath not forsaken thee as yet.

   Still further to drive the thought away, I will very rapidly run
   through a few precious things. Were you not cold on your way hither
   this morning. Did you not see the snow upon the ground, and do you dare
   to doubt God? He hath said, "While the earth remaineth, seed time and
   harvest, summer and winter, cold and heat shall never cease;" and he
   keeps his word. And yet you think, though he keeps that word he will
   forget the word that he has spoken concerning you. You come here in
   trouble this morning. Do you not see that God is true? that your very
   trouble is a proof that he has not forsaken you? If you never had any
   trouble, then God would have broken his promise, for did not Jesus
   Christ leave you it as a legacy? "In the world ye shall have
   tribulation." There, you have got it. That proves that God is true.
   Now, you have a part of the legacy, you shall have the rest:--"In the
   world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer; I have overcome
   the world." So that the very weather without, and your troubles within,
   ought to forbid your doubting the faithfulness of your God. But look
   here. Has not God made you a promise, saying, "I will never leave thee
   nor forsake thee?" Would you like to be called a promise-breaker? Shall
   I point my finger at you, and say, "There's a man whose word is not to
   be relied on?" Will you point that same finger to God, and say, "His
   word is not to be taken, he is not to be trusted?" What! do you think
   your God is dishonorable? that he will give a promise and break it? not
   keep it? forget it? fail to remember it? What! God, the God of glory,
   prove dishonorable? It must not, cannot be. Recollect, again, he has
   given you his oath. Can you think that he will break that? Because he
   could swear by no greater he sware by himself. Shall God be perjured?
   You would not think that of your meanest fellow-creature; will you
   think that of your greatest and best friend? Again, would you leave
   your child? would you forsake it utterly? You might hide your face from
   it for awhile to do it good, because it had been disobedient. but will
   you chasten your child always? never kiss it, never caress it, never
   call it your loved one? It is not in a father's heart to be always
   angry with his child. And will God forsake you? Will he cast you out
   into this wide, desolate world and let you die and become the prey of
   his great enemy? Oh, think not so hardly of your Father. If any man
   should come to me, and tell me that my father had said such-and-such
   things about me unkind and disrespectful, I would show him the door,
   and say, "Get thee gone! my father would never do that: he loves me too
   much to do that." And when the devil comes and says, "Your Father has
   forgotten you," tell him to begone--you know too much of your Father
   ever to believe that. Say to him, "Get thee gone! it cannot be; get
   thee gone, Satan! Tell it to thy own companions, but tell it not to the
   heir of heaven." Then again, Christian, Thou believest that God has
   loved thee from before the foundation of the world; and yet after
   having loved you so long he has left off loving you now. Strange thing!
   Love without a beginning, yet such love to have an end. Singular thing!
   Eternal at one end and temporal at the other. Strange supposition! Put
   it away from thee. Besides, again, can Christ forget thee! Art thou not
   a member of his body, of his flesh and his bones? Has the Head
   forgotten a finger? Has he, who did hang upon the tree and who wrote
   thy name in wounds upon his hand and on his side, has he forgotten?
   What! Jesus thy own brother, thy husband, thy head, thy all, what! he
   forget? he forsake? Down blaspheming thought! Back to the hell from
   which thou dost spring! Down! down! down! My soul lifts up her head
   triumphantly, and cries, "Thou Lord hast not forsaken them that seek
   thee," nor wilt thou do so, world without end.

   III. I now come to the third and last point, and on this I shall dwell
   very briefly--MAN'S PRECIOUS PRIVILEGE TO SEEK GOD IN HIS DAY OF
   TROUBLE.

   To what use, to what purpose is the buckler if we wear it not? Of what
   service the shield if it be permitted to rust in the house? We must
   take hold upon the promise of a faithful God; we must seize the comfort
   which he offers; but how is it to be done? Why, in prayer. Seek ye the
   Lord ye tried and troubled ones, and ye shall soon find your troubles
   stayed, your trials sweetly alleviated. We go rambling round, and
   round, and round, to find peace. Would that we could stay at home in
   our closets with our God; we should find peace much better there. We go
   to our neighbors, we call our friends, we tell them our woes and ask
   their sympathy

   "Were half the breath that's vainly spent,

   To heaven in supplication sent,

   Our cheerful song would oftener be,

   Hear what the Lord hath done for me."

   Go Christian brother in your troubles and seek God. It is not possible
   that you can perish praying. If you could perish singing, you could not
   perish praying on your knees. Think ye that while you can plead a
   Father's love, and cry with the Spirit of adoption to him, that you can
   be forsaken? If you forsake the throne, then may you indeed have a fear
   that you are forsaken. But when the Spirit draws you to the mercy-seat,
   such a fear must vanish, for if thou art at the mercy-seat, God is
   there too. God loves the mercy-seat better than thou dost. He dwelleth
   between the cherubim; thou only goest there sometimes. But that is his
   abiding-place, his mercy-seat, where he always sits. Go thou, then, I
   tell thee, and thou canst not be destroyed; thy ruin is impossible,
   whilst thou dost cry, "Let us pray!"

   And have I here this morning some that are oppressed with guilt? Dear
   hearer, however great your sins may have been, if thou dost seek God,
   thou canst not perish, for "thou Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek
   thee." Methinks, I hear some one say, "Oh, that just suits me. I fear I
   have no faith; I am afraid I don't repent as I ought. But I know I seek
   Christ; I am sure I am seeking him." Ah! so then this promise is thine.
   Take it home with thee. Suck it; get at its juice. Here, indeed, is a
   cluster full of new wine for thee. Take it home with thee:--"Thou,
   Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee." Seek, and ye shall find,
   knock, and the door shall surely be opened to you.

   May God now grant his blessing, for Jesu's sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                 "Let Us Pray"

   A Sermon

   (No. 288)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, November 6th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   "But it is good for me to draw near to God."--Psalm 73:23.

   THERE ARE MANY WAYS by which the true believer draws near to God. The
   gates of the king's palace are many; and through the love of Jesus, and
   the rich grace of his Spirit, it is our delight to enter and approach
   our heavenly Father. First and foremost among these is communion, that
   sweet converse which man holds with God, that state of nearness to God,
   in which our mutual secrets are revealed--our hearts being open unto
   him, his heart being manifested to us. Here it is we see the invisible,
   and hear the unutterable. The outward symbol of fellowship is the
   sacred Supper of the Lord at which, by means of simple emblems, we are
   divinely enabled to feed, after a spiritual sort, upon the flesh and
   blood of the Redeemer. This is a pearly gate of fellowship, a royal
   road which our feet delight to tread. Moreover, we draw near to God
   even in our sighs and tears, when our desolate spirits long for his
   sacred presence, crying, "Whom have I in heaven but thee, and there is
   none upon earth that I desire beside thee!" And as often as we read the
   promise written in the Word, and are enabled to receive it and rest
   upon it as the very words of a Covenant God, we do ready "Draw near to
   him."

   Nevertheless, prayer is the best used means of drawing near to God. You
   will excuse me, then, if in considering my text this morning, I confine
   myself entirely to the subject of prayer. It is in prayer mainly, that
   we draw near to God, and certainly it can be said emphatically of
   prayer, it is good for every man who knoweth how to practice that
   heavenly art, in it to draw near unto God. To assist your memories,
   that the sermon may abide with you in after days, I shall divide my
   discourse this morning in a somewhat singular manner; first, I shall
   look upon my text as being a touchstone, by which we may try our
   prayers, ay, and try ourselves too. Then I shall take the text as a
   whetstone to sharpen our desires, to make us more earnest, and more
   diligent in supplication, because "it is good to draw near to God" and
   then, I shall have the solemn task in the last place of using it as a
   tombstone, with a direful epitaph upon it for those who do not know
   what it is to draw near to God; for "A prayerless soul is a Christless
   soul."

   I. First, then, regard my text as A TOUCHSTONE by which you may test
   your prayers, and thus try yourselves.

   That is not prayer of which it cannot be said that there was in it a
   drawing near unto God. Come hither then with your supplications. I see
   one coming forward who says, "I am in the daily habit of using a form
   of prayer both at morning and at evening. I could not be happy if I
   went abroad before I had first repeated my morning prayer, nor could I
   rest at night without again going over the holy sentence appointed for
   use at eventide. Sir, my form is the very best that could possibly be
   written; it was compiled by a famous bishop, one who was glorified in
   martyrdom, and ascended to his God in a fiery chariot of flame." My
   friend, I am glad to hear, if you use a form, that you use the best. If
   we must have forms at all, let them be of the most excellent kind. So
   far so good. But let me ask you a question, I am not about to condemn
   you for any form you may have used, but tell me now, and tell me
   honestly from your inmost soul, have you drawn near to God while you
   have been repeating those words? for if not, O solemn thought! all the
   prayers you have ever uttered have been an idle mockery. You have said
   prayers, but you have never prayed in your life. Imagine not that there
   is any enchantment in any particular set of words. You might as well
   repeat the alphabet backwards, or the "Abracadabra" of a wizard, as go
   over the best form in the world, unless there is something more than
   form in it. Have you drawn near to God? Suppose that one of us should
   be desirous of presenting a petition to the House of Commons. We wisely
   ask in what manner the petition should be worded: we procure the exact
   phrases; and suppose that in the morning we rise and read this form, or
   repeat it to ourselves, and conclude with, "And your petitioners will
   ever pray," and the like. We do the same again at night, the same the
   next day, and for months we continue the practice. One day meeting some
   member of the House, we accost him and astonish him by saying, "Sir, I
   wonder I have never had an answer from the House, I have been
   petitioning these last six months, and the form that I used was the
   most accurate that could be procured." "But," says he, "how was your
   petition presented?" "Presented! I had not thought of that, I have
   repeated it." "Ay," he would say, "and you may repeat it many a long
   day before any good comes from it! it is not the repeating it, but the
   presenting of the petition, and having it pleaded by some able friend
   that will get you the boon you desire." And so it may be, my friend,
   that you have been repeating collects and prayers; and have you
   ignorantly imagined that you have prayed? Why, your prayer has never
   been presented. You have not laid it before the bleeding Lamb of God,
   and have not asked him to take it for you into the sacred place where
   God abideth, and there to present the petition with his own merits
   before his Father's throne. I will not bid thee cease from thy form;
   but I do beseech thee by the living God, either cease from it, or else
   beg the Holy Spirit to enable thee to draw near to God in it. Oh, I
   beseech you, take not what I may say for any censoriousness; I speak
   now as God's own messenger in this matter. Thy prayer has not been
   heard, and it neither can nor will be answered unless there be in it a
   true and real desire to draw near to God.

   "Ah," saith another, "I am pleased to hear these remarks, for I am in
   the habit of offering extempore prayer every morning and evening, and
   at other times; besides, I like to hear you speak against the form,
   sir." Mark, I did not speak against the form, that is not my business
   upon this occasion. One class of sinners is always pleased to hear
   another class of sinners found fault with. You say you offer an
   extempore supplication. I bring your prayer to the same touchstone as
   the former. What is there in the form that you can extemporize, that it
   should be so much better than that which was composed by some holy man
   of God? Possibly your extempore form is not worth a farthing, and if it
   could be written, might be a disgrace to prayer-makers. I bring you at
   once to the test--have you in your prayer drawn near to God? When you
   have been on your knees in the morning, have you thought that you were
   talking to the King of heaven and earth? Have you breathed your
   desires, not to the empty winds, but into the ear of the Eternal? Have
   you desired to come to him and tell to him your wants, and have you
   sought at his hands the answer to your requests? Remember, you have not
   prayed successfully or acceptably unless you have in prayer endeavored
   to draw near to God. Suppose now, (to take a case) that I should desire
   some favor of a friend. I shut myself up alone, and I commence
   delivering an oration, pleading earnestly for the boon I need. I repeat
   this at night, and so on month after month. At last I meet my friend
   and I tell him that I have been asking a favor of him, and that he has
   never heard my prayer. "Nay," saith he "I have never seen you, you
   never spoke to me." "Ah, but you should have heard what I said; if you
   had but heard it surely it would have moved your heart." "Ah," saith
   he, "but then you did not address it to me. You wrote a letter, you
   tell me, in moving strains, but did you post the letter? Did you see it
   was delivered to me?" "No, no," you say, "I kept the letter after I had
   written it. I never sent it to you." Now mark, it is just the same with
   extempore prayer. You plead; but if you are not pleading with God, to
   what effect is your pleading? You talk, but if you are not talking to a
   manifestly present God, to what effect is all your talking? If you do
   not seek to come near to him, what have you done? You have offered
   sacrifice, mayhap, but it has been upon your own high places, and the
   sacrifice has been an abomination. You have not brought it up to God's
   one altar; you have not come up to the mercy-seat, where is his own
   visible presence! You have not drawn near to God, and consequently your
   prayers, though they be multiplied by tens of thousands, are utterly
   valueless to your soul's benefit. Drawing near to God is an
   indispensable requisite in accepted prayer.

   But, now, lest I should be misunderstood as to this drawing near to
   God, let me attempt to describe it in degrees, for all men cannot draw
   near to God with the same nearness of access. When first the life of
   grace begins in the soul you will draw near to God, but it will be with
   great fear and trembling. The soul conscious of guilt, and humbled
   thereby, is overawed with the solemnity of its position; it is cast to
   the earth with the grandeur of that God in whose presence it stands. I
   remember the first time I ever sincerely prayed in my life; but the
   words I used I remember not. Surely there were few enough words in that
   petition. I had often repeated a form. I had been in the habit of
   continually repeating it. At last I came really to pray; and then I saw
   myself standing before God, in the immediate presence of the
   heart-searching Jehovah, and I said within myself. "I have heard of
   thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore
   I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes." I felt like Esther when
   she stood before the King, faint and overcome with dread. I was full of
   penitence of heart, because of his majesty and my sinfulness. I think
   the only words I could utter were something like these: "Oh!--Ah!" And
   the only complete sentence was, "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" The
   overwhelming splendor of his majesty, the greatness of his power, the
   severity of his justice, the immaculate character of his holiness, and
   all his dreadful grandeur--these things overpowered my soul, and I fell
   down in utter prostration of spirit. But there was in that a true and
   real drawing near to God. Oh, if some of you when you are in your
   churches and chapels, did but realize that you are in God's presence,
   surely you might expect to see scenes more marvellous than any of the
   convulsions of the Irish revival. If you knew that God was there, that
   you were speaking to him, that in his ear you were uttering that oft
   repeated confession, "We have done the things that we ought not to have
   done, we have left undone the things that we ought to have done."--ah,
   my friends, there would be then a deep humility and a solemn abasement
   of spirit. May God grant to us all, as often as we offer prayer of any
   sort, that we may truly and really draw near to him, even if it be only
   in this sense.

   In after life as the Christian grows in grace, although he will never
   forget the solemnity of his position, and never will lose that holy awe
   which must overshadow a gracious man, when he is in the presence of a
   God, who can create or can destroy, yet that fear has all its terror
   taken out of it; it becomes a holy reverence, and no more a slavish
   abject dread. Then the man of God, walking amid the splendours of
   deity, and veiling his face like the glorious cherubim, with those twin
   wings, the blood and righteousness of Jesus Christ, will, reverent and
   bowed in spirit, approach the throne, and seeing there a God of love,
   of goodness, and of mercy, he will realize rather the covenant
   character of God than his absolute Deity. He will see in God rather his
   goodness than his greatness, and more of his love than of his majesty.
   Then will the soul, bowing again as reverently as before, enjoy a
   sacred liberty of intercession; for while humbled in the presence of
   the Infinite God, it is yet sustained by the divine consciousness of
   being in the presence of mercy and of love in infinite degree. This is
   a state to which men reach after they have had their sins forgiven,
   after they have passed from death unto life; then they come to rejoice
   in God, and draw near to him with confidence.

   There is yet a third and higher stage, which I fear, too few among us
   ever arrive at; when the child of God, awed by the splendor, and
   delighting in the goodness of God, sees something which is more
   enchanting to him than either of these, namely, the fact of his
   relationship to God. He sees on the throne, not simply goodness, but
   his Father's goodness, not merely love, but love which has from all
   eternity been set upon him; love which has made him its darling, which
   has written his name upon its breast, love which for his sake did even
   deign to die. Then the child of God comes near to the throne, then he
   taketh hold of his Father's knees, and though conscious of the
   greatness of the God, yet is he still more alive to the loveliness of
   the Father, and he cries, "My Father, hear my prayer and grant me my
   request, for Jesu's sake." In this position it sometimes happens that
   the child of God may pray in such a way that others cannot understand
   him at all. If you had heard Martin Luther pray, some of you would have
   been shocked, and perhaps it would have been presumption if you had
   prayed as he did, because Martin Luther was God's own son, and you,
   alas, are destitute of sonship. He had a liberty to talk to God as
   another man had not. If you are not the son of God, if you have no
   realization of your adoption, the utmost you can do is to come into the
   King's court as a humble beggar. May God give you grace to get further;
   may you come there, not simply as a petitioner, but as a follower of
   the Son of God--a servant. But happy is the man who has received his
   full adoption, and knows himself to be a son. It were rudeness for any
   one to do that to a king which a king's son may do. A king's own child
   may talk familiarly to his own parent, and there are love-doings and
   words of high and hallowed familiarity, and of close and sacred
   communing, between God and his own adopted child, that I could not tell
   you--things that are something like what Paul heard in Paradise, it is
   scarce lawful for a man to utter them in public, though in private he
   knows their sweetness. Ah I my dear hearers, some of you, I doubt not,
   know more about this than I do, but this I know, it is the happiest
   moment in one's life when we can go up to our Father and our God in
   Christ Jesus, and can know and feel of a surety that his infinite love
   is set on us, and that our love is gone forth to him. There is a sweet
   embrace that is not to be excelled. No chariots of Aminadib the
   heavenly rapture can describe--even Solomon's Song itself, glowing
   though its figures be, can scarcely reach the mystery--the length, the
   breadth, the height of the embracing of God by the creature, and the
   embracing of the creature by its God. Now, I repeat, it is not
   essential to the success of your prayers that you should come up to
   this last point. Possibly you never may attain to this eminence of
   grace. Nor even do I think that it is absolutely necessary that your
   prayer should come to the second point to be prayer. It should be so,
   and it will, as you grow in grace. But, mark, you must draw near to God
   in some one of these three grades either in a lowly sense of his
   majesty, or in a delightful consciousness of his goodness, or in a
   ravishing sense of your own relationship to him, or else your prayer is
   as worthless as the chaff, it is but as whispering to the wind, or the
   uttering of a cry to the desert air, where no ear can hear nor hand can
   help. Bring your prayers, then, to this touchstones and God help you to
   examine them, and be honest with yourselves, for your own soul's sake.

   II. I have thus concluded the touchstone. I now come to the second head
   of the discourse, which was THE WHETSTONE, to whet your desires, to
   make you more anxious to be much in prayer, and to be more earnest in
   it. "It is good for me to draw near to God."

   Now, first and foremost, let us remark that the goodness of prayer does
   not lie in any merit that there is in prayer itself. There is no merit
   whatever in prayer; and wherever the idea of the merit of prayer could
   come from one is at a loss to know, except that it must have come from
   a near relative of the Father of Lies, who resides somewhere in Italy.
   There is no doubt that old Rome was the birthplace of the idea, it is
   too absurd and wicked to have come from any less abominable place. If a
   beggar should be always on your door-step, or should be always meeting
   you in the street, or stopping you on your journeys, and asking you to
   give him help, I suppose the last thing you would understand would be
   the merit of his prayers. You would say, "I can understand their
   impudence, I can allow their earnestness, I can comprehend their
   importunity, but as for merit, what merit can there be in a beggar's
   cry?" Remember, your prayers at the best are nothing but a beggar's
   cry. You still stand as beggars at the gate of mercy, asking for the
   dole of God's charity, for the love of Jesus. And he gives freely. But
   he gives, not because of your prayers, but because of Christ's blood
   and Christ's merit. Your prayers may be the sacred vessel in which he
   puts the alms of his mercy; but the merit by which the mercy comes is
   in the veins of Christ, and nowhere else. Remember that there can be no
   merit in a beggar's cry.

   But, now, let us note that it nevertheless is good, practically good
   for us to pray and draw near to God; and the first thing which would
   whet our desires in prayer is this:--Prayer explains mysteries. I utter
   that first because it is in the Psalm. Poor Asaph had been greatly
   troubled. He had been trying to untie that Gordion knot concerning the
   righteousness of a providence which permits the wicked to flourish and
   the godly to be tried, and because he could not untie that knot, he
   tried to cut it, and he cut his own fingers in the act, and became
   greatly troubled. He could not understand how it was that God could be
   just and yet give riches to the wicked while his own people were in
   poverty. At last Asaph understood it all, for he went into the house of
   his God, and there he understood their end. And he says--looking back
   upon his discovery of a clue to this great labyrinth--"It is good for
   me to draw near to God." And now, my dear hearers, if you would
   understand the Word of God in its knotty points, if you would
   comprehend the mystery of the gospel of Christ, remember, Christ's
   scholars must study upon their knees. Depend upon it, that the best
   commentator upon the Word of God is its author, the Holy Ghost, and if
   you would know the meaning, you must go to him in prayer. Often when a
   psalm has staggered me in reading it, and I have not understood it,--if
   I have knelt down and tried to read it over in that position, and see
   if I could realize the meaning in my own heart, some one word in the
   text has glistened, and that one word has been the key to the whole.
   John Bunyan says that he never forgot the divinity he taught, because
   it was burnt into him when he was on his knees. That is the way to
   learn the gospel. If you learn it upon your knees you will never
   unlearn it. That which men teach you, men can unteach you. If I am
   merely convinced by reason, a better reasoner may deceive me. If I
   merely hold my doctrinal opinions because they seem to me to be
   correct, I may be led to think differently another day. But if God has
   taught them to me--he who is himself pure truth--I have not learned
   amiss, hut I have so learned that I shall never unlearn, nor shall I
   forget.

   Behold, believer, thou art this day in a labyrinth; whenever thou
   comest to a turning place, where there is a road to the right or to the
   left, if thou wouldst know which way to go, fall on thy knees, then go
   on; and when thou comest to the next turning place, on thy knees again,
   and so proceed again. The one clue to the whole labyrinth of
   providence, and of doctrinal opinion, and of sacred thought, is to be
   found in that one hallowed exercise--prayer. Continue much in prayer,
   and neither Satan nor the world shall much deceive you. Behold before
   you the sacred ark of truth. But where is the key? It hangs upon the
   silver nail of prayer; go reach it down, unlock the casket and be rich.

   A second whetstone for your prayers shall be this:--Prayer brings
   deliverances. In an old author I met with the following allegory; as I
   found it so I tell it to you. Once upon a time, the king of Jerusalem
   left his city in the custody of an eminent Captain, whose name was
   Zeal. He gave unto Zeal many choice warriors, to assist him in the
   protection of the city. Zeal was a right hearted man, one who never
   wearied in the day of battle, but would fight all day, and all night,
   even though his sword did cleave to his hand as the blood ran down his
   arm. But it happened upon this time, that the king of Arabia, getting
   unto himself exceeding great hosts and armies, surrounded the city, and
   prevented any introduction of food for the soldiers, or of ammunition
   to support the war. Driven to the last extremity, Captain Zeal called a
   council of war, and asked of them what course they should take. Many
   things were proposed, but they all failed to effect the purpose, and
   they came to the sad conclusion that nothing was before them but the
   surrender of the city, although upon the hardest terms. Zeal took the
   resolution of the council of war, but when he read it, he could not
   bear it. His soul abhorred it. "Better," said he, "to be cut in pieces,
   than surrender. Better for us to be destroyed while we are faithful,
   than to give up the keys of this royal city." In his great distress, he
   met a friend of his, called Prayer; and Prayer said to him, "Oh!
   captain, I can deliver this city." Now, Prayer was not a soldier, at
   least he did not look as if he was a warrior, for he wore the garments
   of a priest. In fact he was the king's chaplain, and was the priest of
   the holy city of Jerusalem. But nevertheless this Prayer was a valiant
   man, and wore armor beneath his robes. "Oh, captain," said he, "give me
   three companions and I will deliver this city--their names must be
   Sincerity, Importunity, and faith." Now these four brave men went out
   of the city at the dead of night when the prospects of Jerusalem were
   the very blackest, they cut their way right through the hosts that
   surrounded the city. With many wounds and much smuggling they made
   their escape, and traveled all that night long as quickly as they could
   across the plain, to reach the camp of the king of Jerusalem. When they
   flagged a little, Importunity would hasten them on; and when at any
   time they grew faint, Faith would give them a drink from his bottle,
   and they would recover. They came at last to the palace of the great
   king, the door was shut, but Importunity knocked long, and, at last it
   was opened. Faith stepped in; Sincerity threw himself on his face
   before the throne of the great king; and then Prayer began to speak. He
   told the king of the great straits in which the beloved city was now
   placed, the dangers that surrounded it, and the almost certainty that
   all the brave warriors would be cut in pieces by the morrow.
   Importunity repeated again and again the wants of the city. Faith
   pleaded hard the royal promise and covenant. At last the king said to
   Captain Prayer, "Take with thee soldiers and go back, lo, I am with
   thee to deliver this city." At the morning light, just when the day
   broke--for they had returned more swiftly than could have been
   expected, for though the journey seemed long in going there, it was
   very short in coming back, in fact they seemed to have gained time on
   the road--they arrived early in the morning, fell upon the hosts of the
   king of Arabia, took him prisoner, slew his army, and divided the
   spoil, and then entered the gates of the city of Jerusalem in triumph.
   Zeal put a crown of gold upon the head of Prayer, and decreed that
   henceforth whenever Zeal went forth to battle, Prayer should be the
   standard-bearer, and should lead the van. The allegory is full of
   truth; let him that heareth understand. If we would have deliverance in
   the hour, "Let us pray." Prayer shall soon bring sweet and merciful
   deliverances from the throne of our faithful God. This is the second
   sharpening of your desires upon the whetstone.

   And now a third. It was said of Faith, in that mighty chapter of the
   Hebrews, that Faith stopped the mouth of lions and the like. But one
   singular thing that Faith did, which is as great a miracle as any of
   them, was this: Faith obtained promises. Now the like can be said of
   Prayer. Prayer obtains promises; therefore "it is good for thee to draw
   near to God." We read a story in the History of England, whether true
   or not we cannot tell, that Queen Elizabeth gave to the Earl of Essex a
   ring, as a token of her favor. "When thou art in disgrace," she said,
   "send this ring to me. When I see it I will forgive thee, and accept
   thee again to favor." You know the story of that ill-fated noble, how
   he sent the ring by a faithless messenger, and it was never delivered,
   and therefore he perished at the block. Ah! God has given to each one
   of his people the sacred ring of promise. And he saith, "As often as
   thou art in need, or in sorrow, show it to me, and I will deliver
   thee." Take heed then, believer, that thou hast a faithful messenger.
   And what messenger canst thou employ so excellent as true, real,
   earnest prayer? But, take heed it be real prayer; for if thy messenger
   miscarry, and the promise be not brought to God's eye, who knoweth,
   thou mayest never obtain the blessing. Draw near to God with living,
   loving prayer; present the promise, and thou shalt obtain the
   fulfillment. Many things might I say of prayer; our old divines are
   full of enconiums concerning it. The early fathers speak of it as if
   they were writing sonnets. Chrysostom preached of it as if he saw it
   incarnate in some heavenly form. And the choicest metaphors were
   gathered together to describe in rapturous phrase the power, nay, the
   omnipotence of prayer. Would to God that we loved prayer as our fathers
   did of old. It is said of James the Less, that he was so much in prayer
   that his knees had become hard like those of a camel. It was doubtless
   but a legend, but legends often are based on truths. And certain it is
   that Hugh Latimer, that blessed saint and martyr of our God, was
   accustomed to pray so earnestly in his old age when he was in his cell,
   that he would often pray until he had no strength left to use, and the
   prison attendants had need to lift him from his knees. Where are the
   men like these? Oh angel of the covenant, where canst thou find them?
   When the Son of Man cometh shall he find prayer on the earth? Ours are
   not worthy of the name of supplication. Oh that we had learned that
   saved art, that we could draw near to God, and plead his promise. Watts
   hath put several things together in one verse. Prayer clears the sky;--

   "Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw."

   Prayer is a heaven climber;--

   "Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw."

   Prayer makes even Satan quake,--

   "For Satan trembles when he sees,

   The weakest saint upon his knees."

   I have thus given you three reasons why we should be diligent in
   prayer. Let me add yet another, for we must not leave this part of the
   whetstone until we have thoroughly entered into the reasons why "it is
   good for us to draw near unto God. Let me remark, that prayer has a
   mighty power to sustain the soul in every season of its distress and
   sorrow. Whenever the soul becomes weak, use the heavenly strengthening
   plaster of prayer. It was in prayer the angel appeared unto the Lord
   and strengthened him. That angel has appeared to may of us, and we have
   not forgotten the strength we received when on our knees. You remember
   in the ancient mythology the story of him who as often as he was thrown
   down recovered strength because he touched his mother earth. It is so
   with the believer. As often as he is thrown down upon his knees he
   recovers himself, for he touches the great source of his strength--the
   mercy-seat. If thou hart a burden on thy back, remember prayer, for
   thou shalt carry it well if thou canst pray. Once on a time Christian
   had upon his back a terrible burden that crushed him to the earth, so
   that he could not carry it; he crept along on his hands and knees.
   There appeared to him a fair and comely damsel, holding in her hand a
   wand, and she touched the burden. It was there, it was not removed, but
   strange to say the burden became weightless. It was there in all its
   outward shape and features, but without weight. That which had crushed
   him to the earth, had become now so light that he could leap and carry
   it. Beloved, do you understand this? Have you gone to God with
   mountains of troubles on your shoulders, unable to carry them, and have
   you seen them, not removed, but still remaining in the same shape, but
   of a different weight? They became blessings instead of curses, what
   you thought was an iron gross suddenly turned out to be a wooden one,
   and you carried it with joy, following your Master.

   I will give but one other reason, lest I should weary you, and that
   certainly is not my desire, but to quicken you rather than to weary
   you. Beloved, there is one reason why we should pray, those of us who
   are engaged in the Lord's work in any way, because it is prayer that
   will ensure success. Two laborers in God's harvest met each other once
   upon a time, and they sat down to compare notes. One was a man of
   sorrowful spirit, and the other joyous, for God had given him the
   desire of his heart. The sad brother said, "Friend, I cannot understand
   how it is that everything you do is sure to prosper: You scatter seed
   with both your hands very diligently, and it springs up, and so rapidly
   too, that the reaper treads upon the heels of the sower, and the sower
   himself again upon the heels of the next reaper. I have sown," said he,
   "as you have done, and I think I can say I have been just as diligent;
   I think too the soil has been the same, for we have labored side by
   side in the same town. I hope the seed has been of the same quality,
   for I have found mine where you get yours--the common granary. But
   alas, my seed, friend, mine never springs up. I sow it. It is as if I
   sowed upon the waves, I never see a harvest. Here and there a sickly
   blade of wheat I have discovered with great and diligent search, but I
   can see but little reward for all my labors." They talked long
   together, for the brother who was successful was one of a tender heart,
   and therefore he sought to comfort this mourning brother. They compared
   notes, they looked through all the rules of husbandry, and they could
   not solve the mystery, why one was successful and the other labored in
   vain. At last one said to the other, "I must retire." "Wherefore?" said
   the other, "Why this is the time" said he "when I must go and steep my
   seed." "Steep your seed?" said the other. "Yes, my brother, I always
   steep my seed before I sow it. I steep it till it begins to swell, and
   germinate, and I can almost see a green blade springing from it, and
   then you know it speedily grows after it is sown." "Ah," said the
   other, "but I understand not what you mean. How do you steep your seed,
   and in what mysterious mixture?" "Brother," said he, "it is a
   composition made of one part of the tears of agony for the souls of
   men, and the other part of the tears of a holy agony which wrestles
   with God in prayer:--this mixture if you drop your seed in it, hath a
   transcendent efficacy to make every grain full of life, so that it is
   not lost." The other rose and went on his way, and forgot not what he
   had learned, but he began to steep his seed too; he spent less time in
   his study, more time in his closet; he was less abroad, more at home,
   less with man, and more with God. And he went abroad and scattered his
   seed, and he too, saw a harvest, and the Lord was glorified in them
   twain. Brethren, I do feel with regard to myself, and therefore, when I
   speak of others I speak not uncharitably, that the reason of the
   nonsuccess of the ministry in these years, (for compared with the days
   of Pentecost, I cannot call our success a success) lies in our want of
   prayer. If I were addressing students in the college, I think I should
   venture to say to them, set prayer first in your labors; let your
   subject be well prepared; think well of your discourse, but best of
   all, pray it over, study on your knees. And now in speaking to this
   assembly, containing Sabbath-school teachers, and others who in their
   way are laboring for Christ, let me beseech you whatever you do, go not
   about your work, except you have first entreated that the dew of heaven
   may drop on the seed you sow. Steep your seed and it shall spring up.
   We are demanding in our days more laborers--it is a right prayer; we
   are seeking that the seed should be of the best sort, it is a right
   demand, but let us not forget another which is even more necessary than
   this, let us ask, let us plead with God, that the seed be steeped, that
   men may preach agonizing for souls. I like to preach with a burden on
   my heart--the burden of other men's sins, the burden of other men's
   hard-heartedness, the burden of their unbelief, the burden of their
   desperate estate, which must ere long end in perdition. There is no
   preaching, I am persuaded, like that: for then we preach as though--

   "We ne'er might preach again,

   As dying men to dying men."

   And, oh, may each of you labor after the latter fashion in your own
   sphere, ever taking care to commit your work to God.

   I will tell you here an incident of the revival. It is one I know to be
   correct, it is told by a good brother who would not add a word
   thereunto, I am sure. It happened, not long ago, that in a school which
   is sustained by the Corporation of the City of London, in the north of
   Ireland, one of the bigger boys had been converted to God; and one day,
   in the midst of school, a younger youth was greatly oppressed by a
   sense of sin, and so overwhelmed did he become that the master plainly
   perceived that he could not work, and, therefore, he said to him, "You
   had better go home, and plead with God in prayer in private." He said,
   however, to the bigger boy, who was all rejoicing in hope, "Go with
   him; take him home and pray with him." They started together: on the
   road they saw an empty house; the two boy went in and there began to
   pray; the plaintive cry of the young one, after a little time changed
   into a note of joy, when, suddenly springing up, he said, "I have found
   rest in Jesus, I have never felt as I do now; my sins, which are many,
   are all forgiven." The proposal was to go home; but the younger lad
   forbade this. No, he must go and tell the master of the school that he
   had found Christ. So hurrying back, he rushed in and said, "Oh! I have
   found the Lord Jesus Christ." All the boys in the school, who had seen
   him sitting sad and dull upon the form, remarked the joy that flashed
   from his eye, when he cried "I have Christ," The effect was electric
   The boys suddenly and mysteriously disappeared; the master knew not
   where they were gone; but looking over into the playground, he saw by
   the wall were a number of boys, one by one, in prayer asking for mercy.
   He said to the elder youth, "Cannot you go and tell these boys the way
   of salvation--tell them what they must do to be saved?" He did so, and
   the silent prayer was suddenly changed into a loud piercing shriek, the
   boys in the school understood it, and, impelled by the Great Spirit,
   they all fell on their knees, and began to cry aloud for mercy through
   the blood of Christ. But, this was not all. There was a girls'
   schoolroom in the same building over head. The ear had been well
   tutored to understand what that cry meant, and soon interpreted it, and
   the girls too, affected by the same Spirit, fell down and began to cry
   aloud for the forgiveness of their sins. Here was an interruption of
   the school! Was ever such a thing known before in a school-room?
   Classes are all put aside, books forgotten; everything cast to the
   winds, while poor sinners are kneeling at the foot of the gross seeking
   for pardon. The cry was heard throughout the various offices attached
   to this large school, and it was heard also across the street, and
   passers by were attracted--men of God, ministers and clergymen of the
   neighborhood were brought in--the whole day was spent in prayer, and
   they continued until almost midnight; but they separated with songs of
   joy, for that vast mass of girls and boys, men and women, who had
   crowded the two school-rooms, had all found the Saviour.

   Our good brother, Dr. Arthur, says, that he met with a youth while
   travelling in Ireland, and he said to him, "Do you love the Saviour?"
   And he said, "I trust I do." "How did you come to love him?" "Oh," said
   he, "I was converted in the big school-room that night. My mother heard
   that there was a revival going on there, and she sent me to fetch my
   little brother away; she did not want him, she said, to get convinced;
   and I went to fetch my brother, and he was on his knees crying, Lord,
   have mercy upon me, a sinner.' I stopped, and I prayed too, and the
   Lord saved us both." Now to what are we to attribute this? I know many
   of the brethren there--the Presbyterians and others--and I do not think
   there is any difference or any superiority in their ministry over
   anything we can see or hear in London, and I think they themselves
   would subscribe to the truth of what I assert. The difference is this:
   there has been prayer there; living, hearty prayer has been offered
   continually, perhaps by some who did not live in Ireland. God alone
   knows where that revival really begun. Some woman on her bed may have
   been exorcised in her soul for that district, and may have been
   wrestling with God in prayer; and then the blessing has descended. And
   if God will help you and help me to lay near to heart the neighborhood
   in which we live, the family over which we preside, the congregation we
   have to address, the class we have to teach, the laborers we employ, or
   any of these, surely then by mighty prayer we shall bring down a great
   blessing from high; for prayer is never lost; preaching may be, but
   prayer never is. Praying breath can never be spent in vain. the Lord
   send to all the churches of Great Britain, first of all, the power of
   prayer, and then shall there come conversions of multitudes of souls
   through the outpoured energy of the Holy One of Israel!

   III. I shall have little time to close up the third point, further than
   to remark that while I have been preaching I do hope there have been
   some here who have heard for themselves. Ah, my hearers, religion is
   more solemn work than some men think of. I am often shocked with the
   brutality of what are called the lower glasses of society, and with
   their coarse blasphemies; but there is one thing--and I speak honestly
   to you now, as fearing no man--there is one thing that is to me more
   shocking still, and that is the frivolous way in which the mass of our
   higher classes spend all their time. What are your morning calls but
   pretenses for wasting your time? What are your amusements but an
   attempt to kill the time that hangs laboriously on your hands? And what
   are many of your employments but an industrious idleness, spinning and
   knitting away of precious hours which God knows will be few enough when
   you come to look back upon them from a dying bed. Oh! if you did but
   know what you are made for, and your high destiny, you would not waste
   your time in the paltry things that occupy your hands and your souls.
   God Almighty forgive those wasted hours which if you be Christians
   ought to be employed for the good of others. God forgive those moments
   of frivolity which ought to have been occupied in prayer. If such a
   congregation as this could but be solemnly alive to the interests of
   this land and the poverty of it, to its miseries, to its wickedness: if
   but such a host as I have here could solemnly feel this matter, how
   much good would certainly come to us! This would be the best missionary
   society; so many hearts of tenderness and affection, all beating high
   with an anxious desire to see sinners brought to Christ. Ah! we cannot
   approve of the doctrines of the Romish church, but still sometimes we
   have to be abashed at their zeal. Would God that we had sisters of
   mercy who were merciful indeed; not dressed in some fanciful garb, but
   going from house to house to comfort the sick and help the needy! Would
   that ye all were brothers of the heart of Jesus, and all of you sisters
   of him, whose mother's heart was pierced with agony, when he died that
   we might be saved. Oh, my dear hearers, this I speak with an earnest
   anxiety that the words may be prophetic of a better age.

   But now, there are some of you here, perhaps, that never prayed in your
   lives, toying like glittering insects, wasting your little day. Ye know
   not that death is near ye; and oh, if ye have never sought and have
   never found the Saviour; however bright those eyes, if they have never
   seen the wounds of Christ, if they have never looked to Christ, they
   shall not simply be sealed in death, but they must behold sights of
   fearful woe eternally. Oh may God grant you grace to pray; may he lead
   you home to your houses, to fall on your knees, and for the first time
   to cry, "Lord have mercy upon me!" Remember you have sins to confess,
   and if you think you have not, you are in a sad state of heart, it
   proves that you are dead in trespasses and sins--dead in them. Go home
   and ask the Lord to give you a new heart and a right spirit, and may he
   who dictates the prayer graciously hear; and may you, and I, and all of
   us, when this life has passed away and time is exchanged for eternity,
   stand before the throne of God at last. I have to preach continually to
   a congregation in which I know there are many drunkards, swearers, and
   the like--with these men I know how to deal, and God has given me
   success; but l sometimes tremble for you amiable, excellent, upright
   daughters, who make glad your father's house, and wives that train up
   your children well. Remember, if you have not the root of the matter in
   you--"Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God."
   And as we must be honest with the poor, so must we be with the rich;
   and as we must lay the axe to the root of the tree with the drunkard
   and the swearer, so must we with you. You are as much lost as they are,
   and shall as surely perish as they do, unless you be born again. There
   is but one road to heaven for you all alike. As a minister of the
   gospel, I know no rich men and no poor men; I know no working classes
   and no gentlemen; I know simply God's sinful creatures, bidden to come
   to Christ and find mercy through his atonement. He will not reject you.
   Put the black thought away. He is able to save; doubt him not. Come to
   him; come and welcome: God help you to come.

   God Almighty bless you for Jesus' sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                            The Minister's Farewell

   A Sermon

   (No. 289)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 11th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens,

   Upon the last occasion of his preaching in that place.

   "Wherefore I take you to record this day, that I am pure from the blood
   of all men. For I have not shunned to declare unto you all the counsel
   of God."--Acts 20:26-27.

   WHEN Paul was parting from his Ephesian friends, who had come to bid
   him farewell at Miletus, he did not request of them a commendation of
   his ability; he did not request of them a recommendation for his fervid
   eloquence, his profound learning, his comprehensive thought, or his
   penetrating judgment. He knew right well that he might have credit for
   all these, and yet be found a castaway at last. He required a witness
   which would be valid in the court of heaven, and of value in a dying
   hour. His one most solemn adjuration is: "I take you to record this
   day, that I am pure from the blood of all men. For I have not shunned
   to declare unto you all the counsel of God." In the apostle this
   utterance was no egotism; it was a fact that he had, without courting
   the smiles or fearing the frowns of any, preached the truth, the whole
   truth, and nothing but the truth, as it had been taught to him by the
   Holy Spirit, and as he had received it in his own heart. O that all
   ministers of Christ could honestly challenge the like witness!

   Now, this morning I propose, by the help of God's Spirit, to do two
   things. The first will be to say a little upon the apostle's solemn
   declaration at parting; and then, afterwards, in a few solemn words, to
   take my own personal farewell.

   1. In the first place, THE APOSTLE'S WORD AT PARTING: "I call you to
   record I have not shunned to declare unto you all the counsel of God."
   The first thing that strikes us is the declaration of the apostle
   concerning the doctrines he had preached. He had preached ALL the
   counsel of God. By which I think we are to understand that he had given
   to his people the entire gospel. He had not dwelt upon some one
   doctrine of it, to the exclusion of the rest; but it had been his
   honest endeavour to bring out every truth according to the analogy of
   faith. He had not magnified one doctrine into a mountain, and then
   diminished another into a molehill; but he had endeavoured to present
   all blended together, like the colours in the rainbow, as one
   harmonious and glorious whole. Of course, he did not claim for himself
   any infallibility as a man, although as an inspired man he was without
   error in his writings. He had, doubtless, sins to confess in private,
   and faults to bemoan God. He had, doubtless, sometimes failed to put a
   truth as clearly as he could have wished, when preaching the Word; he
   had not always been earnest as he could desire; but at least he could
   claim this, that he had not wilfully kept back a single part of the
   truth as it is in Jesus.

   Now, I must bring down the apostle's saying to these modern times; and
   I take it, if any one of us would clear our conscience by delivering
   the whole counsel of God, we must take care that we preach in the first
   place the doctrines of the gospel. We ought to declare the grand
   doctrine of the Father's love towards his people from before all
   worlds. His sovereign choice of them, his covenant purposes concerning
   them, and his immutable promises to them, must all be uttered with
   trumpet tongue. Coupled with this the true evangelist must never fail
   to set forth the beauties of the person of Christ, the glory of his
   offices, the completeness of his work, and above all, the efficacy of
   his blood. Whatever we omit, this must be in the most forcible manner
   proclaimed again and again. That is no gospel which has not Christ in
   it, and the modern idea of preaching THE TRUTH instead of Christ, is a
   wicked device of Satan. Nor is this all, for as there are Three Persons
   in the Godhead, we must be careful that they all have due honour in our
   ministry. The Holy Spirit's work in regeneration, in sanctification and
   in perseverance, must be always magnified from our pulpit. Without his
   power our ministry is a dead letter, and we cannot expect his arm to be
   made bare unless we honour him day-by-day.

   Upon all these matters we are agreed, and I therefore turn to points
   upon which there is more dispute, and consequently more need of honest
   avowal, because more temptation to concealment. To proceed then:--I
   question whether we have preached the whole counsel of God, unless
   predestination with all its solemnity and sureness be continually
   declared--unless election be boldly and nakedly taught as being one of
   the truths revealed of God. It is the minister's duty, beginning from
   this fountain head, to trace all the other streams; dwelling on
   effectual calling, maintaining justification by faith, insisting upon
   the certain perseverance of the believer, and delighting to proclaim
   that gracious covenant in which all these things are contained, and
   which is sure to all the chosen, blood-bought seed. There is a tendency
   in this age to throw doctrinal truth into the shade. Too many preachers
   are offended with that stern truth which the Covenanters held, and to
   which the Puritans testified in the midst of a licentious age. We are
   told that the times have changed: that we are to modify these old
   (so-called) Calvinistic doctrines, and bring them down to the tone of
   the times; that, in fact, they need dilution, that men have become so
   intelligent that we must pare off the angles of our religion, and make
   the square into a circle by rounding off the most prominent edges. Any
   man who doth this, so far as my judgment goes, does not declare the
   whole counsel of God. The faithful minister must be plain, simple,
   pointed, with regard to these doctrines. There must be no dispute about
   whether he believes them or not. He must so preach them that his
   hearers will know whether he preaches a scheme of freewill, or a
   covenant of grace--whether he teaches salvation by works, or salvation
   by the power and grace of God.

   But beloved, a man might preach all these doctrines to the full, and
   yet not declare the whole counsel of God. For here comes the labour and
   the battle; here it is that he who is faithful in these modern days
   will have to bare the full brunt of war. It is not enough to preach
   doctrine; we must preach duty, we must faithfully and firmly insist
   upon practice. So long as you will preach nothing but bare doctrine,
   there is a certain class of men of perverted intellect who will admire
   you, but once begin to preach responsibility--say outright, once for
   all, that if the sinner perish it is his own fault, that if any man
   sinks to hell, his damnation will lie at his own door, and at once
   there is a cry of "Inconsistency! How can these two things stand
   together?" Even good Christian men are found who cannot endure the
   whole truth, and who will oppose the servant of the Lord who will not
   be content with a fragment, but will honestly present the whole gospel
   of Christ. This is one of the troubles that the faithful minister has
   to endure. But he is not faithful to God--I say it solemnly, I do not
   believe that any man is even faithful to his own conscience, who can
   preach simply the doctrine of responsibility. I do assuredly believe
   that every man who sinks into hell shall have himself alone to curse
   for it. It shall be said of them as they pass the fiery portal: "Ye
   would not." "Ye would have none of my rebukes. Ye were bidden to the
   supper and ye would not come. I called, and ye refused; I stretched out
   my hands, and no man regarded. And now, behold, I will mock at your
   calamities. I will laugh when your fear cometh." The apostle Paul knew
   how to dare public opinion, and on one hand to preach the duty of man,
   and on the other the sovereignty of God. I would borrow the wings of an
   eagle and fly to the utmost height of high doctrine when I am preaching
   divine sovereignty. God hath absolute and unlimited power over men to
   do with them as he pleases, even as the potter doeth with the clay. Let
   not the creature question the Creator, for he giveth no account of his
   matters. But when I preach concerning man, and look at the other aspect
   of truth, I dive to the utmost depth. I am, if you will so call me, a
   low-doctrine man in that, for as an honest messenger of Christ I must
   use his own language, and cry: "He that believeth not is condemned
   already, because he believeth not on the Son of God." I do not see that
   the whole counsel of God is declared, unless those two apparently
   contradictory points are brought out and plainly taught. To preach the
   whole counsel of God it is necessary to declare the promise in all its
   freeness, sureness and richness. When the promise makes the subject of
   the text the minister should never be afraid of it. If it is an
   unconditional promise, he should make its unconditionality one of the
   most prominent features of his discourse; he should go the whole way
   with whatever God has promised to his people. Should the command be the
   subject, the minister must not flinch; he must utter the precept as
   fully and confidently as he would the promise. He must exhort, rebuke,
   command with all long-suffering. He must ever maintain the fact that
   the perceptive part of the gospel is as valuable--nay, as
   invaluable--as the promissory part. He must stand to it, that "By their
   fruits ye shall know them;" that "Unless the tree bring forth good
   fruit it is hewn down and cast into the fire." Holy living must be
   preached, as well as happy living. Holiness of life must be constantly
   insisted on, as well as that simple faith which depends for all on
   Christ. To declare the whole counsel of God--to gather up ten thousand
   things into one--I think it is needful that when a minister gets his
   text, he should say what that text means honestly and uprightly. Too
   many preachers get a text and kill it. They wring its neck, then stuff
   it with some empty notions and present it upon the table for an
   unthinking people to feed upon. That man does not preach the whole
   counsel of God who does not let God's Word speak for itself in its own
   pure, simple language. If he finds one day a text like this: "It is not
   of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth
   mercy," the faithful minister will go all the lengths of that text. And
   if on the morrow the Spirit of God lays home to his conscience this:
   "Ye will not come unto me that ye might have life," or this other:
   "Whosoever will, let him come," he will be just as honest with his text
   on that side as he was on the other. He will not shirk the truth. He
   will dare to look at it straight in the face himself and then he will
   bring it up into the pulpit, and there say to it: "O Word, speak for
   thyself, and be thou heard alone. Suffer me not, O Lord, to pervert or
   ministerpret thine own heaven-sent truth." Simple honesty to the pure
   Word of God is I think requisite to the man who would not shun to
   declare the whole counsel of God.

   Moreover, this is not all, If a man would declare the whole counsel of
   God, and not shun to do so, he must be very particular upon the crying
   sins of the times. The honest minister does not condemn sin in the
   mass; he singles out separate sins in his hearers, and without drawing
   the bow at a venture he puts an arrow on the string and the Holy Spirit
   sends it right home to the individuals conscience. He who is true to
   his God does not look to his congregation as a great mass, but as
   separate individuals, and he endeavours to adapt his discourse to men's
   conscience, so that they will perceive he speaks of them. It is said of
   Rowland Hill, that he was so personal a preacher, that if a man were
   far away sitting in a window, or in some secret corner, he would
   nevertheless feel--"That man is speaking to me." And the true preacher
   who declares the whole counsel of God, so speaks, that his hearers feel
   that there is something for them; a reproof for their sins, an
   exhortation which they ought to obey, a something which comes
   pointedly, pertinently and personally home. Nor do I think any man has
   declared the whole counsel of God, who does not do this. If there be a
   vice that you should shun, if there be an error that you should avoid,
   if there be a duty that you ought to fulfil, if all these things be not
   mentioned in the discourses from the pulpit, the minister has shunned
   to declare the whole counsel of God. If there be one sin that is rife
   in the neighbourhood, and especially in the congregation, should the
   minister avoid that particular vice in order to avoid offending you, he
   has been untrue to his calling, dishonest to his God. I do not know how
   I can describe the man who declares the whole counsel of God better
   than by referring you to the epistles of St. Paul. There you have the
   doctrine and the precept, experience and practice. He tells of
   corruption within and temptation without. The whole divine life is
   portrayed, and the needed directions given. There you have the solemn
   rebuke, and the gentle comfort. There you have the words that "drop as
   the rain, and distil as the dew," and there you have the sentences that
   roll like thunders, and flash like lightning. There you see him at one
   time with his crook in his hand, gently leading his sheep into the
   pastures; and, anon, you see him with his sword drawn , doing valiant
   battle against the enemies of Israel. He who would be faithful, and
   preach the whole counsel of God, must imitate the apostle Paul, and
   preach as he wrote.

   The question, however, is suggested, is there any temptation which
   arises to the man who endeavours to do this? Is there anything which
   would tempt him from the straight path and induce him not to preach the
   whole counsel of God? Ah, my brother, little do you understand the
   minister's position, if you have not sometimes trembled for him.
   Espouse but one phase of the truth, and you shall be cried up to the
   very heavens. Become such a Calvinist that you shut your eyes to one
   half the Bible, and cannot see the responsibility of the sinner, and
   men will clap their hands, and cry Hallelujah! and on the backs of many
   you shall be hoisted to a throne, and become a very prince in their
   Israel. On the other hand, begin to preach mere morality, practice
   without doctrine, and you shall be elevated on other men's shoulders;
   you shall, if I may use such a figure, ride upon these asses into
   Jerusalem; and you shall hear them cry, Hosanna! and see them wave
   their palm branches before you. But once preach the whole counsel of
   God, and you shall have both parties down upon you; one crying, "The
   man is too high," the other saying, "No, he is too low;" the one will
   say, "He's a rank Arminian," the other, "He's a vile hyper- Calvinist."
   Now, a man does not like to stand between two fires. There is an
   inclination to please one or other of the two parties, and so, if not
   to increase one's adherents, at least to get a more ferociously
   attached people. Ay, but if we once begin to think of that, if we
   suffer the cry of either party on either hand to lead us from that
   narrow path--the path of right and truth and rectitude, it is all over
   with us then. How many ministers feel the influence of persons of
   wealth. The minister in his pulpit, perhaps, is inclined to think of
   the squire in his green pew. Or else he thinks: "What will deacon
   so-and-so say?" or, "What will the other deacon say, who thinks the
   very reverse?" or, "What will Mr. A, the editor of such a newspaper,
   write next Monday?" or, "What will Mrs. B. say next time I meet her?"
   Yes, all these things cast their little weight into the scale; and they
   have a tendency, if a man be not kept right by God the Holy Spirit, to
   make him diverge a little from that narrow path, in which alone he can
   stand if he would declare the whole counsel of God. Ah, friends, there
   are honours to be had by the man who will espouse the opinion of a
   clique; but while there are honours, there are far more dishonours to
   be gained by him who will stand firm to the unstained banner of truth,
   singly and alone, and do battle against mischief of every shape, as
   well in the church as in the world. Therefore, it was no mean testimony
   that the apostle asked for himself, that he had not shunned to declare
   the whole counsel of God.

   But, then, let me remark further, while there is this temptation not to
   declare all the counsel of God, the true minister of Christ feels
   impelled to preach the whole truth, because it and it alone can meet
   the wants of man. What evils has this world seen through a distorted,
   mangled, man-moulded gospel. What mischiefs have been done to the souls
   of men by men who have preached only one part and not all the counsel
   of God. My heart bleeds for many a family where Antinomian doctrine has
   gained the sway. I could tell many a sad story of families dead in sin,
   whose consciences are seared as with a hot iron, by the fatal preaching
   to which they listen. I have known convictions stifled and desires
   quenched by the soul-destroying system which takes manhood from man and
   makes him no more responsible than an ox. I cannot imagine a more ready
   instrument in the hands of Satan for the ruin of souls than a minister
   who tells sinners that it is not their duty to repent of their sins or
   to believe in Christ, and who has the arrogance to call himself a
   gospel minister, while he teaches that God hates some men infinitely
   and unchangeably for no reason whatever but simply because he chooses
   to do so. O my brethren! may the Lord save you from the voice of the
   charmer, and keep you ever deaf to the voice of error.

   Even in Christian families, what evil will a distorted gospel produce!
   I have seen the young believer, just saved from sin, happy in his early
   Christian career, and walking humbly with his God. But evil has crept
   in, disguised in the mantle of truth. The finger of partial blindness
   was laid upon their eyes, and but one doctrine could be seen.
   Sovereigntywas seen, but not responsibility. The minister once beloved
   was hated; he who had been honest to preach God's Word, was accounted
   as the off-scouring of all things. And what became the effect? The very
   reverse of goood and gracious. Bigotry usurped the place of love;
   bitterness lived where once there had been a loveliness of character. I
   could point you to innumerable instances where harping upon any one
   peculiar doctrine has driven men to excess of bigotry and bitterness.
   And when a man has once come there, he is ready enough for sin of any
   kind to which the devil may please to tempt him. There is a necessity
   that the whole gospel should be preached, or else the spirits, even of
   Christians, will become marred and maimed. I have known men diligent
   for Christ, labouring to win souls with both hands; and on a sudden
   they have espoused one particular doctrine and not the whole truth, and
   they have subsided into lethargy. On the other hand, where men have
   only taken the practical side of truth, and left out the doctrinal, too
   many professors have run over into legality; have talked as if they
   were to be saved by works, and have almost forgotten that grace by
   which they were called. They are like the Galatians; they have been
   bewitched by what they have heard. The believer in Christ, if he is to
   be kept pure, simple, holy, charitable, Christ-like, is only to be kept
   so by a preaching of the whole truth as it is in Jesus. And as for the
   salvation of sinners, ah, my hearers, we can never expect God to bless
   our ministry for the conversion of sinners unless we preach the gospel
   as a whole. Let me get but one part of the truth, and always dwell upon
   it, to the exclusion of every other, and I cannot expect my Master's
   blessing. If I preach as he would have me preach, he will certainly own
   the word; he will never leave it without his own living witness. But
   let me imagine that I can improve the gospel, that I can make it
   consistant, that I can dress it up and make it look finer, I shall find
   that my Master is departed, and that Ichabod is written on the walls of
   the sanctuary. How many there are kept in bondage through neglect of
   gospel invitations. They are longing to be saved. They go up to the
   house of God, crying to be saved; and there is nothing but
   predestination for them. On the other hand, what multitudes are kept in
   darkness through practical preaching. It is do! do! do! and nothing but
   do! and the poor souls come away and say: "Of what use is that to me? I
   can do nothing. Oh, that I had a way shown to me available for
   salvation." Of the apostle Paul we think it may be truly said, that no
   sinner missed a comfort from his keeping back Christ's cross; that no
   saint was bewildered in spirit from his denying the bread of heaven and
   withholding precious truth; that no practical Christian became so
   practical as to become legal, and no doctrinal Christian became so
   doctrinal as to become unpractical. His preaching was of so savoury and
   consistent a kind, that they who heard him, being blessed of the
   Spirit, became Christians indeed, both in life and spirit, reflecting
   the image of their Master.

   I feel I cannot dwell very long upon this text. I have been so
   extremely unwell for the last two days, that the thoughts which I hoped
   to present to you in better form, have only come tumbling out of my
   mouth in far from an orderly manner.

   II. I must now turn away from the apostle Paul to address you A VERY
   FEW EARNEST, SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE WORDS BY WAY OF FAREWELL.
   "Wherefore I take you to record this day that I am pure from the blood
   of all men, for I have not shunned to declare unto you all the counsel
   of God." I wish not to say anything in self-commendation and praise; I
   will not be my own witness as to my faithfulness; but I appeal unto
   you, I take you to witness this day, that I have not shunned to declare
   unto you all the counsel of God. Often have I come into this pulpit in
   great weakness, and I have far more often gone away in great sorrow,
   because I have not preached to you as earnestly as I desired. I confess
   to many errors and failings, and more especially to a want of
   earnestness when engaged in prayer for your souls. But there is one
   charge which my conscience acquits me of this morning, and I think you
   will acquit me too, for I have not shunned to declare the whole counsel
   of God. If in anything I have erred, it has been an error of judgment;
   I may have been mistaken, but so far as I have learned the truth, I can
   say that no fear of public opinion, nor of private opinion, has ever
   turned me aside from that which I hold to be the truth of my Lord and
   Master. I have preached to you the precious things of the gospel. I
   have endeavoured to the utmost of my ability to preach grace in all its
   fulness. I know the preciousness of that doctrine in my own experience;
   God forbid that I should preach any other. If we are not saved by
   grace, we can never be saved at all. If from first to last the work of
   salvation be not in God's hands, none of us can ever see God's face
   with acceptance. I preach this doctrine, not from choice, but from
   absolute necessity, for if this doctrine be not true, then are we lost
   souls; your faith is vain, our preaching is vain, and we are still in
   our sins, and there we must continue until the end. But, on the other
   hand, I can say also, I have not shunned to exhort, to invite, to
   entreat. I have bidden the sinner come to Christ. I have been urged not
   to do so, but I could not resist it. With bowels yearning over
   perishing sinners, I could not conclude without crying: "Come to Jesus,
   sinner, come." With eyes weeping for sinners, I am compelled to bid
   them come to Jesus. It is not possible for me to dwell upon doctrine
   without invitation. If you come not to Christ it is not for want of
   calling, or because I have not wept over your sins, and travailed in
   birth for the souls of men. The one thing I have to ask of you is
   this:--bear me witness, my hearers, bear me witness, that in this
   respect I am pure from the blood of all men, for I have preached all
   that I know of the whole counsel of God. Have I known a single sin
   which I have not rebuked? Has there been a doctrine that I have
   believed which I have kept back? Has there been a part of the Word,
   doctrinal or experimental, which I have wilfully concealed? I am very
   far from perfect, again with weeping I confess my unworthiness; I have
   not served God as I ought to do; I have not been so earnest with you as
   I could desire. Now that my three years' ministry here is over, I could
   have wished that I might begin again, that I might fall on my knees
   before you and beseech you to regard the things that make for your
   peace. But here, again, I do repeat it, that while as to earnestness I
   plead guilty, yet as to truth and honesty I can challenge the bar of
   God, I can challenge the elect angels, I can call you all to witness,
   that I have not shunned to declare the whole counsel of God.

   It is easy enough, if one wills to do it, to avoid preaching an
   objectionable doctrine, by simply passing over the texts which teach
   it. If an unpleasant truth thrusts itself on you, it is not hard to put
   it aside, imagining that it would disturb your previous teaching. Such
   concealment may, for a while succeed, and possibly your people will not
   find it out for years. But if I have studied after anything, I have
   sought always to bring out that truth which I have neglected
   beforehand; and if there has been any one truth that I have kept back
   hitherto, it shall be my earnest prayer that from this day forth it may
   be made more prominent, that so it may be the better understood and
   seen. Well, I simply ask you this question, and if I indulge in some
   little egotism, if on this parting day "I am become a fool in
   glorying;" it is not for the sake of glorying, it is with a better
   motive--my hearer, I put this question to you. There may come sad
   disasters to many of you. In a little time some of you may be
   frequenting places where the gospel is not preached. You may embrace
   another and a false gospel. I only ask this thing of you: Bear me
   witness that it was not my fault,--that I have been faithful and have
   not shunned to declare unto you the whole counsel of God. In a little
   time some here who have been restrained by the fact of having attended
   a place of worship, seeing the chosen minister has gone, may not go
   anywhere else afterwards. You may become careless. Perhaps next Sabbath
   day you may be sitting at home, lolling about and wasting the day. But
   there is one thing I should like to say before you make up your mind
   not to attend the house of God again:--Bear me witness that I have been
   faithful with you. It may be that some here who have professedly run
   well for a time while they have been hearing the Word, may go back;
   some of you may go right into the world again; you may become
   drunkards, swearers and the like. God forbid that it be so! But I
   charge you, if you plunge into sin, do at least say this one thing for
   him who desires nothing so much as to see you saved--say, I have been
   honest with you; that I have not shunned to declare the whole counsel
   of God. Oh, my hearers, some of you in a little time will be on your
   dying-beds. When your pulse is feeble, when the terrors of grim death
   are round about you, if you are still unconverted to Christ, there is
   one thing I shall want you to add to your last will and testament; it
   is this--the exclusion of the poor minister who stands before you this
   day from any share in that desperate folly of yours which has led you
   to neglect your own soul. Oh, have I not cried to you to repent? Have I
   not bidden you look to it ere death surprised you? Have I not exhorted
   you, my hearers, to flee for a refuge to the hope set before you? Oh,
   sinner, when thou art wading through the black river, cast back no
   taunt on me as though I was thy murderer, for in this thing I can say:
   "I wash my hands in innocency; I am clear of your blood." But the day
   is coming when we shall all meet again. This great assembly shall be
   submerged into a greater, as the drop loses itself in the ocean. And I
   shall stand on that day to take my trial at God's bar. If I have not
   warned you, I have been an unfaithful watchman, and your blood will be
   required at my hands; if I have not preached Christ to you, and bidden
   you flee for refuge, then, though you perish, yet shall your soul be
   required of me. I beseech you, if you laugh at me, if you reject my
   message, if you despise Christ, if you hate his gospel, if you will be
   damned, yet at least give me an acquittal of your blood. I see some
   before me who do not often hear me; and yet I can say concerning them,
   they have been the subject of my private prayers; and often, too, of my
   tears, when I see them going on in their iniquities. Well, I do ask
   this one thing, and as honest men you cannot deny it me. If you will
   have your sins, if you will be lost, if you will not come to Christ, at
   least, amid the thunders of the great day, when I stand for trial at
   God's bar, acquit me of having destroyed your souls.

   What can I say more? How shall I plead with you? Had I an angel's
   tongue, and the heart of the Saviour, then would I plead; but I cannot
   say more than I have often done. In God's name I beseech you flee to
   Christ for refuge. If all hath not sufficed before, let this suffice
   thee now. Come, guilty soul, and flee away to him whose wide open arms
   are willing to receive every soul that fleeth to him with penitence and
   faith. In a little time the preacher himself will lie stretched upon
   his bed. A few more days of solemn meeting, a few more sermons, a few
   more prayers, and I think I see myself in yon upper chamber, with
   friends watching around me. He who has preached to thousands now needs
   consolation for himself. He who has cheered many in the article of
   death is now passing through the river himself. My hearers, shall there
   be any of you whom I shall see upon my death bed who shall curse me
   with being unfaithful? Shall these eyes be haunted with the visions of
   men whom I have amused, and interested, but into whose hearts I have
   never sought to plunge the truth? Shall I lie there, and shall these
   mighty congregations pass in dreary panorama before me, and as they
   subside before my eyes, one after the other, shall each one curse me as
   being unfaithful? God forbid. I trust you will do me this favour: that
   when I lie a-dying you will allow that I am clear of the blood of all
   men, and have not shunned to declare the whole counsel of God. I see
   myself standing at the last great day a prisoner at the bar. What if
   this shall be read against me:--"Thou hast had many to listen to thee;
   thousands have crowded to hear the words which fell from my lips; but
   thou hast misled, thou hast deceived, thou hast wilfully mistaught this
   people." Thunders such as have been never heard before must roll over
   this poor head, and lightnings more terrific than have ever scathed the
   fiend shall blast this heart, if I have been unfaithful to you. My
   position--if I had but one preached the Word to these crowds, not to
   speak of many thousands of times--my position were the most awful in
   the whole universe if I were unfaithful. Oh may God avert that worst of
   ills--unfaithfulness--from my head. Now, as here I stand, I make this
   my last appeal: "I pray you in Christ's stead be ye reconciled to God."
   But if ye will not be, I ask you this single favour--and I think you
   will not deny it me--take the blame of your own ruin, for I am pure
   from the blood of all men, since I have not shunned to declare unto you
   all the counsel of God.

   This much by way of calling you to witness. Now, I come to put up a
   request. I have a favour to ask of all here present. If in aught you
   have been profited, if in anything you have ever had comfort, if you
   have found Christ in any way during the preaching of the gospel here, I
   beg you, even though you should not listen to my words again, I beg you
   to carry me up in your heart before the throne of God in prayer. It is
   by the prayers of our people that we live. God's ministers owe more to
   the prayers of their people than they ever know. I love my people for
   their prayerfulness for me. Never minister was so much prayer for as I
   have been. But will those of you who will be compelled to separate from
   us by reason of distance, and the like, will you still carry me in your
   thoughts before God, and let my name be ungraven on your bosoms as
   often as you present yourselves before the mercy seat. It is a little
   thing I ask. It is simply that you say: "Lord, help thy servant to win
   souls to Christ." Ask that he may be made more useful than he has ever
   been; that if he is in aught mistaken he may be set right. If he has
   not comforted you, ask that he may do so in the future; but if he has
   been honest with you, then pray that your Master may have him in his
   holy keeping. And while I ask you to put up this request for me, it is
   for all those that preach the truth in Jesus. Brethren, pray for us. We
   would labour for you as those that must give account. Ah, it is no
   little thing to be a minister if we are true to our calling. As Baxter
   once said, when someone told him the ministry was easy work: "Sir, I
   wish you would take my place, if you think so, and try it." If to
   agonize with God in prayer, if to wrestle for the souls of men, if to
   be abused and not to reply, if to suffer all manner of rebukes and
   slanders, if this be rest, take it, sir, for I shall be glad to get rid
   of it. I do ask that you would pray for all ministers of Christ, that
   they may be helped and upheld, maintained and supported, that their
   strength may be equal to their day.

   And, then, having put up this request for myself, and therefore a
   selfish one, I have an entreaty to put up for others. My hearers, I
   cannot shut my eyes to the fact, that there are still many of you who
   have long listened to the Word here, but who have still not given your
   hearts to Christ. I am glad to see you here, even though it should be
   for the last time. If you should never tread the hallowed courts of
   God's house again, never hear his Word, never listen to hearty
   invitation or honest warning, I have one entreaty to put up for you.
   Mark, not a request, but an entreaty; and such a one, that if I were
   begging for my life I could not be more honest and intensely earnest
   about it. Poor sinner, stop awhile, and think. If thou hast heard the
   gospel and been profited by it, what wilt thou think of all thy lost
   opportunities when thou art on thy dying bed? What wilt thou think when
   thou art cast into hell, when this thought shall come ringing in thy
   ears: "Thou didst hear the gospel, but thou didst reject it;" when the
   devils in hell shall laugh in thy face, and say: "We never rejected
   Christ, we never despised the Word," and they shall thrust thee into a
   deeper hell than ever they themselves experienced. I entreat thee,
   stop, and think of this. Are the joys that thou hast in this world
   worth living for? Is not this world a dull and dreary place? Man, turn
   over a fresh leaf. I tell thee, there is no joy for thee here, and
   there is none hereafter whilst thou art what thou art. Oh, may God
   teach thee that the mischief lies in thy sin. Thou hast unforgiven sin
   about thee. As long as thy sin is unforgiven, thou canst neither be
   happy here, nor in the world to come. My entreaty is, go to thy
   chamber; if thou knowest thy self to be guilty, make a full confession
   there before God; ask him to have mercy upon thee, for Jesus' sake. And
   he will not deny thee. Man, he will not dent thee; he will answer thee;
   he will put all thy sins away; he will accept thee; he will make thee
   his child. And as thou shalt be more happy here, so shalt thou be
   blessed in the world to come. Oh, Christian men and women, I entreat
   you, implore the Spirit of God to lead many in this crowd to full
   confession, to real prayer, and humble faith; and if they have never
   repented before, may they now turn to Christ. Oh, sinner, thy life is
   short, and death is hastening. Thy sins are many, and if judgment has
   leaden feet, yet has it a sure and heavy hand. Turn, turn, turn, I
   beseech thee. May the Holy Spirit turn thee. Lo, Jesus is lifted up
   before thee now. By his five wounds, I beseech thee, turn. Look thou to
   him and live. Believe on him and thou shalt be saved, for whosoever
   believeth on the Son of Man hath everlasting life, and he shall never
   perish, neither shall the wrath of God rest upon him.

   May the Spirit of God now command his own abiding blessing, even life
   for evermore, for Jesus' sake. Amen.

   At the commencement of the Service, Mr. SPURGEON said:--"The service of
   this morning will partake very much of the character of a farewell
   discourse and a farewell meeting. However sorrowful it is to me to part
   with many of you, whose faces I have so long seen in the throng of my
   hearers, yet for Christ's sake, for the sake of consistency and truth,
   we are compelled to withdraw from this place, and on next Sabbath
   morning hope to worship God in Exeter Hall. On two occasions before, as
   our friends are aware, it was proposed to open this place in the
   evening, and I was then able to prevent it by the simple declaration,
   that if so I should withdraw. That declaration suffices not at this
   time; and you can therefore perceive that I should be a craven to the
   truth, that I should be inconsistent with my own declarations, that in
   fact, my name would cease to be SPURGEON, if I yielded. I neither can
   nor will give way in anything in which I know I am right; and in the
   defence of God's holy Sabbath, the cry of this day is, Arise, let us go
   hence!'"
     __________________________________________________________________

                            The Inexhaustible Barrel

   A Sermon

   (No. 290)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 18th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand

   "And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail,
   according to the word of the Lord, which he spake by Elijah."--1 Kings
   17:16.

   IN the midst of wrath God remembers mercy. Divine love is rendered
   conspicuous when it shines in the midst of judgments. Fair is that lone
   star which smiles through the rifts of the thunder-clouds; bright is
   the oasis which blooms in the wilderness of sand; so fair and so bright
   is love in the midst of wrath. In the present instance, God had sent an
   all-consuming famine upon the lands of Israel and Sidon. The two
   peoples had provoked the Most High, the one by renouncing him, and the
   other by sending forth their queen Jezebel, to teach idolatry in the
   midst of Israel. God therefore determined to withhold both dew and rain
   from the polluted lands. But while he did this, he took care that his
   own chosen ones should be secure. If all the brooks are dry, yet shall
   there be one reserved for Elijah; and if that should fail, God shall
   still preserve for him a place of sustenance; nay, not only so, for God
   had not simply one Elijah, but he had a remnant according to the
   election of grace, who were hidden by fifties in a cave, and though the
   whole land was subject to famine, yet these fifties in the cave were
   fed, and fed from Ahab's table, too, by his faithful, God-fearing
   steward, Obadiah. Let us from this draw this inference, that come what
   may God's people are safe. If the world is to be burned with fire,
   among the ashes there shall not be found the relics of a saint. If the
   world should again be drowned with water, (as it shall not) yet should
   there be found another ark for God's Noah. Let convulsions shake the
   solid earth, let all its pillars tremble, let the skies themselves be
   rent in twain, yet amid the wreck of worlds the believer shall be as
   secure as in the calmest hour of rest. If God cannot save his people
   under heaven, he will save them in heaven. If the world becomes too hot
   to hold them, then heaven shall be the place of their reception and
   their safety. Be ye then confident, when ye hear of wars, and rumors of
   wars. Let no agitation distress you. Whatsoever cometh upon the earth,
   you, beneath the broad wings of Jehovah, shall be secure. Stay yourself
   upon his promise, rest ye in his faithfulness, and bid defiance to the
   blackest future, for there is nothing in it direful for you.

   Though, however, I make these few observations by way of preface, this
   is not the subject of this morning. I propose to take the case of the
   poor widow of Sarepta as an illustration of divine love, as it
   manifests itself to man; and I shall have three things for you to
   notice. First, the object of divine love; secondly, the singular
   methods of divine love; and, then, in the third place, the undying
   faithfulness of divine love--"The barrel of meal did not waste, neither
   did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord."

   I. In the first place let me speak upon THE OBJECTS OF DIVINE LOVE.

   1. And here we remark at the very beginning, how sovereign was the
   choice. Our Savior himself teaches us when he says, "I tell you of a
   truth, many widows were in Israel in the days of Elias, when the heaven
   was shut up three years and six months when great famine was throughout
   all the land; But unto none of them was Elias sent, save unto Sarepta,
   a city of Sidon, unto a woman that was a widow." Here was divine
   sovereignty. When God would make choice of a woman it was not one of
   his own favored race of Israel, but a poor benighted heathen, sprung
   from a race who of old had been doomed to be utterly cut off. Here was
   electing love in one of its sovereign manifestations. Men are always
   quarrelling with God because he will not submit his will to their
   dictation. If there could be a God who was not absolute men would think
   themselves gods, and hence sovereignty is tasted because it humbles the
   creature, and makes him bow before a Lord, a King, a Master, who will
   do as he pleases. If God would choose kings and princes, then would men
   admire his choice. If he would make his chariots stay at the door of
   nobles, if he would step from his throne and give his mercy only to the
   great, the wise, and the learned, then might there be heard the shout
   of praise to a God who thus honored the fine doings of man. But because
   he chooses to take the base things of this world, the things that are
   despised, and the things that are not; because he takes these things to
   bring to nought the things that are, therefore is God hated of men.
   Yet, know that God hath set apart him that is godly for himself. He
   hath chosen to himself a people whom he will bring to himself at last,
   who are his peculiar treasure, the favourites of his choice. But these
   people are by nature the most unlikely ones upon the face of the whole
   world. Men to-day sunken in sin, immersed in folly, brutalized, without
   knowledge, without wit, these are the very ones that God ordains to
   save. To them he sends the word in its effectual might, and these are
   plucked like brands from the burning. None can guess the reasons of
   divine election. This great act is as mysterious as it is gracious.
   Throughout Scripture we are continually startled with resplendent
   instances of unlimited sovereignty, and the case of this widow is one
   among the many. Electing love passes by the thousands of widows that
   dwelt in God's own land, and it journeys beyond the borders of Canaan,
   to cherish and preserve a heathen woman of Sarepta.

   Some men hate the doctrine of divine Sovereignty; but those who are
   called by grace love it, for they feel, if it had not been for
   sovereignty they never would have been saved. Ah, if we are now his
   people, what was there in any of us to merit the esteem of God? How is
   it that some of us are converted, while our companions in sin are left
   to persevere in their godless career? How is it that some of us who
   were once drunkards, swearers, and the like, are now sitting here to
   praise the God of Israel this day? Was there anything good in us that
   moved the heart of God to save us? God forbid that we should indulge
   the blasphemous thought. There was nothing in us that made us better
   than others, or more deserving. Sometimes we are apt to think that it
   was the reverse. There was much in us that might have caused God to
   pass us by if he had looked to us. And yet, here we are, praising his
   name. Tell me, ye that deny divine sovereignty, how is it that the
   publicans and harlots enter into the kingdom of heaven, while the
   self-righteous Pharisee is shut out? How is it that from the scum and
   draft of this city, God picks up some of his brightest jewels, while
   among the learned and philosophic, there are very few that bow the knee
   to the God of Israel? Tell me, how is it that in heaven there are more
   servants than masters, more poor than rich, more foolish than learned?
   What shall we say of this?--"I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and
   earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent,
   and hast revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father: for so it seemed
   good in thy sight."

   2. But if there be sovereignty in the choice, I cannot omit another
   thought akin to it. What undeservingness there was in the person! She
   was no Hannah. I read not that she had smitten the Lord's enemies, like
   Jael, or had forsaken the gods of her country, like Ruth. She was no
   more notable than any other heathen. Her idolatry was as vile as
   theirs, and her mind as foolish and vain as that of the rest of her
   countrymen. Ah, and in the objects too, of God's love there is nothing
   whatever that can move his heart to love them; nothing of merit,
   nothing which could move him to select them. Hark! how the blood-bought
   ones all sing before the throne. They cast their crowns at the feet of
   Jehovah, and unitedly say, "Not unto us, not unto us, but unto thy name
   be all the glory for ever." There is no divided note in heaven upon
   this matter. Not one spirit in glory will dare to say that he deserved
   to come there. They were strangers once, and they were sought by grace.
   They were black, and they were washed in blood. Their hearts were hard,
   and they were softened by the Spirit. They were dead, and they were
   quickened by divine life. And all the reasons for this gracious work in
   and upon them are to be found in the breast of God, and not at all in
   them. Simple as this truth seems, and lying as it does at the very
   basement of the gospel system, yet how often is it forgotten! Ah! men
   and brethren, ye are saying, "I would come to Christ if I had a better
   character. I think that God would love me if there were some good
   works, and some redeeming traits in my character." Nay, but hear me, my
   brother, God loveth not man for anything in man. The saved ones are not
   saved on account of anything they did; but simply because he will have
   mercy on whom he will have mercy, and he will have compassion on whom
   he will have compassion. Thou art in as good a place as say other
   unregenerate sinner on the face of the earth; why should not God have
   mercy upon thee? Thy merits or thy demerits have nought to do with the
   matter. If God intends to bless, he looks not to what thou art. He
   finds his motive in the depth of his own loving will, and not in thee.
   Oh! canst thou believe it, that black, and filthy, and diseased, and
   leprous though thou be, the love of God can shed itself abroad in thy
   heart? O my trembling hearer! do not despair, for he is able to save
   unto the very uttermost.

   3. In continuing to regard this woman, I want you to notice that her
   condition was miserable too, in the very last degree. She had not only
   to suffer the famine which had fallen upon all her neighbors, but her
   husband was taken from her. He would have shared with her the last
   morsel that his weary limbs could earn; he would have bidden her lean
   her head upon his strong and faithful breast, and would have said, "My
   wife, if there be bread to be had thy mouth shall taste it; if there be
   water to drink thou shalt not thirst." But alas! he was taken from her,
   and she was a widow. Besides this, he had left her no inheritance. She
   had no patrimony, no servant. You learn this from the fact that she had
   not even firewood. Now, there was no reason why she should not have had
   that even in time of famine of bread, for there was no famine of wood,
   unless she had been extremely poor. Such was her extremity that she
   goes outside the city upon the common lands to pick up a few sticks
   with which she may cook her meal. She had, you see then, nothing
   wherewithal to buy bread, for even the fuel she must gather for
   herself. I told you that her husband had left her nothing, yes, he had
   left her something; but that something, though much beloved, was but
   another fountain of trouble to her. He had left her a son, her only
   son, and this son has now to share her starvation. I believe he was too
   weak to accompany his mother upon this occasion. They had been so long
   without food that he could not rise from the bed, or else, good soul,
   she would have brought him with her, and he could have helped to
   gathers few sticks. But she had laid him upon the bed, fearing that he
   might die before she reached her home, knowing that he could not
   accompany her because his limbs were too feeble to carry the little
   weight of his own poor emaciated body. And now she has come forth with
   a double trouble, to gather a handful of sticks to dress her last meal,
   that she may eat it and die.

   Ah, my dear friends, this is just where sovereign grace finds us
   all--in the depth of poverty and misery. I do not mean, of course,
   temporal poverty, but I mean spiritual distress. So long as we have a
   full barrel of our own merits, God will have nothing to do with us. So
   long as the cruse of oil is full to overflowing, we shall never taste
   the mercy of God. For God will not fill us until we are emptied of
   self. Ah, what misery does conviction of sin cause in the breast of the
   sinner. I have known some so wretched, that all the torments of the
   inquisition could not equal their agony. If tyrants could invent the
   knife, the hot irons, the spear, splinters put beneath the nails, and
   the like, yet could not they equal the torment which some men have felt
   when under conviction of sin. They have been ready to make an end of
   themselves. They have dreamed of hell by night, and when they have
   awakened in the morning it was to feel what they have dreamed. But then
   it has been in this very time when all their hope was gone, and their
   misery was come to its utmost extremity, that God looked down in love
   and mercy on them. Have I such a hearer in this crowd this morning?
   Have I not one who is smitten in his heart, whose life is blasted, who
   walks about in the weariness of his spirit, crying, "Oh, that I were
   gone out of this world, that I might be rid of sin; for oh, my burden
   presses upon me as though it would sink me to the lowest hell. My sin
   is like a millstone round my neck and I cannot get rid of it." My
   hearer, I am glad to hear thee speak thus; I rejoice in thy
   unhappiness; and that not because I love to see thee miserable, but
   because this sorrow of thine is a step to everlasting blessedness. I am
   glad that thou art poor, for there is one that will make thee rich. I
   am glad that barrel of meal of thine is wasted, for now shall a miracle
   of mercy be wrought for thee, and thou shalt eat the bread of heaven to
   the full. I am glad that cruse of oil is gone, for now rivers of love
   and mercy shall be bestowed on thee. Only believe it. In God's name I
   assure thee, if thou art brought to extremity God will now appear for
   thee. Look up, sinner--look away from thyself--look up to God who sits
   upon the throne, a God of love. But if that be too high for thee, look
   up sinner to yon cross. He that hangs there died for such as thou art.
   Those veins were opened for sinners utterly ruined and undone. That
   agony he suffered was for those who feel an agony of heart like thine.
   His griefs he meant for the grievers, his mourning made atonement for
   the mourners. Canst thou now believe the word which is written?--"This
   is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus
   came into the world to save sinners." Darest thou trust thyself now
   upon the merits of Christ? Canst thou say, "Sink or swim, my hope is in
   the cross." Oh, sinner, if God but help thee to do this, thou art a
   happy man. Thy poverty shall be removed, and like the widow of Sarepta,
   thou shalt know no lack until the day when God shall take thee up to
   heaven, where thou shalt be satisfied throughout eternity.

   I do not know whether I have made what I intended to state sufficiently
   clear but what I wanted to bring out is this;--Just as God sent his
   prophet Elijah out of pure sovereignty to a woman who deserved nothing
   at his hands, and just as he sent a prophet to her in the time of her
   greatest misery and sorrow, so is the word of God sent to you, my
   hearer, this morning, if you are in a similar condition.

   II. Now, I come to the second point: THE GRACE OF GOD IN ITS DEALINGS.

   I would have you notice first of all, that the love of God towards this
   woman in its dealings was of the most singular character, You will
   notice that the first word this poor woman heard from the God of Israel
   was one which rather robbed her than made her rich. It was this: "Fetch
   me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel that I may drink." It was
   taking something from that already much-diminished store. And then on
   the heels of that there came another: "Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel
   of bread in thine hand." This was rather demanding than bestowing. And
   yet singular it is, this is just the way sovereign mercy deals with
   men. It is an apparent demand rather than an open gift. For what does
   God say to us when first he speaks? He says this: "Repent and be
   converted every one of you, in the name of the Lord Jesus." "Believe on
   the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved." But saith the soul, "I
   cannot repent, it is beyond my power; I cannot believe--I would that I
   could believe--but this is beyond my reach. And has God asked me to
   exert a strength which I have not? Does he demand that of me which I
   cannot give? I thought that he gave; I did not know that he asked of
   me." Ay but soul, notice what this woman did in obedience to the
   command. She went and fetched the water, and she brought the morsel of
   bread; and the water was not diminished by what she gave, and the bread
   itself was increased in the spending of it. When God saith to the
   sinner, "Believe," if that sinner believeth, it is not by his own
   power, but by grace which goes with the command. But the sinner does
   not know that at first. He thinks that he believes: he thinks that he
   repents. Why, I do not believe that the meal which the woman brought to
   the prophet was any meal of hers: it was meal taken out of her store,
   and yet not taken out of it; it was meal given her by miracle--the
   first installment of miraculous provision. And so if thou believest,
   thou wilt say, "I have believed." Yes it was taken out of your barrel,
   but still it was not your believing, it was an; act of faith wrought in
   you. Here is a poor man with a withered arm: he wants to have that
   restored. Now, you will imagine that the first thing Christ will say to
   him will be, "Man, I will make thy withered arm alive; I will once more
   nerve it so that thou shalt have power to lift it." Nay, he does not
   say any such thing. But before he gives the man the power he says to
   him, "Stretch out thy hand!" Suppose he had cried out, "Sir, I cannot;"
   his withered arm would have hung dangling at his side till he died. But
   instead of that the command came; the man had the will to obey, and
   suddenly he had the power, for he stretched out his withered hand.
   What! say you, did he stretch out that hand of his own might! No, and
   yet he was commanded to do it. And so if you are willing to believe, if
   now your hearts say, "I would believe, I would repent," the power shall
   come with the will, and the withered hand shall be stretched out.

   I do preach continually the exhortation and the command. I am not
   ashamed to say with the prophet Ezekiel, "Ye dry bones live! ye dead
   souls live." If this is esteemed unsound doctrine, I shall be yet more
   heretical. "Man cannot do it; why tell him to do it?" Why simply as an
   exercise of faith. If I tell a man to do what he can do, anybody can
   tell him that; but God's servant tells him to do what he cannot do, and
   the man does it; for God honors the command of his servant, and gives
   the strength with the command. To sinners dead in sin the cry is given
   this morning: "Do you want salvation? Believe on Christ. Would you have
   your sins forgiven? Look to him." Oh! do not answer, "I cannot believe,
   I cannot look." Instead thereof, may the Spirit of God incline your
   mind, so that you may say, "I will believe," and then you will believe.
   O may you say, "I will repent." and then you will repent. And though it
   be not your own strength, it will be a strength given so instantly upon
   the moment that you for a time will not know whether it is your
   strength or God's strength, until you get further advanced in the
   divine life, and then you will discover that all the strength from
   first to last is of God. I say that the dealings of divine grace with
   this woman are to be looked upon as extremely singular in that light.
   And yet they are but the type and the model of the dealings of God with
   all whom he saves.

   3. Now, the next point. The dealings of love with this poor woman were
   not only singular, but exceedingly trying. The first thing she hears is
   a trial: Give away some of that water which thy son and thyself so much
   require! Give away a portion of that last little cake which ye intended
   to eat and die! Nay, all through the piece it was a matter of trial,
   for there never was more in the barrel than there was at the first.
   There was a handful at night, and a handful the next morning; but there
   never were two handfuls there at a time. To the very last there was
   nothing but just a little oil in the cruse. Whenever she looked at it,
   there was only a little glazing of oil to spread upon the meal cakes.
   The cruse was never full, there was not a drop more in it than there
   was at first. So that this woman the first time she had eaten the meal
   out of the barrel, might have thought to herself, "Well, I have
   breakfasted in a most extraordinary manner, but where shall I find food
   at noon." But when she went there was just one handful more. She took
   that out and prepared it, and unbelief would have whispered, "But there
   will be none at eventide." But, however, when night came there was just
   enough for the hour. The barrel never filled, and yet it never emptied.
   The store was little, but it was always sufficient for the day.

   Now, if God saves us, it will be a trying matter. All the way to
   heaven, we shall only get there by the skin of our, teeth. We shall not
   go to heaven sailing along with sails swelling to the breeze, like sea
   birds with their white wings but we shall proceed full often with sails
   rent to ribbons, with masts creaking, ands the ship's pumps at work
   both by night and day. We shall reach the city at the shutting of the
   gate, but not an hour before. O believer, thy Lord will bring thee safe
   to the end of thy pilgrimage; but mark, thou wilt never have one
   particle of strength to waste in wantonness upon the road. There will
   be enongh to get thee up the hill Difficulty, but only enough then by
   climbing on your hands and knees. You will have strength enough to
   fight Apollyon, but when the battle is over your arm will have no
   strength remaining. Your trials will be so many, that if you had only
   one trial more, it would be like the last ounce that breaks the camel's
   back, But, nevertheless, though God's love should thus try you all the
   journey through, your faith will bear the trying, for while God dashes
   you down to the earth with one hand in providence, he will lift you up
   with the other in grace. You will have consolation and affliction
   weighed out in equal degree, ounce for ounce, and grain for grain; you
   will be like the Israelite in the wilderness, if you gather much manna,
   you will have nothing over; while blessed be God, if you gather little
   you shall have no lack. You shall have daily grace for daily trials.

   From this interesting topic, I turn to another that is not less so.
   Although the Lord's dealings with this woman of Sarepta were very
   trying, yet they were very wise. Ye ask me--Why did not God give her a
   granary full of meal at once, and a vat full of oil instanter? I will
   tell you. It was not merely because of God's intent to try her, but
   there was wisdom here. Suppose he had given her a granary full of meal,
   how much of it would have been left by the next day? I question whether
   any would have remained, for in days of famine men are sharp of scent,
   and it would soon have been noised about the city, "The old widow woman
   who lives in such-and-such a street, has a great store of food." Why,
   they would have caused a riot, and robbed the house, and perhaps, have
   killed the woman and her son. She would have been despoiled of her
   treasure, and in four and twenty hours the barrel of meal would have
   been as empty as it was at first, and the cruse of oil would have been
   spilled upon the ground. What has that to do with us? Just this if the
   Lord should give us more grace than we want for the day, we should have
   all the devils in hell trying to rob us. We have enough to do, as it
   is, to fight with Satan. But what an uproar there would be! We should
   have tens of thousands of enemies pouncing upon our stock of grace, and
   we should have to defend our stock against all these assailants. Now, I
   think while it is good for us to have a little ready money on hand, to
   let our real sterling property remain in the hands of our great Banker
   above. Should thieves break in, as they often do, and steal my
   evidences and take away my comforts--they only take a few loose
   coppers, that I have in the house for convenience, they cannot steal my
   real treasure, for it is secured in a golden casket, the key of which
   swings at the girdle of the Lord Jesus Christ. Better for you to have
   an inheritance preserved in heaven for you, than to have it given to
   you to take care of for yourself; for you would soon lose it and become
   as poor as ever.

   Besides, there was another reason why this woman had not her meal given
   to her all at once. Any meal-man knows that meal will not keep in great
   quantities. It soon breeds a peculiar kind of worm, and after a little
   while it grows musty, and no person would think of eating it. Now,
   grace is just of the same character. If you have a stock of grace, it
   breeds a worm called pride. Perhaps you may have seen that worm. It is
   a very prolific one. I find whenever I have a little extra stock of
   gifts, or grace, that this worm is sure to breed in the meal, and then
   soon it begins to smell musty, and is only fit for the dunghill. If we
   had more grace than we want, it would be like the manna of old, which
   when it was laid up, bred worms and stank. Besides, how much better it
   would be, even if it would keep, to have it fresh and fresh every day.
   Oh, to have the bread of heaven hot from heaven's oven every day! To
   have the water out of the rock, not as sailors have it in the casks for
   a long sea voyage, where the sweetest water ferments, and passes
   through many stages of decay; but, oh, to have it every hour trickling
   through the divine rock! to have it fresh from the divine fountain
   every moment, this is to have a happy life indeed.

   This woman need never regret having nothing but a handful on hand, for
   she had thus the greater inducement to be frequent in her pleadings
   with God. After she had taken out a handful of meal, I think I see her
   lifting up her streaming eyes and saving, "Great God, it is now two
   years since for the first time I put the hand of faith into this
   barrel, and now every morning, and every noon, and every night, I have
   done the same, and I have never lacked. Glory be unto the God of
   Israel!" I think I see her praying as she went:--"Oh, Lord, shut not up
   the bowels of thy compassion. Thou hast dealt well with thy poor
   servant, and fed her this many a year. Grant that the barrel may not
   fail me now, for I have no stock in hand; grant that there may be a
   handful still to spare--always enough, always all that my necessities
   can require." Do you not see that she was thus brought into constant
   contact with God. She had more reasons for prayer, and more reasons for
   gratitude, than if she had received the blessing at once. This is one,
   reason why God does not give you grace to spare. He will have you come
   to him every day, nay, every hour. "Are you not glad of the plea? You
   can say each time you come, "Lord, here's a needy beggar at the door,
   it is not an idle man that is giving a runaway knock at the door of
   prayer, but, Lord, I am a needy soul: I want a blessing and I come."

   I repeat it, the daily journey to the well of mercy is good for us. The
   hand of faith is blessed by the exercise of knocking at the gate. "Give
   us this day our daily bread" is a right good prayer; O for grace to use
   it daily with our Father who is in heaven!

   Now, what is the drift of all this? Just this: among the thousands of
   letters that I continually receive from my congregation, I meet with
   this very common question:--"Oh, Sir, I feel such little faith, such
   little life, such little grace in my heart, that I am inclined to think
   I shall never hold out to the end, and sometimes I am afraid I am not a
   child of God at all." Now, my dear friend, if you want an explanation
   of this it is to be found in the text. You shall have just enough to
   carry you through your trials, but you shall have no faith to spare.
   You shall have just enough grace in your heart to keep you living day
   after day in the fear of God, but you shall have none to sacrifice to
   your boasting and yield to your own pride. I am glad to hear you say
   that you feel your spiritual poverty; for when we know ourselves to be
   poor, then we are rich, but when we think that we are rich and
   increased in goods, then we are naked, and poor, and miserable, and are
   in a sad plight indeed. Oh, I want you to remember for your comfort,
   that though you have never two handfuls of meal in the barrel at a
   time, yet there will never be less than one handful; that though you
   will never have a double quantity of oil at one time, yet there will
   always be the requisite quantity. There will be nothing over, but there
   shall be none lacking. So take this for your comfort, as your days so
   shall your strength be; as your needs so shall your grace be; as the
   demands of your necessity, such shall be the supply of God's mercy. The
   cup shall be full if it does not flow over, and the stream shall always
   run, even though it is not always brimming the banks.

   III. I conclude by bringing you to the point upon which I shall dwell
   but briefly--for I pray that your life may be a far fuller sermon on
   this text than I can hope to preach--THE FAITHFULNESS OF DIVINE LOVE.
   "The barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail,
   according to the word of the Lord. which he spake by Elijah." You will
   observe that this woman had daily necessities. She had three mouths to
   feed; she had her herself, her son, and the prophet Elijah. But though
   the need was threefold, yet the supply of meal wasted not. Boys have
   large appetites, and no doubt her son very speedily devoured that first
   little cake. As for Elijah himself, he had walked no less a distance
   than one hundred miles; all weary with his journey, you may consider
   that he had a considerable appetite also; whilst she herself, having
   been long subjected to starvation, would doubtless feed to the full.
   But though their necessities were very great at the first, yet the
   barrel of meal wasted not. Each day she made calls upon it, but yet
   each day it remained the same. Now brethren, you have daily
   necessities. Because they come so frequently--because your trials are
   so many, your troubles so innumerable, you are apt to conceive that the
   barrel of meal will one day be empty, and the cruse of oil will fail
   you. But rest assured that according to the Word of God this shall not
   be the case. Each day, though it bring its trouble shall bring its
   help; though it bring its temptation it shall bring its succor; though
   it bring its need it shall bring its supply; and though day come after
   day, if you should live to outnumber the years of Methuselah, and
   though troubles come after troubles till your tribulations are like the
   waves of the sea, yet shall God's grace and mercy last through all your
   necessities, and you shall never know a lack. For three long years the
   heavens never saw a cloud, and the stars never wept the holy tears of
   dew upon the wicked earth; for three long years the women fainted in
   the streets, and devoured their own offspring for straitness of bread;
   for three long years the mourners went about the streets, wan, and
   weary, like skeletons following corpses to the tomb; but this woman
   never was hungry, never knew a lack; always supplied, always joyful in
   abundance. So shall it be with you. You shall see the sinner die, for
   he trusts his native strength; you shall see the proud Pharisee totter,
   for he builds his hope upon the sand; you shall see even your own
   schemes blasted and withered, but you yourself shall find that your
   place of defense shall be the munition of rocks; your bread shall be
   given you, and your water shall be sure. The staff on which you lean
   shall never break; the arm on which you repose shall never be palsied;
   the eye that looks on you shall never wax dim; the heart that loves you
   shall never grow weary; and the hand that supplies you shall never be
   weak. Do you not remember a time in your experience, not long ago, when
   you came to your wits' end? You said, "I shall surely fall by the hands
   of the enemy." Have you fallen? Are you not still preserved? Look back
   I pray you. It is not many months ago since business was running so
   dead against you, that you said, "I must give it up; ever since I have
   known the Lord I have had more trials than ever I had before." Have you
   given it up? You have gone through fires; let me ask you, have you been
   burnt? has there been a hair of your head singed? You have walked
   through waters--and deep waters have they been--have you been drowned?
   You said you should be, but have you? Have the water floods overflowed
   you? When all God's waves and God's billows had rolled over you, were
   you destroyed? Did they wash out your hope? Did your confidence give
   way? You once went down, as it were, into a very sea of trouble, and
   you thought you would have been drowned therein like Egypt of old. Did
   not the water-floods divide before you? did not the depths stand
   upright as a heap, and were not the floods congealed in the heart of
   the sea? You have had high mountains in your path, and you hare said,
   "I can never traverse this road, the mountains are too steep." But have
   you not climbed them, and let me ask you have you not been benefited by
   the climb? When you have stood upon their hoary summit, has not the
   view of your knowledge become wider? has not the breath of your prayer
   become purer, and freer? Say ye, have not your visits to the cold
   mountains of affliction strengthened you, and braced you for more
   glorious efforts than before? Now, then, let the past console the
   future. Snatch a torch from the altars of the past, and re-kindle the
   dying embers of to-day. He that has been with you in time past, will
   not leave you in time to come. He is God; he changeth not, he will not
   forsake you. He is God; he lieth not, he cannot leave you. He has sworn
   by himself, because he can swear by no greater, so that by two
   immutable things--his oath and his promise--we might have strong
   consolation, who have fled to the refuge to lay hold of the hope that
   is set before us. Though the barrel of meal hold but a scanty supply,
   though the cruse of oil contain but a drop, that meal shall last thee
   to the end, that cruse of oil, miraculously multiplied, hour by hour,
   shall be sufficient until thou shalt gather up thy feet in the bed, and
   with good old Jacob, end thy life with a song, praising and blessing
   the angel that hath redeemed thee out of all evil.

   Now, having thus addressed myself to the children of God, I hope to
   their comfort, I wish to say just a word or two to those whom I have
   come here with the hope of blessing this morning--those of you who know
   nothing of the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. What would you
   think of the condition of the man who can say, and say truly too,
   without a blush or stammer, "I know that I am the object of God's
   eternal love; I know that he has put all my sins behind his back, and
   that I stand before him as accepted and as much beloved as if I had
   never sinned." What would you say if that man could confidently add, "I
   know that this shall be my position in time and in eternity. God so
   loves me that he cannot cease to love me. He will preserve me whatever
   be my troubles or temptations, and I shall see his face, and shall
   rejoice in his love eternally." Why, you answer, "If I could say that,
   I would give all that I am worth; if I were worth a thousand worlds I
   would give them all to say that." Is it, then, an unattainable thing?
   Is it so high beyond your reach? I tell you, and the witness that I
   bear is true, there are tens of thousands of men on the face of God's
   earth that enjoy this state. Not always can they say as much, but still
   they enjoy it year after year continually. There are some of us that
   know what it is to have no doubt as to our eternal state. At times we
   tremble, but at other times we can say "I know whom I have believed,
   and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed to
   him unto that day." Again I hear you say, "Would to God I could say
   that." Well, my dear hearer, it is possible that thou shalt say it ere
   long; nay, to-night it may be, ere sleep shall close thy eyelets thou
   mayest be among the happy men. "No," saith one, "but I am the chief of
   sinners." Yes, but Christ is the Savior of the chief of sinners. "Nay,"
   says another, "but my character is so had, my disposition is so evil."
   The Holy Ghost can change your disposition, can renew your will, and
   make you a new man in Christ." "Well," says a third, "I can understand
   that I may be pardoned, but I cannot think that I shall ever know it."
   That is the glory of the religion of Christ, that he not only forgives,
   but he tells you so: he sheds abroad in your heart a sweet
   consciousness of acceptance in him; so that you know better than if an
   angel could tell you, that you are now one of the family of God, that
   all your sins are gone, and that every good thing is yours by an
   eternal covenant. Again, saith a fourth, "I would that I could have
   it." Well, sinner, it is in thy way. Dost thou feel and know thyself to
   be undeserving, ill-deserving, and hell-deserving? Then all that is
   asked of thee is that thou wouldst simply confess thy sin to God;
   acknowledge that thou hast been guilty, and then cast thyself flat on
   thy face before the cross of Christ. He is able to save thee, sinner,
   for he is able to save to the very uttermost all that come unto God by
   him.

   May God the Holy Spirit now send the word home, and may some who have
   been poor as the widow of Sarepta, now find a miraculous supply of
   grace through Jesus Christ our Lord! Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                              A Christmas Question

   A Sermon

   (No. 291)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 25th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand

   "For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given."--Isaiah 9:6.

   UPON OTHER OCCASIONS I have explained the main part of this verse--"the
   government shall be upon his shoulders, his name shall be called
   Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God." If God shall spare me, on some
   future occasion I hope to take the other titles, "The Everlasting
   Father, the Prince of Peace." But now this morning the portion which
   will engage our attention is this, "Unto us a child is born, unto us a
   Son is given." The sentence is a double one, but it has in it no
   tautology. The careful reader will soon discover a distinction; and it
   is not a distinction without a difference. "Unto us a child is born,
   unto us a Son is given." As Jesus Christ is a child in his human
   nature, he is born, begotten of the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin
   Mary. He is as truly-born, as certainly a child, as any other man that
   ever lived upon the face of the earth. He is thus in his humanity a
   child born. But as Jesus Christ is God's Son, he is not born; but
   given, begotten of his Father from before all worlds, begotten--not
   made, being of the same substance with the Father. The doctrine of the
   eternal affiliation of Christ is to be received as an undoubted truth
   of our holy religion. But as to any explanation of it, no man should
   venture thereon, for it remaineth among the deep things of God--one of
   those solemn mysteries indeed, into which the angels dare not look, nor
   do they desire to pry into it--a mystery which we must not attempt to
   fathom, for it is utterly beyond the grasp of any finite being. As well
   might a gnat seek to drink in the ocean, as a finite creature to
   comprehend the Eternal God. A God whom we could understand would be no
   God. If we could grasp him he could not be infinite: if we could
   understand him, then were he not divine. Jesus Christ then, I say, as a
   Son, is not born to us, but given. He is a boon bestowed on us, "For
   God so loved the world, that he sent his only begotten Son into the
   world." He was not born in this world as God's Son, but he was sent, or
   was given, so that you clearly perceive that the distinction is a
   suggestive one, and conveys much good truth to us. "Unto us a child is
   born, unto us a Son is given."

   This morning, however, the principal object of my discourse, and,
   indeed, the sole one, is to bring out the force of those two little
   words, "unto us." For you will perceive that here the full force of the
   passage lies. "For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given."
   The divisions of my discourse are very simple ones. First, is it so?
   Secondly, if it is so, what then? Thirdly, if it is not so, what then?

   I. In the first place, IS IT SO? Is it true that unto us a child is
   born, unto us a Son is given? It is a fact that a child is born. Upon
   that I use no argument. We receive it as a fact, more fully established
   than any other fact in history, that the Son of God became man, was
   born at Bethlehem, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and laid in a manger.
   It is a fact, too, that a Son is given. About that we have no question.
   The infidel may dispute, but we, professing to be believers in
   Scripture, receive it as an undeniable truth, that God has given his
   only begotten Son to be the Savior of men. But the matter of question
   is this: Is this child born to us? Is he given to us? This is the
   matter of anxious enquiry. Have we a personal interest in the child
   that was born at Bethlehem? Do we know that he is our Savior?--that he
   has brought glad tidings to us?--that to us he belongs? and that we
   belong to him? I say this is matter of very grave and solemn
   investigation. It is a very observable fact, that the very best of men
   are sometimes troubled with questions with regard to their own interest
   in Christ, while men who never are troubled at all about the matter are
   very frequently presumptuous deceivers, who have no part in this
   matter. I have often observed that some of the people about whom I felt
   most sure, were the very persons who were the least sure of themselves.
   It reminds me of the history of a godly man named Simon Brown, a
   minister in the olden times in the City of London. He became so
   extremely sad in heart, so depressed in spirit, that at last he
   conceived the idea that his soul was annihilated. It was all in vain to
   talk to the good man, you could not persuade him that he had a soul;
   but all the time he was preaching, and praying, and working, more like
   a man that had two souls than none. When he preached, his eyes poured
   forth plenteous floods of tears, and when he prayed, there was a divine
   fervor and heavenly prevalence in every petition. Now so it is with
   many Christians. They seem to be the very picture of godliness; their
   life is admirable, and their conversation heavenly, but yet they are
   always crying,--

   "Tis a point I long to know,

   Oft it causes anxious thought,

   Do I love the Lord or no?

   Am I his or am I not?

   So does it happen, that the best of men will question while the worst
   of men will presume. Ay, I have seen the men about whose eternal
   destiny I had serious questioning, whose inconsistencies in life were
   palpable and glaring, who have prated concerning their sure portion in
   Israel, and their infallible hope, as though they believed others to be
   as easily duped as themselves. Now, what reason shall we give for this
   foolhardiness? Learn it from this illustration: You see a number of men
   riding along a narrow road upon the edge of the sea. It is a very
   perilous path, for the way is rugged and a tremendous precipice bounds
   the pathway on the left. Let but the horse's foot slip once, and they
   dash downwards to destruction. See how cautiously the riders journey,
   how carefully the horses place their feet. But do you observe yon
   rider, at what a rate he dashes along, as if he were riding a
   steeple-chase with Satan? You hold up your hands in an agony of fear,
   trembling lest every moment his horse's foot should slip, and he should
   be dashed down; and you say, why so careless a rider? The man is a
   blind rider on a blind horse. They cannot see where they are. He thinks
   he is on a sure road, and therefore it is that he rides so fast. Or to
   vary the picture; sometimes when persons are asleep, they take to
   walking and they will climb where others will not think of venturing.
   Giddy heights that would turn our brain seem safe enough to them. So
   there be many spiritual sleep-walkers in our midst, who think that they
   are awake. But they are not. Their very presumption in venturing to the
   high places of self-confidence, proves that they are somnambulists; not
   awake, but men who walk and talk in their sleep. It is, then, I say,
   really a matter of serious questioning with all men who would be right
   at last, as to whether this child is born to us, and this Son given to
   us?

   I shall now help you to answer the question.

   1. If this child who now lies before the eyes of your faith, wrapped in
   swaddling clothes in Bethlehem's manger, is born to you, my hearer,
   then you are born again! For this child is not born to you unless you
   are born to this child. All who have an interest in Christ are, in the
   fullness of time, by grace converted, quickened, and renewed. All the
   redeemed are not yet converted, but they will be. Before the hour of
   death arrives their nature shall be changed, their sins shall be washed
   away, they shall pass from death unto life. If any man tells me that
   Christ is his Redeemer, although he has never experienced regeneration,
   that man utters what he does not know; his religion is vain, and his
   hope is a delusion. Only men who are born again can claim the babe in
   Bethlehem as being theirs. "But" saith one, "how am I to know whether I
   am born again or not?" Answer this question also by another: Has there
   been a change effected by divine grace within you? Are your loves the
   very opposite of what they were? Do you now hate the vain things you
   once admired, and do you seek after that precious pearl which you at
   one time despised? Is your heart thoroughly renewed in its object? Can
   you say that the bent of your desire is changed? that your face is
   Zionward, and your feet set upon the path of grace? that whereas your
   heart once longed for deep draughts of sin, it now longs to be holy?
   and whereas you once loved the pleasures of the world, they have now
   become as draff and dross to you, for you only love the pleasures of
   heavenly things, and are longing to enjoy more of them on earth, that
   you may be prepared to enjoy a fullness of them hereafter? Are you
   renewed within? For mark, my hearer, the new birth does not consist in
   washing the outside of the cup and platter, but in cleansing the inner
   man. It is all in vain to put up the stone upon the sepulcher, wash it
   extremely white, and garnish it with the flowers of the season; the
   sepulcher itself must be cleansed. The dead man's bones that lie in
   that charnel-house of the human heart must be cleansed away. Nay, they
   must be made to live. The heart must no longer be a tomb of death, but
   a temple of life. Is it so with you, my hearer? For recollect, you may
   be very different in the outward, but if you are not changed in the
   inward, this child is not born to you.

   But I put another question. Although the main matter of regeneration
   lies within, yet it manifests itself without. Say, then, has there been
   a change in you in the exterior? Do you think that others who look at
   you would be compelled to say, this man is not what he used to be? Do
   not your companions observe a change? Have they not laughed at you for
   what they think to be your hypocrisy, your puritanism, your sternness?
   Do you think now that if an angel should follow you into your secret
   life, should track you to your closet and see you on your knees, that
   he would detect something in you which he could never have seen before?
   For, mark, my dear hearer, there must be a change in the outward life,
   or else there is no change within. In vain you bring me to the tree,
   and say that the tree's nature is changed. If I still see it bringing
   forth wild grapes, it is a wild vine still. And if I mark upon you the
   apples of Sodom and the grapes of Gomorrah you are still a tree
   accursed and doomed, notwithstanding all your fancied experience. The
   proof of the Christian is in the living. To other men, the proof of our
   conversion is not what you feel, but what you do. To yourself your
   feelings may be good enough evidence, but to the minister and others
   who judge of you, the outward walk is the main guide. At the same time,
   let me observe that a man's outward life may be very much like that of
   a Christian, and yet there may be no religion in him at all. Have you
   ever seen two jugglers in the street with swords, pretending to fight
   with one another? See how they cut, and slash, and hack at one another,
   till you are half afraid there will soon be murder done. They seem to
   be so very much in earnest that you are half in the mind to call in the
   police to part them. See with what violence that one has aimed a
   terrific blow at the other one's head, which his comrade dexterously
   warded off by keeping a well-timed guard. Just watch them a minute, and
   you will see that all these cuts and thrusts come in a prearranged
   order. There is no heart in the fighting after all. They do not fight
   so roughly as they would if they were real enemies. So, sometimes I
   have seen a man pretending to be very angry against sin. But watch him
   a little while, and you will see it is only a fencer's trick. He does
   not give his cuts out of order, there is no earnestness in his blows,
   it is all pretense, it is only mimic stage-play. The fencers, after
   they have ended their performance, shake hands with one another, and
   divide the coppers which the gaping throng have given them; and so does
   this man do, he shakes hands with the devil in private, and the two
   deceivers share the spoil. The hypocrite and the devil are very good
   friends after all, and they mutually rejoice over their profits: the
   devil leering because he has won the soul of the professor, and the
   hypocrite laughing because he has won his pelf. Take care, then, that
   your outward life is not a mere stage-play, but that your antagonism to
   sin is real and intense; and that you strike right and left, as though
   you meant to slay the monster, and cast its limbs to the winds of
   heaven.

   I will just put another question. If thou hast been born again, there
   is another matter by which to try thee. Not only is thy inward self
   altered, and thy outward self too, but the very root and principle of
   thy life must become totally new. When we are in sin we live to self,
   but when we are renewed we live to God. While we are unregenerate, our
   principle is to seek our own pleasure, our own advancement; but that
   man is not truly born again who does not live with a far different aim
   from this. Change a man's principles, and you change his feelings, you
   change his actions. Now, grace changes the principles of man. It lays
   the axe at the root of the tree. It does not saw away at some big limb
   it does not try to alter the sap; but it gives a new root, and plants
   us in fresh sold. The man's inmost self, the deep rocks of his
   principles upon which the topsoil of his actions rest, the soul of his
   manhood is thoroughly changed, and he is a new creature in Christ.
   "But," says one, "I see no reason why I should be born again." Ah, poor
   creature, it is because thou hast never seen thyself. Didst thou ever
   see a man in the looking-glass of the Word of God--what a strange
   monster he is. Do you know, a man by nature has his heart where his
   feet ought to be:--that is to say, his heart is set upon the earth,
   whereas he ought to be treading it beneath his feet; and stranger
   mystery still, his heels are where his heart should be:--that is to
   say, he is kicking against the God of heaven when he ought to be
   setting his affections on things above. Man by nature when he sees
   clearest, only looks down, can only see that which is beneath him, he
   cannot see the things which are above; and strange to say the sunlight
   of heaven blinds him; light from heaven he looks not for. He asks for
   his light in darkness. The earth is to him his heaven, and he sees suns
   in its muddy pools and stars in its filth. He is, in fact, a man turned
   upside down. The fall has so ruined our nature, that the most monstrous
   thing on the face of the earth is a fallen man. The ancients used to
   paint griffins, gryphons, dragons, chimeras, and all kinds of hideous
   things; but if a skillful hand could paint man accurately none of us
   would look at the picture, for it is a sight that none ever saw except
   the lost in hell; and that is one part of their intolerable pain, that
   they are compelled always to look upon themselves Now, then, see you
   not that ye must be born again, and unless ye are so this child is not
   born to you.

   2. But I go forward. If this child is born to you, you are a child, and
   the question arises, are you so? Man grows from childhood up to manhood
   naturally; in grace men grow from manhood down to childhood; and the
   nearer we come to true childhood, the nearer welcome to the image of
   Christ. For was not Christ called "a child," even after he had ascended
   up to heaven? "Thy holy child Jesus." Brethren and sisters, can you say
   that you have been made into children? Do you take God's Word just as
   it stands, simply because your heavenly Father says so? Are you content
   to believe mysteries without demanding to have them explained? Are you
   ready to sit in the infant class, and be a little one? Are you willing
   to hang upon the breast of the church, and suck in the unadulterated
   milk of the Word--never questioning for a moment what your divine Lord
   reveals, but believing it on his own authority, whether it seemed to be
   above reason, or beneath reason, or even contrary to reason? Now,
   "except ye be converted and become as little children," this child is
   not born to you; except like a child you are humble, teachable,
   obedient, pleased with your Father's will and willing to assign all to
   him, there is grave matter of question whether this child is born to
   you. But what a pleasing sight it is to see a man converted and made
   into a little child. Many times has my heart leaped for joy, when I
   have seen a giant infidel who used to reason against Christ, who had
   not a word in his dictionary bad enough for Christ's people come by
   divine grace to believe the gospel. That man sits down and weeps, feels
   the full power of salvation and from that time drops all his
   questionings becomes the very reverse of what he was. He thinks himself
   meaner than the meanest believer. He is content to do the meanest work
   for the church of Christ, and takes his station--not with Locke or
   Newton, as a mighty Christian philosopher--but with Mary as a simple
   learner, sitting at Jesus' feet, to hear and learn of him. If ye are
   not children, then this child is not born to you.

   3. And now let us take the second sentence and put a question or two
   upon that. Is this son given to us? I pause a minute to beg your
   personal attention. I am trying, if I may, so to preach that I may make
   you all question yourselves. I pray you let not one of you exempt
   himself from the ordeal but let each one ask himself, if it true that
   unto me a Son is given? Now, if this Son is given to you, you are a son
   yourself. "For unto as many as received him to them gave he power to
   become the sons of God." "Christ became a Son that in all things he
   might be made like unto his brethren." The Son of God is not mine to
   enjoy, to love, to delight in, unless I am a son of God too. Now, my
   hearer, have you a fear of God before your eyes--a filial fear, a fear
   which a child has lest it should grieve its parent? Say have you a
   child's love to God? Do you trust to him as your father, your provider,
   and your friend? Have you in your breast "The spirit of adoption
   whereby we cry, Abba, Father?" Are there times with you when on your
   knees you can say, "My Father and my God." Does the Spirit bear witness
   with your spirit that you are born of God? and while this witness is
   born, does your heart fly up to your Father and to your God, in ecstacy
   of delight to clasp him who long ago hath clasped you in the covenant
   of his love, in the arms of his effectual grace? Now, mark my hearer,
   if thou dost not sometimes enjoy the spirit of adoption, if thou art
   not a son or daughter of Zion, then deceive not thyself, this Son is
   not given to thee.

   4. And, then, to put it in another shape. If unto us a Son is given,
   then we are given to the Son. Now, what say you to this question also?
   Are you given up to Christ? Do you feel that you have nothing on earth
   to live for but to glorify him? Can you say in your heart, "Great God,
   if I be not deceived I am wholly thine?" Are you ready to-day to write
   over again your consecration vow? Canst thou say, "Take me! All that I
   am and all I have, shall be for ever thine. I would give up all my
   goods, all my powers, all my time, and all my hours, and thine I would
   be--wholly thine." "Ye are not your own: ye are bought with a price."
   And if this Son of God be given to you, you will have consecrated
   yourself wholly to him; and you will feel that his honor is your life's
   object, that his glory is the one great desire of your panting spirit.
   Now is it so, my hearer? Ask thyself the question. I pray thee, and do
   not deceive thyself in the answer.

   I will just repeat the four different proofs again. If unto me a child
   is born then I have been born again; and, moreover, I am now in
   consequence of that new birth, a child. If, again, a Son has been given
   to me, then I am a son; and again I am given to that Son who is given
   to me. I have tried to put these tests in the way that the text would
   suggest them. I pray you carry them home with you. If you do not
   recollect the words, yet do recollect to search yourselves, and see, my
   hearers, whether you can say, "Unto me this Son is given." For, indeed,
   if Christ is not my Christ, he is of little worth to me. If I cannot
   say he loved me and gave himself for me, of what avail is all the merit
   of his righteousness, or all the plenitude of his atonement? Bread in
   the shop is well enough, but if I am hungry and cannot get it, I starve
   although granaries be full. Water in the river is well enough but if I
   am in a desert and cannot reach the stream, if I can hear it in the
   distance and am yet lying down to die of thirst, the murmuring of the
   rill, or the flowing of the river, helps to tantalize me, while I die
   in dark despair. Better for you, my hearers to have perished as
   Hottentots, to have gone down to your graves as dwellers in some
   benighted land, than to live where the name of Christ is continually
   hymned and where his glory is extolled, and yet to go down to your
   tombs without an interest in him, unblessed by his gospel, unwashed in
   his blood, unclothed of his robe of righteousness. God help you, that
   you may be blessed in him, and may sing sweetly "Unto us a child is
   born, unto us a Son is given."

   II. This brings me to my second head, upon which I shall be brief. Is
   it so? IF IT IS SO, WHAT THEN? If it is so, why am I doubtful to-day?
   Why is my spirit questioning? Why do I not realize the fact? My hearer,
   if the Son is given to thee, how is it that thou art this day asking
   whether thou art Christ's, or not? Why dost thou not labor to make thy
   calling and election sure? Why tarriest thou in the plains of doubt?
   Get thee up, get thee up to the high mountains of confidence, and never
   rest till thou canst say without a fear that thou art mistaken, "I know
   that my Redeemer liveth. I am persuaded that he is able to keep that
   which I have committed to him." I may have a large number of persons
   here to whom it is a matter of uncertainty as to whether Christ is
   theirs or not. Oh, my dear hearers, rest not content unless you know
   assuredly that Christ is yours, and that you are Christ's. Suppose you
   should see in to-morrow's newspaper, (although, by the way, if you
   believed anything you saw there you would probably be mistaken) but
   suppose you should see a notification that some rich man had left you
   an immense estate. Suppose, as you read it, you were well aware that
   the person mentioned was a relative of yours, and that it was likely to
   be true. It may be you have prepared to-morrow for a family meeting,
   and you are expecting brother John and sister Mary and their little
   ones to dine with you. But I very much question whether you would not
   be away from the head of the table to go and ascertain whether the fact
   were really so. "Oh," you could say, "I am sure I should enjoy my
   Christmas dinner all the better if I were quite sure about this
   matter;" and all day, if you did not go, you would be on the tip-toe of
   expectation; you would be, as it were, sitting upon pins and needles
   until you knew whether it were the fact or not. Now there is a
   proclamation gone forth to-day, and it is a true one, too, that Jesus
   Christ has come into the world to save sinners. The question with you
   is whether he has saved you, and whether you have an interest in him. I
   beseech you, give no sleep to your eyes, and no slumber to your
   eyelids, till you have read your "title clear to mansions in the
   skies." What, man! shall your eternal destiny be a matter of
   uncertainty to you? What! is heaven or hell involved in this matter,
   and will you rest until you know which of these shall be your
   everlasting portion? Are you content while it is a question whether God
   loves you, or whether he is angry with you? Can you be easy while you
   remain in doubt as to whether you are condemned in sin, or justified by
   faith which is in Christ Jesus? Get thee up, man. I beseech thee by the
   living God, and by thine own soul's safety, get thee up and read the
   records. Search and look, and try and test thyself, to see whether it
   be so or not. For if it be so, why should not we know it? If the Son is
   given to me, why should not I be sure of it? If the child is born to
   me, why should I not know it for a certainty, that I may even now live
   in the enjoyment of my privilege--a privilege, the value of which I
   shall never know to the full, till I arrive in glory?

   Again, if it be so, another question. Why are we sad? I am looking upon
   faces just now that appear the very reverse of gloomy, but mayhap the
   smile covers an aching heart. Brother and sister, why are we sad this
   morning, if unto us a child is born, if unto us a Son is given? Hark,
   hark to the cry! It is "Harvest home! Harvest home!" See the maidens as
   they dance, and the young men as they make merry. And why is this
   mirth? Because they are storing the precious fruits of the earth, they
   are gathering together unto their barns wheat which will soon be
   consumed. And what, brothers and sisters have we the bread which
   endureth to eternal life and are we unhappy? Does the worldling rejoice
   when his corn is increased, and do we not rejoice when, "Unto us a
   child is born, and unto us a Son is given?" Hark, yonder! What means
   the firing of the Tower guns? Why all this ringing of bells in the
   church steeples, as if all London were mad with joy? There is a prince
   born; therefore there is this salute, and therefore are the bells
   ringing. Ah, Christians, ring the bells of your hearts, tire the salute
   of your most joyous songs, "For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son
   is given." Dance, O my heart, and ring out peals of gladness! Ye drops
   of blood within my veins dance every one of you! Oh! all my nerves
   become harp strings, and let gratitude touch you with angelic fingers!
   And thou, my tongue, shout--shout to his praise who hath said to
   thee--"Unto thee a child is born, unto thee a Son is given." Wipe that
   tear away! Come, stop that sighing! Hush yon murmuring. What matters
   your poverty? "Unto you a child is born." What matters your sickness?
   "Unto you a Son is given." What matters your sin? For this child shall
   take the sin away, and this Son shall wash and make you fit for heaven.
   I say, if it be so,

   "Lift up the heart, lift up the voice,

   Rejoice aloud! ye saints rejoice!"

   But, once more, if it be so, what then? Why are our hearts so cold? and
   why is it that we do so little for him who has done so much for us?
   Jesus, art thou mine? Am I saved? How is it that I love thee so little?
   Why is it that when I preach I am not more in earnest, and when I pray
   I am not more intensely fervent? How is it that we give so little to
   Christ who gave himself for us? How is it that we serve him so sadly
   who served us so perfectly? He consecrated himself wholly; how is it
   that our consecration is marred and partial? We are continually
   sacrificing to self and not to him?

   O beloved brethren, yield yourselves up this morning. What have you got
   in the world? "Oh," saith one, "I have nothing; I am poor and
   penniless, and all but homeless." Give thyself to Christ. You have
   heard the story of the pupils to a Greek philosopher. On a certain day
   it was the custom to give to the philosopher a present. One came and
   gave him gold. Another could not bring him gold but brought him silver.
   One brought him a robe, and another some delicacy for food. But one of
   them came up, and said, "Oh, Solon, I am poor, I have nothing to give
   to thee, but yet I will give thee something better than all these have
   given; I give thee myself." Now, if you have gold and silver, if you
   have aught of this world's goods, give in your measure to Christ; but
   take care, above all, that you give yourself to him, and let your cry
   be from this day forth,

   "Do not I love thee dearest Lord?

   Oh search my heart and see,

   And turn each cursed idol out

   That dares to rival thee.

   Do not I love thee from my soul?

   Then let me nothing love:

   Dead be my heart to every joy,

   When Jesus cannot move."

   III. Well, now I have all but done, but give your solemn, very solemn
   attention, while I come to my last head:--IF IT IS NOT SO, WHAT THEN?
   Dear hearer, I cannot tell where thou art--but wherever thou mayst be
   in this hall, the eyes of my heart are looking for thee, that when they
   have seen thee, they may weep over thee. Ah! miserable wretch, without
   a hope, without Christ, without God. Unto thee there is no Christmas
   mirth, for thee no child is born; to thee no Son is given. Sad is the
   story of the poor men and women, who during the week before last fell
   down dead in our streets through cruel hunger and bitter cold. But far
   more pitiable is thy lot, far more terrible shall be thy condition in
   the day when thou shalt cry for a drop of water to cool thy burning
   tongue, and it shall be denied thee; when thou shalt seek for death,
   for grim cold death--seek for him as for a friend, and yet thou shalt
   not find him. For the fire of hell shall not consume thee, nor its
   terrors devour thee. Thou shalt long to die, yet shalt thou linger in
   eternal death--dying every hour, yet never receiving the much coveted
   boon of death. What shall I say to thee this morning? Oh! Master, help
   me to speak a word in season, now. I beseech thee, my hearer, if Christ
   is not thine this morning, may God the Spirit help thee to do what I
   now command thee to do. First of all, confess thy sins; not into my
   ear, nor into the ear of any living man. Go to thy chamber and confess
   that thou art vile. Tell him thou art a wretch undone without his
   sovereign grace. But do not think there is any merit in confession.
   There is none. All your confession cannot merit forgiveness, though God
   has promised to pardon the man who confesses his sin and forsakes it.
   Imagine that some creditor had a debtor who owed him a thousand pounds.
   He calls upon him and says, "I demand my money." But, says the other,
   "I owe you nothing." That man will be arrested and thrown into prison.
   However, his creditor says, "I wish to deal mercifully with you, make a
   frank confession, and I will forgive you all the debt." "Well," says
   the man, "I do acknowledge that I owe you two hundred pounds." "No,"
   says he, "that will not do." "Well, sir, I confess I owe you five
   hundred pounds," and by degrees he comes to confess that he owes the
   thousand. Is there any merit in that confession? No; but yet you could
   see that no creditor would think of forgiving a debt which was not
   acknowledged. It is the least that you can do, to acknowledge your sin;
   and though there be no merit in the confession, yet true to his
   promise, God will give you pardon through Christ. That is one piece of
   advice. I pray you take it. Do not throw it to the winds; do not leave
   it as soon as you get out of Exeter Hall. Take it with you, and may
   this day become a confession-day with many of you. But next, when you
   have made a confession, I beseech you renounce yourself. You have been
   resting perhaps in some hope that you would make yourself better, and
   so save yourself. Give up that delusive fancy. You have seen the
   silk-worm: it will spin, and spin, and spin, and then it will die where
   it has spun itself a shroud. And your good works are but a spinning for
   yourself a robe for your dead soul. You can do nothing by your best
   prayers, your best tears, or your best works, to merit eternal life.
   Why, the Christian who is converted to God, will tell you that he
   cannot live a holy life by himself. If the ship in the sea cannot steer
   itself aright, do you think the wood that lies in the carpenter's yard
   can put itself together, and make itself into a ship, and then go out
   to sea and sail to America? Yet, this is just what you imagine. The
   Christian who is God's workmanship can do nothing, and yet you think
   you can do something. Now, give up self. God help you to strike a black
   mark through every idea of what you can do.

   Then, lastly, and I pray God help you here my dear hearers, when thou
   hast confessed thy sin and given up all hope of self-salvation, go to
   the place where Jesus died in agony. Go then in meditation to Calvary.
   There he hangs. It is the middle cross of these three. Methinks I see
   him now. I see his poor face emaciated, and his visage more marred than
   that of any man. I see the beady drops of blood still standing round
   his pierced temples--marks of that rugged thorn-crown. Ah, I see his
   body naked--naked to his shame. We may tell all his bones. See there
   his hands rent with the rough iron, and his feet torn with the nails.
   The nails have rent through his flesh. There is now not only the hole
   through which the nail was driven, but the weight of his body has
   sunken upon his feet, and see the iron is tearing through his flesh.
   And now the weight of his body hangs upon his arms, and the nails there
   are rending through the tender nerves. Hark! earth is startled! He
   cries, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" Oh, sinner, was ever shriek like
   that? God hath forsaken him. His God has ceased to be gracious to him.
   His soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death. But hark, again, he
   cries, "I thirst!" Give him water! give him water! Ye holy women let
   him drink. But no, his murderers torture him. They thrust into his
   mouth the vinegar mingled with gall--the bitter with the sharp, the
   vinegar and the gall. At last, hear him, sinner, for here is your hope.
   I see him bow his awful head. The King of heaven dies. The God who made
   the earth has become a man, and the man is about to expire. Hear him!
   He cries, "It is finished!" and he gives up the ghost. The atonement is
   finished, the price is paid, the bloody ransom counted down, the
   sacrifice is accepted. "It is finished!" Sinner, believe in Christ.
   Cast thyself on him. Sink or swim, take him to be thy all in all. Throw
   now thy trembling arms around that bleeding body. Sit now at the feet
   of that cross, and feel the dropping of the precious blood. And as you
   go out each one of you say in your hearts,

   "A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,

   On Christ's kind arms I fall,

   He is my strength and righteousness,

   My Jesus, and my all."

   God grant you grace to do so for Jesus Christ's sake. May the grace of
   our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the
   Holy Ghost, be with you all, for ever and ever. Amen and Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                            A New Year's Benediction

   A Sermon

   (No. 292)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 1st, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand

   "But the God of all grace who hath called us unto his eternal glory by
   Christ Jesus after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect,
   stablish, strengthen, settle you."--1 Peter 5:10.

   THE APOSTLE PETER TURNS from exhortation to prayer. He knew that if
   praying be the end of preaching in the hearer, preaching should always
   be accompanied by prayer in the minister. Having exhorted believers to
   walk stedfastly, he bends his knee and commends them to the guardian
   care of heaven, imploring upon them one of the largest blessings for
   which the most affectionate heart ever made supplication. The minister
   of Christ is intended to execute two offices for the people of his
   charge. He is to speak for God to them, and for them to God. The pastor
   hath not fulfilled the whole of his sacred commission when he hath
   declared the whole counsel of God. He hath then done but half. The
   other part is that which is to be performed in secret, when he carrieth
   upon his breast, like the priest of old, the wants, the sins, the
   trials of his people, and pleads with God for them. The daily duty of
   the Christian pastor is as much to pray for his people, as to exhort,
   instruct, and console. There are, however, special seasons when the
   minister of Christ finds himself constrained to pronounce an unusual
   benediction over his people. When one year of trial has gone and
   another year of mercy has commenced, we may be allowed to express our
   sincere congratulations that God has spared us, and our earnest
   invocations of a thousand blessings upon the heads of those whom God
   has committed to our pastoral charge.

   I have this morning taken this text as a new year's blessing. You are
   aware that a minister of the Church of England always supplies me with
   the motto for the new year. He prays much before he selects the text,
   and I know that it is his prayer for you all to-day. He constantly
   favors me with this motto, and I always think it my duty to preach from
   it, and then desire my people to remember it through the year as a
   staff of support in their time of trouble, as some sweet morsel, a
   wafer made with honey, a portion of angel's food, which they may roll
   under their tongue, and carry in their memory till the year ends, and
   then begin with another sweet text. What larger benediction could my
   aged friend have chosen, standing as he is to-day in his pulpit, and
   lifting up holy hands to preach to the people in a quiet village
   church--what larger blessing could he implore for the thousands of
   Israel than that which in his name I pronounce upon you this day:--"But
   the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by
   Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect,
   establish, strengthen, settle you."

   In discoursing upon this text, I shall have to remark:--first, what the
   apostle asks of heaven; and then, secondly, why he expects to receive
   it. The reason of his expecting to be answered is contained in the
   title by which he addresses the Lord his God--"The GOD OF ALL GRACE who
   hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus."

   I. First, then, WHAT THE APOSTLE ASKS FOR ALL TO WHOM THIS EPISTLE WAS
   WRITTEN. He asks for them four sparkling jewels set in a black foil.
   The four jewels are these:--Perfection, Establishment, Strengthening,
   Settling. The jet-black setting is this--"After that ye have suffered
   awhile." Worldly compliments are of little worth; for as Chesterfield
   observes, "They cost nothing but ink and paper." I must confess, I
   think even that little expense is often thrown away. Worldly
   compliments generally omit all idea of sorrow. "A merry Christmas! A
   happy new year!" There is no supposition of anything like suffering.
   But Christian benedictions look at the truth of matters. We know that
   men must suffer, we believe that men are born to sorrow as the spark
   flieth upwards; and therefore in our benediction we include the sorrow.
   Nay, more than that, we believe that the sorrow shall assist in working
   out the blessing which we invoke upon your heads. We, in the language
   of Peter, say, "After that ye have suffered a while, may the God of all
   grace make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you." Understand,
   then, as I take each of these four jewels, that you are to look upon
   them, and consider that they are only desired for you "after that ye
   have suffered awhile." We must not discard the sufferings. We must take
   them from the same hand from which we receive the mercy; and the
   blessing bears date, "after that ye have suffered a while."

   1. Now the first sparkling jewel in this ring is perfection. The
   apostle prays that God would make us perfect. Indeed, though this be a
   large prayer, and the jewel is a diamond of the first water, and of the
   finest size, yet is it absolutely necessary to a Christian that he
   should ultimately arrive at perfection. Have ye never on your bed
   dreamed a dream, when your thoughts roamed at large and the bit was
   taken from the lip of your imagination, when stretching all your wings,
   your soul floated through the Infinite, grouping strange and marvelous
   things together, so that the dream rolled on in something like
   supernatural splendor? But on a sudden you were awakened, and you have
   regretted hours afterwards that the dream was never concluded. And what
   is a Christian, if he do not arrive at perfection, but an unfinished
   dream? A majestic dream it is true, full of things that earth had never
   known if it had not been that they were revealed to flesh and blood by
   the Spirit. But suppose the voice of sin should startle us ere that
   dream be concluded, and if as when one awaketh, we should despise the
   image which began to be formed in our minds, what were we then?
   Everlasting regrets, a multiplication of eternal torment must be the
   result of our having begun to be Christians, if we do not arrive at
   perfection. If there could be such a thing as a man in whom
   sanctification began but in whom God the Spirit ceased to work, if
   there could be a being so unhappy as to be called by grace and to be
   deserted before he was perfected, there would not be among the damned
   in hell a more unhappy wretch. It were no blessing for God to begin to
   bless if he did not perfect. It were the grandest curse which
   Omnipotent hatred itself could pronounce, to give a man grace at all,
   if that grace did not carry him to the end, and land him safely in
   heaven. I must confess that I would rather endure the pangs of that
   dread archangel, Satan, throughout eternity, than have to suffer as one
   whom God once loved, but whom he cast away. But such a thing shall
   never be. Whom once he hath chosen he doth not reject. We know that
   where he hath begun a good work he will carry it on, and he will
   complete it until the day of Christ. Grand is the prayer, then, when
   the apostle asks that we may be perfected. What were a Christian if he
   were not perfected? Have you never seen a canvas upon which the hand of
   the painter has sketched with daring pencil some marvellous scene of
   grandeur? You see where the living color has been laid on with an
   almost superhuman skill. But the artist was suddenly struck dead, and
   the hand that worked miracles of art was palsied, and the pencil
   dropped. Is it not a source of regret to the world that ever the
   painting was commenced, since it was never finished? Have you never
   seen the human face divine starting out from the chiselled marble? You
   have seen the exquisite skill of the sculptor, and you have said within
   yourself, "What a marvellous thing will this be! what a matchless
   specimen of human skill!" But, alas! it never was completed, but was
   left unfinished. And do you imagine, any of you, that God will begin to
   sculpture out a perfect being and not complete it? Do you think that
   the hand of divine wisdom will sketch the Christian and not fill up the
   details? Hath God taken us as unhewn stones out of the quarry, and hath
   he begun to work upon us, and show his divine art, his marvellous
   wisdom and grace and will he afterwards cast us away? Shall God fail?
   Shall he leave his works imperfect? Point, if you can, my hearers, to a
   world which God has cast away unfinished. Is there one speck in his
   creation where God hath begun to build but was not able to complete?
   Hath he made a single angel deficient? Is there one creature over which
   it cannot be said, "This is very good?" And shall it be said over the
   creature twice made--the chosen of God, the blood-bought--shall it be
   said, "The Spirit began to work in this man's heart, but the man was
   mightier than the Spirit, and sin conquered grace; God was put to rout,
   and Satan triumphed, and the man was never perfected?" Oh, my dear
   brethren, the prayer shall be fulfilled. After that ye have suffered a
   while, God shall make you perfect, if he has begun the good work in
   you.

   But, beloved, it must be after that ye have suffered awhile. Ye cannot
   be perfected except by the fire. There is no way of ridding you of your
   dross and your tin but by the names of the furnace of affliction. Your
   folly is so bound up in your hearts, ye children of God, that nothing
   but the rod can bring it out of you. It is through the blueness of your
   wounds that your heart is made better. Ye must pass through
   tribulation, that through the Spirit it may act as a refining fire to
   you; that pure, holy, purged, and washed, ye may stand before the face
   of your God, rid of every imperfection, and delivered from every
   corruption within.

   2. Let us now proceed to the second blessing of the
   benediction--establishment. It is not enough even if the Christian had
   received in himself a proportional perfection, if he were not
   established. You have seen the arch of heaven as it spans the plain:
   glorious are its colors, and rare its hues. Though we have seen it many
   and many a time, it never ceases to be "A thing of beauty and a joy for
   ever." But alas for the rainbow, it is not established. It passes away
   and lo it is not. The fair colors give way to the fleecy clouds, and
   the sky is no longer brilliant with the tints of heaven. It is not
   established. How can it be? A thing that is made of transitory sunbeams
   and passing rain-drops, how can it abide? And mark, the more beautiful
   the vision, the more sorrowful the reflection when that vision
   vanishes, and there is nothing left but darkness. It is, then, a very
   necessary wish for the Christian, that he should be established. Of all
   God's known conceptions, next to his incarnate Son, I do not hesitate
   to pronounce a Christian man the noblest conception of God. But if this
   conception is to be but as the rainbow painted on the cloud, and is to
   pass away for ever, woe worth the day that ever our eyes were
   tantalized with a sublime conception that is so soon to melt away. What
   is a Christian man better than the flower of the field, which is here
   to day, and which withers when the sun is risen with fervent heat,
   unless God establish him--what is the difference between the heir of
   heaven, the blood-bought child of God, and the grass of the field? Oh,
   may God fulfill to you this rich benediction, that you may not be as
   the smoke out of a chimney, which is blown away by the wind: that your
   goodness may not be as the morning cloud, and as the early dew which
   passeth away; but may ye be established, may every good thing that you
   have be an abiding thing. May your character be not a writing upon the
   sand, but an inscription upon the rock. May your faith be no "baseless
   fabric of a vision," but may it be builded of stone that shall endure
   that awful fire which shall consume the wood, hay, and stubble of the
   hypocrite. May ye be rooted and grounded in love. May your conviction
   be deep. May your love be real. May your desires be earnest. May your
   whole life be so settled, fixed and established, that all the blasts of
   hell and all the storms of earth shall never be able to remove you. You
   know we talk about some Christian men as being old established
   Christians. I do fear there are a great many that are old, who are not
   established. It is one thing to have the hair whitened with years, but
   I fear it is another thing for us to obtain wisdom. There be some who
   grow no wiser by all their experience. Though their fingers be well
   rapped by experience, yet have they not learned in that school. I know
   there are many aged Christians who can say of themselves, and say it
   sorrowfully too, they wish they had their opportunities over again,
   that they might learn more, and might be more established. We have
   heard them sing--

   "I find myself a learner yet,

   Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide."

   The benediction however of the apostle is one which I pray may be
   fulfilled in us whether we be young or old, but especially in those of
   you who have long known your Lord and Savior. You ought not now to be
   the subject of those doubts which vex the babe in grace. Those first
   principles should not always be laid again by you: but you should be
   going forward to something higher. You are getting near to heaven; oh,
   how is it that you have not got to the land Beulah yet? to that land
   which floweth with milk and honey? Surely your wavering in beseemeth
   those grey hairs. Methought they had been whitened with the sunlight of
   heaven. How is it that some of the sunlight does not gleam from your
   eyes? We who are young look up to you old-established Christians; and
   if we see you doubting, and hear you speaking with a trembling lip then
   we are exceedingly cast down. We pray for our sakes as well as for
   yours, that this blessing may be fulfilled in you, that you may be
   established; that you may no longer be exercised with doubt; that you
   may know your interest in Christ, that you may feel you are secure in
   him; that resting upon the rock of ages you may know that you cannot
   perish while your feet are fixed there. We do pray, in fact, for all,
   of whatever age, that our hope may be fixed upon nothing less than
   Jesu's blood and righteousness, and that it may be so firmly fixed that
   it may never shake; but that we may be as Mount Zion, which can never
   be removed, and which abideth for ever.

   Thus have I remarked upon the second blessing of this benediction. But
   mark, we cannot have it until after we have suffered a while. We cannot
   be established except by suffering. It is of no use our hoping that we
   shall be well-rooted if no March winds have passed over us. The young
   oak cannot be expected to strike its roots so deep as the old one.
   Those old gnarlings on the roots, and those strange twistings of the
   branches, all tell of many storms that have swept over the aged tree.
   But they are also indicators of the depths into which the roots have
   dived; and they tell the woodman that he might as soon expect to rend
   up a mountain as to tear up that oak by the roots. We must suffer a
   while, then shall we be established.

   3. Now for the third blessing, which is strengthening. Ah, brethren,
   this is a very necessary blessing too for all Christians. There be some
   whose characters seem to be fixed and established. But still they lack
   force and vigor. Shall I give you a picture of a Christian without
   strength? There he is. He has espoused the cause of King Jesus. He hath
   put on his armor; he hath enlisted in the heavenly host. Do you observe
   him? He is perfectly panoplied from head to foot, and he carries with
   him the shield of faith. Do you notice, too, how firmly he is
   established? He keeps his ground, and he will not be removed. But
   notice him. When he uses his sword it falls with feeble force. His
   shield, though he grasps it as firmly as his weakness will allow him,
   trembles in his grasp. There he stands, he will not move, but still how
   tottering is his position. His knees knock together with affright when
   he heareth the sound and the noise of war and tumult. What doth this
   man need? His will is right, his intention is right, and his heart is
   fully set upon good things. What doth he need? Why he needeth strength.
   The poor man is weak and childlike. Either because he has been fed on
   unsavoury and unsubstantial meat, or because of some sin which has
   straitened him, he has not that force and strength which ought to dwell
   in the Christian man. But once let the prayer of Peter be fulfilled to
   him, and how strong the Christian becomes. There is not in all the
   world a creature so strong as a Christian when God is with him. Talk of
   Behemoth! he is but as a little thing. His might is weakness when
   matched with the believer. Talk of Leviathan that maketh the deep to be
   hoary! he is not the chief of the ways of God. The true believer is
   mightier far than even he. Have you never seen the Christian when God
   is with him? He smelleth the battle afar off, and he cries in the midst
   of the tumult, "Aha! aha! aha!" He laugheth at all the hosts of his
   enemies. Or if you compare him to the Leviathan--if he be cast into a
   sea of trouble, he lashes about him and makes the deep hoary with
   benedictions. He is not overwhelmed by the depths, nor is he afraid of
   the rocks; he has the protection of God about him, and the floods
   cannot drown him; nay, they become an element of delight to him, while
   by the grace of God he rejoiceth in the midst of the billows. If you
   want a proof of the strength of a Christian you have only to turn to
   history, and you can see there how believers have quenched the violence
   of fire, have shut the mouths of lions, have shaken their fists in the
   face of grim death, have laughed tyrants to scorn, and have put to
   flight the armies of aliens, by the all-mastering power of faith in
   God. I pray God, my brethren, that he may strengthen you this year.

   The Christians of this age are very feeble things. It is a remarkable
   thing that the great mass of children now-a-days are born feeble. You
   ask me for the evidence of it. I can supply it very readily. You are
   aware that in the Church of England Liturgy it is ordered and ordained
   that all children should be immersed in baptism except those that are
   certified to be of a weakly state. Now, it were uncharitable to imagine
   that persons would be guilty of falsehood when they come up to what
   they think to be a sacred ordinance; and, therefore, as nearly all
   children are now sprinkled, and not immersed, I suppose they are born
   feeble. Whether that accounts for the fact that all Christians are so
   feeble I will not undertake to say, but certain it is that we have not
   many gigantic Christians now-a-days. Here and there we hear of one who
   seems to work all but miracles in these modern times, and we are
   astonished. Oh that ye had faith like these men! I do not think there
   is much more piety in England now than there used to be in the days of
   the Puritans. I believe there are far more pious men; but while the
   quantity has been multiplied, I fear the quality has been depreciated.
   In those days the stream of grace ran very deep indeed. Some of those
   old Puritans, when we read of their devotion, and of the hours they
   spent in prayer, seem to have as much grace as any hundred of us. The
   stream ran deep. But now-a-days the banks are broken down, and great
   meadows have been flooded therewith. So far so good. But while the
   surface has been enlarged I fear the depth has been frightfully
   diminished. And this may account for it, that while our piety has
   become shallow our strength has become weak. Oh, may God strengthen you
   this year! But remember, if he does do so, you will then have to
   suffer. "After that ye have suffered a while," may he strengthen you.
   There is sometimes an operation performed upon horses which one must
   consider to be cruel--the firing of them to make their tendons strong.
   Now, every Christian man before he can be strengthened must be fired.
   He must have his nerves and tendons braced up with the hot iron of
   affliction. He will never become strong in grace, unless it be after he
   has suffered a while.

   4. And now I come to the last blessing of the four--"Settling." I will
   not say that this last blessing is greater than the other three, but it
   is a stepping-stone to each; and strange to say, if is often the result
   of a gradual attainment of the three preceding ones. "Settle you!" Oh,
   how many there are that are never settled. The tree which should be
   transplanted every week would soon die. Nay, if it were moved, no
   matter how skilfully, once every year, no gardener would expect fruit
   from it. How many Christians there be that are transplanting themselves
   constantly, even as to their doctrinal sentiments. There be some who
   generally believe according to the last speaker; and there be others
   who do not know what they do believe, but they believe almost anything
   that is told them. The spirit of Christian charity, so much cultivated
   in these days, and which we all love so much, has, I fear, assisted in
   bringing into the world a species of latitudinarianism; or in other
   words, men have come to believe that it does not matter what they do
   believe; that although one minister says it is so, and the other says
   it is not so; yet we are both right; that though we contradict each
   other flatly, yet we are both correct. I know not where men have had
   their judgments manufactured, but to my mind it always seems impossible
   to believe a contradiction. I can never understand how contrary
   sentiments can both of them be in accordance with the Word of God,
   which is the standard of truth. But yet there be some who are like the
   weathercock upon the church steeple, they will turn just as the wind
   blows. As good Mr. Whitfield said, "You might as well measure the moon
   for a suit of clothes as tell their doctrinal sentiments," for they are
   always shifting and ever changing. Now, I pray that this may be taken
   away from any of you, if this be your weakness, and that you may be
   settled. Far from us be bigotry removed; yet would I have the Christian
   know what he believes to be true and then stand to it. Take your time
   in weighing the controversy, but when you have once decided, be not
   easily moved. Let God be true though every man be a liar, and stand to
   it, that what is according to God's Word one day cannot be contrary to
   it another day, that what was true in Luther's day and Calvin's day
   must be true now; that falsehoods may shift, for they have a Protean
   shape; but the truth is one, and indivisible, and evermore the same.
   Let others think as they please. Allow the greatest latitude to others,
   but to yourself allow none. Stand firm and steadfast by that which ye
   have been taught, and ever seek the spirit of the apostle Paul, "If any
   man preach any other gospel than that which we have received, let him
   be accursed." If, however, I wished you to be firm in your doctrines,
   my prayer would be that you may be especially settled in your faith.
   You believe in Jesus Christ the Son of God, and you rest in him. But
   sometimes your faith wavers, then you lose your joy and comfort. I pray
   that your faith may become so settled that it may never be a matter of
   question with you, whether Christ is yours or not, but that you may say
   confidently, "I know whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that he
   is able to keep that which I have committed to him." Then I pray that
   you may be settled in your aims and designs. There are many Christian
   people who get a good idea into their heads, but they never carry it
   out, because they ask some friend what he thinks of it. "Not much,"
   says he. Of course he does not. Whoever did think much of anybody
   else's idea? And at once the person who conceived it gives it up, and
   the work is never accomplished. How many a man in his ministry has
   begun to preach the gospel, and he has allowed some member of the
   church, some deacon possibly, to pull him by one ear, and he has gone a
   little that way. By-and-bye, some other brother has thought fit to pull
   him in the other direction. The man has lost his manliness. He has
   never been settled as to what he ought to do; and now he becomes a mere
   lacquey, waiting upon everybody's opinion, willing to adopt whatever
   anybody else conceives to be right. Now, I pray you be settled in your
   aims. See what niche it is that God would have you occupy. Stand in it,
   and don't be got out of it by all the laughter that comes upon you. If
   you believe God has called you to a work, do it. If men will help you
   thank them. If they will not, tell them to stand out of your road or be
   run over. Let nothing daunt you. He who will serve his God must expect
   sometimes to serve him alone. Not always shall we fight in the ranks.
   There are times when the Lord's David must fight Goliath singly, and
   must take with him three stones out of the brook amid the laughter of
   his brethren, yet still in his weapons is he confident of victory
   through faith in God. Be not moved from the work to which God has put
   you. Be not weary in well-doing, for in due season ye shall reap if ye
   faint not. Be ye settled. Oh, may God fulfill this rich blessing to
   you.

   But you will not be settled unless you suffer. You will become settled
   in your faith and settled in your aims by suffering. Men are soft
   molluscous animals in these days. We have not the tough men that know
   they are right and stand to it. Even when a man is wrong one does
   admire his conscientiousness when he stands up believing that he is
   right and dares to face the frowns of the world. But when a man is
   right, the worst thing he can have is inconstancy, vacillation, the
   fear of men. Hurl it from thee O knight of the holy cross, and be firm
   if thou wouldst be victorious. Faint heart never stormed a city yet,
   and thou wilt never win nor be crowned with honor, if thy heart be not
   steeled against every assault and if thou be not settled in thy
   intention to honor thy Master and to win the crown.

   Thus have I run through the benediction.

   II. I come now, asking your attention for a few minutes more, to
   observe THE REASONS WHY THE APOSTLE PETER EXPECTED THAT HIS PRAYER
   WOULD BE HEARD. He asked that they might be made perfect, stablished,
   strengthened, settled. Did not Unbelief whisper in Peter's ear, "Peter,
   thou askest too much. Thou wast always headstrong. Thou didst say Bid
   me come upon the water.' Surely, this is another instance of thy
   presumption. If thou hadst said, Lord, make them holy,' had it not been
   a sufficient prayer? Hast thou not asked too much?" "No," saith Peter;
   and he replies to Unbelief, "I am sure I shall receive what I have
   asked for; for I am in the first place asking it of the God of all
   grace--the God of all grace." Not the God of the little graces we have
   received already alone, but the God of the great boundless grace which
   is stored up for us in the promise, but which as yet we have not
   received in our experience. "The God of all grace;" of quickening
   grace, of convincing grace, of pardoning grace, of believing grace, the
   God of comforting, supporting, sustaining grace. Surely, when we come
   to him we cannot come for too much. If he be the God, not of one grace,
   or of two graces, but of all graces, if in him there is stored up an
   infinite, boundless, limitless supply, how can we ask too much, even
   though we ask that we may be perfect? Believer, when you are on your
   knees, remember you are going to a king. Let your petitions be large.
   Imitate the example of Alexander's courtier, who when he was told he
   might have whatever he chose to ask as a reward for his valor, asked a
   sum of money so large that Alexander's treasurer refused to pay it
   until he had first seen the monarch. When he saw the monarch, he smiled
   and said, "It is true it is much for him to ask, but it is not much for
   Alexander to give. I admire him for his faith in me; let him have all
   he asks for." And dare I ask that I may be perfect, that my angry
   temper may be taken away, my stubbornness removed, my imperfections
   covered? May I ask that I may be like Adam in the garden--nay more, as
   pure and perfect as God himself? May I ask, that one day I may tread
   the golden streets, and "With my Savior's garments on, holy as the holy
   one," stand in the mid-blaze of God's glory, and cry, "Who shall lay
   anything to the charge of God's elect?" Yes, I may ask it; and I shall
   have it, for he is the God of all grace.

   Look again at the text, and you see another reason why Peter expected
   that his prayer would be heard:--"The God of all grace who hath called
   us." Unbelief might have said to Peter, "Ah, Peter, it is true that God
   is the God of all grace, but he is as a fountain shut up, as waters
   sealed." "Ah," saith Peter, "get thee hence Satan, thou savourest not
   the things that be of God. It is not a sealed fountain of all grace,
   for it has begun to flow"--"The God of all grace hath called us."
   Calling is the first drop of mercy that trickleth into the thirsty lip
   of the dying man. Calling is the first golden link of the endless chain
   of eternal mercies. Not the first in order of time with God, but the
   first in order of time with us. The first thing we know of Christ in
   his mercy, is that he cries, "Come unto me all ye that are weary and
   heavy laden," and that by his sweet Spirit he addresses us, so that we
   obey the call and come to him. Now, mark, if God has called me, I may
   ask him to stablish and keep me; I may ask that as year rolls after
   year my piety may not die out, I may pray that the bush may burn, but
   not be consumed, that the barrel of meal may not waste, and the cruse
   of oil may not fail. Dare I ask that to life's latest hour I may be
   faithful to God, because God is faithful to me? Yes, I may ask it, and
   I shall have it too: because the God that calls, will give the rest.
   "For whom he did foreknow, them he did predestinate; and whom he did
   predestinate, them he also called; and whom he called he also
   justified; and whom he justified, them he also glorified." Think of thy
   calling Christian, and take courage, "For the gifts and calling of God
   are without repentance." If he has called thee he will never repent of
   what he has done, nor cease to bless or cease to save.

   But I think there is a stronger reason coming yet:--"The God of all
   grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory." Hath God called
   thee, my hearer? Dost thou know to what he has called thee? He called
   thee first into the house of conviction, where he made thee feel thy
   sin. Again he called thee to Calvary's summit, where thou didst see thy
   sin atoned for and thy pardon sealed with precious blood. And now he
   calls thee. And whither away? I hear a voice to-day--unbelief tells me
   that there is a voice calling me to Jordan's waves. Oh, unbelief! it is
   true that through the stormy billows of that sea my soul must wade. But
   the voice comes not from the depths of the grave, it comes from the
   eternal glory. There where Jehovah sits resplendent on his throne,
   surrounded by cherubim and seraphim, from that brightness into which
   angels dare not gaze, I hear a voice:--"Come unto me, thou blood-washed
   sinner, come unto my eternal glory." O heavens! is not this a wondrous
   call?--to be called to glory--called to the shining streets and pearly
   gates--called to the harps and to the songs of eternal happiness--and
   better still, called to Jesu's bosom--called to his Father's
   face--called, not to eternal glory, but to HIS eternal glory--called to
   that very glory and honor with which God invests himself for ever? And
   now, beloved, is any prayer too great after this? Has God called me to
   heaven, and is there anything on earth he will deny me? If he has
   called me to dwell in heaven is not perfection necessary for me? May I
   not therefore ask for it? If he has called me to glory, is it not
   necessary that I should be strengthened to fight my way thither? May I
   not ask for strengthening? Nay, if there be a mercy upon earth too
   great for me to think of, too large for me to conceive, too heavy for
   my language to carry it before the throne in prayer, he will I do for
   me exceeding abundantly above what I can ask, or even I can think. I
   know he will, because he has called me to his eternal glory.

   The last reason why the apostle expected that his benediction would be
   fulfilled was this: "Who hath called us to his eternal glory by Christ
   Jesus." It is a singular fact that no promise is ever so sweet to the
   believer as those in which the name of Christ is mentioned. If I have
   to preach a comforting sermon to desponding Christians, I would never
   select a text which did not enable me to lead the desponding one to the
   cross. Does it not seem too much to you, brethren and sisters, this
   morning, that the God of all grace should be your God? Does it not
   surpass your faith that he should actually have called you? Do you not
   sometimes doubt as to whether you were called at all? And when you
   think of eternal glory, does not the question arise, "Shall I ever
   enjoy it? Shall I ever see the face of God with acceptance?" Oh,
   beloved, when ye hear of Christ, when you know that this grace comes
   through Christ, and the calling through Christ, and the glory through
   Christ, then you say, "Lord, I can believe it now, if it is through
   Christ." It is not a hard thing to believe that Christ's blood was
   sufficient to purchase every blessing for me. If I go to God's treasury
   without Christ, I am afraid to ask for anything, but when Christ is
   with me I can then ask for everything. For sure I think he deserves it
   though I do not. If I can claim his merits then I am not afraid to
   plead. Is perfection too great a boon for God to give to Christ? Oh,
   no. Is the keeping, the stability, the preservation of the blood-bought
   ones too great a reward for the terrible agonies and sufferings of the
   Savior? I trow not. Then we may with confidence plead, because
   everything comes through Christ.

   I would in concluding make this remark. I wish, my brothers and
   sisters, that during this year you may live nearer to Christ than you
   have ever done before. Depend upon it, it is when we think much of
   Christ that we think little of ourselves, little of our troubles, and
   little of the doubts and fears that surround us. Begin from this day,
   and may God help you. Never let a single day pass over your head
   without a visit to the garden of Gethsemane, and the cross on Calvary.
   And as for some of you who are not saved, and know not the Redeemer, I
   would to God that this very day you would come to Christ. I dare say
   you think coming to Christ is some terrible thing: that you need to be
   prepared before you come; that he is hard and harsh with you. When men
   have to go to a lawyer they need to tremble; when they have to go to
   the doctor they may fear; though both those persons, however unwelcome,
   may be often necessary. But when you come to Christ, you may come
   boldly. There is no fee required; there is no preparation necessary.
   You may come just as you are. It was a brave saying of Martin Luther's,
   when he said, "I would run into Christ's arms even if he had a drawn
   sword in his hand." Now, he has not a drawn sword, but he has his
   wounds in his hands. Run into his arms, poor sinner. "Oh," you say,
   "May I come?" How can you ask the question? you are commanded to come.
   The great command of the gospel is, "Believe on the Lord Jesus." Those
   who disobey this command disobey God. It is as much a command of God
   that man should believe on Christ, as that we should love our neighbor.
   Now, what is a command I have certainly a right to obey. There can be
   no question you see; a sinner has liberty to believe in Christ because
   he is told to do so. God would not have told him to do a thing which he
   must not do. You are allowed to believe. "Oh," saith one, "that is all
   I want to know. I do believe that Christ is able to save to the
   uttermost. May I rest my soul on him, and say, sink or swim, most
   blessed Jesus, thou art my Lord?" May do it! man? Why you are commanded
   to do it. Oh that you may be enabled to do it. Remember, this is not a
   thing which you will do at a risk. The risk is in not doing it. Cast
   yourself on Christ, sinner. Throw away every other dependence and rest
   alone on him. "No," says one, "I am not prepared." Prepared! sir? Then
   you do not understand me. There is no preparation needed; it is, just
   as you are. "Oh, I do not feel my need enough." I know you do not. What
   has that to do with it? You are commanded to cast yourself on Christ.
   Be you never so black or never so bad, trust to him. He that believeth
   on Christ shall be saved, be his sins never so many, he that believeth
   not must be damned be his sins never so few. The great command of the
   gospel is, "Believe." "Oh," but saith one, "am I to say I know that
   Christ died for me?" Ah, I did not say that, you shall learn that
   by-and-bye. You have nothing to do with that question now, your
   business is to believe on Christ and trust him; to cast yourself into
   his hands. And may God the Spirit now sweetly compel you to do it. Now,
   sinner, hands off your own righteousness. Drop all idea of becoming
   better through your own strength. Cast yourself flat on the promise.
   Say--

   "Just as I am without one plea,

   But that thy blood was shed for me,

   And that thou bid'st me come to thee;

   Oh, Lamb of God! I come, I come."

   You cannot trust in Christ and find him still deceive you.

   Now, have I made myself plain? If there were a number of persons here
   in debt, and if I were to say, "If you will simply trust to me your
   debts shall be paid, and no creditor shall ever molest you," you would
   understand me directly. How is it you cannot comprehend that trusting
   in Christ will remove all your debts, take away all your sins, and you
   shall be saved eternally. Oh, Spirit of the living God, open the
   understanding to receive, and the heart to obey, and may many a soul
   here present cast itself on Christ. On all such, as on all believers,
   do I again pronounce the benediction, with which I shall dismiss you.
   "May the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by
   Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect,
   stablish, strengthen, settle you!"
     __________________________________________________________________

                     The King's Highway Opened and Cleared

   A Sermon

   (No. 293)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 8th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand

   "And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be
   saved, and thy house."--Acts. 16:31.

   YOU WILL REMEMBER that when the children of Israel were settled in
   Canaan, God ordained that they should set apart certain cities to be
   called the Cities of Refuge, that to these the man-slayer might flee
   for security. If he killed another unawares, and had no malice
   aforethought, he might flee at once to the City of Refuge; and if he
   could enter its gates before the avenger of blood should overtake him,
   he would be secure. We are told by the rabbis that once in the year, or
   oftener, the magistrates of the district were accustomed to survey the
   high roads which led to these cities. they carefully gathered up all
   the stones, and took the greatest possible precautions that there
   should be no stumbling-blocks in the way which might cause the poor
   fugitive to fall, or might by any means impede him in his hasty course.
   We hear, moreover, and we believe the tradition to be grounded in fact,
   that all along the road there were hand-posts with the word "Refuge"
   written very legibly upon them, so that when the fugitive came to a
   crossroad, he might not need to question for a single moment which was
   the way of escape; but seeing the well-known word "Refuge," he kept on
   his breathless and headlong course until he had entered the suburb of
   the City of Refuge, and he was then at once completely safe.

   Now, my brothers and sisters, God has prepared for the sons of men a
   City of Refuge, and the way to it is by FAITH IN CHRIST JESUS. It is
   needful, however, that very often the ministers of Christ should survey
   this road, lest there should be any stumbling-blocks in the path of the
   poor sinner. I propose this morning to go along it, and, by God's
   grace, to remove any impediment which Satan may have laid upon the
   path, and may God so help me, that this survey may be of spiritual
   benefit to all your souls, that any of you who have been made to
   stumble in the path of faith may now pluck up courage, and run joyfully
   forward; hoping yet to escape from the fierce avenger of your sins.

   Well may the minister be careful to keep the road of faith clear for
   the seeking sinner, for surely the sinner hath a heavy heart to carry,
   and we ought to make the road as clear and as smooth as we can. We
   should make straight paths for the feet of these poor benighted souls.
   It should be our endeavor to cast loads of promises into every slough
   that runs across the path, that so it may be a king's highway, and may
   be safe and easy for travelling for those weary feet that have to carry
   such a heavy heart. Besides, we must remember that the sinner will make
   stumbling-blocks enough for himself, even with our greatest and most
   scrupulous care to remove any others that may naturally lie in his way.
   For this is one of the sad follies of the poor desponding soul--that it
   spoils its own road. You have sometimes seen, perhaps, the
   newly-invented engine in the streets, the locomotive that lays down its
   own pathway and then picks it up again. Now, the sinner is the very
   reverse of that; he spoils his own road before himself, and then
   carries behind him all the mire and dirt of his own mishaps. Poor soul!
   he flings stones before himself, cuts out valleys, and casts up
   mountains in his own pathway. Well may the ministers, then, be careful
   to keep this road clear. And, let me add there is another weighty
   reason. Behind him comes the furious avenger of blood. Oh, how swift is
   he! There is Moses armed with all the wrath of God, and Death following
   hard after him--a mounted rider upon his pale horse; and after Death
   there cometh Hell with all the powers and legions of Satan, all athirst
   for blood and swift to slay. Make straight the road, oh ministers of
   Christ, level the mountains, fill up the valleys; for this is a
   desperate flight, this flight of the sinner from his ferocious enemies
   towards the one City of Refuge--the atonement of Jesus Christ.

   I have thus given the reasons why I am compelled in spirit to make this
   survey this morning. Come, O Spirit, the Comforter, and help us now,
   that every stone may be cast out of the high road to heaven.

   The road to heaven, my brethren, is BY FAITH IN CHRIST JESUS. It is not
   by well-doing that you can be saved, though it is by ill-doing that you
   will be damned if you put not trust in Christ. Nothing that you can do
   can save you. Albeit that after you are saved it will be your
   delightful privilege to walk in the ways of God and to keep his
   commandments, yet all your own attempts to keep the commandments
   previous to faith, will but sink you deeper into the mire, and will by
   no means contribute to your salvation. The one road to heaven is BY
   FAITH IN CHRIST. Or to make it plainer still as the countryman said,
   there are but two steps to heaven--out of self into Christ, and, then,
   out of Christ into heaven. Faith is simply explained as trusting in
   Christ. I find that Christ commands me to believe in him, or to trust
   him. I feel that there is no reason in myself why I should be allowed
   to trust him. But he commands me to do so. Therefore altogether apart
   from my character or from any preparation that I feel in myself, I obey
   the command, and sink or swim, I trust Christ. Now, that is
   faith,--when with the eye shut as to all evidence of hope in ourselves,
   we take a leap in the dark right into the arms of an Omnipotent
   Redeemer. Faith is sometimes spoken of in Scripture as being a leaning
   upon Christ; a casting of one's self upon him, or, as the old Puritans
   used to put it, (using a somewhat hard word) it is recumbency on
   Christ--the leaning of the whole weight upon his cross; ceasing to
   stand by the strength of one's own power and resting wholly upon the
   rock of ages. The leaving of the soul in the hands of Jesus is the very
   essence of faith. Faith is receiving Christ into our emptiness. There
   is Christ like the conduit in the market-place. As the water flows from
   the pipes, so does grace continually flow from him. By faith I bring my
   empty pitcher and hold it where the water flows, and receive of its
   fullness, grace for grace. It is not the beauty of my pitcher, it is
   not even its cleanness that quenches my thirst: it is simply holding
   that pitcher to the place where water flows. Even so I am but the
   vessel, and my faith is the hand which presents the empty vessel to the
   flowing stream. It is the grace, and not the qualification of the
   receiver which saves the soul. And though I hold that pitcher with a
   trembling hand, and much of that which I seek may be lost through my
   weakness, yet if the soul be but held to the fountain, and so much as a
   single drop trickle into it, my soul is saved. Faith is receiving
   Christ with the understanding, and with the will, submitting everything
   to him, taking him to be my all in all, and agreeing to be henceforth
   nothing at all. Faith is ceasing from the creature and coming to the
   Creator. It is looking out of self to Christ, turning the eye entirely
   from any good thing that is here within me, and looking for every
   blessing to those open veins, to that poor bleeding heart, to that
   thorn-crowned head of him whom God hath set forth "to be the
   propitiation for our sins, and not for our sins only, but for the sins
   of the whole world."

   Well, having thus described the way, I now come to my real business of
   removing these stones.

   1. A very common impediment in the pathway of the soul that is desiring
   to be saved, is the recollection of its past life. "Oh," saith the
   sinner, "I dare not trust Christ, because my past sins have been of an
   unusually black dye. I have been no common sinner, but I have been one
   singled out from the herd, a very monster in sin. I have taken the
   highest degree in the devil's college, and have become a master of
   Belial. I have learned to sit in the seat of the scornful, and have
   taught others to rebel against God." Ah, soul, I know very well what
   this impediment is, for once it laid in my way, and very sorely did it
   trouble me. Before I thought upon my soul's salvation, I dreamed that
   my sins were very few. All my sins were dead as I imagined, and buried
   in the graveyard of forgetfulness. But that trumpet of conviction which
   aroused my soul to think of eternal things, sounded to all my sins, and
   oh, how they rose up in multitudes more countless than the sands of the
   sea! Now, I saw that my very thoughts were enough to damn me, that my
   words would sink me lower than the lowest hell; and as for my acts of
   sin they now began to be a stench in my nostrils, so that I could not
   bear them. I recollect the time when I thought I had rather have been a
   frog or a toad than have been made a man; when I reckoned that the most
   defiled creature, the most loathsome and contemptible was a better
   thing than myself; for I had so grossly and grievously sinned against
   Almighty God. Ah, my brethren, it may be that this morning your old
   oaths are echoing back from the walls of your memory. You recollect how
   you have cursed God, and you say, "Can I, dare I trust him whom I have
   cursed?" And your old lusts are now rising before you; midnight sins
   stare you in the face, and snatches of the lascivious song are being
   yelled in the ear of your poor convinced conscience. And all your sins
   as they rise up, cry, "Depart, thou accursed one! Depart! thou hast
   sinned thyself out of grace! Thou art a condemned one! Depart! There is
   no hope, there is no mercy for thee!"

   Now, permit me in the strength and name of God to remove this stumbling
   block out of your way. Sinner, I tell thee that all thy sins, be they
   never so many cannot destroy thee if thou dost believe on the Lord
   Jesus Christ. If now thou castest thyself simply on the merits of
   Jesus, "Though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool." Only
   believe. Dare to believe that Christ is able to save them to the
   uttermost that come unto God by him. Take him at his word and trust
   him. And thou hast a warrant for doing it; for remember it is written
   "The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from all sin." Thou
   art commanded to believe, therefore, be thou never so black a sinner,
   the command is, thy warrant--oh, may God help thee to obey the command.
   Now, just as thou art, cast thyself on Christ. It is not the greatness
   of the sinner that is the difficulty; it is the hardness of the
   sinner's heart. If now thou art conscious of the most awful guilt, thy
   guilt becomes as nothing in the eye of God when once he sees the blood
   of Christ sprinkled upon thee. I tell thee more, if thy sins were ten
   thousand times as many as they be, yet the blood of Christ is able to
   atone for them all. Only dare to believe that. Now, by a venturesome
   faith trust thyself in Christ. If thou art the most sick of all the
   wretches that ever this divine physician essayed to cure, so much the
   more glory to him. When a physician cures a man of some little
   finger-ache or some little disease, what credit doth he get? But when
   he heals a man who is all over diseased, who has become but a putrid
   mass, then there is glory to the physician. And so will there be to
   Christ when he saveth thee. But to put this block out of the way once
   for all. Remember, sinner, that all the while thou dost not believe in
   Christ, thou art adding to thy sin this great sin of not believing,
   which is the greatest sin in the world. But if thou obey God in this
   matter of putting thy trust in Christ, God's own Word is guaranteed
   that thy faith shall be rewarded, and thou shalt find that thy sins
   which are many are all forgiven thee. By the side of Saul of Tarsus and
   of her, out of whom was cast seven devils, shalt thou one day stand.
   With the thief shalt thou sing of love divine, and with Manasseh shalt
   thou rejoice in him who can wash away the foulest crimes. Oh, I pray
   God there may be some one in this great crowd today, who may be saying
   in his heart, "Sir, you have described me. I do feel that I am the
   blackest sinner anywhere, but I will risk it, I will put my trust in
   Christ and Christ alone." Ah, soul, God bless thee; thou art an
   accepted one. If thou canst do this, this morning, I will be God's
   hostage that he will be true to thee and true to his Son, for never
   sinner perished yet that dared to trust the precious blood of Christ.

   2. Now let me endeavor to upheave and eject another stumbling block.
   Many an awakened sinner is troubled because of the hardness of his
   heart and the lack of what he thinks to be true penitence. "Oh," saith
   he, "I can believe that however great my sins are they can be forgiven,
   but I do not feel the evil of my sins as I ought:"--

   "My heart how dreadful hard it is;

   How heavy here it lies!

   Heavy and cold within my breast,

   Just like a rock of ice."

   "I cannot feel," says one, "I cannot weep, I have heard of the
   repentance of others, but I seem to be just like a stone. My heart is
   petrified, it will not quake at all the thunders of the law, it will
   not melt before all the wooings of Christ's love." Ah, poor heart, this
   is a common stumbling-block in the way of those who are really seeking
   Christ. Bat let me ask thee one question. Dost thou read anywhere in
   the Word of God that those who have hard hearts are not commanded to
   believe? Because if thou canst find such a passage as that, I will be
   sorry enough to see it, but then I may excuse thee for saying, "I
   cannot trust Christ because my heart is hard." Do you not know that the
   Scripture runs thus? "Whosoever believeth in him shall not perish, but
   have everlasting life." Now, if thou believest, though thy heart be
   never so hard, thy believing saves thee; and what is more, thy
   believing shall yet soften thy heart. If thou canst not feel thy need
   of a Savior as thou wouldst, remember that when thou hast a Savior thou
   wilt begin then to find out more and more how great was thy need of
   him. Why, I believe that many persons find out their needs by receiving
   the supply. Have you never walked along the street, and looking in at a
   shop window have seen an article, and have said, "Why, that is just
   what I want." How do you know that? Why, you saw the thing and then you
   wanted it. And I believe there is many a sinner who when he is hearing
   about Christ Jesus is led to say, "That is just what I want." Did not
   he know it before? No, poor soul, not till he saw Christ. I find my
   sense of need of Christ is ten times more acute now than it was before
   I found Christ. I thought I wanted him for a good many things then, but
   now I know I want him for everything. I thought there were some things
   which I could not do without him; but now I find that without him I can
   do nothing. But you say, "Sir, I must repent before I come to Christ."
   Find such a passage in the Word if you can. Doth not the Word say? "Him
   hath God exalted with his right hand to be a Prince and a Savior, for
   to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins." Doth not one of
   our hymns translate that verse into rhyme and put it thus?

   "True belief and true repentance.

   Every grace that brings us nigh--

   Without money

   Come to Jesus Christ, and buy."

   Oh, these graces are not of nature's spinning. We cannot make these in
   the loom of the creature. If you would know your need of Christ, take
   him now by faith and sense and feeling shall follow in the rear. Trust
   him now for everything. Dare to trust him. Hard as your heart is, say,
   "Just as I am, without a plea, but that thou commandest me, and bid'st
   me come, I come to thee!" Thy heart shall be softened by the sight of
   Christ, and love divine shall so sweetly commend itself to thee, that
   the heart which terrors could not move shall be dissolved by love.

   Do understand me, my dear hearers. I wept to preach in the broadest
   manner I possibly can this morning the doctrine that we are justified
   by faith alone; that man is commanded to believe, and that altogether
   apart from anything in man, man has a right to believe. Not from any
   preparation that he feels, not from anything good he discerns in
   himself, but he has a right to believe simply because he is commanded
   to believe; and it; relying upon the fact that he is commanded, God the
   Holy Spirit enables him to believe, that faith will surely save the
   soul, and deliver him from the wrath to come. Let me take up, then,
   that stumbling stone about hardness of heart. Oh, soul, trust Christ
   and thy heart shall be softened. And may God the Holy Spirit enable
   thee to trust him hard heart and all, and then thy hard heart shall
   soon be turned into a heart of flesh, and thou shalt love him who hath
   loved thee.

   3. Now, for a third stumbling block. "Oh," saith some poor soul, "I do
   not know whether I believe or not, sir. Sometimes I do believe; but oh,
   it is such little faith I have that I cannot think Christ can save me."
   Ah, there you are again you see, looking to yourself. This has made
   many trip and fall. I pray God I may put this out of your way. Poor
   sinner, remember it is not the strength of thy faith that saves thee,
   but the reality of thy faith. What is more, it is not even the reality
   of thy faith that saves thee, it is the object of thy faith. If thy
   faith be fixed on Christ, though it seems to be in itself a line no
   thicker than a spider's cobweb, it will hold thy soul throughout time
   and eternity. For remember it is not the thickness of this cable of
   faith, it is the strength of the anchor which imparts strength to the
   cable, and so shall hold thy ship in the midst of the most fearful
   storm. The faith that saves man is sometimes so small that the man
   himself cannot see it. A grain of mustard seed is the smallest of all
   seeds, and yet if thou hast but that quantity of faith, thou art a
   saved man. Remember what the poor women did. She did not come and take
   hold of Christ's person with her hand, she did not throw her arms about
   his knees; but she stretched out her finger, and then--she did not
   touch Christ's feet or even his dress--she touched but the ravelling,
   the fringe of his garment and she was made whole. If thy faith be but
   as little as that, seek to get more of it, but still remember that it
   will save thee. Jesus Christ himself compares Little-faith to a smoking
   flax. Does it burn? is there any fire at all! No; there is nothing but
   a little smoke and that is most offensive. "Yes," saith Jesus, "but I
   will not quench it." Again, he compares it to a bruised reed. Of what
   service is it? It is broken, you cannot bring music from it; it is but
   a, reed when it is whole, and now it is a bruised reed. Break it, snap
   it, throw, it away? "No," says he. "I will not break the bruised reed."
   Now, if that is the faith thou hast, the faith of the smoking flax, the
   faith of the bruised reed, thou art saved. Thou wilt have many a trial
   and many a trouble in going to heaven, with so little faith as that,
   for when there is little wind to a boat there must be much tugging at
   the oar; but still there will be wind enough to land thee in glory, if
   thou dost simply trust Christ, be that trust never so feeble. Remember
   a little child belongs to the human race as much as the greatest giant;
   and so a babe in grace is as truly a child of God as is Mr.
   Great-heart, who can fight all the giants on the road. And thou mays't
   be as much an heir of heaven in thy minority, in the infancy of thy
   grace, as thou wilt be when thou shalt have expanded into the full
   grown Christian, and shalt become a perfect man in Christ Jesus. It is
   not, I tell thee, the strength of thy faith, but the object of thy
   faith. It is the blood, not the hyssop; not the hand that smites the
   lintel, but the blood that secures the Israelite in the day when God's
   vengeance passes by. Let that stumbling block be taken out of the way.

   4. "But," saith another, "I do think sometimes I have a little faith,
   but I have so many doubts and fears. I am tempted every day to believe
   that Jesus Christ did not die for me, or that my belief is not genuine,
   or that I never experienced the regenerating influence of the Holy
   Spirit. Tell me Sir, can I be a true believer in Christ if I have
   doubts and fears?" My answer is simply this, there is no Scripture
   which saith, that "He that believeth, shall be damned, if that faith be
   mixed: with doubts." "He that believeth shall be saved," be that faith
   never so little, and even though it be intermingled with multitudes of
   doubts and fears. You remember that memorable story of our Savior, when
   he was on board a ship with his disciples. The winds roared, the ship
   rocked to and fro, the mast was strained, the sails were rent, and the
   poor disciples were full of fear:--"Lord save us or we perish." Here
   were doubts. What did Jesus say when he rebuked them? "Why are ye
   fearful"--O ye of no faith? No, "O ye of little faith." So there maybe
   little faith where there are great doubts. There is light at eventide
   in the air; even though there is a great deal of darkness, yet there is
   light. And if thy faith should never come to noon-day, if it do but
   come to twilight, thou art a saved man. Nay, more, if it doth not come
   to twilight, if thy faith is but starlight, nay, candlelight, nay, a
   spark--if it be but a glow-worm spark, thou art saved; and all thy
   doubts, and all thy fears, and thy distresses, terrible though they may
   be, can never trample thee in the dust, can never destroy thy soul. Do
   you not know that the best of God's children are exercised with doubts
   and fears even to the last? Look at such a man as John Knox. There was
   a man who could face the frowns of a world, who could speak like a king
   to kings, and fear no man; yet on his dying bed he was troubled about
   his interest in Christ, because he was tempted to self-righteousness.
   If such a man have doubts, dost thou expect to live without them? If
   God's brightest saints are exercised, if Paul himself keeps under his
   body lest he should be a castaway, why how canst thou expect to live
   without clouds? Oh, my dear man, drop the idea that the prevalence of
   thy doubts disproves the truth of the promise. Again believe; away with
   all thy doubts; sink or swim; cast thyself on Jesus; and thou canst not
   be lost, for his honor is engaged to save every soul that puts its
   trust in him.

   5. "Ah," says another, "but you have not yet hit upon my fear." I used
   when I first knew the Savior, to try myself in a certain manner, and
   often did I throw stumbling blocks in my path through it, and therefore
   I can speak very affectionately to any of you who are doing the same.
   Sometimes I would go up into my chamber, and by way of
   self-examination, I used to ask myself this question--Am I afraid to
   die? If I should drop down dead in my chamber, can I say that I should
   joyfully close my eyes? Well, it often happened that I could not
   honestly say so. I used to feel death would be a very solemn thing. Ah,
   then I said "I have never believed in Christ, for if I had put my trust
   in the Lord Jesus, I should not be afraid to die, but I should be quite
   confident. I do not doubt that there are many here who are saying,
   "Sir, I cannot follow Christ, because I am afraid to die; I cannot
   believe that Jesus Christ will save me, because the sight of death
   makes me tremble." Ah, poor soul, there are many of God's blessed ones,
   who through fear of death, have been much of their lifetime subject to
   bondage. I know precious children of God now: I believe that when they
   die, they will die triumphantly; but I know this, that the thought of
   death is never pleasing to them. And this is accounted for, because God
   has stamped on nature that law, the love of life and self-preservation.
   And again, the man that hath kindred and friends, it is natural enough
   that he should scarce like to leave behind those that are so dear. I
   know that when he gets more grace he will rejoice in the thought of
   death; but I do know that there are many quite safe, who could die
   triumphantly, who, now, in the prospect of death feel afraid of it. I
   remember my aged grandfather once preach a sermon which I have not
   forgotten. He was preaching from the text "The God of all grace," and
   he somewhat interested the assembly, after describing the different
   kinds of grace that God gave, by saying at the end of each period "But
   there is one kind of grace that you do not want." After each sentence
   there came the like, "But there is one kind of grace you do not want."
   And, then, he wound up by saying, "You don't want dying grace in living
   moments, but you shall have dying grace when you want it." Now, you are
   testing yourself by a condition in which you are not placed. If you are
   placed in the condition, you shall have grace enough if you put your
   trust in Christ. In a party of friends we were discussing the question,
   whether if the days of martyrdom should come we were prepared to be
   burned. Well, now, I must frankly say, that speaking as I feel to-day,
   I am not prepared to be burned. But I do believe if there were a stake
   in Smithfield, and I knew that I were to be burned there at one
   o'clock, that I should have grace enough to be burned at one o'clock;
   but I have not yet got to a quarter past twelve, and the time is not
   come yet. Do not expect dying grace, until you want it, and when the
   time comes, you may be sure you will have sufficient grace to bear it.
   Cast out that stumbling-block then. Rest thyself on Christ, and trust a
   living Christ to help thee in thy dying hour.

   6. Another most grievous perplexity to many a seeking soul is this:
   "Oh, I would trust Christ, but I feel no joy. I hear the children of
   God singing sweetly about their privileges. I hear them saying that
   they have been to the top of Pisgah and have viewed the promised land,
   have taken a pleasant prospect of the world to come; but oh, my faith
   yields me no joy. I hope I do believe, but at the same time I have none
   of those raptures. My worldly troubles press heavily upon me, and
   sometimes even my spiritual woes are greater than I can bear." Ah, poor
   soul, let me cast out that stone from thy road. Remember, it is not
   written "he that is joyful shall be saved," but "he that believeth
   shall be saved." Thy faith will make thee joyful by-and-bye, but it is
   as powerful to save thee even when it does not make thee rejoice. Why,
   look at many of God's people, how sad and sorrowful they have been. I
   know they ought not to be. This is their sin; but still it is such a
   sin that it does not destroy the efficacy of faith. Notwithstanding all
   the sorrows of the saint, faith still keeps alive, and God is still
   true to his promise. Remember, it is not what you feel that saves you,
   it is what you believe. It is not feeling but believing. "We walk by
   faith, not by sight." When I feel my soul as cold as an iceberg, as
   hard as a rock, and as sinful as Satan, yet even then faith ceases not
   to justify. Faith prevails as truly in the midst of sad feelings as of
   happy feelings, for then, standing alone, it proves the majesty of its
   might. Believe, O son of God, believe in him, and look not for aught in
   thyself.

   7. Then, again, there are many that are distressed because they have
   blasphemous thoughts. Here, too, I can heartily sympathise with many. I
   remember a certain narrow and crooked lane in a certain country town,
   along which I was walking one day while I was seeking the Savior. On a
   sudden the most fearful oaths that any of you can conceive rushed
   through my heart. I put my hand to my mouth to prevent the utterance. I
   had not, that I know of, ever heard those words; and I am certain that
   I had never used in my life from my youth up so much as one of them,
   for I had never been profane. But these things sorely beset me: for
   half an hour together the most fearful imprecations would dash through
   my brain. Oh, how I groaned and cried before God. That temptation
   passed away; but ere many days it was renewed again; and when I was in
   prayer, or when I was reading the Bible, these blasphemous thought
   would pour in upon me more than at any other time. I consulted with an
   aged godly man about it. He said to me, "Oh, all this many of the
   people of God have proved before you. But," said he, "do you hate these
   thoughts?" "I do," I truly said. "Then," said he, "they are not yours;
   serve them as the old parishes used to do with vagrants--whip them and
   send them on to their own parish. So" said he, "do with them. Groan
   over them, repent of them, and send them on to the devil, the father of
   them, to whom they belong--for they are not yours." Do you not
   recollect how John Bunyan hits off the picture? He says, when Christian
   was going through the valley of the shadow of death, "There stepped up
   one to him, and whispered blasphemous thoughts into his ear, so that
   poor Christian thought they were his own thoughts; but they were not
   his thoughts at all, but the injections of a blasphemous spirit." So
   when you are about to lay hold on Christ, Satan will ply all his
   engines and try to destroy you. He cannot bear to lose one of his
   slaves: he will invent a fresh temptation for each believer so that he
   may not put his trust in Christ." Now, come, poor soul, notwithstanding
   all these blasphemous thoughts in thy soul, dare to put thy trust in
   Christ. Even should those thoughts have been more blasphemous than any
   thou hast ever heard, come trust in Christ, come cast thyself on him. I
   have heard that when an elephant is going over a bridge he will sound
   the timber with his foot to see if it will bear him over. Come thou,
   who thinkest thyself an elephantine sinner, here is bridge that is
   strong enough for thee, even with all these thoughts of thine:--"All
   manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven thee." Throw that in
   Satan's face, and trust thyself in Christ.

   8. One other stumbling-block, and I will have done. Some there be that
   say; Oh, sir, I would trust in Christ to save me if I could see that my
   faith brought forth fruits. Oh, sir, when I would do good, evil is
   present with me." Excuse my always bringing in my own feelings as an
   illustration, but I feel when I am preaching to tried sinners that the
   testimony of one's own experience is generally more powerful than any
   other illustration that can be found. It is not, believe me, any
   display of egotism, but the simple desire to come home to you, that
   makes me state what I have felt myself. The first Sunday after I came
   to Christ I went to a Methodist chapel. The sermon was upon this text:
   "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this
   death?" I had just got as far as that in the week. I knew that I had
   put my trust in Christ, and I knew that, when I sat in that house of
   prayer, my faith was simply and solely fixed on the atonement of the
   Redeemer. But I had a weight on my mind, because I could not be as holy
   as I wanted to be. I could not live without sin. When I rose in the
   morning I thought I would abstain from every hard word, from every evil
   thought and look; and I came up to that chapel groaning, because "when
   I would do good evil was present with me." The minister said that when
   Paul wrote the verse I have quoted, he was not a Christian; that this
   was his experience before he knew the Lord. Ah, what error, for I know
   that Paul was a Christian, and I know the more Christians look to
   themselves the more they will have to groan, because they cannot be
   what they want to be. What, you will not believe in Christ until you
   are perfect? Then you will never believe in him. You will not trust the
   precious Jesus till you have no sins to trust him with! Then you will
   never trust him at all. For rest assured you will never be perfect till
   you see the face of God in heaven. I knew one man who thought himself a
   perfect man and that man was hump-backed. This was my rebuke to his
   pride, "Surely if the Lord gave you a perfect soul he would give you a
   perfect body to carry it in." Perfection will not be found this side of
   the grave. Your business is to trust in Christ. You must depend on
   nothing but the blood of Christ. Trust in Christ and you stand secure.
   "He that believeth on the Son of God hath everlasting life." It is our
   duty to fight against corruption; it is our privilege to conquer it; it
   is our honor to feel that we are fighting against sin, it shall be our
   glory one day to tread it beneath our feet. But to-day expect not
   complete victory. Your very consciousness of sin proves that you are
   alive. The very fact that you are not what you want to be, proves that
   there is some high and noble thoughts in you that could not come by
   nature. You were content with yourself some six weeks ago, were you
   not? And the fact that you are discontent now, proves that God has put
   a new life into you, which makes you seek after a higher and better
   element in which to breathe. When you become what you want to be on
   earth, then despair. When the law justifies you, then you have fallen
   from grace; for Paul has said, "When we are justified by the law we are
   fallen from grace." But while I feel that the law condemns me it is my
   joy to know that believing in Christ, "There is no condemnation to him
   that is in Christ Jesus, who walks not after the flesh, but after the
   Spirit."

   And now though I have been trying to clear the way I feel conscious
   that very likely I have been putting a stone or two in the road myself.
   May God forgive me--it is a sin of inadvertance. I would lay this road
   as straight and clear as ever was turnpike road between one city and
   another. Sinner, there is nothing which can rob thee of thy right to
   believe in Christ. Thou art freely invited to come to the marriage
   banquet. The table is spread, and the invitation freely given. There
   are no porters at the door to keep thee out; there are none to ask a
   ticket of admission of thee:

   "Let not conscience make you linger;

   Nor of fitness fondly dream;

   All the fitness he requireth

   Is to feel your need of him;

   This he gives you;

   'Tis his Spirit's rising beam."

   Come to him just as thou art. But, ah, I know that when we sit in our
   studies it seems a light think to preach the gospel and make people
   believe in Christ, but when we come to practice, it is the hardest
   thing in the world. If I were to tell you to do some great thing you
   would do it; but simply, when it is, "Believe, wash and be clean!" you
   will not do it. If I said, "Give me ten thousand pounds," you would
   give it. You would crawl a thousand miles on your hands and knees, or
   drink the bitterest draught that was ever concocted; but this trusting
   in Christ is too hard for your proud spirit. Ah, sinner, art thou too
   proud to be saved? Come, man, I beseech thee by the love of Christ, by
   the love of thine own soul, come with me, and let us go together to the
   foot of the cross. Believe on him who hangs groaning there, oh, put thy
   trust in him, who is risen from the dead, and has led Captivity
   captive. And if thou trustest him, poor sinner, thou shalt not be
   disappointed; it shall not be trust misplaced. Again I say it, I am
   content to be lost if thou art lost trusting in Christ; I will make my
   bed in hell with thee should God reject thee, if thou puttest thy
   simple trust in Christ. I dare to say that, and to look that boldly in
   the face; for thou wouldst be the first sinner that was ever cast away
   trusting in Jesus. "But, oh," saith one, "I cannot think that such a
   wretch as I am can have a right to believe." Soul, I tell thee it is
   not whether thou art a wretch, or not a wretch; it is the command that
   is thy warrant. Thou art commanded to believe. And when a command comes
   home with power the power comes with the command; and he who is
   commanded, being made willing, casts himself on Christ, and he
   believes, and is saved.

   I have labored this morning to try and make myself as clear as I can
   about this doctrine. I know if any man is saved it is the work of God
   the Holy Ghost from first to last. "If any man is regenerate, it is not
   of the will of the flesh, nor of blood, but of God." But I do not see
   how that great truth interferes with this other, "Whosoever believeth
   in Christ shall be saved." And I would again, even to the falling down
   on my knees, as though God did beseech you by me, pray you "In Christ's
   stead be ye reconciled to God." And this is the reconciliation, "That
   ye believe on the Lord Jesus Christ whom he hath sent," that ye trust
   Christ. Do you understand me? That ye cast yourself on him; that ye
   depend on nothing but what he has done. Saved you must be, lost you
   cannot be, if you fling yourself wholly upon Christ, and cast the whole
   burden of your sins, your doubts, your fears, and your anxieties wholly
   there. Now, this is preaching free grace doctrine. And if any wonder
   how a Calvinist can preach thus, let me say that this is the preaching
   that Calvin preached, and better still it is the preaching of our Lord
   Jesus Christ and his apostles. We have divine warrant when we tell you,
   "He that believeth and is baptized, shall be saved; he that believeth
   not shall be damned."
     __________________________________________________________________

                                A Home Question

   A Sermon

   (No. 294)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 15th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand

   "But are there not with you, even with you, sins against the Lord your
   God?"--2 Chron. 28:10.

   THIS WAS A HOME STROKE. When the children of Israel had bloodthirsty
   thoughts towards their brethren of Judah, the prophet very earnestly
   dissuaded them. "Why deal ye so sternly with your brethren who are in
   your power, simply because they have sinned. Smite them not too
   furiously, for are there not with you, even with you, sins against the
   Lord your God?" How remarkably pertinent is such a question to
   different nations, to different sects, to different classes among men.
   We are too apt to look upon the sins of other nations and forget our
   own. Placed as we imagine ourselves to be in a pre-eminence in the
   midst of the peoples of the earth--we are continually criticising the
   acts of other tribes and nations. We look across the flood and we see
   that grand Republic, with the black stain of slavery upon its fair
   hand, and we cry out against it with all our might. We look across the
   channel, and we see a nation that we are continually charging with
   being volatile and frivolous. We cast our eyes to other peoples of the
   earth, and we see crimes in them, all which we very readily condemn
   with iron tongue. It will always be well for the pride of Great Britain
   if she will question herself thus. Is there not with thee, oh mistress
   of the seas--is there not with thee a sin against the Lord our God? Are
   we immaculate? Is our nation spotless? We have no slaves at home or
   abroad, but have we none who are oppressed and down-trodden? Are there
   none concerning whom it may be said, that the hire of the laborer which
   is kept back crieth out against them? Have we not drunkenness in our
   midst? Are we not in feet among the very chief of sinners, because as a
   nation we have received more Scripture light, and more Divine favor
   than any other people among the race of men? God hath dealt so well
   with us, that our crimes assume a monstrous shape and vivid color when
   they are viewed in the light of his countenance. Oh Britain, weep for
   thy sons and daughters, and bemoan their iniquity before the Lord, lest
   like Capernaum they sink to hell amid the full flood of privileges
   disregarded. Instead of lifting up your hand to point at the faults of
   others, point at your own. Let us be content to sweep our own streets,
   to cleanse our own cities and make our own streams pure. Let our
   reformation begin at home, for we cannot hope that our remonstrances
   against the sin of other nations can be powerful, unless we have
   cleansed ourselves.

   How applicable, too, is this question to the different sects,
   especially among Christians. How apt we all are to be plucking the mote
   from the eye of others. How very earnestly does the Dissenter exclaim
   against the sins of the Church of England, and certainly they are
   neither few nor small. How anxiously does the man in the Church of
   England, who happens to have an uncharitable bias, observe the strifes
   and divisions that exist among the Dissenting bodice; and as for all
   the different denominations, how continually will they be pointing to
   unscriptural traits in the order of other churches and how constantly
   do they forget their own infirmities. I hold that every Christian man
   is bound to give his honest testimony to every truth he believes. We
   must not shun to declare the whole counsel of God, because we may be
   charged with sectarianism. Every great man had been called a Sectarian
   in his time, and every true man who stands up for the whole that God
   teaches, will necessarily incur that censure. But let every Christian
   remember that our business is to deal first with ourselves. Let each
   denomination acknowledge its own faults, and confess its own
   iniquities. I am not ashamed of the denomination to which I belong,
   sprung, as we are, direct from the loins of Christ, having never passed
   through the turbid stream of Romanism, and having an origin apart from
   all dissent or Protestantism, because we have existed before all other
   sects; but I am equally clear as to our innumerable faults. Indeed, the
   sins and faults of our denomination may well go up against us to
   heaven, and withhold the dew of God's grace that we prosper not. I
   believe it to be the same with every other class of Christians, and I
   would that whenever we are prone to rebuke our fellows too severely, we
   would pause and ask ourselves this question: "Are there not with us,
   even with us, sins against the Lord our God?"

   The like question may be continually reiterated in the ears of the
   different classes into which our commonwealth is divided. You see
   continually plastered on the walls--"Sermons to the Working Classes."
   The working classes might return the compliment by papering the walls
   with "Sermons to the Wealthy Classes," for if there be any that need
   preaching to, it is the rich. If there be any men, or any class of men,
   among whom the gospel has its stronghold, it is just that order and
   class of persons who may be fairly ranked among the working classes. I
   do not believe in the intense need of the working classes for
   evangelization any more than any other class among men. All
   class-preaching is. I take it, fundamentally wrong. We preach the
   gospel to every creature, and the Christian minister knows nothing of
   rich or poor, of young man or old man. The gospel is to be preached
   every day to everybody. No doubt the intent is good, but I think the
   shape which it takes is calculated to raise up party prejudices, and to
   arouse class feelings. We stand up, and we say to all the classes, "Are
   there not with you, even with you, sins against the Lord your God?"
   What if the poor man has his tavern and his house of drunkenness--what
   are the drinking-parties of the rich? What! is there no covered and
   concealed drunkenness hidden under the shadows of night? What if the
   poor have a place where they meet for licentiousness? Is there no such
   licentiousness among the aristocracy? Do they not cast off those whom
   they have debauched, and help to feed the stream of harlotry with the
   refuse of their lusts? Ah, my brethren, it is not for the Christian
   minister to set one rank of men against another. We are alike guilty
   from the highest to the lowest. We have sins to confess and
   acknowledge, and the prophet of God must go through streets of this
   modern Nineveh, and he must demand that king as well as commoner should
   repent. We have the same gospel for all. "Except ye be converted, and
   become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom
   of heaven." "Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of
   God." "Are there not with you, even with you, sins against the Lord
   your God?"

   But if the question be pertinent to nations, to sects, to classes,
   depend upon it, It is equally so to individuals. It is the nature of
   truth, like the crystal, that subdivide it as you may, every minute
   atom of it shall assume the same shape. Break up the truth from nations
   to sects, or from nations to classes, and it still holds true;
   subdivide it, dash it into atoms of individuality, and the same
   question is pertinent to each. "Are there not with you, even with you,
   sins against the Lord your God?"

   I propose this morning, God helping me, to preach a very plain,
   faithful, and honest sermon; praying that it may come home to some of
   your hearts. You will find no smoothness about my speech but the very
   reverse. My sword may have a very mean hilt, but I do trust it shall
   have a very keen edge, and that it shall cut sharp, piercing to the
   dividing asunder of the joints and marrow. I shall first of all, put a
   home question, secondly, I shall make a common sense enquiry, and ere I
   have done, I shall give you a little good advice.

   I. First, then, I put A HOME QUESTION. Let me single out the persons
   and put the questions to them.

   Doubtless I have here this morning, the moralist, the man who hates the
   very name of drunkenness. As for profanity, if he saw the seat of the
   scorner, he would pass by it at the remotest distance possible. He is a
   man whose hands are clean of all dishonesty. As far as he knows
   himself, he can say that he is upright in his business, that he is kind
   to his neighbors, that in everything he endeavors to keep the moral
   law. My friend has no religion perhaps, but still he has the outward
   form of morality. Bring anywhere between the wind and his nobility, the
   harlot, and oh, how disgusted he is! Let him but see one evening the
   drunkard rolling in the streets, and no language can be too severe. As
   for the thief, he condemns him, and condemns him rightly too. But one
   part of his condemnation arises from the fact that he feels himself
   without any guilt or accusation in this matter. He is innocent and
   therefore he feels that he may throw the first stone. My dear friend, I
   am glad to see you here this morning. I wish that all men were as moral
   as you are. I wish that all hated sin as much as you do; but still I
   have a question to ask of you, which perhaps you may not like, for you
   good moral people are very fond of your own righteousness. Let me ask
   you the question, "Is there not with you, even with you, some sin
   against the Lord your God?" Can you not remember any overt deed of
   wrong? Do you dare to tell me that you have never, never once broken a
   command of God? Well let it stand so, but have you never said an idle
   word, and have you never read that for every idle word that man shall
   speak the Lord shall bring him into judgment? Has your tongue always
   been as clean of every evil thing as God's law requires it should be?
   What! have you the matchless effrontery to say that? Do you think so
   well of yourself that you will declare that nothing has ever come out
   of your mouth but that which is good? Come then a little deeper, how
   about your thoughts? Remember, the thought of evil is sin. Have you
   never thought an evil thought, never desired an evil thing? Oh, man, I
   will not compliment you thus; take down the ten commandments, read
   through the twentieth chapter of Exodus, and read it through
   prayerfully, and I think you will be compelled to say as you read each
   commandment through, "Lord have mercy upon me, for though I thought my
   life was good, I now discover that with me even with me, there is sin
   against God." I do not condemn you for finding fault with the drunkard
   or the harlot, but I condemn you for this, that unless you are without
   fault yourself, you ought not to take up the first stone. You, too,
   live in a glass house, why throw stones at others? I wish you would
   turn your attention to yourself. Physician heal thyself, builder build
   thine own wall, husbandman plough thine own field and trim thine own
   vines. What signifieth it to thee if other men are worse than thyself,
   will that save thee? Cook to thyself, I pray thee, or else thy morality
   shall be but the white winding sheet of thy dead soul. For men may be
   as truly damned in morality as in immorality. Morality is good enough
   for what it is, but for the salvation of souls it is not sufficient.
   There must be a living faith in a dying Savior, there must be the
   Spirit of God indwelling in the soul or else you can never mount to
   heaven. Oh remember, one sin will sink your soul lower than the lowest
   hell. Repent therefore, O moralist, and no longer rebuke others, but
   rebuke thyself.

   I now turn to another individual, a very common personage, the accuser
   of the brethren. I fear I have not a few here of that sort. I know I
   have some, but I fear they may be more than I think. Do you not know
   the man who whenever he can say a nasty thing of a Christian will do
   it, who, whatever a Christian man may do will make mischief of it, who
   is inclined at all times to be turning that which is good into evil--a
   man described by Spenser in his picture of Envy in the "Faerie Queene."
   Envy, who always did chew between his dripping lips a toad, but
   "inwardly he chewed his own maw," eating his own heart, spitting on
   every one's good thing, imagining that every creature was as foul and
   as loathsome as himself? I have seen the dirty, mangy wretch, himself
   abominable as hell, and daring to insinuate that all others were as
   deceitful, and vile, and filthy as himself. This is when the evil has
   come to its full grown state. Such persons then become the most
   loathsome creatures in all society, and the most despicable. Who is
   there that respects the wretch who has no respect for others; whose
   only life is to pull other men's characters to pieces, and whose death
   would be sure to follow the universal reign of truth and goodness. I
   have seen, however, this disease before it has broken out and assumed
   its basest shape. I have seen men, and women too--let me lay a stress
   on that second word, for there is a stress sometimes needed there,
   though I would not be too severe--men and women who seem to have a
   propensity rather to observe that which is evil in another than that
   which is good. Now, I will put this home question. My friend, it is all
   very well for you to have those eyes so sharp, and to wear those
   magnifying glasses for other people, but "are there not with you, even
   with you, sins against the Lord your God?" What about your own life? I
   will tell you something about it. Whatever you think of other people is
   true of yourself--that is an invariable rule. We always measure other
   people's corn with our own bushel, and if you think you find other
   people's corn very gritty, the dirt was originally in your own. Depend
   upon it, that your judgment of others will be God's judgment of you,
   for with what measure ye mete the same shall be measured to you again.
   Now, what good have you ever got in your life by finding fault with
   other people? I will tell you all the good you have got. You have often
   been found fault with by others, you have been hated, you have been
   distrusted, you have lost many loves you might have received, you have
   sundered yourself from kind associations, and if you continue in your
   present course, you will be like the dreary iceberg that floats in the
   sea, always to be dreaded and avoided, chilling the atmosphere for
   miles around, and threatening destruction to the unwary mariner who
   happens to come into its neighborhood. Nay, more, if your calumnies
   have been directed against a servant of God, you have brought upon your
   head the most awful doom that can ever fall on man "He that toucheth my
   people toucheth the apple of mine eye," saith God. You have thrust your
   finger into the eye of God, and what shall be the doom which you shall
   receive? Tremble, sinner, there is nothing that brings a man's wrath
   into his face like finding fault with his children. He will stand many
   an insult, but once touch his children and his spirit boils with
   indignation. And so touch the children of God, find fault with them,
   and verily, verily, I say unto you, it were better for you that a
   millstone were about your neck, and that you were cast into the depths
   of the sea, "Are there not with you, even with you, sins against the
   Lord your God?" I am afraid none will take this second passage home,
   and the person who applies it to himself will be very angry. My dear
   friend, excuse me for saying that is a matter which I shall not at all
   regret, for if you will but be angry with yourself, you may be as angry
   as you please with me.

   And now for the third class. I have here the man who says, "Well, I
   have not been touched in either of those things. I hope I am something
   more than moral. I am religious also. You never see me absent from my
   place of worship. I am as punctual as a chronometer whenever the doors
   are open. I add to my morality that which is better still. I attend to
   ceremonies; there is not one which I have not observed. I have
   endeavored as far as I can to carry out every precept of the Christian
   ritual. I feel indignant with men who break the Sabbath; I feel angry
   with those who have no reverent regard for God's house." My dear
   friend, I do not condemn you for those feelings, but permit me to put
   to you a question. "Are there not with you, even with you, sins against
   the Lord your God?" The preacher stands here this morning to make a
   personal confession. It not unfrequently happens that in condemning
   others he condemns himself; and while that is a painful thing to him as
   a man, it is always a hopeful sign to him as a minister, because surely
   that which compels contrition and repentance in your pastor, may
   possibly be profitable to you, to bring you also to repentance. There
   are, however, some outwardly religious people, who, when this question
   is put to them, imagine that certainly they have no sins whatever. Ah,
   my dear hearers, "if ye say that ye have no sin, ye deceive yourselves,
   and the truth is not in you." But if you answer this question
   sorrowfully, saying, "Alas, alas, I am not what I would be; I pray God
   to sanctity me wholly, spirit, soul, and body," then I think there is a
   sign of life within. But if on the contrary, you reply, "No, I have no
   sin, I am perfect, I am complete through my ceremonial righteousness;"
   ah, my dear hearer, you know not what spirit you are of. Though you
   have attended to the outward form, what is that unless you have
   received the spiritual grace? though you have been constant at the
   place of worship, let me ask you, what is that unless you have brought
   your heart with you? Have you always heard as you would desire to hear
   if the sermon should be your last? Have you always prayed as you would
   desire to pray if you knew that rising from your knees you would have
   to lie down in your grave? Oh no, my brethren, we are too cold, too
   lukewarm, too chilled in our affections; we must mourn before God that
   with us, even with us, there are sins against the Lord our God.

   But again, I have to speak to a character of a very common kind. There
   is a man here who says, "Well, sir, I make no profession of
   religion--do not think of doing such a thing. I hate hypocrisy of all
   things in the world. It is true, sir, I commit a great many faults, and
   am often very loose, but then you know everybody knows me; they can see
   my character at once. I never cheat anybody. I would not be a cant, to
   go up to a place of worship and then go on as some people do
   afterwards; I would not be taking; the sacrament one day and then be
   grinding the poor on the morrow. No, sir, I am as honest at possible,
   and I have no doubt that when I stand before Almighty God I shall have
   as good a time of it as some of these professing Christians." Well, my
   friend, I like honesty; there is something an Englishman always likes
   in an honest speech; but do you know I am inclined to think that there
   is a little hypocrisy about you. I think you are not quite as honest as
   you seem to be; for if I were to put some home and very pointed
   questions to you, I should not be surprised if you were to get very
   angry. Have you not heard of the monk who said what a miserable sinner
   he was, and some one said, "Ay, that you are, there is no mistake about
   it." Then the monk grew wrath, and demanded in a passion, "What do you
   know against me? I will not be insulted by you." And probably if I were
   to take you at your word, and say to you, "Yes, that is just the fact,
   you are so bad a fellow as you can be," you would say, "I will not be
   insulted even by a minister; go along with you, sir, what do you know
   about me?" Your honesty is merely worn as a mask. Your conscience is
   uneasy, and this is a pat on the back for it, a sort of lullaby to send
   it to sleep. But suppose you are honest, let me ask you what there is
   to boast of in your honesty. A man bounces into the prisoner's box
   before the Court, and says, "My Lord Mayor, here I am as honest a man
   as can be. I am no hypocrite: I do not plead Not guilty,' for I am in
   the habit of stealing, and committing larceny, felony, highway robbery,
   and burglary." Now, is he not an honest man? Yes, with this little
   exception, that by his own confession he is a rogue. So is it with you,
   sir; you say you are honest, and yet on your own confession that very
   honesty which you plead is but a confession of your own abominable
   wickedness. And you imagine that when you stand before God, if you tell
   him, "Lord, I never professed to love thee, I never pretended to serve
   thee," God will accept your impudence as honesty--that he will look
   upon your presumption as sincerity! Why, sir, you cannot mean what you
   say; you must have deceived yourself most terribly if you do. Your
   honesty in avowing yourself to be a slave of Satan! Your effrontery in
   declaring that you are steeped up to the very throat in sin, is this to
   be an apology for your sin? Oh! man, be wiser. But I put now this
   question to you. You say that you are no hypocrite, and that you hate
   hypocrisy. Then I ask you, "Are there not with you, even with you, sins
   against the Lord your God?" What if you are no hypocrite--yet you are
   profane, and you curse God to his face; what if you are not a deceiver,
   yet are you not a drunkard, and a companion of adulterers? Ah! sir,
   there are sins in your heart, and loathsome ones too; your hardened
   acknowledgment that you are a sinner is of no value; that drunken
   braggadocio honesty of which you talk is of no value whatever. Get rid,
   I beseech you, of any hope or confidence that you may place in it.

   And now if I have omitted one class, if there be one into whose heart
   the question has not penetrated, let me go round personally. I cannot
   do so literally; but let this finger range you all, and let this eye
   look into every face. "Are there not with you, even with you, sins
   against the Lord your God?" Answer it not for others, but for thyself,
   my hearer; give a reply from the depth of thine own consciousness, and
   sitting in this hall, remember thine own sin, and make the silent
   confession of sin before God. And O may he fulfill that promise--"He
   that confesseth his sin and forsaketh it shall find mercy."

   II. Now I come to the second point, A COMMON SENSE QUESTION. They say
   that common sense is worth all the other senses put together; and
   methinks if men could but use common sense aright, it might be a fine
   thing for them in matters of religion. You know what Young says--"All
   men think all men mortal but themselves." We believe that all men will
   die, but somehow or other, we fancy we shall live. Now the question I
   shall put reminds me of that sentence. It is this, "Who are you that
   you think you shall escape the punishment of sin?" When the first
   question was put, you were compelled to confess that you had some
   guilt; who are you that God should let you off, and not punish you? who
   are you that you should stand clear of the sins that you have
   committed? All men think all men guilty but themselves. They think all
   men deserve to be punished; but every man has such a good excuse of his
   own iniquity, that he thinks surely at the last day, he may hope to
   creep away without the curse. Now I put this common sense question:
   What is there about you that your sins should not be punished as well
   as the sins of any other man? Who has given you an exemption? What is
   there about you that you should walk about this earth and fancy your
   sins are nothing at all, and that other persons sins are so tremendous?
   What fine gentleman are you that you fancy your pedigree to be so
   distinguished, that because the blood of counts, and dukes, and earls,
   and princes, and kings may happen to stain your veins, therefore you
   shall stand clear? Of course the sins of the lower classes are
   dreadful--oh, so dreadful--but what is there about yours my lord, that
   yours are so trivial? Surely if the poor man is to be punished, the
   equal law which stands for all, and which heaven will carry out, will
   not exempt you. Let me remind you, that so far from exempting, it may
   perhaps give you a double penalty, because your sin has led others into
   sin, and the prominence of your position, has been the means of
   spreading the pestilence of crime amongst others. I say to you, sir,
   however great you may be, what can there be in that roll of honor that
   you receive among men, that can in the least degree move the Lord your
   God? How he sniffs at this princely blood; he knows that you were all
   made of earth as Adam was, and that you all sprung from that gardener,
   that dishonest gardener, who of old lost his situation, because he
   would steal his Master's fruit. A pretty pedigree if you trace it up to
   its root! Oh, sir, there is nothing in it whatever. I beseech you,
   remember your sins must be punished as well as those of the vagrant,
   pauper, criminal.

   But make way for yonder gentleman; he imagines he is not to be punished
   because of his respectability. He has been such an honest tradesmen;
   has he not been at the corner of the street since eighteen hundred and
   two? Whoever heard that he failed and run through the court? Is he not
   respected by everybody? Well, sir, and what do you think your
   respectability has to do with it? You have sinned sir, and you will be
   punished as surely as anybody else. Every iniquity shall have its just
   recompense of reward. It will be in vain for you to plead your paltry
   respectability when you come up before the throne of God. You may wear
   all the stars and all the garters that man was ever befooled with; you
   may come before God and think that you can wear all the coronets, or
   all the glittering marks of respectability that ever man dreamt of; but
   these are nothing. The fire shall try every man's work of what sort it
   is, and if thy works be found evil, those works must be punished,
   unless thou happily hast found a substitute through whom thy sin can be
   put away.

   What excuses men make on earth. I wish they would always make their
   excuses believing themselves standing before the judgment-seat. My very
   honest friend, over there, who said he got drunk, and he did not mind
   saying that he was not a cant and a hypocrite. Ah! my friend, you will
   not be likely to say that when the world is in a blaze, when the
   pillars of earth are reeling, and the stars are falling like untimely
   figs, then you will find that excuse shrivelled up like a scroll. Will
   you not be afraid to come before God, you mere moralist, and tell him
   you have kept his law? You, even now, know you have not, and you shall
   know it better then, when your conscience has been quickened. And you,
   formalist, you may condemn others because you attend to every outward
   ceremony, but the day of judgment will make you feel that ceremonies
   are less than nothing; and you will be compelled then to cry, "Rocks
   hide me; mountains on me fall, to hide me from the face of that Lamb
   whom I despised while I trusted in the outward form and the empty
   ceremony." Oh, my hearer, whoever you may be, if you have not been born
   again, if your faith is not fixed on Christ alone, you have no excuse
   whatever for your sin. You not only are guilty, be you who you may, but
   you are so guilty that you shall surely be punished for your
   trespasses. God will not give any exemption to you. Ah, Mr. Accuser,
   you turn king's evidence on earth, and so hope to escape the bar of
   man, but there are no king's evidences at the bar of God. You may
   accuse the church then; you shall but the more swiftly be condemned.
   You may rail against your fellow men at the last great day; your words
   of railing shall but be a witness against you. Oh, my dear hearer, if
   you are not in Christ, I would that I could so preach that you would
   begin to tremble. If Christ is not in you, your state is such that
   nothing but the Lord's mercy keeps you out of hell a single moment. The
   wrath of God has gone out against you; you are condemned already
   because you have not believed in Christ. I want if I can, to draw this
   bow, not at a venture, but in such a way that the arrow will go home
   directly to the heart. "Repent and be converted, every one of you, in
   the name of the Lord Jesus Christ." Ye have sins, repent of them, I
   beseech you; bewail yourselves before God. May his Spirit give you a
   mind for repentance, and make you humble on account of him; and then
   remember there is mercy for the contrite; there is pardon for the
   penitent. But to the man who hugs his sin, or seeks to cloak it, there
   is no pardon, no mercy, but the wrath of God abideth on him, and the
   sword of divine justice shall soon be plunged into his heart.

   III. I come now, in conclusion, to give A LITTLE ADVICE; it shall be
   threefold.

   My first advice is, leave other people alone with regard to finding
   fault. My dear sir, if you have been busying yourself with the faults
   of others, be so good as to cease from that occupation. I know a
   loathsome fly that can only live on the foulest food, I will not
   compare you to it, but if you ever want a resemblance, there is
   yourself to the life. You remind me, when I hear you talk against
   others, of those poor creatures dressed in rags with a bag on their
   backs, who go through the streets picking up every stale bone and every
   piece of offal they can find; with this exception, that their calling
   is honorable and they may possibly live by it, but yours is
   dishonorable, it is of no service to you or to any one else. There
   never perhaps was an age when men's characters were less safe than now.
   The best man that breathes beneath the sun may live to find some putrid
   wretch standing up to accuse him of crimes of which he never dreamed. I
   beseech you all, if you hear ought against any man, do not believe it
   till you see it. Liars now-a-days are rife as wasps in summer. Hold off
   those black hands, thou devilish traducer! O slanderer, have done with
   thy filthy work; rake no more in the kennel, lest thou be sent to rake
   in the blazing kennel of hell, there to find out the faults of others
   which like serpents shall be set to bite thine own bosom and suck thy
   soul's blood throughout eternity. Take heed, slanderer, for there are
   hot coals of juniper and fiery irons awaiting the false tongue that
   lifteth up itself against God and his people.

   After that first piece of advice let me give another. Treat yourselves,
   my dear friends, as you have been accustomed to treat others. We get
   another man's character and tie it up to the halberds, and out with our
   great whip and begin to lay it on with all our force, and after the
   flogging, we wash the poor creature with a kind of briny pretense at
   excusing his sins. After that again we throw him back upon the bed of
   spikes of our own supposition that he is a great deal worse than we
   have made him out to be. Ah, just serve thyself so. Tie thyself up to
   the halberds man, and lay on the whip; do not spare him. When you have
   got yourself tied up, hit hard, sir, it is a great rascal you are
   whipping. Never mind his flesh creeping, he deserves it all. Never
   mind, though the white bones start from the raw red bleeding back--lay
   it on. Now then, a heavy blow! kill him if you can, the sooner he is
   dead the better; for when he is once killed as to an idea of
   righteousness in himself, then he will begin to lead a new life and be
   a new creature in Christ Jesus. Do not be afraid of whipping him, but
   when the cat-o'-nine-tails is heavy with clots of gore, rub the brine
   into his back, make it tingle. Tell him that his sins deserve the wrath
   of hell. Make him feel that it is an awful thing to fall into the hands
   of our God, for he is a consuming fire. Then throw him down on the bed
   of spikes, and make him sleep there if he can. Roll him on the spikes,
   and tell him that bad as he is, he is worse by nature than by practice.
   Make him feel that the leprosy lies deep within. Give him no rest.
   Treat him as cruelly as he could treat another. Twould be only his
   deserts. But who is this that I am telling you to treat so? Yourself,
   my hearer, yourself. Be as severe as you can, but let the culprit be
   yourself. Put on the wig, and sit upon the judgment-seat. Read the
   king's commission. There is such a commission for you to be a judge. It
   says--Judge thyself--though it says judge not others. Put on, I say,
   your robes; sit up there lord chief justice of the Isle of man, and
   then bring up the culprit. Make him stand at the bar. Accuse him; plead
   against him; condemn him. Say: "Take him away, jailer." Find out the
   hardest punishment you can discover in the statute book, and believe
   that he deserves it all. Be as severe as ever you can on yourself, even
   to the putting on the black cap, and reading the sentence of death.
   When you have done this, you will be in a hopeful way for life, for he
   that condemns himself God absolves. He that stands self-convicted, may
   look to Christ hanging on the cross, and see himself hanging there, and
   see his sins for ever put away by the sacrifice of Jesus on the tree.

   The third piece of counsel, with which I am about to close, is this: My
   dear hearer, with you there are sins, and God must in justice punish
   you as well as others. I do beseech you look to the eternal interests
   of your own souls. I have hard work to plead this last point. May God
   the Holy Spirit take it in hand, and it will be done to purpose; but it
   he do not do it, all I can say will fall with lifeless dulness upon
   your ear. As well preach to the dead in the grave as to the unawakened
   sinner, but yet I am commanded to preach to the dead, and therefore I
   do preach to the dead this morning. My dear hearer, look to thine own
   soul's salvation. These are happy times. We are living just now in a
   period when the grace of God is manifesting itself in a singular
   manner. There is more prayer in London now than there has been in the
   last ten years; and I believe more outpouring of the Holy Spirit than
   some of us have ever known. Oh! I beseech you, look well for this
   auspicious gale. Now the wind is blowing, up with thy sail; when the
   tide is coming in full, launch thy boat, and oh may God the Spirit bear
   thee on towards life and happiness! But, I beseech thee, make thy first
   object in life thy own salvation. What is thy shop compared with thy
   soul? Nay, what is thy body, thine eyes, thy senses, thy reason,
   compared with shine immortal soul? Let this word ring in thine ears,
   Eternity! Eternity! Eternity! And, oh! I beseech thee, look well to
   thyself, lest eternity should become to thee a sea without a shore,
   where fiery billows shall for ever toss thy wretched soul. Eternity!
   Eternity! And must I climb thy topless steeps and never find a summit?
   Must I plough thy pathless waters and never find a haven? Tis even so.
   Then grant me, God, that I may climb in eternity the mount of bliss,
   and not the hill of woe; and may I sail across the sea of happiness and
   joy, and not across the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone! Look
   to yourself. sir. This is a day of good tidings for many, may it be a
   day of good tidings for you! I beseech you, give up thinking about men
   at large, about the world, and nations; what have you to do with
   politics? Let your polities be the politics of your own soul. Attend
   those other things by-and-bye, but now give yourself the favor of your
   own thoughts. Begin at home. I do fear there are more lost through this
   than almost through any other cause, next to procrastination--thinking
   about others and forgetting about self. I wish I could put you to-day,
   in some respects, like those who are in the chapel of the penitentiary,
   where every man sees the minister during service, but no man sees
   another. My dear hearer, do recollect that what I have said I mean for
   you, not for other people. Take it home; and to-day, I beseech you, go
   to your chamber. and may God compel you by his grace to make a
   confession of your own sins. Seek a Savior for yourself; and oh may you
   find him for yourself and then begin to seek him for others. If this
   were a day of famine, would you be content to hear me say, "There is
   bread in abundance stored away in the Tower--there is a great quantity
   of food there?" No, you would say, "Let me go and get some of this
   bread for myself." You would go home, and the cries of your wife and
   children would compel you to arouse. You would say, "I hear there is
   bread, I must get it, for I cannot bear to see my wife and children
   starving." Oh! sinner, hear the cry of thy poor starving soul, hear, I
   beseech thee, the cry of thy poor body. Thy body does not wish to be
   cast into fire, and thy soul shrinketh from the thought of everlasting
   torment. Hear, then, thine own flesh and blood when it cries to thee.
   Let thine own nature speak; the voice of nature that dreads pain and
   torment, and wrath to come, and when it speaks, listen to it, and come;
   come I pray you, to penitence and to faith.

   "Come, guilty souls, and flee away

   To Christ, and heal your wounds.

   This is the glorious gospel-day,

   Wherein free grace abounds."

   May God the Holy Spirit draw you, or drive you, whichever he pleases,
   so that you may be brought to life, and peace, and happiness, and
   salvation, through the precious blood.
     __________________________________________________________________

                             The Treasure of Grace

   A Sermon

   (No. 295)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 22nd, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "The forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his
   grace."--Ephesians 1:7.

   AS IS ISAIAH among the prophets, so is Paul among the apostles; each
   stands forth with singular prominence, raised up by God for a
   conspicuous purpose, and shining as a star of extraordinary brilliance.
   Isaiah spake more of Christ, and described more minutely his passion
   and his death than all the other prophets put together. Paul proclaimed
   the grace of God--free, full, sovereign, eternal race--beyond all the
   glorious company of the apostles. Sometimes he soared to such amazing
   heights, or dived into such unsearchable depths, that even Peter could
   not follow him. He was ready to confess that "our beloved brother Paul,
   according to his wisdom given unto him," had written "some things hard
   to be understood." Jude could write of the judgments of God, and
   reprove with terrible words, "ungodly men, who turned the grace of God
   into lasciviousness." But he could not tell out the purpose of grace as
   it was planned in the eternal mind, or the experience or grace as it is
   felt and realized in the human heart, like Paul. There is James again:
   he, as a faithful minister, could deal very closely with the practical
   evidences of Christian character. And yet he seems to keep very much on
   the surface; he does not bore down deep into the substratum on which
   must rest the visible soil of all spiritual graces. Even John, most
   favoured of all those apostles who were companions of our Lord on
   earth--sweetly as the beloved disciple writes of fellowship with the
   Father and his Son Jesus Christ--even John doth not speak of grace so
   richly as Paul, "in whom God first showed forth all long-suffering as a
   pattern to hem which should hereafter believe on him to life
   everlasting." Not, indeed, that we are at any liberty to prefer one
   apostle above another. We may not divide the Church, saying, I am of
   Paul, I of Peter, I of Apollos; but we may acknowledge the instrument
   which God was pleased to use; we may admire the way in which the Holy
   Ghost fitted him for his work; we may, with the churches of Judea,
   "glorify God in Paul." Among the early fathers Augustine was singled
   out as the "Doctor of Grace;" so much did he delight in those doctrines
   that exhibit the freeness of divine favour. And surely we might affirm
   the like of Paul. Among his compeers he outstripped them all in
   declaring the grace that bringeth salavation. The sense of grace
   pervaded all his thoughts as the life blood circulates through all the
   veins of one's body. Does he speak of conversion, "he was called by
   grace." Nay, he sees grace going before his conversion, and "separating
   him from his mother's womb." He attributes all his ministry to grace.
   "To me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given,
   that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of
   Christ." See him at any time, and under any circumstances, whether
   bowed down with infirmity, or lifted to the third heavens with
   revelation, he has but one account to give of himself, "By the grace of
   God I am what I am."

   There are no ministers who contend so fully and so unflinchingly for
   free, sovereign, unconditional grace, as those who before their
   conversion have revelled in gross and outrageous sin. Your gentleman
   preachers who have been piously brought up, and sent from their cradle
   to school, from school to college, and from college to the pulpit,
   without encountering much temptation, or being rescued from the haunts
   of profanity--they know comparatively little, and speak with little
   emphasis of free grace. It is a Bunyan who breathed curses, a Newton
   who was a ver monster in sin; it is the like of these, who cannot
   forget for one hour of their lives afterwards, the grace that snatched
   them from the pit, and plucked them as brands from the burning. Strange
   indeed that God should have it so. The providence is inscrutable that
   permits some of the Lord's chosen people to wander and rove as far as
   sheep can stray. Such men, however, make the most valiant champions for
   that grace which only can rescue any sinner from eternal woe.

   This morning we propose to expound to you "the riches of God's grace;
   this is the Treasure; then, secondly, we shall speak of the
   "Forgiveness of Sins," which is to be judged of by that Measure; the
   forgiveness is according to the riches of his grace; and we shall
   afterwards wind up by considering some of the privileges connected
   therewith.

   I. First, consider the RICHES OF HIS GRACE. In attempting to search out
   that which is unsearchable, we must, I suppose, use some of those
   comparisons by which we are wont to estimate the wealth of the
   monarchs, and mighty ones of this world. It happened once that the
   Spanish ambassador, in the haleyon days of Spain, went on a visit to
   the French ambassador, and was invited by him to see the treasures of
   his master. With feelings of pride he showed the repositories,
   profusely stored with earth's most precious and most costly wealth.
   "Could you show gems so rich," said he, "or aught the life of this for
   magnificence of possessions in all your sovereign's kingdom?" "Call
   your master rich?" replied the ambassador of Spain, "why; my master's
   treasures have no bottom"--alluding, of course, to the mines of Peru
   and Petrosa. So truly in the riches of grace there are mines too deep
   for man's finite understanding ever to fathom. However profound your
   investigation, there is still a deep couching beneath that baffles all
   research. Who can ever discover the attributes of God? Who can find out
   the Almighty to perfection? We are at a loss to estimate the ver
   quality and properties of grace as it dwells in the mind of Deity. Love
   in the human breast is a passion. With God it is not so. Love is an
   attribute of the divine essence. God is love. In men, grace and bounty
   may grow into a habit, but grace with God is an intrinsic attribute of
   his nature. He cannot but be gracious. As by necessity of his Godhead
   he is omnipotent, and omniprescent, so by absolute necessity of his
   divinity is he gracious.

   Come then, my brethren, into this glittering mine of the attributes of
   the grace of God. Every one of God's attributes is infinite, and
   therefore this attribute of grace is without bounds. You cannot
   conceive the infinity of God, why, therefore, should I attempt to
   describe it. Recollect however, that as the attributes of God are of
   the like extent, the gauge of one attribute must be the gauge of
   another. Or, further, if one attribute is without limit, so is another
   attribute. Now, you cannot conceive any boundary to the omnipotence of
   God. What cannot he do? He can crate, he can destroy; he can speak a
   myriad universe into existence; or he can quench the light of myriads
   of stars as readily as we tread out a spark. He hath but to will it,
   and creatures without number sing his praise; yet another volition, and
   those creatures subside into their naked nothingness, as a moment's
   foam subsides into the wave that bears it, and is lost for ever. The
   astronomer turns his tube to the remotest space, he cannot find a
   boundary to God's creating power; but could he seem to find a limit, we
   would then inform him that all the worlds on worlds that cluster in
   space, hick as the drops of morning dew upon the meadows, are but the
   shreds of God's power. He can make more than all these, can dash those
   into nothingness, and can begin again. Now as boundless as is his
   power, so infinite is his grace. As he hath power to do anything, so
   hath he grace enough to give anything--to give everything to the very
   chief of sinners.

   Take another attribute if you please--God's omniscience, there is no
   boundary to that. We know that his eye is upon every individual of our
   race--he sees him as minutely as if he were the only creature that
   existed. It is boasted of the eagle that though he can outstare the
   sun, yet when at his greatest height, he can detect the movement of the
   smallest fish in the depths of the sea. But what is this compared with
   the omniscience of God? His eye tracks the sun in his marvellous
   course, his eye marks the winged comet as it flies through space. His
   eye discerns the utmost bound of creation inhabited or uninhabited.
   There is nothing hid from the light thereof, with him there is no
   darkness at all. If I mount to heaven he is there; if I dive to hell he
   is there; if I fly mounted on the morning ray beyond the western sea,

   "His swifter hand shall first arrive,

   And there arrest the fugitive."

   There is no limit to his understanding, nor is there to his grace. As
   his knowledge comprehendeth all things, so doth his grace comprehend
   all the sins, all the trials all the infirmities of the people upon
   whom his heart is set. Now, my dear brethren, the next time we fear
   that God's grace will be exhausted, let us look into this mine, and
   then let us reflect that all that has ever been taken out of it has
   never diminished it a single particle. All the clouds that have been
   taken from the sea have never diminished its depth, and all the love,
   and all the mercy that God has given to all but infinite numbers of the
   race of man, has not disminished by a single rain the mountains of his
   grace. But to proceed further; we sometimes judge of the wealth of men,
   not only by their real estate in mines and the like, but by what they
   have on hand stored up in the treasury. I must take you now, my
   brethren, to the glittering treasury of divine grace. Ye know its
   names, it is called the Covenant, have you not head the marvellous
   story of what was done in the olden time before the world was made. God
   foreknew that man would fall, but he determined of his own infinite
   purpose and will that he would raise out of this fall a multitude which
   no man can number. The Eternal Father held a solemn council with the
   Son and Holy Spirit. Thus spoke the Father:--"I will that those whom I
   have chosen be saved!" Thus said the Son:--"My Father, I am ready to
   bleed and die that thy justice may not suffer and that thy purpose may
   be executed." "I will," said the Holy Spirit, "that those whom the Son
   redeems with blood shall be called by grace, shall be quickened, shall
   be preserved, shall be sanctified and perfected, and brought safely
   home." Then was the Covenant written, signed, and sealed, and ratified
   between the Sacred Three. The Father gave his Son, the Son gave
   himself, and the Spirit promises all his influence, all his presence,
   to all the chosen. Then did the Father give to the Son the persons of
   his elect, then did the Son give himself to the elect, and take them
   into union with him; and then did the Spirit in covenant vow that these
   chosen ones should surely be brought safe home at last. Whenever I
   think of the old covenant of grace, I am perfectly amazed and staggered
   with the grace of it. I could not be an Arminian on any inducement; the
   ver poetry of our holy religion lies in these ancient things of the
   everlasting hills, that glorious covenant signed and sealed, and
   ratified, in all things ordered well from old eternity.

   Pause here, my hearer, awhile, and think before this world was made,
   ere God had settled the deep foundations of the mountains, or poured
   the seas from the laver of the bottom of his hand, he had chosen his
   people, and set his heart on hem. To them he had given himself, his
   Son, his heaven, his all. For them did Christ determine to resign his
   bliss, his home, his life; for them did the Spirit promise all his
   attributes, that they might be blessed. O grace divine, how glorious
   thou art, without beginning, without end. How shall I praise thee? Take
   up the strain ye angels; sing these noble themes, the love of the
   Father, the love of the Son, the love of the Spirit.

   This, my brethren, if ye think it over, may well make you estimate
   aright the riches of God's grace. If you read the roll of the covenant
   from beginning to end, containing as it does, election, redemption,
   calling, justification, pardon, adoption, heaven, immortality--if you
   read all his, you will say, "This is riches of grace--God, great and
   infinite! Who is a God like unto thee for the riches of thy love!"

   The riches of great kings again, may often be estimated by the
   munificence of the monuments which they reared to record their feats.
   We have been amazed in these modern times at the marvellous riches of
   the kings of Nineveh and Babylon. Modern monarchs with all their
   appliances, would fail to erect such monstrous piles of palaces as
   those in which old Nebuchadnezzar walked in times of yore. We turn to
   the pyramids, we see there what the wealth of nations can accomplish;
   we look across the sea to Mexico and Peru, and we see the relics of a
   semi-barbarous people but we are staggered and amazed to think what
   wealth and what mines of riches they must have possessed ere such works
   could have been accomplished. Solomon's riches are perhaps best judged
   of by us when we think of those great cities which he built in the
   wilderness, Tadmore and Palmyra. When we go and visit those ruins and
   see the massive columns and magnificent sculpture, we say, Solomon
   indeed was rich. We feel as we walk amid the ruins somewhat like the
   queen of Sheba, even in Scripture the half has not been told us of the
   riches of Solomon. My brethren, God has led us to inspect mightier
   trophies than Solomon, or Nebuchadnezzar, or Montezuma, or all the
   Pharaohs. Turn your eyes yonder, see that blood-bought host arrayed in
   white, surrounding the throne--hark, how they sing, with voice
   triumphant, with melodies seraphic, "Unto him that loved us, and washed
   us from our sins in his own blood, to him be glory and dominion for
   ever and ever." And who are these? Who are these trophies of his grace?
   Some of them have come from the stews of harlotry; many of them have
   come from the taverns of drunkenness. Nay, more, the hands of some of
   those so white and fair, were once red with the blood of saints. I sere
   yonder the men that nailed the Saviour to the tree; men who cursed God,
   and invoked on themselves death and damnation. I see there Manasseh,
   who shed innocent blood so much, and the thief who in the last moment
   looked to Christ, and said, "Lord, remember me." But I need not turn
   your gaze so far aloft; look, my brethren, around, you do not know your
   next neighbour by whom you are sitting his morning, it may be. But
   there are stories of grace that might be told by some here this
   morning, that would make the ver angels sing more loudly than they have
   done before. Well, I know these cheeks have well nigh been scarlet with
   tears when I have heard the stories of free grace wrought in this
   congregation. Then are those known to me, but of course not so to you,
   who were among the vilest of men, the scum of society. We have here
   those to whom cursing was as their breath, and drunkenness had grown to
   be a habit; and yet here they are servants of God, and of his church;
   and it is their delight to testify to others what a Saviour they have
   found. Ah, but my hearer, perhaps thou art one of those trophies, and
   if so, the best proof of the riches of his grace is that which thou
   findest in thy own soul. I think God to be gracious when I see others
   saved, I know he is because he has saved me; that wayward, wilful boy,
   who scoffed a mother's love, and would not be melted by all her
   prayers, who only wished to know a sin in order to perpetrate it? Is he
   standing here to preach the gospel of the grace of God to you to-day?
   Yes. Then there is no sinner out of hell that has sinned too much for
   grace to save. That love which can reach to me, can reach to you. Now I
   know the riches of his grace, because I hope I prove it, and feel it in
   my own inmost heart, my dear hearer, and may you know it too, and then
   you will join with our poet, who says--

   "Then loudest of the crowd I'll sing,

   While heavens resounding mansions ring

   With shouts of sovereign grace."

   Go a little further now. We have thus looked at the wine and treasures,
   and at the monuments. But more. One thing which amazed the queen of
   Sheba, with regard to the riches of Solomon, was the sumptuousness
   ofhis table. Suth multitudes sat down to it to eat and drink, and
   though they were many, yet they all had enough and to spare. She lost
   all heart when she saw the provisions of a single day brought in. I
   forget just now, although I meant to refer to the passage how many fat
   beast, how many bullocks of the pasture, how many bucks and fallow deer
   and game of all sorts, and how many measures of flour and how many
   gallons of oil were brought to Solomon's table every day, but it was
   something marvellous; and the multitudes that had to feast were
   marvellous also, yet had they all enough. And now think my brethren of
   the hospitalities of the God of grace each day. Ten thousand of his
   people are this day sitting down to feast; hungry and thirsty they
   bring large appetites with them to he banquet, but not one of them
   returns unsatisfied; there is enough for each, enough for all, enough
   for evermore. Though the host that feed there is countless as the stars
   of heaven, yet I find that not one lacks his portion. He openeth his
   hand and supplies the want of every living saint upon the face of the
   earth. Think how much grace one saint requires, so much that nothing
   but the Infinite could supply him for one day. We burn so much fuel
   each day to maintain the fire of love in our hearts, that we might
   drain the mines of England of all their wealth of coal. Surely were it
   not that we have infinite treasures of race, the daily consumption of a
   single saint might out-demand everything that is to be found upon the
   face of the earth. And yet it is not one but many saints, and many
   hundreds, not for one day, but for many years; not for many years only,
   but generation after generation, century after century, race after race
   of men, living on the fulness of God in Christ. Yet are none of hem
   starved; they all drink to he full; they eat and are satisfied. What
   riches of grace then may we see in the sumptuousness of his
   hospitality.

   Sometimes, my brethren, I have thought if I might but get the broken
   meat at God's back door of grace I should be satisfied; like the woman
   who said, "The dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from the master's
   table;" or like the prodigal who said, "Make me as one of thy hired
   servants." But you will remember that no child of God is ever made to
   live on husks; God does not give the parings of his grace to he meanest
   of them, but they are all fed like Mephibosheth; they eat from the
   kings own table the daintiest dishes. And if one may speak for the
   rest, I think in matters of grace we all have Benjamin's mess--we all
   have ten times as we could have expected, and though not more than our
   necessities, yet are we often amazed at the marvellous plenty of grace
   which God gives us in the covenant and the promise.

   Now we turn to another point to illustrate the greatness of the riches
   of God's grace. A man's riches may often be judged of by the equipage
   of his children, the manner in which he dresses his servants and those
   of his household. It is not to be expected that the child of the poor
   man, though he is comfortably clothed, should be arrayed in like
   garments to those which are worn by the sons of princes. Let us see,
   then, what are the robes in which God's people are apparelled, and how
   they are attended. Here again I speak upon a subject where a large
   imagination is needed, and my own utterly fails me. God's children are
   wrapped about with a robe, a seamless robe, which earth and heaven
   could not buy the like of if it were once lost. For texture it excels
   the fine linen of the merchants; for whiteness it is purer than the
   driven snow; no looms on earth could make it, but Jesus spent his life
   to work my robe of righteousness. There was a drop of blood in every
   throw of the shuttle, and every thread was made of his own heart's
   agonies. Tis a robe that is divine, complete; a better one than Adam
   wore in the perfection of Eden. He had but a human righteousness though
   a perfect one, but we have a divinely perfect righteousness. Strangely,
   my soul, art thou arrayed, for thy Saviour's garment is on thee; the
   royal robe of David is wrapped about his Jonathan. Look at God's people
   as they are clothed too in the garments of sanctification. Was there
   ever such a robe as that? It is literally stiff with jewels. He arrays
   the meanest of his people every day as though it were a wedding day; he
   arrays them as a bride adorneth herself with jewels; he has given
   Ehtiopia and Sheba for them, and he will have them dressed in gold of
   Ophir. What riches of grace then must there be in God who thus clothes
   his children!

   But to conclude this point upon which I have not as yet begun. If you
   would know the full riches of divine grace, read the Father's heart
   when he sent his Son upon earth to die; read the lines upon the
   Father's countenance when he pours his wrath upon his only begotten and
   his well-beloved Son. Read too the mysterious handwriting on the
   Saviour's flesh and soul, when on the cross quivering in agony the
   waves of swelling grief do o'er his bosom roll. If ye would know love
   ye must repair to Christ, and ye shall see a man so full of pain, that
   his head, his hair, his garments bloody be. Twas love that made him
   sweat as it were great drops of blood. If ye would know love, you must
   see the Omnipotent mocked by his creatures, you must hear the
   Immaculate slandered by sinners, you must hear the Eternal One groaning
   out his life, and crying in the agonies of death, "My God, my God, why
   hast thou forsaken me?" In fine, to sum up all in one, the riches of
   the grace of God are infinite, beyond all limit; they are
   inexhaustible, they can never be drained; they are all-sufficient, they
   are enough for every soul that ere shall come to take of them; there
   shall be enough for ever while earth endureth, until the last vessel of
   mercy shall be brought home safely.

   So much, then, concerning the riches of His grace.

   II. For a minute or two, let me now dwell upon THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS.
   The treasure of God's grace is the measure of our forgiveness; this
   forgiveness of sins is according to the riches of his grace. We may
   infer, then, that the pardon which God gives to the penitent is no
   niggard pardon. Have not you asked a man's pardon sometimes, and he has
   said, "Yes, I forgive you," and you have thought, "Well, I would not
   even have asked for pardon if I thought you would have given it in such
   a surly style as that; I might as well have continued as I was, as to
   be so ungraciously forgiven." But when God forgives a man, though he be
   the chief of sinners, he puts out his hand and freely forgives; in
   fact, there is as much joy in the heart of God when he forgives, as
   there is in the heart of the sinner when he is forgiven; God is as
   blessed in giving as we are in receiving. It is his very nature to
   forgive; he must be gracious, he must be loving, and when he lets his
   heart of love out to free us from our sins it is with no stinted
   stream; he doth it willingly, he upbraideth it not. Again: if pardon be
   in proportion to the riches of his grace, we may rest assured it is not
   a limited pardon, it is not the forgiving of some sins and the leaving
   of others upon the back. No, this were not Godlike, it were not
   consistent with the riches of his grace. When God forgives he draws the
   mark through every sin which the believer ever has committed, or ever
   will commit. That last point may stagger you, but I do believe with
   John Kent, that in the blood of Christ

   "There's pardon for transgressions past,

   It matters not how black their cast;

   And, oh! My soul, with wonder view,

   For sins to come there's pardon too."

   However many, however heinous, however innumerable your sins may have
   been, the moment you believe they are ever one of them blotted out. In
   the Book of God there is not a single sin against any man in this place
   whose trust is in Christ, not a single one, not even the shadow of one,
   not a spot, or the remnant of a sin remaining, all is gone. When Noah's
   flood covered the deepest mountains, you may rest assured it covered
   the mole-hills; and when God's love covers the little sins it covers
   the big ones, and they are all gone at once! When a bill is receipted
   fully there is not an item which can be charged again, and when God
   pardons the sins of the believer there is not one single sin left; not
   even half-an-one can ever be brought to his remembrance again. Nay,
   more than this; when God forgives, he not only forgives all but once
   for all. Some tell us that God forgives men and yet they are lost. A
   fine god yours! They believe that the penitent sinner finds mercy, but
   that if he slips or stumbles in a little while he will be taken out of
   the covenant of grace and will perish. Such a covenant I could not and
   would not believe in; I tread it beneath my feet as utterly despicable.
   The God whom love when he forgives never punishes afterwards. By one
   sacrifice there is a full remission of all sin that ever was against a
   believer, or that ever will be against him. Though you should live till
   your hair is bleached thrice over, till Methuselah's thousand years
   should pass over your furrowed brow, not a single sin shall ever stand
   against you, nor shall you ever be punished for a single sin; for every
   sin is forgiven, fully forgiven, so that not even part of the
   punishment shall be executed against you. "Well, but," saith one, "how
   is it that God does punish his children?" I answer, he does not. He
   chastises them as a father, but that is a different thing from the
   punishment of a judge. If the child of a judge were brought up to the
   bar, and that child were freely forgiven all that he had done amiss, if
   justice exonerated and acquitted him, it might nevertheless happen that
   there was evil in the heart of that child which the father, out of love
   to the child, might have to whip out of him. But there is a great deal
   of difference between a rod in the hand of the executioner, and a rod
   in a father's hand. Let God smite me, if I sin against him, yet it is
   not because of the guilt of sin, there is no punishment in it whatever,
   the penal clause is done away with. It is only that he may cure me of
   my fault, that he may fetch the folly out of my heart. Do you chasten
   your children vindictively because you are angry with them? No; but
   because you love them; if you are what parents should be, the
   chastisement is a proof of your affection, and your heart smarts more
   than their body pains, when you have to chasten them for what they have
   done amiss. God is not angry against his children, nor is there a sin
   in hem which he will punish. He will whip it out of them, but punish
   them for it he will not. O glorious grace! It is a gospel worth
   preaching.

   "The moment a sinner believes,

   And trusts in his crucified God,

   His pardon at once he receives

   Redemption in full through Christ's blood."

   All is gone; every atome gone; gone for ever and ever; and well he
   knows it.

   "Now freed from sin I walk at large,

   My Saviour's blood my full discharge;

   At his dear feet my soul I lay,

   A sinner saved, and homage pay."

   Having thus spoken of the pardon of sin as being fully commensurate
   with the grace of God, I will put this question to my hearer: My
   friend, are you a forgiven man? Are your sins all gone? "No," saith
   one, "I cannot say they are, but I am doing my best to reform." Ah! you
   may do your best to reform, I hope you will, but that will never wash
   away a single blood-red stain of guilt. "But," saith one, "may I, just
   I am, believe that my sins are forgiven?" No, but I tell thee what thou
   mayst do. If God help thee, thou mayst now cast thyself simply upon the
   blood and righteousness of Christ; and the moment thou dost that, thy
   sins are all gone, and gone so that they never can return again. "He
   that believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved." Nay, he is
   saved in the moment of his faith. He is no more in the sight of God
   received as a sinner; Christ has been punished for him. The
   righteousness of Christ is wrapped about him, and he stands accepted in
   the beloved. "Well, but," saith one, "I can believe that a man, after
   he has been a long time a Christian, may know his sins to be forgiven,
   but I cannot imagine that I can know it at once." The knowledge of our
   pardon does not always come the moment we believe, but the fact of our
   pardon is before our knowledge of it, and we may be pardoned before we
   know it. But if thou believest on the Lord Jesus Christ with all hine
   heart, I will tell thee this: If thy faith be free of all self-trust
   thou shalt know to-day that thy sins are forgiven, for the witness of
   the Spirit shall bear witness with thy heart, and thou shalt hear that
   secret, still small voice, saying, "Be of good cheer; thy sins, which
   are many, are all forgiven." "Oh," saith one, "I would give all I have
   for that." And you might give all you have, but you would not have it
   at that price. You might give the firstborn for your transgression, the
   fruit of your body for the sin of your soul, you might offer rivers of
   oil, and ten thousand of the fat of fed beasts; you would not have it
   for money, but you may have it for nothing; it is freely brought to
   you; you are bidden to take it. Only acknowledge your sin, and put your
   trust in Christ, and there is not one man among you who shall hear
   aught about his sin in the day of judgment. It shall be cast into the
   depth of the sea--it shall be carried away for ever.

   I will give you a picture, and then leave this subject. See, there
   stands the high-priest of the Jews. A goat is brought to him: it is
   called "the scape-goat." He puts his hands upon the head of this goat,
   and begins to make confession of sin. Will you come and do the like?
   Jesus Christ is the scape-goat; come and lay your hand on his
   thorn-crown'd head by faith, and make confession of your sin, as the
   high-priest did of old. Have you done it? Is your sin confessed? Now
   believe that Jesus Christ is able and willing to take your sin away.
   Rest wholly and entirely on him. Now what happens? The high-priest
   takes the scape-goat, gives it into the hand of a trusty man, who leads
   it over hill and down dale, till he is many miles away, and then,
   suddenly loosing its bonds, he frightens it, and the goat flees with
   all its might. The man watches it till it is gone, and he can see it no
   more. He comes back, and he says, "I took the scape-goat away, and it
   vanished out of my sight; it is gone into the wilderness." Ah, my
   hearer, and if thou hast put thy sins on Christ by a full confession,
   remember he has taken hem all away, as far as the east is from the
   west, they are gone, and gone eternally. Thy drunkenness, thy swearing
   is gone, thy lying, thy theft is gone, thy Sabbath-breaking, thy evil
   thoughts are gone--all gone, and thou shalt never see them again--

   "Plunged, as in a shoreless sea,

   Lost, as in immensity."

   III. And now I conclude by noticing THE BLESSED PRIVILEGES WHICH ALWAYS
   FOLLOW THE FORGIVENESS WHICH IS GIVEN TO US ACCORDING TO THE GRACE OF
   GOD. I think here are a great many people who do not believe there is
   any reality in religion at all. They think it is a very respectable
   thing to go to church and to go to chapel, but as to ever enjoying a
   consciousness that their sins are all forgiven, they never think about
   that. And I must confess that, in the religion of these modern times,
   there does not seem to be much reality. I do not hear at this day that
   clear ringing distinct proclamation of the gospel that I want to hear.
   It is a grand thing to carry the gospel to all manner of men, to take
   it to the theatre, and the like, but we want to have the gospel
   undiluted--the milk must have a little less water with it. There must
   be a more distinct, palpable truth taught to the people, a something
   that they can really lay hold of, a something that they can understand,
   even if they will not believe it. I trust no man will misunderstand me
   this morning in what I have said. There is such a thing as having all
   our sins forgiven now. There is such a thing as knowing it and enjoying
   it. Now I will show you what will be the happiness resulting to you,
   should you obtain this blessing.

   In the first place, you will have peace of conscience, that heart of
   yours that throbs so fast when you are alone will be quite still and
   quiet. You will be least alone when you are alone. That fear of yours
   which makes you quicken your step in the dark because you are afraid of
   something, and you do not know what, will all be gone. I have heard of
   a man who was so constantly in debt, and continually being arrested by
   the bailiffs, that once upon a time, when going by some area railings,
   having caught his sleeve upon one of the rails, he turned round and
   said, "I don't owe you anything, Sir." He thought it was a bailiff. And
   so it is with unforgiven sinners, wherever they are, they think they
   are going to be arrested. They can enjoy nothing. Even their mirth,
   what is it, but the colour of joy, the crackling of thorns under the
   pot; there is no solid steady fire. But when once a man is forgiven, he
   can walk anywhere, He says, "to me it is nothing whether I live or die,
   whether ocean depths engulf me, or whether I am buried beneath the
   avalanche, with sin forgiven, I am secure. Death has no sting to him.
   His conscience is at rest. Then he goes a step further. Knowing his
   sins to be forgiven he has joy unspeakable. No man has such sparkling
   eyes as the true Christian; a man then knows his interest in Christ,
   and can read his title clear. He is a happy man, and must be happy. His
   troubles, what are they? Less than nothing and vanity; for all his sins
   are forgiven. When the poor slave first lands in Canada, it may be he
   is without a single farthing in his purse, and scarcely anything but
   rags on his back; but he puts his foot on British soil, and is free;
   see him leap and dance, and clap his hands, saying, "Great God I thank
   thee, I am a free man." So it is with the Christian, he can say in his
   cottage when he sits down to his crust of bread, thank God I have no
   sin mixed in my cup--it is all forgiven. The bread may be dry, but it
   is not half so dry as it would be if I had to eat it with the bitter
   herbs of a guilty conscience, and with a terrible apprehension of the
   wrath of God. He has a joy that will stand all weathers, a joy that
   will keep in all climates, a joy that shines in the dark, and glitters
   in the night as well as in the day.

   Then, to go further, such a man has access to God. Another man with
   unforgiven sin about him stands afar off; and if he thinks of God at
   all it is as a consuming fire. But the forgiven Christian looking up to
   God when he sees the mountains and the hills, and rolling streams and
   the roaring flood, he says, "My Father made them all;" and he clasps
   hands with the Almighty across the infinite expanse that sunders man
   from his Maker. His heart flies up to God. He dwells near to him, and
   he feels that he can talk to God as a man talketh with his friend.

   Then another effect of this is that the believer fears no hell. There
   are solemn things in the Word of God, but they do not affright the
   believer. There may be a pit that is bottomless, but into that his foot
   shall never slide; it is true there is a fire that never shall be
   quenched, but it cannot burn him. That fire is for the sinner, but he
   has no sin imputed to him; it is all forgiven. The banded host of all
   the devils in hell cannot take him there, for he has not a single sin
   that can be laid to his charge. Daily sinning though he is, he feels
   those sins are all atoned for; he knows that Christ has been punished
   in his stead, and therefore Justice cannot touch him again.

   Once more, the forgiven Christian is expecting heaven. He is waiting
   for the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ, for if death should intervene
   before that glorious advent, he knows that to him sudden death is
   sudden glory; and in the possession of a quiet conscience and of peace
   with God, he can go up to his chamber when the last solemn hour shall
   come; he can gather up his feet in his bed; he can bid farewell to his
   brethren and companions, to his wife and to his children, and can shut
   his eye in peace without a fear that he shall open them in heaven.
   Perhaps never does the joy of forgiven sin come out more brightly than
   it does on a dying bed. It has often been my privilege to test the
   power of religion when I have been sitting by the bedside of the dying.
   There is a young girl in heaven now, once a member of this our church.
   I went with one of my beloved deacons to see her when she was very near
   her departure. She was in the last stage of consumption. Fair and
   sweetly beautiful she looked, and I think I never heard such syllables
   as those which fell from that girl's lips. She had had disappointments,
   and trials, and troubles, but all these she had not a word to say
   about, except that she blessed God for hem; they had brought her nearer
   to the Saviour. And when we asked her whether she was not afraid of
   dying, "No," she said, "the only thing I fear is his, I am afraid of
   living, lest my patience should wear out. I have not said an impatient
   word yet, sir, hope I shall not. It is sad to e so ver weak, but I
   think if I had my choice I would rather be here than be in health, for
   it is very precious to me; I know that my Redeemer liveth, and I am
   waiting for the moment when he shall send his chariot of fire to take
   me up to him." I put the question, "Have you not any doubts?" "No,
   none, sir, why should I? I clasp my arms around the neck of Christ."
   "And have not you any fear about your sins?" "No, sir, they are all
   forgiven, I trust the Saviour's precious blood." "And do you think that
   you will be as brave as this when you come actually to die?" "Not if he
   leaves me, sir, but he will never leave me, for he has said, I will
   never leave thee nor forsake thee.'" There is faith, dear brothers and
   sisters, may we all have it and receive forgiveness of sins according
   to the riches of his grace.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                A Revival Sermon

   A Sermon

   (No. 296)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 26th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that the plowman shall overtake
   the reaper, and the treader of grapes him that soweth seed; and the
   mountains shall drop sweet wine, and all the hills shall melt."--Amos
   9:13.

   GOD'S PROMISES are not exhausted when they are fulfilled, for when once
   performed they stand just as good as they did before, and we may await
   a second accomplishment of them. Man's promises even at the best, are
   like a cistern which holds but a temporary supply; but God's promises
   are as a fountain, never emptied, ever overflowing, so that you may
   draw from hem the whole of that which the apparently contain, and they
   shall be still as full as ever. Hence it is that you will frequently
   find a promise containing both a literal and spiritual meaning. In the
   literal meaning it has already been fulfilled to the letter; in the
   spiritual meaning it shall also be accomplished, and not a jot or
   tittle of it shall fail. This is rue of the particular promise which is
   before us. Originally, as you are aware, the land of Canaan was very
   fertile; it was a land that flowed with milk and honey. Even where no
   tillage had been exercised upon it the land was so fruitful, that the
   bees who sucked the sweetness from the wild flowers produced such
   masses of honey that the very woods were sometimes flooded with it. It
   was "A land of wheat, and barley, and vines, and fig trees, and
   pomegranates; a land of oil olive, and honey." When, however, the
   children of Israel thrust in the ploughshare and began to use the
   divers arts of agriculture, the land became exceedingly fat and
   fertile, yielding so much corn, that they could export through the
   Phoenicians both corn, and wine, and oil, even to the pillars of
   Hercules, so that Palestine became, like Egypt, the granary of the
   nations. It is somewhat surprising to find that now the land is barren,
   that its valleys are parched, and that the miserable inhabitants gather
   miserable harvests from the arid soil. Yet the promise still stands
   true, that one day in the ver letter Palestine shall be as rich and
   fruitful as ever it was. There be those who understand the matter, who
   assert that if once the rigour of the Turkish rule could be removed, if
   men were safe from robbers, if the man who sowed could reap, and keep
   the corn which his own industry had sown and gathered, the land might
   yet again laugh in the midst of the nations, and become the joyous
   mother of children. There is no reason in the soil for its barrenness.
   It is simply the neglect that has been brought on, from the fact, that
   when a man has been industrious, his savings are taken from him by the
   hand of rapine, and the very harvest for which he toiled is often
   reaped by another, and his own blood split upon the soil.

   But, my dear friends, while this promise will doubtless be carried out,
   and every word of it shall be verified, so that the hill-tops of that
   country shall again bear the vine, and the land shall flow with wine,
   yet, I take it, this is more fully a spiritual than a temporal promise;
   and I think that the beginning of its fulfilment is now to be
   discerned, and we shall see the Lord's good hand upon us, so that is
   ploughman shall overtake the reaper, the mountains shall drop sweet
   wine, and all he hills shall melt.

   First, I shall this morning endeavour to explain my text as a promise
   of revival; secondly, I shall take it as a lesson of doctrine; then as
   a stimulus for Christian exertion; and I shall conclude with a word of
   warning to those whose hearts are not given to Christ.

   I. First, I take the text as being A GREAT PROMISE OF SPIRITUAL
   REVIVAL. And here, in looking attentively at the text, we shall observe
   several ver pleasant things.

   1. In the first place, we notice a promise of surprising ingathering.
   According to he metaphor here used, the harvest is to be so great that,
   before the reapers can have fully gathered it in, the ploughman shall
   begin to plough for the next crop--while the abundance of fruit shall
   be so surprising that before the treader of grapes can have trodden out
   all the juice of the vine, the time shall come for sowing seed. One
   season, by reason of the abundant fertility, shall run into another.
   Now you all know, beloved, what this means in the church. It prophecies
   that in the Church of Christ we shall see the most abundant ingathering
   of souls. Pharaoh's dream has been enacted again in the last century.
   About a hundred years ago, if I may look back in my dream, I might have
   seen seven ears of corn upon one stalk, rank and strong; anon, the time
   of plenty went away, and I have seen, and you have seen, in your own
   lifetime, the seven ears of corn thin and withered in the east wind.
   The seven ears of withered corn have eaten up and devoured the seven
   ears of fat corn, and there has been a sore famine in the land. Lo, I
   see in Whitfield's time, seven bullocks coming up from the river, fat
   and well-favoured, and since then we have lived to see seven lean kine
   come up from the same river; and lo! the seven lean kine have eaten up
   the seven fat kine, yet have they been none the better for all that
   they have eaten. We read of such marvellous revivals a hundred years
   ago, that the music of their news has not ceased to ring in our ears;
   but we have seen, alas, a season of lethargy, of soul-poverty among the
   saints, and of neglect among the ministers of God. The product of the
   seven years has been utterly consumed, and the Church has been none the
   better. Now, I take it, however, we are about to see the seven fat
   years again. God is about to send times of surprising fertility to his
   Church. When a sermon has been preached in these modern times, if one
   sinner has been converted by it, we have rejoiced with a suspicious
   joy; for we have thought it something amazing. But, brethren, where we
   have seen one converted, we may yet see hundreds; where the Word of God
   has been powerful to scores, it shall be blessed to thousands; and
   where hundreds in past years have seen it, nations shall be converted
   to Christ. There is no reason why we should not see all the good that
   God hath given us multiplied a hundred-fold; for there is sufficient
   vigour in the seed of the Lord to produce a far more plentiful crop
   than any we have yet gathered. God the Holy Ghost is not stinted in his
   power. When the sower went forth to sow his seed, some of it fell on
   good soil, and it brought forth fruit, some twenty fold, some thirty
   fold, but it is written, "Some a hundred fold." Now, we have bee sowing
   this seed, and thanks be to God, I have seen it bring forth twenty and
   thirty fold; but I do expect to see it bring forth a hundred fold. I do
   rust that our harvest shall be so heavy, that while we are taking in
   the harvest, it shall be time to sow again; that prayer meetings shall
   be succeeded by the enquiry of souls as to what they shall do to be
   saved, and ere the enquirers' meeting shall be done, it shall be time
   again to preach, again to pray; and then, ere that is over, there shall
   be again another influx of souls, the baptismal pool shall be again
   stirred, and hundreds of converted men shall flock to Christ. Oh! We
   never can be contented with going on as the churches have been during
   the last twenty years. I would not be censorious, but solemnly in my
   own heart I do not believe that the ministers of our churches have been
   free from the blood of men. I would not say a hard word if I did not
   feel compelled to do it, but I am constrained to remind our brethren
   that let God send what revival he may, it will not exonerate them from
   he awful guilt that rests upon them of having been idle and dilatory
   during the last twenty years. Let all be saved who live now; what about
   those that have been damned while we have been sleeping? Let God gather
   in multitudes of sinners, but who shall answer for the blood of those
   men who have been swept into eternity while we have been going on in
   our canonical fashion, content to go along the path of propriety, and
   walk around the path of dull routine, but never weeping for sinners,
   never agonizing for souls. All the ministers of Christ are not awake
   yet; but the most of them are. There has come a glad time of arousing,
   the trumpet has been set to their ear, and the people have heard the
   sound also, and times of refreshing are come from the presence of the
   Lord our God; but they have not come before they were needed, for much
   did we require them; otherwise surely the Church of Christ would have
   died away into dead formality, and if her name had been remembered, it
   would have been as a shame and a hissing upon the face of the earth.

   2. The promise then, seems to me to convey the idea of surprising
   ingatherings; and I think there is also the idea of amazing rapidity.
   Notice how quickly the crops succeed each other. Between the harvest
   and the ploughing there is a season even in our country; in the east it
   is a longer period. But here you find that no sooner has the reaper
   ceased his work, or scarce has he ceased it, ere the ploughman follows
   at his heels. This is a rapidity that is contrary to the course of
   nature; still it is quite consistent with grace. Our old Baptist
   churches in the country treat young converts with what they call
   summering and wintering. Any young believer who wants to join the
   church in summer, must wait till the winter, and he is put off from
   time to time, till it is sometimes five or six years before they admit
   him; they want to try him, and see whether he is fit to unite with such
   pious souls as they are. Indeed among us all there is a tendency to
   imagine that conversion must be a slow work--that as the snail creeps
   slowly on its way, so must grace move very leisurely in the heart of
   man. We have come to believe that there is more true divinity in
   stagnant pools than in lightning flashes. We cannot believe for a
   moment in a quick method of travelling to the kingdom of heaven. Every
   man who goes there must go on crutches and limp all the way; but as for
   the swift beasts, as for the chariots whose axles are hot with speed,
   we do not quite understand and comprehend that. Now, mark, here is a
   promise given of a revival, and when that revival shall be fulfilled
   this will be one of the signs of it--the marvellous growth in grace of
   those who are converted. The young convert shall that ver day come
   forward to make a profession of his faith; perhaps before a week has
   passed over his head you will hear him publicly defending the cause of
   Christ, and ere many months have gone you shall see him standing up to
   tell to others what God has done for his soul. There is no need that
   the pulse of the Church should for ever be so slow. The Lord can
   quicken her heart, so that her pulse shall throb as rapidly as the
   pulse of time itself; her floods shall be as the rushing of the Kishon
   when it swept the hosts of Sisera in its fury. As the fire from heaven
   shall the Spirit rush from the skies, and as the sacrifice which
   instantly blazed to heaven, so shall the Church burn with holy and
   glorious ardour. She shall no longer drive heavily with her wheels torn
   away, but as the chariot of Jehu, the son of Nimshi, she shall devour
   the distance in her haste. That seems to me to be one of the promises
   of the text--the rapidity of the work of grace, so that the plougher
   shall overtake the reaper.

   3. But a third blessing is very manifest here, and one indeed which is
   simply given to us. Notice the activity of labour which is mentioned in
   the text. God does not promise that there shall be fruitful crops
   without labor; but here we find mention made of ploughmen, reapers,
   treaders of grapes, and sowers of seed; and all these persons are girt
   with singular energy. The ploughman does not wait, because saith he,
   the season has not yet come for me to plough, be seeing that God is
   blessing the land, he has his plough ready, and no sooner is one
   harvest shouted home than he is ready to plough again. And so with the
   sower; he has not to prepare his basket and to collect his seed; but
   while he hears the shouts of the vintage, he is ready to go out to
   work.

   Now, my brethren, one sign of a true revival, and indeed an essential
   part of it is the increased activity of God's labourers. Why, time was
   when our ministers, thought that preaching twice on Sunday was the
   hardest work to which a man could be exposed. Poor souls, they could
   not think of preaching on a week-day, or if there was once a lecture,
   they had bronchitis, were obliged to go to Jerusalem and lay by, for
   they would soon be dead if they were to work too hard. I never believed
   in the hard work of preaching yet. We find ourselves able to preach ten
   or twelve times a week, and find that we are the stronger for it,--that
   in fact, it is the healthiest and most blessed exercise in the world.
   But the cry used to be, that our ministers were hardly done by, they
   were to be pampered and laid by, done up in velvet, and only to be
   brought out to do a little work occasionally, and then to be pitied
   when that work was done. I do not hear anything of that talk
   now-a-days. I meet with my brethren in the ministry who are able to
   preach day after day, day after day, and are not half so fatigued as
   the were; and I saw a brother minister this week who has been having
   meetings in his church every day, and the people have been so earnest
   that they will keep him ver often from six o'clock in the evening to
   two in the morning. "Oh!" said one of the members, "our minister will
   kill himself." "Not he," said I, "that is the kind of work that will
   kill no man. It is preaching to a sleepy congregation that kills good
   ministers, but not preaching to earnest people." So when I saw him, his
   eyes were sparkling, and I said to him, "Brother, you do not look like
   a man who is being killed," "Killed, my brother," said he, "why I am
   living twice as much as I did before; I was never so happy, never so
   hearty, never so well." Said he, "I sometimes lack my rest, and want my
   sleep, when my people keep me up so late, but it will never hurt me;
   indeed," he said, "I should like to die of such a disease as that--the
   disease of being so greatly blessed." There was a specimen before me of
   the ploughman who overtook the reaper,--of one who sowed seed, who was
   treading on the heels of the men who were gathering in the vintage. And
   the like activity we have lived to see in the Church of Christ. Did you
   ever know so much doing in the Christian world before? There are
   grey-headed men around me who have known the Church of Christ sixty
   years, and I think they can bear me witness that they never knew such
   life, such vigour and activity, as there is at present. Everybody seems
   to have a mission, and everybody is doing it. There may be a great many
   sluggards, but they do not come across my path now. I used to e always
   kicking at them, and always being kicked for doing so. But now there is
   nothing to kick at--every one is at work--Church of England,
   Independents, Methodists, and Baptists--there is not a single squadron
   that is behindhand; they have all their guns ready, and are standing,
   shoulder to shoulder, ready to make a tremendous charge against the
   common enemy. This leads me to hope, since I see the activity of God's
   ploughmen and vine dressers, that there is a great revival
   coming,--that God will bless us, and that right early.

   4. We have not yet, however, exhausted our text. The latter part of it
   says, "The mountains shall drop sweet wine." It is not a likely place
   for wine upon the mountains. There may be freshets and cataracts
   leaping down their sides; but who ever saw fountains of red wine
   streaming from rocks, or gushing out from he hills. Yet here we are
   told that, "The mountains shall drop sweet wine;" by which we are to
   understand that conversions shall take place in unusual quarters.
   Brethren, this day is this promise literally fulfilled to us. I have
   this week seen what I never saw before. It has been my lot these last
   six years to preach to crowded congregations, and to see many, many
   souls brought to Christ; it has been no unusual thing for us to see the
   greatest and noblest of the land listening to the word of God; but this
   week I have seen, I repeat, what mine eyes have never before beheld,
   used as I am to extraordinary things. I have seen the people of Dublin,
   without exception, from the highest to the lowest, crowd in to hear the
   gospel. I have known that my congregation has been constituted in a
   considerable measure of Roman Catholics, and I have seen them listening
   to the Word with as much attention as though they had been Protestants.
   I have seen men who never heard the gospel before, military men, whose
   tastes and habits were not likely to be those of the Puritanic
   minister, who have nevertheless sat to listen; nay, they have come
   again--have made it a point to find the place where they could hear the
   best--have submitted to be crowded, that the might press in to hear the
   Word, and I have never before seen such intense eagerness of the people
   to listen to the Gospel. I have heard, too, cheering news of work going
   on in the most unlikely quarters--men who could not speak without
   larding their conversation richly with oaths--have nevertheless come to
   hear the Word; they have listened, and have been convinced, and if the
   impression do not die away, there has been something done for them
   which they will not forget even in eternity. But the most pleasing
   thing I have seen is this, and I must tell it to you. Hervey once said,
   "Each floating ship, a floating hell." Of all classes of men, the
   sailor has been supposed to be the man least likely to be reached by
   the gospel. In crossing over from Holyhead to Dublin and back--two
   excessively rough passages-I spent the most pleasant hours that I ever
   spent. The first vessel that I entered, I found my hands ver heartily
   shaken by the sailors. I thought, "What can these sailors know of me?"
   and they were calling me "brother." Of course, I felt that I was their
   brother too; but I did not know how they came to talk to me in that
   way. It was not generally the way for sailors to call ministers,
   brother. There was the most officious attention given, and when I made
   the enquiry "What makes you so kind?" "Why," said one, "because I love
   your Master, the Lord Jesus." I enquired, and found that out of the
   whole crew there were but three unconverted men; that though the most
   of them had been before without God, and without Christ, yet by a
   sudden visitation of the Spirit of God they had all been converted. I
   talked to many of these men, and more spiritual, heavenly-minded men I
   never yet saw. They have a prayer-meeting every morning before the boat
   starts, and another prayer-meeting after she comes to port; and on
   Sundays, when they lay-to off Kingstown or Holyhead, a minister comes
   on board and preaches the gospel; the cabins are crowded; service is
   held on deck when it can be; and said an eyewitness to me, "The
   minister preaches very earnestly, but I should like you to hear the men
   pray; I never heard such praying before," said he, "they pray with such
   power, as only a sailor can pray." My heart was lifted up with joy, to
   think of a ship being made a floating Church--a very Bethel for God.
   When I came back by another ship I did not expect to see the like; but
   it was precisely the same. The same work had been going on. I walked
   among hem and talked to them. They all knew me. One man took out of his
   pocket an old leather covered book in Welch--"Do you know the likeness
   of that man in front?" said he, "Yes," I said, "I think I do: do you
   read these sermons?" "Yes, sir," replied he, "we have had your sermons
   on board this ship, and I read hem aloud as often as I can. If we have
   a fine passage coming over, I get a few around me, and read hem a
   sermon." Another man old me a story of a gentleman who stood laughing
   when a hymn was being sung; and one of the men proposed that they
   should pray for him. They did, and that man was suddenly smitten down,
   and began on the quay to cry for mercy, and plead with God for pardon.
   "Ah! Sir," said the sailors, "we have the best proof that there is a
   God here, for we have seen this crew marvellously brought to a
   knowledge of the ruth; and here we are, joyful and happy men, serving
   the Lord."

   Now, what shall we say of this, but that the mountains drop sweet wine?
   The men who were loudest with their oaths, are now loudest with their
   songs; those who were the most darling children of Satan, have become
   the most earnest advocates of the truth: for mark you, once get sailors
   converted, and there is no end to the good they can do. Of all men who
   can preach well, sailors are the best. The sailor has seen the wonders
   of God in the deep; the hardy British Tar has got a heart that is not
   made of such cold stuff as many of the hearts of landsmen; and when
   that heart is once touched, it gives great big beats; it sends great
   pulses of energy right through his whole frame; and with his zeal and
   energy what may he not do, God helping him and blessing him?

   5. This seems to be in the text--that a time of revival shall be
   followed by very extraordinary conversion. But, albeit that in the time
   of revival, grace is put in extraordinary places, and singular
   individuals are converted, yet these are not a bit behind the usual
   converts; for if you notice the text does not say, "the mountains shall
   drop wine" merely, but they "shall drop sweet wine." It does not say
   that the hill shall send forth little streams; but all the hills shall
   melt. When sinners, profligate and debauched persons, are converted to
   God, we say, "Well, it is a wonderful thing, but I do not suppose they
   will be very first class Christians." The most wonderful thing is, that
   these are the best Christians alive; that the wine which God brings
   from the hills is sweet wine; that when the hills do melt they all
   melt. The most extraordinary ministers of any time, have been most
   extratordinary sinners before conversion. We might never have had a
   John Bunyan, if it had not have been for the profanity of Elstow Green;
   we might never have heard of a John Newton, if it had not have been for
   his wickedness on shipboard. I mean he would not have known the depths
   of Satan, nor the trying experience, nor even the power of divine
   grace, if he had not been suffered wildly to stray, and then wondrously
   to be brought back. These great sinners are not a whit behind the
   Church. Always in revival you will find his to be the case, that the
   converts are not inferior to the best of the converts of ordinary
   seasons--that the Romanist, and the men who have never heard the
   gospel, when they are converted, are as true in their faith, as hearty
   in their love, as accurate in their knowledge, and as zealous in their
   efforts, as the est of persons who have ever been brought to Christ.
   "The mountains shall drop sweet wine, and all the hills shall melt."

   II. I must now go on to the other point very briefly--WHAT IS THE
   DOCTRINAL LESSON WHICH IS TAUGHT IN OUR TEXT: AND WHAT IS TAUGHT TO US
   BY A REVIVAL? I think it is just this,--that God is absolute monarch of
   the hearts of men. God does not say here if men are willing; but he
   gives an absolute promise of a blessing. As much as to say, "I have the
   key of men's hearts; I can induce the ploughman to overtake the reaper;
   I am master of the soil--however hard and rocky it may be I can break
   it, and I can make it fruitful." When God promises to bless his Church
   and to save sinners, he does not add, "if the sinners be willing to be
   saved?" No, great God! Thou leadest free will in sweet captivity, and
   thy free grace is all triumphant. Man has a free will, and God does not
   violate it; but the free will is sweetly bound with fetters of the
   divine love till it becomes more free than it ever was before. The
   Lord, when he means to save sinners, does not stop to ask hem whether
   they mean to be saved, but like a rushing mighty wind the divine
   influence sweeps away every obstacle; the unwilling heart bends before
   the potent gale of grace, and sinners that would not yield are made to
   yield by God. I know this, if the Lord willed it, there is no man so
   desperately wicked here this morning that he would not be made now to
   seek for mercy, however infidel he might be; however rooted in his
   prejudices against the gospel, Jehovah hath but to will it, and it is
   done. Into thy dark heart, O thou who hast never seen the light, would
   the light stream; if he did but say, "Let there be light," there would
   be light. Thou mayest bend thy fist and lift up thy mouth against
   Jehovah; but he is thy master yet--thy master to destroy thee, if thou
   goest on in thy wickedness; but thy master to save thee now, to change
   thy heart and turn thy will, as he turneth the rivers of water.

   If it were not for this doctrine, I wonder where the ministry would be.
   Old Adam is too strong for young Melancthon. The power of our preaching
   is nought--it can do nothing in the conversion of men by itself; men
   are hardened, obdurate, indifferent; but the power of grace is greater
   than the power of eloquence or the power of earnestness, and once let
   that power be put forth, and what can stand against it? Divine
   Omnipotence is the doctrine of a revival. We may not see it in ordinary
   days, by reason of the coldness of our hearts; but we must see it when
   these extraordinary works of grace are wrought. Have you never heard
   the Eastern fables of the dervish, who wished to teach to a young
   prince the fact of the existence of a God! The fable hath it, that the
   young prince could not see any proof of the Existence of a First Cause:
   so the dervish brought a little plant and set it before him, and in his
   sight the little plant grew up, blossomed, brought forth fruit, and
   became a towering tree in an hour. The young man lifted up his hands in
   wonder, and he said, "God must have done this." "Oh, but," said the
   teacher, thou sayst, "God has done this, because it is done in an hour:
   hath he not done it, when it is accomplished in twenty years?" It was
   the same work in both cases; it was only the rapidity that astonished
   his pupil. SO, brethren, when we see the church gradually built up and
   converted, we lose the sense perhaps of a present God; but when the
   Lord causes the tree suddenly to grow from a sapling to a strong tall
   monarch of the forest then we say, "This is God." We are all blind and
   stupid in a measure, and we want to see sometimes some of these quick
   upgoings, these extraordinary motions of divine influence, before we
   will fully understand God's power. Learn, then, O Church of God to-day,
   this great lesson of the nothingness of man, and the Eternal All of
   God. Learn, disciples of Jesus, to rest on him: look for your success
   to his power, and while you make your efforts, trust not in your
   efforts, but in the Lord Jehovah. If ye have progressed slowly, give
   him thanks for progress; but if now he pleases to give you a marvellous
   increase, multiply your songs, and sing unto him that worketh all
   things according to the counsel of his will.

   III. I now desire, with great earnestness, as the Holy Ghost shall help
   me, to make the text A STIMULUS FOR FURTHER EXERTION.

   The duty of the Church is not to be measured by her success. It is as
   much the minister's duty to preach the gospel in adverse times as in
   propitious seasons. We are not to think, if God withholds the dew, that
   we are to withhold the plough. We are not to imagine that, if
   unfruitful seasons come, we are therefore to cease from sowing our
   seed. Our business is with act, not with result. The church has to do
   her duty, even though that duty should bring her no present reward. "If
   they hear thee not, Son of man, if they perish they shall perish, but
   their blood will I not require at thine hands." If we sow the seed, and
   the birds of the air devour it, we have done what we were commanded to
   do, and the duty is accepted even though the birds devour the seed. We
   may expect to see a blessed result, but even if it did not come we must
   not cease from duty. But while this is true so far, it must
   nevertheless be a divine and holy stimulant to a gospel labourer, to
   know that God is making him successful. And in the present day we have
   a better prospect of success than we ever had, and we should
   consequently work the harder. When a tradesman begins business with a
   little shop at the corner, he waits a while to see whether he will have
   any customers. By-and-bye his little shop is crowded; he has a name; he
   finds he is making money. What does he do? He enlarges his premises;
   the back yard is taken in and covered over; there are extra men
   employed; still the business increases, but he will not invest all his
   capital in it till he sees to what extent it will pay. It still
   increases, and the next house is taken, and perhaps the next: he says,
   "This is a paying concern, and therefore I will increase it." My dear
   friends, I am using commercial maxims, but they are common-sense rules,
   and I like to talk so. There are, in these days, happy opportunities.
   There is a noble business to be done for Christ. Where you used to
   invest a little capital, a little effort, and a little donation, invest
   more. There never was such heavy interest to be made as now. It shall
   be paid back in the results cent, per cent; nay, beyond all that you
   expected you shall see God's work prospering. If a farmer knew that a
   bad year was coming, he would perhaps only sow an acre or two; but if
   some prophet could tell him, "Farmer, there will be such a harvest next
   year as there never was," he would say, "I will plough up my grass
   lands, I will stub up those hedges: ever inch of round I will sow." So
   do you. There is a wondrous harvest coming. Plough up your headlands;
   root up your hedges; break up your fallow ground, and sow, even amongst
   the thorns. Ye know not which shall prosper, this or that; but ye may
   hope that they shall be alike good. Enlarged effort should always
   follow an increased hope of success.

   And let me give you another encouragement. Recollect that even when
   this revival comes, an instrumentality will still be wanted. The
   ploughman is wanted, even after the harvest, and the treader of grapes
   is wanted, however plentiful the vintage; the greater the success the
   more need of instrumentality. They began at first to think in the North
   of Ireland that they could do without ministers; but now that the
   gospel is spread, never was there such a demand for the preachers of
   the gospel as now. Proudly men said in their hearts, "God has done this
   without the intervention of man." I say, they said it proudly, for
   there is such a thing as proud humility; but God made them stoop. He
   made them see that after all he would bless the Word through his
   servants--that he would make the ministers of God "mighty to the
   pulling down of strongholds." Brothers and sisters, you need not think
   that if better times should come, the world will do without you. You
   will be wanted. "A man shall be precious as the gold of Ophir." They
   shall take hold of your skirts, and they shall say, "Tell us what we
   must do to be saved." They shall come to your house; they shall ask
   your prayers; they shall demand your instructions; and you shall find
   the meanest of the flock become precious as a wedge of gold. The
   ploughman shall never be so much esteemed as when he follows after the
   reaper, and the sower of seed never so much valued as when he comes at
   the heels of those that tread the grapes. The glory which God puts upon
   instrumentality should encourage you to use it.

   And now I beseech and intreat you, my dear brothers and sisters,
   inhabitants of this great City of London, let not this auspicious gale
   pass away without singular effort. I sometimes fear lest the winds
   should blow on us, and we should have our sails all furled, and
   therefore the good ship should not speed. Up with the canvas now. Oh!
   Put on ever stitch of it. Let every effort be used, while God is
   helping us. Let us be earnest co-workers with him. Methinks I see the
   clouds floating hither; they have come from the far west, from the
   shore of America; they have crossed the sea, and the wind has wafted
   them till the green isle received the showers in its northern
   extremity. Lo! the clouds are just now passing over Wales, and are
   refreshing the shires that border on the principality. The rain is
   falling on Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire; divine grace is distilling,
   and the clouds are drawing nearer and nearer to us. Mark, my brethren,
   they tarry not for men, neither stay they for the sons of men. They are
   floating o'er our heads to-day. Shall they float away, and shall we
   still be left as dry as ever? Tis yours to-day to bring down he rain,
   though tis God's to send the clouds. God has sent this day over this
   great city a divine cloud of his grace. Now, ye Elijahs, pray it down!
   To your knees, believers, to your knees. You can bring it down, and
   only you. "For this thing will I be enquired of by the house of Israel
   to do it for them." "Prove me now herewith," saith the Lord of hosts,
   "and see if I will not open the windows of heaven, and give you such a
   blessing that you shall not have room to contain it." Will you lose the
   opportunity, Christians? Will you let men be lost for want of effort?
   Will you suffer this all-blessed time to roll away unimproved? If so,
   the Church of one thousand eight hundred and sixty is a craven Church,
   and is unworthy of its time; and he among you, men and brethren, that
   has not an earnest heart to-day, if he be a Christian, is a disgrace to
   his Christianity. When there are such times as these, if we do not
   every man of us trust in the plough, we shall indeed deserve the worst
   barrenness of soul that can possibly fall upon us. I believe that the
   Church has often been plagued and vexed by her God, because when God
   has favoured her she has not made a proper use of the favour. "Then,"
   saith he, "I will make thee like Gilboa; on thy mount there shall be no
   dew; I will bid the clouds that they rain no more rain upon thee, and
   thou shalt be barren and desolate, till once again I pour out the
   Spirit from on high." Let us spend this week ins special prayer. Let us
   meet together as often as we can, and plead at the throne; and each man
   of you in private be mighty with your God, and in public be diligent to
   your efforts to ring your fellow-men to Christ.

   IV. I have done, when I have uttered a WORD OF WARNING to those of you
   who know not Christ.

   I am aware that I have many here on Sabbath mornings who never were in
   the habit of attending a place of worship at all. There is many a
   gentleman here to-day, who would be ashamed in any society, to confess
   himself a professor of religion. He has never perhaps, for a long time
   heard the gospel preached; and now there is a strange sort of
   fascination that has drawn him here. He came the first time out of
   curiosity--perhaps to make a joke at the minister's expense; he has
   found himself enthralled; he does not know how it is, but he has been
   all this week uneasy, he has been wanting to come again, and when he
   goes away to-day, he will be watching for next Sabbath. He has not
   given up his sins, but somehow they are not so pleasurable as they used
   to be. He cannot swear as he did; if an oath comes out edgeways, it
   does not roll out in the round form it used to do: he knows better now.
   Now, it is to such persons that I speak. My dear friends, allow me to
   express my hearty joy that you are here, and let me also express the
   hope that you are here for a purpose you do not as yet understand. God
   has a special favour to you, I do trust, and therefore he has brought
   you here. I have frequently remarked, that in any revival of religion,
   it is not often the children of pious parents that are brought in, but
   those who never knew anything of Christ before. The ordinary means are
   usually blessed to those who constantly attend hem; but the express
   effort, and the extraordinary influence of the Spirit, reach those who
   were outside the pale of nominal Christians, and made no profession of
   religion. I am I hopes it may meet you. But if you should despise the
   Word which you have heard; if the impression that has been made--and
   you know it has been made--should die away, one of the most awful
   regrets you will ever have when you come to your right sense and reason
   in another world will be the feeling that you had an opportunity, but
   that you neglected it. I cannot conceive a more doleful wail than that
   of the man who cries at last in hell, "The harvest is past--there was a
   harvest; summer is ended--there was a summer--and I am not saved." To
   go to perdition in ordinary times is hell; but to go from under the
   sound of an earnest ministry, where you are bidden to come to Christ,
   where you are entreated with honest tears to come to Jesus--to go there
   after you have been warned is to go not to hell merely, but to the ver
   hell of hell. The core and marrow of damnation is reserved for men who
   hear the truth, and feel it too, but yet reject it, and are lost. Oh!
   My dear hearer, this is a solemn time with you. I pray that God the
   Holy Spirit may remind you that it may be now or never with you. You
   may never have another warning, or if you have it, you may row so
   hardened that you may laugh at it and despise it. My brother, I beseech
   thee, by God, by Christ Jesus, by thine own immortal welfare, stop and
   think now whether it be worth while to throw away the hallowed
   opportunity which is now presented to thee. Wilt thou go and dance away
   thine impressions, or laugh them out of thy soul? Ah! man, thou mayest
   laugh thyself into hell, but thou canst not laugh thyself out of it.

   There is a turning point in each man's life when his character becomes
   fixed and settled. That turning point may be to-day. It may be that
   there shall be some solemn seat in this hall, which is a man knew its
   history he would never sit in it,--a seat in which a man shall sit and
   hear the Word, and shall say, "I will not yield; I will resist the
   impression; I will despise it; I will have my sins, even if I am lost
   for them." Mark your seat, friend, before you go; make a blood-red
   stain across it, that next time we come here we may say, "Here a soul
   destroyed itself." But I pray the rather that God the Holy Spirit may
   sweetly whisper in thy heart--"Man, yield, for Jesus invites thee to
   come to him." Oh, may my Master smile into your face this morning, and
   say, "I love thy soul; trust me with it. Give up thy sins; turn to me."
   O Lord Jesus, do it! And men shall not resist thee. Oh! Show them thy
   love, and they must yield. Do it, O thou Crucified One, for thy mercy's
   sake! Send forth thine Holy Spirit now, and bring the strangers home;
   and in this hall grant thou, O Lord, that many hearts may be fully
   resigned to thy love, and to thy grace!
     __________________________________________________________________

                    Mr. Evil-Questioning Tried and Executed

   A Sermon

   (No. 297-98)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 5th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the
   waters of Israel? may I not wash in them, and be clean?"--2 Kings 5:12.

   PROUD SELF and EVIL QUESTIONING are two of Satan's firmest allies, and
   two of the chief destroyers of the souls of men. Both of these
   adversaries attacked Naaman at once. Proud Self fell upon him and gave
   him the first blow, and Naaman cried, Behold, I thought, He will surely
   come out to me, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and
   strike his hand over the place and recover the leper." When Proud Self
   had given his blow, on came his friend and helper, Evil Questioning,
   and he smote Naaman, and then Naaman said, "Are not Abana and Pharpar,
   rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? may I not
   wash in them, and be clean?" Ah! it is a hard case with a man who has
   to fight with two such imps as these--his own proud spirit, and that
   equally wicked spirit of unbelief--asking questions--evil
   questions--and tempting the Lord our God. Against the first, namely,
   our proud and righteous self, God has opened all his batteries. The ten
   commands are like ten great pieces of ordnance, every one of them
   pointed against our own pride and self righteousness. The Bible is an
   opponent, even unto death, of everything like boasting, or encouraging
   the hope of salvation by any efforts of our own. Righteous Self is
   doomed to be rent in pieces, and his house to be made a dunghill; God
   hates him because he is an anti-Christ, and sets himself in opposition
   to the plenteous atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ. As for Evil
   Questioning, he also doth much ruin among the souls of men. And as it
   has been my hap of late to meet him very often, I propose this morning
   to track him to his den, to bring him out to light, and by God's help,
   if his Spirit shall be here present, to fully defeat him, once for all,
   to the rescue of many of you. Oh what multitudes of souls have gone to
   hell asking questions. Not asking, "What must I do to be saved?" but
   asking questions about matters too high for them; asking, in fact,
   questions which were only meant to be some excuse for continuing in
   their sins, pillows for their wicked heads to lean upon; putting
   queries to ministers, and propounding hard and knotty points that from
   the ignorance of man they might draw reasons why they should continue
   in their evil way, should hold on in their wicked course, and so should
   resist the mercy of God.

   Just listen to what Evil Questioning said to Naaman, and what Naaman
   said as the result of it. If I understand my text aright, it means just
   this: "What virtue can there be in water? Why should I be told to go
   and wash at all? I have washed many times and it never cured my
   leprosy. This dry disease is not so readily got rid of; but supposing
   there is some medical influence in water, why must I wash in Jordan? It
   is but a mere ditch, why can I not go and wash in some of my own
   rivers? We have medicinal streams in our own land. At any rate, Abana
   and Pharpar are cleaner and wider, and their current is stronger than
   that of the Jordan, which empties itself into the Dead Sea. And to my
   mind," he says "it seems to be but a dead river at the very best. May I
   not go home to Samaria and there wash? A pretty thing that I should
   come all this way from Samaria to see and then all he should tell me
   should be, wash and be clean. It is absurd," he says, "it is contrary
   to the nature of things; it cannot be possible, and therefore," he
   save, "I will not go and try it." This, you see, was Evil Questioning.
   What business was it of Naaman's whether there was any medicinal powers
   in the water or not? What concern was it to him whether Abana or
   Pharpar were better or worse than Jordan? he need have nothing to do
   but with the simple command--"Go, wash in Jordan seven times, and thou
   shalt be clean." Twas his to obey, not to question. Twas his to fulfill
   the command, not to enquire into its philosophy.

   Now, what Evil Questioning said to Naaman, that he has said to many of
   you, my hearers. I know there are some of you who are even to-day
   harbouring this arch-traitor. I pray that God by his grace may find him
   out this morning, that we may turn him out of your hearts.

   I shall try, first of all, to detect this old Mr. Evil Questioning.
   When he have found him out, I shall try to describe him to you so that
   you may know him again the next time you meet him. Then when we have
   described him, we will bring him out, and by God's help we will execute
   him; and when we have done that, I shall propose to you that we kill
   all his children, for they are a very large family. If we may believe
   John Bunyan, there are some nine or ten of them, and all of them the
   picture of their old father. I hope we shall have grace to put an end
   to them as well as the parent.

   I. First, then, let us DETECT OLD MR. EVIL QUESTIONING.

   He does not go by that name in the world. When he was brought up to be
   tried as a traitor, he had the impudence to tell the Judge that his
   name was not Evil Questioning at all. "My Lord," he said, "my proper
   name is Honest Enquiry, not Evil Questioning. There may be a man of the
   name of Evil Questioning, but I am not that person at all, and I hope
   it will never become a sin for a man to make an honest enquiry, and
   freely to ask the ground of any truth that is propounded to him. For,
   my Lord, if we are to take things upon mere credence, matters of faith
   upon the witness of men, indeed we shall soon make great fools of
   ourselves. My name is Honest Enquiry,' my Lord, and I think myself to
   be a very honest citizen." Since Evil Questioning goes by that name,
   then, and you will not, therefore, readily detect him, I must take you
   round to see if we can find him out by his speech, for it is not by his
   name, but by his prating, that you may know this fellow.

   Now, Lord Will-be-will, according to John Bunyan, in his allegory of
   the Holy War, kept an officer called Mr. Diligence, who used to go
   about listening under people's windows, catching every word he heard,
   and then he would bring to his Lord, intelligence if any traitor were
   harboured within the gates. Let me play the part of Mr. Diligence, and
   we will listen a moment or two while we hear old Mr. Evil Questioning
   talk. He is a ready fellow; he can talk upon almost any subject; I
   heard him the other day preach a sermon upon doctrine. He had been
   hearing a Calvinist minister. This minister had preached the truth as
   it is in Jesus and he had earnestly exhorted him to lay hold on Christ
   Jesus, but Mr. Evil Questioning put it thus--"Now, if there are so many
   to be saved, and there are a certain number of people that are not to
   be saved, then it can make no difference to me, I had better leave it
   as it is; for if I am to be saved I shall be saved, and if I am not to
   be saved I shall not be saved. Besides," said he, "it is irresistible
   grace that saves men. Now, if God sends that grace into my heart, then
   I shall be saved, and if he does not, why I cannot do anything, and
   therefore I may as leave sit still as try and do anything you know, I
   hear the minister say that faith and repentance are the gift of God;
   well, if they are the gift of God, how inconsistent he was to exhort me
   to believe and repent. The man does not understand logic. I shall not
   believe, I shall not repent. For, do you not see that it does not stand
   to reason that I should try to do either the one or the other, because
   they are both the gift of God." Thus the man satisfied himself, and
   while I heard him talking, I thought to myself, "I know you Mr. Evil
   Questioning, well, and I know your father too; you are a descendant of
   the old fellow that was hanged in Bad Street, in old Bunyan's time, and
   I only wish I had the hanging of you again." He went another day to
   hear an Arminian preacher. He heard this preacher talking about the
   universal love, and the universal mercy of God; and this minister
   exhorted him to lay hold on Christ. But Mr. Evil Questioning is like a
   spider, he can suck gall out of any flower; so he went home and he
   said--"Well, if God is co infinitely merciful, then my sins are very
   little things indeed. I need make all this fuss and bother about them.
   I will just go on in them, and no doubt God will not he hard with me at
   the last, but will just forgive those sins off-hand, whether I believe
   or not. And, besides," said he, "his mercy is so lasting, that when I
   come to die I will just say, Lord, have mercy upon me,' and then I
   shall enter into the kingdom of heaven as well as the best of them. And
   what is the use of that man exhorting me to believe and to repent, for
   he told me I might fall from grace? I might as well not begin, as begin
   now, presently to leave off, so I will wait till the end of my life
   before I begin, and then I shall run the less risk of falling from
   grace afterwards." Thus he reasoned with himself. Now whenever you hear
   that kind of argument, you may know at once there is a traitor there.
   You have discovered him. That is old Mr. Evil Questioning. Do not lose
   a moment, run straight up to your chamber, and tell the Lord that you
   have found out a traitor; ask him to send at once a warrant after him,
   to arrest the fellow who is doing the utmost he can to destroy your
   soul.

   Sometimes this gentleman does not preach a doctrinal sermon but it is a
   practical one. I heard him the other day declaiming thus: "I do not go
   to any place of worship now-a-day; for to tell the truth, there is such
   a variety of sects and parties, and one kind of Christians finds fault
   with another kind, that they are not agreed among themselves, I do not
   mean to go and listen to them or to pay any attention to them while
   they are so divided and so bigoted. Besides," he said, "look at the
   Christians, they are no better than other people, I dare say; their
   best ministers, if we could catch them in a corner are not at all
   superior to the rest of mankind, and as to common professors, why I
   lost ten pounds the other day by one of them who is a deacon. They are
   not a whit superior to the rest of mankind, I am sure; therefore, I
   shall not think about religion at all, it is all a farce and a lie. Why
   should I consider it? I will have nothing to do with it." There is the
   traitor again. At other times this man will find out some poor, lean,
   half-starved Christian, who has but little grace and very great misery,
   and he begins to talk thus. "There are your Christians, see what moping
   folks they are! How miserable! I never saw such a set of people in my
   life. Why if I were to go and listen to their minister I should drown
   myself in a month; they are such miserable wretches. As for me, I say
   let us hope well and have well; let us live merrily while we may, and
   if we must ever think about these serious things, let us put it off to
   the last." Have you never heard that gentleman? Ah, my hearers, there
   are some of you that have got him in your hearts, and I am only
   describing what you have often said to yourselves; or if I have not as
   yet hit upon the precise discourse of old Mr. Evil Questioning, yet I
   think I have tracked out some of his haunts. Does he not often give a
   tap at your door, and you say, "Walk in friend Questioning, I have a
   little matter to talk over with you. The minister has given me a little
   trouble in my conscience; come and see if you cannot put a plaster over
   the wound, so that I may go on in my sins comfortably, and be relieved
   from the troublesome necessity of changing my life and becoming a
   Christian." Sometimes this old fellow Evil Questioning goes further and
   tries, as he says, to lay the axe at the root of the thing. "Why," he
   says, "this doctrine of the atonement, this salvation by the blood of
   Christ, I have only just this to say about it, that a rational man
   cannot believe it at all. It is positively ridiculous to think of a man
   being saved by the righteousness of somebody else, let the Methodist
   believe it, I shall not. There is no reason in it." Then he begins to
   ask questions about the atonement, and proceeds to questions about the
   decrees, questions about inscrutable matters, questions about effectual
   calling, about total depravity, and the like, and so he runs through
   the whole scale of gospel truths and Bible revelations, stopping at
   each one and asking a question that he may find in each some apology
   for disobeying God, some excuse for not yielding up his whole heart to
   Christ, and now believing in him that died to save the souls of men.

   I think, however, I need not give you a more accurate description than
   I have done of this archdestroyer. In fact, it were utterly impossible
   for me to describe to you all his speeches. There is no subject which
   he will not handle. He is so glib of tongue and he has such sophistry
   of argument, that he will often persuade a man to believe that the
   worse is the better reason, and make a man imagine that he is not only
   excusable, but even commendable, for not being a Christian, and giving
   up his heart to Christ. Oh! if I could but see this Evil Questioning
   buried seven fathoms deep, I should feel I had an easy work to do in
   preaching the gospel; but, alas! when I have been the most earnest, my
   hearers have raised a question on the discourse, instead of yielding to
   its precepts; and when I have sought to explain the doctrine and lay it
   down by the rule of the Word, I find instead of producing conviction,
   that one and another will be questioning the orthodoxy or the
   heterodoxy of it. No fruit is brought forth because ye suffer not the
   seed to enter into your hearts, there to work effectually to the saving
   of your souls. Oh, fools and slow of heart, to be for ever asking
   questions while time is flying, and men are dying, and hell is
   filling--to be questioning when there is but a step between you and
   death--to be trying to unriddle mysteries and to unravel secrets when
   you are on the borders of the tomb and your souls may soon be required
   of you. Oh, fools, I say, and slow of heart, but surely so ye will be
   to the end of the chapter, unless sovereign grace shall open your eyes
   to see in the face of this Mr. Evil Questioning the marks and
   lineaments of a child of Satan, and unless God shall give you grace to
   turn him out of doors, to expel him instantly, find have no more to do
   with him as long as you live.

   But do you know while I was going my rounds this morning looking after
   Mr. Evil Questioning, I happened to stop at the door of a house that
   had the blood-mark over the lintel and I was very much surprised to
   hear a voice just like old Mr. Questioning's inside that house. I could
   not believe my own ears, but I saw my own name on the door, and so I
   thought I might venture to enter and lo, I found this old villain
   sitting at my own table, and what think you he was saying? Why he was
   talking like this, "God has promised that you shall hold on your way,
   but then you have so many temptations you cannot. He has promised to
   bless your ministry, but then the hearts of men are so hard, you might
   just as well give up preaching." He began to question the promises and
   asked how they could be fulfilled, and was beginning to make me
   question the vitality of my own religion Get you gone, sir, I will have
   nothing to do with you, and if I meet you again I hope by the grace of
   God I shall be able to heave a stone that shall sink deep in your old
   crazy pate. Begone, sir, and have nought to do with me. With the child
   of God thou art a hated intruder. Who am I that I should question the
   Almighty? Who is the finite that he should ask the Infinite where is
   his power to fulfill his promise? No, my God:

   "I trust the all-creating voice,

   And faith requires no more,"

   II. Having thus detected Mr. Evil Questioning, we will go on to
   DESCRIBE HIM.

   Mr. Evil Questioning often boasts that he is the child of Human Reason;
   but I will let you know a secret or two about his parentage. Mr. Human
   Reason has once a very respectable man. He had a country-seat in the
   gardens of Paradise, and he was then great and honorable. He served his
   God with all his might and many a great and marvellous thing did he
   discover for the good of mankind; at that time he had a family, and
   they were all like himself, right good and loyal. But after the fall
   this man married again, and he took to himself one called Sin to be his
   partner, and this old Evil Questioning was one that was born after the
   fall. He does not belong to the first family at all. The first family
   was not so numerous as the last. There was one called Right Judgment
   born at that time. I hope he is still alive, and I believe he is. But
   the second family was very black and of tainted blood. They did not
   take at all after the father, except in one point, that at the time of
   the fall Mr. Human Reason lost his country-seat at Paradise, and
   together with the rest of the servants of Adam fell from his high
   estate and became perverted and depraved. His children are like him in
   their depravity, but not in their power of reasoning. They take after
   their mother, and they always have a predilection for sin, so that they
   "put darkness for light and light for darkness, bitter for sweet and
   sweet for bitter." The old gentleman never mentions his mother's name
   if he can help it. He always likes to boast that he is a lineal
   descendant of Human Reason, and so indeed he is, but he is a descendant
   of fallen Human Reason, not of Human Reason as it was in its glorious
   perfection. Now, all the powers of Adam were by the fall spoiled and
   ruined. They are there, but their bias was turned from that which is
   good to that which is evil, and now reason is not a trustworthy guide.
   Enlightened by the Spirit of God it can judge righteous judgment, but
   unenlightened and uninstructed, its bias is towards that which shall
   excuse man in his rebellion, which shall dishonor God, and which shall
   seek to raise the human race in proud rebellion against their Lord and
   Master.

   Understand then, that the parentage of Evil Questioning lies here;
   man's perverted reason meets with man's love of sin, and these twain do
   join to bring forth these evil questions. It is not your reason that
   makes you talk against God, except it be your perverted reason. It is
   your love of sin that sets your reason on the wide-awake watch to try
   and discover some difficulty, and to make that a pretense why you
   should not be obedient to the heavenly command. Do not believe yourself
   when you repeat the tale told you by Satan, that you are only making
   honest enquiries--do not believe it for a minute. The honest enquiry is
   content with "It is written," and there it stops. Besides, if not
   content with this, the truth of the Bible is proved by the most
   conclusive logic. It is proved too by arguments against which all the
   gates of hell can never prevail. There are many excellent works which
   have been written, and all the arguments of modern sceptics have been
   refuted a thousand times over. Every objection that man can make has
   been already broken in pieces, and if a man be honest in his enquiries,
   he cannot long remain an unbeliever. Do not believe that your
   questioning springs from honesty, but be honest with yourself, and
   acknowledge this, that you do not love the gospel because it is too
   hard for you--it wants you to give up sins that you love too much, to
   renounce them, and because of this, you begin to question its truth. If
   it did not come upon you so sorely, and deal with you so summarily, you
   would believe it. But because it will have you give up your sins, you
   go in quest of a doubt, and put in plea after plea to gain time and
   hold on with the world. Though you do not doubt the justice of the law,
   or the truth of the gospel, ye vexatiously question both. And yet you
   know very well that it is beyond your questioning, for it is the
   eternal verity of the Eternal God.

   I have thus described the old man's parentage; shall I now tell you
   where he had his education? After Mr. Evil Questioning was born, he was
   put to the school of that old schoolmaster who has taught a great many
   of you--Mr. Worldly Wiseman, and this Mr. Worldly Wiseman used to make
   him read out of a book, called "Human Maxims," and this man has learned
   all the logic-art of that book of Human Maxims--a book very much
   patronized by the sacred consistory of hell. They greatly delight in
   it, and would have it spread everywhere; and they would have even the
   prophets of God bow their knee to this Baal, and take "for doctrines
   the commandments of men." No wonder, therefore, that being bad at
   first, and essentially vicious, this education was just suited to
   develop his powers, and he has gone from bad to worse, till he has been
   known at times to question the very existence of a God, the immortality
   of the soul, the truth of the Bible, the divinity of Christ, in fact;
   he has questioned everything which can be dear to a true-hearted man,
   every truth which can sustain the soul in the midst of its troubles,
   and give it light in its seasons of darkness.

   And now to come nearer still to him. I have told you his parentage and
   education, now as to his character. If,. you notice this man, it is
   only his talking that will strike you, and you will observe this about
   his talk, that he speaks about things of religion in a very different
   style from what he thinks about things of the world. If you meet him
   and he is buying or selling, he talks very rationally indeed; but when
   he comes to make excuses for himself and tell you why he is not
   converted, he talks like a fool, as he is. He would not himself act in
   the world upon the theories that he adopts in religion. Did I not tell
   you that I heard him say once, that because God had decreed therefore
   he would do nothing? Now you would expect to find him if he were honest
   in what he said, going out into the world and folding his arms, and
   saying, "Now if I am to get rich I shall get rich, and so there is an
   end of it; and if I am not to get rich I shall not get rich, and
   therefore I shall not work." No, he is as busy as a bee when he is
   about the things of the world, and yet he is as idle as possible when
   he is meddling with the things of Christ. This same man, if he has a
   field to sow, he knows very well that if God has ordained a harvest
   there will be a harvest--but he sows for all that. He can understand in
   his business how free-agency is quite consistent with Divine
   Sovereignty. He understands when he is abroad how the decree of God
   does not at all limit the free action of man, but when he comes to
   matters of godliness with regard to his own soul, then he sees a
   wonderful difficulty there. Ah! he sees it because he wants to see it,
   and a man can see anything he likes to see if he does not want to do a
   thing that is uncomfortable and unpleasant. If you want an excuse for
   going to hell, you can find a thousand, every one as bad as the other,
   and Mr. Evil Questioning will furnish you with any quantity of them to
   suit every particular case. He has excuses that will suit the Frenchman
   and excuses that will suit the Englishman. He has a stock of common
   excuses just adapted to be sold retail to the poor, and he has many a
   refined excuse of every shade and color to suit the taste of the rich.
   No man like him. If you want to perish, you may do it logically. If you
   want to go to hell riding on a syllogism, he will assist you. He will
   give you the most rational and comfortable conveyance if you want to go
   there. Only to go to his shop, he will not keep you a single moment,
   but serve you across the counter with the most polite bow, and send you
   on your way rejoicing towards the depths of perdition.

   You will thus detect Mr. Evil Questioning, because he uses a logic in
   spiritual things that he would not use in temporal things. Here is
   another way by which you may discover him. This man, when he is talking
   about the Infinite God, always measures him by the finite rule of man.
   When God is in the question, who is not to be limited nor to be grasped
   by our comprehension, he deals as freely with the matter as if it were
   a mere thing of ells or inches, or of ounces and pounds. Omnipotence he
   forgets, and omniprescence, and omniscience, and eternity,--all these
   attributes of God he casts away, and he talks to God, and talks about
   God, as if God were nothing different from the creature that his hands
   have made. Have you never heard him say, "How can such a thing be
   done?" If he did but stop and think, he would know that it is
   irrational to use the word can, when he is speaking of an Omnipotent
   One. He will often say, "Will such a thing that is promised be
   accomplished?" If he did but pause, he would recollect that to ask a
   question as to whether a thing will be done about a God who is true and
   faithful, is to put a wicked and blasphemous question. But still he
   will do it. He deals with God's promises as if they were the
   draft-notes of a rogue. He treats God's doctrines as if they were the
   utterance of a raving maniac. He will deal with substantial verities as
   if they were frothy dreams, the mere speculations of a deluded brain.
   Strange villain that he is, daring to lift his mouth against heaven,
   and spit his blasphemous questions against the very existence and power
   of the Most High.

   You may know him again by another sign, for he always draws his
   arguments from exceptions. He meets a miserable Christian--he knows
   very well that where there is one miserable Christian there are a
   thousand happy ones--but then he puts these thousand happy ones behind.
   It is the one miserable one that he fixes his attention upon. If he
   meets with one fallen professor, he knows that there are ten thousand
   Christians that stand upright in the hour of temptation, and will not
   bend in the blast of the terrors of the world when they come against
   him, seeking to turn him from his upright course--but no, he forgets
   all these; he only thinks of that one hypocrite, or that one professor,
   who was overtaken in an evil hour, and then he makes a syllogism like
   this--"One Christian has proved to be a hypocrite, therefore, as it is
   a bad thing to be a hypocrite, I will not be a Christian." Now, what an
   argument! And yet this satisfies some of you. There are some of you,
   when you have been once taken in by a man, will say, "Ah, well! I will
   never make a profession of religion. So-and-so made a profession; he
   was a bad one; therefore I will not have ought to do with it." Where is
   the force of this argument? If there are bad Christians, that is a
   presumption in itself that there are good ones, for if ever you see a
   bad sovereign in circulation, you may be sure there are some good ones,
   for if they were all bad we would none of us take any of them. Be sure
   of it, then, the name of Christian would cease to be, unless there were
   some good ones to keep up the current coin--the real stock in trade--on
   which the world grows rich. And suppose they were all bad, is that any
   reason why you should not be true and honest? If the church were all
   hypocrites, at least let me be an honest man, and serve my God truly,
   and with all my heart. That is the proper way of reasoning. But Evil
   Questioning takes exceptions, and considers them as if they were rules,
   and then from the exceptions draws a deduction which would not be
   logical even if they were the rule, but which, seeing it is based upon
   the exceptions, is without a basis at all, and sinks to the ground as a
   mere wanton wilful falsehood.

   I will only keep you one more minute upon this part of my subject. You
   may always know Mr. Evil Questioning by this one fact, that he
   invariably draws his conclusions from his wishes. When I have got an
   argument on hand, and the conclusion is contrary to what I would like
   it to be, I always think there is more likelihood that my reasoning is
   correct; but if the conclusion is just what my carnal heart would like
   it to be, I say I am afraid that my logic was at fault somewhere; for
   if I draw a conclusion that pleases myself, I ought to be very careful,
   especially when it is a matter in which my soul is concerned. We draw
   Justice with a bandage over her eyes, holding a pair of scales: now,
   whenever we are trying other people, that is how our justice ought to
   be meted out, and so it should be when we are trying ourselves. But, my
   dear friends, whenever we try ourselves, we are apt to move the bandage
   a little up, that the right eye may see just a little, that we may
   manage to put, somehow or other, a little extra weight in the scale
   that will favor ourselves. No man is so partial a judge as the man that
   is trying his own character. We are very severe with others, but we are
   very lenient to ourselves; we keep our swords well sharpened for our
   enemies; but if we do hit ourselves it is with the back of the blade;
   we never venture to strike deep and we always wish to have a little
   salve ready, some kind of extenuation. Habitually almost without
   knowing it we shake hands with ourselves very often, and say, "You are
   not so bad a fellow after all, I thought there was something amiss with
   you, and so there certainly is; but still there is not so much wrong
   with you as there is with a great many people, and you are a very
   respectable individual taking you for all in all." Now, if that is the
   conclusion you come to, suspect it, there is a flaw in the logic
   somewhere. Just look the reasoning through again. Cast that sum up once
   more, if it comes to this result, "Thou art rich," cast it up again,
   there is an extra figure that you have put in; for the right conclusion
   is, if you are an unconverted man, you are naked, and poor, and
   miserable. Do not believe the arithmetic or the logic which would bring
   you to any other conclusion than this.

   III. Having thus described this old enemy after whom I am in full
   pursuit; I pause awhile and go on to my third division, which is
   bringing him out TO EXECUTE HIM.

   I must give you a bit from John Bunyan's Holy War, for it is so
   wonderfully suggestive, and so thoroughly worthy of its quaint author.
   Mr. Evil Questioning was detected harbouring four doubters, who had
   come to attack the town of Mansoul; when he was brought up, the
   indictment was that he had studied the ruin of the town of Mansoul,
   that he had feloniously and treacherously harboured four of the king's
   enemies, and that he had expressed in the hearing of one Mr. Diligence,
   his wish that there were ten thousand such doubters in Mansoul. The old
   fellow when he was brought before the bar, first denied his name, and
   said his real name was Mr. Honest Enquiry, but when it was proved that
   he was old Evil Questioning, for Lord Will-be-will in the time of his
   evil estate had known him very intimately, then the old fellow pleaded
   "Not Guilty," and he began at once to utter his defense. "I answer,"
   said Evil Questioning "the men that came into my house were strangers,
   and I took them in, and is it now become a crime in Mansoul for a man
   to entertain strangers? That I also nourished them is true, and why
   should my charity be blamed? As for the reason why I wished ten
   thousand of them in Mansoul, I never told it to the witnesses nor to
   themselves. I might wish them to be taken, and so might wish well to
   the town of Mansoul. I also bid them take heed that they fell not into
   the Captain's hands, but that might be because I am unwilling that any
   man should be slain, and not because I would have the king's enemies
   escape." So Mr. Evil Questioning was true to his name, he kept on
   questioning till the verdict was given, the sentence of death
   pronounced, and carried into execution; for they hanged him, as Bunyan
   says, opposite the door of his own house at the top of Bad Street, Ah!
   but I am afraid that he is alive now, still living and going about: I
   wish therefore to bring him up again to trial, and we will see if we
   cannot bring some charges against him; we will empanel an honest jury,
   and I know what the sentence will be, we shall lead him out to
   execution.

   Men and brethren, if you have been questioning, instead of believing,
   if you have been making enquiries, instead of saying, "What must I do
   to be saved?" which is the only allowable question, let me first beg of
   you to drive out this Evil Questioning, because he is a traitor to the
   King of heaven. He does not wish your good, but your ill; more than
   this, he is sent by Satan to prevent your obeying the commands of God:
   he is come to betray you. Oh I listen not to his words, though they are
   smoother than butter, for inwardly they are drawn swords: the drift of
   all he says is to keep you unreconciled to God. The great end of all he
   says is to make you wander further and further from the central point
   of bliss, to make you forsake the cross, to make you follow the devices
   of your own heart, and so bring upon yourself inevitable destruction.
   Oh! I beseech you, drive him out, because he is a traitor to the great
   King to whom all your allegiance is due. He wants to make you an enemy
   to God, and to keep you so. Out with him, I pray you. Hang him! let a
   straight end be put to him at once: let him no more delude and ruin
   your souls, and make you persevere in disobedience to God.

   And then, again, I beseech you turn him out, for he is a liar. All the
   conclusion to which he has brought you are false ones, and you know
   they are. When you have sometimes in company bragged a little, and when
   a hard word has been said that has come home to your conscience, when
   you have put on a stout confidence and have begun to insinuate some
   doubts, you know very well you are not speaking honestly. You know
   there is a hell, though you often laugh at the idea; you know there is
   a world to come, though you argue against it. You are conscious that
   there is a God, though you yourself will sometimes deny it, you know
   very well that every conclusion to which this false reasoning of yours
   has brought you, is a downright falsehood, and a libel against the
   common-sense and sterling honesty of your nature. Oh! turn out, then,
   this wretch who is a descendant of the Father of Lies; and let us, each
   man of us, lay our hands on him as witnesses, and take up our stone to
   stone him.

   Another accusation I bring against him is this: he has led you into a
   world of mischief. This habit of questioning has often blunted the edge
   of some sermon that you have heard; when the Word was coming right home
   to your conscience, this Mr. Evil Questioning has held up a shield and
   prevented the point from entering into your heart; besides that, have
   you not sometimes when under the influence of his delusive logic gone
   off to the place where your lust has been cultivated, and where your
   conscience hag been lulled to sleep? You know if it had not been for
   these questions, you would not be found so often in the tavern, or in
   the casino, or in the midst, perhaps, of even worse associations than
   these. It is because you have tried to make yourself an infidel that
   you have been able to go into sin. You have felt that if you did
   behave, sin would become unpleasant; in fact, you would be too gross a
   fool if you professed to believe, and then afterwards run and cut your
   own throat, and destroy your own soul, by persevering in your
   iniquities. Oh! I beseech you, remember the mischief this wicked habit
   has done you; it has brought you low, very low, even to the gates of
   hell; and if you persevere much longer in it, as I pray God you may
   not, it will bring you within the portals of hell. And then, when the
   gate of fire is shut, there is no arm that can open it, there is no
   question, no subtle questioning, that can administer a drop of comfort
   to you; there is no puzzling particle of metaphysics that can be as a
   drop of water to cool your burning tongue. The questioning that damned
   you shall be the tormentor that shall vex you, and your brain carried
   through fiery speculations shall for ever be horrified and alarmed by
   new difficulties and new mysteries, which shall be as faggots for the
   flames of hell for ever and for ever. Oh! let us bring out this Evil
   Questioning, and hang him on a gallows high as the gallows of Haman,
   and God grant that we may never see him again.

   I have one other charge, and then I shall have closed up the
   accusation. Men and brethren, this man must die, for he has been a
   murderer. Oh! what millions of fools has Evil Questioning sent to hell!
   There are many gates to hell, but this is one of the widest and it is
   one of the most frequented, because it is a respectable gate. Men do
   not like to go do on to perdition without having some reason, some
   logic to back them up, so they carry a lie in their right hand, and
   then they go there quietly, to meet their damnation logically, and to
   reason about the flames of hell when they are lying in them. Oh! my
   dear hearers, let us have done with this Evil Questioning, for if not,
   he will ruin us, as surely as he has ruined others. Be satisfied with
   "Thus saith the Lord." Take the Bible as it stands. Do not for ever be
   raising these doubts. Do not be busying yourself with secret things
   that are no business of yours whatever. Do not for ever be quibbling
   and putting these hard knotty points to us, while your poor soul is
   perishing for lack of that grace which alone can save you from the
   wrath to come. "Well," says one, "but I mean to ask questions a little
   longer." Ah! but my dear friend, remember the habit of evil questioning
   grows upon a man; and at last God will fill you with your own devices.
   Draws there nigh a day when you will want to believe and you
   cannot--when questioning will come to be a strong delusion, so that you
   shall believe a lie--when from merely trying to be an infidel, you
   shall become at last a master in the arts of Belial. Yea, you shall
   take your degree of Doctor in Damnation, and shall sit in the seat of
   the scorner, condemned, already hardened in your sin, and ripened for
   the fire, as those who are ready to be burned. God grant that may not
   be the consequence; but it will be unless Mr. Evil Questioning be
   speedily brought out, given up to the gallows, and never more harboured
   in your house.

   I have thus spoken in the form of an allegory. If I have put in some
   words of pleasantry, it was that I might engage your attention. I feel
   the subject to be awfully solemn, and it is necessary that we should
   all think of it, and I hope you will think of it none the less because
   it has been clothed somewhat in an allegorical form, and because I have
   tried to represent this evil habit as though it were an evil being that
   sought your destruction. My concluding head is especially addressed to
   the people of God, and to them I hope it will be very interesting.

   IV. Old Mr. Evil Questioning is the father of a large family, and John
   Bunyan tells you about his family. He says, he married one called Miss
   No-hope, she was the daughter of old Dark, and when old Dark was dead,
   her uncle Incredulity took her and brought her up as his own daughter,
   and then he gave her to old Evil Questioning, and he had by her several
   children. I will give you the names of them, because it shall be my
   earnest endeavor to fire a shot at them this morning, as well as at
   their old father. Their names are these--Mr. Doubt, Mr. Legal Life, Mr.
   Unbelief, Mr. Wrong Thoughts of Christ, Mr. Clip Promise, Mr. Carnal
   Sense, Mr. Live-by-Feeling, and Mr. Self Love. All these were the
   offspring of the father, and against all these a warrant was issued by
   the prince Immanuel that they should be hunted down, and every one of
   them given to the sword.

   Now, I will take the eldest son, there is Mr. Doubt,--Is he not the
   child of Evil Questioning? Why, you can see his father's image in his
   face. You remember Mr. Doubt called one day at the tent of Sarah, and
   his father with him, and Sarah said, "Shall I who am ninety years of
   age have pleasure? shall these breasts afford nourishment for a child?"
   Here was Evil Questioning; and then Sarah laughed. That was Mr. Doubt
   that played off a bit of his satire, and set her laughing. Ah! had she
   but believed, she might have attained a nobler commendation. It almost
   tarnishes her fair reputation that we must remember this of her--she
   was the woman who laughed at God's promise, as though it were
   impossible. Brothers and sisters, Mr. Doubt has often called at your
   house and made you cast reflections on the promise. He has said, "How
   can it be true? Such a sinner as you, so weak, so vile, so unworthy."
   Oh believer, the promise is true; God has pledged his word and stamped
   his covenant with his oath. When you see a promise, never doubt it; for
   Doubt is the descendant of Evil Questioning, and he is a Diabolian from
   the birth up. However, I am rather apprehensive, though I publish his
   name to-day, and though I were to give you his portrait in the Hue anti
   Cry, he will not get arrested just yet, or if he be arrested, I am
   afraid he will break his prison, and be at liberty again. For this Mr.
   Doubt is everywhere about the country; and I find him in many a
   secluded nook by the way-side, troubling some poor woman on her dying
   bed, and I find him, too, in many a hall where the rich man is thinking
   about Christ, but is kept back by this troublesome intruder, who
   whispers a doubt as to whether Christ will receive him. He is
   everywhere--but drive him out; make him hide his head, let him not be
   pampered and fed as he is by some people, lest Doubt grow into Despair,
   and you should lose your comfort, and bring sorrow into your heart for
   ever.

   Another child is Mr. Clip-Promise. Do you know him? He does not doubt
   the promise, but he clips the edge of it. He makes out that it will not
   all be fulfilled, only a part of it. Now there is a proclamation issued
   against Mr. Clip Promise, that whoever will arrest him shall be greatly
   honored, for he is a notorious villian, by whose doings much of the
   King's coin was abased, therefore it was expedient that he should be
   made a public example. And, Bunyan says, "They did take him, and they
   first set him in the pillory, and afterwards they tied his hands behind
   him and they whipped him through the streets of Mansoul, bidding all
   the children and servants whip him, and then at last they hanged him.
   And," says mine author, "this may seem very hard treatment, but when
   one considers how much loss the town of Mansoul may sustain by the
   clipping of the promises which are the coins with which they trade, I
   can only say I hope that all his kith and kin may be treated with the
   like severity." Oh! it you have attempted to cut the promise down, have
   done with it I pray you; and do take it as it stands in all its
   plenteousness of grace and all its sufficiency. Judge it not by your
   own notions, but take it as it comes from God, shining and glittering
   from the mint of heaven. Take it at its full current value with the
   merchants, and you shall surely have its equivalent in the fulfilments
   which God will work to you in his providence and his grace. Moreover, I
   will say this unto thee, the more thou tradest with this precious coin
   the more thou wilt prize it, as Eskine sings--

   "Let thy experience sweet declare,

   If able to remind,

   A Bochim here, a Bethel there,

   Thy Savior made thee find."

   Then there is Mr. Wrong-thoughts of Christ. Do you know him? Well I do
   not know that I have met him very lately, but there was a time when he
   and I had a great battle, and I think he had the worst of it, for by
   grace I was enabled to strike him very hard. Do you know what this
   fellow had the impudence to tell me? He said, "Oh! Christ will never
   receive such a sinner as you are." And when I had come to Christ, and
   he received me, he said, "Oh! Christ will not hold you fast." He will
   it you let him, but then you will not let him, for you are such a
   sinner he cannot hold you, and he will not. He has often made me doubt
   my Master's immutability or his faithfulness, or his power to save. But
   as far as I am personally concerned of late, I was able to seize him,
   and I have laid him in prison; I think he is dying of a consumption,
   for I have not heard much of him lately. Glad enough shall I be to have
   him buried once for all. And if any of you are troubled with him, lock
   him up, do not let him keep abroad, for Wrong-thoughts of Christ is one
   of the worst spirits that ever came up from the pit. What! to think
   badly of Christ, to think of him who is all goodness, as if he were
   hard-hearted or unkind. Begone, Wrong thoughts of Christ, we will not
   harbour thee but will put thee in durance vile, and there shalt thou
   starve and die.

   There are two others whom some of you may have known, Mr. Legal Life,
   and Mr. Live-by-Feeling. I think they were twins. Mr. Legal Life
   sometimes gets hold of the Christian and makes him judge himself by
   legal evidences, and not by evangelical evidence. When the Christian
   has kept a commandment, Mr. Legal Life will say, "There now you live by
   your works." He knows that Christians would die by their works, and
   that the best of them can only live by faith. And when a Christian has
   made a slip, and has not kept the commandment, in comes Mr. Legal Life,
   and he says, "You are a lost soul, for you have not kept the
   commandment;" though he knows right well, "that if any man sin, we have
   an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." Yet he tries
   to make his life by the law which no Christian ever did do or ever will
   do, for the law is of death and not of life.

   Then there is Mr. Live-by-Feeling, who makes us judge ourselves
   according to what we feel. If we feel happy and devout, "Oh," he says.
   "now you are in a blessed frame, the Master will accept you," anon you
   feel unhappy, and dull, and cold, and dead. "Oh," says Mr.
   Live-by-Feeling, "you are no child of God, or else you would not be
   like this." Now catch both these fellows, if you can, and away with
   them; away with such fellows from the earth. It is not fit that they
   should live. Come, ye Christians, and crucify them, nail them up, they
   are relatives of the old flesh, and let them die with the flesh; they
   will never bring you any good; they are the down-right direct opponents
   of the gospel. Away with them, for "Whatsoever is not of faith is sin;"
   and if we believe not on the Lord Jesus Christ, neither our feelings
   nor our efforts can ever save our souls in any measure whatsoever.
   Legal Life, and Live-by-Feeling must be put to the death.

   And now I want your attention, because here is a fine opportunity for
   some of you to become celebrated and rich, if you are able to fully the
   commission. One of the children of old Evil Questioning was Mr.
   Carnal-Sense. Now John Bunyan tells us, and I believe that he is right,
   at least I have his authority for it, and that is no mean authority,
   that there is a proclamation set up in the market place at Man-Soul,
   that whosoever shall bring Mr. Carnal-Sense, dead or alive, to the King
   Immanuel, shall be made a nobleman, shall have a right to sit at the
   King's table every day, and moreover, he shall be made keeper of the
   treasury of the city of Man-Soul. There you see is a noble opportunity
   for you. But, with John Bunyan, "It is rather unfavorable if you are
   ambitious; many there were that spent much of their time in endeavoring
   to discover him, but they have never been able to find him; still it is
   well known that he is abroad, and that he frequents poor men's houses
   by night very much to their sorrow and grief." Now if you can but lay
   hold of him, see how you shall be exalted; you shall have daily
   fellowship with your king, and you shall have the whole treasure of God
   to make you rich. Well, blessed be God, we do know one thing, that is,
   that if we cannot kill Carnal-Sense, yet we can starve him a little,
   and if he will come abroad it shall be by night, for we will not let
   him come abroad in the day. Old Carnal-Sense, what mischief has he
   done!

   "Judge not the Lord by carnal sense,

   But trust him for his grace,

   Behind a frowning providence,

   He hides a smiling face."

   Oh! Christians, get rid of the thought that thou canst judge thy God by
   carnal appearances, do not take the promise by the providence, but the
   providence by the promise. Do not read the book of life by thy life,
   but read thy life by the book of life. Have done with Carnal Sense and
   thou shalt be happy, thou shalt have daily fellowship with God and all
   the riches of his treasury.

   There remains another one upon whom I must speak just for a minute. It
   is one called Mr. Self-Love. Ah, he is one of the biggest of the
   children of Mr. Evil Questioning. Now Mr. Self-Love was tried and
   condemned to die, but he had so many friends in the city, that they did
   not like to hang him outright. There was, however, a brave man in the
   king's army, a common soldier, a man that was need to sleep out in the
   fields at night, and to do much hard work--his name was Mr.
   Self-Denial, and coming out from the midst of the crowd, just when the
   prisoner was going to be acquitted, he said, "If such villains as these
   are winked at in Man-soul I will lay down my commission." He then took
   him from the crowd and had him among the soldiers, and there he was put
   to death. For this, the king made the common soldier a lord, and he was
   honored in the town of Mansoul. "Though," says Bunyan, "there were a
   good many people in the town that did not like it, and they used to
   mutter at it, but they did not say much as long as king Immanuel was
   there. Oh, do you know that old Self-Love? You will never get rid of
   him unless you get Mr. Self-Denial to help you; unless you are ready to
   deny the affections and lusts, to pluck out right eyes, and cut off
   right hands, and to yield up one delight after another, that so self
   may be trodden under foot, and Jesus Christ may be all in all.

   There is one other child. I have left him to the last; and then I have
   done with the family--Mr. Unbelief "Now," says Bunyan, "Unbelief was a
   nimble fellow." He was often caught, but he was like the hero of the
   wicked Shepherd, he always broke his prison and was out again. Although
   he has often been kept in hold, he has always escaped, and he is every
   day about somewhere or other. Oh, brothers and sisters, Unbelief is
   abroad to-day, he will be attacking some of you, seeking to rend your
   jewels from you. I beseech you, do not harbour him, but do live by
   faith, remember you how many die by unbelief; therefore cling ye--cling
   to Christ.

   "And when thine eye of faith is dim,

   Still trust in Jesus, sink or swim;

   And at his footstool bow the knee,

   So Israel's' God thy peace shall be."

   When thine evidences are dark and thy joys are gone, still throw thine
   arms about the cross; and remember, thou canst never perish trusting
   there.

   And thou, poor sinner, this last word to thee. Have done with thy
   questionings, end thy questions all of them, at the cross of Christ.
   Look to my Master now: a look will save you. Trust him, and you are
   saved--saved now and saved for ever. Cast yourself on him. Have done
   with your own wit and wisdom; take him to be your wisdom, your
   righteousness, your all, and he will not cast you away. Poor soul! he
   will take you in, though you are black as Satan himself. He will wash
   you and make you clean; he will take you to himself, and put the crown
   of immortality upon your head; he will robe you in the garments of
   glory; and you shall be his in that day when he maketh up his jewels.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                Sin Immeasurable

   A Sermon

   (No. 299)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 12th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Who can understand his errors?"--Psalm 19:12.

   WHAT WE KNOW IS AS NOTHING when compared with what we know not. The sea
   of wisdom has cast up a shell or two upon our shore, but its vast
   depths have never known the footstep of the searcher. Even in natural
   things we know but the surface of matters. He that has traveled the
   wide world over, and has descended into its deepest mines, must yet be
   aware that he has viewed but a part of the mere crust of this world;
   that as for its vast center, its mysterious fires and molten secrete,
   the mind of man hath not as yet conceived them. If you will turn your
   eyes above, the astronomer will tell you that the undiscovered stars,
   that the vast mass of worlds which form the milky way, and the abundant
   masses of nebulae--that those vast clusters of unknown worlds, as
   infinitely exceed the little that we can explore, as a mountain exceeds
   a grain of sand. All the knowledge which the wisest men can possibly
   attain in a whole life-time, is no more than what the child may take up
   from the sea with his tiny cup, compared with the boundless waters
   which fill their channels to the brim. Why, when we are at the wisest,
   we have but come to the threshold of knowledge, we have taken but one
   step in that race of discovery which we may have to pursue throughout
   all eternity. This is equally the case with regard to things of the
   heart, and the spiritual things which concerns this little world called
   man. We know nothing but the surface of things. Whether I talk to you
   of God, of his attributes, of Christ, of his atonement, or of ourselves
   and our sin, I must confess that as yet we know nothing but the
   exterior; that we cannot comprehend the length, the breadth, the height
   of any one of these matters.

   The subject of this morning--our own sin, and the error of our own
   hearts, is one which we sometimes think we know, but of which we may
   always be quite sure that we have only began to learn, and that when we
   have learned the most we shall ever know on earth, the question will
   still be pertinent, "Who can understand his errors?"

   Now, this morning I propose first of all, very briefly indeed, to
   explain the question; then at greater length to impress it upon our
   hearts; and lastly we will learn the lessons which it would teach us.

   I. First, then, let me EXPLAIN THE QUESTION.--"Who can understand his
   errors?"

   We all acknowledge that we have errors. Surely we are not so proud as
   to imagine ourselves to be perfect. If we pretend to perfection we are
   utterly ignorant, for every profession of human perfection arises from
   perfect ignorance. Any notion that we are free from sin should at once
   discover to us that we abound in it. To vindicate my boast of
   perfection, I must deny the Word of God, forget the law, and exalt
   myself above the testimony of truth. Therefore, I say, we are willing
   to confess that we have many errors, yet who amongst us can understand
   them? Who knows precisely how far a thing may be an error which we
   imagine to be a virtue? Who among us can define how much of iniquity is
   mingled with our uprightness--how much of unrighteousness with our
   righteousness? Who is able to detect the component parts of every
   action, so as to see the proportion of motive which would constitute it
   right or wrong? He were indeed a crafty man who should be able to
   unmask an action and divide it into essential motives which are its
   component parts. Where we think we are right, who knows but what we may
   be wrong? Where even with the strictest scrutiny we have arrived at the
   conclusion that we have done a good thing, who among us is quite sure
   that he has not been mistaken? May not the apparent good be so marred
   with internal motive as to become a real evil?

   Who again can understand his errors, so as always to detect a fault
   when it has been committed? The shades of evil are perceptible to God,
   but not always perceptible to us. Our eye has been so blinded and its
   vision so ruined by the fall, the absolute black of sin we can detect,
   but the shades of its darkness we are unable to discern. And yet the
   slightest shadow of sin is perceptible to God, and that very shade
   divides us from the Perfect One, and causes us to be guilty of sin. Who
   amongst us has that keen method of judging himself, so that he shall be
   able to discover the first trace of evil? "Who can understand his
   errors?" Surely no man will claim a wisdom so profound as this. But to
   come to more common matters by which perhaps we may the more understand
   our text. Who can understand the number of his errors? the mightiest
   mind could not count the sins of a single day. As the multitude of
   sparks from a furnace, so innumerable are the iniquities of one day. We
   might sooner tell the grains of sand on the sea-shore, than the
   iniquities of one man's life. A life most purged and pure is still as
   full of sin as the sea is full of salt. And who is he that can weigh
   the salt of the sea, or can detect it as it mingles with every fluid
   particle? But if he could do this, he could not tell how vast an amount
   of evil saturates our entire life, and how innumerable are those deeds,
   and thoughts, and words of disobedience, which have cast us out from
   the presence of God, and caused him to abhor the creatures which his
   own hands have made.

   Again, even if we could tell the number of human sins, who, in the next
   place, could estimate their guilt? Before God's mind the guilt of one
   sin, and such an one as we foolishly call a little one--the guilt of
   one sin merits his eternal displeasure. Until that one iniquity be
   washed out with blood, God cannot accept the soul and take it to his
   heart as his own offspring. Though he has made man, and is infinitely
   benevolent, yet his sense of justice is so strong, and stern, and
   inflexible, that from his presence he must drive out his dearest child
   if one single sin should remain unforgiven. Who then amongst us can
   tell the guilt of guilt, the heinousness of that ungrateful rebellion
   which man has commenced and carried on against his wise and gracious
   Creator. Sin, like hell, is a bottomless pit! Oh, brethren, there never
   lived a man yet who really knew how guilty he was; for if such a being
   could be fully conscious of all his own guilt, he would carry hell in
   his bowels. Nay, I often think that scarcely can the damned in
   perdition know all the guilt of their iniquity, or else even their
   furnace might be heated seven times hotter, and Tophet's streams must
   be enlarged to an unmeasurable depth. The hell which is contained in a
   single evil thought is unutterable and unimaginable. God only knows the
   blackness, the horror of darkness, which is condensed into the thought
   of evil.

   And then again, I think our text would convey to us this idea. Who can
   understand the peculiar aggravation of his own transgression. Now,
   answering the question for myself, I feel that as a minister of Christ
   I cannot understand my errors. Placed where multitudes listen to the
   Word from my lips, my responsibilities are so tremendous, that the
   moment I think of them, a mountain presses upon my soul. There have
   been times, when I have wished to imitate Jonah and take ship and flee
   away from the work which God has thrust upon me; for I am conscious
   that I have not served him as I ought. When I have preached most
   earnestly, I go to my chamber and repent that I have preached in so
   heartless a manner. When I have wept over your souls, and when I have
   agonized in prayer, I have yet been conscious that I have not wrestled
   with God as I ought to have wrestled, and that I have not felt for your
   souls as I ought to feel. The errors which a man may commit in the
   ministry are incalculable. There is no hell methinks that shall be hot
   enough for the man who is unfaithful here. There can be no curse too
   horrible to be hurled upon the head of that man who leads others astray
   when he ought to guide them in the path of peace, or who deals with
   sacred things as if they were matters of no weight, and but of slight
   importance. I bring here any minister of Christ that lives, and if he
   be a man really filled with the Holy Spirit, he will tell you that when
   he is bowed down with the solemnity of his of office, he would give up
   the work if he dare; that if it were not for something beyond,
   mysterious impulses that drive him forward, he would take his hand from
   the plough and leave the field of battle. Lord have mercy upon thy
   ministers, for, beyond all other men, we need mercy.

   And now I single out any other member of my congregation, and whatever
   be your position in life, whatever your education, or the peculiar
   providences through which you have passed, I will insist upon it that
   there is something special about your case which makes your sin such
   sin, that you cannot understand how vile it is. Perhaps you have had a
   pious mother who wept over you in your childhood, and dedicated you to
   God when you were in your cradle. Your sin is doubly sin. There is
   about it a scarlet hue which is not to be discovered in an ordinary
   criminal. You have been directed from your youth up in the way of
   righteousness, and if you have gone astray, every step you have taken
   has been not a step to hell but a stride thither. You do not sin so
   cheaply as others. Other men's scores run up fast; but where there are
   pence put down for other sinners there are pounds put down for you,
   because you know your duty but you do it not. He that breaks through a
   mother's bosom to hell goes to its lowest depths. There is in hell a
   degree of torture, and the deepest should surely be reserved for the
   man who leaps over a mother's prayers into perdition. Or you may never
   have this to account for; but you may have an equal aggravation. You
   have been at sea, sir. Many times you have been in danger of being
   shipwrecked. You have had miraculous escapes. Now every one of these
   shipwrecks has been a warning to you. God has brought you to the gates
   of death, and you have promised that if he would but save your wretched
   soul that you would lead a fresh life--that you would begin to serve
   your Maker. You have lied to your God. Your sins before you uttered
   that vow were evil enough; but now you break not only the law but your
   own covenant which you voluntarily made with God in the home of
   sickness. You have, some of you perhaps, been thrown from a horse, or
   have been attacked by fever, or in other ways have been brought to the
   very gates of the grave. What solemnity is attached to your life now!
   He that rode in the charge of Balaklava and yet came back alive--saved
   alive where hundreds die--should from that time consider himself to be
   a God's man, saved by a singular Providence for singular ends. But you
   too have had your escapes, if not quite so wonderful, yet certainly
   quite as special instances of God's goodness. And now, every error you
   commit becomes unutterably wicked, and of you I may say, "Who can
   understand his errors?"

   But I might exhaust the congregation by bringing up one by one. Here
   comes the father. Sir, your sins will be imitated by your children. You
   cannot therefore understand your errors, because they are sins against
   your own offspring--sins against the children that have sprung from
   your own loins. Here is the magistrate. Sir, your sins are of a
   peculiar dye, because, standing in your position, your character is
   watched and looked up to, and whatever you do becomes the excuse of
   other men. I bring up another man who holds no office in the state
   whatever, and who perhaps is little known among men. But, sir, you have
   received special grace from God, you have had rich enjoyment of the
   light of your Savior's countenance; you have been poor, but he has made
   you rich--rich in faith. Now when you rebel against him, the sins of
   God's favourites are sins indeed. Iniquities committed by the people of
   God become as huge as high Olympus, and reach the very stars. Who among
   us, then, can understand his errors: their special aggravations, their
   number, and their guilty Lord, search thou us and know our ways!

   II. I have thus tried briefly to explain my text; now I come to THE
   IMPRESSING OF IT ON THE HEART, as God the Holy Spirit shall help me.

   Before a man could understand his errors there are several mysteries
   which he must know. But each one of these mysteries, methinks, is
   beyond his knowledge, and consequently the understanding of the whole
   depth of the guilt of his sin must be quite beyond human power. Now the
   first mystery that man must understand is the fall. Until I know how
   much all my powers are debased and depraved, how thoroughly my will is
   perverted and my judgment turned from its right channel, how really and
   essentially vicious my nature has become, it cannot be possible for me
   to know the whole extent of my guilt. Here is a piece of iron laid upon
   the anvil. The hammers are plied upon it lustily. A thousand sparks are
   scattered on every side. Suppose it possible to count each spark as it
   falls from the anvil; yet who could guess the number of the unborn
   sparks that still lie latent and hidden in the mass of iron? Now,
   brethren, your sinful nature may be compared to that heated bar of
   iron. Temptations are the hammers; your sins the sparks. If you could
   count them (which you cannot do) yet who could tell the multitude of
   unborn iniquities--eggs of sin that lie slumbering in your souls? Yet
   must you know this before you know the whole sinfulness of your nature.
   Our open sins are like the farmer's little sample which he brings to
   market. There are granaries full at home. The iniquities that we see
   are like the weeds upon the surface soil; but I have been told, and
   indeed have seen the truth of it, that if you dig six feet into the
   earth, and turn up fresh soil, there will be found in that soil six
   feet deep the seeds of the weeds indigenous to the land. And so we are
   not to think merely of the sins that grow on the surface, but if we
   could turn our heart up to its core and center, we should find it as
   fully permeated with sin as every piece of putridity is with worms and
   rottenness. The fact is, that man is a reeking mass of corruption. His
   whole soul is by nature so debased and so depraved, that no description
   which can be given of him even by inspired tongues can fully tell how
   base and vile a thing he is. An ancient writer said once of the
   iniquity within, that it was like the stores of water which it is are
   hidden in the depths of the earth. God once broke up the fountains of
   the great deep, and then they covered the mountains twenty cubits
   upward. If God should even withdraw his restraining grace, and break up
   in our hearts the whole fountains of the great depths of our iniquity,
   it would be a flood so wondrous, that it would cover the highest tops
   of our hopes and the whole worm within us would be drowned in dread
   despair. Not a living thing could be found in this sea of evil. It
   would cover all, and swallow up the whole of our manhood. Ah! says an
   old proverb, "If man could wear his sins on his forehead, he would pull
   his hat over his eyes. That old Roman who said he would like to have a
   window into his heart that every man could see within it, did not know
   himself, for if he had had such a window he would soon have begged to
   have a pair of shutters, and he would have kept them shut up I am sure;
   for could he ever have seen his own heart, he would have been driven
   raving mad. God, therefore, spares all eyes but his own that desperate
   sight--a naked human heart. Great God, here would we pause and cry,
   "Behold, I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive
   me. Thou desirest truth in the inward parts, and in the hidden part
   thou shaft make me to know wisdom. Purge me with hyssop and I shall be
   clean; wash me and I shall be whiter than snow."

   A second thing which it will be needful for us to understand before we
   can comprehend our errors is God's law. If I just describe the law for
   a moment, you will very readily see that you can never hope by any
   means fully to understand it. The law of God, as we read it in the ten
   great commandments, seems very simple, very easy. When we come,
   however, to put even its naked precepts into practice, we find that it
   is quite impossible for us to keep them in the full. Our amazement,
   however, increases, when we find that the law does not mean merely what
   it says, but that it has a spiritual meaning, a hidden depth of matter
   which at first sight we do not discover. For instance, the commandment,
   "Thou shalt not commit adultery," means more than the mere act--refers
   to fornication and uncleanness of any shape, both in act, and word, and
   thought. Nay, to use our Savior's own exposition of it, "He that
   looketh upon a woman to lust after her, committeth adultery already
   with her in his heart." So with every commandment. The bare letter is
   nothing, compared with the whole stupendous meaning and severe
   strictness of the rule. The commandments, if I may so speak, are like
   the stars. When seen with the naked eye, they appear to be brilliant
   points; if we could draw near to them, we should see them to be
   infinite worlds, greater than even our sun, stupendous though it is. So
   is it with the law of God. It seems to be but a luminous point, because
   we see it at a distance, but when we come nearer where Christ stood,
   and estimate the lair as he saw it, then we find it is vast,
   immeasurable. "The commandment is exceeding broad." Think then for a
   moment of the spirituality of the law, its extent and strictness. The
   law of Moses condemns for offense, without hope of pardon, and sin,
   like a millstone, is bound around the sinner's neck, and he is cast
   into the depths. Nay, the law deals with sins of thought,--the
   imagination of evil is sin. The transit of sin across the heart, leaves
   the stain of impurity behind it. This law, too, extends to every
   act,--tracks us to our bed-chamber, goes with us to our house of
   prayer, and if it discovers so much as the least sign of wavering from
   the strict path of integrity, it condemns us. When we think of the law
   of God we may well be overwhelmed with horror, and sit down and say,
   "God be merciful to me, for to keep this law is utterly beyond power;
   even to know the fullness of its meaning is not within finite capacity.
   Therefore great God cleanse us from our secret faults--save us by thy
   grace, for by the law we never can be saved."

   Nor yet, even if you should know these two things, should you be able
   to answer this question; for, to comprehend our own errors, we must be
   able to understand the perfection of God. To get a full idea of how
   black sin is, you must know how bright God is. We see things by
   contrast. You will at one time have pointed out to you a color which
   appears perfectly white; yet it is possible for something to be whiter
   still; and when you think you have arrived at the very perfection of
   whiteness, you discover that there is still a shade, and that something
   may be found that is blanched to a higher state of purity. When we put
   ourselves in comparison with the apostles, we discover that we are not
   what we should be; but if we could bring ourselves side by side with
   the purity of God, O what spots! what defilements should we find on our
   surface! while the Immaculate God stands before us as the bright
   back-ground to set out the blackness of our iniquitous souls. Ere thou
   canst know thine own defilement those eyes must look into the
   unutterable glory of the divine character. Him before whom the heavens
   are not pure--who chargeth the angels with folly--thou must know him
   before thou canst know thyself. Hope not, then, that thou shalt ever
   attain to a perfect knowledge of the depths of thine own sin.

   Again: he that would understand his errors in all their heinousness
   must know the mystery of hell. We must walk that burning marl, stand in
   the midst of the blazing flame; nay, feel it. We must feel the venom of
   destruction as it makes the blood boil in each vein. We must find our
   nerves converted into fiery roads, along which the hot feet of pain
   shall travel, hurrying with lightning pace. We must know the extent of
   eternity, and then the unutterable agony of that eternal wrath of God
   which abides on the souls of the lost, before we can know the awful
   character of sin. You may best measure the sin by the punishment.
   Depend upon it, God will not put his creatures to a single pang more
   pain than justice absolutely demands. There is no such thing as
   sovereign torture or sovereign hell. God does not stretch his creature
   on the rack like a tyrant; he will give him but what he deserves, and,
   perhaps, even when God's wrath is fiercest against sin, he does not
   punish the sinner so much as his sin might warrant, but only as much as
   it demands. At any rate, there will not be a grain more of wormwood in
   the cup of the lost than naked justice absolutely requires. Then, O my
   God! if thy creatures are to be cast into a lake that burneth with fire
   and brimstone--if into a pit that is bottomless lost souls must be
   driven, then what a hideous thing sin must be. I cannot understand that
   torture, therefore I cannot understand the guilt that deserves it. Yet
   am I conscious that my guilt deserves it, or else God would not have
   threatened me with it, for he is just and I am unjust; he is holy and
   righteous, and good, and he would not punish me more for my sin than my
   sin absolutely required.

   Yet once more--a last endeavor to impress this question of my text upon
   our hearts. George Herbert saith very sweetly:--"He that would know sin
   let him repair to Olivet, and he shall see a man so wrung with pain
   that all his head, his hair, his garments bloody be. Sin was that press
   and vice which forced pain to hunt its cruel food through every vein."
   You must see Christ sweating as it were great drops of blood; you must
   have a vision of him with the spittle running down his cheeks, with his
   back torn by the accursed whip; you must see him going on his dolorous
   journey through Jerusalem; you must behold him fainting under the
   weight of the cross; you must see him as the nails are driven through
   his hands and through his feet; your tearful eye must watch the throes
   of the grim agonies of death; you must drink of the bitterness of
   wormwood mingled with the gall; you must stand in the thick darkness
   with your own soul exceeding sorrowful even unto death; you must cry
   yourself that awful earth-startling cry of "Lama sabachthani;" you too
   must, as he did, feel all that weighs of God's almighty wrath; you must
   be ground between the upper and nether millstones of wrath and
   vengeance; you must drink of the cup to its last dregs, and like Jesus
   cry--"It is finished;" or else you can never know all your errors, and
   understand the guilt of your sin. But this is clearly impossible and
   undesirable. Who wishes to suffer as the Savior suffered, all the
   horrors which he endured? He, blessed be his name, has suffered for us.
   The cup is emptied now. The cross stands up no longer for us to die
   thereon. Quenched is the flame of hell for every true believer. Now no
   more is God angry with his people, for he has put away sin through the
   sacrifice of himself. Yet I say it again, before we could know sin we
   must know the whole of that awful wrath of God which Jesus Christ
   endured. Who, then, can understand his errors?

   III. I hope to have your patient attention but a few moments longer
   while I make THE PRACTICAL APPLICATION, by touching upon the lessons
   which are drawn from such a subject as this.

   The first lesson is--Behold then the folly of all hope of salvation by
   our own righteousness. Come hither, ye that trust in yourselves. Look
   to Sinai, altogether in a smoke, and tremble and despair. You say that
   you have good works. Alas your good works are evil, but have you no
   evil ones? Do you deny that you have ever sinned? Ah! my hearer, art
   thou so besotted as to declare that thy thoughts have all been chaste,
   thy desires all heavenly, and thine actions all pure? Oh, man, it all
   this were true, if thou hadst no sins of commission, yet, what about
   thy sins of omission? Hast thou done all that God and that thy brother
   could require of thee? Oh these sins of omission! The hungry that you
   have not fed, the naked that you have not clothed, the sick ones, and
   those that are in prison that you have not visited--remember it was for
   sins like these that the goats were found at the left hand at last. Not
   for what they did do, but for what they did not do--the things they
   left undone, these men were put into the lake of fire. Oh, my hearer,
   have done with thy boasting; pull out those plumes from thine helmet
   thou rebellious one, and come with thy glory draggling in the mire, and
   with thy bright garment stained, and now confess that thou hast no
   righteousness of thine own--that thou art all unclean, and full of sin.

   If but this one practical lesson were learned, it were sufficient to
   repay this morning's gathering, and a blessing would be conveyed to
   every spirit that had learned it. But now we come to another--how vain
   are all hopes of salvation by our feelings. We have a new legalism to
   fight with in our Christian churches. There are men and women who think
   they must not believe on Christ till they feel their sins up to a most
   agonizing point. They think they must feel a certain degree of sorrow,
   a high degree of sense of need before they may come to Christ at all.
   Ah! soul, if thou art never saved till thou knowest all thy guilt, thou
   wilt never be saved, for thou canst never know it. I have shown thee
   the utter impossibility of thy ever being able to discover the whole
   heights and depths of thine own lost state. Man, don't try to be saved
   by thy feelings. Come and take Christ just as he is, and come to him
   just as thou art. "But, Sir, may I come? I am not invited to come." Yes
   you are, "Whosoever will, let him come." Don't believe that the
   invitations of the gospel are given only to characters; they are, some
   of them, unlimited invitations. It is the duty of every man to believe
   on the Lord Jesus Christ. It is every man's solemn duty to trust
   Christ, not because of anything that man is, or is not, but because he
   is commanded to do it. "This is the command of God, that ye believe on
   Jesus Christ whom he has sent."

   "O, believe the promise true,

   God to you his Son has given."

   Trust now in his precious blood, you are saved, and you shall see his
   face in heaven. Despair of being saved by feeling, since perfect
   feelings are impossible and a perfect knowledge of our own guilt is
   quite beyond our reach. Come, then to Christ, hard-hearted as thou art,
   and take him to be the Savior of thy hard heart. Come, poor stony
   conscience, poor icy soul, come as thou art; he will warm thee, he will
   melt thee.

   "True belief, and true repentance,

   Every grace that brings us nigh;

   Without money,

   Come to Jesus Christ and buy."

   But again. Another sweet inference--and surely this might well be the
   last--is this: what grace is this which pardons sin?--sin so great that
   the most enlarged capacity cannot comprehend its heinousness. Oh! I
   know my sins reach from the east even to the west--that aiming at the
   eternal skies they rise like pointed mountains towards hearer. But
   then, blessed be the name of God, the blood of Christ is wider than my
   sin. That shoreless flood of Jesus' merit is deeper than the heights of
   mine iniquities. My sin may be great, but his merit is greater still I
   cannot conceive my own guilt, much less express it, but the blood of
   Jesus Christ, God's dear Son, cleanseth us from all sin. Infinite
   guilt, but infinite pardon. Boundless iniquities, but boundless merits
   to cover all. What if thy sins were greater than heaven's breadth, yet
   Christ is greater than heaven. The heaven of heavens cannot contain
   him. If thy sins were deeper than the bottomless hell, yet Christ's
   atonement is deeper still, for he descended deeper than ever man
   himself as yet hath dived--even damned men in all the horror of their
   agony, for Christ went to the end of punishment, and deeper thy sins
   can never plunge. Oh! boundless love, that covers all my faults. My
   poor hearer, believe on Christ now. God help thee to believe. May the
   Spirit now enable thee to trust in Jesus. Thou canst not save thyself.
   All hopes of self-salvation are delusive. Now give up, have done with
   self, and take Christ. Just as thou art, drop into his arms. He will
   take thee; he will save thee. He died to do it, and he lives to
   accomplish it. He will not lose the spirit that casts itself into his
   hands and makes him his all in all.

   I think I must not detain you longer. The subject is one which might
   command far larger mind than mine, and better words than I can gather
   now, but if it has struck home I am thankful to God. Let me echo again
   and again the one sentiment I wish for all to receive, which is just
   this. We are so vile that our vileness is beyond our own comprehension,
   but nevertheless, the blood of Christ hath infinite efficacy, and he
   that believeth in the Lord Jesus is saved, be his sins ever so many,
   but he that believeth not must be lost, be his sins never so few.

   God bless you all for Christ's sake.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                Spiritual Peace

   A Sermon

   (No. 300)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 19th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you."--John 14:27.

   OUR LORD WAS now about to die, to depart from this world, and to ascend
   to his Father; he therefore makes his will; and this is the blessed
   legacy which he leaves to the faithful--"Peace I leave with you, my
   peace I give unto you."

   We may rest well assured that this testament of our Lord Jesus Christ
   is valid. You have here his own signature; it is signed, sealed, and
   delivered in the presence of the eleven apostles, who are faithful and
   true witnesses. Tis true a testament is not in force while the testator
   liveth, but Jesus Christ has died once for all; and now none can
   dispute his legacy. The will is in force, because the testator has
   died. It may however, sometimes happen that a testator's wishes in a
   will may be disregarded, and he, powerless beneath the sod, is quite
   unable to rise and demand that his last will should be carried out. But
   our Lord Jesus Christ who died, and therefore made his will valid rose
   again, and now he lives to see every stipulation of it carried out; and
   this blessed codicil, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto
   you," is sure to all the blood-bought seed. Peace is theirs, and must
   be theirs, because he died and put the will in force, and lives to see
   the will fulfilled.

   The donation, the blessed legacy which our Lord has here left, is his
   peace. This might be considered as being peace with all the creatures.
   God has mace a league of peace between his people and the whole
   universe. "For thou shalt be in league with the stones of the field:
   and the beasts of the field shall be at peace with thee." "All things
   work together for good to them that love God." Providence that was once
   estranged, and seemed to work counter to our welfare, has now become at
   peace with us. The wheels revolve in happy order, and bear us blessings
   as often as they turn. The words of our Lord may also refer to the
   peace which exists among the people of God toward one another. There is
   a peace of God which reigns in our hearts through Jesus Christ, by
   which we are bound in closest ties of unity and concord to every other
   child of God whom we may meet with in our pilgrimage here below.
   Leaving, however, these two sorts of peace, which I believe to be
   comprehended in the legacy, let us proceed to consider two kinds of
   peace, which in our experience resolve themselves into one, and which
   are surely the richest part of this benediction. Our Savior here means
   peace with God, and peace with our own conscience. There is first,
   peace with God for he "hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ;"
   he hath put away the wall which separated us from Jehovah, and now
   there is "peace on earth" and "goodwill toward men." When sin is put
   away, God has no cause of warfare against his creature: Christ has put
   our sins away, and therefore there is a virtual substantial peace
   established between God and our souls. This, however, might exist
   without our clearly understanding and rejoicing in it. Christ has
   therefore left us peace in the conscience. Peace with God is the
   treaty; peace in the conscience is the publication of it. Peace with
   God is the fountain, and peace with conscience is the crystal stream
   which issues from it. There is a peace decreed in the court of divine
   justice in heaven; and then there follows as a necessary consequence.
   As soon as the news is known, a peace in the minor court of human
   judgment wherein conscience sits upon the throne to judge us according
   to our works.

   The legacy, then, of Christ is a twofold peace: a peace of friendship,
   of agreement, of love, of everlasting union between the elect and God.
   It is next a peace at sweet enjoyment, of quiet rest of the
   understanding and the conscience. When there are no winds above, there
   will be no tempests below. When heaven is serene earth is quiet.
   Conscience reflects the complacency of God. "Therefore being justified
   by faith, we have peace with God, through Jesus Christ our Lord, by
   whom also we have received the atonement."

   I propose this morning, if God the Holy Spirit shall graciously assist,
   to speak of this peace thus:--first, its secret ground-work; then its
   noble nature; thirdly, its blessed effects; fourthly, its interruptions
   and means of maintenance; and then I shall close by some words of
   solemn warning to those of you who have never enjoyed peace with God,
   and consequently never have had true peace with yourselves.

   I. First, then, THE PEACE WHICH A TRUE CHRISTIAN ENJOYS WITH GOD AND
   HIS CONSCIENCE HAS A SOLID GROUND-WORK TO REST UPON. It is not built
   upon a pleasing fiction of his imagination, a delusive dream of his
   ignorance; but it is built on facts, on positive truths, on essential
   verities; it is founded upon a rock, and though the rains descend, and
   the winds blow, and the floods beat upon that house, it shall not fall,
   because its foundation is secure. When a man hath faith in the blood of
   Christ there is but little wonder that he hath peace, for indeed he is
   fully warranted in enjoying the most profound calm which mortal heart
   can know. For thus he reasons with himself:--God hath said, "He that
   believeth is justified from all things." and, moreover, that "he that
   believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved." Now, my faith is
   unfeignedly fixed in the great substitutionary sacrifice of Christ,
   therefore I am now justified from all things, and stand accepted in
   Christ as a believer. The necessary consequence of that is, that he
   possesses peace of mind. If God has punished Christ in my stead, he
   will not punish me again. "Being once purged I have no more conscience
   of sin." Under the Jewish ceremonial, mention was made of sin every
   year; the atoning lamb must be slaughtered a thousand times, but "this
   man, having made one atonement for sins, for ever sat down at the right
   hand of the majesty in the heavens." How, I ask, can the man tremble
   who believes himself forgiven? It were strange indeed if his faith did
   not breathe a holy calm into his bosom.

   Again, the child of God receives his peace from another golden pipe,
   for a sense of pardon has been shed abroad in his soul. He not only
   believes his forgiveness from the testimony of God, but he has a sense
   of pardon. Do any of you know what this is? It is something more than a
   belief in Christ; it is the cream of faith, the full ripe fruit of
   believing, it is a high and special privilege which God gives after
   faith. If I have not that sense of pardon I am still bound to believe,
   and then, believing, I shall by and by advance to the seeing of that
   which I believed and hoped for. The Holy Spirit sometimes sheds abroad
   in the believer a consciousness that he is forgiven. By mysterious
   agency he fills the soul with the light of glory. If all the false
   witnesses on earth should rise up and tell the man at that time that
   God is not reconciled to him, and that his sins remain unforgiven, he
   would be able to laugh them to scorn; for saith he, "the love of God is
   shed abroad in my heart by the Holy Spirit." He feels that he is
   reconciled to God. He has come from faith up to enjoyment, and every
   power of his soul feels the divine dew as it gently distils from
   heaven. The understanding feels it, it is enlightened; the will feels
   it, it is subjected to the will of God; the heart feels it, it is fired
   with holy love; the hope feels it, for it looks forward to the day when
   the whole man shall be made like its covenant head Jesus Christ. Every
   flower in the garden of humanity feels the sweet south wind of the
   Spirit, as it blows upon it, and causes the sweet spices to send forth
   their perfume. What wonder, then, that man has peace with God when the
   Holy Ghost becomes a royal tenant of the heart, with all his glorious
   train of blessings? Ah! poor tried soul, what peace and joy unspeakable
   would reign in your soul if you did but believe on Christ? "Yes," say
   you, "but I want God to manifest to me that I am forgiven." Poor soul,
   he will not do that at once; he bids you believe Christ first, and then
   he will make manifest to you the pardon of your sin. It is by faith we
   are saved, not by enjoyment; but when I believe Christ, and take him at
   his word, even when my feelings seem to contradict my faith, then, as a
   gracious reward, he will honor my faith by giving me to feel that which
   I once believed when I did not feel it.

   The believer also enjoys, in favored seasons, such an intimacy with the
   Ford Jesus Christ, that he cannot but be at peace. Oh! there are sweet
   words which Christ whispers in the ears of his people, and there are
   love-visits which he pays to them, which a man would not believe even
   though it should be told unto him. Ye must know for yourselves what it
   is to have fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ.
   There is such a thing as Christ manifesting himself to us as he does
   not unto the world. All black and frightful thoughts are banished. "I
   am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is mine." This is the one all-absorbing
   feeling of the spirit. And what wonder is it, that the believer has
   peace when Christ thus dwells in his heart, and reigns there without a
   rival, so that he knows no man, save Jesus only. It were a miracle of
   miracles if we did not have peace; and the strangest thing in Christian
   experience is that our peace is not more continued, and the only
   explanation of our misery is, that our communion is broken, that our
   fellowship is marred, else would our peace be like a river, and our
   righteousness like the waves of the sea.

   That venerable man of God, Joseph Irons, who but a little while ago
   ascended to our Father in heaven, says, "What wonder that a Christian
   man has peace when he carries the title-deeds of heaven in his bosom!"
   This is another solid groundwork of confidence. We know that heaven is
   a prepared place for a prepared people, and the Christian can sometimes
   cry with the apostles, "Thanks be unto the Father, who hath made us
   meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light."
   Feeling that God has given him the meetness; he discovers that this
   preparation is a warrant for the hope that he shall enter into the
   dwelling-place of the glorified. He can lift his eye above, and say,
   "Yon bright world is mine, my entailed inheritance; life keeps me from
   it, but death shall bring me to it; my sins cannot destroy the
   heaven-written indentures, heaven is mine; Satan himself cannot shut me
   out of it. I must, I shall be where Jesus is, for after him my spirit
   longs, and to him my soul is knit." Oh, brethren, it is not a marvel
   when all is blest within, and all is calm above, that justified men
   possess "a peace with God which passeth all understanding."

   You will perhaps be saying, well, but the Christian has troubles like
   other men--losses in business, deaths in his family, and sickness of
   body! Yes, but he has another groundwork for his peace--an assurance of
   the faithfulness and covenant fidelity of his God and Father. He
   believes that God is a faithful God--that whom he hath loved he will
   not cast away. All the dark providences to him are but blessings in
   disguise. When his cup is bitter, he believes it is mixed by love, and
   it must all end well, for God secures the ultimate result. Therefore
   come foul, come fair, come all weathers, his soul shelters itself
   beneath the twin wings of the faithfulness and power of his Covenant
   God. The sanctified spirit is so resigned to his Father's will that he
   will not murmur. To him, as Madame Guyon was wont to say,--"It is equal
   whether love ordain his life or death, appoint him weal or woe." He is
   content to take just what his Father sends him, knowing that his Father
   understands him better than he understands himself: He gives up the
   helm of his ship to the hand of a gracious God; and he, himself; is
   enabled to fall asleep softly in the cabin, he believes that his
   Captain hath power over winds and waves; and when he sometimes feels
   his ship rocking in the storm, he cries with Herbert--

   "Though winds and waves assault my keel,

   He doth preserve it; he doth steer,

   Even when the bark seems most to reel.

   Storms are the triumph of his art;

   Sure he may hide his face, but not his heart."

   No wonder, then, that he has peace, when he can feel this, and knows
   that he who hath begun the good work, has both the will and the power
   to perfect it, unto the day of Christ.

   II. Having hurriedly unveiled the secret groundwork of the Christian's
   peace, we must dwell for a few minutes upon ITS NOBLE CHARACTER.

   The peace of other men is ignoble and base. Their peace is born in the
   purlieus of sin. Self-conceit and ignorance are its parents. The man
   knows not what he is and therefore thinks himself to be something--when
   he is nothing. He says--"I am rich and increased in goods," while he is
   naked, and poor, and miserable. Not such is the birth of the
   Christian's peace. That is born of the Spirit. It is a peace which God
   the Father gives, for he is the God of all peace; it is a peace which
   Jesus Christ bought, for he has made peace with his blood, and he is
   our peace; and it is a peace which the Holy Spirit works--be is its
   author and its founder in the soul.

   Our peace then, is God's own child, and God-like is its character. His
   Spirit is its sire, and it is like its Father. It is "my peace," saith
   Christ! not man's peace; but the unruffled, calm, the profound peace of
   the Eternal Son of God. Oh, if we had but this one thing within our
   bosoms, this divine peace, a Christian were a glorious thing indeed;
   and even now kings and mighty men of this world are as nothing when
   once compared with the Christian; for he wears a jewel in his bosom
   which all the world could not buy, a jewel fashioned from old eternity
   and ordained by sovereign grace to be the high boon, the right royal
   inheritance of the chosen sons of God.

   This peace, then, is divine in its origin; and it is also divine in its
   nourishment. It is a peace which the world cannot give; and it cannot
   contribute towards its maintenance. The daintiest morsels that ever
   carnal sense fed upon, would be bitter to the mouth of this sweet
   peace. Ye may bring your much fine corn, your sweet wine and your
   flowing oil, your dainties tempt us not, for this peace feeds upon
   angels food, and it cannot relish any food that groweth earth. If you
   should give a Christian ten times as much riches as he has, you would
   not cause him ten times as much peace; but probably, ten times more
   distress; you might magnify him in honor, or strengthen him with
   health; yet, neither would his honor or his health contribute to his
   peace, for that peace flows from a divine source; and there are no
   tributary streams from the hills of earth to feed that divine current;
   the stream flows from the throne of God, and by God alone is it
   sustained.

   It is, then, a peace divinely born and divinely nourished. And let me
   again remark, it is a peace that lives above circumstances. The world
   has tried hard to put an end to the Christian's peace, and it has never
   been able to accomplish it. I remember, in my early childhood, having
   heard an old man utter in prayer, a saying which stuck by me--"O Lord,
   give unto thy servants that peace which the world can neither give nor
   take away." Ah! the whole might of our enemies cannot take it away.
   Poverty cannot destroy it, the Christian in his rags can have peace
   with God. Sickness cannot mar it; lying on his bed, the saint is joyful
   in the midst of the fires. Persecution cannot ruin it, for persecution
   cannot separate the believer from Christ, and while he is one with
   Christ his soul is full of peace. "Put your hand here," said the martyr
   to his executioner, when he was led to the stake, "put your hand here,
   and now put your hand on your own heart, and feel which beats the
   hardest, and which is the most troubled." Strangely was the executioner
   struck with awe, when he found the Christian man as calm as though he
   were going to a wedding feast, while he himself has all agitation at
   having to perform so desperate a deed. Oh, world! we defy thee to rob
   us of our peace. We did not get it of thee, and thou canst not rend it
   from us. It is set as a seal upon our arm; it is strong as death and
   invincible as the grave. Thy stream, O Jordan, cannot drown it, black
   and deep though thy depths may be; in the midst of thy tremendous
   billows our soul is confident, and resteth still on him that loved us,
   and gave himself for us. Frequently have I had to remark, that
   Christians placed in the most unfavourable circumstances are, as a
   rule, better Christians than those who are placed in propitious
   positions. In the midst of a very large church of persons in all ranks,
   with the condition of most of whom I am as thoroughly conversant as man
   can well be, I have observed that the women who come from houses where
   they have ungodly husbands, and trying children--that the young people
   who come from workshops where they are opposed and laughed at--that the
   people who come from the depths of poverty, from the dens and kens of
   our city, are the brightest jewels that are set in the crown of the
   church. It seems as if God would defeat nature--not only make the
   hyssop grow on the wall, but make the cedar grow there too--he finds
   his brightest pearls in the darkest waters, and bring up his most
   precious jewels from the filthiest dung hills.

   "Wonders of grace to God belong,

   Repeat his mercies in your song."

   And this I have found too, that often the more disturbed a Christian
   man is, the purer is his peace, the heavier the rolling swell his
   griefs and sorrow, the more still, and calm, and profound is the peace
   that reigns within his heart. So then, it is peace divinely born,
   divinely nourished, and one which is quite above the influence of this
   poor whirling world.

   Further, I must remark briefly upon the nature of this peace, that it
   is profound and real. "The peace of God," saith an apostle, "that
   passeth all understanding." This peace not only fills all the senses to
   the brim, till every power is satiated with delight, but the
   understanding which can take in the whole world, and understand many
   things which are not within the range of vision, even the understanding
   cannot take in the length and the breadth of this peace. And not only
   will the understanding fail to compass it, but all understanding is
   outdone. When our judgment hath exerted itself to the utmost, it cannot
   comprehend the heights and depths of this profound peace. Have you ever
   imagined what must be the stillness of the caverns in the depth of the
   seas, a thousand fathoms beneath the bosom of the floods, where the
   mariners' bones lie undisturbed, where pearls are born, and corals that
   never see the light, where the long lost gold and silver of the
   merchants lie sprinkled on the sandy floor--down in the rock caves, and
   the silent palaces of darkness where waves dash not, and the intruding
   foot of the diver hath never trodden? So clear, so calm is the peace of
   God, the placid rest of the assured believer. Or lift up your eyes to
   the stars. Have you never dreamed a sweet dream of the quietude of
   those noiseless orbs? Let us mount beyond the realm of noise and riot,
   let us tread the noiseless highway of the silent orbs. The thunders are
   far below us, the confused tumult of the crowd defiles not the sanctity
   of this wondrous quiet. See how the stars sleep on their golden
   couches, or only open their bright eyes to keep watch upon that
   stormless sea of ether, and guard the solemn boundaries of the reign of
   peace. Such is the peace and calm that reigns in the Christian's bosom.
   "Sweet calm," one calls it; perfect peace," David styles it; another
   one calls it "great peace." "Great peace have all they that love thy
   law, and nothing shall offend them." Last year--I tell you now a secret
   of my own heart--I had one text which thrust itself upon my
   recollection many times a day I dreamed of it when I slept; when I
   awoke it went with me, and I verified it, and rejoiced in it: "His soul
   shall dwell at ease." It is my promise now. There is such an
   ease--quite consistent with labor, with agony for the souls of men,
   with an earnest desire for yet greater attainments in divine life;
   there is such an ease--it is not to be gained by all the appliances of
   luxury, by all the aggrandisement of wealth--an ease in which "not a
   wave of trouble rolls across the peaceful breast," but all is calm, and
   all is clear, and all is joy and love. May we evermore dwell in that
   serene atmosphere, and never lose our hold of this peace.

   Lest there should be any of you who do not understand what I have said,
   I will try and say it over again briefly in an example. Do you see that
   man? He has been taken up before a cruel tribunal; he is condemned to
   die. The hour draws nigh: he is taken to prison, and placed there with
   two soldiers to guard him, and four quarternions of soldiers outside
   the door. The night comes on: he lies down, but in how uncomfortable a
   position! Chained between two soldiers! He lies down and he falls
   asleep--not the sleep of the guilty criminal, whose very sense of dread
   makes his eyelids heavy; but a calm sleep which is given by God, and
   which ends in an angelic vision, by which he is delivered. Peter
   sleeps, when the death sentence is above his head, and the sword is
   ready to penetrate his soul. See you another picture? There are Paul
   and Silas yonder: they have been preaching, and their feet are thrust
   in the stocks for it. They will die on the morrow; but in the midnight
   they sing praises unto God, and the prisoners hear them. One would have
   thought in such a loathsome dungeon as that, they would have groaned
   and moaned all night long, or that at best they might have slept; but
   no, they sang praises to God, and the prisoners heard them. There is
   the peace--the calm, the quietude of the heir of heaven. I might give
   you another picture--of our ancient Nonconformists, in the days of that
   most persecuting Queen Elizabeth. She cast into prison among very many
   others, two of our forefathers, of the name of Greenwood and Barrow.
   They were caused to lie in that loathsome stinking dungeon--the Clink
   Prison--shut in one huge room with maniacs, murderers, felons, and the
   like, compelled to listen to their frightful conversation. One day
   there came a warrant, that they must die. The two men were led out, and
   tied to the cart, and were about to be taken away to death; but they
   were no sooner outside the gate than a messenger rode up. The Queen had
   sent a reprieve. They were taken back; calmly and quietly they returned
   to their prison; and the next day they were taken to Newgate, and, just
   as suddenly, there come a second messenger, to say they must be taken
   away to Tyburn to die. They were again tied to the cart; they ascended
   the scaffold, the ropes were put round their necks, and they were
   allowed to stand in that position end address the assembled multitude,
   and bear witness to the liberty of Christ's church, and to the right of
   private judgment among men. They concluded their speech, and a second
   time that wretched Queen sent them a reprieve, and they were taken back
   a second time to the dungeon, and there they lay in New gate, but only
   for few days more, and then a third time they were taken out, and this
   time they were hanged in reality; but they went as cheerfully to the
   scaffold on each occasion as men go to their beds, and seemed as
   joyous, as though they were going to a crown, rather than to a halter.
   Such specimens all the churches of Christ can show. Wherever there has
   been a true Christian, the world has tried its best to put out his
   peace; but it is a peace that never can be quenched--it will live on,
   what halter about its neck with the hot pincers tearing away its flesh,
   with the sword in its very bones; it will live, till, mounting from the
   burning bush of earth, this bird of paradise shall wear its glittering
   plumage in the midst of the garden of paradise.

   III. Having detained you longer on this point than I thought I should
   do, I hasten to the third point, THE EFFECTS OF THIS DIVINE PEACE.

   The blessed effects of this divine peace are, first of all, joy. You
   will notice that the words "joy," and "peace" are continually put
   together; for joy without peace were an unhallowed and an unhappy
   joy--the crackling of thorns under a pot, unsound, mere flames of joy,
   but not the red glowing coals of bliss. Now, divine peace gives joy to
   the Christian; and such joy! Have you ever seen the first gleam of joy
   when it has come into the eve of the penitent? It has been my happy lot
   to pray with many a convinced sinner, to witness the deep agony of
   spirit, an l deeply to sympathise with the poor creature in his trouble
   for sin. I have prayed and have exhorted to faith, and I have seen that
   flash of joy, when at last the hopeful word was spoken "I do believe on
   the Lord Jesus Christ with all my heart." Oh! that look of joy! It is
   as if the gates of heaven had been opened for a moment, and some flash
   of glory had blazed upon the eye and had been reflected therefrom I
   remember my own joy, when I first had peace with God. I thought I could
   dance all the way home I could understand what John Bunyan said, when
   he declared he wanted to tell the crows on the ploughed land all about
   it. He was too full to hold, he felt he must tell some one. Oh! there
   was joy in the household that day, when all heard that the eldest son
   had found a Savior and knew himself to be forgiven--bliss compared with
   which all earth's joys are less than nothing and vanity. As the
   counterfeit to the real coin, so are the base joys of earth to the real
   joy which springs from peace with God. Young man! Young woman! if you
   could have at bliss such as you never knew before, you must be
   reconciled to God through the blood of Christ; for till then, real joy
   and lasting pleasure you can never know.

   The first effect of this peace, then, is joy. Taken follows
   another--love. He that is at peace with God through the blood of Christ
   is constrained to love him that died for him. "Precious Jesus!" he
   cries, "help me to serve thee! Take me as I am, and make me for
   something. Use me in thy cause; send me to the farthest part of the
   green earth, if thou wilt, to tell to sinners the way of salvation; I
   will cheerfully go, for my peace fans the flame of love, that all that
   I am and all I have shall be, must be, for ever thine."

   Then next, there comes an anxiety after holiness. He that is at peace
   with God does not wish to go into sin; for he is careful lest he should
   lose that peace. He is like a woman that has escaped from a burning
   house; he is afraid of every candle afterwards, lest he should come
   again into the like danger. He walks humbly with his God. Constrained
   by grace, this sweet fruit of the Spirit, peace, leads him to endeavor
   to keep all the commandments of God, and to serve his Lord with all his
   might.

   Then again, this peace will help us to bear affliction. Paul describes
   it as a shoe. As he says, "Your feet shod with the preparation of the
   gospel of peace." It enables us to tread on the sharpest flints of
   sorrow, yea, on adders, and on serpents also; it gives us power to walk
   over the briars of this world, and our feet are not wounded; we tread
   the fires, and we are not burned. This divine shoe of peace makes us
   walk without weariness, and run without fainting. I can do all things
   when my soul is at peace with God. There are no sufferings that shall
   move my soul to pain, no terrors that shall blanch my cheek, there are
   no wounds that shall compel me to an ignominious fear when my spirit is
   at peace with God. It makes a man a giant--swells the dwarf to a
   Goliath size. He becomes mightiest of the mighty; and while the
   weaklings creep about this little earth, bowed down to the very dust,
   he strides it like a Colossus. God has made him great and mighty,
   because he has filled his soul with peace, and with overflowing joy.

   More might I tell you of the blessed effects of this peace, but I shall
   be content, after I have simply noticed that this peace gives boldness
   at the throne, and access to a Father's mercy-seat. We feel we are
   reconciled, and therefore we stand no longer at a distance, but we come
   up to him, even to his knees, we spread our wants before him, plead our
   cause, and rest satisfied of success, because there is no enmity in our
   Father's heart to us, and none in ours to him. We are one with God, and
   he is one with us, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

   IV. And now I have a practical duty to perform, and with this I shall
   close after having said a few words to those who know nothing of this
   peace. The practical remarks I have to make are upon the subject of
   INTERRUPTIONS OF PEACE.

   All Christians have a right to perfect peace, but they have not all the
   possession of it. There are times when gloomy doubts prevail, and we
   fear to say that God is ours. We lose a consciousness of pardon, and we
   grope in the noonday as in the night. How is this? I think these
   interruptions may be owing to one of four causes.

   Sometimes they are due to the ferocious temptations of Satan. There are
   periods when with unexampled cruelty Satan assaults the children of
   God. It is not to be expected that they will maintain perfect peace
   while they are fighting with Apollyon. When poor Christian was wounded
   in his head, and in his hands, and in his feet, no wonder that he did
   groan exceedingly, and as Bunyan hath it, "I never saw him all the
   while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceive I he had
   wounded Apollyon with his two-edged sword; then, indeed, he did smile
   and look upward; but it was the dreadfullest fight that ever I saw."
   Mark, there is no such thing as a disturbance of the reality of the
   peace between God and the soul; for God is always at peace with those
   who are reconciled to him by Christ; but there is a disturbance of the
   enjoyment of that peace, and that is often effected by the howlings of
   that great dog of hell. He comes against us with all his might, with
   his mouth open ready to swallow us up quick, and were it not for divine
   mercy he would do so. It is but little marvel that sometimes our peace
   is affected, when Satan is fierce in his temptations.

   At another time a want of peace may arise from ignorance. I do not
   wonder that a man who believes Arminian doctrine, for instance, has
   little peace. There is nothing in the doctrine to give him any. It is a
   bone without marrow, it is a religion that seems to me to be cold,
   sapless, marrowless, fruitless--bitter and not sweet. There is nothing
   about it but the whip of the law; there are no grand certainties--no
   glorious facts of covenant love, of discriminating grace, of Almighty
   faithfulness, and suretyship engagements. I will never quarrel with the
   man that can live on such stones and scorpions as conditional election,
   haphazard redemption, questionable perseverance, and unavailing
   regeneration. There may be some, I suppose, who can live on this dry
   meat. If they can live on it, be it so; but I believe many of our
   doubts and fears arise from doctrinal ignorance. You have not, perhaps,
   a clear view of that covenant made between the Father and his glorious
   Son, Jesus Christ; you do not know how to spell the word "gospel"
   without mixing up the word "law" in it. Perhaps you have not learned
   fully to look out of self to Christ for everything. You do not know how
   to distinguish between sanctification, which varies, and justification,
   which is permanent. Many believers have not come to discern between the
   work of the Spirit and the work of the Son; and what marvel, if ye are
   ignorant, that ye sometimes lack peace? Learn more of that precious
   Book, and your peace shall be more continual.

   Then again this peace is usually marred by sin. God hides his face
   behind the clouds of dust which his own flock make as they travel along
   the road of this world. We sin, and then we sorrow for it. God still
   loves his child, even when he sins; but he will not let the child know
   it. That child's name is in the family register; but the Father clasps
   up the book, and will not let him read it till he thoroughly repents
   again, and comes back once more to Jesus Christ. If you can have peace
   and yet live in sin, mark this, you are unrenewed. If you can live in
   iniquity, and yet have peace in your conscience, your conscience is
   seared and dead. But the Christian men, he sins, begins to smart; it
   not the very moment he falls, it is not long before his Father's rod is
   on his back, and he begins to cry,

   "Where is the blessedness I knew

   When first I saw the Lord?

   Where is the soul-refreshing view

   Of Jesus and his Word?"

   Once more: our peace may be interrupted also by unbelief. Indeed, this
   is the sharpest knife of the four, and will most readily cut the golden
   thread of our enjoyments.

   And now, if ye would maintain unbroken peace, take advice from God's
   minister this morning, young though he be in years. Take advice, which
   he can warrant to be good, for it is Scriptural. If ye would keep your
   peace continual and unbroken, look always to the sacrifice of Christ,
   never permit your eye to turn to any thing but Jesus. When thou
   repentest, my hearer, still keep thine eye on the cross; when thou
   labourest, labor in the strength of the Crucified One. Everything thou
   doest, whether it be self-examination, lasting, meditation, or prayer,
   do all under the shadow of Jesus' cross; or otherwise, live as thou
   wilt, thy peace will be but a sorry thing; thou shalt be full of
   disquiet and of sore trouble. Live near the cross, and your peace shall
   be continual.

   Another piece of advice. Walk humbly with your God. Peace is a jewel;
   God puts it on your finger, be proud of it, and he will take it off
   again, Peace is a noble garment; boast of your dress, and God will take
   it away from you. Remember the hole of the pit whence you were digged,
   and the quarry of nature whence you were hewn; and when you have the
   bright crown of peace on your head, remember your black feet; nay, even
   when that crown is there, cover it and your face still with those two
   wings, the blood and righteousness of Jesus Christ. In this way shall
   your peace be maintained.

   And again, walk in boldness, avoid every appearance of evil. "Be not
   conformed to this world." Stand up for truth and rectitude. Suffer not
   the maxims of men to sway your judgment. Seek the Holy Spirit that you
   may live like Christ, and live near to Christ, and your peace shall not
   be interrupted.

   As for those of you who have never had peace with God, I can entertain
   but one sentiment towards you, namely, that of pity. Poor souls! poor
   souls! poor souls! that never knew the peace which Jesus Christ gives
   to his people. And my pity is all the more needed, because you do not
   pity yourselves. Ah! souls, the day is coming when that God to whom you
   are now an enemy, shall stare you in the face. You must see him; and he
   is "a consuming fire." You must look into that blazing furnace, and
   sink, and despair; and die. Die, did I say? Worse than that. You must
   be cast into the pit of damnation, where dying were a boon that can
   never be granted. Oh! may God give you peace through his Son! If you
   are now convinced of sin, the exhortation is, "Believe on the Lord
   Jesus Christ." Just as thou art, thou art bidden to put thy trust in
   him that did die upon the tree; and if thou doest this, thy sins shall
   all be forgiven now, and thou shalt have peace with God; and, ere long,
   thou shalt know it in thine own conscience and rejoice. Oh! seek this
   peace and pursue it. and above all, seek the Peace-maker, Christ Jesus,
   and you shall be saved. God bless you for Jesus' sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                   A Blast of the Trumpet Against False Peace

   A Sermon

   (No. 301)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 26th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Peace, peace, when there is no peace."--Jeremiah 6:14.

   MINISTERS ARE FEARFULLY GUILTY if they intentionally build up men in a
   false peace. I cannot imagine any man more greatly guilty of blood than
   he who plays jackal to the lion of hell, by pandering to the depraved
   tastes of vain, rebellious man. The physician who should pamper a man
   in his disease, who should feed his cancer, or inject continual poison
   into the system, while at the same time he promised sound health and
   long life such a physician would not be one half so hideous a monster
   of cruelty as the professed minister of Christ who should bid his
   people take comfort, when, instead thereof, he ought to be crying, "Woe
   unto them that are at ease in Zion: be troubled, ye careless ones." The
   work of the ministry is no child's play; it is a labor which might fill
   an angel's hands--did fill the Savior's heart. Much prayer we need that
   we may be kept honest, and much grace that we may not mislead the souls
   whom we are bound to guide The pilot who should pretend to steer a ship
   toward its proper haven, but who should meanwhile occupy himself below
   with boring holes in her keel that she might sink, would not be a worse
   traitor than the man who takes the helm of a church, and professes to
   be steering it towards Christ, while all the while he is ruining it by
   diluting the truth as it is in Jesus, concealing unpalatable truths,
   and lulling men into security with soft and flattering words. We might
   sooner pardon the assassin who stretches forth his hand under the guise
   of friendship, and then stabs us to the heart, than we could forgive
   the man who comes towards us with smooth words, telling us that he is
   God's ambassador, but all the while foments rebellion in ours hearts,
   and pacifies us while we are living in revolt against the majesty of
   heaven. In the great day when Jehovah shall launch his thunderbolts,
   methinks he will reserve one more dread and terrible than the rest, for
   some arch-traitor to the cross of Christ, who has not only destroyed
   himself, but led others into hell.

   The motive with these false prophets is an abominable one. Jeremiah
   tells us it was an evil covetousness. They preached smooth things
   because the people would have it so, because they thus brought grist to
   their own mill, and glory to their own names. Their design was
   abominable, and without doubt, their end shall be desperate--cast away
   with the refuse of mankind. These who professed to be the precious sons
   of God, comparable to fine gold, shall be esteemed as earthen pitchers,
   the work of the hands of the potter.

   But, my dear hearers, it is a lamentable fact, that without any
   hireling-shepherd to cry, "Peace, peace, when there is no peace," men
   will cry that for themselves. They need not the syren song to entice
   them to the rocks of presumption and rash confidence. There is a
   tendency in their own hearts to put bitter for sweet and sweet for
   bitter--to think well of their evil estate and foster themselves in
   proud conceit. No man is ever too severe with himself. We hold the
   scales of justice with a very unsteady hand when our character is in
   the balance. We are too ready to say, "I am rich and increased in
   goods," when at the game time we are naked, and poor, and miserable.
   Let men alone, let no deluder seek to deceive them, hush for ever every
   false and tempting voice, they will themselves, impelled by their own
   pride; run to an evil conceit, and make themselves at ease, though God
   himself is in arms against them.

   My solemn business this morning shall be, and O may God help me in it,
   drag forth to the light some of you who have been pacifying your own
   consciences, and have been crying, "Peace, peace, when there is no
   peace."

   It is no uncommon thing with me to meet with people who say, "Well, I
   am happy enough. My conscience never troubles me. I believe if I were
   to die I should go to heaven as well as anybody else." I know that
   those men are living in the commission of glaring acts of sin, and I am
   sure they could not prove their innocence even before the bar of man;
   yet will these men look you in the face and tell you that they are not
   at all disturbed at the prospect of dying. They laugh at death as
   though it were but a scene in a comedy, and joke at the grave as if
   they could leap in and out of it at their pleasure. Well, gentlemen, I
   will take you at your word, though I don't believe you. I will suppose
   you have this peace, and I will endeavor to account for it on certain
   grounds which may render it somewhat more difficult for you to remain
   in it. I do pray that God the Holy Spirit may destroy these
   foundations, and pull up these bulwarks of yours, and make you feel
   uneasy in your consciences and troubled in your minds; for unease is
   the road to ease and disquiet in the soul is the road to the true
   quiet. To be tormented on account of sin is the path to peace, and
   happy shall I be if I can hurl a fire-brand into your hearts this
   morning; if I shall be able, like Samson, to turn at least some little
   foxes loose into the standing corn of your self-conceit and set your
   heart in a blaze.

   1. The first person I shall have to deal with this morning, is the man
   who has peace because he spends his life in a ceaseless round of gaiety
   and frivolity. You have scarcely come from one place of amusement
   before you enter another. You are always planning some excursion, and
   dividing the day between one entertainment and another. You know that
   you are never happy except you are in what you call gay society, where
   the frivolous conversation will prevent you from hearing the voice of
   your conscience. In the morning you will be asleep while God's sun is
   shining, but at night you will be spending precious time in some place
   of foolish, if not lascivious mirth. Like Saul, the deserted king, you
   have an unquiet spirit and therefore you can for music, and it hath its
   charms, doubtless, charms not only to soothe the stubborn breast, but
   to still a stubborn conscience for awhile, but while its notes are
   carrying you upwards towards heaven, in some grand composition of a
   master author, I beseech you never to forget that your sins are
   carrying you down to hell. If the harp should fail you, then you call
   for Nabal's feast. There shall be a sheep shearing, and you shall be
   drunken with wine, until your souls becomes as stolid as a stone. And
   then you wonder that you have peace. What wonder! Surely any man would
   have peace when his heart has become as hard as a stone. What weathers
   shall it feel? What tempests shall move the stubborn bowels of a
   granite rock? You sear your consciences, and then marvel that they feel
   not. Perhaps too, when both wine and the viol fail you, you will call
   for the dance, and the daughter of Herodias shall please Herod, even
   though John the Baptist's head should pay its deadly price. Well, well,
   if you go from one of these scenes to another, I am at no loss to solve
   the riddle that there should be with you, "Peace, peace, when there is
   no peace."

   And now sit for your portraits, and I will paint you to the life. A
   company of idolaters are gathered together around an hideous image.
   There sits the blood-delighting Moloch. He is heated hot. The fire
   blazes in his brazen center, and a child is about to be put into his
   arms to be burnt to ashes. The mother and father are present when the
   offspring of their own loins is to be immolated. The little one shrieks
   with terror; its little body begins to consume in this desperate heat.
   Will not the parents hear the cry of their own flesh, and listen to the
   wailings of the fruit of their own bowels? Ah, no, the priests of
   Moloch will prevent the appeal of nature! Sounding their drums and
   blowing their trumpets with all their might they drown the cries of
   this poor immolated victim. It is what you are doing! Your soul is the
   victim to Satan! It is being destroyed now; and if you would but listen
   to its cries, if you would give yourself a little quiet, you might hear
   your poor soul shrieking, "Oh! do not destroy me; put not away from me
   the hope of mercy; damn me not; send me not down to hell." These are
   shrieks that might penetrate your spirit, and startle you into wisdom.
   But no, you beat your drums, and sound your trumpets, and you have your
   dance and your merriment, that the noise of your poor soul may be
   hushed. Ah, sirs! there will be a day when you will have to hear your
   spirit speak. When your cups are empty, and not a drop of water can be
   given to your burning tongue--when your music has ceased, and the
   doleful "Miserere" of wailing souls shall be your Black Sanctus,--when
   you shall be launched for ever into a place where merriment and mirth
   are strangers--then you will hear the cries of your soul, but hear too
   late. Then shall each voice be as a dagger sticking in your souls. When
   your conscience shall, "Remember, thou hadst thy day of mercy; thou
   hadst thy day of the proclamation of the gospel, but thou didst reject
   it," then thou wilt wish, but wish in vain, for thunders to come and
   drown that still small voice, which shall be more terrible in the ears
   than even the rumbling of the earthquake or the fury of the storm. Oh
   that ye would be wise and not fritter away your souls for gaiety. Poor
   sirs, poor sirs! There are nobler things for souls to do than to kill
   time--a soul immortal spending all its powers on these frivolities.
   Well might Young say of it, it resembles ocean into tempest tossed, to
   waft a feather or to drown a fly. These things are beneath you; they do
   no honor to you. Oh that you would begin to live! What a price you are
   paying for your mirth--eternal torment for an hour of
   jollity--separation from God for a brief day or two of sin! Be wise,
   men, I beseech you; open your eyes and look about you. Be not for ever
   madmen. Dance not for ever on this precipice, but stop and think. O
   Spirit of the loving God! stay thou the frivolous, and dart a burning
   thought into his soul that will not let him rest until he has tasted
   the solid joy, the lasting pleasure which none but Zion's children
   know.

   2. Well, now I turn to another class of men. Finding that amusement at
   last has lost al its zest, having drained the cup of worldly pleasure
   till they find first satiety, and then disgust lying at the bottom,
   they want some stronger stimulus, and Satan who has drugged them once,
   has stronger opiates than mere merriment for the man who chooses to use
   them. If the frivolity of this world will not suffice to rock a soul to
   sleep, he hath a yet more hellish cradle for the soul. He will take you
   up to his own breast, and bid you suck therefrom his own devilish and
   Satanic nature that you may then be still and calm. I mean that he will
   lead you to imbibe infidel notions, and when this is fully
   accomplished, you can have "Peace, peace, when there is no peace." When
   I hear a man saying, "Well, I am peaceful enough, because I am not fool
   enough to believe in the existence of a God, or in a world to come, I
   cannot imagine that this old story book of yours--this Bible--is true,"
   I feel two thoughts within my soul, first, a disgust of the man for his
   dishonesty, and secondly, a pity for the sad disquietude that needs
   such dishonesty to cover it. Do not suspect the man of being honest.
   There are two sorts of infidels, one sort are such fools that they know
   they never could distinguish themselves by anything that was right, so
   they try and get a little fictitious glory by pretending to believe and
   defend a lie. There are another set of men who are unquiet in their
   consciences; they do not like the Bible because it does not like them;
   it will not let them be comfortable in their sins, it is such an uneasy
   book to them; they did put their heads upon it once, but it was like a
   pillow stuffed with thorns, so they have done with it, and they would
   be very glad if they could actually prove it to be untrue, which they
   know they cannot. I say then, I at once despise his falsehood, and pity
   the uneasiness of his conscience that could drive him to such a paltry
   shift as this, to cover his terrors from the eyes of others. The more
   the man brags, the more I feel he does not mean it; the louder he is in
   his blasphemies, the more he curses, the better he argues, the more
   sure I am that he is not sincere, except in his desire to stifle the
   groans of his uneasy spirit. Ah, you remind me with your fine
   arguments, of the Chinese soldiers. When they go out to battle, they
   carry on their arm a shield with hideous monsters depicted upon it, and
   making the loudest noise they can, they imagine their opponents will
   run away instantly, alarmed by these amazing manifestations. And, so
   you arm yourself with blasphemies and come out to attack God's
   ministers, and think we will run away because of your sophistries. No,
   we smile upon them contemptuously. Once, we are told, the Chinese hung
   across their harbour, when the English were coming to attack them, a
   string of tigers' heads. They said: "These barbarians will never dare
   to pass these ferocious heads." So do these men hang a string of old,
   worn-out blasphemies and impieties and then they imagine that
   conscience will not be able to attack them, and that God himself will
   let them live at peace. Ah sir, you shall find the red-hot bullets of
   divine justice too many and too terrible for your sophisms. When you
   shall fall under the Arm of the Eternal God, vain will be your logic
   then. Dashed to shivers, you will believe in the omnipotence, when you
   are made to feel it; you will know his justice when it is too late to
   escape from its terror. Oh, be wise, cast away these day dreams. Cease
   to shut thy soul out of heaven; be wise, turn thee unto God whom thou
   hast abused. For "All manner of sin and blasphemy, shall be forgiven
   unto man." He is ready to forgive you, ready to receive you, and Christ
   is ready to wash your blasphemy away. Now, to-day, if grace enable you,
   you may be an accepted child of that God whom you have hated, and
   pressed to the bosom of that Jehovah whose very existence you have
   dared to deny. God bless these words to you: if they have seemed hard,
   they were only meant to come home to your conscience; an affectionate
   heart has led me to utter them. Oh, do not this evil thing. Suck not in
   these infidel notions; destroy not your soul, for the sake of seeming
   to be wise, stop not the voice of your conscience by those arguments
   which you know in your inmost soul are not true, which you only repeat
   in order to keep up a semblance of consistency.

   3. I shall come now to a third class of men. These are people not
   particularly addicted to gaiety, nor especially given to infidel
   notions; but they are a sort of folk who are careless, and determined
   to let well alone. Their motto is, "Let tomorrow take care for the
   things of itself; let us live while we live; let us eat and drink, for
   to-morrow we die." If their conscience cries out at all, they bid it
   lie still. When the minister disturbs them, instead of listening to
   what he says, and so being brought into a state of real peace, they
   cry, "Hush! be quiet! there is time enough yet; I will not disturb
   myself with these childish fears: be still, sir, and lie down." Ah! and
   you have been doing this for years, have you? Whenever you have heard
   an earnest powerful sermon, you have gone home and labored to get rid
   of it. A tear has stolen down your cheek now and then, and you have
   despised yourself for it. "Oh!" you say, "it is not manly for me to
   think of these things." There have been a few twitches at times which
   you could not help, but the moment after you have your heart like a
   flint, impenetrably hard and stony. Well sir, I will give you a picture
   of yourself. There is a foolish farmer yonder in his house. It is the
   dead of night: the burglars are breaking in--men who will neither spare
   his life nor his treasure. There is a dog down below chained in the
   yard, it barks and barks, and howls again. "I cannot be quiet," says
   the farmer, "my dog makes too much noise." Another howl, and yet
   another yell. He creeps out of bed, gets his loaded gun, opens the
   window, fires it, and kills the dog. "Ah! it is all right now," he
   mutters; he goes to bed, lies down, and quietly rests. "No hurt will
   come," he says, "now; for I have made that dog quiet. Ah! but would
   that he could have listened to the warning of the faithful creature.
   Ere long he shall feel the knife, and rue his fatal folly. So you, when
   God is warning you--when your faithful conscience is doing its best to
   save you--you try to kill your only friend, while Satan and Sin are
   stealing up to the bedside of your slothfulness, and are ready to
   destroy your soul for ever and ever. What should we think of the sailor
   at sea who should seek to kill all the stormy petrels, that there might
   be an end to all storms? Would you not say, "Poor foolish man! why
   those birds are sent by a kind providence to warn him of the tempest.
   Why needs he injure them? They cause not the tumult; it is the raging
   sea." So it is not your conscience that is guilty of the disturbance in
   your heart, it is your sin, and your conscience, acting true to its
   character, as God's index in your soul, tells you that all is wrong.
   Would that ye would arise, and take the warning, and fly to Jesus while
   the hour of mercy lasts.

   To use another picture. A man sees his enemy before him. By the light
   of his candle he marks his insidious approach. His enemy looks fierce
   and black upon him, and is seeking his life. The man puts out the
   candle, and then exclaims, "I am now quite at peace." This is what you
   do. Conscience is the candle of the Lord, it shows you your enemy; you
   try to put it out by saying, "Peace, peace." Put the enemy out, sir I
   put the enemy out! God give you grace to thrust sin out! Oh may the
   Holy Spirit enable you to thrust your lusts out of doors! Then let the
   candle burn; and the more brightly its light shall shine, the better
   for your soul, now and hereafter. Oh! up ye sleepers, ye gaggers of
   conscience, what mean you? Why are you sleeping when death is hastening
   on, when eternity is near, when the great white throne is even now
   coming on the clouds of heaven when the trumpet of the resurrection is
   now being set to the mouth of the archangel--why do ye sleep! why will
   ye slumber? Oh that the voice of Jehovah might speak and make ye wake,
   that ye may escape from the wrath to come!

   4. A fourth set of men have a kind of peace that is the result of
   resolutions which they have made, but which they will never carry into
   effect. "Oh," saith one, "I am quite easy enough in my mind, for when I
   have got a little more money I shall retire from business, and then I
   shall begin to think about eternal things." Ah, but I would remind you
   that when you were an apprentice, you said you would reform when you
   became a journeyman; and when you were a journeyman, you used to say
   you would give good heed when you became a master. But hitherto these
   bills have never been paid when they became due. They have every one of
   them been dishonored as yet, and take my word for it, this new
   accommodation bill will be dishonored too. So you think to stifle
   conscience by what you will do by-and-bye. Ah, but will that by-and-bye
   ever come? And should it come, what reason is there to expect that you
   will then be any more ready than you are now. Hearts grow harder, sin
   grows stronger, vice becomes more deeply rooted by the lapse of years.
   You will find it certainly no easier to turn to God then than now. Now
   it is impossible to you, apart from divine grace; then it shall be
   quite as impossible, and if I might say so, there shall be more
   difficulties in the way then than even there are now. What think you is
   the value of these promises which you have made in the court of heaven?
   Will God take your word again, and again, and again, when you have
   broken it just as often as you have given it? Not long ago you were
   lying on your bed with fever, and if you lived you vowed you would
   repent. Have you repented? And yet you are fool enough to believe that
   you will repent by-and-bye, and on the strength of this promise, which
   is not worth a single straw, you are crying to yourself "peace, peace
   when there is no peace." A man that waits for a more convenient season
   for thinking about the affairs of his soul, is like the countryman in
   Aesop's fable, who sat down by a flowing river, saying, "If this steam
   continues to flow as it does now for a little while it will empty
   itself, and then I shall walk over dry-shod." Ah, but the stream was
   just as deep when he had waited day after day as it was before. And so
   shall it be with you. You remind me by your procrastination of the
   ludicrous position of a man who should sit upon a lofty branch of some
   tree with a saw in his hand, cutting away the branch on which he was
   sitting. This is what you are doing. Your delay is cutting away your
   branch of life. No doubt you intend to cover the well when the child is
   drowned and to lock the stable door after the horse is stolen. These
   birds in the hand you are losing, because their may be some better
   hour, some better bird in the bush. You are thus getting a little
   quiet, but oh, at what a fatal cost! Paul was troublesome to you, and
   so you played the part of Felix, and said, "Go thy way for this time,
   when I have a more convenient season I will send for thee." Conscience
   was unquiet, so you stopped his mouth with this sop for Cerberus; and
   you have gone to your bed with this lie under your pillow, with this
   falsehood in your right hand--that you will be better by-and-bye. Ah,
   sir, let me tell you once for all, you live to grow worse and worse.
   While you are procrastinating, time is not staying, nor is Satan
   resting. While you are saying, "Let things abide," things are not
   abiding, but they are hastening on. You are ripening for the dread
   harvest, the sickle is being sharpened that shall cut you down, and the
   fire is even now blazing into which your spirit shall be cast for ever.

   5. Now I turn to another class of men, in order that I may miss none
   here who are saying, "Peace, peace, when there is no peace." I do not
   doubt but that many of the people of London enjoy peace in their
   hearts, because they are ignorant of the things of God. It would
   positively alarm many of our sober orthodox Christians, if they could
   once have an idea of the utter ignorance of spiritual things that
   reigns throughout this land. Some of us, when moving about here and
   there, in all glasses of society, have often been led to remark, that
   there is less known of the truths of religion than of any science,
   however recondite that science may be. Take as a lamentable instance,
   the ordinary effusions of the secular press, and who can avoid
   remarking the ignorance they manifest as to true religion. Let the
   papers speak on politics, it is a matter they understand, and their
   ability is astonishing, but, once let them touch religion, and our
   Sabbath-school children could convict them of entire ignorance. The
   statements they put forth are so crude, so remote from the fact, that
   we are led to imagine that the presentation of a fourpenny testament to
   special correspondents, should be one of the first efforts of our
   societies for spreading the gospel among the heathen. As to theology,
   some of our great writers seem to be as little versed in it as a horse
   or a cow. Go among all ranks and classes of men, and singe the day we
   gave up our catechism, and old Dr. Watts' and the Assemblies ceased to
   be used, people have not a clear idea of what is meant by the gospel of
   Christ. I have frequently heard it asserted, by those who have judged
   the modern pulpit without severity, that if a man attended a course of
   thirteen lectures on geology, he would get a pretty clear idea of the
   system, but that you might hear not merely thirteen sermons, but
   thirteen hundred sermons and you would not have a clear idea of the
   system of divinity that was meant to be taught. I believe that to a
   large extent that has been true. But the great change which has passed
   over the pulpit within the last two years, is a cause of the greatest
   thankfulness to God; and we believe will be a boon to the church and to
   the world at large. Ministers do preach more boldly than they did.
   There is more evangelical doctrine I believe preached in London now, in
   any one Sunday, than there was in a month before. But still there is in
   many quarters a profound ignorance as to the things of Christ. Our old
   Puritans--what masters they were in divinity! They knew the difference
   between the old covenant and the new; they did not mingle works and
   grace together. They penetrated into the recesses of gospel truth; they
   were always studying the Scriptures, and meditating on them both by day
   and night, and they shed a light upon the villages in which they
   preached, until you might have found in those days as profound
   theologians working upon stone heaps, as you can find in colleges and
   universities now a days. How few discern the spirituality of the law,
   the glory of the atonement, the perfection of justification, the beauty
   of sanctification, and the preciousness of real union to Christ. I do
   not marvel that we have a multitude of men who are mere professors and
   mere formalists, who are nevertheless quite as comfortable in their
   minds as though they were possessors of vital godliness, and really
   walked in the true fear of God.

   There was not--I speak of things that were--there was not in the pulpit
   a little while ago, a discernment between things that differ; there was
   not a separating between the precious and the vile. The grand cardinal
   points of the Gospel, if not denied, were ignored. We began to think
   that the thinkers would overwhelm the believers, that intellectuality
   and philosophy would overthrow the simplicity of the Gospel of Christ.
   It is not so now, I do, therefore, hope, that as the Gospel shall be
   more fully preached, that as the words of Jesus shall be better
   understood, that as the things of the kingdom of heaven shall be set in
   a clearer light, this stronghold of a false peace, namely, ignorance of
   Gospel doctrines, shall be battered to its foundations, and the
   foundation-stones themselves dug up and cast away for over. If you have
   a peace that is grounded on ignorance, get rid of it; ignorance is a
   thing, remember, that you are accountable for. You are not accountable
   for the exercise of your judgment to man, but you are accountable for
   it to God. There is no such thing as toleration of your sentiments with
   Jehovah; I have no right to judge you; I am your fellow-creature. No
   State has any right to dictate what religion I will believe; but
   nevertheless, there is a true gospel, and there are thousands of false
   ones. God has given you judgment, use it. Search the Scriptures, and
   remember that if you neglect this Word of God, and remain ignorant,
   your sins of ignorance will be sins of wilful ignorance, and therefore
   ignorance shall be no excuse. There is the Bible, you have it in your
   houses; you can read it. God the Holy Spirit will instruct you in its
   meaning; and if you remain ignorant, charge it no more on the minister;
   charge it on no one but yourself, and make it no cloak for your sin.

   6. I now pass to another and more dangerous form of this false peace. I
   may have missed some of you, probably; I shall come closer home to you
   now. Alas, alas, let us weep and weep again, for there is a plague
   among us. There are members of our churches who are saying, "Peace,
   peace, when there is no peace." It is the part of candour to admit that
   with all the exercise of judgment, and the most rigorous discipline, we
   cannot keep our churches free from hypocrisy. I have had to hear, to
   the very breaking of my heart, stories of men and women who have
   believed the doctrines of election, and other truths of the gospel, and
   have made them a sort of cover for the most frightful iniquity. I
   could, without uncharitableness, point to churches that are hot-beds of
   hypocrisy, because men are taught that it is the belief of a certain
   set of sentiments that will save them, and not warned that this is all
   in vain without a real living faith in Christ. The preacher does as
   good as say, if not in so many words: "If you are orthodox, if you
   believe what I tell you, you are saved; if you for a moment turn aside
   from that line which I have chalked out for you, I cannot be
   accountable for you; but if you will give me your whole heart, and
   believe precisely what I say, whether it is Scripture or not; then you
   are a saved man." And we know persons of that cast, who can have their
   shop open on a Sunday, and then go to enjoy what they call a savoury
   sermon in the evening; men who mix up with drunkards, and yet say they
   are God's elect; men who live as others live, and yet they come before
   you, and with brazen impudence, tell you that they are redeemed by the
   blood of Christ. It is true they have had a deep experience, as they
   say. God save us from such a muddy experience as that! They have had,
   they say, a great manifestation of the depravity of their hearts, but
   still they are the precious children of God. Precious, indeed! Dear at
   any price that any man should give for them. If they be precious to
   anybody, I am sure I wish they were taken to their own place, for they
   are not precious to any one here below, and they are not of the
   slightest use to either religion or morality. Oh! I do not know of a
   more thoroughly damnable delusion than for a man to get a conceit into
   his head, that he is a child of God, and yet live in sin--to talk to
   you about grace, while he is living in sovereign lust--to stand up and
   make himself the arbiter of what is truth, while he himself contemns
   the precept of God, and tramples the commandment under foot. Hard as
   Paul was on such man in his time--when he said their damnation is
   just--he spoke a most righteous sentence. Surely, the devil gloats over
   men of this kind. A Calvinist I am, but John Calvin never taught
   immoral doctrine. A more consistent expositor of Scripture than that
   great reformer I believe never lived, but his doctrine is not the
   Hyper-Calvinism of these modern times, but is as diametrically opposed
   to it as light to darkness. There is not a word in any one of his
   writings that would justify any man in going on in iniquity that grace
   might abound. If you do not hate sin, it is all the same what doctrine
   you may believe. You may go to perdition as rapidly with
   High-Calvinistic doctrine as with any other. You are just as surely
   destroyed in an orthodox as in a heterodox church unless your life
   manifests that you have been "begotten again unto a lively hope by the
   resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead."

   7. I have but one other class of persons to describe, and then I shall
   have done when I have addressed a few solemn sentences of warning to
   you all. There remains yet another class of beings who surpass all
   these in their utter indifference to everything that might arouse them.
   They are men that are given up by God, justly given up. They have
   passed the boundary of his longsuffering. He has said, "My spirit shall
   no more strive with them;" "Ephraim is given unto idols, let him
   alone." As a judicial punishment for their impenitence, God has given
   them up to pride and hardness of heart. I will not say that there is
   such an one here--God grant there may not be such a man--but there have
   been such to whom there has been given a strong delusion, that they
   might believe a lie, that they might be damned because they received
   not the gospel of Christ. Brought up by a holy mother, they perhaps
   learned the gospel when they were almost in the cradle. Trained by the
   example of a holy father, they went aside to wantonness, and brought a
   mother's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. Nevertheless, conscience
   still pursued them. At the funeral of that mother, the young man paused
   and asked himself the question, "Have I killed her! have I brought her
   here?" He went home was sober for a day, was tempted by a companion,
   and became as bad as ever. Another warning came. He was seized with
   sickness; he lay in the jaws of the grave; he woke up; he lived, and
   lived as vilely as he had lived before. Often did he hear his mother's
   voice--though she was in the grave, she being dead yet spoke to him. He
   put the Bible on the top shelf--hid it away; still, sometimes a text he
   had learned in infancy used to thrust itself in on his mind. One night
   as he was going to some haunt of vice, something arrested him,
   conscience seemed to say to him, "Remember all that you have learned of
   her." He stood still, bit his lip a moment, considered, weighed
   chances. At last he said, "I will go if I am lost." He went, and from
   that moment it has often been a source of wonder to him that he has
   never thought of his mother nor of the Bible. He hears a sermon, which
   he does not heed. It is all the same to him. He is never troubled. He
   says, "I don't know how it is; I am glad of it; I am as easy now and as
   frolicsome as ever a young fellow could be." Oh I I tremble to explain
   this quietude; but it may be--God grant I may not be a true prophet--it
   may be that God has thrown the reins on your neck, and said, "Let him
   go, let him go, I will warn him no more; he shall be filled with his
   own ways; he shall go the length of his chain; I will never stop him."
   Mark! if it be so, your damnation is as sure as if you were in the pit
   now. O may God grant that I may not have such a hearer here. But that
   dread thought may well make you search yourselves, for it may be so.
   There is that possibility; search and look, and God grant that you may
   no more say, "Peace, peace, when there is no peace."

   Now for these last few solemn words. I will not be guilty this morning,
   of speaking any smooth falsehoods to you, I would be faithful with each
   man, as I believe I shall have to face you all at God's great day, even
   though you heard me but once in your lives. Well, then, let me tell you
   that if you have a peace to-day which enables you to be at peace with
   your sins as well as with God, that peace is a false peace. Unless you
   hate sin of every sort, with all your heart, you are not a child of
   God, you are not reconciled to God by the death of his Son. You will
   not be perfect; I cannot expect you will live without sin, but if you
   are a Christian you will hate the very sin into which you have been
   betrayed, and hate yourself because you should have grieved your Savior
   thus. But if you love sin, the love of the Father is not in you. Be you
   who you may, or what you may,--minister, deacon, elder, professor, or
   non-professor--the love of sin is utterly inconsistent with the love of
   Christ. Take that home, and remember it.

   Another solemn thought. If you are at peace to-day through a belief
   that you are righteous in yourself, you are not at peace with God. If
   you are wrapping yourself up in your own righteousness and saying, "I
   am as good as other people, I have kept God's law, and have no need for
   mercy," you are not at peace with God. You are treasuring up in your
   impenitent heart wrath against the day of wrath; and you will as surely
   be lost if you trust to your good works, as if you had trusted to your
   sins. There is a clean path to hell as well as a dirty one. There is as
   sure a road to perdition along the highway of morality, as down the
   slough of vice. Take heed that you build on nothing else but Christ;
   for if you do, your house will tumble about your ears, when most you
   need its protection.

   And, yet again, my hearer, if thou art out of Christ, however profound
   may be thy peace, it is a false one; for out of Christ there is no true
   peace to the conscience and no reconciliation to God. Ask thyself this
   question, "Do I believe on the Lord Jesus Christ with all my heart? Is
   he my only trust, the simple, solitary rock of my refuge?" For if not,
   as the Lord my God liveth, before whom I stand, thou art in the gall of
   bitterness, and in the bonds of iniquity, and dying as thou art, out of
   Christ, thou wilt be shut out of heaven; where God and bliss are found,
   thy soul can never come.

   And now, finally, let me beseech you, if you are at peace in your own
   mind this morning, weigh your peace thus: "Will my peace stand me on a
   sick bed?" There are many that are peaceful enough when they are well,
   but when their bongs begin to ache, and their flesh is sore vexed, then
   they find they want something more substantial than this dreamy
   quietness into which their souls had fallen. If a little sickness makes
   you shake, if the thought that your heart is affected, or that you may
   drop down dead in a fit on a sudden--if that startles you, then put
   that question of Jeremy to yourself, "If thou hast run with the footmen
   and they have wearied thee, what wilt thou do when thou contendest with
   horses? and if in the land of peace wherein thou hadst trusted they
   have wearied thee, what wilt thou do in the swellings of Jordan? If
   sickness make thee shake what will destruction make thee do?" Then
   again, put the question in another light. If your peace is good for
   anything, it is one that will bear you up in a dying hour. Are you
   ready to go home to your bed now to lie there and never rise again? For
   remember, that which will not stand a dying bed will never stand the
   day of judgment. If my hope begins to quiver, even when the skeleton
   hand of Death begins to touch me, how will it shake, "When God's right
   arm is nerved for war, and thunders clothe his cloudy ear?" If death
   makes me startle, what will the glory of God do? How shall I shrink
   into nothing, and fly away from him in despair! Then often put to
   thyself this question, "Will my peace last me when the heavens are in a
   blaze, and when the trembling universe stands to be judged?"

   Oh my dear hearers, I know I have spoken feebly to you this morning;
   not as I could have wished, but I do entreat you if what I have said be
   not an idle dream, if it be not a mere myth of my imagination; if it be
   true, lay it to heart, and may God enable you to prepare to meet him.
   Do not be wrapping yourselves up, and slumbering, and sleeping. Awake,
   ye sleepers, awake! Oh! that I had a trumpet voice to warn you. Oh!
   while you are dying, while you are sinking into perdition, may I not
   cry to you; may not these eyes weep for you! I cannot be extravagant
   here, I am acquitted of being enthusiastic or fanatical on such a
   matter as this. Take to heart, I beseech you, the realities of
   eternity. Do not for ever waste your time. "Oh, turn ye, turn ye; why
   will ye die, O house of Israel." Listen, now, to the word of the
   Gospel, which is sent to you. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and ye
   shall be saved." For "he that believeth and is baptized shall be
   saved," while the solemn sentence remains, "He that believeth not shall
   be damned."
     __________________________________________________________________

                       Jesus About His Father's Business

   A Sermon

   (No. 302)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 4th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Jesus saith unto them, my meat is to do the will of him that sent me,
   and to finish his work."--John 4:34.

   IT IS PECULIARLY PLEASING to the Christian to observe the interest
   which God the Father takes in the work of salvation. In our earlier
   days of childhood in grace, we conceived the idea that God the Father
   was only made propitious to us through the atonement of Christ that
   Jesus was the Savior, and that the Father was rather an austere Judge
   than a tender friend. But since then, we have learned the Father
   through the Son: for it was not possible we could come unto the Father
   except through Jesus Christ. But, now, having seen Christ, we have seen
   the Father also, and from henceforth, we both know the Father, and have
   seen him, since we know the love of Christ, and have felt it shed
   abroad in our hearts. It is always refreshing then, to the enlightened
   Christian, to call to mind the intense interest which the Father takes
   in the work of salvation. Here you find in this verse it is three times
   hinted at. Salvation-work is called the Father's will. "It is not the
   will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones
   should perish;" but more, it is his will that his chosen, the
   blood-bought ones of Christ, should every one of them be redeemed from
   the ruins of the fall, and brought safely home to their Father's house.
   Note, again, we are told that Jesus was sent of the Father. Here,
   again, you see the Father's interest. It is true that Jesus rent
   himself away from the glories of heaven, from the felicities of
   blessedness, and voluntarily descended to the scorn, the shame, and
   spitting of this lower world. But, yet his Father had a part therein.
   He gave up his only begotten Son; he withheld not the darling of his
   bosom, but sent away his well-beloved, and sent him down with messages
   of love to man. Jesus Christ comes willingly, but still he comes by his
   Father's appointment and sending. A third hint is also given us.
   Salvation is here called God's work: "It is my meat to do the will of
   him that sent me, and to finish his work." We know that when this world
   was made, the Father did not make it without reference to the Spirit,
   for "the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters," brooded over
   chaos, and brought order out of confusion. Nor did he make it without
   the Son; for we are told by John the Apostle, "Without him was not
   anything made that was made." Yet, at the same time, creation was the
   Father's work. So also is it in salvation; the Father does not save
   without the Spirit, for "the Spirit quickeneth whom he will." He doth
   not save without the Son, for it is through the merit of the Redeemer's
   death that we are delivered from the demerit of our iniquity. But,
   notwithstanding this, God the Father is the worker of salvation as much
   as he is the worker of creation. Let us look up then, with eyes of
   delight, to our reconciled God and Father. O Lord our GOD, thou art not
   an angry one! Thou art not an austere ruler! "Thou art not merely the
   Judge but thou art the grand patriarch of thy people! Thou art their
   great friend! Thou lovest them better than thou didst thy Son! For thou
   didst not spare him--thou didst send him down to suffer and to die,
   that thou mightest bring thy children home. "Glory be unto the Father,
   and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; as it was in the beginning, is
   now, and ever shall be, world without end."

   The particular contemplation of this morning will be however, to
   describe Christ Jesus as he manifests himself as doing his Father's
   will, and finishing his Father's work. Our Lord and Master had but one
   thought, but one wish, but one aim. He concentrated his whole soul,
   gathered up the vast floods of his mighty powers, and sent them in one
   channel, rushing towards one great end: "My meat is to do the will of
   him that sent me, and to finish his work."

   1. In bringing out the great truth of Christ's entire devotedness to
   the work of salvation--a devotedness so great that he could say, "The
   zeal of thine house hath eaten me up,"--I shall want to call your
   attention first of all to the fact, verified be the gospels, that his
   soul was in all that he did. Mark our Master when he goes about doing
   good. The task is not irksome to him. There are some men who if they
   distribute to the poor, or if they comfort the fatherless, do it with
   such reserve with such coldness of spirit, that you can perceive that
   it is but the shell of the man that acts, and not the man's whole soul.
   But see our divine Lord. Wherever he walks, you see his whole self in
   flame. his whole being at work. Not a single power slumbers, but the
   whole man is engaged. How much at ease he seems among his poor
   fishermen! You do not discover that his thoughts are away in the halls
   of kings; but he is a fellow with them, bone of their bone and flesh of
   their flesh. He walks in the midst of publicans and harlots, and he is
   not ill at ease; not like one who is condescending to do a work which
   he feels to be beneath him; he is pleased with it, his whole soul is in
   it. Mark how he takes the little children on his knee, and though his
   disciples would put them away, yet his whole spirit is set truly with
   the poor, with the sinful, whom he came to save, that he says, "Suffer
   the little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of
   heaven." Look up into that face, and there is a whole-soured man there;
   not one whose thoughts are set on dignity and power, and who is
   schooling himself down, toning down his mind to the circle in which he
   moves, as a matter of constraint and duty. His vocation becomes his
   delight. His Father's service is his element. He is never happy when he
   is out of it. He casts his whole being, his whole spirit, into the work
   of man's redemption.

   2. As a further proof of his devotedness, you will observe that
   whatever a man takes to heart as being the object of his life, it
   always makes him glad when he sees it succeeding. How you notice in our
   Savior's life, that when he goes into a pharisee's house to eat bread
   he always seems under constraint. In any chapter which records what
   Jesus said in the house of a pharisee there is a want of vivacity. He
   speaks solemnly, but evidently his spirit is spell-bound, he is
   unhappy. He knows that he is watched by cavillers who resist his good
   work, and he there saith but very little, or else his discourse hath
   but little joy and brilliance therein. But see him among publicans;
   when he is sitting down with Zaccheus, or when he is come into some
   poor man's house and is sitting down to his ordinary meal; there is
   Jesus Christ with His eyes flashing, his lips pouring forth eloquence,
   and his whole soul at ease. "Now," says he, "I am at home; here is my
   work; here are the people among whom I shall succeed." How the man
   snaps his chain! You see the Lord Jesus Christ as the child-man, no
   more restraining himself before the watchers, but speaking out of his
   full soul all that his heart thinks and feels. Now you generally know
   when a man's heart is in his work, by the joy he feels in it. You see
   some preachers go up into their pulpits as though they were going to be
   roasted at the stake; and they read their sermons through as if they
   were making their last dying speech and confession. What do you think
   they call it?--why, doing their duty. True ministers call preaching
   pleasure, not duty. It is a delight to stand up to tell to others the
   way of salvation and to magnify Christ. But mere hirelings cannot go
   higher than the idea of doing their duty when they are telling out this
   glorious tale. Jesus Christ was none of these. "My meat is" he said,
   "to do the will of him that sent me." The only times that Jesus ever
   smiled and rejoiced are the times when he was in the midst of poor
   sinners. At that time "Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank
   thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these
   things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes."
   Let him see a penitent, let him hear the groan of a sinner mourning
   over his evil way, let him discern a tear trickling down the cheek of
   one of his hearers, and Jesus Christ begins to be glad, and the Man of
   Sorrows wears a smile for a moment upon that pale and sorrowful face.
   At all times there is a travailing in birth for souls: he is only happy
   when he sees the family of God enlarged.

   3. There is another test by which you may know when a man's spirit is
   in his work. When a right noble lord, some little time ago, stood up in
   the House of Lords to speak against the infamous productions and prints
   of Holywell Street, I felt quite sure that his lordship was thoroughly
   in earnest, because he grew angry. After some person had ventured to
   defend the filth that comes forth from that street, as if it had some
   connection with the glories of art, his lordship replied in a very tart
   speech, which at once let you see that he meant what he said, and that
   he felt the work upon which he had entered to be an important one. Now,
   our Lord Jesus Christ sometimes grew warm in speech, but he was never
   angry except with men who opposed the good work with which he came, and
   not even with them if he saw that they opposed it through ignorance,
   but only with those who stood up against him on account of pride and
   vain glory. Did ye ever read such a mighty tirade of threatening as
   that which roars from Christ when he is speaking against the Pharisees?
   "But woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye shut up
   the kingdom of heaven against men: for ye neither go in yourselves
   neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in. Woe unto you,
   Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows' houses, and
   for a pretense make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater
   damnation. Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye
   compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye
   make him two-fold more the child of hell than yourselves. Ye blind
   guides, which strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Ye serpents, ye
   generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?
   "Methinks I see his holy cheeks glowing with a divine furore, when he
   hurls his thunderbolts about him, and denounces the men who shut up the
   gates of heaven, and will not enter in themselves, and they that would
   enter in they hinder. Now, you can see that his soul is in it, because
   the man grows warm. The loving spirit of Jesus, who was trodden on like
   a worm, who would never defend himself who had not a spark of
   resentment towards his persecutors, but "when he was reviled, reviled
   not again," who gave blessings for curses--oh! how he kindles into a
   flame when he sees enemies! in the way of his poor people whom he has
   come to save! Then, indeed, he spares no words. Then can he ply the
   lash with a mighty hand, and let them see that the voices of Jesus can
   be as terrible as thunder, while, at other times, it can be sweet as
   harpers harping with their harps.

   4. A sure evidence that a man has espoused some mighty purpose, and
   that his purpose has saturated his whole soul, and steeped him in its
   floods, is, that if he be unsuccessful, he will weep. Now, see our
   Lord. Were there ever such tears shed as those which he poured forth
   over Jerusalem? Standing on the hilltops, he saw its towers and its
   glittering temple, and he discerned in the dim future the day when it
   should be burned with fire, and the ploughshare of destruction should
   be driven o'er its once fair, but then desolate, foundations and he
   cries, "O Jerusalem! Jerusalem I how often would I have gathered thy
   children together as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, end
   ye would not!" Oh that wail of his,--"O Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" Does it
   not remind you of those words of God in one of the old prophets, where
   weeping over Ephraim, he saith "How shall I give thee up, Ephraim? how
   shall I deliver thee Israel? how shall I make thee as Admah? how shall
   I set thee as Zeboim? Mine heart is turned within me, my repentings are
   kindled together." Jehovah's bowels yearned to clasp his Ephraim to his
   breast. And so with Jesus. They may spit in his face, and he weeps not.
   They may drag him out of the synagogue and seek to cast him headlong
   down the brow of the hill, but I find not that he sighs. They may nail
   him to the cross, and yet there shall be ne'er a tear. The only thing
   that can make him weep is to see that they reject their own mercy, that
   they put away from them their only hope, and refuse to walk in that
   only way of peace. This alone might serve as a proof of the intensity
   of Jesus' soul in his great purpose. He must save others; and if they
   be not saved, he will weep. If others oppose their salvation he will
   grow angry; not for himself but for them. Careless of what happens to
   himself, he has no fear, no anger for injuries that are poured on him,
   but his whole spirit is given up to the one great work of rescuing
   souls from sin, and sinners from going down into the pit.

   5. It often happens, however, that when we are really earnest about
   some purpose, some enemy will rise up. Unconscious, perhaps, of the
   nobility of our purpose, he will misconstrue our motives, vilify our
   character, and tread our fair name in the dust. There is a strong
   temptation at such seasons to defend one's self. We want to say just a
   word about one's own sincerity and heartiness of purpose. The
   temptation comes very strongly on us, because we think that we
   ourselves are so wrapped up, so intimately connected with the work,
   that perhaps, if our name be injured that work may suffer also. How
   many good and great men have fallen into this snare, so that they have
   left their work in order to take care of themselves, and have at least
   diminished some little of their ardor, or commingled the ardor which
   they feel for those objects with another fervency of spirit--the
   fervency of self-defense. Now, in our Lord Jesus Christ you see nothing
   of this. He is so set upon his purpose that when they call him a
   drunkard he doth not deny it; when they say he is a Samaritan and is
   mad, he takes it silently and seems to say, "Be it so; think so, if you
   will." Now and then there is a word of complaint, but not of
   accusation. When it is really for their good he will rebuke them, and
   say, "How can Beelzebub cast out Beelzebub?" But there is no elaborate
   defense of his character. Christ has left on record, in his sermons, no
   apology for anything he said. He just went about his work and did it,
   and left men to think what they pleased about him. He knew right well
   that contempt and shame from some men are but another phase of glory,
   and that to suffer the despite of a depraved race was to be glorified
   in the presence of his Father, and in the midst of his holy angels. Yet
   we might wonder (if we did not know who he was) that some little
   personal animosity did not sometimes creep in; but you never detect a
   shade of it. Many there were, I dare say, whom he knew to be his dire
   enemies; he has not a word to say against them. Some would come up in
   the street to insult him; I do not find that he took the slightest
   notice of them. Many there were, too, that spread all manner of ill
   reports, but he never told his disciples to try and stop the ill tale
   that was abroad. He treated with silent pity the calumnies of men, and
   walked on in the majesty of his goodness, defying all men to say what
   they pleased, for all their devices could no more make him turn aside
   from his course than the baying of the dog can make the moon stand
   still in her orbit. And so, too good to be selfish, too glorious to
   care for any one's esteem, he could not and would not turn aside, bus
   as an arrow from the bow of some mighty archer, he sped on his way
   towards his destined) target.

   6. Then, mark again, another proof qf the full devotedness of Christ to
   his ministry namely, that you always see him laboring. The three years
   of Christ's ministry were three years of ceaseless toil. He never
   rested: one wonders how he lived at all. It is but little marvel that
   his poor body was emaciated, and that his visage was more marred than
   that of any man. What with stern conflicts with Satan in the
   desert--conflicts so severe, that, if you and I were to undergo them,
   they might make our hairs turn grey in a single night; what with
   conflicts with the crowd of men who all seemed to rise up at once
   against him, like warriors armed to the teeth, while he stood like a
   defenseless lamb in the midst of cruel wolves--what with preaching,
   with more private teaching, with healing the sick and the lepers,
   restoring the maimed, the deaf, the blind; going about everywhere doing
   good, and never ceasing in his journeys, walking every inch of his way
   on foot, save when he was tossed on the stormy bosom of the lake, in
   some small boat which belonged to his disciples--never having a home
   wherein to dwell, crying, "the foxes have holes, and the birds of the
   air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his
   head"--surely never man labored like this man. That three years of our
   Savior's ministry reads like the history of three centuries. It is the
   life of a man who is living at a matchless rate. His minutes are all
   hours; his hours all months; his months all years; or longer still than
   that. He does enough in one day to give a man eternal fame, and yet,
   thinking nothing of it, he goes to something yet more arduous; and on,
   and on, and on, he toils his whole life through. The most hard working
   man among us has his hours of sleep. Give us but sleep and we can do
   anything, we rise up from our beds like giants refreshed with new wine,
   to run our course anew. But Jesus sleeps not.

   "Cold mountains and the midnight air,

   Witness the fervor of his prayer."

   He has stood up to preach all day long; he has fed thousands. and at
   last he faints. His disciples take him even as he is, for he cannot
   walk, his strength is gone; and they carry him down to the boat and lay
   him there. He shuts his eyes, he is about to have some little repose
   but they come to him, and cry, "Master, why sleepest thou? Awake! we
   perish." And he arises to rebuke the waves, and finds himself on
   another shore, and in another field of labor, upon which he enters at
   once without delay. He seems to have known no moment of repose. He
   preaches day by day, he prays by night. He seemed to be a sun that
   never had a setting, always shining always progressing in his mighty
   course. Oh! there never was such a worker never such a toiler as this
   Lord Jesus, who toiled not for himself but for others.

   7. And here let me remark, again, that I may give you another proof
   that his meat was to do the will of him that sent him, namely, that at
   many times when he was in full labor he does not seem to have felt
   fatigue at all. He had been walking one hot day along the dusty road,
   under the burning sun; and he comes at last to the well of Sychar.
   Being very weary, he sat down on the well. He was hungry, too, for his
   disciples had gone away to buy meat. That little wallet which Judas
   carried was not often full enough to afford meat for luxury; they could
   only buy for mere necessity. They doubtless had enough in that little
   bag, which was filled by the voluntary gifts of those among whom he
   labored, to keep those twelve men with daily bread, but they had none
   to spare. I conclude, then, that our Savior needed meat, or they would
   not have gone away to buy it. They come back after they have bought
   their meat, and they find their Master sitting on the well preaching to
   a woman. She goes away and they wonder how it is he does not eat. He
   tells them he needs no food, he has been refreshed, he had seen that
   woman converted. A woman who had had five husbands, and was then living
   with one who was not her husband, had listened to his voice, and she
   had been saved, and he saw her go away to bring the men to hear. He
   expected a harvest; he saw the fields white and ready for it; and this
   so refreshed his spirit that he did not need to eat. And we read at
   another time he forgot to eat bread, and at another season we read they
   thronged him in, "insomuch that he was not able to eat." Yet he could
   say, "I have meat to eat that ye know not of." He seemed to get
   refreshed in his work to grow stronger amid his toils; instead of
   growing tired, he renewed his strength; as he went on with his sacred
   labors. Now, this could not have happened to Christ, unless his whole
   soul was in it. Those of you who have ever undertaken an enterprise
   with all your might, know that as that has been going on you have been
   so absorbed that you did hot know when it was time for you to eat, and
   when at last you have seen success dawning upon you, if any one had
   hinted that you needed bread, you would put him by and say, "Don't
   disturb me; let me watch; let me see this light come to its full blaze
   of noon day." You have needed no other refreshment than that which
   success, has given you. I could myself give an illustration of this,
   which occurred to me a little while ago, to prove that fact. Coming
   from home early in the morning, I went to the chapel, sat there all day
   long seeing those who had been brought to Christ through the preaching
   of the Word. Their stories were so interesting to me that the day went
   on. I may have seen some thirty or more during the day, one after the
   other, as they came up to me. I was so delighted with the tales they
   told me, and the wonders of grace that God had wrought in them, that I
   did not know anything about how the day went. Seven o'clock came for
   prayer-meeting. I went in and prayed with the brethren. After that came
   the church-meeting. A little before ten o'clock I felt faint, and I
   began to think at what hour I had had my dinner, and I found that I had
   had none; I never thought of it, I never felt hungry, because God had
   made me so glad with success. I think we could live right on, almost
   without food, if God would sustain us daily with this divine
   manna--this heavenly food of success--in winning souls. This showed
   that our Master's heart was in it: for the toil needed no refreshment.

   8. Then, again, if I have not said enough to convince you that he gave
   his whole spirit to the work; let me remark that many a man has
   espoused a purpose, and, as he imagined, has betrothed himself to it by
   eternal nuptials, yet at last he has been divorced from the darling
   object. He has seen some path of brightness opening to him with some
   glittering honor at the end, and he has turned aside to
   selfaggrandisement and glory. But our Lord had a prospect before him,
   such as no man ever had. Satan took him to the brow of a hill, and
   offered him all the kingdoms of this world a mightier dominion even
   than Caesar had--if he would bow down and worship him. That temptation
   was substantially repeated in Christ's life a thousand times. You
   remember one practical instance as a specimen of the whole. "They would
   have taken him by force and would have made him a king." And if he had
   but pleased to accept that offer, on the day when he rode into
   Jerusalem upon a colt, the foal of an ass when all cried "Hosanna!"
   when the palm branches were waving, he had needed to have done nothing
   but just to have gone into the temple, to have commanded with authority
   the priest to pour the sacred chrism publicly upon his head, and he
   would have been king of the Jews. Not with the mock title which he wore
   upon the cross, but with a real dignity he might have been monarch of
   nations. As for the Romans, his omnipotence could have swept away the
   intruders. He could have lifted up Judea into a glory as great as the
   golden days of Solomon: he might have built Palmyras and Tadmors in the
   desert: he might have stormed Egypt and have taken Rome. There was no
   empire that could have resisted him. With a band of zealots such as
   that nation could have furnished, and with such a leader capable of
   working miracles walking in the van, the star of Judea might have risen
   with resplendent light, and a visible kingdom might have come, and his
   will might have been done on earth, from the river unto the ends of the
   earth. But he came not to establish a carnal kingdom upon earth, else
   would his followers fight: he came to wear the thorn-crown, to bear our
   griefs and to carry our sorrows. And from that single object the most
   splendid temptation could not make him diverge. You may heap together
   the glittering pomps and the gaudy jewels, but he treads them all
   beneath his feet. The Cross to him is brighter than a crown, the
   suffering more dear than wealth and honor. So then, in this too, we may
   see how full was his purpose, and how firmly he was set on the
   salvation of man.

   9. One other thought here. If we knew that some purpose which we had
   undertaken could never be achieved unless by our death, supposing that
   we could bring our mind to give up our blood as the price of
   success--if we knew that after the most toilsome effort, though the
   walls of the structure might rise, yet our own tomb must furnish the
   topstone--if we resolve to die for it, yet I can well conceive that
   firmly as our purpose might be set, we should dread the hour. Let it be
   at a distance, we should say. And if we were told it was drawing near,
   we should sigh, and our spirit would sink. But not so, Christ. Do you
   observe throughout his life in what a hurry he is? Read the gospel
   according to St. Mark. The gospel of St. Mark is the gospel of the
   servant. The chosen emblem in the old church windows represents St.
   Mark as the ox, the laborious ox. Each of the evangelists had his own
   particular idiom, and the idiomatic expression of St. Mark is the word,
   Eutheos, which we translate "straightway," "immediately." You will see
   if you read the evangelist through, that the word "straightway,"
   "immediately," occurs more frequently in that book than in any other,
   perhaps more times than in all the rest of the Word of God besides, to
   teach us this lesson, that Christ as a servant was in haste to fulfll
   his mission; never loitering, but always doing it straightway. He seems
   to me to be always stretching out his hands after the cross; not
   standing back from it, as if he knew it must come to him by necessity.
   No, he said, "I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how am I
   straitened till it be accomplished." His soul was speeding towards the
   cross, and his body seemed to be straitened, encaged, imprisoned, that
   it could not get to the end of this three years of labor. His soul was
   panting after suffering; groaning, crying out to be permitted to drink
   of the cup of our redemption even to the dregs. Now, this majesty of
   purpose, not merely to die, but to pant for death--not simply to climb
   the wall, to lead the forlorn hope and to long to do it, to be panting
   for the battle, desiring the fight, longing for the suffering--this is
   heroic ardor, self devotion entirely unexampled! I could hardly imagine
   a man panting for the fight an hour before it begins, but all his life
   long to be desiring to enter upon It, to be panting for that bloody
   sweat, to be sighing for those nails, that shame, that spitting, this
   showed how strongly our Lord Jesus Christ had bent all his thoughts to
   the divine purpose of doing his Father's will, and finishing his
   Father's work.

   Now, I shall say no more upon this subject by way of proof. I come very
   briefly to make the practical we thereof.

   The first practical inference is addressed to the timid, agonized soul,
   who desires salvation, but who thinks that Christ is unwilling to give
   it to him. Timid spirit, timid spirit, put away the thought that he is
   unwilling to save. It is a lie against thy own soul; it is a libel
   against his character. What! He unwilling to distribute that which he
   so freely bought at so immense a price! Do you see in any one period of
   his life an unwillingness to save? There might be once a shrinking of
   the flesh, but that is over now. No more the crown of thorns; the cross
   and nails no more. The flesh has nothing more to shrink at. It is done;
   redemption is accomplished, and think you he was so earnest and so
   intent on the work of redemption, and now is unwilling to reap the
   fruits of it? Why, do you not know, poor penitent, that he died to save
   you, and think you that it needs much argument to move the heart that
   once was pierced to pity and compassion? Scout the thought once for
   all. He is able to forgive; that thou knowest. He is as willing as he
   is able. Infinite is his ability, and as infinite his willingness. I
   beseech thee, distrust him not. Come as thou art, with all thy sins
   about thee. Come, now and put thy trust in him. Thou shalt find the
   door of heaven's gate not creaking on its hinges, but standing on jar
   and opening easily. John Bunyan says the posts of the gates of the
   temple were made of olive tree; and he allegorized it thus:--They were
   made of that fat and oily tree, that so the hinges might move readily
   and smoothly, that there might be no difficulty in opening the
   temple-gates when timid souls came flying in. When mothers are
   unwilling to receive their children, when fathers are unwilling to give
   food to their own offspring, then--nay, not even then, will Jesus be
   unwilling to forgive. When the hard-working man is unwilling to take
   his wage, when the toiling politician is unwilling to grasp the honor
   which he has achieved, then--nay, not even then, may Christ be
   unwilling to lay hold upon the sheep which is his own purchased with
   his own blood, and to pluck that jewel from a dung-hill which he has
   redeemed with his own suffering. He is not unwilling; thou art
   unwilling. If there be any hardness of heart, it lies with thee, and
   not with him. If there be difficulties in the way of thy salvations
   they are difficulties in thyself, not in him. Come and welcome. This is
   the invitation which reaches thee to day from heaven's festal board.
   Come and welcome. Come and welcome. Come and welcome, sinner, come! Let
   nothing make thee linger. He thirsts to save; he pants to bless. He
   longs to redeem and ransom. Only trust him; and if thou be made glad
   when thou trustest, he will be glad too. If the prodigal is glad when
   he returns, the father's joy is not an atom less. If there be mirth in
   the heart of the returning one, there is as much mirth in the heart of
   the parent to whom he returns. So come, and make thy Savior glad. Come
   and make him see of the travail of his soul that he may be abundantly
   satisfied. This is my first practical inference.

   There is yet another. Christian men, it is but fair that we should give
   you one lesson from such a subject as this. Let this mind be in you
   which was in Christ Jesus. I would not be censorious, but solemnly and
   seriously, I fear there are not very many whose whole heart is set on
   Christ's glory. We have church members, men of wealth; do they not
   spend more upon themselves than upon Christ? And may I not infer from
   this that they love themselves better than Christ? We have other
   members of our churches, men who are but comparatively well-to-do.
   These spend more on their mere pleasures than on Christ. What am I to
   suppose, but that they find more pleasure in the enjoyments of the
   flesh than they do in serving Christ? Oh, have we not tens of thousands
   in the army of the Lord, that strike for themselves in their own
   battles with an arm as strong as that of king Arthur of our table, but
   when they come to fight for Christ their arm drops nerveless at their
   side? We have men who are all eye, all ear, all hand in business, but
   they are blind, and deaf, and impotent when they come into Christ's
   church. The fact is, we have in too many of our churches the chrysalis
   of men, but not the real body. They give us their names, but they keep
   their whole influence for the world. Ah! and is this what Christ
   deserves of you? Is this the reward of his self-devotion? Do you thus
   repay him who saved others but could not save himself. And you profess
   to be a follower of the Lamb, is this your following? An imitator of
   Jesus, and is this the imitation? Oh, sirs, the likeness is marred and
   blotted. Ye are poor sculptors indeed, if ye imagine yourselves to be
   sculptured in the image of Christ. Brothers and sisters, this matter
   may not seem to be of interest to you, but I feel it to be a subject of
   the most intense importance to the world that lieth in the wicked one.
   If we were more like Jesus it would be a happy day for the poor dying
   sons of men. Oh, if our divided aims could but be exchanged for
   singleness of heart; if our littleness of zeal could be consumed in the
   intensity of love to Christ, what better men should we be, and what a
   happier world would be this. Do you imagine that you are pleasing to
   God when you are living for fifty aims instead of one? When you bring
   to Christ your lukewarm love, your lukewarm zeal, do you think he is
   pleased with you, and that he accepts your offer? Oh, church of
   Laodicea, thou hast moved from Asia, thou hast come to England, and
   taken up thy abode in London! Truly might the Lord say to many of our
   London churches, "You are neither cold nor hot, you are lukewarm, and I
   will spue thee out of my mouth." There is nothing God abhors more than
   our cold Christianity, such as we have in these modern times--a
   religion which professes to live, but which lives like a gasping,
   fainting, trembling creature, that is on the verge of death. And you
   think to shake the world while you are shaking yourself with the ague
   of your cold indifference! You cry to God, "Arise!" and yet you rise
   not yourself! You ask a blessing and yet you will not win it! You crave
   for victory, and yet your swords rust in their scabbards! Out with you,
   sirs, be rid of this hypocrisy; begin first to ask for singleness of
   soul, and devotedness of purpose; and when this is given you, then
   shall there come days of refreshing from the presence of the Lord. Then
   shall sinners be converted, and Christ shall see of the travail of his
   soul. But for all this we want the influence of the Holy Spirit, for
   without that we shall never give our whole hearts up to the sacred
   mission of winning souls for Christ.

   Spirit of the living God! descend upon us now; rest on thy saints, and
   fill them with love to perishing souls, and rest thou on the sinner, to
   bring him to this willing Savior, and make him willing in the day of
   thy power.
     __________________________________________________________________

                             Election and Holiness

   A Sermon

   (No. 303)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 11th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Behold, the heaven and the heaven of heavens is the Lord's thy God,
   the earth also, with all that therein is. Only the Lord had a delight
   in thy fathers to love them, and he chose their seed after them, even
   you above all people, as it is this day. Circumcise therefore the
   foreskin of your heart, and be no more stiffnecked."--Deuteronomy
   10:14-16.

   HE WHO PREACHES the whole truth as it is in Jesus will labor under
   continual disadvantages; albeit, that the grand advantage of having the
   presence and blessing of God will more than compensate the greatest
   loss. It has been my earnest endeavor ever since I have preached the
   Word, never to keep back a single doctrine which I believe to be taught
   of God. It is time that we had done with the old and rusty systems that
   have so long curbed the freeness of religious speech. The Arminian
   trembles to go an inch beyond Arminius or Wesley, and many a Calvinist
   refers to John Gill or John Calvin, as any ultimate authority. It is
   time that the systems were broken up, and that there was sufficient
   grace in all our hearts to believe everything taught in God's Word,
   whether it was taught by either of these men or not. I have frequently
   found when I have preached what is called high doctrine, because I
   found it in my text, that some people have been offended; they could
   not enjoy it, could not endure it, and went away. They were generally
   people who were best gone; I have never regretted their absence. On the
   other hand, when I have taken for my text some sweet invitation, and
   have preached the freeness of Christ's love to man; when I have warned
   sinners that they are responsible while they hear the gospel, and that
   if they reject Christ their blood will be upon their own heads, I find
   another class of doubtless excellent individuals who cannot see how
   these two things agree. And therefore, they also turn aside, and wade
   into the deceptive miry bogs of Antinomianism. I can only say with
   regard to them, that I had rather also that they should go to their own
   sort, than that they should remain with my congregation. We seek to
   hold the truth. We know no difference between high doctrine and low
   doctrine. If God teaches it, it is enough. If it is not in the Word,
   away with it! away with it! but if it be in the Word, agreeable or
   disagreeable, systematic or disorderly, I believe it. It may seem to us
   as if one truth stood in opposition to another, but we are fully
   convinced that it cannot be so, that it is a mistake in our judgment.
   That the two things do agree we are quite clear, though where they meet
   we do not know as yet, but hope to know hereafter. That God has a
   people whom he has chosen for himself, and who shall show forth his
   praise, we do believe to be a doctrine legible in the Word of God to
   every man who cares to read that Book with an honest and candid
   judgment. That, at the same time, Christ is freely presented to every
   creature under heaven, and that the invitations and exhortations of the
   gospel are honest and true invitations--not fictions or myths, not
   tantalisations and mockeries, but realities and facts--we do also
   unfeignedly believe. We subscribe to both truths with our hearty assent
   and consent.

   Now, this morning it may be that some of you will not approve of what I
   have to say. You will remember, however, that I do not seek your
   approbation, that it will be sufficient for me if I have cleared my
   conscience concerning a grand truth and have preached the gospel
   faithfully. I am not accountable to you, nor you to me. You are
   accountable to God, if you reject a truth; I am accountable to Him if I
   preach an error. I am not afraid to stand before His bar with regard to
   the great doctrines which I shall preach to you this day.

   Now, two things this morning. First, I shall attempt to set forth God's
   Election; secondly, to show in practical bearings. You have both in the
   text. "Behold, the heaven and the heaven of heavens is the Lord's thy
   God, the earth also, with all that therein is. Only the Lord had a
   delight in thy fathers to love them, and he chose their seed after
   them, even you above all people, as it is this day." And, then, in the
   second place, its practical bearings, "Circumcise therefore the
   foreskin of your heart, and be no more stiffnecked."

   I. In SETTING FORTH ELECTION, I must have you observe, first of all,
   its extraordinary singularity. God has chosen to himself a people whom
   no man can number, out of the children of Adam--out of the fallen and
   apostate race who sprang from the loins of a rebellious man. Now, this
   is a wonder of wonders, when we come to consider that the heaven, even
   the heaven of heavens, is the Lord's. If God must have a chosen race,
   why did he not select one from the majestic orders of angels, or from
   the flaming cherubim and seraphim who stand around his throne? Why was
   not Gabriel fixed upon? Why was he not so constituted that from his
   loins there might spring a, mighty race of angels, and why were not
   these chosen of God from before the foundations of the world! What
   could there be in man, a creature lower than the angels, that God
   should select him rather than the angelic spirits? Why were not the
   cherubim and seraphim given to Christ? Why did he not take up angels?
   Why did he not assume their nature, and take them into union with
   himself? An angelic body might be more in keeping with the person of
   Deity, than a body of weak and suffering flesh and blood. There were
   something congruous if he had said unto the angels, "Ye shall be my
   sons." But, no! though all these were his own, he passes by the
   hierarchy of angels, and stoops to man. He takes up an apostate worm,
   and says unto him, "Thou shalt be my son," and to myriads of the same
   race he cries, "ye shall be my sons and daughters, by a covenant for
   ever." "But," saith one, "It seems that God intended to choose a fallen
   people that he might in them show forth his grace. Now, the angels of
   course would be unsuitable for this, since they have not fallen." I
   reply, there are angels that have fallen; there were angels that kept
   not the first estate, but fell from their dignity. And how is it that
   these are consigned to blackness of darkness for ever! Answer me, ye
   that deny God's sovereignty, and hate his election--how is it that
   angels are condemned to everlasting fire, while to you, the children of
   Adam, the gospel of Christ is freely preached? The only answer that can
   possibly be given is this: God wills to do it. He has a right to do as
   he pleases with his own mercy. Angels deserve no mercy: we deserve
   none. Nevertheless, he gave it to us, and he denied it them. They are
   bound in chains, reserved for everlasting fire to the last great day,
   but we are saved. Before thy sovereignty, I bow, great God, and
   acknowledge that thou doest as thou widest, and that thou givest no
   account of thy matters. Why, if there were any reason to move God in
   his creatures, he would certainly have chosen devils rather than men.
   The sin of the first of the fallen angels was not greater than that of
   Adam. It is not the time to enter into that question. I could, if
   opportunity were needed, prove it to be rather less than greater, if
   there were degrees in sin. Had the angels been reclaimed, they could
   have glorified God more than we; they could have sang his praises
   louder than we can, clogged as we are with flesh and blood. But passing
   by the greater, he chose the less, that he might show forth his
   sovereignty, which is the brightest jewel in the crown of his divinity.
   Our Arminian antagonists always leave the fallen angels out of the
   question: for it is not convenient to them to recollect this ancient
   instance of Election. They call it unjust, that God should choose one
   man and not another. By what reasoning can this be unjust when they
   will admit that it was righteous enough in God to choose one race--the
   race of men, and leave another race--the race of angels, to be sunk
   into misery on account of sin. Brethren, let us have done with
   arraigning God at our poor fallible judgment seat. He is good and doeth
   righteousness. Whatever he doth we may know to be right, whether we can
   see the righteousness or no.

   I have given you, then, some reasons at starting, why we should regard
   God's Election as being singular. But I have to offer to you others.
   Observe, the text not only says, "Behold, the heaven, even the heaven
   of the heavens is the Lord's," but it adds, "the earth also, with all
   that therein is." Now, when we think that God has chosen us, when you,
   my brethren, who by grace have put your trust in Christ, read your
   "title clear to mansions in the skies," you may well pause and say in
   the language of that hymn--

   "Pause, my soul I adore, and wonder!

   Ask, O why such love to me?'"

   Kings passed by and beggars chosen; wise men left, but fools made to
   know the wonders of his redeeming love; publicans and harlots sweetly
   compelled to come to the feast of mercy; while proud Pharisees are
   suffered to trust in their own righteousness and perish in their vain
   boastings. God's choice will ever seem in the eyes of unrenewed men to
   be a very strange one. He has passed over those whom we should have
   selected, and he has chosen just the odds and ends of the universe, the
   men who thought themselves the least likely ever to taste of his grace.
   Why were we chosen as a people to have the privilege of the gospel? Are
   there not other nations as great as we have been? Sinful a people as
   this English nation has manifested itself to be, why has God selected
   the Anglo-Saxon race to receive the pure truth, while nations who might
   have received the light with even greater joy than ourselves, still lie
   shrouded in darkness, and the sun of the gospel has never risen on
   them? Why, again, I say, in the case of each individual, why is the man
   chosen who is chosen? Can any answer be given but just the answer of
   our Savior--"Even so, Father, for it seemeth good in thy sight!"

   Yet one other thought, to make God's Election marvellous indeed. God
   had unlimited power of creation. Now, if he willed to make a people who
   should be his favourites, who should be united to the person of his
   Son, and who should reign with him, why did he not make a new race?
   When Adam sinned, it would have been easy enough to strike the world
   out of existence. He had but to speak and this round earth would have
   been dissolved, as the bubble dies into the wave that bears it. There
   would have been no trace of Adam's sin left, the whole might have died
   away and have been forgotten for ever. But no! Instead of making a new
   people, a pure people who could not sin, instead of taking to himself
   creatures that were pure, unsullied, without spot, he takes a depraved
   and fallen people, and lifts these up, and that, too, by costly means;
   by the death of his own Son by the work of his own Spirit; that these
   must be the jewels in his crown to reflect his glory for ever. Oh,
   singular choice! Oh, strange Election, My soul is lost in thy depths,
   and I can only pause and cry, "Oh, the goodness, oh, the mercy, oh, the
   sovereignty of God's grace."

   Having thus spoken about its singularity, I turn to another subject.
   Observe the unconstrained freeness of electing love. In our text this
   is hinted at by the word "ONLY." Why did God love their fathers? Why,
   only because he did so. There is no other reason. "Only, the Lord had a
   delight in thy fathers to love them, and he chose their seed after
   them, even you above an people, as it is this day." There was doubtless
   some wise reason for the Lords acts, for he doeth all things after the
   counsel of his will, but there certainly could not be any reason in the
   excellence or virtue of the creature whom he chose. Now, just dwell
   upon that for a moment. Let us remark that there is no original
   goodness in those whom God selects. What was there in Abraham that God
   chose him? He came out of an idolatrous people, and it is said of his
   posterity--a Syrian ready to perish was thy father. As if God would
   show that it was not the goodness of Abraham, he says, "Look unto the
   rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are
   digged. Look unto Abraham your father, and unto Sarah that bare you:
   for I called him alone, and blessed him, and increased him." There was
   nothing more in Abraham than in anyone of us why God should have
   selected him, for whatever good was in Abraham God put there. Now, if
   God put it there, the motive for his putting it there could dot be the
   fact of his putting it there. You cannot find a motive for a fact in
   itself, there must be some motive lying higher than anything which can
   be found in the mere act of God. If God chose a man to make that man
   holy, righteous, and good, he cannot have chosen him because he was to
   be good and righteous. It were absurd to reason thus. It were drawing a
   cause for an effect, and making an effect a cause. If I were to plead
   that the rose bud were the author of the root, well! I might, indeed,
   be laughed at. But were I to urge that any goodness in man is the
   ground of God's choice, when I call to recollection that that goodness
   is the effect of God's choice, I should be foolish indeed. That which
   is the elect cannot be the cause. But what original good is there in
   any man? If God chose us for anything good in ourselves, we must all be
   left unchosen. Have we not all an evil heart of unbelief? Have we not
   all departed from his ways? Are we not all by nature corrupt, enemies
   to God by wicked works? If he chooses us it cannot be because of any
   original goodness in us. "But," saith one, "perhaps it may be because
   of goodness foreseen, God has chosen his people, because he foresees
   that they will believe and be saved." A singular idea, indeed! Here are
   a certain number of poor persons, and a prince comes into the place. To
   some ninety out of the hundred he distributes gold. Some one asks the
   question, "Why did the prince give this gold to those ninety?" A madman
   in a corner, whose face ought never to be seen, replies, "He gave it to
   them because he foresaw that they would have it." But how could he
   foresee that they would have it apart from the fact that he gave it to
   them? Now, you say that God gives faith, repentance, salvation, because
   he foresaw that men would have it. He did not foresee it apart from the
   fact that he intended to give it them. He foresaw that he would give
   them grace. But what was the reason that he gave it to them? Certainly,
   not his foresight. That were absurd, indeed! and none but a madman
   would reason thus. Oh, Father, if thou hast given me life, and light,
   and joy, and peace, the reason is known only to thyself; for reasons in
   myself 1 ne'er can find, for I am still a wanderer from thee, and often
   does my faith flicker, and my love grow dim. There is nothing in me to
   merit esteem or give thee delight. It is all by thy grace, thy grace
   alone that I am what I am. So will every Christian say; so must every
   Christian indeed confess.

   But is it not all idle talk, even to controvert for a single moment,
   with the absurd idea that man can fetter his Maker. Shall the purpose
   of the Eternal be left contingent on the will of man? Shall man be
   really his Maker's master? Shall free-will take the place of the divine
   energy? Shall man take the throne of God, and set aside as he pleases
   all the purposes of Jehovah--compelling him by merit to choose him?
   Shall there be something that man can do that shall control the motions
   of Jehovah? It is said by some one that men give free-will to every one
   but God, and speak as if God must be the slave of men. Ay, we believe
   that God has given to man a free-will--that we do not deny, but we will
   have it that God has a free-will also--that, moreover, he has a right
   to exercise it, and does exercise it; and that no merit of man can have
   any compulsion with the Creator. Merit, on the one hand, is impossible;
   and even if we did possess it, it could not be possible that we could
   possess it in such a degree as to merit the gift of Christ. Remember,
   if we deserve salvation, man must have virtue enough to merit heaven,
   to merit union with Jesus, to merit, in fact, everlasting glory. You go
   back to the old Romish idea, if you once slip your anchor and cut your
   cable, and talk about anything in man that could have moved the mercy
   of God. "Well," saith one, "this is vile Calvinism " Be it so, if you
   choose to call it so. Calvin found his doctrine in the Scriptures.
   Doubtless he may have also received some instruction from the works of
   Augustine, but that mighty doctor of grace learned it from the writings
   of St. Paul; and St. Paul, the apostle of grace, received it by
   inspiration from Jesus the Lord. We can trace our pedigree direct to
   Christ himself. Therefore, we are not ashamed of any title that may be
   appended to a glorious truth of God. Election is free, and has nothing
   to do with any original goodness in man, or goodness foreseen, or any
   merit that man can possibly bring before God.

   I come to the hardest part of my task this morning--Election in its
   justice. Now, I shall defend this great fact, that God has chosen men
   to himself, and I shall regard it from rather a different point of view
   from that which is usually taken. My defense is just this. You tell me,
   if God has chosen some men to eternal life, that he has been unjust. I
   ask you to prove it. The burden of the proof lies with you. For I would
   have you remember that none merited this at all. Is there one man in
   the whole world who would have the impertinence to say that he merits
   anything of his Maker? If so, be it known unto you that he shall have
   all he merits; and his reward will be the flames of hell for ever, for
   that is the utmost that any man ever merited of God. God is in debt to
   no man, and at the last great day every man shall have as much love as
   much pity, and as much goodness, as he deserves. Even the lost in hell
   shall have all they deserve, ay, and woe worth the day for them when
   they shall have the wrath of God, which will be the summit of their
   deservings. If God gives to every man as much as he merits, is he
   therefore to be accused of injustice because he gives to some
   infinitely more than they merit? Where is the injustice of a man doing
   as he wills with his own? Has he not a right to give what he pleases?
   If God is in debt to any, then there would be injustice. But he is
   indebted to none and if he gives his favors according to his own
   sovereign will, who is he that shall find fault? Thou hast not been
   injured; God has not wronged thee. Bring up thy claims, and he will
   fulfill them to the last jot. If thou art righteous and canst claim
   something of thy Maker stand up and plead thy virtues, and he will
   answer thee. Though thou gird up thy loins like a man, and stand before
   him, and plead thy own righteousness, he will make thee tremble, and
   abhor thyself, and roll in dust and ashes; for thy righteousness is a
   lie, and thy best performance but as filthy rags. God injures no man in
   blessing some. Strange is it that there should be any accusation
   brought against God, as though he were unjust.

   I defend it again on another ground. To which of you has God ever
   refused his mercy and love, when you have sought his face? Has he not
   freely proclaimed the gospel to you all? Doth not his Word bid you come
   to Jesus? and doth it not solemnly say, "Whosoever will, let him come?"
   Are you not every Sabbath invited to come and put your trust in Christ?
   If you will not do it, but will destroy your own souls, who is to
   blame? If you put your trust in Christ you shall be saved; God will not
   run back from his promise. Prove him, try him. The moment you renounce
   sin, and trust in Christ, that moment you may know yourself to be one
   of his chosen ones, but if you will wickedly put from you the gospel
   which is daily preached, if you will not be saved, then on your own
   head be your blood. The only reason why you can be lost is because you
   would continue in sin and would not cry to be saved therefrom. You have
   rejected you have put him far from you, and left to yourselves, you
   will not receive him. "Well, but," saith one, "I cannot come to God."
   Your powerlessness to come lies in the fact that you have no will to
   come. If thou wert but once willing thou wouldst lack no power. Thou
   canst not come, because thou art so wedded to thy lusts, so fond of thy
   sin. That is why thou canst not come. That very inability of thine is
   thy crime, thy guilt. Thou couldst come if thy love to evil and self
   were broken. The inability lies not in thy physical nature but in thy
   depraved moral nature. Oh! if thou wert willing to be saved! There is
   the point--there is the point! Thou art not willing, nor wilt thou ever
   be, till grace make thee willing. But who is to blame because thou art
   not wining to be saved? None but thyself; thou hast the whole blame. If
   thou refusest eternal life, if thou wilt not look to Christ, if thou
   wilt not trust to him, remember thy own will damns thee. Was there ever
   a man who had a sincere will to be saved in God's way who was denied
   salvation? No, no, a thousand times NO, for such a man is already
   taught of God. He who gives will, will not deny power. Inability lies
   mainly in the will. When once a man is made willing in the day of God's
   power, he is made able also. Therefore, your destruction lies at your
   own door.

   Then let me ask another question. You say it is unjust that some should
   be lost while others are saved. Who makes those to be lost that are
   lost? Did God cause you to sin? Has the Spirit of God ever persuaded
   you to do a wrong thing? Has the Word of God ever bolstered you up in
   your own self-righteousness? No; God has never exercised any influence
   upon you to make you go the wrong way. The whole tendency of his Word,
   the whole tendency of the preaching of the gospel. is to persuade you
   to turn from sin unto righteousness, from your wicked ways to Jehovah.
   I say again, God is just. If you reject the Savior proclaimed to you,
   if you refuse to trust him, if you will not come to him and be saved,
   if you are lost, God is supremely just in your being lost, but if he
   chooses to exert the supernatural influence of the Holy Spirit upon
   some of you, he is surely just in giving the mercy which no man can
   claim, and so just that through eternal ages there shad never be found
   anew in his acts but the "Holy, Holy, Holy " God shall be hymned by the
   redeemed, and by cherubim and seraphim, and even the lost in hell shall
   be compelled to utter an involuntary bass to that dread song, "Holy
   Holy, Holy Lord God of Sabaoth."

   Having thus tried to defend the justice of Election, I now turn to
   notice the truth of it. I may possibly have here some godly men who
   cannot receive this doctrine. Well, my friend, I am not angry with you
   for not being able to receive it, because no man can receive it unless
   it is given him from God; no Christian will ever rejoice in it unless
   he has been taught of the Spirit. But, after all, my brother, if you
   are a renewed man, you believe it. You are coming up-stairs to
   controvert with me. Come along, and I will allow you to controvert with
   yourself, and before five minutes have passed you will out of your own
   mouth prove my point. Come, my dear brother, you do not believe that
   God can justly give to some men more grace than to others. Very well.
   Let us kneel down and pray together; and you shall pray first. You no
   sooner begin to pray than you say, "O Lord, be pleased, in thy infinite
   mercy, to send thy Holy Spirit to save this congregation, and be
   pleased to bless my relatives according to the flesh." Stop! stop! you
   are asking God to do something which, according to your theory, is not
   right. You are asking him to give them more grace than they have got;
   you are asking him to do something special. Positively, you are
   pleading with God that he would give grace to your relatives and
   friends, and to this congregation. How do you make that to be light in
   your theory? If it would be unjust in God to give more grace to one man
   than to another, how very unjust in you to ask him to do it! If it is
   all left to man's free-will why do you beg the Lord to interfere? You
   cry, " Lord, draw them Lord, break their hearts, renew their spirits."
   Now, I very heartily use this prayer, but how can you do it, if you
   think it unrighteous in the Lord to endow this people with more grace
   than he does the rest of the human race. "Oh!" but you say, "I feel
   that it is right, and I will ask him." Very well; then, if it is right
   in you to ask, it must be right in him to give, it must be right in him
   to give mercy to men, and to some men such mercy that they may be
   constrained to be saved. You have thus proved my point, and I do not
   want a better proof. And now, my brother, we will have a song together,
   and we will see how we can get on there. Open your hymn book, and you
   sing in the language of your Wesleyan hymn-book,

   "Oh, yes, I do love Jesus

   Because he first loved me."

   There, brother, that is Calvinism. You have let it out again. You love
   Jesus because he first loved you. Well, how is it you come to love him
   while others are left not loving him? Is that to your honor or to his
   honor? You say, "It is to the praise of grace; let grace have the
   praise." Very well, brother; we shall get on very well, after all, for,
   although we may not agree in preaching, yet we agree, you see, in
   praying and praising. Preaching a few months ago in the midst of a
   large congregation of Methodists, the brethren were all alive, giving
   all kinds of answers to my sermon, nodding their heads and erring,
   "Amen!" "Hallelujah!" "Glory be to God!" and the like. They completely
   woke me up. My spirit was stirred, and I preached away with an unusual
   force and vigor; and the more I preached the more they cried, "Amen!"
   "Hallelujah!" "Glory be to God!" At last, a part of text led me to what
   is styled high doctrine. So I said, this brings me to the doctrine of
   Election. There was a deep drawing of breath. "Now, my friends, you
   believe it," they seemed to say. "No, we don't." But you do, and I will
   make you sing "Hallelujah!" over it. I will so preach it to you that
   you will acknowledge it and believe it. So I put it thus: Is there no
   difference between you and other men? " Yes, yes; glory be to God,
   glory!" There is a difference between what you were and what you are
   now? "Oh, yes! oh, yes!" There is sitting by your side a man who has
   been to the same chapel as you have, heard the same gospel, he is
   unconverted, and you are converted. Who has made the difference,
   yourself or God? "The Lord!" said they, " the Lord! glory! hallelujah!"
   Yes, cried I, and that is the doctrine of Election; that is all I
   contend for, that if there be a difference the Lord made the
   difference. Some good man came up to me and said, "Thou'rt right, lad!
   thou'rt right. I believe thy doctrine of Election; I do not believe it
   as it is preached by some people, but I believe that we must give the
   glory to God, we must put the crown on the right head." After all,
   there is an instinct in every Christian heart, that makes him receive
   the substance of this doctrine, even if he will not receive it in the
   peculiar form in which we put it. That is enough for me. I do not care
   about the words or the phraseology, or the form of creed in which I may
   be in the habit of stating the doctrine. I do not want you to subscribe
   to my creed, but I do want you to subscribe to a creed that gives God
   the glory of His salvation. Every saint in heaven sings, "Grace has
   done it;" and I want every saint on earth to sing the same song, "Unto
   him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his blood, to him be
   the glory for ever and ever." The prayers, the praises, the experience
   of those who do not believe this doctrine prove the doctrine better
   than anything I can say. I do not care to prove it better, and I leave
   it as it is.

   II. We now turn to ELECTION IN ITS PRACTICAL INFLUENCES.

   You will see that the precept is annexed to the doctrine: God has loved
   you above all people that are upon the face of the earth, therefore,
   "circumcise the foreskin of your hearts and be no more stiffnecked." It
   is whispered that Election is a licentious doctrine. Say it out loud,
   and then I will answer you. Election is a licentious doctrine! How do
   you prove it? It is my business to prove to you that it is the very
   reverse. "Well but," cries one, "I know a man that believes in Election
   and yet lives in sin."Yes, and I suppose that disproves it. So that if
   I can go through London and find any ragged drunken fellow, who
   believes a doctrine and lives in sin, the feet of his believing it
   disproves it. Singular logic, that! I will undertake to disprove any
   truth in the world if you only give me that to be my rule. Why, I can
   bring up some filthy, scurvy creature, that doubts the universal bounty
   of God. Then, I suppose that will disprove it. I might bring up to you
   some wretch that is lying in sin, who yet believes that if he were to
   cry "Lord, have mercy upon me, a sinner," from his heart, he would he
   saved, even though he was on his dying bed; I suppose his believing
   that, disproves it--does it? No! You know very well, though you use
   such logic as that against us, you would not use it against yourself.
   The fact is, that the bad lives or the good lives of some individuals
   cannot be taken as a proof either for or against any set of doctrines.
   There are holy men that are mistaken; there are unholy men who receive
   truth. That may be seen any day by any man who will candidly make the
   observation. If, however, any one sect were peculiarly full of ungodly
   professors and hypocrites, then would I admit the force of your
   argument. But I defy you to the proof. The men that have believed this
   doctrine have been the wide world over--though perhaps, it is not my
   place to say it, except that I will glory in it as Paul did--have been
   the most zealous, most earnest, most holy men. Remember, sirs, ye that
   scoff at this doctrine. that ye owe your liberties to men who held it.
   Who carved out for England its liberties? I do not hesitate to give the
   palm to the strong arms of the Ironsides and the mighty will of Oliver
   Cromwell. But what made them dash to battle as they did but a firm
   belief that they were God's chosen ones, and could sweep everything
   before them, because the Lord their God was with them? It was said in
   Charles the Second's time that if you wanted to find believers in
   Arminianism, you could find them in every pot-house; but if you wanted
   to find those who believed the doctrine of grace you must no into the
   dungeons where the saints of God were shut up, because of the rigidity
   of their lives and the peculiar straitness of their conversation. Never
   were men more heavenly-minded than the Puritans; and what Puritan can
   you find that holds my other doctrine than that which I preach today?
   You may find some modern doctor who teaches the reverse, but march
   through centuries, and with few exceptions, where are the saints who
   denied the Election of God? The banner has been passed from one hand to
   the other. Martyrs died for it! they sealed the truth with their blood.
   And this truth shall stand when rolling years shall cease to move; this
   truth which shall be believed when every error and superstition shall
   crumble to the dust from which they sprang.

   But I come back to my proof. It is laid down as a matter of theory that
   this doctrine is licentious. We oppose that theory. The fitness of
   things proves that it is not so. Election teaches that God hath chosen
   some to be kings and priests to God. When a man believes that he is
   chosen to be a king, would it be a legitimate inference to draw from
   it--"I am chosen to be a king, therefore I will be a beggar; I am
   chosen to sit upon a throne, therefore I will wear rags." Why, you
   would say, "There would be no argument, no sense in it." But there is
   quite as much sense in that as in your supposition, that God has chosen
   his people to be holy, and yet that a knowledge of this fact will make
   them unholy. No! the man, knowing that a peculiar dignity has been put
   upon him by God, feels working in his bosom a desire to live up to his
   dignity. "God has loved me more than others, says he; "then, will I
   love him more than others. He has put me above the rest of mankind by
   his sovereign grace, let me live above them: let me be more holy: let
   me be more eminent in grace than any of them." If there be a man that
   can misuse the dignity of grace which Christ has given hint, and
   pervert that into an argument for licentiousness, he is not to be found
   among us. He must be something less than man, fallen though man be, who
   would infer, from the fact that he has become a Son of God by God's
   free grace, that therefore he ought to live like a son of the devil;
   or, who should say, "Because God has ordained me to be holy, therefore
   I will be unholy." That were the strangest, oddest, most perverted most
   abominable reasoning that ever could be used. I do not believe there is
   a creature living that could be capable of using it.

   Again, not only the fitness of things, but the thing itself proves that
   it is not so. Election is a separation. God has set apart him that is
   godly for himself, has separated a people out of the mass of mankind.
   Does that separation allow us to draw the inference thus:--"God has
   separated me, therefore, I will live as other men live." No! if I
   believe that God has distinguished me by his discriminating love, and
   separated me, then I hear the cry, "Come out from among them, and be ye
   separate, and touch not the unclean thing, and I will be a Father unto
   you." It were strange if the decree of separation should engender an
   unholy union. It cannot be. I deny, once for all in the name of all who
   hold the truth--I deny solemnly, as in the presence of God, that we
   have any thought that because God has separated us, therefore we ought
   to go and live as others live. No, God forbid. Our separation is a
   ground and motive for our separating altogether from sinners. I heard a
   man say once, "Sir, if I believed that doctrine I should live in sin."
   My reply to him was this, "I dare say YOU would! I dare say YOU would!
   " "And why," said he, "should I more than you?" Simply because you are
   a man, and I trust I am a new man in Christ Jesus. To man that is
   renewed by grace, there is no doctrine that could make him love sin. If
   a man by nature be as a swine that wallows in the mire, turn him into a
   sheep, and there IS no doctrine you can teach that can make him go and
   wallow in the mire again. His nature is changed. There is a raven
   transformed into a dove. I will give the dove to you, and you may teach
   it whatever you like, but that dove will not eat carrion any mine. It
   cannot endure it: its nature is entirely changed. Here is a lion
   roarings for its prey. I will change it into a lamb; and I defy you to
   make that lamb, by any doctrine, go and redden its lips with blood. It
   cannot do it--its nature is changed. A friend on board the steamboat,
   when we were coming across from Ireland, asked one of the sailors,
   "Would you like a nigger song?" "No," said he, "I do not like such
   things." "Would you like a dance?" "No," said he, "I have a religion
   that allows me to swear and be drunk as often as ever I please, and
   that is never: for I hate all such things with perfect hatred."
   Christian men keep from sin because their nature abhors sin. Do not
   imagine we are kept back from sin because we are terrified with threats
   of damnation, we have no fear, except the fear of offending our loving
   Father But we do not want to sin--our thirst is for holiness and not
   for vice. But if you have a kind of religion that always keeps you in
   restraint, so that you say, "I should like to go to the theater
   to-night if I dare,"--if that is what you say, depend upon it, your
   religion is not of much value. You must have a religion that makes you
   hate the thing you once loved, and love that which you once hated--a
   religion that draws you out of your old life and puts you into a new
   life. Now, if a man has a new nature, what doctrine of Election can
   make that new nature act contrary to its instincts? Teach the man what
   you will, that man will not turn again to vanity. The Election of God
   gives a new nature: so, even if the doctrine were dangerous, the new
   nature would keep it in check.

   But once more, bring me hither the man--man shall I call him?--bring me
   the beast or devil that would say, "God has set his love upon me from
   before all worlds; my name is on Jesus' heart; he bought me with his
   blood; my sins are all forgiven; I shall see God's face with joy and
   acceptance, therefore, I hate God, therefore I live in sin." Bring me
   up the monster, I say, and when you have brought up such-an-one, even
   then I will not admit that there is reason in that vile lie, that
   damnable calumny, which you have cast upon this doctrine, that it makes
   men live in licentiousness. There is no truth that can so nerve a man
   to piety as the fact that he was chosen of God ere time begun. Loved by
   thee with an unlimited love that never moves, and that endures to the
   end--O my God! I desire to spend myself in thy service,

   "Love, so amazing, so divine,

   Demands my life, my soul, my all,"

   and gratitude to God, for this rich mercy constrains us, compels us to
   walk in the fear of God, and to love and serve him all our lives.

   Now, two lessons, and then I will send you away.

   The first lesson is this: Christian men and women, chosen of God and
   ordained unto salvation, recollect that this is a doctrine everywhere
   spoken against. Do not hide it, do not conceal it, for remember Christ
   has said, "He that is ashamed of my words, of him will I be ashamed."
   But take care that you do not dishonor it. Be ye holy, even as he is
   holy. he has called you; stand by your calling, give diligence to make
   your calling and election sure. Put on as the elect of God, bowels of
   compassion, holiness and love, and let the world see that God's chosen
   ones are made by grace the choicest of men, who live nearer to Christ,
   and are more like Christ, than and other people upon the face of the
   earth. And let me add to you, if the world sneers at you, you can look
   your enemy in the face and never tremble. For this is a degree of
   nobility, a patent of divine dignity which you never need blush for but
   which will keep you from ever being a coward, or bowing your knee
   before pomp and station, when they are associated with vice. This
   doctrine has never been liked, because it is a hammer against tyrants.
   Men have chosen their own elect ones, their kings, dukes, and earls,
   and God's election interferes with them. There are some that will not
   bow the knee to Baal, who hold themselves to be God's true aristocracy,
   who will not resign their consciences to the dictation of another. Men
   rail, and rave, and rage because this doctrine makes a good man strong
   in his loins, and will not let him bend his knee, or turn back and be a
   coward. Those Ironsides were made mighty because they held themselves
   to be no mean men. They bowed before God, but before men they, could
   not and would not bow. Stand fast, therefore, in this your liberty, and
   be not moved from the hope of your calling.

   One other word of exhortation; it is the second lesson. There are some
   of you who are making an excuse out of the doctrine of Election, an
   excuse, an apology for your own unbelieving and wicked hearts. Now
   remember the doctrine of Election exercises no constraint whatever upon
   you. If you are wicked you are so because you will be so. If you reject
   the Savior you do so because you will do so. The doctrine does not make
   you reject him. You may make it an excuse, but it is an idle one; it is
   a cobweb garment that will be rent away at the last day. I beseech you
   lay it aside, and remember that the truth with which you have to do is
   this, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved." If
   you believe, you are saved. If you trust Christ, be you who you may, or
   what you may, the wide world over, you are a saved man. Do not say, "I
   will not believe because I do not know whether I am elected." You
   cannot know that until you have believed. Your business is with
   believing. "Whosoever"--there is no limitation in it--"Whosoever
   believeth in Christ shall be saved." You, as well as any other man. If
   you trust Christ, your sins shall be forgiven, your iniquities blotted
   out. O may the Holy Spirit breathe the new life into you. Bowing the
   knee, I beseech you, kiss the Son lest he be angry. Receive his mercy
   now, steel not your hearts against the gracious influence of his love;
   but yield to him, and you shall then find that you yielded because he
   made you yield; that you come to him because he drew you; and that he
   drew you because he had loved you with an everlasting love.

   May God command his blessing for Jesus' sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                  Memento Mori

   A Sermon

   (No. 304)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 18th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Oh that they were wise, that they understood this, that they would
   consider their latter end."--Deuteronomy 32:29.

   MAN IS UNWILLING to consider the subject of death. The shroud, the
   mattock and the grave, he labors to keep continually out of sight. He
   would live here always if he could; and since he cannot, he at least
   will put away every emblem of death as far as possible from his sight.
   Perhaps there is no subject so important, which is so little thought
   of. Our common proverb that we use is just the expression of our
   thoughts, "We must live." But if we were wiser we should alter it and
   say, "We must die." Necessity for life there is not; lift is a
   prolonged miracle. Necessity for death there certainly is, it is the
   end of all things. Oh that the living would lay it to heart. Some years
   ago, a celebrated author--Drelincourt, wrote a work on Death, a
   valuable work in itself, but it commanded no sale whatever. There were
   no men who would trouble themselves with Death's heads and cross-bones.
   And to show how foolish man is, a certain doctor went home and wrote a
   silly ghost-story, not one word of which was true, sent it to the
   bookseller, he stitched it up with his volume, and the whole edition
   sold. Any thing men will think of rather than death--any fiction, any
   lie. But this stern reality, this master truth, he puts away, and will
   not suffer it to enter his thoughts. The old Egyptians were wiser than
   we are. We are told that at every feast, there was always one
   extraordinary guest that sat at the head of the table. He ate not, he
   drank not, he spake not, he was closely veiled. It was a skeleton which
   they had placed there, to warn them that even in their feastings, they
   should remember there would be an end of life. We are so fond of
   living, so sad at the very thoughts of death, that such a memento mori;
   as that, would be quite unbearable in our days of feasting. Yet our
   text tells us that we should be wise, if we would consider our latter
   end. And certainly we should be, for the practical effect of a true
   meditation upon death would be exceedingly healthful to our spirits. It
   would cool that ardor of covetousness, that fever of avarice, always
   longing after, and accumulating wealth, if we did but remember that we
   should have to leave our stores, that when we have gotten our most, all
   that we can ever inherit for out body is one six feet of earth, and a
   mouthful of clay. It would certainly help us to set loose by the things
   which we here possess. Perhaps, it might lead us to set our affections
   upon things above, and not upon the mouldering things below. At any
   rate, thoughts of death might often check us when we are about to sin.
   If we look at sin by the light of that death's lantern by which the
   sexton shall dig our graves, we might see more of the hollowness of
   sinful pleasure, and of the emptiness of worldly vanity. If we would
   but sin on our coffin lids, we should sin far more seldom. Surely we
   should be kept back from many an evil act if we remembered that we must
   all appear before the judgment seat of Christ. And, mayhap too, these
   thoughts of death might be blessed to us in even a higher sense, for we
   might hear an angel speaking to us from the grave, "Prepare to meet
   your God," and we might be led to go home and set our house in order,
   because we must die and not live. Certainly, if even one of these
   effects shall be produced by considering our latter end, it would be
   the purest wisdom continually to walk arm in arm with that skeleton
   teacher--Death.

   I propose this morning, as God shall help me, to lead you to consider
   your latter end. May the Holy Spirit bend your thoughts downward to the
   tomb. May he guide you to the grave, that you may there see the end of
   all earthly hopes, of all worldly pomp and show. In doing this, I shall
   thus divide my subject. First, let us consider Death, secondly, let us
   push on the consideration by considering the warnings which Death has
   given us already; and then, further, let us picture ourselves as
   dying,--bringing to our mind's eye a picture of ourselves stretched
   upon our last bed.

   I. In the first place, then, LET US CONSIDER DEATH.

   1. Let us begin by remarking its origin. Why is it that I must die?
   Whence came these seeds of corruption that are sown within this flesh
   of mine? The angels die not. Those pure ethereal spirits live on
   without knowing the weakness of old age, and without suffering the
   penalties of decay. Why must I die? Why has God made me so curiously
   and so wondrously--why is all this skill and wisdom shown in the
   fashioning of a man that is to endure for an hour, and then to crumble
   back to his native element--the dust? Can it be that God originally
   made me to die? Did he intend that the noble creature, who is but a
   little lower than the angels, who hath dominion over the works of God's
   hands, beneath whose feet he hath put all sheep and oxen, yea and the
   fowl of the air and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through
   the paths of the sea--did he intend that that creature should waste
   away as a shadow, and should be as a dream that continueth not? Come,
   my soul, let this melancholy thought thrust itself upon thy attention.
   Thou diest because thou sinnest! Thy death is not God's primal
   ordinance, but it is a penalty brought upon thee on account of the
   transgression of thy first parent. Thou wouldst have been immortal if
   Adam had been immaculate. Sin, thou art the mother of Death! Adam thou
   hast digged the graves of thy children! We might have lived on, in
   everlasting youth, if it had not been for that thrice-cursed theft of
   the forbidden fruit. Look, then, that thought in the face. Man is a
   suicide. Our sin, the sin of the human race, slays the race. We die
   because we have sinned. How this should make us hate sin! How we should
   detest it because the wages of sin is death! Brand then, from this day
   forward, the word Murderer on the brow of sin.

   2. In considering Death, let us go a step further, and observe not only
   its origin but its certainty. Die I must. I may have escaped a thousand
   diseases, but Death has an arrow in his quiver that will reach my heart
   at last. True, I have one hope, a blissful hope, that if my Lord and
   Master shall soon come, I shall be among the number of them that are
   alive and remain, who shall never die, but who shall be changed. I have
   that fond anticipation, that he will come ere this body of mine shall
   crumble into dust, and that these eyes shall see him when he shall
   stand in the latter day upon the earth. But, however, if it be not so,
   die I must. "It is appointed unto All men once to die, end after death
   the judgment. Run! run! but the beet pursuer shall overtake thee. Like
   the stag before the hounds we By swifter than the breeze, but the dogs
   of Death shall outstrip us: Fever and plague, weakness and decay; he
   hath but to let slip these dogs and they are on us, and who can resist
   their fury? There is a black camel upon which Death rides, say the
   Arabs, and that must kneel at every man's door. With impartial hand he
   dashes down the palace of the monarch as well as the cabin of the
   peasant. At every man's door there hangs that black knocker, and Death
   hath but to uplift it and the dread soumd is heard, and the uninvited
   guest sits down to banquet on our flesh and blood. Die I must. No
   physician can stretch out my life beyond its allotted term. I must
   cross that river Jordan. I may use a thousand stratagems, but I cannot
   escape. Even now I am today like the deer surrounded by the hunters in
   a circle, a circle which is narrowing every day; and soon must I fan
   and pour out my life upon the ground. Let me never forget, then, that
   while other things are uncertain, Death is sure.

   3. Then, looking a little further into shade, let me remember the time
   of my Death. To God it is fixed and certain. He has ordained the hour
   in which I must expire. A thousand angels cannot keep me from the grave
   an instant when that hour has struck. Nor could legions of spirits cast
   me into the pit before the appointed time.

   "Plagues and death around me fly,

   Till he please I cannot die;

   Not a single shaft can hit,

   Till the God of love sees fit.

   All our times are in his hand. The means, the way I shall die, how long
   I shall be in dying, the sickness and in what place I shall be seized
   with the contagion, Al these are ordained. God hath in his mind's eye
   the wave that shall engulph me, or the bed in which I shall breathe out
   my last. He knows the stones that shall mark my sleeping place, and the
   very worm that shall crawl o'er this face when it shall be cold im
   death. He hath ordained everything; and in that Book of Fate it stands,
   and never can it be changed. But to me it is quite uncertain. I know
   not when, nor where, nor how I shall breathe out my life. Into that
   sacred ark I cannot look--that ark of the secrets of God. I cannot pry
   between the folded leaves of that book which is chained to the throne
   of God, wherein is written the whole history of man. When I walk by the
   way I man fall dead im the streets; an apoplexy may usher me into the
   presence of my Judge. Riding along the road, I may be carried as
   swiftly to my tomb. While I am thinking of the multitudes of miles over
   which the fiery wheels are rimming, I may be in a minute, without a
   moment's warning, sent down to the shades of death. In my own house I
   am not safe. There are a thousand gates to Death, and the roads from
   Earth to Hades are innumerable. From this spot in which I stand there
   is a straight path to the grave; and where you sib there is an entrance
   into eternity. Oh, let us bethink, then, how uncertain life is. Talk we
   of a hair; it is something massive when compared with the thread of
   life. Speak we of a spider's web, it is ponderous compared with the web
   of life. We are but as a bubble; nay, less substantial. As a moment's
   foam upon the breaker, such are we. As an instant spray--nay, the drops
   of spray are enduring as the cabs of heaven compared with the moments
   of our life. Oh, let us, then, prepare to meet our God, because, when
   and how we shall appear before him is quite unknown to us. We may never
   go out of this hall alive. Some of us may be carried hence on young
   men's shoulders, as Ananias and Sapphire of old. We may not live to see
   our homes again We may have given the last kiss to the beloved, cheek,
   and spoken the last ward of fondness to those who are near to our
   hearts. We are on the brink of our tombs,

   "Ten thousand to their endless home

   This solemn moment fly;

   And we are to the margin come,

   And soon expect to die!"

   4. But I must not linger here, but go on to observe the terrors which
   surround Death. I would call to your memory to-day the pains, the
   groans the dying strife, which make our affrighted souls start back
   from the tomb. To the best men in the world dying is a solemn thing.
   Though "I can read my title clear to mansions in the skies," and know
   that I have a portion among them that are sanctified, yet must it
   always give some trembling to the flesh, some quivering to the human
   frame, to think of breathing out my soul, and launching on an unknown
   sea. He that can laugh at death is a fool--stark, staring mad is he. He
   who can make jokes with regard to his end will find that if he should
   die jesting, it will be no jest to be damned. When this tent is being
   taken down, when this clay tenement begins to creak and shake in the
   rough north wind of Death, when stone after stone tumbles from its
   place, and all the bonds are loosened, it will be a terrible moment
   then. When the poor soul stands beneath the temple of the body, and
   sees it shake, sees rifts in its roof, sees the pillars tremble, and
   all the ruins thereof falling about it, it will be an awful moment--a
   moment which, if it were continued and lengthened, would be the most
   dread picture of hell that can be presented to us, for hell is called
   the second Death. An endless dying, the pang of death prolonged
   eternally, the woes and the grief of dissolution made to last without
   an end, that, I say, is one of the most terrible pictures of hell.
   Death itself must be a tremendous thing. Let me think, too that when I
   die I must leave behind me all that I have on earth. Farewell! to that
   house which I have so fondly called my home. Farewell! to that preside
   and the little prattlers that have climbed my knee. Farewell I to her
   who has shared my life and been the beloved one of my bosom. Farewell!
   All things--the estate, the "old, the silver. Farewell! earth. Thy
   fairest beauties melt away, thy most melodious strains die in the dim
   distance. I hear no more, and see no more, Ears and eyes are closed,
   and men shall carry me out and bury their dead out of their sight. And,
   now, farewell! to Al the means of grace. That passing bell is the last
   sound of the sanctuary that shall toll for me. No church bell now shall
   summon me to the house of God. If I have neglected Christ I shall hear
   of Christ no more, No grace presented now; no strivings of the Spirit,

   "Fix'd is my everlasting state,

   Could I repent, tis now too late."

   Death hath now closed up the window" of my soul If I am impenitent, an
   everlasting darkness, a darkness like that of Egypt, that may be felt,
   rests on me for over. Ye may sing ye saints of God, but I must howl
   eternally. Ye may gather round the Sacramental Table and remember your
   Master's death, but I am cast away for ever from his presence, where
   there is weeping, and waning, and gnashing of teeth. This is to die, my
   friends, and to die with a vengeance, too. To the believer there are
   softening tints; there are lines in the picture which take out the
   blackness. The very shades help to make the believer's glory brighter,
   the grim passage of Death makes heaven shine with a superior lustre. He
   thinks of the lands beyond the flood, of the beatific vision, of the
   face of the exalted Redeemer, of a seat at his right hand, of crowns of
   glory, and of harps of immortal bliss. But to you who are ungodly and
   unconverted, Death has only this black side. It is the leaving of all
   you have, and of all you love. It is an entering upon eternal poverty,
   everlasting shame, and infinite woe. Oh that ye were wise, ye careless
   sinners--oh that ye were wise, that ye understood this, and would
   consider your latter end.

   5. I have thus you see pushed into another head which I meant to have
   dwelt upon for a moment, viz., the results of death. For, verily, its
   results and terrors to the wicked are the same. Oh that ye were wise to
   consider them. Let me, however, remind the Christian, in order that
   there may be a flash of light in the thick darkness of this sermon,
   that Death to him should never be a subject upon which he should loathe
   to meditate. To die!--to shake off my weakness and to be girded with
   omnipotence. To die!--to leave my pangs, and palms, and fears, and woe,
   my feeble heart, my unbelief, my tremblings and my griefs, and leap
   into the divine bosom. To die! What have I to lose by Death? The tumult
   of the people and the strife of tongues. A joyous loss indeed! To the
   believer Death is gain, unalloyed gain. Do we leave our friends by
   Death? We shall see better friends, and more numerous up yonder, in the
   general assembly and church of the first-born, whose names are written
   in heaven. Do we leave our house and comforts?" There is a house not
   made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Do we lose our life? Ah no,
   we gain a better far; for remember that we live to die, we die to live,
   and then are live to die no more. Without any fraction of loss, death
   to the believer is a glorious gain. It is greatly wise, then, for a
   Christian to talk with his last hours, because those last hours are the
   beginning of his glory. He leaves off to sin and begins to be perfect;
   he ceases to suffer and begins to be happy; he renounces all his
   poverty and shamed and begins to be rich and honored. Comfort, then,
   comfort, then, ye sorrowing and suffering Christians. "Comfort ye,
   comfort ye my people, saith your God." Say unto them your warfare is
   accomplished, your sin is pardoned, and you shall see your Lord's face
   without A veil between.

   II. I shall now turn to the second head of my discourse. Brethren,
   fellow immortals. I desire you now to CONSIDER THE WARNINGS WHICH DEATH
   HATH ALREADY GIVEN TO EACH ONE OF US. We are so prone to turn away from
   this subject, that you must excuse me if I continue to bring you back
   again, again, and again to it, alluring the brief time that can be
   allotted to the discourse of this morning. Death hath been very near to
   many of us; he has crossed the ecliptic of our life many and many a
   time. That baleful planet has often been in close conjunction with us.

   Let us just observe how frequently he has been in our house. Call ye
   then to mind, first of Al, how many warnings you have had in the loss
   of relatives. There is not a person here, I imagine who has not had to
   make a pilgrimage to the tomb, to weep over the ashes of your friends.
   During the few years that I have been the pastor of this church, how
   many times have I journeyed to the tomb. One after another of the
   valiant men in our Israel have been taken away. Many who were my
   spiritual sons and daughters, whom I buried first in the tomb of
   baptism, have I had to bury afterwards in the tomb of death. The scene
   is always changing. As I stand in my pulpit, I remark many an old
   familiar face. But I have to observe also, how many places there are
   which would have been empty, if it were not that God has sent other
   Davids to occupy David's seat. And, my dear friends, it cannot be long
   with some of you ere it shall be my mournful task, unless I die myself,
   to go creeping over your bodies to the tomb. That funeral oration may
   soon be pronounced over some of you. And you have good reason to expect
   it when you think how one after another of those who were the friends
   of your youth have gone. Where is the wife with whom you lived joyously
   in the early days of your life? Or where is the husband whose fair
   young face so often looked on you with eyes of love? Where are those
   children who sprung up like flowers, but withered as they bloomed?
   Where are those brothers and those sisters, the elder born, that have
   crossed the flood before us? or, where those younger ones, whom we
   lived to see born, who shone with us for an hour, but whose sun even
   before it had reached its zenith, had set in eternal night? Brothers
   and sisters, Death has made sad inroads into some of our families.
   There be some of you who stand to day like a man upon the shore when
   the tide is swelling towards his feet. There came one wave, and it took
   away the grandmother; another came, and a mother was swept away;
   another came, and the wife was taken; and now it dashes at your feet.
   How long shall it be ere it break over you--and you, too, are carried
   away by the yawning wave into the bosom of the deep of Death? The Lord
   has given many of you serious and solemn warnings. I do entreat you,
   listen to them. Darken now, to the cry which comes up from the grave of
   those who being dead yet speak to you. Hear them now, those lately
   buried ones, as they cry, "Children, husbands, wives, brothers,
   sisters, prepare to meet your God, lest ye should fail in the lest
   dread day."

   Think, again, what solemn and repeated warnings we have had of late,
   not in our families, but in the wide, wide world. It is a singular
   fact, that afflictions and accidents never come alone. A few weeks ago,
   we were all shocked with the news, that one who sailed across the
   treacherous sea full many a time, and who at last had risen so high in
   his profession as to become captain of the largest vessel that was ever
   launched upon the deep, that he had suddenly perished in calm craters,
   and his spirit had appeared before his God. It seemed to us to be a sad
   thing, that one who had endured the tempest and the storm, perhaps a
   thousand times, should sink as a ship that founders in mid-ocean, when
   not a wave rocks her keel. He is at home--he has just left his
   family--his foot slips, and he finds a watery grave. Quick upon that,
   as one messenger follows anther, came the news across the sea of the
   falling of a mill, in which so many hundreds were at once overwhelmed
   by the ruins, and sent hurriedly into the presence of God. We can
   little tell what a thrill of horror went through the towns which are
   adjacent to that mill in America. Even ourselves, across leagues of the
   sea, felt stunned by the blow, when so large a number of our
   fellow-creatures were hurried from this state of being into another.
   Immediately after that, there came another calamity, which is just
   fresh in our memory. A train is whirling along, and suddenly the iron
   horse leaps from his road, and men who are talking together, as fully
   at ease as we are, amid the breaking of bones, and the crashing of
   timber, and whirlwinds of dust and steam, are snatched from time into
   eternity. And, now, this last week, how many tokens have we had that
   man is mortal? A judge who has lone presided over the trials of his
   criminal countrymen, delivers his charge before a grand jury. He
   delivers it with his usual wisdom, calmness, and deliberation. He has
   finished; he pauses; he lifts the smelling bottle to his nose to
   refresh himself; he falls back; he is carried from the court to receive
   his own charge, to go from the judgment-seat on which he sat to the
   judgment-seat before which he must himself stand. Then, in the same
   week, a good man who has served his day and generation in a sister
   church of this city, is suddenly snatched away from before us. He who
   aided every good cause, and served his day and generation--perhaps you
   may know that I allude to Mr. Corderoy--is suddenly taken away, and
   leaves a whole denomination mourning over him. Nay, nearer than that
   has the stroke of death come to some of us. It was but last Wednesday
   that I sat in the house of that mighty servant of God, that great
   defender of the faith, the Luther of his age, Dr. Campbell; we were
   talking then about these sudden deaths, tattle thinking that the like
   calamity would invade his very family; but, alas! we observed in the
   next day's paper, that his second son had been swept overboard in
   returning from one of his voyages to America. A bold brave youth has
   found a liquid grave. So that here, there, everywhere, O Death! I see
   thy doings. At home, abroad, on the sea, and across the sea, thou art
   doing marvels. O thou mower! how long ere thy scythe shall be quiet? O
   thou destroyer of men, wilt thou never rest, wilt thou ne'er be still?
   Death I must thy Juggernaut-car go crashing on for ever, and must the
   skulls and blood of human beings mark thy track? Yes, it must be so
   till He comes who is the King of life and immortality; then the saints
   shall die no more, but be as the angels of God. So then, Death has
   spoken very loudly to us as a nation, as a people, and has spoken to
   many of us, very loudly, in our own family circles.

   Now, man, I will come closer home to you still. Death has given home
   strokes to all of us. Put thy finger in thy own mouth, for thou hast
   Death's mark there. What mean those decaying teeth, those twitching
   pains of the gum?--an agony despised by those alone who feel It not.
   Why do some parts of the house tremble and hurry to decay? Because the
   rottenness that is in the teeth is in the whole body. You talk of a
   decayed tooth: remember, it is but part of a decayed man. You are
   yourself rotting, but a little less rapidly. For, to some of you, what
   warnings Death has given. He has laid his cold hand upon your head and
   frozen your hair; and there it lies in snowy flakes upon your temples.
   Or, perhaps, he has put that hand yet more heavily upon it, and now
   your bare head is exposed to the rays of the sun, and, remember, this
   is but a type of the exposure of your bare soul to the stroke of death.
   What signs have we all had in our bodies, especially the aged, the
   infirm, the consumptive, and the maimed? What mean those lungs that are
   so soon exhausted of their breathing if you travel up a flight of
   stairs to your bed? Why is it you need your optic glasses to your eyes,
   but that they that look out of the windows are darkened? Why that
   affected hearing? Why that failure of the voice, that weakness of the
   entire body, that accumulation of the flesh, or that prominence of the
   bones and leanness of the body? What are all these but stabs from the
   hand of Death? They are, if I may say so, his warrants which he
   presents to you, summons you in a little time to meet him in another
   place, to do your last work, and take your last farewell. Oh! if we
   would but look at ourselves, we bear Death's signs and tokens about us
   in every part of our body. But some of us have had yet more solemn
   warnings than these. If these suffice not, Death gives us a more
   thundering sermon. It is but a little while ago with me since Death
   with his axe seemed to be felling my tree. How the chips flew about me
   and covered the ground! It is a marvel to myself that I am here.
   Brought to Death's door, till the mind became distracted, and the body
   weakened, so that one could scarce stand upright, and yet again
   recovered.

   "Tell it unto sinners--tell,

   I am, I am, out of hell."

   Still spared, and yet alive. You have had fever, cholera it may be. You
   have hen stretched on your bed time after time; and each time the
   branch has creaked and bent almost double, till we have said, "Surely,
   it must snap." As a bowing wall have we been, and as a tottering fence;
   down it must come, so we thought; for a rough hand was shaking it, and
   moving us to and fro. There was not a pillar that stood firm. There was
   not a beam or rafter that did not quiver. We said, in the bitterness of
   our soul, "My days are cut off, and I shall go down to my tomb before
   my time." Well, man, and yet you are living in sin, as careless and
   unconcerned as you were before. Remember, if you will not hear Death's
   tongue you shall feel his dart. If you will not think of God when he
   gives you a warning from a distance, you shall be made to feel God, for
   " he shall tear you in pieces, and none shall deliver." Methinks I see
   this morning, Death fitting his arrow to the bow. He is drawing it,
   pulling it tighter, and tighter still; and the marvel is that he can
   hold the arrow in his hand so long. "Shall it fly?" saith Death; "shall
   I let fly at yon wretch's heart? he will not repent; let me cut him
   off, and send him to his destruction." But the Lord saith, "Spare him
   yet a tattle longer." But, anon, Death's fingers are itching. He saith,
   "My Lord, let me take aim; I have bent my bow, and made it ready. So
   sharp is it that it would cut through bars of brass, or triple steel,
   to reach a human heart. My throat is thirsting after his blood. Oh, let
   me lay him; let him die." "No," cries the longsuffering voice of God; "
   spare him, spare him, spare him yet a little longer." But the time will
   soon arrive. Perhaps, ere that clock shall reach the half hour, it may
   he said in heaven, "Time is! Time was!" And then shall Death let fly;
   his arrow shall reach your heart; and you, fading down on earth, shall
   appear before the awful Judge of the quick and the dead, and receive
   your final sentence. And, good God, if you are unprepared to die! O
   careless sinner, what then will become of thee?

   I have thus tried to make you think of Death's warnings in the loss of
   friends, and the deaths of many abroad; moreover in the failing of our
   bodies, and in the diseases which have begun to prey upon us.

   III. And now to conclude, will you in the last place, PICTURE YOURSELF
   AS DYING NOW. Antedate for a very little while your last day. Suppose
   it to have come. The sun has risen. "Throw up that window! let me see
   that sun for the last time!--this is my last day! " The physicians
   whisper with one another. You catch some syllables, and you learn the
   sad news that the case is hopeless. Much has been done for you, but
   skill has its limit. "He may survive," says the physician, "perhaps
   another twelve hours, but I hardly expect it will be so long as that.
   You had better gather his friends together to see him. Telegraph for
   the daughter; let her come up and see her father's face for the last
   time in the world." Yes, and now I begin to feel that the hour is
   coming. They are gathering round my bed. "Farewell! to you all, a last
   farewell! A father bids you follow him upwards to the skies. I know
   that my Redeemer liveth.' My hope stands fast and firm in Christ Jesus!
   Farewell! Farewell! I commend you to him who is the Father of the
   fatherless and the husband of the widow." But the hour draws nearer
   still. And now the lips refuse to speak. We have a something to
   communicate--a last word to a wife. We mutter through our closed teeth,
   but no audible sounds are heard, no words that can be interpreted. We
   breathe heavily. They stay us up in the bed with pillows. And now we
   begin to understand that expression of the hymn, "The cracking of the
   eyestrings." Now, we cannot see. Strange to say, we have eyes still,
   but we cannot see. If we want anything we must feel about us for it;
   but, no, we cannot lift our hands. They begin to hang down. We can
   still hear, and we hear the whisper the question, "Is he dead?" One of
   them says, " I think there is still a little breath." They come very
   near and try to hear us breathing. That can hardly be heard. What must
   our sensations be in that solemn moment! There is a hush now in the
   room. The watch alone is heard ticking, as the last sands drop from the
   hour glass. And now, the last moment is come. My soul is severed from
   my body. And where am I now--a naked, disembodied spirit? My soul, if
   thy hope be sound and real, thou art now where thou hast longed to be;
   thou art in the presence of thy Savior and thy God. Thou art now
   brother to the angels. Thou standest in the mid-blaze of the splendor
   of divinity. Thou seest Him, whom having not seen, thou hast loved; in
   whom believing, thou hast rejoiced with joy unspeakable and full of
   glory.

   Ah, but there is another picture, the reverse of this, I cannot attempt
   to draw it, I will give you but the rough outline of it--a crayon
   sketch without the filling up. Yes, you are dying; and bad as you have
   been, you have some that love you, and they gather round you. You
   cannot speak to them. Alas! you tell them more than if you could speak,
   for they see in your face that clammy sweat, those staring eyes. They
   see tokens that you have a vision of a something which would not bear
   to be revealed. You try to be composed; you quiet yourself. The doctor
   assists you to be damned easily: he drugs you, helps to send you to
   sleep. And now you feel that you are expiring. Your soul is filled with
   terror. Black horrors and thick darkness gather round you. Your
   eyestrings break. Your flesh and your heart fail. But there is no kind
   angel to whisper, "Peace, be still." No convoy of cherubim to bear your
   soul away straight to yonder worlds of joy. You feel that the dart of
   death is a poisoned dart, that it has injected hell into your veins;
   that you have begun to feel the wrath of God before you enter upon the
   state where you shall feel it to the full. Ah, I will not describe what
   has happened. As your minister it may be, I shall have to come up and
   see you in your last extremity, and I shall have to say to the mother,
   to the children, to your brothers and to your sisters, "Well, well, we
   must leave this in the hands of a Covenant God." I must speak as gently
   as I can, but I shall go away with the reflection: "O that he had been
   wise, that he had understood this, that he had considered his latter
   end." My heart, as I go down the stairs, shall ask me this question,
   "Was I faithful to this man? did I tell him honestly the way to heaven?
   if he is lost, will his blood be required at my hands?" I know that
   with regard to some of you the answer of my conscience will be, "I have
   preached as well as I possibly could the Word of God, not with enticing
   words of man's wisdom, but with a desire to be simple and to come home
   to the heart. I must leave the matter there. If they are lost, oh,
   horror of horrors! but I am clear of their blood." Ah, my hearers, I
   hope it will not be so with you, but that each one of you, dying, may
   have a hope; and rising again may possess immortality, and ascend to
   the throne of my Father and of your Father, to my God and to your God.

   And, now, if there is any impression upon your minds, any serious
   thought, let me send you away with this one sentence. The way of
   salvation is plain: "He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved;
   he that believeth not shall be damped." Believe--that is, trust--trust
   the Lord Jesus and thou shalt be saved. My God the Holy Spirit enable
   you to trust him now, for with some of you--and mark this last
   sentence--with some of you it is NOW or NEVER.
     __________________________________________________________________

                     Separating the Precious From the Vile

   A Sermon

   (No. 305)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 25th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "That ye may know how that the Lord hath put a difference between the
   Egyptians and Israel,"--Exodus 11:7.

   THE DIFFERENCE between the Egyptians and Israel was exceedingly
   manifest. At first sight it seemed to be very greatly to the advantage
   of Egypt. They had the whip in their hand, and poor Israel smarted
   under the lash. Egypt possessed the toil of the Israelites. the sons of
   Jacob made bricks, and the subjects of Pharaoh inhabited the houses
   which the sons of Jacob builded. How soon, however, were the tables
   turned! God wrought plagues in Egypt. but Goshen was spared. He sent a
   thick darkness over all the land, even darkness that might be felt; but
   in all the land of Goshen there was light. He sent all manner of flies
   and lice in all their borders, but throughout the habitations of Israel
   not a fly was to be seen, neither were they molested by the living
   things which crept upward from the quickened dust of the earth. The
   Lord sent hail and a murrain upon all the cattle of the Egyptians; but
   the cattle of the children of Israel were spared, and on their fields
   fell no desolating shower from heaven. At last the destroying angel
   unsheathed his glittering sword to smite his last decisive blow. In
   every house throughout the land of Egypt there was weeping and wailing,
   he smote the firstborn of Egypt, the chief of all their strength; but
   as for his people, he led them forth like sheep, he led them through
   the wilderness like a flock, by the hand of Moses and Aaron. They came
   to the Red Sea, and he divided a path for them they went through the
   sea on foot, there did they rejoice in Him. The flood; stood upright as
   a heap land the depths were congealed in the heart of the sea. They
   passed through the depths as through a wilderness, which the Egyptians
   essaying to do were drowned. The Lord, in all these things, put a
   glorious difference between Egypt and Israel. The fiery cloudy pillar
   which gave light to Israel was darkness to the eyes of Egypt. Whenever
   God blessed Israel, he cursed Egypt, the same moment that he sent the
   benediction to the one, he sent the malediction to the other, he looked
   on Israel and the tribes rejoiced, but when he looked on the Egyptians,
   their host were troubled.

   Now, in your ears this day, Egypt and Israel are declared to be types
   of two people who dwell upon the face of the earth,--the men that fear
   the Lord and the men that fear him not. The Egyptians are the pictures
   of those who are dead in trespasses and sins, enemies to God by wicked
   works, and aliens from the commonwealth of Israel. The Israelites,
   God's ancient people, are set before us as the representatives of those
   who have through grace believed in Christ, who fear God and who seek to
   keep his commandments. The task of this morning will be to show you,
   first, the difference; secondly, when that difference is seen; and
   thirdly, the reason why it should be seen, upon which last point I
   shall stir up your minds, urging you to make the difference more and
   more conspicuous in your daily life.

   I. First, then, THE DIFFERENCE. The Lord hath put a difference between
   those who are his people and those who are not.

   There are many distinctions among men which will one day be blotted
   out; but permit me to remind you at the outset that this is an eternal
   distinction. Between the different classes of men, the rich and the
   poor, there are channels of intercommunication, and very properly so,
   for the less class distinctions are maintained, the better for the
   happiness of all. The social fabric is not to be kept up by maintaining
   one pillar at the expense of another, or by gilding the roof and
   neglecting the foundations. The commonwealth is one, and the prosperity
   of one class is proportionally the prosperity of all. But there
   distinction so wide that we may truly say of it, "Between us and you
   there is a great gulf fixed," and the broader the line of demarcation,
   the happier for the church, and the better for the world. There is a
   distinction of infinite width between the sinner dead in sin, and the
   child of God quickened by the Spirit, who has been adopted into the
   family of the Most High. Concerning this distinction, suffer me to
   make, the following remarks.

   First, the distinction between the righteous and wicked is most
   ancient. It was ordained of God from before the foundation of the
   world. In the eternal covenant Jehovah wrote the names of his elect;
   for them Christ entered into engagements that he would be their surety,
   and their substitute to suffer in their room and stead. Covenant
   engagements were made for them, and for them only. Their names were
   from of old inscribed in the book of God, and engraven upon the
   precious stones of their great high priest's breastplate. They were
   then in the covenant set apart: "The Lord hath set apart him that his
   godly for himself." While the whole world lay in the wicked one, these
   precious jewels were selected from the dunghill of the fall. Better
   than other men by nature they certainly were not; yet divine
   sovereignty, linked arm in arm with divine grace, selected some to be
   the vessels of mercy, who should be fitted for the Master's use, in
   whom Jehovah should show forth not his long suffering merely, but the
   plenitude of his grace and the riches of his love. Other distinctions
   are merely temporary. they are things that grew up yesterday, and will
   die to-morrow. but this is older than the everlasting hills. Before the
   starry sky was spread, or the foundations of the earth were digged, the
   Lord had made a difference between Israel and Egypt. This, however, is
   a mighty secret, and though we are to tell it as we find it in the
   Word, yet we are not intrusively to pry into it.

   God has made another distinction, namely a vital one. Between the
   righteous and the wicked, there is an essential distinction of nature.
   There are some of you, who imagine that the only difference between the
   true Christian and another, is just this,--that the one is more
   attentive to his place of worship--that he is more regular in the
   practice of ceremonies--that he could not live without private prayer,
   and the like. Permit me to assure you, that if there is no greater
   difference than this between you and another man, you are not a child
   of God. The distinction between the unconverted and the converted, is
   far wider than this. It is one not of dress or of outward form but of
   essence and of nature. Bring hither a serpent and an angel: there is a
   distinction between the two of such a character, that the serpent could
   not grow into an angel let it do its utmost; the angel could not eat
   the dust which forms the serpent's food, nor could the serpent lift up
   its voice and sing the seraphic song of the blessed. As wide a
   distinction as that is there between the man that fears God, and the
   man that fears him not. If you are still what you always were by
   nature, you cannot be a true Christian; and it is utterly impossible
   for you to grow into one by all your doings. You may wash and cleanse,
   you may clothe and dress; you will be the child of nature finely
   dressed, but not the living child of heaven. You must be born again;
   there must be a new nature put into you; a spark of divinity must fall
   into your bosom, and must burn there. Fallen nature can only rise to
   nature, just as water will only flow up as high as its source; and as
   you are fallen in nature, so must you remain, unless you are renewed by
   grace. God by his infinite power has quickened his people: he has
   brought them out of their old nature, they now love the things which
   they once hated, and they hate the things they once loved. Old things
   with them are "passed away; behold all things are become new." The
   change is not that they speak more solemnly and religiously, or that
   they have left off going to the theater, or that they do not spend
   their lives in the frivolities of the world: that is not the change--it
   is a consequence of it, but the change is deeper and more vital than
   this; it is a change of the man's very essence. He is no more the man
   that he once was. he is "renewed in the spirit of his mind," born over
   again, regenerated, re-created: he is a stranger and a foreigner here
   below, he no more belongs to this world, but to the world to come. The
   Lord, then, in this respect, hath put a difference between Israel and
   Erupt.

   We would remark, further, that this difference of nature is followed by
   a difference in God's judicial treatment of the two men. With both, his
   dealings are just and right. God forbid that he should be unjust to any
   man! The Lord is never severe beyond what justice demands, nor gracious
   beyond what justice allows. Here comes the unrenewed, the ungodly man,
   he brings up his good works, his prayers, his tears; the Lord will
   judge him according to his works, and woe worth the day to him; it will
   be a day of sorrow indeed, for he will soon discover his best
   perfections are as filthy rags, and that all his good works only seemed
   to be good because he was in the dark, and could not see the spots that
   defiled them. Another man approaches, it is the renewed man. God deals
   with him justly, it is true, but not according to the scale of the law,
   he looks at that man as accepted in Christ Jesus, justified through
   Christ's righteousness and washed in his blood' and now he deals with
   that man, not as a judge with a criminal, nor as a king with a subject,
   but as a father with a child. That man is taken to Jehovah's bosom; his
   offense is put away, his soul constantly renewed by the influence of
   divine grace, and the dealings of God with him are as different from
   the dealings of God with another man, as the love of a husband differs
   from the sternness of an incensed monarch. On the one hand, it is
   simple justice; on the other hand, fervent love; on the one hand, the
   inflexible severity of a judge, and on the other hand, the unbounded
   affection of a parent's heart. The Lord, then, in this also hath put a
   difference between Israel and Egypt.

   This distinction is carried out in providence. It is true, that to the
   naked eye one event happens to both; the righteous suffer as well as
   the wicked, and they go to the grave which is appointed for all living;
   but if we could look more closely into God's providence, we should see
   lines of light dividing the path of the godly from the lot of the
   transgressor. To the righteous man every providence is a blessing. A
   blessing is wrapped up in all our curses and in all our crosses. Our
   cups are sometimes bitter, but they are always healthful. Our woe is
   our weal. We are never losers by our losses, but we grow rich towards
   God when we become poor towards men. To the sinner, however, all things
   work together for evil. Is he prosperous? He is as the beast that is
   fattened for the slaughter. Is he healthy? He is as the blooming flower
   that is ripening for the mower's scythe. Does he suffer? His sufferings
   are the first drops of the eternal hail-storm-of divine vengeance.
   Every thing to the sinner, if he could but open his eye, hath a black
   aspect. The clouds are to him big with thunders, and the whole world is
   alive with terror. If earth could have its way it would shake off from
   its bosom the monsters that forget God. But to the righteous all things
   work together for good. Come foul, or come fair, all shall end well;
   every wave speeds him to his desired haven, and even the rough blast
   swells his sails, and drives him the more swiftly towards the port of
   peace. The Lord hath put a difference between Israel and Egypt in this
   world.

   That difference, however, will come out more distinctly on the
   judgment-day. Then, when he shall sit upon the throne of his glory, he
   shall divide them, the one from the other, as a shepherd divideth the
   sheep from the goats. He shall cry unto his angels, and say, "Gather
   out of my kingdom all things that offend and them that do iniquity."
   Then, with the sharp sickle in his hand, will the angel fly through the
   midst of heaven and reap the tares, and gather them together in bundles
   to burn. But, stepping from his throne, not delegating the delightful
   task to an angel, the King himself, the crowned Reaper, shall take his
   own golden sickle, and shall gather the wheat into his barn. Oh! then,
   when hell shall open wide its mouth, and swallow up the impenitent,
   when they shall go down alive into the pit, as Korah, Dathan, and
   Abiram did of old--then, when they shall see the righteous streaming up
   to heaven, like a stream of light, in their bright and glistering
   garments, shout triumphant hymns and choral symphonies, then shall it
   be seen that the Lord hath put a difference. When across the impassable
   gulf the rich man shall see Lazarus in Abraham's bosom--when from the
   lowest pit of hell the condemned one shall see the accepted one
   glorified in bliss--then shall the truth stand out written in letters
   of fire--"The Lord hath put a difference between the Egyptians and
   Israel."

   II. We pass on to our second point--WHEN IS THIS DIFFERENCE SEEN?

   Our answer is, it is often seen in God's temple. Two men go up to the
   temple to worship, they take their seats side by side in God's house;
   the Word is preached to them both; they both hear it, perhaps with like
   attention; the one goes his way to forget, the other remembers. They
   come again: the one listens, and the minister is to him as one that
   playeth a goodly tune upon an instrument: the other listens and weeps;
   he feels that the word is quick and powerful, sharper than any
   two-edged sword. It comes home to his conscience; it pierces him, cuts
   him to the quick; every word seems to be as an arrow shot from the bow
   of God and finding a target in his conscience. And now they come again.
   The one feels the word at last to be his; he has been led to repentance
   and faith in Christ through It, and now comes up to sing God's praises
   as his accepted child; while the other remains to sing as a mere
   formalist--to join in worship in which he feels hut little interest--to
   lift up his voice in a prayer when his heart is far absent. If I had
   here this morning a heap of steel filings and of ashes mixed together,
   and I wanted to detect the difference between the two, I should have
   nothing to do but to thrust in a magnet; the filings would be attracted
   and the ashes would remain. So with this congregation. If I would know
   to-day who are those who are of God's Israel, and who are still the
   baseborn Egyptians, there is nothing needed but to preach the gospel.
   The gospel finds out God's people. it has an affinity to them. When it
   comes to them they receive it, God's Holy Spirit opening their hearts;
   they lay hold of it and rejoice in it; while those who are not God's,
   who have no part or interest in the redemption of Christ, hear it in
   vain and are even hardened by it and go their way to sin with a higher
   hand, after all the warnings they have received.

   Come now, my hearer--to come right home to you--have you ever seen this
   difference made between you and another man? Do you hear the gospel now
   as you have never heard it before? This is the age of hearing; there
   are more people attending our places of worship now than ever there
   were but still it is not the hearers, but the doers of the Word that
   are blessed. So, then, have you been made to hear the Word as you never
   heard before? Do you listen to it, hoping that it may be blessed to
   you, desiring that your conscience may be subjected to it. just as the
   gold is subject to the goldsmith's hand? If so, there is the first sign
   of a difference which God has put between you and the Egyptians.

   But it goes further. If the Israelite is consistent with his duty, as I
   think he must be, in a little while he feels it incumbent upon him to
   come out from the rest of mankind, and to be united with Christ's
   Church. "The Lord hath put a difference," saith he; "now I will show
   this difference. My Master hath said, He that believeth and is baptized
   shall be saved.' I put no trust in baptism, but I must show that I am
   no longer what I was. I desire to be obedient to my Lord and Master. I
   desire to cross the rubicon. To draw my sword against the world, once
   and for ever to throw away the scabbard. I long to do a something that
   shall make the world see that I am crucified to it, and that it is
   crucified to me. Let me then be buried in water, in the name of the
   Father. and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,' as the picture of my
   death to all the world. Let me rise out of the water, as the picture of
   my resurrection to a new life; and God help me from that blessed hour
   to go on my way walking as one who is not of the world, even as Christ
   is not of the world." As often as the table is spread, upon which we
   celebrate the memorial of the body and the blood of Christ, God again
   seals that difference. The unconverted, if the minister be faithful,
   are warned to go their way, or if they eat there, they will eat and
   drink damnation to themselves, not discerning the Lord's body. They are
   invited to come, and they only who are believers in Jesus, who have a
   hope that they are changed men, and have been renewed by divine grace
   in the spirit of their minds. Thus do we show to the world in the two
   outward symbols that the Lord hath put a difference.

   But further: the whole of a Christian's life, if he be what he should
   be, is showing forth to the world that the Lord hath put a difference.
   Here are two men in trial, the same trouble has befallen them both;
   they are partners in business; their money is all gone; the house has
   gone to ruin; they are brought down to beggary, and have to start in
   the world again. Now, which of these two is the Christian man? There is
   one ready to tear his hair; he cannot bear that he should have worked
   all his life and now should be poor as Lazarus. He thinks Providence is
   unfair. "There is many a vagabond," says he, "getting rich, and here am
   I, after toiling hard and paying every man his own, brought down to the
   round, having nothing left." But the Christian man--if he really be a
   Christian, (mark that, for there are a great many that profess to be
   Christians and are not, and it is the rough wind that tries
   them)--says, "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be
   the name of the Lord." "I know," says he, "that all things work
   together for good. I will put my shoulder to the wheel, and work up
   once more;" and so with courage and with confidence in Christ he goes
   again to his labor, and God blesses him yet once more, nay, blesses him
   in his trials more than he was ever blessed in his prosperity. Here are
   two men again: they have both been doing wrong, and when the righteous
   fall as well as the wicked, who is to know the difference? The next
   morning one of them rises, and is quite easy about the matter--he knows
   no wounds in his conscience, or if he be uneasy it is because he is
   afraid of being found out. He is like one who, having fallen into the
   mire, lies and rolls there. But here comes the Christian. He feels he
   has done wrong. "What shall I do?" says he, "to make reparation to man,
   and to show my repentance towards God?" He would be ready to go down on
   his knees before any one he has injured and confess how wrong he has
   been. He hates himself, he loathes himself, because he has done wrong.
   He would sooner die than sin; and now that he finds he has sinned, he
   wishes he had died sooner than he should ever have dishonored his Lord
   and Master. If you see a sheep fall into the mire, it is quick enough
   up again; but if the swine falls there, it wallows in it again and
   again, and nothing but the whip or the stick can make it rise. So that
   there is an essential difference between the righteous and the wicked,
   even in their sins. "A righteous man falleth seven times, but he riseth
   up again;" as for the wicked, he rolls and revels in his sin, abiding
   and continuing in it. God has set a difference, and even when that
   difference is obscured it may yet be discerned. There is a ring about
   the Christian man that is not to be mistaken. Do what you will with
   him, he is not what the other man is, and you cannot make him so. Here
   is a new coin which looks amazingly like a sovereign, and I turn it
   over. it is so clever a counterfeit that I cannot discover whether it
   is gold or no. Here is another: it is a light sovereign, I find. I look
   et them both, and at first sight I am inclined to think that my
   new-minted sovereign is the best of the two; for, say I the other is
   evidently much worn and light. But there is a ring about the Christian
   that proves him to be gold, after all, even when he is worn and short
   in weight. You may deface him so that the king's image is not apparent
   upon him, but he is gold for all that; he only needs to be tried, and
   in the hour of trial that golden sound of grace will detect him, and he
   will prove still to be one in whom God hath made a difference.

   This distinction also comes out in a godly man when he is under the
   pressure of some strong temptation. There are two tradesmen: both seem
   to trade in the same way; but at last a rare chance occurs to them. If
   they have no conscience they can make a fortune. Now will be the test.
   One man looks out for the opportunity, and unscrupulously grasps it.
   That man is no Christian: put that down as certain. There is another
   man: he feels a longing for the gain, for he is human, but his heart
   hates the sin, for it is renewed by divine grace. "No," he says;
   "better shut up shop than earn my living by dishonesty: better for me
   to be ruined in this life than that I should be ruined in the world to
   come." The maxim of the establishment on the other side of the road is,
   "We must live." The maxim of this shop will be, "We must die." You who
   are customers soon know in which place you will be dealt with most
   honestly, and there you discover in some degree that the Lord hath put
   a difference between Egypt and Israel.

   But not to keep you long on this point: that difference shines forth
   very vividly in the dying hour. Oh! how distinct is that difference
   sometimes! The last time the cholera visited London with severity,
   though I had many engagements in the country, I gave them up to remain
   in London. It is the duty of the minister always to be on the spot in
   times of visitation and disease. I never saw more conspicuously in my
   life the difference between the man that feareth God and the man that
   feareth him not, than I did then. Called up one Monday morning at about
   half-past three, to go and see a man who was dying, I went to him and
   entered the place where he was lying. He had been down to Brighton on
   the Sunday morning on an excursion, and came back ill; and there he lay
   on the borders of the tomb. I stood by his side, and spoke to him. The
   only consciousness he had was a foreboding of terror, mingled with the
   stupor of alarm: soon even that was gone, and I had to stand sighing
   there with a poor old woman who had watched over him, hopeless
   altogether about his soul. I went home. I was called away to see a
   young woman; she was also in the last extremity, but it was a fair,
   fair sight: she was singing, though she knew she was dying; talking to
   those round about her, telling her brothers and sisters to follow her
   to heaven, bidding good-bye to her father, smiling as if it were a
   marriage-day. She was happy and blessed. I then saw very clearly, that
   if there is not a difference in the joy of life there is a difference
   when we come to the dying hour. But the first case I mentioned is not
   the worst I have ever seen. Many have l seen dying, whose histories it
   would not do to tell. I have seen them when their eye-balls have been
   glaring from their sockets--when they have known Christ and have heard
   the gospel, but yet have rejected it. They have been dying in agonies
   so extreme, that one could only fly from the room, feeling that it was
   a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of an angry God' and to enter
   into that all-devouring fire. On the dying bed it will be manifest that
   the Lord hath put a difference between Israel and Egypt.

   III. I have hurried over these first two points because I want to dwell
   very strongly and very solemnly upon my last. We spoke about the
   difference being seen between the righteous and the wicked. My last
   point is, WHY SHOULD THAT DIFFERENCE BE SEEN? I have here a practical
   aim and drift; and I hope that if the rest of the sermon shall fall
   dead upon you, this, at least, may quicken your conscience.

   This is an age which has many hopeful signs in it; but yet, if we judge
   according to the rule of Scripture, there are some very black marks
   upon this century. I sometimes fear that the only age to which we can
   be truly likened is the time before the flood, when the sons of God
   intermarried with the daughters of men, and when there ceased to be a
   distinction between the Church and the world. It is but the part of
   candour to acknowledge, that there is such a mixture now-a-days, such a
   compromise, such a giving and a taking on both sides of religious
   questions, that we are like a leavened mass, mingled and united
   together. All this is wrong; for God has always intended there should
   be a distinction between the righteous and the wicked, as clear and as
   palpable as the distinction between the day and the night.

   My first argument is this. Whenever the Church has been thoroughly
   distinct from the world, she has always prospered. During the first
   three centuries the world hated the Church. The prison, the stake, the
   heels of the wild horse, these were thought too good for the followers
   of Christ. When a man became a Christian, he gave up father and mother,
   house and lands, nay, his own life also. When they met together they
   must meet in the catacombs, burning candles at high noon, because there
   was darkness in the depths of the earth. They were despised and
   rejected of men. "They wandered about in sheeps' skins and goats'
   skins, destitute, afflicted, tormented." But then was the age of
   heroes; that was the time of giants. Never did the Church so much
   prosper and so truly thrive as when she was baptized in blood. The ship
   of the Church never sails so gloriously along as when the bloody spray
   of her martyrs falls upon her deck. We must suffer, and we must die, if
   we are ever to conquer this world for Christ. Was there ever such a
   surprising miracle as the spread of the gospel during the first two or
   three centuries? Within fifty years after Christ had ascended to
   heaven, the gospel was preached in every known part of the world, and
   there were converts to Christ in the most inhospitable regions. Further
   than the ships of Tarshish had the gospel flown; the pillars of
   Hercules had not bounded the industry of the apostles. To wild and
   uncivilised tribes, to Picts and Scots, and to fierce Britons, was the
   gospel proclaimed. Churches were founded, some of which have lasted in
   their purity to this day. And all this, I believe, was partly the
   result of that striking, that marked difference between the Church and
   the world. Certainly, during the period after Constantine professed to
   be a Christian, changing with the times, because he saw it would
   strengthen his empire--from the time when the Church began to be linked
   with the state--the Lord left her, and gave her up to barrenness, and
   Ichabod was written on her walls. It was a black day for Christendom
   when Constantine said, "I am a Christian." "By this sign I conquer,"
   said he. Yes, it was the true reason of his pretended conversion, If he
   could conquer by the cross it was well enough; if he could have
   conquered by Jupiter he would have I liked it equally as well. From
   that time the Church began to degenerate. And coming down to the middle
   ages, when you could not tell a Christian from a worldling, where were
   you to find piety at all, or life or grace left in the lands Then came
   Luther, and with a rough grasp he rent away the Church from the
   world--pulled her away at the risk of rending her in pieces. He would
   not have her linked in affinity with the world, and then "The kings of
   the earth stood up, and the rulers took counsel together, against the
   Lord and against his Anointed;" but he that sitteth in the heavens did
   laugh at them; Jehovah had them in derision. The Church went forth
   conquering and to conquer, and her main weapon was her non-conformity
   to the world, her coming out from among men. Put your finger on any
   prosperous page in the Church's history, and I will find a little
   marginal note reading thus: "In this age men could readily see where
   the Church began and where the world ended." Never were there good
   times when the Church and the world were joined in marriage with one
   another.

   But though this were sufficient argument for keeping the Church and the
   world distinct, there are many others. The more the Church is distinct
   from the world in her acts and in her maxims, the more true is her
   testimony for Christ, and the more potent is her witness against sin.
   We are sent into this world to testify against evils; but if we dabble
   in them ourselves, where is our testimony? If we ourselves be found
   faulty, we are false witnesses; we are not sent of God, our testimony
   is of none effect. I do not hesitate to say there are tens of thousands
   of professing Christians, whose testimony before the world is rather
   injurious than beneficial. The world looks at them, and says, "Well, I
   see: you can be a Christian, and yet remain a rogue." "Ah!" says
   another, "you can be a Christian, I perceive; but then you will have to
   be doleful and miserable." "Ah!" cries another, "these Christians like
   to drink sin in secret behind the door. Their Christianity lies in not
   liking to sin openly; but they can devour a widow's house when nobody
   is looking on; they can be drunkards, only it must be in a very small
   party; they would not like to be discovered tipsy where there were a
   hundred eyes to look at them." Now, what is all that? It is just
   this,--that the world has found out that the Church visible is not the
   unmixed Church of Christ, since it is not true to its principles, anal
   does not stand up for the uprightness and integrity which are the marks
   of the genuine church of God. Many Christians forget that they are
   bearing a testimony: they do not think that anybody notices them. Ay,
   but they do. There are no people so much watched as Christians. The
   world reads us up, from the first letter of our lives to the end; and
   if they can find a flaw--and, God forgive us, they may find very
   many--they are sure to magnify the flaw as much as ever they can. Let
   us therefore be very watchful, that we live close to Christ, that we
   walk in his commandments always that the world may see that the Lord
   hath put a difference..

   But now I have a very sad thing to say--I wish that I could withhold
   it, but I cannot. Unless, brothers and sisters, you make it your daily
   business to see that there is a difference between you and the world,
   you will do more hurt than you can possibly do good. The Church of
   Christ is at this day accountable for many fearful sins. Let me mention
   one which is but the type of others. By what means think you were the
   fetters rivetted on the wrist of our friend who sits there, a man like
   ourselves, though of a black skin? It is the Church of Christ that
   keeps his brethren under bondage; if it were not for that Church, the
   system of slavery would go back to the hell from which it sprung. If
   there were no slave floggers but men who are fit for so degrading an
   office; if there were not found Christian ministers (?) who can
   apologise for slavery from the pulpit, and church members who sell the
   children of nobler beings than themselves--if it were not for this,
   Africa would be free. Albert Barnes spoke right truly when he said
   slavery could not exist for an hour if it were not for the countenance
   of the Christian Church. But what does the slaveholder say when you
   tell him that to hold our fellow-creatures in bondage is a sin, and a
   damnable one, inconsistent with grace? He replies "I do not believe
   your slanders; look at the Bishop of So-and-so, or the minister of
   such-and-such a place, is not he a good man, and does not he whine out
   Cursed be Canaan?' Does not he quote Philemon and Onesimus? Does he not
   go and talk Bible, and tell his slaves that they ought to feel very
   grateful for being his slaves, for God Almighty made them on purpose
   that they might enjoy the rare privilege of being cowhided by a
   Christian master. Don't tell me," he says, "if the thing were wrong, it
   would not have the Church on its side." And so Christ's free Church
   bought with his blood, must bear the shame of cursing Africa, and
   keeping her sons in bondage. From this evil, good Lord deliver us. If
   Manchester merchants and Liverpool traders have a share in this guilt,
   at least let the Church be free of this hell-filling crime. Men have
   tried hard to make the Bible support this sum of all villanies, but
   slavery, the thing which defiles the Great Republic such slavery is
   quite unknown to the Word of God, and by the laws of the Jew; it was
   impossible that it ever could exist. I have known men quote texts as
   excuses for being damned, and I do not wonder that men can find
   Scripture to justify them in buying and selling the souls of men.

   And what think you is it, to come home to our own land, that props up
   the system of trample that is carried on among us? You all know that
   there are businesses where it is not possible for a young man to be
   honest in the shop, where, if he spoke the downright truth, he would be
   discharged. Why is it, think you, that the system of ticketing goods in
   the window differently from what they are sold indoors, or exhibiting
   one thing and then giving another article, the system of telling white
   lies across the counter with the intention of getting a better price,
   is maintained? Why it would not stamp an hour if it were not for the
   professing Christians who practice it. They have not the moral courage
   to say once for all, "We will have nothing to do with these things." If
   they did, if the Church renounced these unholy customs, business could
   alter within the next twelve months. The props of felony, and the
   supports of roguery are these professing Christian men, who bend their
   backs to do as other men do; who, instead of stemming the torrent, give
   up, and swim along with it--the dead fish in our churches, that flow
   with the stream, unlike the living fish which always go against it, and
   swim upward to the river's source. I would not speak too severely of
   Christ's Church, for I love her; but because I love her I must
   therefore utter this. Our being so much like the world, our trading as
   the world trades, our talking as the world talks, our always insisting
   upon it that we must do as other people do, this is doing more mischief
   to the world, than all our preachers can hope to effect good. "Come ye
   out from among them, touch not the unclean thing, be ye separate, saith
   the Lord, and I will be a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and
   daughters."

   This surely, a stern rough argument, might move us to be separate from
   the world. But once again, how is it possible for us to honor Jesus
   Christ, while there is no difference between us and the world? I can
   imagine that a man may not profess to be a Christian, and yet he may
   honor his Master, that however is a matter of imagination. I do not
   know of an instance, but I cannot imagine a man professing to be a
   Christian, and then acting as the crowd acts, and yet honoring Christ.

   Methinks I see my Master now he stands before me. He has more than
   those five blessed wounds. I see his hands running with blood. "My
   Master! my Master!" I cry, where didst thou get those wounds? those are
   not the piercings of the nails, nor the gash of the spear-thrust;
   whence come those wounds" I hear him mournfully reply, "These are the
   wounds which I have received in the house of my friends. such-and-such
   a Christian fell, such-and-such a disciple followed me afar off, and at
   last Peter-like denied me altogether. Such an one of my children is
   covetous, such another of them is proud, such another has taken his
   neighbor by the throat, and saith, Pay me what thou owest,' and I have
   been wounded in the house of my friends." O, blessed Jesus forgive us,
   forgive us, and give us thy grace that we may do so no more, for we
   would follow thee whithersoever thou goest; thou knowest Lord we would
   be thine, we would honor thee and not grieve thee. O give us now then
   of thine own Spirit, that we may come out from the world and be like
   thyself,--holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners.

   I have but just these two things to say, and then I have done. To
   professors of religion this word. There are some of you professors of
   religion that are base coin. When you come to the Lord's table you lie,
   and when you say of yourself, "I am a member of such-and-such a
   church," you say what is a disgrace to you. Now let me remind you,
   sirs, that you may hold your profession here, but when you come before
   God's bar at last you will find it a terrible thing not to have had a
   reality in your profession. Tremble, sirs, at God's right hand. There
   hangs the scale and you must be put into it, and if you are found
   wanting, your portion must be among the deceivers, and you know where
   that is--it is in the lowest pit of hell. Tremble, Sir Deacon, tremble,
   Church-member, if you are not what you profess to be there is a doom
   awaiting you of a fiercer, a direr sort than even for the ungodly and
   the reprobate. From the height of your profession you shall be plucked
   down. You have built your nest among the stars, but you must make your
   bed in hell. You have decked your head with a crown, but you must wear
   a crown of fire, you must have those fine robes plucked off you, that
   tinsel and that paint must all be removed. and you, naked to your
   shame, the hooting-mark of devils, shall become a hissing even to the
   damned of hell, as they shall point to you and cry, "There goes the man
   who destroyed himself by deceiving others. There is the wretch who
   talked of God and talked of Christ, and did not think himself such an
   one as we are, and now he too is bound up in the bundle to be burnt."

   The last word is to those who are not professors at all. God has made a
   difference between you and the righteous. Oh, my dear friends, I
   beseech you turn that thought over in your minds! There are no three
   characters, no intermediate links; there is no border-land between the
   righteous and the wicked. To-day you are either a friend to God or an
   enemy to him. You are at this hour either quickened or dead, and oh!
   remember, when death comes it is either heaven or hell with
   you,--either angels or fiends must be your companions, and either the
   flames must be your bed and fiery coverlet, or else the glories of
   eternity must be your perpetual inheritance. Remember, the way to
   heaven is open. "He that believeth in the Lord Jesus shall be saved."
   Believe on him, believe on him, and live. Trust him, and you are saved.
   Cast your soul's confidence on Jesus, and you are now delivered. God
   help you to do that now, and there shall be no difference any more
   between you and the righteous, but you shall be of them, and with them,
   in the day when Jesus cometh to sit upon the throne of his father
   David, and to reign among men.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                    Resurgam

   A Sermon

   (No. 306)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 1st, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "But some man will say, How are the dead raised up? and with what body
   do they come; Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened,
   except it die: and that which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body
   that shall be but bare grain, it may chance of wheat or of some other
   grain but God giveth it a body as it hath pleased him, and to every
   seed his own body."--1 Corinthians 15:35-38.

   We preach with words; God preacheth to us in acts and deeds. If we
   would but perceive it, creation and providence are two continual
   sermons, streaming from the mouth of God. The seasons are four
   evangelists, each of them having his testimony to utter to us. Doth not
   summer preach to us of God's bounty, of the richness of his goodness,
   of that lavish munificence with which he has been pleased to supply the
   earth, not simply with food for man, but with delights for both ear and
   eye in the beauteous landscape the melodious birds, and the flowers of
   various hue? Have you never heard the still small voice of autumn, who
   bears the wheatsheaf, and whispers to us in the rustling of the seer
   leaf? He bids us prepare to die. "All we," saith he, "do fade as a
   leaf, and all our righteousnesses are but as filthy rags." Then comes
   winter, crowned with snow, and he thunders out a most mighty sermon,
   which, if we would but listen to it, might well impress us with the
   terrors of God's vengeance, and let us see how soon he can strip the
   earth of all its pleasantries, and enrobe it in storm, when he shall
   come himself to judge the earth with righteousness, and the people with
   equity. But it seems to me that spring reads us a most excellent
   discourse upon the grand doctrine of revelation. This very month of
   April, which, if it be not the very entrance of spring, yet certainly
   introduces us to the fullness of it; this very month> bearing by its
   name the title of the opening month, speaks to us of the resurrection.
   As we have walked through our gardens, fields, and woods, we have seen
   the flower-buds ready to burst upon the trees, and the fruit-blossoms
   hastening to unfold themselves; we have seen the buried flowers
   upstarting from the sod, and they have spoken to us with sweet, sweet
   voice, the words, "Thou too shalt rise again, thou too shalt be buried
   in the earth like seeds that are lost in winter, but thou shalt rise
   again, and thou shalt live and blossom in eternal spring."

   I propose this morning, as God shall enable, to listen to that voice of
   spring, proclaiming the doctrine of the resurrection, a meditation all
   the more appropriate from the fact, that the Sabbath before last we
   considered the subject of Death, and I hope that then very solemn
   impressions were made upon our minds. May the like impressions now
   return, accompanied with more joyous ones, when we shall look beyond
   the grave, through the valley of the shadow of death, to that bright
   light in the distance--the splendours and glory of life and
   immortality.

   In speaking to you upon this text, I would remark in the outset, that
   the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead is a doctrine peculiar to
   Christianity. The heathen, by the feeble light of nature, were able to
   spell out the truth of the immortality of the soul. Those professors of
   religion who deny that immortality, are not so far advanced in learning
   as the heathen themselves. When you meet with any who think that the
   soul of man may possibly become annihilated, make them a present of
   that little catechism brought out by the Westminster Assembly, which
   bears the title, "Catechism for the Young and Ignorant." Let them read
   that through, and begin to understand that God hath not made man in
   vain. The resurrection of the body was that which was new in the
   apostolic times. When Paul stood up on Mars hill, in the midst of the
   learned assembly of the Areopagites, had he spoke." to them about the
   immortality of the soul, they would not have laughed; they would have
   respected him, for this was one of the sublime truths which their own
   wise men had taught, but when he event on to assert that the flesh and
   blood which was laid in the tomb should yet arise again, that bones
   which had become the dwelling place of worms, that flesh which had
   corrupted and decayed, should actually start afresh into life, that the
   body as well as the soul should live, some mocked' and others said, "We
   will hear thee again of this matter." The fact is, reason teaches the
   immortality of the spirit, it is revelation alone which teaches the
   immortality of the body. It is Christ alone who hath brought life and
   immortality to light by the gospel. He was the clearest proclaimer of
   that grand truth. Albeit that it had lain in the secret faith of many
   of the ancient people of God before, yet he it was who first set forth
   in clear terms the grand truth that there should be a resurrection of
   the dead, both of the just and of the unjust. AS far as I know, the
   doctrine has not been disputed in the Christian church. There have been
   some few heretics who have denied it at divers times, but they have
   been so few, so utterly insignificant, that it is not worth while to
   take any notice of their scruples, or of the objections which they have
   urged. Instead thereof, we will turn to our text; one will assume that
   the doctrine is true, and so proceed to utter some words of explanation
   upon it.

   First, then, our text suggests the real indentity of the resurrection
   body. The apostle uses the figure of a seed, a shrivelled grain of
   wheat. It is put into the ground, there it dies all the farinaceous
   part of it decays and forms a peculiarly fine soil, into which the
   life-germ strikes itself, and upon which the lifegerm feeds. The seed
   itself dies, with the exception of a particle almost too small to be
   perceived, which is the real life contained within the wheat.
   By-and-bye we see a green blade upstarting: that grows, swells, and
   increases, until it comes to be corn in the ear, and afterwards the
   full corn in the ear. Now no one has any suspicion but that the same
   wheat arises from the soil into which it was cast. Put into the earth,
   we believe it springs up, and we are accustomed to talk of it in our
   ordinary language as being the very same seed which we sowed, although
   the difference is striking and marvellous. Here you have a plant some
   three feet high, bearing many grains of wheat, and there you had the
   other day a little shrivelled grain; yet no one doubts but that the two
   are the same. So shall it be in the resurrection of the dead. The body
   is here but as a shrivelled seed; there is no beauty in it that we
   should desire it. It is put into a grave, like wheat that is sown in
   the earth, there it rots and it decays, but God preserves within it a
   sort of life germ which is immortal, and when the trump of the
   archangel shall shake the heavens and the earth it shad expand to the
   full flower of manhood, which shall blossom from the earth. a far more
   glorious form than the manhood which was buried. You are, my brethren,
   today, but as a heap of wheat, a heap of poor shrivelled corn. Despite
   that earthly beauty which makes glad our countenances, we are after all
   shrivelled and worthless, compared with what your bodies shall be when
   they shall awake from their beds of silent dust and cold damp clay. Yet
   whole they shall be different, they shall be precisely the same, it
   shall be the same body; the identity shall be preserved. Though there
   shall seem to be but little similarity, yet shall no man doubt but that
   the very body which was sown in the earth hath sprung up to eternal
   life. I suppose that if I should bring here a certain grain of seed,
   and you had never seen the image of the plant into which it would
   ripen, and I should submit it to a thousand persona here present, and
   ask them this question--"What form will this seed assume when it shall
   grow into a plant and bear a flower?" none of you could possibly tell
   what it would be like; yet when you saw it spring up you would say,
   "Well, I have no doubt that the heart's-ease sprang from its own seed.
   I am sure that a violet springs from a violet seed. I cannot doubt that
   the lily hath its own appropriate root." And another time, when you
   come to see the seed, you perhaps imagine you see some little likeness,
   at least you never mistrust the identity. Though there are wide
   extremes of difference between the tiny mustard seed and the great tree
   beneath the branches of which the birds of the air build their nests,
   yet you never for a moment question but what they are precisely the
   same. The identity is preserved. So shall it be in the resurrection of
   the dead. The difference shall be extraordinary, yet shall the body be
   still the same.

   In order to affirm this, the ancient Christian church was in the habit
   in their creed of adding a sentence to the Article which runs thus:--"I
   believe in the resurrection of the dead." They added, in Latin words to
   this effect:--"I believe in the resurrection of the dead, of this very
   flesh and blood." I do not know that the addition was ever authorized
   by the church, but it was continually used, especially at the time when
   there was a discussion as to the truth of the doctrine of the
   resurrection of the body. The very flesh and blood that is buried, the
   very eyes that are closed in death, the very hand which stiffens by my
   corpse, these very members shall live again--not the identical
   particles of the same matter any more than the self-same particles of
   the wheat spring up to make a blade, and to make full corn in the ear.
   Yet shall they be identical, in the true sense of the term, they shall
   spring up from this body--shall be the true result and development of
   this poor flesh and blood, which we now drag about with us here below.

   Ten thousand objections have been raised against this, but they are all
   readily answerable. Some have said, "But when men's bodies are dead,
   and are committed to the grave, they are often digged up, and the
   careless sexton mixes them up with common mould; nay, it sometimes
   happens that they are carted away from the churchyard, and strewn over
   the fields, to become a rich manure for wheat, so that the particles of
   the body are absorbed into the corn that is growing, and they travel
   round in a circle until they become the food of man. So that the
   particle which may have been in the body of one man enters into the
   body of another. Now," say they, "how can all these particles be
   tracked?" Our answer is if it were necessary, every atom could be
   traced. Omnipotence and Omniscience could do it. If it were needful
   that God should search and find out every individual atom that ever
   existed, he would be able to detect the present abode of every single
   particle. The astronomer is able to tell the position of one star by
   the aberration of the motion of another, by his calculation, apart from
   observation, he can discover an unknown orb; its hugeness puts it
   within his reach. But to God there is nothing little or great; he can
   find out the orbit of one atom by the aberration in the orbit of
   another atom--he can pursue and overtake each separate particle. But
   recollect, this is not necessary at all, for, as I said before, the
   identity may be preserved without there being the same atoms. Just go
   back to the excellent illustration of our text. The wheat is just the
   same, but in the new wheat that has grown up there may not be one
   solitary particle of that matter which was in the seed cast into the
   ground. A little seed that shall not weigh the hundredth part of an
   ounce falls into the earth, and springs up and produces a forest tree
   that shall weigh two tons. Now, if there be any part of the original
   seed in the tree, it must be but in the proportional of a millionth
   part, or something less than that. And yet is the tree positively
   identical with the seed--it is the same thing. And so there may only be
   a millionth part of the particles of my body in the new body which I
   shall wear but yet it may still be the same. It is not the identity of
   the matter that will make positive identity. And I shall show you that
   again. Are you not aware that our bodies are changing--that in about
   every ten years we have different bodies from what we had ten years
   ago? That is to say, by decay, and the continual wearing away of our
   flesh, there is not in this body I have here, a single particle that
   was in my body ten years ago, and yet I am the same man. I know I am
   precisely the same. So you. You shall have been born in America, and
   lived there twenty years; you shall suddenly be transferred to India,
   and live there another twenty years; you come back to America to see
   your friends--you are the same man, they know you, recognize you, you
   are precisely the same individual; but yet philosophy teaches us a fact
   which cannot be denied--that your body would have changed twice in the
   time you have been absent from your friends; that every particle is
   gone, and has had its place supplied by another; and yet the body is
   the same. So that it is not necessary there should be the same
   particles; it is not needful that you should track every atom and bring
   it back in order that the body should preserve its identity.

   Have you never heard the story of the wife of Peter Martyr, a
   celebrated reformer, who died some years before the time of Queen Mary?
   Since his enemies could not reach his body, they took up the body of
   his wife after she was dead, and buried it in a dunghill. During the
   reign of Elizabeth, the body was removed from its contemptuous
   hiding-place; it was then reduced to ashes. In order that the
   Romanists, if they should ever prevail again, might never do dishonor
   to that body, they took the ashes of Peter Martyr's wife, and mixed
   them with the reputed ashes of a Romish saint. Mixing the two together,
   they said, "Now these Romanists will never defile this body, because
   they will be afraid of desecrating the relics of their own saint."
   Perhaps some wiseacres man say, "How can these two be separated?" Why,
   they could be divided readily enough if God willed to do it; for
   granted that God is omniscient omnipotent, and you have never to ask
   how, for Omniscience and Omnipresence put the question out of court,
   and decide the thing at once. Besides, it is not necessary that it
   should be so. The life-germs of the two bodies may not have mixed
   together. God has set his angels to watch over them, as he set Michael
   to watch over the body of Moses, and he will bring out the two
   life-germs, and they shall be developed and the two bodies shall start
   up separately at the sound of the archangel's trump. Remember, then,
   and doubt not that the very body in which you sinned shall be the very
   body in which you shall suffer in hell; and the body in which you
   believe in Christ, and in which you yield yourselves to God, shall be
   the very body in which you shall walk the golden streets, and in which
   you shall praise the name of God for ever and ever.

   So much upon this first point. But observe, while the identity is real,
   the transformation is glorious. The body here is mortal, always subject
   to decay. We dwell in a poor uncomfortable tent, continually is the
   canvas being rent, the cords are being loosed, and the tent pins are
   being pulled up. We are full of sufferings, and aches, and pains, which
   are but the premonitions of coming death. We all know, some by our
   decayed teeth, which are, as I said the other day, but the emblems of a
   decayed man; others by those grey hairs which are scattered here and
   there; we all know that our bodies are so constituted that they cannot
   remain here except for a limited period, and they must--so God has
   willed it--return to their native dust. Not so, however, the new body:
   "It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption. "It will be a
   body upon which the tooth of time can have no power, and into which the
   dart of death can never be thrust. Age shall roll after age, but that
   body shall exist in everlasting youth. It shall sing, but never shall
   its song be stayed by weakness; it shall fly, but never shall its
   flight flag with weariness. There shall be no signs of mortality; the
   shroud, the mattock, and the spade are never seen in heaven. Such a
   thing as an open grave shall never appear in the celestial kingdom,
   there they live, live, live, but never, never, never shall they die.
   See then, how different the body must be; for as this body is
   constituted, every nerve and every blood vessel tells me I must die. It
   cannot be otherwise. I must endure this stern decree, "Dust to dust,
   earth to earth, ashes to ashes," but in heaven every nerve of the new
   body shall cry, "Immortality." Every part of that new frame shall speak
   for itself, and tell to the immortal spirit that they are everlasting
   companions, managed in eternal wedlock.

   There shall be, moreover, a great change in the new body as to its
   beauty. "It is sown in dishonor; it shall be raised in glory." The old
   metaphor employed by all preachers upon this doctrine must be used
   again. You see here a crawling caterpillar, a picture of yourself, a
   creature that eats and drinks, and may readily be trodden on. Wait a
   few weeks, that caterpillar shall spin itself enshroud, lie down,
   become inactive, and sleep. A picture of what you shall do. You must
   spin your winding-sheet and then be laid in the tomb. But wait awhile;
   when the warmth of the sun shall come that apparently lifeless thing
   shall burst its sheath. The chrysalis shall fall off, and the insect
   fly forth equipped with glittering wings. Having arrived at its full
   state of perfection, the imago the very image of the creature shall be
   seen by us all dancing in the sunbeam. So shall we after passing
   through our wormhood here to our chrysalis state in the grave, burst
   our coffins and mount aloft glorious winged creatures made like unto
   the angels;--the same creatures, but oh! so changed, so different, that
   we should scarce know our former selves if we could be able to meet
   them again after we have been glorified in heaven.

   There shall be a change, then, in our form and nature. Old master
   Spenser, who was a rare hand at making metaphors, says, "The body here
   is like an old rusty piece of iron, but Death shall be the blacksmith,
   he shall take it and he shall make it hot in his fire, until it shall
   sparkle and send forth burning heat and look bright and shining." And
   so surely is it. We are thrust into the earth as into the fire, and
   there shall we be made to sparkle and to shine and to be full of
   radiance, no more the rusty things that we once were, but fiery
   spirits, like the cherubim and the seraphim, we shall wear a power and
   a glory the like of which we have not even yet conceived.

   Again, another transformation shall take place, namely, in power. "It
   is sown in weakness, it is raised in power." The same body that is
   weak, shall be raised in power. We are puny things here; there is a
   limit to our labors, and our usefulness is straightened by reason of
   our inability to perform what we would. And oh, bow weak we become when
   we die I A man must be carried by his own friends to his own grave; he
   cannot even lay himself down in his last resting-place. Passively he
   submits to be laid out, to be wrapped up in his winding sheet, and to
   be shut up in the darkness of the grave. Silently, passively he submits
   to be carried away with the pall covered over him, and to be put into
   the earth. The clods are shovelled over him, but he knows it not,
   neither could he resist his burial if he were conscious of it. But that
   powerless body shall be raised in power. That was a fine idea of Martin
   Luther, which he borrowed from St. Anselm, that the saints shall be so
   strong when they are risen from the dead, that if they chose they could
   shake the world; they could pull up islands by their roots, or hurl
   mountains into the air. Some modern writers, borrowing their ideas from
   Milton, where he speaks of the battles of the angels, where they
   plucked up the hills with all their shaggy loads, rivers and trees at
   once, and hurled them at the fallen spirits, have taught that we shall
   be clothed with gigantic forge. I think if we do not go the length of
   the poets, we have every reason to believe that the power of the risen
   body will be utterly inconceivable. These, however, are but guesses at
   the truth; this great mystery is yet beyond us. I believe that when I
   shall enter upon my new body, I shall be able to fly from one spot to
   another, like a thought, as swiftly as I will; I shall be here and
   there, swift as the rays of light. From strength to strength, my spirit
   shall be able to leap onward to obey the behests of God; upborne with
   wings of ether, it shall flash its way across that shoreless sea, and
   see the glory of God in all his works, and yet ever behold his face.
   For the eye shall then be strong enough to pierce through leagues of
   distance, and the memory shall never fail. The heart shall be able to
   love to a fiery degree, and the head to comprehend right thoroughly. It
   doth not yet appear what we shall be. But, brethren and sisters, to
   come back to reality, and leave fiction for a moment, though it doth
   not appear what we shad be, yet we know that when he shall appear, we
   shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. And do you know what
   we shall be like, if we shall be like him? Behold the picture of what
   Jesus Christ is like, and we shall be like him. "I saw," saith John,
   "one like unto the Son of Man, clothed with a garment down to the foot,
   and girt about the paps with a golden girdle His head. and his hairs
   were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of
   fire, and his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a
   furnace, and his voice as the sound of many waters. And he had in his
   right hand seven stars and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged
   sword, and his countenance was as tee sun shineth in his strength. And
   when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead." Such shall we be when we
   are like Christ; what tongue can tell, what soul can guess the glories
   that surround the saints when they' start from their beds of dust, and
   rise to immortality.

   But now, to turn away from these, which I fear to very many of you are
   rather uninteresting particulars, let me give you one or two figures
   which may show to you the change which shall take place in us on the
   day of resurrection.

   Do you see yonder a beggar? he is picking rags from a dunghill, he
   pulls out piece after piece from the heap of dust, as he uses his rake,
   you may see the like any day, if you will go to those great dustyards
   in Agar Town. There he pulls out piece after piece, and puts it in his
   basket. What can be the value of those miserable old rags? He takes
   them away, they are carried off, picked, sorted, rag to its own rag,
   like to like. By-and-bye they are washed, they are put into the mill,
   they are beaten hard, they are smashed, they are ground to pulp, and
   what is that I see just coming out of yonder mill? A clear white sheet,
   without a stain and whence came this? "I am the son of the old rag,"
   saith he, "nay, I am the identical rag that was but a few hours ago
   picked from the dung-heap." Oh! strange! Doth purity come out of
   impurity, and doth this beauty, this utility come out of that which was
   neither comely nor useful, but which men loathed, and cast away as a
   worthless thing? See here, brethren, the picture of yourselves; your
   bodies are like rags, put away into this vast dunghill earth" and there
   buried, but the angel shall come and sort you, body to its body, the
   righteous to the righteous, the wicked to the wicked, they shall come
   together, bone to his bone and flesh to his flesh; and what do I
   see?--I behold a body like unto an angel, with eyes of fire, and a face
   like the brightness of the sun, and wings like lightnings for
   swiftness. Whence art thou, thou bright spirit? I am he that was
   buried, I am that thing that once was worms' meat, but now I am
   glorious through the name of Jesus' and through the power of God. You
   have there before you a picture of the resurrection, a homely picture,
   it is true, but one which may vividly convey the idea to homely minds.

   Take another--one used of old by that mighty preacher,
   Chrysostom--there is an old house, a straight and narrow cottage, and
   the inhabitant of it often shivers with the cold winter, and is greatly
   oppressed by the heat of summer; it is ill adapted to his wants, the
   windows are too small and very dark, he cannot keep his treasure safely
   therein; he is often a prisoner; and when I have passed by his house I
   have heard him sighing at the window: "Oh, wretched man that I am, who
   shall deliver me from the body of this death." The good master comes,
   the landlord of the house, he speaks to the tenant, and he bids him
   come away, "I am about to pull down thy old house," saith he, "and I
   would not have thee here while I am pulling it stone from stone, lest
   thou be hurt and injured. Come away with me and live in my palace,
   while I am pulling thy old house to pieces." He does so, and every
   stone of the old house is thrown down; it is levelled with the ground,
   and even the foundations are dug up. Another is built: it is of costly
   slabs of marble, the windows thereof are pure and clear, all its gates
   are of agate, and all its borders of precious stones, while all the
   foundations thereof are of chrysolite, and the roof thereof is of
   jasper. And now the master of the house speaks to the old inhabitant,
   "Come back, and I will show thee the house which I have built for
   thee." O what joy, when that inhabitant shall enter and find it so well
   adapted to his wants, where every power shall have full range, where he
   shall see God out of its windows, not as through a glass, darkly, but
   face to face, where he could invite even Christ himself to come and sup
   with him, and not feel that the house is beneath the dignity of the Son
   of Man. You know the parable, you know how your old house, this clay
   body, is to be pulled down, how your spirit is to dwell in heaven for a
   little while without a body, and how afterwards you are to enter into a
   house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens, a mansion which is
   holy, incorruptible, and undefiled, and which shall never decay.

   To use yet a fresh figure, I see a beggar passing by a rich man's door,
   that poor wretch is covered with filth, his garments are hanging about
   him in pieces as if the wind would blow all away, and drive both man
   and garments amongst the rags upon the dunghill. How he shivers, how he
   seeks to pull about him that scant cloak which will not meet around his
   loins, and will not shield him from the blast. As for his shoes, they
   are indeed old and clouted, and all his garments are of such a sort
   that one never could know the original, for they have been mended and
   patched a thousand times, and now they need to be mended and patched
   again. He is freely invited to come into the rich man's hall, we will
   not tell you what is done in the meantime, but we will see him come out
   of that door again, and would you know him. Would you believe that he
   is the same man? He has been washed and cleansed; on his back there
   hangs the imperial purple, while on his head glitters a brilliant
   crown; his feet are shod with silver, and on his hands there are rings
   of gold. About the paps he wears a golden girdle; and as he comes
   abroad bright spirits wait on him and do him honor angels wait to be
   his servants, and think it to be their highest pleasure to fly to do
   his will. Is this the same man and is this the same dress? It is the
   same. By some marvellous might, rather by a divine energy, God has
   received this beggar, taken him into the inner chamber of the grave;
   has washed him from all imperfections; and now he comes out as one of
   the princes of the blood royal of heaven. And as is his nature, such is
   his apparel; as is his dignity, such is his estate) and such the
   company of servants who wait upon him.

   Not to multiply illustrations, we will use but one more. I see before
   me an old and battered cup, which many a black lip hath touched, out of
   which many a villain's throat has received moisture. It is battered and
   covered over with filth. Who could tell what metal it is? It is brought
   in and given to the silversmith, he no sooner receives it, than he
   begins to break it into pieces, he dashes it into shivers again and
   again, he pounds it until he has broken it, and then puts it into his
   fining pot and melts it. Now you begin to see it sparkle again, and by
   and bye he beats it out and fashions it into a goodly chalice, out of
   which a king may drink. Is this the same? the very same thing, This
   glorious cup; is this the old battered silver we saw just now; silver
   did I say, it looked like battered filth. Yes it is the same, and we
   who are here below like vessels, alas! too unfit for the master's use;
   vessels which have even given comfort to the evil ones, and helped to
   do the work of Satan, we shall be put into the furnace of the grave,
   and be there melted down and friend and fashioned into a glorious wine
   cup that shall stand upon the banqueting table of the Son of God.

   I have thus sought to illustrate the change, and now I will occupy your
   attention but one or two minutes on another thought which seems to lie
   within the range of my text. We have had the real identity under the
   glorious transformation. I bring you back to a thought kindred to the
   first. There will be in the bodies of the righteous an undoubted
   personality of character. If you sow barley, it will not produce wheat:
   if you sow tares, they will not spring up in the form of rye. Every
   grain hath its own peculiar form: God hath given to every seed his own
   body. So, my brothers and sisters, there are differences among us here;
   no two bodies are precisely alike: there are marks on our countenances,
   and in our bodily conformation, that show that we are different. We are
   of one blood, but not of one fashion. Well, when we are put into the
   grave we shall crumble back, and come to the same elements; but when we
   rise we shall every one of us rise diverse from the other. The body of
   Paul shall not produce a body precisely like that of Peter. Nor shall
   the flesh of Andrew bring forth a new body like that of the sons of
   Zebedee, but to every seed his own body. In the case of our blessed
   Lord and Master you win remember that when he rose himself from the
   dead he preserved his personality, there were still the wounds in his
   hands, and still there was the spear-mark in his side. I do not doubt
   that when he underwent his transfiguration, and at the time of his
   ascension up to heaven, he still retained the marks of his wounds. For
   do we not sing, and is not our song based upon Scripture?--

   He looks like a Lamb that has been slain,

   And wears his priesthood still.

   So, brethren, though of course we shall retain no weaknesses, nothing
   which will cause sorrow, yet every Christian will retain his
   individuality; he will be like and yet unlike all his fellows. As we
   know Isaiah from Jeremy here, so shall we know them above. As I differ
   from you here, if we two shall together praise God, there shall be some
   difference between us above. Not the difference in failings, but the
   difference in the perfections of the form of the new body. I sometimes
   think martyrs will wear their scars. And why should they not? It were a
   loss to them if they should lose their honors. Perhaps they shall wear
   their ruby crown in Paradise, and we shall know them--

   "Foremost mongst the sons of light

   'Midst the bright ones doubly bright."

   Perhaps the men who come from the catacombs of Rome will wear some sort
   of pallor on their brow that will show that they came from darkness,
   where they saw not the light of the sun. Perhaps the minister of
   Christ, though he shall not need to say to his fellows, "know the
   Lord," shall still be chief among the tellers out of the ways of God.
   Perhaps the sweet singer of Israel shall still be foremost in the choir
   of the golden harps, and loudest among them that shall lead the strain.
   And if these he fancies, yet am I sure that one star differeth from
   another star in glory. Orion shall not be confounded with Arcturus, nor
   shall Mazaroth for a moment be confounded with Orion. We shall an be
   separate and distinct. Perhaps we shall each one have our constellation
   there, as we shall cluster into our own societies, and gather around
   those whom we best have known on earth. Personality win be maintained.
   I do not doubt but what you will know Isaiah in heaven, and you will
   recognize the great preachers of the ancient Christian church; you will
   be able to speak with Chrysostom, and wilt talk with Whitfield. It may
   be you shall have for your companions those who were your companions
   here; those with whom you took sweet counsel, and walked to the house
   of God, shall be with you there, and you shall know them, and with
   transporting joy you shall there together tell your former trials and
   ancient triumphs, and the glories you are alike made to share.

   Treasure up, then, these things, the identity of your body after its
   glorious transformation, and, at the same time, the personality which
   will prevail.

   I want, now, your solemn attention for some five minutes, while I
   sketch a most fearful contrast here. The things I have already spoken
   should make the children of God happy. At Stratford-on-Bow, in the days
   of Queen Mary, there was once a stake erected for the burning of two
   martyrs, one of them a lame man, the other a blind man. Just when the
   fire was lit, the lame man hurled away his staff, and turning round
   said to the blind man, "Courage, brother, this fire will cure us both."
   So can the righteous say of the grave, "Courage, the grave will cure us
   all, we shall leave our infirmities behind us." What patience this
   should give us to endure all our trials, for they are not of long
   duration. They are but as the carvings of the graver's tool, shaping
   these rough blocks of clay, to bring them into the right form and
   shape, that they may bear the image of the heavenly. But the contrast
   is awful. Brethren, the wicked must rise again from the dead. The lip
   with which you have drunk the intoxicating drink till you have reeled
   again, that lip shall be used in drinking down the fiery wrath of God.
   Remember, too, ungodly woman, the eyes that are full of lust will one
   be full of horror, the ear with which you listen to lascivious
   conversation must listen to the sullen moans, the hollow groans, and
   shrieks of tortured ghosts. Be not deceived; you sinned in your body,
   you will be damned in your body. When you die your spirit must suffer
   alone, that will be the beginning of hell, but your body must rise
   again, then this very flesh in which you have transgressed the laws of
   God this very body must smart for it. It must he in the fire and burn,
   and crack, and writhe throughout eternity. Your body will be raised
   incorruptible, otherwise the fire would consume it. It will become like
   the asbestos stone, which lies in the flame and yet is never consumed.
   If it were this flesh and blood it would soon die under the pangs we
   must endure, but it will be a body all but omnipotent. As I spoke of
   the righteous having such great power, so shall you have; but it will
   be power to agonize, power to suffer, power to die, and yet to live,
   uncrushed by the stern foot of death. Think of this, ye sensualists,
   who care not for your souls, but who pamper your bodies; you shall have
   that fair complexion scorched away; those members that have become
   instruments of lust, shall become instruments of hell. Rotting as they
   will do in the grave, they shall nevertheless rise with a fiery
   immortality about them, and endure an eternity of agony and unutterable
   woe and punishment. Is not that enough to make a man tremble and cry,
   "God be merciful unto me a sinner?"

   But further, remember that while your body shall be identically the
   same, yet it too will be transformed, and as the wheat brings forth the
   wheat, so the nettle seed brings forth the nettle. What your body will
   be like I cannot tell, but perhaps as the body of the righteous will
   come to be like Christ, yours may become like the body of the devil,
   whatever that may be--the same hideous conformation, the same demon
   gaze and hellish stare which characterize that proud archangel shall
   characterize you; you shall have the image and the lineaments of the
   first traitor stamped upon your fire-enduring face. Seeds of sin, are
   ye prepared to ripen into the fun blown flower of destruction? Ye seeds
   of evil, are ye ready to be scattered now from Death's hand, and then
   to spring up an awful harvest of tormented ones? Yet so it must be
   unless you turn to God. Except you repent, he has said, and he will do
   it, he is able to cast both body and soul into hell.

   And let me remind you yet once again, that there will be in you an
   undoubted personality, you will be known in hell. The drunkard shall
   have the drunkard's punishment; the swearer shall have the swearer's
   corner to himself. "Bind them up in bundles to burn, and cast them into
   the fire." Thus saith the voice of inflexible justice. You shall not
   suffer in another man's body but in your own, and you shall be known to
   be the very man that sinned against God. You shall be looked at by one
   who sees you to-day, if you die impenitent, who will say to you, "We
   went up to that hall together; we heard a sermon on the resurrection
   which had a frightful ending; we laughed at it, but we have found out
   that it is true." And one will say to the other, "I should have known
   you though we had not met these many years till we met in hell. I
   should have known you, there is something about your new body which
   lets me know that it is the same body that you had on earth." And then
   you will mutually say to one another, "These pangs that we are now
   enduring, this horror of great darkness, these chains of fire that are
   reserved for us, are they not well deserved?" And you will curse God
   together again, and suffer together, and will be made to feel that you
   have only received the due reward of your deeds. "Did not the man warn
   us," you will say, "did he not warn us, did he not bid us fly to Christ
   for refuge?--did we not despise it, and make a jeer of what he said? We
   are rightly punished; we damned ourselves, we cut our own throats, we
   kindled hell for ourselves, and found the fuel of our own burning for
   ever and ever."

   Oh! my dear hearers, I cannot bear to stay on this subject; let me
   finish with just this word. "Whoever believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ
   shall be saved." That means you poor man, though perhaps you were drunk
   last night, and scarcely got up time enough to come here this morning.
   If thou believest, William, thou shalt be saved. This means thee, poor
   woman, harlot though thou be--if thou cast thyself on Christ thou art
   saved. This means thee, respectable man, thou who trustest in thine own
   works--if thou reliest on Christ thou shalt be saved, but not if thou
   trustest in thyself. Oh! be wise, be wise. May God give us grace now to
   learn that highest wisdom, and may we now look to the cross and to the
   quivering Lamb that bleeds upon it, and see him as he rises from the
   dead and ascends up on high, and believing in him; may we receive the
   hope and the assurance of a blissful resurrection in him.

   NOTES:

   I shall rise again.
     __________________________________________________________________

                     Importance of Small Things in Religion

   A Sermon

   (No. 307)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 8th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "The Lord our God made a breach upon us for that we sought him not
   after the due order."--1 Chron. 15:13.

   LET me explain the events of which a summary is to be found in 2 Samuel
   6., and 1 Chronicles 13:and 15:The ark of the covenant was a kind of
   chest made of shittim wood, and lined within and without with gold.
   Within this ark were preserved the tables of stone, which were received
   from heaven by Moses when he was upon the mount. There also lay the
   golden pot that had the manna, and Aaron's rod that budded. Upon the
   lid of it were represented cherubic figures of angels; and between the
   wings of the cherubim, when the ark was at rest, there was seen that
   miraculously bright light, called the Shekinah, which was the token of
   the presence of the Most High God. The lid of the ark, as you will
   remember was called the mercy-seat. The whole ark was one of the most
   sacred things in the symbolic worship of the Jews because if they
   understood aright, it was to them the expression of God's dwelling with
   them, for where that ark was, God specially rested. Its lid being
   called the mercy seat, was the representation of Jesus Christ who is
   our ark--the ark of the covenant in which God dwelt among men, and he
   is our mercy-seat by whom we have access to our Father, God. You will
   remember that after this ark was made in the wilderness, it was
   carefully kept in the secret place of the tabernacle, into which no man
   ever entered, except the high priest once in the year; and, then, not
   without blood. With his censor smoking, he made a thick cloud of
   incense, and then sprinkling the blood upon the mercy-seat, he ventured
   near to it--but not without blood. That ark when it was removed was
   covered over, so that no human eye should ever see it; and it was
   carried by golden staves upon the shoulders of the Levites. It was by
   the presence of this ark that Jordan was driven back, and an easy
   passage was made for the children of Israel, when they entered into
   Canaan. The ark was in an evil day captured by the Philistines. But
   when they took it away into their country, wherever the ark went, it
   smote the Philistines with pestilence, until they were compelled to
   bring it back, for they cried, "Send away the ark of the God of Israel,
   and let it go again to his own place, that it slay us not and our
   people: for there was a deadly destruction throughout all the city, the
   hand of God was very heavy there." Placing the terrible captive upon a
   new cart, they left the oxen to bear it as they pleased, and by divine
   providence the ark was carried to Beth-shemesh. The men of Beth-shemesh
   struck with an evil curiosity, lifted up the lid and looked therein,
   and there fell many thousands of them dead for the impious presumption.
   The ark was then removed to Kirjath-jearim, and taken into the house of
   Abinadab, where it was preserved till the days of David, who desired to
   bring it up to the tabernacle which he had erected for it on the top of
   Mount Zion. The messengers hastened through all the land carrying the
   royal message, "Come up, ye tribes of Israel, and ye sons of Judah,
   gather yourselves together, and bring up the ark of the covenant of
   your God with music and with joy." They came from every city, from the
   remotest ends of Judea, and from the borders of Egypt. But forgetful of
   the divine law, they took up the ark and put it on a new car or chariot
   which they had made for it. They thought, doubtless, it was too heavy
   for the priests to carry so many miles; or else, forgetful altogether
   of the divine law, they imitated the example of the Philistines. It is
   an evil hour for the people of God, when they set up their own
   judgment, and fail to yield implicit obedience to divine law. The ark
   is dragged by the oxen; but as there are no roads in the East, but only
   here and there a cart rut, the cart shakes, and the ark totters. Just
   when they come to the threshing floor of Chidon, there is a peculiarly
   boggy place in the road, and the car is almost upset; the ark is about
   to fall in the mire, so Uzzah thinks, and he puts out his hand, touches
   the ark to stop it, is rent in pieces, and falls a mangled corpse. The
   procession stops. They begin to weep; they cast dust mto the air; the
   king himself is angry, angry with his God. He thinks he is dealing
   hardly with them; and the ark is taken into Obed-edom's house, and all
   their joy is suspended.

   You have before you now the picture. I shall want you to look at it,
   first, in detail, to bring out certain truths which I think it teaches
   to us; and then, I shall want you to regard the picture as a whole, to
   run your eye along the whole length of the canvas, and sea the fullness
   of its meaning.

   I. First, then, we shall take THE PICTURE IN ITS DETAIL.

   1. The first observation I make upon it is this, that God's judgment of
   sin must differ exceedingly from ours. Who among us when be has read
   this narrative has not thought that Uzzah was treated hardly? What! was
   he not actuated with a proper motive? He could not bear the idea that
   the ark should fall into the mire, and therefore he put out his hand.
   Why, to our mode of thinking, it seemed to be but a small offense, and
   the motive so excellent that it might almost be justified. I am sure
   there is a disposition in us to excuse Uzzah, and to think that this
   judgment which came upon him was not deserved. Let me remark here, that
   I am not sure Uzzah suffered any eternal punishment as the result of
   it. Perhaps, he was a gracious man; and God, may smite even his own
   children with death as a chastisement, and yet their souls may he saved
   eternally. We have nothing to look at except what God did with him in
   this world. He struck him dead in this world for touching the ark.
   Verily, my brethren, the Lord seeth not as man seeth. We cannot readily
   perceive the evil, but there was sin or else he would not have punished
   it. He is too good, too just to smite any man more severely than he
   deserves. God never exaggerates our sins. He looks at them as they are.
   And what think you, my hearers, if the mere sin of touching the ark
   brought death upon the man, what would our sins have brought on us if
   God had "laid justice to the line and righteousness to the plummet?"
   Why, we have all of us done ten thousand times worse than Uzzah. Nay,
   some of you are living in the commission of sin to this very day. You
   have never repented of your sins, but you love your evil ways, and,
   though warned many times, (not like Uzzah, who was taken away with a
   stroke,) though warned many times, you still persevere in your
   iniquities. Oh, must not God's patience be pressed down under your
   sins? Must he not have become as Amos hath it, like a cart that is full
   of sheaves, the axles whereof are ready to break? and then you sink and
   sink for ever into the pit of eternal wrath. It seems strange that
   Eve's taking the apple should be the ruin of the entire world; that the
   mere violation of a sacred tree should bring death into the world, with
   all its train of woe. But this arises from the fact that we do not know
   how black a thing sin is. The least sin is so great an evil, so
   excessively black an abomination, that God were just if he smote us all
   to hell the moment we had thought an idle thought, or had uttered a
   single wrong word. Sin is an immeasurable evil. Man cannot weigh it. It
   is a gulf without a bottom. It is a desperate evil, the desperateness
   of which we shall never know, unless, as God forbid, we should ever
   come to feel its terror in the pit of hell.

   I think this lesson lies upon the very surface of the narrative, that
   we do not know how bad a thing sin is, for if the mere act of touching
   the ark brought death on Uzzah, what a desperate evil sin must be!

   2. But, again, we learn, in the second place, from this narrative--that
   all changes from the written revelation of God are wrong. There has
   sprung up in the Church of Christ an idea that there are many things
   taught in the Bible which are not essential; that we may alter them
   just a little to suit our convenience: that provided we are right in
   the fundamentals, the other things are of no concern and of no value
   whatever. Now, look at our picture, and let your mistake for ever be
   driven away. It did seem to the people of Israel but a very indifferent
   matter whether the ark was carried on men's shoulders, or whether it
   was dragged upon a cart. Why, they said, "It cannot matter. It is true
   God has told us that it is to be borne by the Levites, but what does
   that signify as long as it is carried? It will be all right. We will do
   the thing, and if we alter the mode, it will not signify very
   materially." Yes, but it did signify, for it was through this
   alteration which they made in God's law that the ark first began to
   shake, and to totter, and then Uzzah was tempted to put forth his hand
   and touch it. So that the death of Uzzah was the punishment upon the
   whole people for having neglected to observe the minute laws of God in
   every particular. My brethren, when Moses built the tabernacle, he was
   not left to build it after his own whim And taste. Every tache and
   every loop, every board and every fillet, everything was marked down in
   the divine plan, and Moses must build everything according to the
   pattern which he had seen in the Mount. Now, this is the pattern for a
   Christian--this book of God which lies before me. The New Testament of
   our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is our only rule of practice. And ye
   think, do ye, that ye may alter some few things, that ye may change
   them to suit the climate, or to indulge your own ideas of taste or
   convenience? You fancy, that doctrine for instance, is not of such
   sublime importance--that if a man does but preach the fundamentals, he
   may preach any other things he likes, and yet all will be well--that
   ceremonies, that Baptism, and the Lord's Supper, for instance, are to
   be out, and hacked and fashioned, to suit modern fancies, and that they
   are not to be retained in their integrity according to apostolic rule
   and precedent? But this know, that the slightest violation of the
   divine law will bring judgments upon the Church, and has brought
   judgments, and is even at this day withholding God's hand from blessing
   us. For within a few years we might see all the kingdoms of this world
   become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ, if we would but
   carry God's ark as God would have it carried, instead of marring the
   gospel by human inventions, and leaving the simplicity of the gospel of
   Jesus Christ.

   I am not going this morning to enter into particulars, but just to lay
   down the general fact, that whatever God has commanded is important,
   and that I have no right whatever to alter anything--no, not the least
   thing, but to take the word just as it stands, just as God has revealed
   it to me, to be my rule of faith and practice. Ay, but there are some
   of you who never read your Bibles. You have a second-hand religion
   which you have borrowed from other people, you do not come to this Book
   to drink at the fountain head. Your grandmother thought so and so, and
   you think the same; your great grandfather went to church or to chapel,
   and that is your reason for going; but you have not come to God's Word
   to submit your judgment to it. The reason why there are so many sects
   now-a-days is just this. If we all come straightway to the Bible, we
   should come far nearer together than we are now. It is not likely we
   should all see eye to eye. You cannot make a dozen watches all tick to
   the same time, much less make a dozen men Al think the same thoughts.
   But, still, if we should all bow our thoughts to that one written Word,
   and would own no authority but the Bible the Church could not be
   divided, could not be cut in pieces as she now is. We come together
   when we come to the Word of God. But I am always answered when I talk
   about these things, "Well, but they are not essential." Who told you
   they were not? "Now," saith one, "we'll admit that the baptism of
   infants is not in the Bible, but it is not an essential thing; we may
   practice it, and no harm will come of it." No, sirs; you have no right
   to alter a word of God's command; you have no right to turn aside in
   any respect, or in any manner. God's doctrines are to be preached as
   God delivers them, and his ordinances are to be practiced after his own
   mode and law. Woe worth the day when God's ark is put upon the chariot
   and dragged by oxen, instead of being carried upon the shoulders of
   men, who read God's Word, and take it as it stands, and then follow out
   what God commands them, and will not be led by the sleeve or by the
   nose by any man or set of men.

   Forget not this lesson brethren, for it is of the greatest importance
   to the Church.

   3. Now, there is a third thing, and that is, that whenever the
   practices of Christians differ from Scripture they are sure to incur
   inconvenience. When the ark was carried on the shoulders of men, it did
   not matter whether it went up-hill or down-hill, rugged road or smooth,
   there was the ark carried in state like the litter of a king. But once
   put it on the cart--although they thought it would look better--then it
   went jolting here and jolting there, and threatening constantly to
   tumble into the mire. Whenever we alter one word of Scripture, we shall
   get ourselves into trouble. We may not see it at first, but we surely
   shall find it out by-and-bye. A minister, for instance, thinks, "Well,
   now, I must not preach all the doctrines of the Gospel. it would not
   suit my people, there is a great deacon sitting in the green pew in the
   corner, there is the squire of the parish, he would not like it if I
   were to be too severe on him." Ah, my friend, alter one word, and you
   have fallen into a snare, you have entered a labyrinth, and God help
   you to find your way out again, for you will never be able to get
   through it alone. Stand to God's Word and you stand safely. Alter one
   dot of the i, one cross of the t, and you are nowhere at all; you are
   in an enemy's country, and you cannot defend yourself. When we have got
   Scripture to back us up we defy the world; but when we have nothing but
   our own whims or the work of some great preacher, or the decree of a
   council, or the tradition the Fathers, we are lost. we are trying to
   weave a rope of sand, we are building a house of cards, that must
   totter to the ground. The Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the
   Bible is the religion of Christ's Church. And until we come back to
   that the Church will have to suffer. She will not carry the ark up to
   the hill of Zion; she will not see His kingdom come, or his will done
   in earth as it is in heaven, till she has done with those bullocks and
   that new cart, and goes back to the New Testament plan of keeping
   consistently to the truth as it is in Jesus, and contending earnestly
   for the faith.

   4. Furthermore, another thing lies upon the surface of this passage;
   namely, that one innovation upon sacred writ leads to another. A little
   error leads to a great one. Nobody ever intended that Uzzah should
   touch that ark. They had not a thought when they lifted it up and put
   it on the car that it would lead to poor Uzzah's death and that he
   would commit the sin of violating the ark, else surely they would have
   kept to the Scriptural plan. So there are some of you my dear brethren
   in Christ who are not quite right in your views of Scripture. Well,
   perhaps you think the same of me. We will speak of somebody else, then.
   There is a man in the world, whose views are not quite in consistency
   with Scripture. He says, "Well, it does not matter it is a little
   thing, a very little thing." Yes but that little wrong thing leads to a
   great wrong thing. The sinner's path is down hill, and when you take
   one step in violation of Scripture precept, your next step is not only
   easy, but seems even to be forced upon you. Doubt election, you will
   soon doubt perseverance, and you may soon come to deny redemption.
   Where did the errors of the church of Rome come from? Were they all
   born in a day? No, they came by slow degrees. It happened thus:--I will
   trace but one error, against which as a denomination we always bear our
   protest, and I only take that as a specimen of the whole. Among the
   early Christians, it was the practice to baptize those who believed in
   Christ Jesus, by immersing them in the water in the name of the Father,
   and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Well, the first wrong doctrine
   that started up, was the idea that perhaps there was some efficacy in
   the water. Next it followed that when a man was dying who had never
   been baptized he would perhaps profess faith in Christ, and ask that he
   might be baptized; but as he was dying they could not lift him from his
   bed, they therefore adopted sprinkling as being an easier method by
   which they might satisfy the conscience by the application of water.
   That done, there was but a step to the taking of little children into
   the church--children, unconscious infants, who were received as being
   members of Christ's body; and thus infant sprinkling was adopted. The
   error came in by slow degrees--not all at once. It would have been too
   glaring for the church to receive, if it had shown its head at one time
   with all its horns upon it. But it entered slowly and gradually, till
   it came to be inducted into the church. I do not know, an error which
   causes the damnation of more souls than that at the present-time. There
   are thousands of people who firmly believe that they shall go to heaven
   because they were sprinkled in infancy, have been confirmed, and have
   taken the Sacrament. Sacramental efficacy and baptismal regeneration,
   all spring from the first error of infant baptism. Had they kept to the
   Scripture, had the church always required faith before baptism, that
   error could not have sprung up. It must have died before the light of
   the truth, it could not have breathed, it could not have had a foothold
   in the Christian church. But one error must lead to another--you never
   need doubt that. If you tamper with one truth of Scripture, he that
   tempts you to meddle with one, will tempt you to tamper with another,
   and there will be no end to it, till, at last, you will want a new
   Bible, a new Testament, and a new God. There is no telling where you
   will end when you have begun. I am speaking very pointedly and very
   plainly this morning, on a subject which very seldom comes in my way.
   But I must be clear in my language when I do speak about it, for I do
   not often make allusions to this truth. Judge me as I judge others. You
   tell me, if I make one step in error, you do not know how far I may go.
   I believe you. Believe me also when I say the same. Let us both go to
   Scripture, let us stand only by this. I like your Prayer Book well
   enough, but not so well as my Bible. I respect your Church decrees, but
   not so as I venerate this Book. I believe what your minister says, so
   far as it is consistent with this Book. Believe me so far, but not one
   inch further. Have done with me when I have done with my Master. Think
   no more of any man you hear, when he goes from the Scripture, and when
   he errs, than you would think of Satan himself; except this, pity him
   for his errors, but pin not your faith to his sleeve. Scripture,
   Scripture only, is the model doctrine, the model practice, the model
   experience of a Christian; and whatsoever is more than this cometh of
   evil.

   5. Having now dwelt upon these points, I will take one more, and then I
   will leave this looking at the picture in detail. It strikes me that on
   the very surface of this passage there is a refutation of a very common
   error, that if we do a thing from a right motive God accepts it, even
   though it is a wrong thing. The common error of the time is this,
   "Well," says one, "I have no doubt that if a man is a good Mahomedan,
   and keeps up to what he knows, he will go to heaven." "Ah," says
   another, " and if he is a good Roman Catholic, and if he keeps up to
   what he knows he is safe." "Ay," says another, "we must not judge one
   another harshly; no doubt those who bow before Juggernaut, if they live
   up to what they know will be saved." Do you take in the
   devil-worshippers and the snake-worshippers too? You must let them all
   in. You have opened your door wide enough to let them all come in. And
   the Thugs who are going about India cutting men's throats--they do it
   as a matter of principle, it is a part of their religion, they consider
   it to be right--do you think they will go to heaven because they have
   done what they thought is right? "No," says one, "I will not go that
   length." Yes, but if the principle is right in one case it is right in
   the other. A principle will go the whole way it will stretch in any
   direction, and be as applicable to one as to another. But it is ail
   deception and falsehood God has revealed to us the one true religion.
   and other foundation can no man lay than that which is laid. We are
   responsible to God for our faith; we are bound to believe what he tells
   us to believe, and our judgment is as much bound to submit to God's law
   as any other power of our being. When we come before God, it will be no
   excuse for us to say "My Lord, I did wrong, but I thought I was doing
   right." "Yes, but I gave you my law. but you did not read it, or, if
   you read it, you read it so carelessly that you did not understand it,
   and then you did wrong, and you tell me you did it with a right motive.
   Ay, but it is of no avail whatever." Just as in Uzzah's case, did it
   not seem the lightest thing in the world to put out his hand to prevent
   the ark from slipping off? Who could blame the man? But God had
   commanded that no unpriestly hand should ever touch it, and inasmuch as
   he did touch it, though it was with a right motive, yet Uzzah must die.
   God will have his laws kept. Besides, my dear brethren, I am not sure
   about the rightness of your motives after all. The State has issued a
   proclamation, it is engraven, according to the old Roman fashion, in
   brass. A man goes up with his file, and he begins working away upon the
   brass, erases here, and amends there. Says he, "I did that with a right
   motive, I didn't think the law a good one, I thought it was too
   old-fashioned for these times, and so I thought I would alter it a
   little, and make it better for the people." Ah, how many have there
   been who have said, "The old puritanic principles are too rough for
   these times, we'll alter them, we'll tone them down a little." What are
   you at, sir? Who art thou that darest to touch a single letter of God's
   Book which God has hedged about with thunder in that tremendous
   sentence, wherein he has written, "Whosoever shall add unto these
   things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this
   book; and whosoever shall take away from the words of the book of this
   prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out
   of the holy city." It becomes an awful thing when we come to think of
   it, for men not to form a right and proper judgment about God's Word,
   for man to leave a single point in it uncanvassed, a single mandate
   unstudied, lest we should lead others astray, while we ourselves are
   acting in disobedience to God. The fact is, there is one way to heaven,
   and there are not fifty ways; there is one gate to heaven, and there
   are not even two gates. Christ is the way. Trusting in Jesus is the
   path to Paradise. He that believeth not in Jesus must be damned. The
   religion of Christ is intolerant; not that it ever touches man in his
   flesh and blood, even if he rejects it, but it does not allow of a
   second method of salvation. It demands your full obedience, your
   child-like faith, or else it threatens you with the direst penalty, if
   you refuse to yield to it. That idea of free-thinking and the like, and
   the right of man to think as he likes, has no countenance in Scripture.
   We are bound to believe what God tells us; as he tells it to us; bound
   not to alter a single word, but to take the Bible as it is, or else
   deny it, and take the consequence.

   All this seems to me to lay in the picture which we have before us of
   the death of Uzzah.

   II. But leaving these points, which I thought to be very necessary for
   the warning of all Christians--for judging with charity, we cannot
   believe that the errors which prevail among us, can have sprung up from
   attention to the Word--they must have sprung up from the idea, that the
   little things of Christ were of no importance whatever I now come to
   the second point, which is to LOOK AT THE PICTURE AS A WHOLE. Here I
   have two pictures; one for the people of God, the other for the
   ungodly. I shall dwell but briefly upon the first, and at length on the
   second.

   Brethren in Jesus, despite our mistakes--and we are mistaken in some
   things, God forgive us--despite our mistakes, we are one in Jesus. Yet,
   though one in Christ Jesus, we should not think our errors to be
   unimportant, but should every one of us on his knees seek divine
   teaching, that we may be purged from every false way, and that we may
   be led in the way of divine obedience, even unto the end. I am sure my
   brethren in Jesus, that the one object of your life, as I can say it is
   the object of mine, is the bringing about the kingdom of our Lord and
   Savior Jesus Christ. We want to bring up the ark from its obscurity,
   into the place of glory. Every time we bend our knee, there is one
   prayer we never can forget:--"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on
   earth as it is in heaven." Now, for eighteen hundred and sixty years,
   the church of Christ has been seeking to bring the kingdom of Christ on
   earth. Has it come? has it come? Yes blessed be God it has in its
   measure. Here in this land, and across the Atlantic, and in other
   nations, there are found many who love and serve our Master. But have
   we had full fruit for the eighteen hundred and sixty years of labor? I
   think not. Two hundred years after the death of Christ, I think I may
   say, the religion of Jesus was almost as powerful in numbers upon the
   face of the earth, as it is now. And all the time between--God forbid
   that I should say it has been wasted--has, nevertheless, been a period
   of going back, rather than advancing--of retreat, rather than rushing
   victory. Now, how is this to be accounted for? Was there not that in
   the religion of Christ, which would push its enemies to the very ends
   of the earth? Let but Paul stand up in Rome, and though after awhile,
   his head is severed from his body, yet the very empire of the seven
   hills is made to totter while he speaks. Let others of the Apostles
   pass the pillars of Hercules, and come to Britain, and the Druid loses
   his power; those who bow before bloody gods that delight in human
   sacrifice renounce their idolatries, and churches are founded
   throughout England, Ireland and Scotland. They have but to enter a
   country, and that country yields. It is true the martyrs bleed, and the
   apostles die, and the confessors are burned, but the truth lives and
   conquers and overcomes. Within two or three centuries, the name of
   Jesus is better known than that of any man, and his religion has
   greater power than any other on the face of the earth. And here are we,
   now, sending out our missionaries everywhere, and what is the success?
   Thank God for what it is: it is an excellent reward for all our labor,
   and far more than we deserve. But there is not the power in our
   missionaries that there was in the apostles. Our victories of the
   church have not been like the victories of the olden times. Why is
   this? My theory to account for it is this. In the first place, the
   absence of the Holy Spirit in a great measure from us. But if you come
   to the root of it to know the reason, my fuller other answer is
   this:--the church has forsaken her original purity, and, therefore, she
   has lost her power. If once we had done with everything erroneous, if
   by the unanimous will of the entire body of Christ, every evil
   ceremony, every ceremony not ordained of Scripture were lopped off and
   done with, if every doctrine were rejected which is not sustained by
   Holy Writ; if this church were pure and glean, her path would be
   onward, triumphant, victorious. She would set her feet on Brahma, and
   crush Vishnu beneath her feet. She would say to the moon of Mahomet,
   "Set for ever!" She would dash from his throne the Pope; she would rend
   up false religions by the roots; she would sit as empress of the earth,
   and Christ, her husband, would reign with her, and the tabernacles of
   God would be among men. But we art not pure; we are not clean; we
   cannot bring up the ark of God. Blessed be God, it still abides in
   Obed-Edom's house. True religion is to be found in the hearts of God's
   people, and in some churches the truth is still preserved; but till the
   whole church shall come forth clear as the moon, fair as the sun, she
   will never be terrible as an army with banners.

   This may seem to you to be of little consequence, but it really is a
   matter of life and death. I would plead with every Christian--think it
   over, my dear brother. When some of us preach Calvinism, and some
   Arminianism, we cannot both be right; it is of no use trying to think
   we can be--"Yes," and "no," cannot both be true. When some of us hold a
   Christian free of all authority but Christ; and others hold a state
   church; we cannot both be right anyhow. We may be both right in the
   grand things, but we cannot be right in everything, one or other of us
   must be wrong. When some sprinkle the infant, and others baptize the
   believer, we cannot both be right; it is idle for us to think so.
   Christ has not made a nondescript religion, that will hold all sorts of
   people in it, and yet all shall be alike obedient. Truth does not
   vacillate like the pendulum which shakes backwards and forwards. It is
   not like the comet, which is here, there, and everywhere. One must be
   right, the other wrong. It is not for me to pronounce who is right, or
   who is wrong. I am not infallible. It is for me to judge of Scripture,
   as in the sight of God, for myself. I beg you do the same, Do not think
   any error to be an unimportant one, but try the spirits, prove whether
   these things are so. I am quite sure that the best way to promote union
   is to promote truth. It will not do for us to be all united together by
   yielding to one another's mistakes. We are to be united heartily, I
   hope we are. We are to love each other in Christ; but we are not to be
   so united that we are not able to see each other's faults, and
   especially not able to see our own. No, purge the house of God, and
   then shall grand and blessed times dawn on us.

   And now; having done with that subject, I turn to those of you who are
   not converted, but who are longing to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ
   preached. I think what I have already said to be important, but this
   last part of the service is all-important. My dear hearer, I will
   suppose that in your heart there is an anxious desire to be saved, but
   you do not understand the plan of salvation: I grieve for you; for if
   you do not understand it, even though you seek Christ, you will make
   many mistakes, and you will suffer much inconvenience. It was a right
   thing in David to wish to bring up the ark, but perhaps he was ignorant
   of the way to bring it, and see what inconvenience he had to suffer:
   the ark was jolted, the oxen shook it. Now if you are not clear as to
   the plan of salvation, you will have many jottings, much shaking, many
   doubts, many fears. Let me ask and intreat you, then, to search the
   Scriptures; for in therein ye think ye have eternal life, and they are
   they which testify of Christ; and let me beg you to endeavor, by God's
   help, ever to keep in your mind a clear view of the fact, that you are
   to be saved, if saved at all, by trusting in Jesus Christ, and in Jesus
   Christ alone. The plan of salvation is, "Trust in Jesus." Make mistakes
   about other things, you will suffer inconvenience; but make a mistake
   here, and it will be fatal to you. Methinks I hear some man saying,
   "Sir, I have longed to be saved, but I am still uneasy and troubled in
   my mind, I think if I were to do good works, and then to save myself by
   them, I might trust in Christ." Stand back, Uzzah, stand back, thou art
   about to touch the ark of God, beware, lest thou shouldst die while
   thou art doing it other mistakes will make you uneasy; that mistake
   will be fatal to you. Touch the atonement of Jesus Christ, and there is
   no salvation if you touch it with a legal hand, seeking to add to it
   your own self righteousness.

   "None but Jesus, none but Jesus,

   Can do helpless sinners good."

   He wants no help from you; leave him to do it all; take him as he is,
   and go to him just as you are; do not seek to bring anything, but go as
   you are, and you will be saved. Seek to help Christ, and saved you
   cannot be. Until you have done with that thought, you must abide in
   your sorrow, and in your death. No mixing with Jesus; he never came to
   be a make-weight. Christ must be all, and you must be nothing at all.
   If you attempt to patch his perfect robe that robe shall never cover
   your nakedness. It is begemmed with jewels; put one paste jewel of
   yours upon it, and it is not yours. You must have a whole Christ, and
   nothing but Christ. You know the old proverb, "Betwixt the two stools
   he came to the ground." When a man hopes to rely partly on Christ, and
   partly on himself, he will come to the ground with a vengeance. Rest on
   Jesus simply, and you are saved; rest on Christ and self, and you are
   like Uzzah, you have touched the ark, you have sought to mingle man's
   works with God's works, man's merits with Christ's merits; and tremble,
   lest the wrath of God should come forth against you, and destroy you.

   But after all, my dear friends, you have no merits. Christ freely
   offers himself to you, if you will take him for nothing. You thought to
   buy him with your merits. Why you have no merits. Shall I tell you a
   little parable which shall show you your position. There was a rich man
   who had a generous heart, and once upon a time he resolved to give a
   large estate to a poor neighbor, so he sent for him, and said, "My
   friend, I am willing to give you a large estate for nothing." The man
   felt grateful and retired home, but as he lay in his bed he thought, "I
   should like that estate, but I should not like to be beholden to
   anybody for it; I think I will pay for it." So he set out the next
   morning with a heavy bag on his back, and when he came to the rich
   man's door and the friend came out, he said, "Sir, I value your estate
   very highly; you promised to let me have it for nothing, but I do not
   want to be obliged to you, so I have brought a bag all full of gold to
   buy it with." The rich man said, "I never offered to sell it to you; I
   said I would give it to you; but come, let us look at your bag of
   gold." So the poor man opened wide the mouth of the sack; he blushed
   and stammered, and said, "Oh sir, be not angry with me; now I come to
   look at it; it is nothing but a bag of silver." The friend said, "Look
   at it again." He looked again and blushed, and cried, "Let not my lord
   be angry, but I find it is nothing but a bag of copper." "Look once
   more," said he. He looked once more into it, and he fell down on his
   knees, and said, "Forgive me, forgive me; I find, sir, it is a bag of
   filth. You see I have brought you a bag of filth with which to buy your
   rich estate." You know the meaning of that parable, do you not? You
   have brought to God what you thought were good works, golden works;
   look at them you will see them pale before you, and you will say, "My
   Lord, they are not so good as I thought they were, they are only silver
   works after all." Look at them again, and they will become dirty,
   frown, copper works. "Oh!" say you, "they are not worth more than a
   farthing now." Look again, and you will see that your prayers, your
   tears, your good works, are nothing better than filth after all. They
   are only another form of sin, another shape of iniquity. Oh! sinner,
   take Christ as he is; take him now, just as thou art. The gospel is
   just this--trust Christ and you are saved. Rely on what he did, and you
   are delivered. Just leave off trusting to any ceremonies, to any
   doctrines, to any forms, to any works, but rely on Jesus and you are
   saved. "Well," says one, "but if I go on in sin." You cannot go on in
   sin after you have relied on Jesus, that will stop you, nothing else
   can; but faith will. "No," says another, "but I have nothing in the
   world; no reason why I should be saved, I have no good thing." Just so,
   I know you have not; but still you are told to trust Jesus whether you
   have any good thing or not. Methinks I hear some one say, "I must not
   trust Jesus, I have no right to do it." But, my dear friend, you are
   commanded to do it. "God commandeth all men everywhere to repent." This
   is the commandment, that ye believe on Jesus Christ whom he hath sent.
   Is not this the very gospel--"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou
   shalt be saved?" Now what God commends me to do I have a right to do;
   it cannot be wrong for me to do what God tells me to do. The minister,
   who tells a man he has his right found in his own sense of need, makes
   the sinner look to himself; but if he tells him, "Feel or not feel, God
   has commanded you to believe," that makes the sinner turn to Christ and
   Christ only, this turns his eye from himself to the Savior.

   To conclude, I will tell you a little anecdote which I have often told
   before; it brings to your mind more clearly than any other means, your
   right to believe in Christ. I am speaking to those who say, "I have no
   right to trust Christ." But if Christ commands you to do it, and if
   moreover he tells you, "you are condemned already because you do not
   believe," you certainly have a right to believe. Sitting one day in
   Court with a Judge, interesting myself with some trials that were going
   on, there was wanted a witness. I am not clear about his name, but I
   think it was Brown. So it was said from the Bench that Brown was wanted
   next. The usher down in the Court cried out "Brown!" Some one nearer
   the door cried, "Brown! " and I could hear them calling out in the
   street two or three times, "Brown! Brown I Brown!" The Court was very
   crowded. By-and-bye there came in at the Court door with a great deal
   of difficulty, a little, ugly, mean-looking creature. He came pushing
   and elbowing his way. There was a fine tall gentleman standing in the
   Court, looking on. He did not like to be pushed about, and he said in a
   very peremptory manner, "Who are you?" "Brown," said the man, "I am
   Brown." " Well," but said the other, "Who is Brown?" " Nobody," said
   he, "only I was told to come." It was wonderful how everybody made way
   for Brown, because he was told to come. They just cleared a lane for
   him and I do not suppose for my lord and duke they would have made
   room--they were so tightly packed: but Brown must come in anyhow,
   because he was wanted. It did not matter how poor he looked, how
   ragged, how greasy, how dirty, Brown was wanted and he had a right to
   come. So now, God commands you to trust Christ. But you say, "There is
   a great big sin standing up." And he says, "Who are you?" You say, "A
   poor sinner." "And what is a poor sinner?" says he. "Nothing at all,"
   you say; "but Jesus Christ told me to trust in him. If he is wrong I
   leave the blame with him, I will not keep back from him." He says,
   "Leap into my arms." I am at the top of a burning house, he cries,
   "leap, and I will catch you." Then down I go. Dashed to pieces, or
   saved; I have no other way of salvation--down I go into his arms. I am
   sinking, the floods are ready to swallow me up. Christ says, "Lay hold
   of that rope." It looks a frail rope, but I lay hold of it. Sink or
   swim I will not lay hold of anything else, but that and that alone, and
   I am safe. Do that, poor sinner, whoever you may be, if you have not
   entered a place of worship for the last six months, trust Christ now.
   Now, I beseech you, while the accepted hour is here, may God the Holy
   Spirit enable you to trust Christ; and, though you have come in here
   covered with sin, you may go out with your sin washed away, peace and
   joy in your heats, because the Spirit of God has sweetly led you to
   trust Jesus and you are saved.

   May God now add his blessing, for Jesus' sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

   NO. 308

   DELIVERED ON SABBATH MORNING, APRIL 15TH, 1860,

   BY THE REV. C. H. SPURGEON,

   BY THE REV. C. H. SPURGEON, AT EXETER HALL, STRAND.

   The Parable Of The Sower -- "And when much people were gathered
   together, and were come to him out of every city, he spake by a
   parable: a sower went out to sow his seed: and as he sowed, some fell
   by the way side; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air
   devoured it. And some fell upon a rock; and as soon as it was sprung
   up, it withered away, because it lacked moisture. And some fell among
   thorns; and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it. And other fell
   on good ground, and sprang up, and bare fruit an hundredfold. And when
   he had said these things, he cried, He that hath ears to hear, let him
   hear." -- Luke 8:4-8

   In Our country, when a sower goes forth to his work, he generally
   enters into an enclosed field, and scatters the seed from his basket
   along every ridge and furrow; but in the East, the corn-growing
   country, hard by a small town, is usually an open area. It is divided
   into different properties, but there are no visible divisions, except
   the ancient landmarks, or perhaps ridges of stones. Through these open
   lands there are footpaths, the most frequented being called the
   highways. You must not imagine these highways to be like our
   macadamized roads; they are merely paths, trodden tolerably hard. Here
   and there you notice bye-ways, along which travelers who wish to avoid
   the public road may journey with a little more safety when the main
   road is infested with robbers: hasty travelers also strike out short
   cuts for themselves, and so open fresh tracks for others. When the
   sower goes forth to sow he finds a plot of round scratched over with
   the primitive Eastern plough; he aims at scattering his seed there most
   plentifully; but a path runs through the center of his field, and
   unless he is willing to leave a broad headland, he must throw a handful
   upon it. Yonder, a rock crops out in the midst of the ploughed land,
   and the seed falls on its shallow soil. Here is a corner full of the
   roots of nettles and thistles, and he flings a little here; the corn
   and the nettles come up together, and the thorns being the stronger
   soon choke the seed, so that it brings forth no fruit unto perfection.
   The recollection that the Bible was written in the East, and that its
   metaphors and allusions must be explained to us by Eastern travelers,
   will often help us to understand a passage far better than if we think
   of English customs.

   The preacher of the gospel is like the sower. He does not make his
   seed; it is given him by his divine Master. No man could create the
   smallest grain that ever grew upon the earth, much less the celestial
   seed of eternal life. The minister goes to his Master in secret, and
   asks him to teach him his gospel, and thus he fills his basket with the
   good seed of the kingdom. He then goes forth in his Master's name and
   scatters precious truth. If he knew where the best soil was to be
   found, perhaps he might limit himself to that which had been prepared
   by the plough of conviction; but not knowing men's hearts, it is his
   business to preach the gospel to every creature -- to throw a handful
   on the hardened heart, and another on the mind which is overgrown with
   the cares and pleasures of the world. He has to leave the seed in the
   care of the Lord who gave it to him, for he is not responsible for the
   harvest, he is only accountable for the care and industry with which he
   does his work. If no single ear should ever make glad the reaper, the
   sower will be rewarded by His Master if he had planted the right seed
   with careful hand. If it were not for this fact with what despairing
   agony should we utter the cry of Esaias, "Who hath believed our report?
   And to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?" Our duty is not measured
   by the character of our hearers, but by the command of our God. We are
   bound to preach the gospel, whether men will hear, or whether they will
   forbear. It is ours to sow beside all waters. Let men's hearts be what
   they may the minister must preach the gospel to them; he must sow the
   seed on the rock as well as in the furrow, on the highway as well as in
   the ploughed field. I shall now address myself to the four classes of
   hearers mentioned in our Lord's parable. We have, first of all, those
   who are represented by the way-side, those who are "hearers only"; then
   those represented by the stony-ground; these are transiently impressed,
   but the word produces no lasting fruit; then, those among thorns, on
   whom a good impression is produced, but the cares of this life, and the
   deceitfulness of riches, and the pleasures of the world choke the seed;
   and lastly, that small class -- God be pleased to multiply it
   exceedingly -- that small class of good-ground hearers, in whom the
   Word brings forth abundant fruit.

   ----------

   I. First of all, I address myself to those hearts which are like the
   Way-Side -- "Some fell by the wayside; and it was trodden down, and the
   fowls of the air devoured it." Many of you do not go to the place of
   worship desiring a blessing. You do not intend to worship God, or to be
   affected by anything that you hear. You are like the highway, which was
   never intended to be a cornfield. If a single grain of truth should
   fall into your heart and grow it would be as great a wonder as for corn
   to grow up in the street. If the seed shall be dexterously scattered,
   some of it will fall upon you, and rest for a while upon your thoughts.
   'Tis true you will not understand it; but, nevertheless, if it be
   placed before you in an interesting style, you will talk about it till
   some more congenial entertainment shall attract you. Even this slender
   benefit is brief, for in a little season you will forget all that you
   have heard. Would to God we could hope that our words would tarry with
   you, but we cannot hope it, for the soil of your heart is so hard
   beaten by continual traffic, that there is no hope of the seed finding
   a living root-hold. Satan is constantly passing over your heart with
   his company of blasphemies, lusts, lies, and vanities. The chariots of
   pride roll along it, and the feet of greedy mammon tread it till it is
   hard as adamant. Alas! For the good seed, it finds not a moment's
   respite; crowds pass and repass; in fact, your soul is an exchange,
   across which continually hurry the busy feet of those who make
   merchandise of the souls of men. You are buying and selling, but you
   little think that you are selling the truth, and that you are buying
   your soul's destruction. You have no time, you say, to think of
   religion. No, the road of your heart is such a crowded thoroughfare,
   that there is no room for the wheat to spring up. If it did begin to
   germinate, some rough foot would crush the green blade ere it could
   come to perfection. The seed has occasionally lain long enough to begin
   to sprout, but just then a new place of amusement has been opened, and
   you have entered there, and as with an iron heel, the germ of life that
   was in the seed was crushed out. Corn could not grow in Cornhill or
   Cheapside, however excellent the seed might be: your heart is just like
   those crowded thoroughfares; for so many cares and sins throng it, and
   so many proud, vain, evil, rebellious thoughts against God pass through
   it, that the seed of truth cannot grow. We have looked at this hard
   road-side, let us now describe what becomes of the good word, when it
   falls upon such a heart. It would have grown if it had fallen on right
   soil, but it has dropped into the wrong place, and it remains as dry as
   when it fell from the sower's hand. The word of the gospel lies upon
   the surface of such a heart, but never enters it. Like the snow, which
   sometimes falls upon our streets, drops upon the wet pavement, melts,
   and is gone at once, so is it with this man. The word has not time to
   quicken in his soul: it lies there an instant, but it never strikes
   root, or takes the slightest effect. Why do men come to hear if the
   word never enters their hearts? That has often puzzled us. Some hearers
   would not be absent on the Sunday on any account; they are delighted to
   come up with us to worship, but yet the tear never trickles down their
   cheek, their soul never mounts up to heaven on the wings of praise, nor
   do they truly join in our confessions of sin. They do not think of the
   wrath to come, nor of the future state of their souls. Their heart is
   as iron; the minister might as well speak to a heap of stones as preach
   to them. What brings these senseless sinners here? Surely we are as
   hopeful of converting lions and leopards as these untamed, insensible
   hearts. Oh feeling! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost
   their reason! Do these people come to our assemblies because it is
   respectable to attend a place of worship? Or is it that their coming
   helps to make them comfortable in their sins? If they stopped away
   conscience would prick them; but they come hither that they may flatter
   themselves with the notion that they are religious. Oh! My hearers,
   your case is one that might make an angel weep! How sad to have the sun
   of the gospel shining on your faces, and yet to have blind eyes that
   never see the light. The music of heaven is lost upon you, for you have
   no ears to hear. You can catch the turn of a phrase, you can appreciate
   the poetry of an illustration, but the hidden meaning, the divine life
   you do not perceive. You sit at the marriage-feast, but you eat not of
   the dainties; the bells of heaven ring with joy over ransomed spirits,
   but you live unransomed, without God, and without Christ. Though we
   plead with you, and pray for you, and weep over you, you still remain
   as hardened, as careless, and as thoughtless as ever you were. May God
   have mercy on you, and break up your hard hearts, that his word may
   abide in you. We have not, however, completed the picture. The passage
   tells us that the fowls of the air devoured the seed. Is there here a
   way-side hearer? Perhaps he did not mean to hear this sermon, and when
   he has heard it he will be asked by one of the wicked to come into
   company. He will go with the tempter, and the good seed will be
   devoured by the fowls of the air. Plenty of evil ones are ready to take
   away the gospel from the heart. The devil himself, that prince of the
   air, is eager at any time to snatch away a good thought. And then the
   devil is not alone -- he has legions of helpers. He can set a man's
   wife, children, friends, enemies, customers, or creditors, to eat up
   the good seed, and they will do it effectually. Oh, sorrow upon sorrow,
   that heavenly seed should become devil's meat; that God's corn should
   feed foul birds! O my hearers, if you have heard the gospel from your
   youth, what wagon-loads of sermons have been wasted on you! In your
   younger days, you heard old Dr. So-and-so, and the dear old man was
   wont to pray for his hearers till his eyes were red with tears! Do you
   recollect those many Sundays when you said to yourself, "Let me go to
   my chamber and fall on my knees and pray"? But you did not: the fowls
   of the air ate up the seed, and you went on to sin as you had sinned
   before. Since then, by some strange impulse, you are very rarely absent
   from God's house; but now the seed of the gospel falls into your soul
   as if it dropped upon an iron floor, and nothing comes of it. The law
   may be thundered at you; you do not sneer at it, but it never affects
   you. Jesus Christ may be lifted up; his dear wounds may be exhibited;
   his streaming blood may flow before your very eyes, and you may be
   bidden with all earnestness to look to him and live; but it is as if
   one should sow the sea-shore. What shall I do for you? Shall I stand
   here and rain tears upon this hard highway? Alas! My tears will not
   break it up; it is trodden too hard for that. Shall I bring the gospel
   plough? Alas! The ploughshare will not enter ground so solid. What
   shall we do? O God, thou knowest how to melt the hardest heart with the
   precious blood of Jesus. Do it now, we beseech thee, and thus magnify
   thy grace, by causing the good seed to live, and to produce a heavenly
   harvest.

   ----------

   II. I shall now turn to the second class of hearers: -- "And some fell
   upon a Rock; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because
   it lacked moisture." You can easily picture to yourselves that piece of
   rock in the midst of the field thinly veiled with soil; and of course
   the seed falls there as it does everywhere else. It springs up, it
   hastens to grow, it withers, it dies. None but those who love the souls
   of men can tell what hopes, what joys, and what bitter disappointments
   these stony places have caused us. We have a class of hearers whose
   hearts are hard, and yet they are apparently the softest and most
   impressible of men. While other men see nothing in the sermon, these
   men weep. Whether you preach the terrors of the law or the love of
   Calvary, they are alike stirred in their souls, and the liveliest
   impressions are apparently produced. Such may be listening now. They
   have resolved, but they have procrastinated. They are not the sturdy
   enemies of God who clothe themselves in steel, but they seem to bare
   their breasts, and lay them open to the minister. Rejoiced in heart, we
   shoot our arrows there, and they appear to penetrate; but, alas, a
   secret armor blunts every dart, and no wound is felt. The parable
   speaks of this character thus -- "Some fell upon stony places, where
   they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had
   no deepness of earth." Or as another passage explains it: "And these
   are they likewise which are sown on stony ground; who, when they have
   heard the word, immediately receive it with gladness; and have no root
   in themselves, and so endure but for a time: afterward, when affliction
   or persecution ariseth for the word's sake, immediately they are
   offended." Have we not thousands of hearers who receive the word with
   joy? They have no deep convictions, but they leap into Christ on a
   sudden, and profess an instantaneous faith in him, and that faith has
   all the appearance of being genuine. When we look at it, the seed has
   really sprouted. There is a kind of life in it, there is apparently a
   green blade. We thank God that a sinner is brought back, a soul is born
   to God. But our joy is premature: they sprang up on a sudden, and
   received the word with joy, because they had no depth of earth, and the
   self-same cause which hastened their reception of the seed also causes
   them, when the sun is risen with his fervent heat, to wither away.
   These men we see every day in the week. They come to join the church;
   they tell us a story of how they heard us preach on such-and-such an
   occasion, and, oh, the word was so blessed to them, they never felt so
   happy in their lives! "Oh sir, I thought I must leap from my seat when
   I heard about a precious Christ, and I believed on him there and then;
   I am sure I did." We question them as to whether they were ever
   convinced of sin. They think they were; but one thing they know, they
   feel a great pleasure in religion. We put it to them, "Do you think you
   will hold on?" They are confident that they shall. They hate the things
   they once loved, they are sure they do. Everything has become new to
   them. And all this is on a sudden. We enquire when the good work began.
   We find it began when it ended, that is to say, there was no previous
   work, no ploughing of the soil, but on a sudden they sprang from death
   to life, as if a field should be covered with wheat by magic. Perhaps
   we receive them into the church; but in a week or two they are not so
   regular as they used to be. We gently reprove them, and they explain
   that they meet with such opposition in religion, that they are obliged
   to yield a little. Another month and we lose them altogether. The
   reason is that they have been laughed at or exposed to a little
   opposition, and they have gone back. And what, think you, are the
   feelings of the minister? He is like the husbandman, who sees his field
   all green and flourishing, but at night a frost nips every shoot, and
   his hoped-for gains are gone. The minister goes to his chamber, and
   casts himself on his face before God, and cries, "I have been deceived;
   my converts are fickle, their religion has withered as the green herb."
   In the ancient story Orpheus is said to have had such skill upon the
   lyre, that he made the oaks and stones to dance around him. It is a
   poetical fiction, and yet hath it sometimes happened to the minister,
   that not only have the godly rejoiced, but men, like oaks and stones,
   have danced from their places. Alas! They have been oaks and stones
   still. Hushed is the lyre. The oak returns to its rooting-place, and
   the stone casts itself heavily to the earth. The sinner, who, like
   Saul, was among the prophets, goes back to plan mischief against the
   Most High. If it is bad to be a wayside hearer, I cannot think it is
   much better to be like the rock. This second class of hearers certainly
   gives us more joy than the first. A certain company always comes round
   a new minister; and I have often thought it is an act of God's kindness
   that he allows these people to gather at the first, while the minister
   is young, and has but few to stand by him: these persons are easily
   moved, and if the minister preaches earnestly they feel it, and they
   love him, and rally round him, much to his comfort. But time, that
   proves all things, proves them. They seemed to be made of true metal;
   but when they are put into the fire to be tested, they are consumed in
   the furnace. Some of the shallow kind are here now. I have looked at
   you when I have been preaching, and I have often thought, "That man one
   of these days will come out from the world, I am sure he will." I have
   thanked God for him. Alas, he is the same as ever. Years and years have
   we sowed him in vain, and it is to be feared it will be so to the end,
   for he is without depth, and without the moisture of the Spirit. Shall
   it be so? Must I stand over the mouth of your open sepulcher, and thin,
   "Here lies a shoot which never became an ear, a man in whom grace
   struggled but never reigned, who gave some hopeful spasms of life and
   then subsided into eternal death"? God save you! Oh! May the Spirit
   deal with you effectually, and may you, even you, yet bring forth fruit
   unto God, that Jesus may have a reward for his sufferings.

   ----------

   III. I shall briefly treat of the third class, and may the Spirit of
   God assist me to deal faithfully with you. "And some fell among Thorns;
   and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it." Now, this was good
   soil. The two first characters were bad: the wayside was not the proper
   place, the rock was not a congenial situation for the growth of any
   plant; but this is good soil, for it grows thorns. Wherever a thistle
   will spring up and flourish, there would wheat flourish too. This was
   fat, fertile soil; it was no marvel therefore that the husbandman dealt
   largely there, and threw handful after handful upon that corner of the
   field. See how happy he is when in a month or two he visits the spot.
   The seed has sprung up. True, there's a suspicious little plant down
   there of about the same size as the wheat. "Oh!" he thinks, "that's not
   much, the corn will out-grow that. When it is stronger it will choke
   these few thistles that have unfortunately mixed with it." Ay, Mr.
   Husbandman, you do not understand the force of evil, or you would not
   thus dream! He comes again, and the seed has grown, there is even the
   corn in the ear; but the thistles, the thorns, and the briars have
   become intertwisted with one another, and the poor wheat can hardly get
   a ray of sunshine. It is so choked with thorns every way, that it looks
   quite yellow: the plant is starved. Still it perseveres in growing, and
   it does seem as if it would bring forth a little fruit. Alas, it never
   comes to anything. With it the reaper never fills his arm. We have this
   class very largely among us. These hear the word and understand what
   they hear. They take the truth home; they think it over; they even go
   the length of making a profession of religion. The wheat seems to
   spring and ear; it will soon come to perfection. Be in no hurry, these
   men and women have a great deal to see after; they have the cares of a
   large concern; their establishment employs so many hundred hands; do
   not be deceived as to their godliness -- they have no time for it. They
   will tell you that they must live; that they cannot neglect this world;
   that they must anyhow look out for the present, and as for the future,
   they will render it all due attention by-and-by. They continue to
   attend gospel-preaching, and the poor little stunted blade of religion
   keeps on growing after a fashion. Meanwhile they have grown rich, they
   come to the place of worship in a carriage, they have all that heart
   can wish. Ah! Now the seed will grow, will it not? No, no. They have no
   cares now; the shop is given up, they live in the country; they have
   not to ask, "Where shall the money come from to meet the next bill?" or
   "how shall they be able to provide for an increasing family." Now they
   have too much instead of too little, for they have riches, and they are
   too wealthy to be gracious. "But," says one, "they might spend their
   riches for God." Certainly they might, but they do not, for riches are
   deceitful. They have to entertain much company, and chime in with the
   world, and so Christ and his church are left in the lurch. Yes, but
   they begin to spend their riches, and they have surely got over that
   difficulty, for they give largely to the cause of Christ, and they are
   munificent in charity; the little blade will grow, will it not? No, for
   now behold the thorns of pleasure. Their liberality to others involves
   liberality to themselves; their pleasures, amusements, and vanities
   choke the wheat of true religion: the good grains of gospel truth
   cannot grow because they have to attend that musical party, that ball,
   and that soiree, and so they cannot think of the things of God. I know
   several specimens of this class. I knew one, high in court circles, who
   has confessed to me that he wished he were poor, for then he might
   enter the kingdom of heaven. He has said to me, "Ah! Sir, these
   politics, these politics, I wish I were rid of them, they are eating
   the life out of my heart; I cannot serve God as I would." I know of
   another, overloaded with riches, who has said to me, "Ah! Sir, it is an
   awful thing to be rich; one cannot keep close to the Savior with all
   this earth about him." Ah! My dear readers, I will not ask for you that
   God may lay you on a bed of sickness, that he may strip you of all your
   wealth, and bring you to beggary; but, oh, if he were to do it, and you
   were to save your souls, it would be the best bargain you could ever
   make. If those mighty ones who now complain that the thorns choke the
   seed could give up all their riches and pleasures, if they that fare
   sumptuously every day could take the place of Lazarus at the gate, it
   were a happy change for them if their souls might be saved. A man may
   be honorable and rich, and yet go to heaven; but it will be hard work,
   for "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than
   for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven." God does make some
   rich men enter the kingdom of heaven, but hard is their struggle.
   Steady, young man, steady! Hurry not to climb to wealth! It is a place
   where many heads are turned. Do not ask God to make you popular; they
   that have popularity are wearied by it. Cry with Agur -- "Give me
   neither poverty nor riches." God give me to tread the golden mean, and
   may I ever have in my heart that good seed, which shall bring forth
   fruit a hundredfold to his own glory.

   ----------

   IV. I now close with the last character, namely, the Good Ground. Of
   the good soil, as you will mark, we have but one in four. Will one in
   four of our hearers, with well-prepared heart, receive the Word? The
   ground is described as "good": not that it was good by nature, but it
   had been made good by grace. God had ploughed it; he had stirred it up
   with the plough of conviction, and there it lay in ridge and furrow as
   it should lie. When the gospel was preached, the heart received it, for
   the man said, "That is just the blessing I want. Mercy is what a needy
   sinner requires." So that the preaching of the gospel was THE thing to
   give comfort to this disturbed and ploughed soil. Down fell the seed to
   take good root. In some cases it produced fervency of love, largeness
   of heart, devotedness of purpose of a noble kind, like seed which
   produces a hundredfold. The man became a mighty servant for God, he
   spent himself and was spent. He took his place in the vanguard of
   Christ's army, stood in the hottest of the battle, and did deeds of
   daring which few could accomplish -- the seed produced a hundredfold.
   It fell into another heart of like character; -- the man could not do
   the most, but still he did much. He gave himself to God, and in his
   business he had a word to say for his Lord; in his daily walk he
   quietly adorned the doctrine of God his Savior, -- he brought forth
   sixty-fold. Then it fell on another, whose abilities and talents were
   but small; he could not be a star, but he would be a glow-worm; he
   could not do as the greatest, but he was content to do something,
   however humble. The seed had brought forth in him tenfold, perhaps
   twentyfold. How many are there of this sort here? Is there one who
   prays within himself, "God be merciful to me a sinner"? The seed has
   fallen in the right spot. Soul, thy prayer shall be heard. God never
   sets a man longing for mercy without intending to give it. Does another
   whisper, "Oh that I might be saved"? Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ,
   and thou, even thou, shalt be saved. Hast thou been the chief of
   sinners? Trust Christ, and thy enormous sins shall vanish as the
   millstone sinks beneath the flood. Is there no one here that will trust
   the Savior? Can it be possible that the Spirit is entirely absent? That
   he is not moving in one soul? Not begetting life in one spirit? We will
   pray that he may now descend, that the word may not be in vain.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                Full Redemption

   A Sermon

   (No. 309)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 22nd, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "There shall not a hoof be left behind."--Exodus 10:26.

   THE CONTROVERSY between Jehovah, the God of the whole earth, and
   Pharaoh, king of Egypt, was intended to be remembered, and spoken of
   throughout all generations. On that occasion, God permitted human
   nature to arrive at its highest degree of stubbornness and obstinacy;
   but he, nevertheless, cowed it, and overcame it. He did indeed raise up
   Pharaoh for this purpose, that he might show forth his power in him.
   Pharaoh, as an absolute monarch, is permitted to go to the utmost
   degree of hardness of heart, and yet the Lord would show to all coming
   generations that his decrees shall stand, and he will do all his
   pleasure. You will remember that the quarrel was on this wise--God had
   sent his people into Egypt in the olden times, there to dwell in the
   land of Goshen. They had multiplied exceedingly, they had been
   favourably treated by succeeding kings, till at length a new king arose
   who knew not Joseph. He began to oppress the people, but the more he
   oppressed hem, the more they increased. He made their lives bitter with
   hard bondage. In mortar and in rick, and ina ll manner of service of
   the field, did he make hem to serve with rigour. Probably they were
   employed in building many of those mighty piles, the pyramids, which
   now stand upon the plains of Egypt. He subjected hem to the most
   rigorous tasks; they worked under the whip continually, and had to make
   bricks without straw, the hardest possible exaction that even a tyrant
   could have imagined. At last the cry of the people went up to their God
   in heaven. He saw their affliction, he heard their cry, he knew their
   sorrows, and he determined, with his own bare arm, to be avenged on
   Pharaoh, and to bring out all his people, the seed of Jacob, from their
   house of bondage. He raised up Moses, and he sent him in with this
   message to Pharaoh, "Thus saith the Lord, let my people go, that they
   may serve me." Pharaoh laughs at it; "Ye are idle," saith he, "ye are
   idle, ye shall not go." A plague at once is God's answer to Pharaoh's
   laughter; he turns their water into blood, and the fish that was in the
   river died. Pharaoh gives way a little; for, if he must yield, it must
   be by degrees. "You shall have," says he, "two or three days of rest,
   to serve your God, but it must be in this land." "Nay," says Moses, "We
   cannot serve our God in this land, we must go forth into the
   wilderness." Pharaoh bids them begone. Another plague, and yet another.
   And now Pharaoh yields thus far. "They may go into the wilderness, but
   they must not go very far." "Nay, but," says Moses, "we will have no
   such stipulation." Pharaoh, therefore, again deals deceitfully, again
   refuses, again grows angry, and waxes proud; and God smites the land
   with lice, with flies, with a very grievous murrain, with all manner of
   plagues. Then Pharaoh says, "You may go, you may go into the
   wilderness; but only the strong men among you shall go; ye shall leave
   your wives, and your little ones." "Nay," says Moses, "we must all go,
   with our wives, and with our little ones, must we serve the Lord our
   God." Pharaoh again refuses; his heart is hardened; he will not yield.
   Moses, at the command of the Lord, then stretched forth his hand toward
   heaven, and there was a thick darkness in all the land of Egypt, even
   darkness that might be felt. Then Pharaoh's subjects clamoured to him,
   "Let these men go." Pharaoh yields this, "For," he says, "You shall go,
   your wives, and your little ones, but you shall leave your cattle and
   your goods behind." "Nay," saith Moses, "We must have all or none; not
   a hoof shall be left behind." Not a single sheep shall stay in Egypt;
   the whole of God's host, and all they have, their sick, their young,
   their aged, and all their possessions must go forth out of Egypt. And
   you will remember, that the Lord never yielded a single point to
   Pharaoh, but exacted all of him, and at last buried him with his
   horses, and his riders, in he depths of the sea.

   Now, it seems to me, that this grand quarrel of old is but a picture of
   God's continual contest with the powers of darkness. The mandate has
   gone forth to earth and hell: "Thus saith the Lord, let my people go
   that they may serve me." "No," saith Satan, "they shall not." And if he
   be compelled to yield one point, he still retains his hold upon
   another. If he must give way, it shall be inch by inch. Evil is hard in
   dying; it will not readily be overcome. But this is the demand of God,
   and to he last will he have it. "All my people;" the whole of, ever one
   of them, and all that my people have possessed, all shall come out of
   the land of Egypt. Christ will have the whole; he will not be contented
   with a part, and this he vows to accomplish. "Not a hoof shall be left
   behind."

   I think you will now see the drift of the discourse. I use the text as
   an aphorism, which I hope to be enabled to illustrate. God bless it to
   our souls. "Not a hoof shall be left behind." Christ will have all that
   he has died to purchase; all that he has bought with blood he will
   have; not a fraction of the purchased possession will he lose.

   First then, Christ will have the whole man--"Not a single hoof shall be
   left behind." In the next place, he will have the whole church--"Not a
   single hoof shall be left behind." In the next place, he will have the
   whole of the lost inheritance of his church--"Not a hoof shall be left
   behind;" and at last, in the fourth place, to conclude, he will have
   the whole world to serve him--"Not a hoof shall be left behind."

   I. First, then, Christ have THE WHOLE MAN. In his people whom he has
   purchased with his blood, he will reign without a rival. As for the
   world that lieth in the wicked one, the prince of this world shall have
   his power over it, until his time shall be accomplished. But as for the
   Lord's people whom he hath redeemed, on whom his heart is set, he will
   not have a single hair of their heads to be alienated from himself.
   "They shall be mine," saith the Lord, "they shall be wholly mine."
   Christ will not be part-proprietor of any man; he will not have one
   part of the man, and leave the other part to be devoted to Satan.

   In entering upon this point, that Christ will have the whole man, I
   shall have to notice, that he does already possess the whole of his
   people in heir intent and purpose, and that by-and-bye, when he hath
   sanctified them wholly, he will hen actually possess the whole spirit,
   and soul, and body of the man whom he hath purchased with his precious
   blood. Mark then, my hearers, if you be children of God, if you be
   saved, you belong wholly and entirely to Christ. By this may you know
   this morning whether you belong wholly and entirely to Christ. By this
   may you know this morning whether you are subjects of that old Pharaoh,
   or whether Jehovah is the Lord your God and your great Deliverer. Are
   there not multitudes of men, who seem to imagine that if they save a
   corner in their souls for their religion, all will be well? Satan may
   stalk across the road acres of their judgment and their understanding,
   and he may reign over their thoughts and their imaginations; but if in
   some quiet nook there be preserved the appearance of religion, all will
   be right. Oh! Be not deceived, men and brethren, in this, Christ never
   went halves in a man yet. He will have the whole of you, or he will
   have none of you. He will be Lord paramount, Master supreme, absolute
   Lord, or else he will have nothing to do with you. You may serve Satan,
   if you will, but when you serve him, you shall not serve Christ too. He
   will not permit you to have your right hand in his service, and your
   left hand employed for the black designs of hell. The whole man Christ
   died to purchase, and if you are not wholly given up to God, if in the
   intent and purpose of your souls, every thought, and wis, and power,
   and talent, and possession, be not devoted and consecrated to Christ,
   you have no reason to believe thatyou have been redeemed by his
   precious blood.

   Christ will not allow us to spare a single sin. We may not select some
   favourite evil, and say, I will give my heart wholly up to God, but
   this vice is to be spared. Nay, nay, my hearers, ye are not Christ's if
   ye have one tampered lust, one sin which you fondly indulge. Sin you
   will, even though you be Christ's, but if you indulge sin, if you love
   it, and delight in it, if it is not to you a plague and a curse, you
   have no reason whatever to conclude that your name is on his breast, or
   that you belong to Christ at all. Suppose a house attacked by seven
   thieves. The good man of the house has arms within, and he manages to
   kill six of the thieves; but if one thief survive, and he permits him
   to range his house, he may still be robbed, perhaps still be slain. And
   if I have had seven evil vices, and if by the grace of God six of these
   have been driven out, should I yet indulge and pamper one that
   remaineth, I am still a lost man. I am not his so long as I willingly
   yield, and joyfully hold fellowship with a single evil and false thing.
   I contend not for creature perfection; I believe it to be impossible
   for us to attain it in the present life, but I do contend for
   perfection in purpose, perfection in design; and if we wantonly and
   wilfully harbour a solitary sin, we are no friends of Jesus Christ. Not
   one sin, hen, is to be spared. And as no sin is to be spared, so no
   duty is to be neglected. If I am Christ's, I am not to look down his
   law, and say, "Such-and-such a precept is agreeable to me, I will keep
   it." No, as I hate evey foolish way, so much I love every right one. "I
   count all thy precepts concerning all things to be right." We have not
   come yet to be Christ's verified property, to be Christ's disenthralled
   people, unless we feel that in all the commandments of God we desire to
   walk blamelessly,--not a hoof is to be left behind.

   As no sin is to be spared, and no service to be shunned, so no power is
   to be reserved from entire consecration. Christ bought the whole man,
   and the whole man must be devoted to Christ; I am not to use my
   judgment for the Saviour, and let my imagination lie idle; I am not to
   reserve for sin the freedom of my will, while I give to God my
   conscience; but the whole man is to be given up, to Christ, he is not
   enlisted in Jesus Christ's army, who has not given up to Christ, head,
   and hands, and feet, and heart, and all. I am old that in Scotland, in
   the olden times, the farmers used to save one field which they did not
   sow, they saved that for the devil, it was called, "The gude man's
   croft;" so that Satan might range there, as much as he liked, and not
   disturb the crops elsewhere. A strange whim. Oh! How many Christians
   have tried to do the like in their hearts. They have had just the gude
   man's croft, a little corner where Satan might have his way, but, oh!
   This will never serve, the whole land must be tilled; every acre must
   be sown with the good seed, for it is all Christ's, or else it is none
   of it Christ's, we are wholly consecrated, or else unconsecrated. We
   belong from the crown of our head to the sole of our foot to Christ, or
   else we do not belong to Christ at all. Man,--the entire nature must be
   surrendered. The demand is imperative; to a proverb it shall be
   verified; "there shall not a hoof be left behind."

   Yet, further, if no power is to be unconsecrated, how much less will
   Christ ever permit our heart to be divided. If we seek to serve God and
   mammon, God and self, God and pleasure, we do not serve God at all.
   When the Romans erected the statue of Christ, and put it up I their
   pantheon, saying that he should be one among their Gods, their homage
   was worthless. And when hey turned their heads, first to Jupiter, then
   to Venus, and then to Jesus Christ, they did no honour to our Lord,
   they did but dishonour him. Their service was not acceptable, and so if
   you imagine in your heart that you can sometimes service God, and
   sometimes service self and be your own master, you have made a mistake.
   Christ will have no such service as this; he will have all or nothing;
   and indeed, men and brethren, it is necessary for us to escape entirely
   from the snares of sin, or else we cannot be saved. A quaint old divine
   uses the following figure: "If," saith he, "a hart be caught in a trap,
   and it shall extricate all its limbs except one foot, it has not
   escaped as long as the foot is in the trap; and if a bird be taken, and
   if with much struggling it getteth its liberty all but one wing, yet
   when the fowler comes he will seize it unless that wing also become
   delivered." So is it with you and me; if any part of our heart be
   devoted to Satan we might as well devote the whole, for we are still
   his bond-slaves. If you say, "Well, I was once bound hand and foot, but
   now I have broken off the chain from my hand." Yes, but if the ring of
   iron encircles one foot, and it is fastened down to the floor, you are
   still a slave. You may have filed through the chain of your
   drunkenness, but if you have not filed through the chain of your
   self-righteousness, you are still as much a bondman as ever. It is all
   in vain for you to fight half the battle; it is not the half but the
   whole that gives the victory. It is not the slaying of here and there a
   sin, like the stopping of here and there a leak in the ship; she must
   be re-keeled, or else she will sink; she must be new bottomed and new
   made; and so must you. All those slight amendments and improvements,
   good as they are in a moral aspect, are worthless as to any spiritual
   salvation of your soul. Remember this, thou who thinkest thou art a
   believer, see whether it can be said of thee, "I have wholly come out
   of Egypt in my heart's intent, not a hoof has been left behind.'"

   But to proceed: what is already true in our intent and purposes shall
   ere long be true in reality. Tarry a little while, Christian, a few
   more struggles against the flesh, a little more battling and of warring
   against the evil powers within thee, and thou shalt put thy foot upon
   the neck of thy old corruptions: sin and self shall both be slain, and
   Jesus Christ shall reign triumphantly. What a joy it is to the
   Christian to believe that he shall one day be perfect. As we have worn
   the image of the earthy, so shall we also wear the image of the
   heavenly. The tongue that has spoken many an evil thing, bought with
   the blood of Christ, shall one day be full of the sonnets of Paradise.
   There shall be no strife in the soul; the Canaanite shall no more dwell
   in the land; we shall be vessels fully purged as by fire, fully
   sanctified and made fit for the Master's use. When we shall come up
   dripping from the shelving banks of Jordan, we shall have left behind
   us all our sins; up those celestial hills our feet shall climb, and our
   garments shall e whiter than any fuller can make them. Not Jesus in his
   transfiguration shall be more complete and perfect than we shall be in
   ours. The black drops of depravity will have been wrung out of our
   hearts; the virus of deep corruption shall have been extracted, and we
   shall take our place among the angels, pure as they; among the perfect
   spirits, the prophets, and the glorious host of martyrs as truly
   sanctified, as fully redeemed, as effectually delivered from sin, as
   even they are. The redemption shall be complete; "not a hoof shall be
   left behind."

   Before I leave this point, let me remark that there is one part of man
   seemingly the most worthless, which we sometimes think will be left
   behind. The poor body! it shall be put into the grave, the worms shall
   hold a carnival within it, and soon it shall crumble down into a few
   atoms of dust; but Christ who redeemed his people, bought their flesh
   and their bones as well as their souls, "and not a hoof shall be left
   behind." Not the eye shall be left any more than the judgment, nor the
   arm any more than the spiritual vigour; for the Redeemer lays claim to
   the organs of the body as well as the faculties of the mind. He will
   raise from the dead the very bones of his people, and as the whole host
   shall go marching up behind their conquering leader, he shall cry, "Of
   them that thou hast given me I have lost none, not a bone in my own
   body has been broken, and not a bone of their bodies has been left
   behind." The whole man, body, soul, and spirit, all consecrated, all
   filled with the Spirit, shall stand before the throne and clap its
   hands, and sing the everlasting song of glory unto God for ever and
   ever. "Not a hoof shall be left behind."

   II. This, to proceed to the second part of our discourse, is equally
   true of THE WHOLE CHURCH as of the whole man--"Not a hoof shall be left
   behind." I never have subscribed--I think I never shall--to the
   doctrine of universal redemption. I believe in the limitless efficacy
   of the blood of Christ. I would not say, with some of the early
   Fathers, that a single drop of Christ's blood would have been
   sufficient for the redemption of the world. That seems to me to be an
   expression too strained, though doubtless their meaning was correct. I
   believe that there is efficacy enough in the blood of Christ if it be
   applied to the conscience to save any man and every man. But when I
   come to the matter of redemption it seems to me that whatever Christ's
   design was in dying, that design cannot be frustrated, nor by any means
   disappointed. When I look at the person of our Lord Jesus Christ, I
   cannot imagine that such an One offering such a sacrifice, can ever be
   disappointed of the design of his soul. Hence I think that all whom he
   came on purpose to save he will save, all who were graven on the strong
   affections of his heart as the purchase of his blood he assuredly shall
   have. All that his heavenly Father gave him shall come to him. All that
   he chose from before the foundation of the world, he will raise up at
   the last day. All who were included among the members of his mystic
   body, when he was nailed to the tree, shall be one with him in his
   glorious resurrection, and "not a hoof shall be left behind." I know
   there are some who believe in a disappointed Christ, who affect to
   lament concerning Christ a design not accomplished, a frustrated cross,
   agonies spent in vain, blood that was poured out on the ground as water
   that cannot be gathered up. I believe in no such thing. God created
   nothing in vain, nor will I believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross
   in vain in any sense or in any degree whatever. Not a hoof of all his
   purchased flock shall be left behind.

   Come, then. Methinks I see before my mind's eye the countless
   multitudes whom Jesus bought with blood. The day shall come when their
   great shepherd walking in their front shall lead behind him the entire
   flock, and not one shall be absent. But suppose for an instant--we take
   that ground to see how untenable it is--suppose for an instant that one
   of those purchased ones should be absent; of what sort shall that one
   be? Suppose it to be a suffering one, one that has lain tossing on the
   bed of pain for many months and years, some aged disciple filled with
   twitchings and convulsions, who for the last few years seemed to suffer
   pains like those of hell though she lay on the borders of
   Paradise--shall she be left behind? Such a supposition impugns the love
   of Christ. If he left any, certainly it should not be the suffering
   ones. If one should be cast away, certainly not of that martyr band who
   for his sake endured, nor of that pilgrim band of the despised who
   through much tribulation inherit the kingdom of heaven. Who then shall
   it be? Shall it be the strong ones that shall be lost? Imagine it so.
   But how were they strong? They were strengthened through Christ and yet
   can they perish? Such a supposition impugns the immutability of God.
   Did he gird them with strength one day and leave them helpless the
   next? What! Did God pour the full vigour of his grace into a heart and
   then restrain that vigour, and suffer the strong one to perish? Samson,
   shalt thou be lost after thou hast slain heaps upon heaps thy thousand
   men? Shalt thou at last die ingloriously? No, if thou diest upon earth
   thou shalt hear the groans of thy Philistine enemies about thee, and
   die, as a warrior should, in the midst of battle, an undefeated one.
   Shall the minister of Christ whom God has greatly blessed be deserted
   by the faithful God, and shall the shame of his fall ring round the
   world and become the jest and mockery of drunkard and harlot? God
   forbid; he shall keep the strong and they shall enter into life. But
   suppose for a minute it should be one of our weak ones, our poor
   friend, Mr. Feeble-Mind, or our excellent sister, Miss Despondency;
   suppose these must perish. Ah! then this would impugn the power of God,
   for then the enemy would cry, "Aha! Aha! He kept the strong, but he
   could not keep the weak. Those who took care of themselves he kept, but
   the weak ones he suffered to perish." Ay, beloved, but there shall "not
   a hoof be left behind;" not that poor lingering sheep, not that poor
   newly-born and feeble lamb; they shall ever one of them be brought in;
   no, "not a hoof shall be left behind." But saith one, "Perhaps it will
   be the erring ones among them." Ah, but if the erring ones in the
   Church be lost then should all be lost, for they all err. "But suppose
   there be some that specially err?" Well, if these were lost, it would
   be to impugn the grace of God, because then it might be said, and said
   with truth, "It was of works and not of grace," for if it be of grace
   then must the erring be brought back and forgiven, and even those sheep
   that break the hedge and leave the pasture, these must be brought in,
   that it may be said on earth and sung in heaven that it was of grace,
   free grace, and grace alone, that any were saved--that all were
   saved--that none are left behind.

   Methinks I see the great Shepherd now, and there are all his sheep.
   They have been wandering. They have got into a dark glen in the
   mountains and a snow-storm is coming on, and he goes to seek them.
   There they are. The grim spirit of the tempest, the Prince of the power
   of the air meets him, and says, "Back, shepherd! What dost thou here?"
   "I have come to reclaim my own." "They are not thine now," saith he,
   "they have strayed into my grounds and they are mine, not thine." "Nay,
   fiend," saith he, "they are mine; they have my blood-mark on them; they
   were given me of my Divine Father, and I am bound by solemn obligations
   to keep ever one of hem safely." "Thou shalt not have them," saith the
   fiend. "I must, I will," saith he. They fought and the good Shepherd he
   overcame. He dashed down the enemy and trod him underfoot, and crushed
   him--crushed the serpent. Then the serpent with wily craft replied,
   "They are thine--thine, I confess, and I will give thee some of
   hem--the fattest of them." "Nay," saith he, "Nay, fiend, I have bought
   them all, and I will have them all." And there they come, a goodly
   company; but he keeps back a few. "They are not all here," says the
   Shepherd, "and I will have all." "But," saith the fiend, "there are
   some of them that are speckled sheep, and some that are black and
   diseased; dost thou want them? Let me have a few at least." "No," saith
   he, "No; I must have the black ones, the speckled ones, the diseased
   ones: let them all come. Fiend, stand back, let them come I tell thee,
   or my right arm shall fell thee to he ground again." And now they all
   come but one, and Satan says, "Nay, but this is such a little one; this
   is so weak. Thou wouldst not have such a shrivelled, scabby one as this
   in thy bright flock, thou fair Shepherd of God." "Ay," saith he, "but
   sooner than lose one of hem I will die again, and shed my blood once
   more to buy it back. Avaunt! All that my Father gave me I will have."
   And now methinks I see him in the last tremendous day when the sheep
   pass again under the hand of him that telleth them. He cries, "Of all
   thou hast given me, I have lost none. They have none of them perished.
   The lion has not devoured them, nor has the cold destroyed them. I have
   brought them all safely here, "not a hoof is left behind."

   III. The third point was to be this--Jesus Christ will not only have
   all of a man, and all the men he bought, but he will have ALL THAT EVER
   BELONGED TO ALL THESE MEN. That is to say, all that Adam lost, Christ
   will win back; all that we fell from in Adam, Christ will restore us
   to, and that without the diminution of a single jot or tittle. Not an
   inch of Paradise shall be given up, nor even a handful of its dust
   resigned. Christ will have all, or else he will have none--"Not a hoof
   shall be left behind." Very briefly let me run through a short list of
   all those precious things which we lost in Adam. And first, with
   reference to God. Christ's blood-bought own image, in our own
   likeness," saith God. Alas! that likeness has been defiled and debased.
   Like the king's superscription on the coinage, which has been worn for
   many a year, you cannot tell whose image and superscription it now is.
   Ay, but we shall have that back again. God will re-stamp his precious
   things; re-engrave his name upon his gems, and we shall wear the
   likeness of God as Adam did, when he came fresh from his Maker's hand.
   We have lost, too, as we know to our cost, by nature the divine favour;
   God loved Adam, he showed that love to him, but when Adam sinned,
   though God was merciful, he could not show love to one who had become a
   rebel; I mean--not the love of complacency--though the love of
   benevolence never ceased for a moment. Ay, but God delighteth in his
   people now in Christ. Christ hath gotten back for us the full light of
   God's favour. The sun shone on Adam full-orbed, and it will not shine
   on us with less brithness. God loved Adam very tenderly, but he loves
   us just as much. We have gotten back the two divine privileges of
   heavenly likeness and heavenly favour. But you will remember, also,
   Adam had the celestial boon of divine fellowship: "The Lord God walked
   with Adam in the garden in the cool of the day." And some of you know
   what it is to have that back again, for he has walked with us, and God
   has talked to his people till our eyes have shone, and our hearts have
   been ready to break for very joy. Our poor weak body was not able to
   contain its overflowing bliss. Christ will get back for his people all
   the likeness of God, all the favour of God, and all the fellowship with
   God, of which Satan robbed them. Not a particle less shall they have,
   but I think I may venture to say even more, for God loved Adam for
   Adam's sake; he loves you and me for Christ's sake, and that is a
   better motive; a higher, a deeper, and grander consideration, than even
   loving a man for his own sake. Because of his only begotten and well
   beloved Son, he loves all his people with an infinite, unfailing
   affection. This is the first part of the inheritance which we lost, and
   which Christ will get us back.

   Then again, Adam lost happiness, and we have lost it too, and we have
   become the heirs of sorrow, and like our Master we are acquainted with
   grief. Ay, but he will get us back our happiness; we have had some
   portion of it already. That well of living water, into which Satan cast
   a great stone so that it could not spring up, Christ has rolled away
   the stone, and now we drink the water, whereof, if a man drink, he
   shall never thirst, and shall never need to go to earthly fountains to
   draw. Oh! Courage, courage, Christian, in all thy sorrows, Christ will
   win thee back that glorious happiness which Adam lost for thee.
   Besides, you all know that in Adam we lost the right to live. "In the
   day that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die." Man became a
   dying soul, and not a living soul any more. But Christ has brought life
   and immortality to light by the gospel, and because he lives, we shall
   live also.

   And yet again, Adam of old was king. Wherever he went there was a
   dignity about him, that made the lordly lion crouch and lick his feet;
   the birds of the air did him homage; he bade the fish of the sea leap
   in their waters, and they did it for he was king--God's crowned cherub
   who walked in the garden of Eden like a king in his palaces. But now,
   what are ? The servants of servants; toiling creatures that wipe the
   sweat from our face, and strain our nerves, and empty out our veins
   with labour. Ay, but that dignity is restored already to the people of
   God, for he hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in
   heavenly places in Christ Jesus our Lord. And visibly shall that
   dignity come back to us, when the leopard shall lie down with the kid;
   when the lion shall eat straw, like the ox, and man on earth shall be
   lord of the creation just as he was of old. Master of the
   sea--leviathan, shall do his bidding, and Behemoth shall stay him in
   his course to hasten to the voice of puny, but redeemed man. We shall
   have back I believe everything that Adam had, and much more. "Not a
   hoof shall be left behind."

   And yet further, not to keep you longer, we believe that in Adam we
   lost sonship, but in Christ we have received the adoption. In Adam we
   lost safe standing; but he hath plucked us out of the miry clay, and
   set our feet upon a rock. In Adam we lost righteousness; but he that
   believeth is justified from all things. Whatever Adam lost, Christ has
   found, and infinitely more.

   A man once wrote a book to prove the devil a fool. Certainly, when all
   matters shall come to their destined consummation, Satan will prove to
   have been a magnificent fool. Folly, magnified to he highest degree by
   subtlety, shall be developed in Satan. Ah! thou trailing serpent, what
   hast thou now after all? I saw thee but a few thousand years ago,
   twining around the tree of life, and hissing out thy deceptive words.
   Ah! how glorious was the serpent then--a winged creature, with his
   azure scales. Ay, and thou didst triumph over God. I heard thee as thou
   didst go hissing down to thy den, I heard thee say to thy rood,--vipers
   in the nest as they are,--"My children, I have stained the Almighty's
   works: I have turned aside his liege subjects; I have injected my
   poison into the heart of Eve, and Adam hath fallen too; my children let
   us hold a jubilee, for I have defeated God." Ah! fiend; I think I see
   thee now, with thy head all broken, and thy jaw-teeth smashed, and thy
   venom-bags all emptied, and thou thyself a weary length of agony,
   rolling miles afloat along a sea of fire tortured, destroyed, overcome,
   tormented, ashamed, hacked, hewed, dashed in pieces, and made a
   hissing, and a scorn for children to laugh at, and made a scoff
   throughout eternity. Ah! well, brethren, the great Goliath hath gained
   nothing by his vauntings: Christ and his people have really lost
   nothing by Satan. All hey lost once, has been re-taken. The victory has
   not simply been capture of that which was lost, but a gaining of
   something more. We are in Christ more than we were before we fell. "Not
   a hoof shall be left behind."

   IV. I shall want your patience and your prayers while I now attempt to
   dwell upon my last illustration. CHRIST WILL HAVE THE WHOLE EARTH--"not
   a hoof shall be left behind." God hath made this world for himself, and
   when he made it he looked around on all his works, and he said, "They
   were very good." All creation was meant to be a grand orchestra, the
   angels occupying the higher seats, and sounding the higher notes; while
   descending in the scale, the inhabitants of the divers worlds, which
   are perhaps countless in multitude, taking their places in the one
   harmonious song. In one place there was an old and almost empty spot
   without a singer; blessed be God, the singers have many of them taken
   their places already, and there are others on the way. That spot was
   left for men to sing in, for men who should praise God, and magnify his
   name always. Ay, but Satan came and took away all the singers, spoiled
   their voices, and ruined them, and now this world, instead of being an
   orchestra for God's praise, has become an arena for evil passions, a
   battle field for lust and rapine, and murder and sin. But mark this,
   God will not be disappointed of his purpose; this ruined world shall
   yet sing forth his praises, and without a marring or a jarring voice,
   the whole of his creatures shall magnify his holy name. Satan is now
   lord of the most of the world, and he seems to say to-day, "Thou King
   of kings, take England for thyself, and America be thine, here and
   there thou shalt take an island, or a city, but let me have the masses
   of mankind; I will be lord of China's teeming multitudes, and India
   shall lie within my coils." Brethren, shall it be so? Shall it be
   so?--are you content in your Master's name to resign those mighty
   empires to the prince of darkness? Unanimously your hearts speak out
   your Master's language; it must not, and it shall not be. The tramp of
   Christian heroes shall yet shake those nations, and the trumpet of
   Jubilee shall proclaim liberty to the bondaged sons of Adam that are
   weeping there. They must--they shall belong to Christ. And now the
   black prince comes forward, and he proposes another thing. "Oh!" saith
   he, "great King, why this perpetual duel, why must thy servants fight
   and live, and my servants continually be defeated? Let us divide the
   empire." You remember that in the olden times of England, when Canute
   and the Danes were fighting against the Saxons under Edmund, it was
   decided at last that the two kings should fight it out. A most
   agreeable and proper method, I only would that it were always taken in
   hand, and that all kings who choose to engage in warfare, had to fight
   their own battles. I am sure we should all be patrons of their
   encounters, and we should sincerely thank God that there was such a
   saving of blood; let them fight if they will, but why should their poor
   subjects die? The fight went on with various success, and at last, the
   champions having parted, it was decided that one should take one part
   of England, and the other the other, and so a truce was made. And so,
   black fiend, thou proposest this to the king of heaven, dost thou?--a
   division, shall it be; shall the fight be suspended, shall Christ have
   half, and Satan the other half? No, listen to the cry of that half,
   which we might give up. "Ye men, ye men of Israel, come hither, help!
   Help! Come ye to the help of the Lord against the mighty! Why should we
   be give up to intolerable tyranny, and devoted for ever to hell's
   monarch and his mighty power"? Nay, we cannot consent, thou fiend! That
   thou shouldst have one half. Imagine, then, that the gospel has spread
   in ever country but one, and now Satan pleads, "No missionaries shall
   be sent there to disturb their unhallowed peacefulness. Let me reign
   there," saith he, "and I will be content."

   But it must not be: Soldiers of Christ, to the battle, to the battle.
   All the line, all the rampart must be stormed. Not a single castle must
   be left in the possession of the enemy. We must dash him down from his
   hills, and rend him up from his valleys. He must not have a single spot
   whereon to place his foot. Now I hear him flap his broken wings and fly
   into the grim north. "There are a few Esquimaux," saith he, "who live
   in the dreary region long consecrated to my power. I will betake myself
   to the land of icebergs and of rocks, of the wild bear and of the dog,
   and there will I keep my last resting place." Brethren, shall it be,
   shall it be? Shall he reign king of the icebergs and lord even of the
   frozn north? No, by heaven, and him that redeemed the earth. Out even
   of that region must he be dashed; as of old he fell from heaven, so
   must he fall from earth. And now I see the Icelanders bowing before
   Christ, and the vilest and most depraved of men submitting to Jehovah's
   sway; but Satan has one dark-souled being; the last man that is left
   unconverted. Ring your Sabbath bells, my brethren! Go up to your house
   of prayer! Be happy! But I see a gloom upon your face. What means it?
   You reply, there is one man left unsaved; Satan has still a
   lodging-place in the heart of one man, surely our songs would lose
   their melody if that were the case. Nay, Master, nay, "Not a hoof shall
   be left behind." Thou shalt walk through this world and meet no more
   with sin. There shall not be found one inhabitant of this globe who is
   not thy subject; not a single being who is not fully consecrated to thy
   will. That were a consummation devoutly to be wished. Equally may I
   say, it is a consummation confidently to be expected. Wait a little
   while, labour a little longer, and he that will come shall come and
   will not tarry; then shall the world see, and hell shall tremble at the
   sight, that Christ has conquered and has taken back all his
   possessions. "Not a hoof shall be left behind."

   And now, ere you disperse, I have just a word or two of practical
   doctrine to deliver. Give me your solemn attention; I will not detain
   you more than one or two minutes. On whose side art thou man, woman?
   Art thou Christ's, or art thou Satan's? Remember, if thy soul belongs
   to sin, living and dying as thou art, hell's greedy maw must devour
   thee; for Satan saith, as Christ saith, "Not a hoof shall be left
   behind." The waves of the deluge of wrath, shall drown ever man who is
   not in the ark. Not a single horn, or tare, shall be left to grow, they
   must all be bound up in bundles to be burned, and cast into the fire.
   Answer that question then: Whose art thou? Answer now another. If thou
   hopest that thou art Christ's, Christ's motto with every man is, "Aut
   Caesar, aut nullus." He will be Caesar in your hearts, king, emperor,
   or nothing at all; he will reign entirely over you, or not at all;
   Christ will not go shares in your heart. Are you wholly Christ's then?
   "Oh," saith one, "I hope so." Ay, but take care it is not mere hope,
   but that it is the fact; and lift up thy heart and pray, "Great God
   sanctify me wholly, spirit, soul and body, take full possession of all
   my powers, all my members, all my goods, and all my hours, all I am,
   and all I have, take me, and make me what thou wouldest have me to be."
   God hear that prayer for thee, and make thee wholly Christ's. Yet, one
   other question. Is there one who says, "I fear I am not Christ's, but I
   wish to be?" Is that a sincere wish? I am happy, happy, thrice happy,
   that thou feelest thus, for thou couldst not even wish to be Christ's,
   unless Christ's grace had made thee wish. Oh, remember, if thou willest
   to have Christ, there is no question about Christ's willingness to have
   thee. Come, just as thou art, and with a full surrender, say:--

   "Just as I am, without one plea,

   But that thy blood was shed for me,

   And that thou bidst me come to thee,

   Oh! Lamb of God, I come."

   Trust Christ, and you are saved; rely on Jesus, and your sins are
   forgiven, and you are Christ's, and shall be Christ's in that day when
   he maketh up his jewels. May God bless these thoughts and meditations
   to each and all of us. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                             Christ--Our Substitute

   A Sermon

   (No. 310)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, April 15th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street, Southwark.

   "For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might
   be made the righteousness of God in him."--2 Corinthians 5:21.

   SOMETIME AGO an excellent lady sought an interview with me, with the
   object as she said, of enlisting my sympathy upon the question of
   "Anti-Capital Punishment." I heard the excellent reasons she urged
   against hanging men who had committed murder, and though they did not
   convince me, I did not seek to answer hem. She proposed that when a man
   committed murder, he should be confined for life. My remark was, that a
   great many men who had been confined half their lives were not a bit
   the better for it, and as for her belief that they would necessarily be
   brought to repentance, I was afraid it was but a dream. "Ah," she said,
   good soul as she was, "that is because we have been all wrong about
   punishments. We punish people because we think they deserve to be
   punished. Now, we ought to show them," said she, "that we love them;
   that we only punish them to make them better." "Indeed, madam," I said,
   "I have heard that theory a great many times, and I have seen much fine
   writing upon the matter, but I am no believer in it. The design of
   punishment should be amendment, but the ground of punishment lies in
   the positive guilt of the offender. I believe that when a man does
   wrong, he ought to be punished for it, and that there is a guilt in sin
   which justly merits punishment." "Oh no; she could not see that. Sin
   was a very wrong thing, but punishment was not a proper idea. She
   thought that people were treated too cruelly in prison, and that they
   ought to be taught that we love them. If they were treated kindly in
   prison, and tenderly dealt with, they would grow so much better, she
   was sure." With a view of interpreting her own theory, I said, "I
   suppose, then, you would give criminals all sorts of indulgences in
   prison. Some great vagabond who has committed burglary dozens of
   times--I suppose you would let him sit in an easy chair in the evening
   before a nice fire, and mix him a glass of spirits and water, and give
   him his pope, and make him happy, to show him how much we love him."
   "Well, no, she would not give him the spirits, but, still, all the rest
   would do him good." I thought that was a delightful picture certainly.
   It seemed to me to be the most prolific method of cultivating rogues
   which ingenuity could invent. I imagine that you could row any number
   of thieves in that way; for it would be a special means of propagating
   all manner of roguery and wickedness. These very delightful theories to
   such a simple mind as mine, were the source of much amusement, the idea
   of fondling villains, and treating heir crimes as if they were the
   tumbles and falls of children, made me laugh heartily. I fancied I saw
   the government resigning its functions to these excellent persons, and
   the grand results of their marvellously kind experiments. The sword of
   the magistrate transformed into a gruel-spoon, and the jail become a
   sweet retreat for injured reputations.

   Little however, did I think I should live to see this kind of stuff
   taught in pulpits; I had no idea that there would come out a divinity,
   which would bring down God's moral government from he solemn aspect in
   which Scripture reveals it, to a namby-pamby sentimentalism, which
   adores a Deity destitute of every masculline virtue. But we never know
   to-day what may occur to-morrow. We have lived to see a certain sort of
   men--thank God they are not Baptists--though I am sorry to say there
   are a great many Baptists who are beginning to follow in their
   trail--who seek to teach now-a-days, that God is a universal Father,
   and that our ideas of his dealing with the impenitent as a Judge, and
   not as a Father, are remnants of antiquated error. Sin, according to
   these men, is a disorder rather than an offence, an error rather than a
   crime. Love is the only attribute they can discern, and the full-orbed
   Deity they have not known. Some of these men push their way very far
   into the bogs and mire of falsehood, until they inform us that eternal
   punishment is ridiculed as a dream. In fact, books now appear, which
   teach us that there is no such thing as the Vicarious Sacrifice of our
   Lord Jesus Christ. They use the word Atonement it is true, but in
   regard to its meaning, they have removed the ancient landmark. They
   acknowledge that the Father has shown his great love to poor sinful man
   by sending his Son, but not that God was inflexibly just in the
   exhibition of his mercy, not that he punished Christ on the behalf of
   his people, nor that indeed God ever will punish anybody I his wrath,
   or that there is such a thing as justice apart from discipline. Even
   sin and hell are but old words employed henceforth in a new and altered
   sense. Those are old-fashioned notions, and we poor souls who go on
   talking about election and imputed righteousness, are behind our time.
   Ay, and the gentlemen who bring out books on this subject, applaud Mr.
   Maurice, and Professor Scott, and the like, but are too cowardly to
   follow them, and boldly propound these sentiments. These are the new
   men whom God has sent down from heaven, to tell us that the apostle
   Paul was all wrong, that our faith is vain, that we have been quite
   mistaken, that there was no need for propitiating blood to wash away
   our sins; that the fact was, our sins needed discipline, but penal
   vengeance and righteous wrath are quite out of the question. When I
   thus speak, I am free to confess that such ideas are not boldly taught
   by a certain individual whose volume excites these remarks, but as he
   puffs the books of gross perverters of the truth, I am compelled to
   believe that he endorses such theology.

   Well, brethren, I am happy to say that sort of stuff has not gained
   entrance into this pulpit. I dare say the worms will eat the wood
   before there will be anything of that sort sounded in his place; and
   may these bones be picked by vultures, and this flesh be rent in sunder
   by lions, and may every nerve in this body suffer pangs and tortures,
   ere these lips shall give utterance to any such doctrines or
   sentiments. We are content to remain among the vulgar souls who believe
   the old doctrines of grace. We are wolling still to be behind in the
   great march of intellect, and stand by that unmoving cross, which, like
   the pole star, never advances, because it never stirs, but always
   abides in its place, the guide of the soul to heaven, the one
   foundation other than which no man can lay, and without building upon
   which, no man shall ever see the face of God and live.

   Thus much have I said upon a matter which just now is exciting
   controversy. It has been my high privilege to be associated with six of
   our ablest brethren in the ministry, in a letter of protest against the
   countenance which a certain newspaper seemed willing to lend to this
   modern heresy. We trust it may be the means, in the hands of God, of
   helping to check that downward march--that wandering from truth which
   seems by some singular infatuation, to have unsettled the minds of some
   brethren in our denomination. Now I come to address you upon the opic
   which is most continually assailed by those who preach another gospel
   "which is not another--but there be some that trouble you, and would
   pervert the gospel of Christ," namely, the doctrine of the substitution
   of Christ on our behalf, his actual atonement for our sins, and our
   positive and actual justification through his sufferings and
   righteousness. It seems to me that until language can mean the very
   reverse of what it says, until by some strange logic, God's Word can be
   contradicted and can be made to belief itself, the doctrine of
   substitution can never be rooted out of the words which I have selected
   for my text "He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin, that
   we might be made the righteousness of God in him."

   First, then, the sinlessness of the substitute; secondly, the reality
   of the imputation of sin to him; and thirdly, the glorious reality of
   the imputation of righteousness to us.

   I. First, THE SINLESSNESS OF THE SUBSTITUTE.

   The doctrine of Holy Scripture is this, that inasmuch as man could not
   keep God's law, having fallen in Adam, Christ came and fulfilled the
   law on the behalf of his people; and that inasmuch as man had already
   broken the divine law and incurred the penalty of the wrath of God,
   Christ came and suffered in the room, place, and stead of his elect
   ones, that so by his enduring the full vials of wrath, they might be
   emptied out and not a drop might ever fall upon the heads of his
   blood-bought people. Now, you will readily perceive that if one is to
   be a substitute for another before God, either to work out a
   righteousness or to suffer a penalty, that substitute must himself be
   free from sin. If he hath sin of his own, all that he can suffer will
   but be the due reward of his own iniquity. If he hath himself
   transgressed, he cannot suffer for another, because all his sufferings
   are already due on his own personal account. On the other and, it is
   quite clear that none but a perfect man could ever work out a spotless
   righteousness for us, and keep the law in our stead, for if he hath
   dishonoured the commandment in his thought, there must be a
   corresponding flaw in his service. If the warp and woof be speckled,
   how shall he bring forth the robe of milk-white purity, and wrap it
   about our loins? He must be a spotless one who shall become the
   representative of his people, either to give them a passive or active
   righteousness, either to offer a satisfaction as the penalty of their
   sins, or a righteousness as the fulfilment of God's demand.

   It is satisfactory for us to know, and to believe beyond a doubt, that
   our Lord Jesus was without sin. Of course, in his divine nature he
   could not know iniquity; and as for his human nature, it never knew the
   original taint of depravity. He was of the seed of the woman, but not
   of the tainted and infected see of Adam. Overshadowed as was the virgin
   by the Holy Ghost, no corruption entered into his nativity. That holy
   thing which was born of her was neither conceived in sin nor shapen in
   iniquity. He was brought into this world immaculate. He was
   immaculately conceived and immaculately born. In him that natural black
   blood which we have inherited from Adam never dwelt. His heart was
   upright within him; his soul was without any bias to evil; his
   imagination had never been darkened. He had no infatuated mind. There
   was no tendency whatever in him that to do that which was good, holy,
   and honourable. And as he did not share in the original depravity, so
   he did not share in the imputed sin of Adam which we have
   inherited--not, I mean, in himself personally, though he took the
   consequences of that, as he stood as our representative. The sin of
   Adam had never passed over the head of the second Adam. All that were
   in the loins of Adam sinned in him when he touched the fruit; but Jesus
   was not in the loins of Adam. Though he might be conceived of as being
   in the womb of the woman--"a new thing which the Lord created in the
   earth,"--he lay not in Adam when he sinned, and consequently no guilt
   from Adam, either of depravity of nature, or of distance from God, ever
   fell upon Jesus as the result of anything that Adam did. I mean upon
   Jesus as considered in himself though he certainly took the sin of Adam
   as he was the representative of his people.

   Again, as in his nature he was free from the corruption and
   condemnation of the sin of Adam, so also in his life, no sin ever
   corrupted his way. His eye never flashed with unhallowed anger; his lip
   never uttered a treacherous or deceitful word; his heat never harboured
   an evil imagination. Never did he wander after lust; no covetousness
   ever so much as glanced into his soul. He was "holy, harmless,
   undefiled, separate from sinners." From the beginning of his life to
   the end, you cannot put your finger even upon a mistake, much less upon
   a wilful error. So perfect was he, that no virtue seems to
   preponderate, or by an opposing quality give a bias to the scale of
   absolute rectitude. John is distinguished for his love, Peter for his
   courage; but Jesus Christ is distinguished for neither one above the
   another, because he possesses all in such sublime unison, such heavenly
   harmony, that no one virtue stands out above the rest. He is meek, but
   he is courageous. He is loving, but he is decided; he is bold as a
   lion, yet he is quiet and peaceful as a lamb. He was like that fine
   flour which was offered before God in the burnt offering; a flour
   without grit, so smooth, that when you rubbed it, it was soft and pure,
   no particles could be discerned: so was his character fully ground,
   fully compounded. There was not one feature in his moral countenance
   which had undue preponderance above the other; but he was replete in
   everything that was virtuous and good. Tempted he was, it is true, but
   sinned he never. The whirlwind came from he wilderness, and smote upon
   the four corners of that house, but it fell not, for it was founded
   upon a rock. The rains descended, heaven afflicted him; the winds blew,
   the mysterious agency of hell assailed him; the floods came, all earth
   was in arms against him, but yet he stood firm in the midst of all.
   Never once did he even seem to bend before the tempest; but buffetting
   the fury of the blast, bearing all the temptations that could ever
   happen to man, which summed themselves up and consummated their fury on
   him, he stood to the end, without a single flaw in his life, or a stain
   upon his spotless robe. Let us rejoice, then, in this, my beloved
   brothers and sisters, that we have such a substitute--one who is fit
   and proper to stand in our place, and to suffer in our stead, seeing he
   has no need to offer a sacrifice for himself; no need to cry for
   himself, "Father, I have sinned;" no need to bend the knee of the
   penitent and confess his own iniquities, for he is without spot or
   blemish, the perfect lamb of God's passover.

   I would have you carefully notice the particular expression of the
   text, for it struck me as being very beautiful and significant,--"who
   knew no sin." It does not merely say did none, but knew none. Sin was
   no acquaintance of his; he was acquainted with grief, but no
   acquaintance of sin. He had to walk in the midst of its most frequented
   haunts, but did not know it; not that he was ignorant of its nature, or
   did not know its penalty, but he did not know it; he was a stranger to
   it, he never gave it the wink or nod of familiar recognition. Of course
   he knew what sin was, for he was ver God, but with the sin he had no
   communion, no fellowship, no brotherhood. He was a perfect stranger in
   the presence of sin; he was a foreigner; he was not an inhabitant of
   that land where sin is acknowledge. He passed through the wilderness of
   suffering, but into the wilderness of sin he could never go. "He knew
   no sin;" mark that expression and treasure it up, and when you are
   thinking of your substitute, and see him hang bleeding upon the cross,
   think that you see written in those lines of blood written along his
   blessed body, "He knew no sin." Mingled with the redness of his
   blood--that Rose of Sharon; behold the purity of his nature, the Lily
   of the Valley--"He knew no sin."

   II. Let us pass on to notice the second and most important point; THE
   ACTUAL SUBSTITUTION OF CHRIST, AND THE REAL IMPUTATION OF SIN TO HIM.
   "He made him to be sin for us."

   Here be careful to observe who transferred the sin. God the Father laid
   on Jesus the iniquities of us all. Man could not make Christ sin. Man
   could not transfer his guilt to another. It is not for us to say
   whether Christ could or could not have made himself sin for us; that
   certain it is, he did not take this priesthood upon himself, but he was
   called of God, as was Aaron. The Redeemer's vicarious position is
   warranted, nay ordained by divine authority. "He hath made him to be
   sin for us." I must now beg you to notice how very explicit the term
   is. Some of our expositors will have it that the word here used must
   mean "sin-offering." "He made him to be a sin-offering for us." I
   thought it well to look to my Greek Testament to see whether it could
   be so. Of course we all know that the word here translated "sin," is
   very often translated "sin-offering," but it is always useful, when you
   have a disputed passage, to look it through, and see whether in this
   case the word would bear such a meaning. These commentators say it
   means a sin-offering,--well, I will read it: "He hath made him to be a
   sin-offering for us who knew no sin-offering." Does not that strike you
   as being ridiculous? But they are precisely the same words; and if it
   be fair to translate it "sin-offering" in one place, it must, in all
   reason, be fair to translate it so in the other. The fact it, while in
   some passages it may be rendered "sin-offering," in this passage it
   cannot be so, because it would be to run counter to all honesty to
   translate the same word in the same sentence two different ways. No; we
   must take hem as they stand. "He hath made him to be sin for us," not
   merely an offering, but sin for us.

   My predecessor, Dr. Gill, edited the works of Tobias Crisp, but Tobias
   Crisp went further than Dr. Gill or any of us can approve; for in one
   place Crisp calls Christ a sinner, though he does not mean that he ever
   sinned himself. He actually calls Christ a transgressor, and justifies
   himself by that passage, "He was numbered with the transgressors."
   Martin Luther is reputed to have broadly said that, although Jesus
   Christ was sinless, yet he was the greatest sinner that ever lived,
   because all the sins of his people lay upon him. Now, such expressions
   I think to be unguarded, if not profane. Certainly Christian men should
   take care that they use not language which, by the ignorant and
   uninstructed, may be translated to mean what they never intended to
   teach. The fact is, brethren, that in no sense whatever--take that as I
   say it--in no sense whatever can Jesus Christ ever be conceived of as
   having been guilty. He knew no sin." Not only was he not guilty of any
   sin which he committed himself, but he was not guilty of our sins. No
   guilt can possibly attach to a man who has not been guilty. He must
   have had complicity in the deed itself, or else no guilt can possibly
   be laid on him. Jesus Christ stands in the midst of all the divine
   thunders, and suffers all the punishment, but not a drop of sin ever
   stained him. In no sense is he ever a guilty man, but always is he an
   accepted and a holy one. What, then, is the meaning of that very
   forcible expression f my text? We must interpret Scriptural modes of
   expression by the verbage of the speakers. We know that our Master once
   said himself, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood;" he did not
   mean that the cup was the covenant. He said, "Take, eat, this is my
   body"--no one of us conceives that the bread is the literal flesh and
   blood of Christ. We take that bread as if it were the body, and it
   actually represents it. Now, we are to read a passage like this,
   according to the analogy of faith. Jesus Christ was made by his Father
   sin for us, that is, he was treated as if he had himself been sin. He
   was not sin; he was not sinful; he was not guilty; but, he was treated
   by his Father, as if he had not only been sinful, but as if he had been
   sin itself. That is a strong expression used here. Not only hath he
   made him to be the substitute for sin, but to be sin. God looked on
   Christ as if Christ had been sin; not as if he had taken up the sins of
   his people, or as if they were laid on him, though that were true, but
   as if he himself had positively been that noxious--that
   God-hating--that soul-damning thing, called sin. When the Judge of all
   the earth said, "Where is Sin?" Christ presented himself. He stood
   before his Father as if he had been the accumulation of all human
   guilt; as if he himself were that thing which God cannot endure, but
   which he must drive from his presence for ever. And now see how this
   making of Jesus to be sin was enacted to the fullest extent. The
   righteous Lord looked on Christ as being sin, and therefore Christ must
   be taken without the camp. Sin cannot be borne in God's Zion, cannot be
   allowed to dwell in God's Jerusalem; it must be taken without the camp,
   it is a leprous thing, put it away. Cast out from fellowship, from
   love, from pity, sin must ever be. Take him away, take him away, ye
   crowd! Hurry him through the streets and bear him to Calvary. Take him
   without the camp--as was the beast which was offered for sin without
   the camp, so must Christ be, who was made sin for us. And now, God
   looks on him as being sin, and sin must bear punishment. Christ is
   punished. The most fearful of deaths is exacted at his hand, and God
   has no pity for him. How should he have pity on sin? God hates it. No
   tongue can tell, no soul can divine the terrible hatred of God to that
   which is evil, and he treats Christ as if he were sin. He prays, but
   heaven shuts out his prayer; he cries for water, but heaven and earth
   refuse to wet his lips except with vinegar. He turns his eye to heaven,
   he sees nothing there. How should he? God cannot look on sin, and sin
   can have no claim on God: "My God, my God," he cries, "why hast thou
   forsaken me?" O solemn necessity, how could God do anything with sin
   but forsake it? How could iniquity have fellowship with God? Shall
   divine smiles rest on sin? Nay, nay, it must not be. Therefore is it
   that he who is made sin must bemoan desertion and terror. God cannot
   touch him, cannot dwell with him, cannot come near him. He is abhorred,
   cast away; it hath pleased the Father to bruise him; he hath put him to
   grief. At last he dies. God will not keep him in life--how should he?
   Is it not the meetest thing in the world that sin should be buried?
   "Bury it out of my sight, hide this corruption," and lo! Jesus, as if
   he were sin, is put away out of the sight of God and man as a thing
   obnoxious. I do not know whether I have clearly uttered what I want to
   state, but what a rim picture that is, to conceive of sin gathered up
   into one mass--murder, lust and rapine, and adultery, and all manner of
   crime, all piled together in one hideous heap. We ourselves, brethren,
   impure though we be, could not bear this; how much less should God with
   his pure and holy eyes bear with that mass of sin, and yet there it is,
   and God looked upon Christ as if he were that mass of sin. He was not
   sin, but he looked upon him as made sin for us. He stands in our place,
   assumes our guilt, takes on him our iniquity, and God treats him as if
   he had been sin. Now, my dear brothers and sisters, let us just lift up
   our hearts with gratitude for a few moments. Here we are to-night; we
   know that we are guilty, but our sins have all been punished years ago.
   Before my soul believed in Christ, the punishment of my sin had all
   been endured. We are not to think that Christ's blood derives its
   efficacy from our faith. Fact precedes faith. Christ hath redeemed us;
   faith discovers his; but it was a fact of that finished sacrifice.
   Though still defiled by sin, yet who can lay anything to he charge of
   the man whose guilt is gone, lifted bodily from off him, and put upon
   Christ? How can any punishment fall on that man who ceases to possess
   sins, because his sin has eighteen hundred years ago been cast upon
   Christ, and Christ has suffered in his place and stead? Oh, glorious
   triumph of faith to be able to say, whenever I feel the guilt of sin,
   whenever conscience pricks me, "Yes, it is true, but my Lord is
   answerable for it all, for he has taken it all upon himself, and
   suffered in my room, and place, and stead." How precious when I see my
   debts, to be able to say, "Yes, but the blood of Christ, God's dear
   Son, hath cleansed me from all sin!" How precious, not only to see my
   sin dying when I believe, but to know that it was dead, it was gone, it
   ceased to e, eighteen hundred years ago. All the sins that you and I
   have ever committed, or ever shall commit, if we be heirs of mercy, and
   children of God, are all dead things.

   "Our Jesus nailed them to his cross,

   And sung the triumph when he rose."

   These cannot rise in judgment to condemn us; they have all been slain,
   shrouded, buried; they are removed from us as far as the east is from
   the west, because "He hath made him to be sinf or us who knew no sin."

   III. You see then the reality of the imputation of sin to Christ from
   the amazing doctrine that Christ is made sin for us. But now notice the
   concluding thought, upon which I must dwell a moment, but it must be
   ver briefly, for two reasons, my time has gone, and my strength has
   gone too. "THAT WE MIGHT BE MADE THE RIGHTEOUSNESS OF GOD IN HIM." Now,
   here I beg you to notice, that it does not simply say that we might be
   made righteous, but "that we might be made the righteousness of God in
   him;" as if righteousness, that lovely, glorious, God-honouring,
   God-delighting thing--as if we were actually made that. God looks on
   his people as being abstract righteousness, not nly righteous, but
   righteousness. To be righteous, is as if a man should have a box
   covered with gold, the box would then be golden; but to be
   righteousness is to have a box of solid gold. To be a righteous man is
   to have righteousness cast over me; but to be made righteousness, that
   is to be made solid essential righteousness in the sight of God. Well
   now, this is a glorious fact and a most wonderful privilege, that we
   poor sinners are made "the righteousness of God in him." God sees no
   sin in any one of his people, no iniquity in Jacob, when he looks upon
   them in Christ. In themselves he sees nothing but filth and
   abomination, in Christ nothing but purity and righteousness. Is it not,
   and must it not ever be to the Christian, one of his most delightful
   privileges to know that altogether apart from anything that we have
   ever done, or can do, God looks upon his people as being righteous,
   nay, as being righteousness, and that despite all of the sins they have
   ever committed, they are accepted in him as if they had been Christ,
   while Christ was punished for hem as if he had been sin. Why, when I
   stand in my own place, I am lost and ruined; my place is the place
   where Judas stood, the place where the devil lies in everlasting shame.
   But when I stand in Christ's place--and I fail to stand where faith has
   put me till I stand there--when I stand in Christ's place, the Father's
   everlastingly beloved one, the Father's accepted one, him whom the
   Father delighteth to honour--when I stand there, I stand where faith
   hath a right to put me, and I am in the most joyous spot that a
   creature of God can occupy. Oh, Christian, get thee up, get thee up
   into the high mountain, and stand where thy Saviour stands, for that is
   thy place. Lie not there on the dunghill of fallen humanity, that is
   not thy place now; Christ has once taken it on thy behoof. "He made him
   to be sin for us." Thy place is yonder there, above the starry hosts,
   where he hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in
   heavenly places in him. Not there, at the day of judgment, where the
   wicked shriek for shelter, and beg for the hills to cover hem, but
   there, where Jesus sits upon his throne--there is thy place, my soul.
   He will make thee to sit upon his throne, even as he has overcome, and
   has sat down with his Father upon his throne. Oh! That I could mount to
   the heights of this argument to-night; it needs a seraphic preacher to
   picture the saint in Christ, robed in Christ's righteousness, wearing
   Christ's nature, bearing Christ's palm of victory, sitting on Christ's
   throne, wearing Christ's crown. And yet this is our privilege! He wore
   my crown, the crown of thorns; I wear his crown, the crown of glory. He
   wore my dress, nay, rather, he wore my nakedness when he died upon the
   cross; I wear his robes, the royal robes of the King of kings. He bore
   my shame; I bear his honour. He endured my sufferings to this end that
   my joy may be full, and that his joy may be fulfilled in me. He laid in
   the grave that I might rise from the dead and that I may dwell in him,
   and all this he comes again to give me, to make it sure to me and to
   all hat love his appearing, to show that all his people shall enter
   into their inheritance.

   Now, my brothers and sisters, Mr. Maurice, McLeod, Campbell, and their
   great admirer, Mr. Brown, may go on with their preaching as long as
   they like, but they will never make a convert of a man who knows what
   the vitality of religion is; for he who knows what substitution means,
   he who knows what it is to stand where Christ stands, will never care
   to occupy the ground on which Mr. Maurice stands. He who has ever been
   made to sit together with Christ, and once to enjoy the real
   preciousness of a transfer of Christ's righteousness to him and his sin
   to Christ, that man has eaten the bread of heaven, and will never
   renounce it for husks. No, my brethren, we could lay down our lives for
   this truth rather than give it up. No, we cannot by any means turn
   aside from this glorious stability of faith, and for this good reason,
   that there is nothing for us in the doctrine which these men teach. It
   may suit intellectual gentlefolk, I dare say it does; but it will not
   suit us. We are poor sinners and nothing at all, and if Christ is not
   our all in all, there is nothing for us. I have often thought the best
   answer for all these new ideas is, that the true gospel was always
   preached to the poor;--"The poor have the gospel preached to hem."--I
   am sure that the poor will never learn the gospel of these new divines,
   for they cannot make head or tail of it, nor the rich either; for after
   you have read through one of their volumes, you have not the least idea
   of what the book is about, until you have read it through eight or nine
   times, and then you begin to think you are a very stupid being for ever
   having read such inflated heresy, for it sours your temper and makes
   you feel angry, to see the precious truths of God trodden under foot.
   Some of us must stand out against these attacks on truth, although we
   love not controversy. We rejoice in the liberty of our fellow-men, and
   would have them proclaim their convictions; but if they touch these
   precious things, they touch the apple of our eye. We can allow a
   thousand opinions in the world, but that which infringes upon the
   precious doctrine of a covenant salvation, through the imputed
   righteousness of our Lord Jesus Christ,--against that we must, and
   will, enter our hearty and solemn protest, as long as God spares us.
   Take away once from us those glorious doctrines, and where are we
   brethren? We may lay us down and die, for nothing remains that is worth
   living for. We have come to the valley of the shadow of death, when we
   find these doctrines to e untrue. If these things which I speak to you
   to-night be not the verities of Christ; if they be not true, there is
   no comfort left for any poor man under God's sky, and it were better
   for us never to have been born. I may say what Jonathan Edwards says at
   the end of his book, "If any man could disprove the doctrines of the
   gospel, he should then sit down and weep to think they were not true,
   for," says he, "it would be the most dreadful calamity that could
   happen to the world, to have a glimpse of such truths, and then for
   them to melt away in the thin air of fiction, as having no
   substantiality in them." Stand up for the truth of Christ; I would not
   have you be bigotted, but I would have you be decided. Do not give
   countenance to any of this trash and error, which is going abroad, but
   stand firm. Be not turned away from your stedfastness by any pretence
   of intellectuality and high philosophy, but earnestly contend for the
   faith once delivered to he saints, and hold fast the form of sound
   words which you have heard of us, and have been taught, even as ye have
   read in this sacred Book, which is the way of everlasting life.

   Thus then, beloved, without gathering up my strength for the fray, or
   attempting to analyse the subtleties of those who would pervert the
   simple gospel, I speak out my mind and utter the kindlings of my heart
   among you. Little enough will ye reck, over whom the Holy Ghost hath
   given me the oversight, what the grievous wolves may design, if ye keep
   within the fold. Break not the sacred bounds wherein God hath enclosed
   his Church. He hath encircled us in the arms of covenant love. He hath
   united us in indissoluble bonds to the Lord Jesus. He hath fortified us
   with the assurance that the Holy Spirit shall guide us into all truth.
   God grant that those beyond the pale of visible fellowship with us in
   this eternal gospel may see their danger and escape from he fowler's
   snare!
     __________________________________________________________________

              The Beginning, Increase, and End of the Divine Life

   A Sermon

   (No. 311)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 29th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Though thy beginning was small, yet thy latter end should greatly
   increase."--Job 8:7.

   THIS WAS the reasoning of Bildad the Shuhite. He wished to prove that
   Job could not possibly be an upright man, for if he were so, he here
   affirms that his prosperity would increase continually, or that if he
   fell into any trouble, God would awake for him, and make the habitation
   of his righteousness prosperous; and though his family were now all
   destroyed, and his wealth scattered to the winds, yet if he were an
   upright man, God would surely appear for him, and his latter end would
   greatly increase.

   Now, the utterances of Bildad, and of the other two men who came to
   comfort Job, but who made his wounds tingle, are not to be accepted as
   being inspired. They spake as men--as mere men. They reasoned no doubt
   in their own esteem logically enough; but the Spirit of God was not
   with hem in their speech, therefore with regard to any sentiment which
   we find uttered by these men, we must use our own judgment; and if it
   be not in consonance with the rest of Holy Scriptures, it will be our
   bounden duty to reject it as being but the word of man--of a wise and
   ancient man it is true, but still of a man only.

   With regard to the passage which I have selected as a text, it is
   rue--altogether apart from its being said by Bildad, or being found in
   the Bible at all; it is true, as indeed the facts of the book of Job
   prove: for Job did greatly increase in his latter end. His beginning
   was small: he was brought down to poverty, to the potsherd and to the
   dunghill; he had many graves, but no children; he had had many losses,
   he had now nothing left to lose; and yet God did awake for him; his
   righteousness came out from he darkness which had eclipsed it; he shone
   in sevenfold prosperity; s that the words of Bildad were prophetic,
   though he knew it not; God put into his mouth language which did come
   true, after all. Indeed, we have here a great principle--a principle
   against which none can ever contend. The beginning of the godly and the
   upright man may be but very small, but his latter end shall greatly
   increase.

   Evil things may seem to begin well, but they end badly; there is the
   flash and the glare, but afterwards the darkness and the black ash.
   They promise fairly: their sun rises in the zenith, and then speedily
   sets, never to rise again. Evil things begin as mountains; they end as
   mole-hills. You sail upon their ocean at first, and as you sail onward
   it shrinks into a river, and afterwards into a dry bed, if not into
   burning sands. Behold Satan in the garden of Eden. Sin begins with the
   promise, "Ye shall be as gods!" How grand is its beginning! Where ends
   it? Shivering beneath the trees of the garden, complaining of
   nakedness, sin comes to its end. Or see it in Satan himself. He
   stretches out his right hand to snatch the diadem of heaven; he would
   be Lord paramount. He cannot bear to serve, he longs to reign. Oh!
   Glittering vision, that enchants the eye of an arch-angelic spirit! But
   where ends it? The vision is all gone, and is succeeded by "the
   blackness of darkness for ever;" and the chains reserved in fire for
   those that kept not their first estate. So will it be with you, too, my
   friend, if you have chosen the path of evil. To-day your mirth is as
   the crackling of thorns under a pot; it blazes, it crackles with excess
   of joy; to-morrow thou shalt find nothing there but a handful of ashes,
   and darkness, and cold. Ay, the path of evil is down hill, from its
   sunny summits, to its dark ravines--from the loftiness, which it
   assumes when it professes to be a cherub, to that lowliness in which it
   finds itself to be a fiend. Evil goeth downward; it hath its great
   things first, and then its terrible things last. No so, however, with
   good. With good the beginning is even small; but its latter end doth
   greatly increase. "The path of the just is as the shining light," which
   sheds a few flickering rays at first, which exercises a combat with the
   darkness, but it "shineth more and more unto the perfect day." As the
   coming forth of stars at even-tide, when first one, and then another,
   and yet another struggles through the darkness, till at last the whole
   starry host are marshalled on the heavenly plains--so it is with
   good--it beginneth with grains of sand, it goeth on to hills, and anon
   it swelleth up to mountains; it beginneth with the rippling rill--the
   little cascade that leapeth from its secret birth-place, and down the
   mountain it dasheth, it swelleth to a joyous stream, wherein the fish
   do leap; anon it becomes a river, which bears upon the surface the
   navigation of nations, and then it rolls at last an ocean that belts
   the globe. Good things progress. They are like Jacob's ladder--they
   ascend round by round. We begin as men, we end as angels; we climb
   until the promise of Satan is fulfilled in a sense in which he never
   understood it; we become as gods, and are made partakers of the Divine,
   being reconciled unto God, and then having God's grace infused into us.

   The principle, then, upon which I have to speak this morning, is
   this,--that though the beginnings of good things are small, yet their
   latter end shall greatly increase. Instead, however, of dealing with
   this as a mere doctrine, I propose to use it practically; assume the
   fact, and then make a practical use of it. Three ends shall I hope to
   serve--first, to quiet the fears of those who are but beginners in
   grace; secondly, to confirm their faith; and, thirdly, to quicken their
   diligence. May I ask the prayers of God's people here that I may be
   strengthened in this preaching? I cannot tell how it is,--the cold
   clammy sweat comes over me now I am about to address you, and I feel
   almost quivering with weakness; nevertheless, this is a subject which
   may strengthen me as well as you, and therefore let us go to it at
   once.

   I. First, then, for THE QUIETING OF YOUR FEARS. Thou sayest, my hearer,
   "I am but a beginner in grace, and therefore I am vexed with anxiety,
   and full of timorousness." Yes, and it shall be my business if God the
   Holy Spirit, the Comforter, shall enable me, to give thee some few
   sweet words which, like wafers made with honey, thou mayest roll under
   thy tongue, and find them satisfactory and pleasant, even as that manna
   which came down from heaven, and fed the Israelites in the wilderness.

   Perhaps thy first fear, if I put it into words, is this:--"My beginning
   is so small that I cannot tell when it did begin, and therefore,
   methinks I cannot have been converted, but am still in the gall of
   bitterness." O beloved! How many thousands like thyself have been
   exercised with doubts upon this point! They were not converted in an
   instant; they were not stricken down as in the Revivals; they were not
   nerved with terrible alarms, such as John Bunyan describeth in his
   "Grace Abounding;" but they were called of God, as was Lydia, by a
   still small voice. Their hearts were gradually and happily opened to
   receive the truth; it was not as if a tornado or a hurricane rushed
   through their spirits; but a soft zephr below, and they lived and came
   to God. And you doubt, do you, because from this very reason you cannot
   tell when you were generated; it is but necessary for you to know that
   you are so. If thou canst set no date to the beginning of thy faith,
   yet if thou dost believe now, thou art saved. If in thy diary there
   stands no red-letter day in which thy sins were pardoned, and thy soul
   accepted, yet if thy trust be in Jesus only, this very day thou art
   pardoned, and thou art accepted, despite thy ignorance of the time
   when. God's promises bear no date; our notes are dated because there is
   a time when they run due, and we are apt to forget them; God's promises
   bear none, and his gifts sometimes do not bear any. If thou art
   saved--though the date be erased--yet do thou rejoice and triumph
   evermore in the Lord thy God. True, there are some of us who can
   remember the precise spot where we first found the Saviour. The day
   will never be forgotten when these eyes looked to he cross of Christ
   and found their tears all wiped away. But thousands in the fold of
   Jesus know not when hey were brought in; be it enough for hem to know
   they are there. Let them feed upon the pasture, let them lie down
   beside the still waters for whether they came by night or by day they
   did not come at a forbidden hour. Whether they came in youth or in old
   age, it matters not; all times are acceptable with God, "and whosoever
   cometh," come he when he may, "he will in no wise cast out."

   Does it not strike you as being very foolish reasoning if you should
   say in your heart, "I am not converted because I do not know when?"
   Nay, with such reasoning as that, I could prove that old Rome was never
   built, because the precise date of her building is unknown; nay, we
   might declare that the world was never made, for its exact age even the
   geologist cannot tell us. We might prove that Jesus Christ himself
   never died, for the precise date on which he expired on the tree is
   lost beyond recovery; nor doth it signify much to us. We know the world
   was made, we know that Christ did die, and so you--if you are onw
   reconciled to God, if now your trembling arms are cast around that
   cross, you too are saved--though the beginning was so small that you
   cannot tell when it was. Indeed, in living things, it is hard to put
   the finger upon the beginning. Here is a fruit-will you tell me when it
   began to be? Was it at the time when first the tree sent forth its
   fruit-bud? Did this fruit begin when first the flower shed its
   exhalations of perfume upon the air? Indeed, you could not have seen it
   if you had looked. When was it? Was it when the full-ripe flower was
   blown away, and its leaves were scattered to the wind, and a little
   embryo of fruit was left? Twere hard to say it did not begin before
   that, and equally hard to say at what precise instant that fruit began
   to be formed. Ay, and so is it with divine grace; the desires are so
   faint at the beginning, the convictions are but the etchings upon the
   plate, which afterwards must be engraven with a harder instrument; and
   they are such flimsy things, such transient impressions of divine
   truth, that twere difficult to say what is transient and what
   permanent, what is really of the Spirit of God, and what is not; what
   hath saved the soul, or what only brought it to the verge of salvation;
   what made it really live, or what was really the calling together of
   the dry bones before the breath came, and the bones began to live.
   Quite your fears, my hearers, upon this point, for if ye are saved, no
   matter when, ye never shall be unsaved.

   Another doubt also arises from this point. "Ah! sir," saith a timid
   Christian, "it is not merely the absence of all date to my conversion,
   but the extreme weakness of the grace I have." "Ah," saith one, "I
   sometimes think I have a little faith, but it is so mingled with
   unbelief, distrust, and incredulity, that I can hardly think it is
   God's gift, the faith of God's elect. I hope sometimes I have a little
   love, but it is such a beginning, such a mere spark, that I cannot
   think it is the love which God the Holy Spirit breathes into the soul;
   my beginning is so exceeding small, that I have to look, and look, and
   look again, at times, before I can discern it for myself. If I have
   faith, it is but as a rain of mustard seed, and I fear it will never be
   that goodly tree, in the midst of whose branches the birds of the air
   might rest." Courage, my brother, courage; however small the beginnings
   of grace, hey are such beginnings that they shall have a glorious end.
   When God begins to build, if he lay but one single stone he will finish
   the structure; when Christ sits down to weave, though he casts the
   shuttle but once, and that time the thread was so filmy as scarcely to
   be discernable, he will nevertheless continue ill the piece is
   finished, and the whole is wrought. If thy faith be never so little,
   yet it is immortal, and that immortality may well compensate for its
   littleness. A spark of grace is a spark of Deity--as soon may Deity be
   quenched as to quench grace--that grace within thy soul given thee of
   the Spirit shall continue to burn, and he who gave it shall fan it with
   his own soft breath, for "he will not quench the smoking flax;" he will
   bring it to a fire, and afterwards to a furnace, till thy faith shall
   attain to the full assurance of understanding. Oh! Let not the
   littleness of God's beginnings stagger you. Who would think, if he
   stood at the source of the Thames, that it would ever be such a river
   as it is--making this city rich? So little is it that a child might
   stop it with his hand, and but a handful of miry clay might dam its
   course, but there it rolls a mighty river that man cannot stop. And so
   shall it be with thee; thy faith is so little that it seems not to
   exist at all, and thy love so faint that it can scarcely be called
   love, but thy latter end shall greatly increase, till thou shalt become
   strong and do exploits; the babe shall become a giant; and he that
   stumbled at every straw shall move mountains, and make the very hills
   to shake.

   Having thus spoken upon two fears, which are the result of these small
   beginnings, let me now try to quiet another. "Ah!" saith the heir of
   heaven, "I do hope that in me grace hath commenced its work, but my
   fear is, that such frail faith as mine will never stand the test of
   years. I am," saith he, "so weak, that one temptation would be too much
   for me; how then can I hope to pass through yonder forest of spears
   held in the hands of valiant enemies? A drop makes me tremble, how
   shall I stem the roaring flood of life and death? Let but one arrow fly
   from hell it penetrates my tender flesh; what hen if Satan shall empty
   his quiver? I shall surely fall by the hand of the enemy. My beginnings
   are so small that I am certain they will soon come to their end, and
   that end must be black despair." Be of good courage, brother, have done
   with that fear one for all; it is rue, as thou sayest, the temptation
   will be too much for thee, but what hast thou to do with it? Heaven is
   not to be won by thy might, but by the might of him who has promised
   heaven to thee; thy crown of life is to be obtained, not by thy arm,
   but by that arm which now holds it out, and bids thee run towards it.
   If thy perseverance rested upon thyself thou couldst not persevere an
   hour; if spiritual life depended on itself it would be like the
   shooting-star, which makes a shining trail for a moment and then is
   gone; but thanks be unto God, it is written--"Because I live, ye shall
   live also." "For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God."

   "The feeblest saint shall win the day,

   Though death and hell obstruct the way,"

   because that feeble sain is girded with Jehovah's strength. If I had to
   fight in another man's strength, and I knew that he had gigantic force,
   I should not estimate the power of my own limits and muscles, but of
   his limbs and muscles; and so if I have to fight in the strength of
   God, I am not to reckon by what I can do, but what he can do; not what
   I am able, but what he is able to accomplish. I am not to go forth
   bound and limited, and cramped, and bandaged by my own infirmity, but
   make free, and valorous, and unconquerable through that Divine
   omnipotence, which first spake all things into existence, and now
   maintaineth all things by the word of his power. Stand up, poor
   brother, full of fears though you be, and for once glory in your
   infirmities, and boast in your Master. I say it in thy behalf, and on
   my own--ye principalities and powers of darkness, ye leaguered hosts of
   hell, ye enemies in human form, or in form demoniac, I challenge ye
   all; more than a match for ever one of you am I if God be with me; less
   than nothing were I, if left alone; but were I weaker than I am I would
   defy you all, for God is my strength; Jehovah is become my strength and
   my song; he also has become my salvation, therefore will we tread down
   our enemies, and Moab shall become as straw that is trodden down for
   the dunghill; in God will be rejoice, yea in God will we greatly
   rejoice, and in him will we rejoice all the day.

   Thus have I dealth with a third fear. Let me seek to quiet and pacify
   one other fear. "Nay, but," say you, "I never can be saved; for when I
   look at other people, at God's own true children,--I am ashamed to say
   it,--I am but a miserable copy of them. So far from attaining to he
   image of my Master, I fear I am not even like my Master's servants.
   Look at such-an-one, how he preaches the truth with power, what fluency
   he has in prayer, what service he undertakes! But I--I am such a
   beginner in grace, that

   'Hosannas languish on my tongue,

   And my devotion dies.'

   I live at a poor dying rate. I sometimes run, but oftener creep, and
   seldom or ever fly. Where others are shaking mountains, I am stumbling
   over mole-hills. The saints seem to bestride this narrow world like
   some great colossus, but I walk under their huge legs, and peep about,
   to find myself a poor dishonoured slave. I have no power, no strength,
   no might." Pause, brother, pause; stop thy murmuring for a moment. If
   some little star in the sky should declare it was not a star, because
   it did not shine as brightly as Sirius or Arcturus, how foolish would
   be its argument! If the moon should insist upon it that she was never
   made by God, because she could not shine as brightly as the sun, fie on
   her pale face, that she cannot be content to be what her Lord hath made
   her! If the nettle would not bloom, because it was not a pine, and if
   the hyssop on the wall refused to row, because it was not a cedar, oh!
   What dislocation would there be in the noble frame of this universe! If
   these murmurings that vex us vexed the whole of God's creatures, then
   were this earth a howling wilderness indeed. Now, let me talk to thee a
   moment, to calm thy fears. Hast thou, my brother, ever learned to
   distinguish between grace and gifts? For know that they are
   marvellously dissimilar. A man may be saved who has not a grain of
   gifts; but no man can be saved who hath no grace. Yonder brother who
   prayed, yonder friend who preaches, yonder sister who spoke--all these
   perhaps acted so well, because God had given hem excellent gifts. It
   might not be that it was because of grace. When you are in the
   prayer-meeting, and hear a brother extremely fluent, remember that
   there are men quite as fluent about their daily business, and that
   fluency is not fervency, and that even the appearance of fervency is
   not absolutely an evidence that there is fervency in the soul. If thou
   art so mean a thing that thou canst not spell a word in any book, or
   put six words together grammatically, if thou canst offer no prayer in
   public, if thou art so poor a scholar that every fool is wiser than
   thou art, yet if thou hast grace in thy heart, thou art saved, and that
   is the matter in point just now, whether thou art saved or not. "Covet
   earnestly the best gifts;" but still, sit not down and murmur because
   thou hast them not, for one grain of grace outweighs a pound of gifts;
   one particle of grace is far more precious than all the gifts that
   Byron ever had, or that Shakespeare ever possessed within his soul,
   vast and almost infinite though the gifts of those men certainly were.

   And yet another question would I put to you. My dear brother, have you
   ever learned to distinguish between grace that saves, and the grace
   which develops itself afterwards? Remember, there are some races that
   are absolutely necessary to the saving of the soul; there are some
   others that are only necessary to its comfort. Faith, for instance, is
   absolutely necessary for salvation; but assurance is not. Love is
   indispensible; but that high degree of love which induces the martyr's
   spirit, does not reign in the breast of ever one, even of those who are
   saved. The possession of grace in some degree is needful to salvation;
   but the possession of grace in the highest degree, though it be
   extremely desirable, is not absolutely necessary for an entrance into
   heaven. Bethink thee, then, thus to thyself, if I be the meanest lamb
   in Jesus' fold, I would be happy to think that I am in the flock; if I
   be the smallest babe in Jesus' family, I will bless his name to think
   that I have a portion among the sanctified. If I be the smallest jewel
   in the Saviour's crown, I will glisten and shine as best I can, to the
   praise of him that bought me with his blood. If I cannot make such
   swelling music in the orchestra of heaven as the pealing organ may,
   then will I be but as a bruised reed, which may emit some faint melody.
   If I cannot be the beacon fire that scares a continent, and throws its
   light across the deep, I will seek to be the glow-worm that may at
   least let the weary traveller know something of its whereabouts. O
   Christians! Ye that have but little beginnings, quiet your fears; for
   these little beginnings, if they be of God, will save your soul, and
   you may in this rejoice, yes, rejoice exceedingly.

   I must ask your patience now while I turn to the second head, and I
   shall dwell upon that very briefly indeed.

   II. Upon this head I wish to say a word or two for THE CONFIRMATION OF
   YOUR FAITH. I am sure you will give me your prayerful attention while I
   speak for the confirmation of my own faith as well as yours.

   Well, brothers and sisters, the first confirmation I would offer you is
   this:--Our beginnings are very, ver small, but we have a joyous
   prospect in our text. Our later end shall greatly increase; we shall
   not always be so distrustful as we are now. Thank God, we look for days
   when our faith shall be unshaken, and firm as mountains be. I shall not
   for ever have to mourn before my God that I cannot love him as I would.
   I trust that he in my latter end will give me more of his Spirit, that
   I shall love him with all my heart, and soul, and strength. We have
   entered into the gospel school; we are ignorant now, but we shall one
   day understand with all saints what are the heights, and depths, and
   lengths, and breadths, and know the love of Christ which passeth
   knowledge. We have hope that, as these hairs grow grey, we shall "grow
   in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."
   Time, that ploughs its furrow in the brow, we hope will sow the seeds
   of wisdom there. Experience, which shall furrow our back with many a
   sorrow and a wound, shall nevertheless, we trust, work patience, and
   nearer and sweeter fellowship than as yet we have come to know. Think
   not, Mr. Ready-to-halt, that thou shalt always need thy crutches; there
   may come days of leaping and of dancing even for thee. Oh, Mistress
   Despondency, the dungeons of Giant Despair's castle are not to be thy
   perpetual abode; thou, too, shall stand upon the top of Mount Clear,
   and thou shalt see the Celestial City, and the land that is very far
   off. We are growing things. Methinks I hear the green blade say this
   morning, "I shall not for ever be trodden under foot as if I were but
   grass; I shall grow; I shall blossom; I shall row ripe and mellow; and
   many a man shall sharpen his sickle for me." I hear the little sapling
   say, "I shall not for ever be shaken to and fro by winds; I shall grow
   into an old stalwart oak; gnarled though the roots may be, and twisted
   though my branches are, I shall one day stand and outlaugh the tempest,
   while all its waves of wind break harmlessly over me." I shall be
   strong through him that strengthened me, for I feel a growth within me
   that can never stop till I have grown to be next to a God--a son of
   God, a partaker of the Divine nature. Courage then, courage, I say,
   brothers and sisters! These weak days are not always to last; we are
   not to be shorn lambs always, not always the weaklings of his cattle.
   We shall one day be as the firstlings of his bullocks, and we shall
   push our enemies to he ends of the earth, and tread upon them and
   destroy them.

   But, further, this cheering prospect upon earth is quite eclipsed by a
   more cheering prospect beyond the river Death. "Our latter end shall
   greatly increase." Faith shall give place to fruition; hope shall be
   occupied with enjoyment; love itself shall be swallowed up in ecstacy.
   Mine eyes, ye shall not for ever weep; there are sights of transport
   for you. Tongue, thou shalt not for ever have to mourn, and be the
   instrument of confession; there are songs and hallelujahs for thee.
   Feet, yet shall not always be weary with this rough road; there are
   celestial leapings for you. O my poor heart, oft cowed and broken,
   often disappointed and trodden down, there waiteth for thee the
   palm-branch and the robe of victory, and the immortal crown.

   "My spirit leaps across the flood,

   And antedates the hour,"

   when I shall come into possession of these joys which could not belong
   to my childhood here, but which await me in my manhood up there, when
   the spirit shall be perfected, and made meet to be a partaker of the
   inheritance of the saints in light. Courage, Christian!

   "The way may be rough, but it cannot be long;"

   and the end will make amends for all the toil that you can endure when
   on the road. Oh! Quicken thy footsteps, sit not down in despair. Thy
   latter end shall greatly increase, though thy beginnings be but small.

   Perhaps some one may say, "How is it that we are so sure that our
   latter end will increase?" I give you just these reasons:--we are quite
   sure of it because there is a vitality in our piety. The sculptor may
   have oftentimes cut in marble some exquisite statue of a babe. That has
   come to its full size; it will never grow any greater. When I see a
   wise man in the world, I look at him as being just such an infant. He
   will never grow any greater. He has come to his full. He is but
   chiselled out by human power; there is no vitality in him. The
   Christian here one earth is a babe, but not a babe in stone--a babe
   instinct with life. It is a happy thought sometimes to have of
   one's-self as sitting down here, compressed, small, insignificant; and
   one day Death shall come and say, "Rise to thy proper altitude," and we
   shall begin to grow and expand; and bursting all our cerements and
   every limit of humanity, we shall become greater than the angels are. I
   think it is Milton who pictures the spirits in Pandemonium as
   condensing themselves, so that multitudes of hem could sit in a little
   space, and then at their own volition mounting up till they attained a
   prodigious height. So is it now. We are little spirits, but we shall
   grow and increase, and we know this because there is life in
   us--eternal life. Now, the life of twenty years develops itself into
   something vastly superior to what it was in childhood; and what will
   the eternal life be when that vitality within us shall make the
   littleness of our beginning seem as nothing at all, when our latter end
   shall have greatly increased?

   Besides this, we feel hat we must come to something better, because God
   is with us. We are quite certain that what we are, cannot be the end of
   God's design. When I see a block of marble half chiselled, with just
   perhaps a hand peeping out from the rock, no man can make me believe
   that that is what the artist means it should be. And I know I am not
   what God would have me to be, because I feel yearnings and longings
   within myself to be infinitely better, infinitely holier and purer than
   I am now. And so is it with you; you are not what God means you to be;
   you have only just begun to be what he wants you to be. He will go on
   with his chisel of affliction, using wisdom and the graving-tool
   together, till by-and-bye it shall appear what you shall be for, you
   shall be like him, and you shall see him as he is. Oh! What comfort
   this is for our faith, that from he fact of our vitality and the fact
   that God is at work with us, it is clear, and true, and certain, that
   our latter end shall be increased. I do not think that any man yet has
   ever got an idea of what a man is to be. We are only the chalk crayon,
   rough drawings of men, yet when we come to filled up in eternity, we
   shall be marvellous pictures, and our latter end indeed shall be
   greatly increased.

   And now, one other thought and I will turn to the last point.
   Christian! Remember, for the encouragement of thy poor soul, that what
   thou art now is not the measure of thy safety; thy safety depends not
   upon what thou art, but on what Christ is. If the Rock of our salvation
   ere within us, indeed the house would soon be over-turned; but we live
   by what Christ is.

   "What Adam had, and forfeited for all,

   That Jesus is, who cannot fail or fall."

   Till he can falter, my spirit need not tremble; till Jesus sins, till
   Jesus dies, till Jesus is overcome, till he is powerless with his God,
   till he ceases to be Divine, the soul that trusts him must be secure.
   Look not within thee for consolation, but look above, where Jesus
   pleads before the throne of the efficacy of his once-offered blood, and
   if thou wilt look at thy own state, and then judge thine eternal
   standing by thine own feelings, or willings, or doings, thou wilt be an
   undone and miserable wretch. Measure thyself by Jesus' doings, by
   Jesus' standing, by Jesus' acceptance, by the love of his heart, by the
   power of his arm, by the Divinity of his nature, by the constancy of
   his faithfulness, by the acceptance of his blood, by the prevalence of
   his plea; and so measuring, thy faith need never, never fear--

   "For should the earth's old pillar's shake,

   And all the walls of nature break,

   Our steadfast souls need fear no more

   Than solid rocks when billows roar."

   III. Now for our last point, namely, FOR THE QUICKENING OF OUR
   DILIGENCE.

   It was never intended that the promises of God should make men idle;
   and when we tell hem that their small beginnings shall doubtless come
   to glorious endings, we tell hem this for their encouragement--not that
   they may sit still and do nothing, but that they may gird up the loins
   of their mind, confident of their success, to do all that lieth in
   them, God helping them. Men and brethren, there are many of you here,
   who, like myself, have to mourn over little beginnings. Let me say to
   you, be ver diligent in the use of those means which God has appointed
   for your spiritual growth.

   First, take heed to yourself that you obey the commandments which
   relate to the ordinances of Christ. Neglect not baptism. True, there is
   nothing saving in it, nothing meritorious; but baptism is a means of
   grace. There have been many, who have found, like the eunuch, that when
   they have been baptised they have gone on their way
   rejoicing--rejoicing as the effect of grace given when they have obeyed
   their Master.

   Be careful, too, not to neglect that most blessed Supper of our Lord
   Jesus Christ. Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together, as the
   manner of some is, but let him be known to you in the breaking of
   bread, and in pouring forth of wine. Do this often in remembrance of
   him. Ah! I am speaking to some here to-day who love Jesus, but who have
   neglected his last dying injunction, "This do in remembrance of me;"
   and you have not grown in grace, and are still little in Israel, as you
   used to be. Do you wonder at it? You have neglected God's appointed
   means. "Oh," saith one, "but I am a spiritual man; I do not need these
   carnal ordinances." There is no man so carnal as he who calls God's
   ordinances carnal, and no man more spiritual than he who finds
   spiritual things best brought home to him by what others have ventured
   to call "beggarly elements." We do not know ourselves if we think we
   can dispense with these divine signs. Christ knew what was best for us.
   He has said, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and be baptized." He
   would not have appended the last command if it were not important. He
   has bidden us also, as oft as we drink the cup, to do it in remembrance
   of him. He would not have commanded us that, if it were not for our
   benefit and for his glory.

   But further, if thou wouldst get out of the littleness of thy
   beginnings, wait much upon the means of grace. Read much the Word of
   God alone. Seek out one who understandeth it well--a man whom God hath
   taught in it--and listen hou with reverence to the Word as it is
   preached. Frequent sermons, but prayers most. Praying is the end of
   preaching. Make use of ever means that lieth before thee. Be not like
   the fool, who calls the books of the old father "dead men's brains."
   What God spake to seers of old, what he spoke to mighty men who
   preached, is not to be thus despised. Read thou as thou canst, and
   learn as thou canst. Take care, too, that thou art not content with
   skimming over a page of Scripture; but seek to get the ver marrow out
   of it. Be not as the butterfly, which flits from flower to flower, but
   rests nowhere; be thou as the bee, which enters the flower-bell, and
   sucks the honey and bears it off upon its heavily-laden thigh. Rest not
   till thou hast fed on the Word; and thus shall thy little beginnings
   come to great endings.

   Be much also in prayer. God's plants grow fastest in the warm
   atmosphere of the closet. The closet is a forcing-place for spiritual
   vegetation. He who would be well fed and grow strong, must exercise
   himself upon his knees. Of all raining practice for spiritual battles,
   knee practice is the most healthy and strengthening. Note that, if thou
   forgettest aught besides.

   And, lastly, if thy beginning be but small, make the best use of the
   beginning that thou hast. Hast thou but one talent? Put it out at
   interest, and make two of it. Hast thou two? Seek to have them
   multiplied into four. Art thou a babe? If thou canst not walk, nor
   lift, nor carry, thou canst cry. Take care to cry right lustily. Art
   thou a child? Thou canst not climb; thou canst not as yet teach; but
   thou canst run. Take care to run in the ways of heavenly obedience. Art
   thou a young man? Thou canst not as yet give the reverend advice of
   hoary age; but be strong, and overcome the wicked one. Art thou an old
   man? Thou canst not now fight the battles of thy youth, nor lead the
   van in heroic deeds, but thou canst abide with the stuff, and guard
   those old doctrines which, like the heavy baggage of the army, must not
   be lost, lest the battle itself should go from us. Ever man to his
   place and to his post. By thus diligently using what we have, we shall
   gain more. Rivers increase by their onward flow, flames by burning;
   sunlight increases by the sun's sining, lights by kindling other
   lights. And so do thou. Do thou grow rich by enriching others--rich by
   spending. Lengthen out thyself by cutting off the ends that thou canst
   spare from all thou hast, for it is the way to grow; by giving up that
   which was an excresence thou shalt get that which shall be a real
   growth. Oh! Use thyself, and God shall make use of thee; come out, and
   God shall lead thee forth. Be a man, and God shall make thee more than
   an angel, and God shall make thee something more. He will make thee
   better, holier, happier, greater. Oh! Do this, and so shall hy latter
   end be joyous, thy peace shall be like a river, and thy righteousness
   like the waves of the sea.

   Thus, I have spoken this for the comfort of God's people--would that I
   could hope that all I have said belonged to all of you! But, ah! if it
   does not, may God convert you, may the new life be given to you! Oh!
   Remember, if you are longing for it, the way of salvation is freely
   opened to you. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be
   saved."

   God bless us now and ever, for Jesus' sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                Personal Service

   A Sermon

   (No. 312)

   Delivered on Thursday Evening, May 3rd, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Surrey Chapel, Blackfriar's Road,

   ON BEHALF OF THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY.

   "O Lord, truly I am thy servant; I am thy servant and the son of thine
   handmaid thou hast loosed my bonds."--Psalm 116:16.

   THESE SENTENCES SUGGEST a contrast. David's religion was one of perfect
   liberty;--"Thou hast loosed my bonds." It was one of complete
   service;--"Truly l am thy servant. I am thy servant and the son of
   thine handmaid." Did I say the text suggested a contrast? Indeed the
   two things need never be contrasted, for they are found to be but part
   of one divine experience in the Jives of all God's people. The religion
   of Jesus is the religion of liberty. The true believer can say, when
   his soul is in a healthy state, "Thou hast loosed my bonds. The penal
   fetters with which my soul was once bound are all dashed to shivers; I
   am free!" "There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in
   Christ Jesus who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit." The
   burdensome bonds of ceremonials are all cast to the winds. Henceforth
   the beggarly elements are trodden under foot; shadows have yielded to
   substance, and the type and the symbol cease to oppress; the true light
   now shineth, and the torches are quenched. "Thou hast loosed my
   bonds,"--that is to say, thou hast not only saved me from the penal
   consequences of my sin and from the heavy burden of the old Mosaic
   ceremonial law, but thou hast moreover delivered me from the spirit of
   bondage which once led me to serve thee with the fear of an unwilling
   slave. Thou hast taken the yoke from my neck, and the goad from behind
   my back. Thou hast made me thy freed man. No more do I crouch at thy
   feet or go to thy footstool cowering like a slave, but l came to thee
   with privilege of access, up to thy very throne. By the Spirit of
   adoption I cry, my Father. Thou dost own the kindred. For by the
   self-same Spirit I am sealed to the day of redemption. Thus, O Lord,
   "thou hast loosed my bonds." Nor if religion has had its full sway in
   us, is this all. Thou hast loosed me from the bonds of worldly maxims;
   thou hast delivered me from the fear of man; thou hast rescued me from
   the stooping and fawning which made me once the slave of every tyrant
   who laid claim to my allegiance, and thou hast made me now the servant
   of but one Master, whose service is perfect liberty. Whereas before I
   spoke with bated breath, lest I should offend, and even my condolence
   had continually to yield to the whims and prejudices of another man,
   behold now "thou hast loosed my bonds." As an eagle with my eye on the
   sun, with wings outstretched true to the line upward which I soar,
   bound no longer to the rooks of prejudice or the mounds of worldly
   maxim--free, entirely free to serve my God without let or
   hindrance.--"Thou hast loosed my bonds." Vast and wide is the liberty
   of the believer. The Antinomian, when he essays to describe gospel
   liberty, only errs by forgetting that such liberty is consistent with
   the fullest service. But we enjoy all the liberty that even an
   Antinomian theology could offer. A liberty to be holy is a grander
   liberty than a license to be sinful. A liberty to be conscientious; a
   liberty to know forgiven sin; a liberty to trample upon conquered
   lusts, this is an infinitely wider liberty than that which would permit
   me to be the comfortable slave of sin, and yet indulge the delusive
   hope that I may one day enter the kingdom of heaven. The largest
   expressions that can ever be used by the boldest minister of free
   grace, cannot here be exaggerations. Luther may exhaust his thunders,
   and Calvin may spend his logic, Zuingle may utter his periods with
   fiery zeal, but after all the grand things that have been spoken about
   the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free, we are freer than those
   men knew. Free as the very air we breathe is the Christian, if he live
   up to his privileges. If he be in bondage at all, it is because he hath
   not as yet yielded his spirit fully to the redeeming and emancipating
   influence of the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. In the fullest and
   widest sense therefore, the believer may cry, "Thou hast loosed my
   bonds." Nor is this liberty merely consistent with the profoundest and
   most reverent service, but the service is, indeed, a main
   characteristic of the exalted freedom.

   "Truly I am thy servant; I am thy servant and the son of thine
   handmaid." This does not convict with the sentence that follows
   it,--"Thou hast loosed my bonds." This fact of my being God's servant
   is to me a proof and evidence, my, and a delightful fruit and effect of
   my having kind my bonds loosed by the great Emancipator, the Lord Jesus
   Christ. Service then, as well as liberty I Service is ordained to be a
   constant characteristic of the true religion of the Lord Jesus Christ.
   "We are not our own, we are bought with a price." There is not n hair
   upon our head, there is not a passion in our spirit, there is not a
   single power or faculty in our mind which is our own. We are all
   bought--all purchased,--we are all, every single particle of us, the
   purchased property of the Lord Jesus Christ--perfectly free, and yet
   perfectly the property of Jesus--supremely blest with the widest
   liberty, and yet in the fullest sense the property of another--the
   shackled servants of the Lord Jesus Christ. This service, my brethren,
   it appears from the text, should be true,--"O Lord, truly I am thy
   servant " I fear there is very much service of God that only lies in
   terms and words. Men sit and sing hymns, in which they cry--

   "And if I might make some reserve,

   And duty did not call;

   I love my God with zeal so great,

   I'd freely give him all."

   But within an hour their nets belie their song. There is much of
   service in our own thought which never comes to service in net. I do
   not doubt but that we often compliment ourselves upon schemes we have
   devised, which fall dead to the ground, like blasted figs, never having
   been carried into effect. We go to our chambers and bend our knees, and
   Satan whispers some word of self-satisfaction to us, because we have
   some project on our soul, some device in our heart, though that project
   has never come to service, has only been an unborn intention, has never
   come into the life of an act. I would that each one of us knew more
   fully the meaning of this word, "truly." "O Lord, truly I am thy
   servant;" so truly that mine enemies cannot dispute it; so truly that
   if they dare dispute it, my next action shall contradict them; so truly
   that never in any act of my life shall I give them reason to suppose
   the contrary; so truly thy servant, that my thoughts yield thee
   obedience as well as my hands my head as well as my heart; my heart as
   well as my feet. "Truly I am thy servant!" Not so in name and by
   profession, but so by actual deeds of holy endurance, and of noble
   daring for thee. "O Lord, truly I am thy servant." This service, it
   appears to me also from the text, is continual. "I am thy servant," is
   the utterance at this moment. "I am thy servant," is the utterance of
   the next. "I am thy servant," is my utterance to-day. "I am thy
   servant," will be my utterance when I come to die. Never should the
   Christian think that any other language will ever be in his lips
   anything less than traitorous. "I am thy servant," is to be the
   exclamation of the man the moment his spirit knows its sins forgiven.
   "I am thy servant" is to be his constant monitor when he stands exposed
   to temptation; it is to be his continual spur when idleness in a
   Laodicean spirit would make him lukewarm. "I am thy servant" is it to
   be his joy in the time of the hardest of labor. "I am thy servant" is
   to be his song in the time of the sternest suffering. Continually and
   ever we are the servants of God. We may change our masters upon earth,
   but our Master who is in heaven is our Master for ever We may cease to
   serve our country. but we could not cease to serve our God. We may
   cease to be linked with any denomination, but we could not cease to be
   the servants of Christ. Even should it be possible for us to be so
   forgetful of our obligations as to dream for a moment of not being the
   servants of the Church, we could not harbor the thought that we should
   cease to be the servants of Christ. "I am thy servant." Let the next
   moment repeat it; let the next hour echo it, let the next year continue
   to resound it; let my whole life prolong it; and let eternity be a
   continuation of the solemn swell. "Truly, I am thy servant; I am thy
   servant and the son of thine handmaid: thou hast loosed my bonds."

   May I take the liberty now after offering you these few remarks by way
   of introduction, as a sort of running commentary upon my text--may I
   take the liberty of concentrating your thoughts upon one particular,
   during the rest of my sermon. There is one important point which I wish
   to bring before this prevent audience, namely, the duty and the
   excellence of personal service for their Lord and Master. I think I
   shall be warranted in confining my text, although it contains far more,
   to the repetition of that pronoun "I," "Truly I am thy servant; I am
   thy servant and the son of thine handmaid: thou has loosed my bonds."
   The personality of the text seems to be conspicuous to allow me now to
   restrain myself to that one topic--the duty of the personal service of
   Christ. I do feel at this peculiar season, when God as visited some
   parts of our land with rich revival, and when we have reason to hope
   that revival will extend through this great city, I do feel just mew
   that no topic can be more adapted to the times than the topic of
   personal service--personal consecration of every Christian to his
   Lord's will.

   This evening, then, I shall first speak upon the nature of personal
   service; secondly, its reasonableness; thirdly, its excellence; and in
   the last place, come to that which is no doubt upon your own minds, the
   special assistance which the Religious Tract Society yields to personal
   effort in the Redeemer's kingdom.

   I. First, then, THE NATURE OF PERSONAL SERVICE. Let me explain it by a
   contrast. The service of God among us has grown more and more a service
   by proxy. I would not be censorious. Judge ye what I say, and if there
   be but any measure of truth in it, let the truth come home to your
   soul. Do we not observe even in the outward worship of God, at times a
   great attempt towards worship by proxy? Do we not often hear
   singing--certainly never in this place--but do we not often hear
   singing the praises of God confined to some five or six or more trained
   men and women who are to praise God for us? Do we not sometimes have
   the dreary thought, when we are in our churches and chapels, that even
   the prayer is said and prayed by the minister for us? There is not
   always that hearty union in the one great prayer of the day which there
   should be whenever we are gathered together. The thought suggests
   itself continually to the thinking mind, "Is not much of the devotion
   confined to the minister, and to those few who pass through the
   service?", in fact, we have actually degraded ourselves by applying the
   term "performance" to divine worship. "Performance!" A phrase begotten
   in the theater, which certainly should have spent its existence there,
   has actually been brought into the house of God, and the services are
   now-a-day "performed," and the worship of God is gone through, and the
   thing is called the "doing duty" of the minister, and not the taking
   delight and the enjoying of a pleasure by the people. Do we not
   observe, too, that in an our churches there is too much now-a-day of
   serving God in acts of benevolence, and acts of public instruction
   through the minister! Your minister is supported; you expect him to
   discharge your duty for you; he is to he the means of converting
   sinners; he is to be the means of comforting the feeble minded; in
   fact, all the mass of duties that belong to the Church are considered
   to belong to the one man who is specially set apart to devote himself
   to the service of the ministry. Oh that this were rectified! Would to
   God that our people could all feel that no support of ministers can
   ever rid them of their own personal responsibility! I think I speak in
   the name of all my brethren in the ministry--we repudiate the idea of
   taking your responsibility upon ourselves. We find that our own work is
   more than we can perform without our Master's strength. To come at last
   with clean hands before our Maker's bar, and to be able to say, "We are
   free from the blood of all men," will be as much as with the most
   arduous labors, and the most unremitting anxieties, we can expect to
   attain unto. We cannot take your work--we do not pretend to do so. If
   you have dreamed of it, forget the delusion, and be rid of it once for
   all. I will do no man's duty but my own; I will not attempt to stand
   sponsor to your remissness, and take upon myself the sin of your sloth
   and lethargy; nor will any minister of Christ for a moment think that
   his most arduous efforts, and most self-denying exertions, can for a
   moment acquit you of being guilty of the blood of souls, unless you,
   each of you, do personally the utmost that you can. A sorry contrast to
   this principle, I fear, is presented in many, many a Christian Church.
   You have put one man into the rank, and he is to do all, while you are
   to sit still to be fed, to be edified, to be built up, as if you had
   nothing to do but to be stones and bricks that are to be built up, and
   not living men and women, who are to spend and be spent in the
   Redeemer's cause.

   Having thus sought to exhibit by contrast, let me now illustrate the
   nature of this personal service by an actual picture. Look at the early
   days of Christendom--the Church's pride and glory--when the purest air
   and the most refreshing dew were upon her mouth--then was the day of
   personal service. The moment a man was converted to God in those days,
   he became a preacher; perhaps, within a week, a martyr. Every man then
   was a witness,--not here and there a bishop, or now and then a
   confessor--but every Christian whether he moved in Caesar's household,
   or whether he moved, like Lydia, in the pursuits of humble
   commerce--every believer had a part in the service, and sought to
   magnify the name of his Master. Within but a few centuries after the
   death of Christ, the cross had been uplifted in every land; the name of
   Jesus had been pronounced in every known dialect; missionaries had
   passed through the deserts had penetrated into the remote recesses of
   uncivilized countries; the whole earth was at least, nominally
   evangelized.

   But what has befallen us now, my brethren? The results of the labors of
   the Church through a space of years--what are they? They dribble into
   utter insignificance, when compared with the triumphs of the Apostolic
   times, and my own conviction is, that next to what I fear is the great
   cause--the absence of the Spirit's influence--next to that, and perhaps
   first of all, is the absence of personal agency in the service of the
   Lord Jesus Christ, whereby the Spirit is manifested in the diversities
   of his operations. What conqueror or mighty warrior could expect to
   will a campaign if his troops should vote that one in a hundred should
   be supported by their rations--that one in a hundred should go to
   battle? No, ye legions! you must every one of you draw swords. Every
   heart must be stout, and every arm must be strong; the line must not be
   composed of here and there a warrior and an interval between, but every
   man must march forward, with the spirit of a lion and the strength of
   God, to do battle against the common enemy of souls. We shall never see
   great things in the world tin we have all roused ourselves to our
   personal responsibilities. God will not give the honor of saving the
   world to his ministers. He meant it for his Church; and until his
   Church is prepared to grasp it, God will withhold the grown which he
   has prepared for her brow, and for hers alone, and which none but she
   can over will. I think you may readily understand then what I mean by
   personal service. I mean this: if there be poor, it is not for you to
   subscribe to a society that shall send out paid agents for their relief
   but as far as lieth in you to visit them in their homes, and with your
   own hands supply them the bounty of a Christian heart. It is not for
   you to say the City Mission supplies admirably the lack of a sufficient
   number of ministers; the whole lack is supplied, I may be idle. It is
   for you to instruct them. You are to be as a burning and a shining
   light in the midst of this dark generation. Personal service is for
   you; it is for you to say, "Though I am content with my minister's
   labors, I cannot be content with my own. I must have more, and more,
   and more to do. I desire to spend all that I have in Jesus Christ's
   cause, and not to keep back a single power which I possess, but to be
   continually the living servant of the living God."

   II. Having thus explained the nature of personal service, let me pass
   on to observe THE REASONABLENESS OF THIS PERSONAL SERVICE.

   Heir of heaven, blood-bought and blood-washed, Jesus did not save thee
   by another. He did not sit in heaven himself at ease and then array
   Gabriel in his power and might and send him down to suffer, bleed, and
   die for you; but "He, his own self,"--mark the strong expression of
   Scripture--"His own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree. "He
   might send out apostles and seventy disciples to preach, but he never
   relaxed his service when he employed others. He might kindle other
   lights, but he did not quench his own. He was himself your servant. He
   washed the disciples' feet, not through the medium of another disciple,
   but with his own hands. They fed the hungry, but he himself multiplied
   the fishes and brake the bread. He sent the gospel into the world, but
   not by missionaries, but by himself; he became his own preacher, his
   own expounder and then left the truth to be taken up by others, when he
   himself had ascended into glory. By the streaming veins, then, of the
   Lord Jesus Christ; by the blessed body which for your sake endured the
   curse--the curse of toil, aggravated till it became not the sweat of
   the face, but the sweat of the heart in very drops of blood--by these I
   hold the reasonableness of your personal service to him; and "I beseech
   you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your
   bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your
   reasonable service."

   But, again, have you not a personal religion? You are not content with
   promises that are held in a sort of "joint stock" by the entire
   community; you long to have in your own heart the personal cry of
   adoption; nothing but vital personal union to the ton of God can ever
   satisfy you. You are not content with the general election; you feel
   that you must have a personal election and a personal calling. You long
   to read your title clear to mansions in the skies. The charter of free
   grace, bright as it is, doth not satisfy you unless you can see your
   name amongst its inheritors. All the broad acres of the promises cannot
   charm you, you can walk over them and can them your own. You live, if
   you be a true Christian, you live upon the personal realization of your
   interest in that covenant of grace. What more reasonable than that you
   should give personal service? Were I preaching to those who were dolts,
   this might be seen and felt too; but I speak to those who are wise men,
   because they have been taught of God, and I say--what can be a more
   logical conclusion than that personal benefits enjoyed, and personal
   blessings received, should be reciprocated by personal cervices
   rendered?

   Further, let me remark to you that this personal service is reasonable,
   from the fact that personal service is the only kind of service at all
   available. I scarcely know whether you can serve God except by
   individual consecration. All that your minister can do is already due
   from him to God. You could not say before the eternal throne, "Great
   God, I am thy servant, but I serve thee by another." Might he not
   reply, "That other was my servant too?" Here is a man who has spent his
   whole life, and whom you have felt to do so; does he come before God
   and cry, "Great God, I have done all, and I have a surplus left to
   supplement the dilatory character of my fellows?" No; when we have done
   all, we are unprofitable servant; we have done no more than it was our
   duty to have done. How, then, can you by any means hope that you can
   serve God through us, when eve ourselves feel we cannot reach the mark
   to which we would have aspired in our own personal service to Jesus? Oh
   I brothers and sisters, if you will but think of it, all your idea of
   showing your gratitude to God by making another man to carry your
   burden on his back, is founded on idleness, and cannot be maintained in
   righteousness. More might I say, but I choose instead thereof to appeal
   to you thus:--Does not the reasonableness of personal service strike
   you at once? If it does not, there was a time when it did. E thou be a
   child of God, there was a season when argument was quite unnecessary to
   thee. Dost thou remember the time when thy sins lay heavily upon thy
   breast, and thou didst cry both night end day, "God be merciful to me a
   sinner?" Hast thou forgotten that glad hour when at the foot of Mercy's
   cross all the strings were loosed that bound that burden to thy back,
   and thou west free? Hast thou forgotten, then, those feelings of devout
   gratitude which made thee fall to the ground and cry, "My Master, take
   me; make something of me; do what thou wilt with me, only let me serve
   thee?" Most thou remember that hot haste in which thou didst rush into
   the world to tell to another the secret which God had whispered in
   thine ear? Dost thou remember now that first month of thy consecration
   to God, when thou couldest not do enough, when thou didst long to be
   rid even of necessary worldly employment's, that thou mightest devote
   thyself to God? Methinks I hear those sighs of thine now,--"O that I
   were a doorkeeper in the house of my God I O that I could serve my
   Master with all my might, and with all my strength!" Ah, brethren I and
   if thou needest argument now, what doth it betoken but that thou best
   lost thy first love, and that thou hast fallen from the height of thy
   consecration? It seems to be believed by some men, who pretend to deep
   experience, that the love of Christians necessarily cools after
   conversion. I am sure it ought not to do so; and if it does, it were a
   feet which were disgraceful to us. To my mind, it is palpable that if
   we loved our Master much when we first knew him, we ought to love him
   with a tenfold degree of fervent attachment after we have known him
   more. Certain I am, if we have seen Christ, the very Christ, and have
   verily seen him, we shall be more deeply in love with him every day;
   whereas at first we thought him lovely, we shall come to know him so;
   and whereas once we thought anything we could do would be too little,
   we shall come to think that everything we could do would not be enough.
   I question that man's love altogether, who has to say of it, that it
   grew cold after a little season. What! Is the work of God's Spirit but
   a sort of spasmodic twitching. Is this all the Spirit does, to lay the
   lash upon the back of the ass and make it go its jaded journey for an
   instant with a little more quickened pace? Surely not God doth not thus
   work. It were an inferior work to any which is exhibited in nature if
   this were all he did. And shall grace be second to the deeds of nature?
   Does God send the planets on in their orbits, and do they continue to
   roll, and after he hath made a creature serve him, will he stop? Does
   he light the sun and does he blaze for ever, and will he kindle our
   zeal, and shall it soon be quenched? Is God's grace as the smoke from
   the chimney, as the morning cloud, and as the early dew that passeth
   away? God forbid that we should harbour the idea! No, brethren; and
   personal service, personal continued service too, is but the reasonable
   effect of that grace which God gave us at the first, and which he
   continues to give us every hour, and will give us till we mount to
   eternal glory.

   III. And now let me advance to my third point--PERSONAL SERVICE--ITS
   EXCELLENCE,

   This excellence is so manifold, that had I some three hours to preach
   in, I might continue to go through the list and not exhaust it. Among
   the first of its charms, personal service is the main argument of the
   Christian religion against the sceptic. The sceptic says the religion
   of Christ is maintained by men who make a gain of godliness. "Your
   living is dependent upon your advocating the canes," says the infidel.
   Even to our missionaries this is often said, and though an unworthy
   suspicion and utterly untrue of men who sacrifice much even when they
   gain most, uttered to men who in any other service might soon grow
   rich--in their Masters service seldom, if ever--yet nevertheless, the
   taunt being never so unworthy, it has great power over unthinking
   minds. Let the Church, however, but beam to work unanimously; lot every
   private man have his mission, let every man and woman beam to build
   nearest to their own house, and from that day scepticism begins to
   lose, at least; one of its argument; and with it, it loses one of its
   most formidable elements--one of its deadliest weapons with which it
   has attacked the Church. "See there, see there," says the infidel,
   "there is an honest man, though he be an honest fool he does at least
   believe what he says, for he does it not by word, but personally, he
   doer it not by another, but by himself; not because he is paid for it,
   but because he loves it." Oh, sirs! it were greatly to the confusion of
   infidelity, if not to in utter destruction, if the whole Church could
   once see in its proper light, and carry out in its full measure, the
   grand doctrine of personal service. But further, I am persuaded that
   while it would be a grand argument against sceptics, it would be one of
   the greatest means of deciding that glass of waverers, who, although
   they are not skeptical, are negligent of the things of the kingdom.
   There is no way to make another man earnest like being earnest
   one's-self. If I see others who neglect the great salvation, and is I
   neglect it too, I patronize, and aid, and abet them in their neglect;
   but if that man sees me earnest about his salvation, he begins at once
   to put to himself the question, "Why is this? Here am I asleep and
   going down into hell, and this man who is no relation of mine, and who
   has no personal interest in me, is grieved, pained, and vexed because I
   am going wrong, and he cannot rest and be quiet because he fears I am
   in danger of the wrath to come." Oh! my brethren, there would be more
   souls, I do believe, moved to earnestness by earnestness, than by aught
   else. The closest logic, the most mighty rhetoric never convinced a
   soul so well as that mightiest of logic and of rhetoric--the
   earnestness of a true Christian. Let men who are now slothful see us in
   earnest, and they will begin to follow in our wake, God will bless our
   example to them, and through us they will be saved. But further, the
   excellency of personal service, it strikes me, is not confined to the
   good we do, but should be argued from the good we get. We have in our
   Churches, men and women who are always looking for an opportunity for
   quarreling. If there be a member who has made the slightest slip, they
   report it to the public, they tell it in Gath, and publish it in the
   streets of Askelon. There is nothing that is right. If you do a thing
   to-day, it is wrong; if you were to alter it to-morrow, it would be
   just as wrong. They are never consistent in anything but in their
   inconsistent grumbling. The mightiest cure for the Church is to set
   them to work. Armies are troublesome things, even emperors find they
   must allow these hungry things to blunt their appetite with war. The
   Church itself can never be much blessed while it hath division in its
   own ranks. Its very activity will cause disorder; the very earnestness
   in the Christian will cause confusion, unless you lead forth that
   earnestness to its proper field of development. I have always found
   that where there is a quarrelsome Church, it is sure to be an idle
   Church, and where men are always "at it," they have very little time to
   find fault with one another. When we fuse iron, the two pieces will
   soon weld, bring two cold pieces together, and the stoutest arm and the
   heaviest hammer can never weld them. Let our Churches be united and
   they will be earnest; let them be cold, and they will be dashed to a
   thousand shivers. "And moreover, we have a large class of poor
   creatures, who, while not discontent with others, are discontent with
   themselves. They don't fight with other people, but they seem to be
   incessantly quarreling with a personal jealousy of their ownselves.
   They are not what they like to be, and they are not what they wish to
   be, and they don't feel as they should feel, and they don't think as
   they would like to think. They are always plunging their finger into
   their own eyes a, because they cannot see so well as they would wish,
   always ripping up the wounds they have, because those wounds smart,
   making themselves miserable in order that they may be happy, and at
   last, crying themselves into an inconsolable state of misery, they
   acquire a habit of mourning, until that mourning seems to be the only
   bliss they know. To use a homely illustration, and one which will be
   remembered, if another might not, the swiftest way for these cold souls
   to warm themselves is by setting them at once to work. When we were
   boys, we have sometimes gathered round our father's fire in the winter
   time, and almost sat upon it, yet we could not get wane; we rubbed our
   fingers, but they stir kept blue, at length our father wisely turned us
   out of doors and bade us work, and after some healthy pastime we soon
   came in with limbs no longer benumbed; the blood was circulated, and
   what tire could not do, exercise soon accomplished. Ministers of
   Christ, if your people cry to you, "Comfort us! comfort us!--comfort
   them, and make the fire a good one; at the same time remember that all
   the fire you can ever kindle, will not warm them so long as they are
   idle. If they are idle they cannot be warm. God will not have his
   people eat the fat and drink the sweet, unless they are prepared to
   carry their burden and give a portion to others as well as seek meat
   for themselves. The benefit of personal service then is not confined to
   others, but will come to be enjoyed even by those who engage in it.

   An example or two here may tend to enforce the lesson I am anxious to
   inculcate. If you wish to prove the truth of this, you can begin to
   make a tolerable experiment in the course of the next half-hour. Do you
   want to feel grateful? Do not go home and get the hymn-book down. Just
   go down this street here, and take the first turning to the left or the
   right, whichever you please. Go up the first pair of stairs you come
   to; you see a little room; perhaps the husband has come home by
   now--come home weary, and there is a swarm of children, all dirty, and
   so to live and sleep in; perhaps, that one room. Well, if you will only
   take a view of that with your own eyes, and then go home to your own
   house, you will begin to feel grateful. Or rise up to-morrow morning,
   and go to another house, and see a poor creature stretched on the bed
   of languishing, dependent on the parish allowance, and worse than that,
   dying with" our hope knowing nothing of God. or of the-way of
   salvation, and if that does not make you grateful when you think of
   your own interest in the precious blood of Jesus. I know nothing that
   will. Again, you want to be zealous and earnest. Next Sabbath morning
   walk down the New Cut, and if the open depravity does not make you
   earnest, your blood is fish's blood, and you have not the warmth of
   man's blood in you. Just see how the street is thronged all day with
   those who buy and sell, and get gain, while you are meeting in the
   house of God for prayer and praise. If that should not satisfy you, and
   you want to feel peculiarly zealous take your walk abroad and not only
   look on but begin to act. Take your stand amidst the crowd near the
   Victoria Theatre, and try to preach, and if you do not feel desirous
   when you hear their clamours and see their anxious eyes, as if they
   longed to hear you with eyes as wed as ears--if that does not make you
   zealous, I know of nothing that will make you so. Take a handful of
   tracts in your hand, and a handful of coppers in your pocket--two good
   things together, and give some of each to the poor people, and they
   will recollect you; and after you have gone to those--the poorest and
   the most depraved--if you do not go home with a feeling of gratitude
   mingled with one of earnest zeal for the salvation of souls, I do not
   know what remedy I can prescribe. I wish some of you fine ladies and
   gentlemen had the walking down some of out courts and alleys--nay; I
   would wish you to have a special treat that you might always remember.
   I would like you to sleep one night at a lodging-house, I should dike
   you to eat one meal with the poor man; I should like you to sit in the
   midst of one drunken brawl, I should wish you to see one poor wife, her
   face all bleeding, where a brutal and degrading husband ha. been
   striking her; I should like you to spend one Sabbath in the midst of
   sin and debauchery; I should like you to see one scene of vice, and
   then hurry you away once and for all. Methinks, if I took you there not
   only to see, but to act and cooperate in some holy deed of service;
   book you there that you might thrust your hand into the kennel, and
   bring up some lost jewel; that you might thrust your finger into the
   very fire, that you might pluck some bread from the burning, I think
   that usefulness would not be all on the part of others, but to a great
   degree react upon your own heart. You would go home and say, "I could
   not have behaved it; I could not have imagined that the necessities of
   this city were so great; that the need of praying and preaching, and
   generous liberality, could have been one-tenth so huge." I am sure if
   you be Christians, from that time forward, you would be more
   indefatigable in your industry, and more unlimited in your gifts than
   before. I must not tarry longer, time reproves me, though if it be that
   any of you shall carry thou out in practice, the time employed in
   persuading you will be well spent.

   IV. I want now for a minute or two, to come to that Society, for which
   I stand here to plead to-night, and observe ITS PECULIAR ADAPTATION TO
   PERSONAL SERVICE.

   We love the Missionary Society, both for home and abroad, though it
   does in measure help us to serve God by proxy. I love the Bible
   Society, because that enables me to serve God personally. For the same
   reason, I moat ever love the Religious Tract Society, because that
   enables me, nay, compels me, if I would do anything, to do it myself. I
   think I need only just mention one or two particulars. The peculiar
   form of usefulness which the Religious Tract Society lays hold upon, is
   admirably adapted to those persons who have but little power and little
   ability, but nevertheless, wish to do something for Christ. They have
   not the tongue of the eloquent, but they may have the hand of the
   diligent. They cannot stand and preach, but they can stand and
   distribute here and there these silent preachers. They do not feel that
   they could subscribe their guinea, but they may buy their thousand
   tracts, and these they can distribute broadcast. How many a little one
   in Zion has spent his life in doing this good, when he could not
   perhaps have found any other good within his reach. This however, is
   but the beginning--the smallest part of the matter. And when men begin
   with little efforts for Christ, such as the giving away of a tract,
   they become stronger to do something else afterwards. I speak
   personally to-night--and excuse the allusion--I remember the first
   service which my youthful heart rendered to Christ, was the doing up of
   tracts in envelopes, that might send them, with the hope that by
   choosing pertinent tracts, applicable to person. I knew, and then
   sealing them up, that God would bless them. And I well remember telling
   them and distributing them in a town in England where tracts had never
   been distributed before, and going from house to house, and telling in
   humble language, the things of the kingdom of God. I might have done
   nothing, if I had not been encouraged by finding myself able to do
   something. I sought to do something more and then from that something
   more, and now have I got beyond. And so I do not doubt that many of the
   servants of God have been led on to do something higher and nobler,
   because the first step was for good.

   I look upon the giving away of a religious tract as only the first step
   for action not to be compared with many another deed done for Christ;
   but were it not for the first step we might never reach to the second
   but that first attained, we are encouraged to take another, and so at
   the last, God helping us, we may be made extensively useful Besides,
   there is this to be said for the Society, that it does not make a man
   perform an act which looks like service but which is not. There is a
   real service of Christ in the distribution of the gospel in its printed
   form, a service the result of which heaven alone shall disclose, and
   the judgment-day alone discover. How many thousands have been carried
   to heaven instrumentally upon the wings of these tracts, none can tell.
   I might say, if it were right to quote such a Scripture, "The leaves
   were for the healing of the nations,"--verily they are so. Scattered
   where the whole tree could scarcely be carried, the very leaves have
   had a medicinal and a healing virtue in them and the real word of
   truth, the simple statement of a Savior crucified and of a sinner who
   shall be saved by simply trusting in the Savior, has been greatly
   blessed, and many thousand souls have been led into the kingdom of
   heaven by this simple means.

   And now what shall I say to bind up what has been already said into a
   compact form! Let each one of us, if we have done nothing for Christ,
   begin to do something now. The distribution of tracts is the first
   thing. Let us do that and attempt something else by-and-bye. Are we, on
   the other hand, diligently engaged already in some higher service for
   Christ, let us not despise those steps which helped us up, but let us
   now assist others with these steps that they too may rise from the
   grade of service which is theirs to a higher and a greater one. Let us
   in fact encourage this society at all times with our contributions and
   with our prayers. I would remind you that during this year the Tract
   Society has sent abroad some forty-two millions of tracts--some four
   and a half millions more than last year. These have been sent
   throughout the whole earth. Extensive as man, I may say has been the
   action of this society--not confined to any sect or denomination, or
   any class or clime. It has labored for all, and an Christians have
   labored with it, and God has given it a large measure of success.

   I think I may leave it in your hands to-night; but permit me this one
   word ere I bid you farewell. Many of you I shall never see again, and I
   remember that my own sermon tells me that I have personal service to
   perform for Christ. It is not enough for me to urge you to do it, I
   must do it too. My hearers, imagine not that any service you can do for
   Christ will save your souls if you are unrenewed. If your faith is not
   fixed in Jesus, your best works will be but splendid sins. All the
   performance of duties will not affect your salvation. Cease from your
   own righteousness, cease from all deeds of working out life, and
   "believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." Trust
   Jesus, and you are saved, trust self, and you are lost. Just as you
   are, cast yourselves on Christ. I remember Dr. Hawker concluding an
   admirable discourse with these brief words:--The words were addressed
   to Rebecca of old: "Wilt thou go with this man?" Let me conclude with
   the like words:--Souls, will ye go with Christ? Will ye go to Christ?"
   "I would go with him," saith one, "but would he have me." Did he ever
   reject one that came to him? "I would go with Christ," saith another,
   "but I am naked." He will clothe thee. "I would go to him," says a
   third, "but I am filthy." He can cleanse you; nay, his own blood shall
   wash you, and his own veins will supply the purifying stream. "I would
   go with him, saith another, " but I am diseased and leprous, and cannot
   walk with him." Ah! but he is a great physician, and he can heal thee.
   Come as thou art to Christ. Many say, "But I cannot come." I remember a
   raying in the North of Ireland, in the revival, which just hits the
   mark. The young converts will say to one another, when one says, "I
   cannot come." "Brother, come if you can, and if you can't come, come as
   you can." Will you not come, when by coming to Christ you may save your
   soul? We do not know what faith is when we say to ourselves, "It is a
   something so mysterious I cannot reach it." Faith is trusting Christ.
   It is the end of mystery and the beginning of simplicity; the giving up
   of all those idle feelings and believings that aught else can save the
   soul, and the reception of that one master thought, that Christ Jesus
   is exalted on high to be a Prince and a Savior, to give repentance and
   remission of sins. Never soul perished trusting Jesus, never heart was
   blasted with perdition that had confidently rested itself upon the
   cross. There is thy hope, poor shipwrecked mariner, yonder
   constellation of the cross with those five stars, the wounds of Jesus
   Look there and live. One glance and thou art saved. Those
   soul-quickening words, "Believe and live," comprehend the whole gospel
   of God. May the Divine Spirit lead you now out of self unto Christ. O
   Lord! command thy blessing for Jesus' sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                    Terrible Convictions and Gentle Drawings

   A Sermon

   (No. 313)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, May 6th, 1860, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day
   long. For day, and night thy hand was heavy upon me: my moisture is
   turned into the drought of summer."--Psalm 32:3-4.

   DAVID HERE DESCRIBES a very common experience amongst convinced
   sinners. He was subjected to extreme terrors and pangs of conscience.
   These terrors were continual; they scared him at night with visions,
   they terrified him all day with dark and gloomy forebodings. "Day and
   night thy hand was heavy upon me." His pain was so extreme, that when
   he resorted to prayer he could scarcely utter an articulate word. There
   were groanings that could not be uttered within his spirit; and hence
   he calls his prayer roaring--a "roaring all the day long." Wherever he
   was, his spirit seemed to be always sighing, sending a full torrent of
   melancholy groans upwards towards God; a "roaring all the day long." So
   far did this groaning proceed, that at last his bodily frame began to
   show evidences of it. He grew old, and that not merely in the lines of
   the countenance and the falling in of the cheeks, but his very bones
   seemed as if they partook of the suffering. He became like an old man
   before his time. We have heard of some who through severe trouble have
   had their hair blanched in a single night. But here was a man who did
   not show merely externally, but even internally, the heavy pressure of
   grief, on account of sin. His bones grew old, and the sap of his life,
   the animal spirits, were all dried up; his "moisture was turned into
   the drought of summer." So intimate is the connection between the body
   and the soul, that when the soul suffers extremely, the body must be
   called to endure its part of grief. Verily in this ease it was but
   simple justice, for David had sinned with his body and with his soul
   too. By fornication he had defiled his members; he had looked out from
   his eyes with lustful desires, and had committed iniquity with his
   body, and now the frame which had become the instrument of
   unrighteousness, becomes a vehicle of punishment, and his body bears
   its share of misery,--"my moisture is turned into the drought of
   summer." We gather from what David says in this Psalm, and indeed in
   all these seven penitential Psalms that his convictions on account of
   his sin with Bathsheba, and his subsequent murder of Uriah, were of the
   deepest and most poignant character, and that the terrors he
   experienced were indescribable, filling his soul with horror and
   dismay.

   Now, this morning, I propose to deal with this case, so common among
   those who are under conviction of sin. There are many, who, when the
   Lord is bringing them to himself, are alarmed by reason of the hardness
   of the stroke with which he smites them, and the sternness of the
   sentence which he pronounces against them. After having dealt very
   solemnly with that character, I shall then turn and spend a fear
   moments in trying to comfort another class of parsons, who, strange to
   say, are without comfort, because they do not have these terrors, and
   are unhappy because they have never experienced this unhappiness.
   Strange perversity of human nature, that when God sends the terrors we
   doubt, and when he withholds them we doubt none the less. May God the
   Spirit bless my discourse doubly to these two different conditions of
   men.

   I. First, then, let me address myself with lovingkindness to those who
   are now THE SUBJECTS OF GOD'S REBUKE AND THE TERRORS OF GOD'S LAW.

   To you would speak on this wise; first, detect the causes of your
   terror. In the second place tell you God's design in subjecting you
   thereto, and then point you to the great remedy.

   1. As for the causes of your terror they are many, and perhaps in your
   case the cause may be so peculiar that the wit of man may not be able
   to discover it. Nevertheless, the remedy which I have to propound at
   the end, will most assuredly be adapted to your case, for it is a
   remedy which reaches all diseases, and is a panacea for all ills. You
   tell me you are sore troubled by reason of conviction, and that your
   convictions of sin are attended by the most terrible and gloomy
   thoughts, I am not at a loss to tell you why it is. I shall this
   morning borrow my divisions from quaint old Thomas Fuller, whose book
   happened to be thrown in my way this week by Providence, and as I
   cannot say better things than he said, I shall borrow much of his
   description of the causes of the terrors of conviction.

   First, those wounds must be deep which are given by so strong a hand as
   that of God. Remember, sinner, it is God that is dealing with you; when
   you lay dead in your sins he looked on you, and now he has begun not
   only to look, but to smite; he is now wounding you with the design of
   afterwards making you whole; he is killing you that he may afterwards
   make you spiritually alive. You have now entered the lists with no
   other than the Almighty God; do you wonder, then, that when he smites,
   his blows fell you to the ground? Are you astonished that when he
   wounds, his wounds are deep and hard to heal? Besides, remember it is
   an angry God that you have to deal with; one who has had patience with
   you in your sins these thirty, forty, or fifty years, and now he has
   come forth himself to compel you to throw down the weapons of your
   rebellion, and to take you captive by his justice, that he may
   afterwards set you free by his grace. Is it any marvel, then, that when
   an angry God--a God who has restrained his anger these many
   years--comes out in battle against you, you find it hard to resist him,
   and that his blows bruise you and break your bones, and make your
   spirit feel as if it must verily die, crushed beneath the mighty hand
   of a cruel one? Be not astonished at all your terrors; God on Sinai,
   when he came to give the law, was terrible; but God on Sinai, when he
   comes to bring the law into the conscience, and to strike it home, must
   be more terrible far. When God did but stretch out his hand with the
   two tables of stone, Moses did exceedingly fear and quake; but when he
   throws those tables of stone upon you, and makes you feel the weight of
   that law which you have broken, it is but little marvel that your
   spirit is bruised and mangled, and dashed into a thousand shivers.

   Again, it is no wonder that you are sore troubled when you remember the
   place where God has wounded you. He has not wounded you in your hand,
   or in your head, or in your foot; he is striking at your
   conscience--the eye of your soul; he wounds you in your heart--in your
   inmost soul. Every wound that God gives to the convicted man is a wound
   in the very heart--in the very vitals; he cuts into the core of the
   liver, and makes his darts cut through the gall, and parches your
   inward parts with agony. It is not now a disease that has laid hold
   merely on your skin or flesh, but it is a something which makes the
   life-floods boil with hot anguish. He has now shot his arrows into your
   inmost spirit, thrust his fingers into your eyes and put out their
   light. Oh! ye need not wonder that your pains are fearful, when God
   thus smites you on the tenderest part of a conscience which he has made
   tender by his grace. He may well smart that has salt rubbed into his
   wounds. You have been lashed with the ten-thonged whip of the law till
   your heart is all bare and bleeding, and now God is scattering, as it
   were, the salt, and making all those wounds to tingle and smart. Oh! ye
   might wonder, if ye did not feel, when God is thus casting bitterness
   into the fountain of your life.

   Besides these, there is a third cause for this your pain, namely, that
   Satan is now busy upon you. He sees that God is wounding you and he
   does not wish that those wounds shall heal; he therefore trusteth in
   his fangs, and teareth open the flesh, and trieth if he cannot pour his
   poison into that very flesh which God has been wounding with the sword.
   "Now," saith he, "that God is against him will I be against him too.
   God is driving him to sadness; I will drive him farther still, and urge
   him to despair. God has brought him to the precipice, to the edge of
   his self-righteousness, and bidden him look down and see the yawning
   gulf. Now," says Satan, "one push more, and over he will go." He has
   come forth, therefore, with all his strength, hoping that the hour of
   your conviction shall be also the hour of your condemnation. He will
   tempt you, perhaps, as he did Job, till you any, "My soul chooseth
   strangling rather than life." He will seek to bring you low, like
   Jeremiah, until you are ready to wish you had never been born, rather
   than that you should suffer like this. You can well understand, if a
   man had been wounded, that it were hard work for the most skillful
   surgeon to heal him if some vile wretch should tear away the liniments
   and rend open the wounds as fast as they began to close. Oh! pray
   against Satan! Cry aloud to your God to deliver you from this fiend,
   for he is the cause of much of your distress; and if you were rid of
   him, it may be that your wound would soon heal, and you would find
   peace. But, remember, the remedy that I shall have to propound to you
   is a remedy against devils. It is the fiend's confusion as well as
   sin's destruction. Let them come against you as they may. The remedy I
   shall have to propound can heal the wounds of Satan, and the tearings
   of his tangs, as well as those sorrows of soul which God has brought
   upon you.

   You may discover a yet further reason why you are so sore wounded, when
   you consider the terrible nature of that weapon with which God has
   wounded you. He had not made a little gash with some slender
   instrument, but if I understand your case aright, he has brought
   against you the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. Its Word
   condemns you; its threatenings strike you like barbed arrows. You turn
   to the law as it is here revealed, and it is altogether on a smoke
   against you. You turn to the promises, and even they wound you, because
   you feel you have no right to them. You look at the most precious
   passages, but they do not assuage your grief, but the rather increase
   it, because you cannot realize them and lay hold upon them for
   yourself. Now, this is God using his Word against you, and you know
   what a weapon that is,--"the sword of the Spirit, which is quick and
   powerful, piercing to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and is a
   discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart." They are cut deep
   that are wounded by the Word of God. If it were my words which had
   brought you into this fear, you might soon get rid of it; but these are
   God's words. Were it a father's curse, it might be hard to give you
   comfort; but it is God's curse that hath gone out against you--the
   curse of the God who made you. He himself bath told you that the sinner
   shall not stand in his sight, and that he hateth the workers of
   iniquity. He has himself brought home to your conscience some of those
   awful passages:--"God is angry with the wicked every day;" "He will by
   no means clear the guilty;" "Our God is a consuming fire;" "The wicked
   shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God." With
   such weapons as these; with red-hot shot fired against you with all the
   power of the Spirit, it remains no longer a wonder that your soul
   should be sharply racked, and your very bones should wax old through
   your roaring all the day long.

   Furthermore, there is another cause for this deep disease of
   conviction, namely, the foolishness of the patient. Physicians will
   tell you that they can heal one man vastly more quickly than another,
   even though the disease be precisely the came, and the same remedies be
   used; for there are some men who help the physician by the quietude of
   them spirits by the ease and resignation of their minds, their heart is
   and this gives "health to the navel, and marrow to the bones." But
   other men are fretful, disturbed, vexed, anxious, questioning this and
   questioning that; and then the remedies themselves cease to have their
   proper effect. It is even so with you; you are a foolish patient; you
   will not do that which would cure you, but you do that which aggravates
   your woe; you know that if you would cast yourselves upon Christ Jesus
   you would have peace of conscience at once; but instead of that, you
   are meddling with doctrines too high for you, trying to pry into
   mysteries which the angels have not known, and so you turn your dizzy
   brain, and thus help to make your heart yet more singularly sad. You
   know that you are trying still to work out a righteousness of your own,
   and this is making your wounds stinking and corrupt. You know, too,
   that you are looking more to your faith than you are to the object of
   your faith; you are looking more to what you feel than to what Christ
   felt; you spend more time in looking at your convictions than you do at
   Christ's vicarious sacrifice upon the cross. You are a foolish patient;
   you are doing that which aggravates your complaint. Oh that you were
   but wiser, and these terrors and these pangs might the sooner be over;
   you would not tarry so long in the prison if you would but use the
   means of escape, instead of seeking to dash your head against its
   strong walls,--walls that will not move with all your ravings, but
   which will only break, and bruise, and wound you the more. You seek to
   file your fetters, and you rivet them; you seek to unbind them
   yourself, and you thrust them the deeper into your flesh; you grasp the
   hammer, and here is the fetter about your wrist; you think to snap it,
   but you send the iron through the flesh, and make it bleed; you make
   yourself worse by all your attempts to make yourself better, so that
   much of your sorrowful conviction is due to your own absurdity, your
   own ignorance and folly.

   And, once more, I must give you another reason. There is no wonder that
   you are under great and terrible pain when under conviction, for it is
   a disease in which nothing can ever help you but that one remedy. All
   the joys of nature will never give you relief. I have heard of some
   vain man who once wore the gown of a clergyman, who was "visited by a
   poor creature under distress of mind, in the days of Whitfield;" he
   said to the penitent, "You have been among the Methodists." "I know I
   have," said he. "Then don't go among those fellows; they have made you
   mad." "But what am I to do to get rid of the distress of mind I now
   feel?" "Attend the theater," said he; "go off to balls; take to gaming
   and the like; and in that way you will soon dissipate your woe." But as
   he that poureth vinegar upon nitre, so is he that singeth songs to a
   sad heart; it is taking away a man's garment to make him warm; it is
   heaping snow upon his head to dissolve the frostbite, sending him back
   to draff and dung that he may stay his hunger therewith, thrusting him
   into the kennel that he may get rid of the stench that offends his
   nostrils. Nay, but if these be the true woundings of God, sinful
   pleasures will make you worse instead of better; and even the usual
   comforts of life will lose all power to console you. The words of the
   tenderest wife, the most loving husband, the mercies of Providence, the
   blessings of home,--all these will be of no avail to you to cure this
   disease. There is one remedy for it; but none of these will so much as
   touch it. Quaint old Fuller uses language to this effect, when Adam had
   sinned, he became suddenly plunged in misery; the birds sang as
   sweetly, the flowers bloomed as brightly, and the air was as balmy, and
   Eden quite as blissful; but Adam was in misery; he had unparadised
   paradise. God had not said a word against him, and yet he went and hid
   himself under the trees of the garden to find a shelter there. There
   was nothing in the whole garden that could give Adam a moment's
   delight, because he was under a sense of sin. And so will it be with
   you. If you could be put in paradise, you would not be the happier. Now
   that God has convinced you of sin, there is only one cure for you, and
   that one cure you must have; for you may ramble the world round and you
   will never find another. You may try your best with all the pleasures
   and mercies of this life, but you would be in torment, even though you
   could be taken to heaven, unless this one remedy should appease your
   aching heart.

   2. I have thus, I think, given you sufficient reasons for the great
   poignancy of your grief; but now, secondly, what are God's designs in
   thus plunging you deeply in the mire? He does not deal so with all his
   people; some he brings in a very gentle way to himself. Why, then, does
   he deal thus hardly with you? The answers to this question are these:
   there are some questions best unanswered; there are some dealings of
   God about which we have no right to ask a question. If he draws you to
   heaven, though it were through hell itself, you ought to be content. So
   long as you are but saved, however fearful the process, you ought not
   to murmur. But I may give you some reasons after all.

   In the first place, it is because you were such a stony-hearted
   sinner,--so dead, so careless,--that nothing else ever would have
   awakened you but this trumpet. It would have been of no use to bring
   out the gospel with its dulcet notes; it would have been of little
   service for David to play on his harp before you. You needed to be
   aroused, and therefore it is that God has hurled his thunderbolts at
   you one after another, and has been pleased to make heaven and earth
   shake before you that you might be made to tremble. You were so
   desperately set on mischief, so stolid, so indifferent, that if saved,
   God must save you in such a way, or else not at all.

   And then again, the Lord knows that there is that in your heart which
   would take you back to your old sins, and so he is making them bitter
   to you; he is burning you, that you may be like the burnt child that
   dreads the fire; he is letting you see the disease in its full climax,
   that you may from henceforth avoid the company in which that disease
   was found; he has taught you the full evil of your heart, the full
   obnoxiousness of sin, in order that from this day forth you may become
   a more careful walker, and may the more zealously hate every false way.

   Besides, it may possibly happen that he designs this out of love to
   your soul, to make you the more happy afterwards. He is filling your
   mouth with wormwood, and breaking your teeth with gravel-stone, that
   you may have a richer appreciation of the luscious flavour of the will
   of pardon when he pours it into your heart. It is making you feed on
   ashes--the serpent's meat--that when you come to eat children's
   meat--the bread of heaven--your joy may be multiplied sevenfold. I am
   one of those poor souls who for five years led a life of misery, and
   was almost driven to distraction; but I can heartily say, that one day
   of pardoned sin was a sufficient recompense for the whole five years of
   conviction. I have to bless God for every terror that ever seared me by
   night, and for every foreboding that alarmed me by day. It has made me
   happier ever since; for now, if there be a trouble weighing upon my
   soul, I thank God it is not such a trouble as that which bowed me to
   the very earth, and made me creep like a very beast upon the ground by
   reason of heavy distress and affliction. I know I never can again
   suffer what I have suffered; I never can, except I be sent to hell,
   know more of agony than I have known; and now, that ease, that joy and
   peace in believing, that "no condemnation" which belongs to me as a
   child of God, is made doubly sweet and inexpressibly precious, by the
   recollection of my past days of sorrow and grief. Blessed be thou, O
   God, for ever, who by those black days, like a dreary wind hath made
   these summer days all the fairer and the sweeter! The shore is never so
   welcome as when you mount it with the foot of a shipwrecked mariner
   just escaped from the sea; food never so sweet as when you sit at the
   table after days of hunger; water never so refreshing as when you
   arrive at the end of a parched desert, and have known what it is to
   thirst.

   And yet one other reason let me give you, and I need not keep you
   longer on this point. Possibly, God is bringing you thus, my dear
   friends, because he means to make great use of you. We are all God's
   weapons against the enemy. All his saints are used as instruments in
   the Holy War; but there are some whom God uses in the thickest part of
   the battle. They are his swords whom he wields in his hand, and strikes
   innumerable blows with them. These he anneals again, and again, and
   again. He is annealing you. He is making you meet to be a mighty one in
   his Israel by-and-bye. Oh! how sweetly you will able to talk to others
   like yourself, when you once get comfort; and oh! how much you will
   love him when he once puts away your sin! Will you not? Oh! I think I
   see you the first day after your sins are forgiven. Why you will be
   wanting to preach: I should not wonder if you will be going out into
   the streets, or hurrying to your old companions, and saying to them,
   "My sins are washed away." Why there will be nothing too hard for you.
   The Lord gets his best soldiers out of the highlands of affliction.
   These are Highlanders that carry everything before them. They know the
   rivers of sin, they know the glens of grief, and now their sins are all
   washed away, they know the heights of self-consecration, and of pure
   devotion; they can do all things through Christ, who strengtheneth
   them, the Christ who has forgiven them.

   Do you not think I have just driven the nail home here? Do you not feel
   in your spirit, that if Jesus would forgive you, you would do
   everything for him? Oh! I know if I should give out that hymn--

   "Then loudest of the crowd I'll sing,

   While heaven's resounding mansions ring

   With shouts of sovereign grace."

   you would say, "Ah, that I will; if ever he forgives such a wretch as I
   am, and takes such a poor worm as me to his bosom, nothing shall be too
   hard for me. I will give him all in this life, and I will give and
   eternity of praise in the life to come."

   3. But now I am impatient to come to the word of comfort which I have
   for you upon the great remedy. Sinners distressed on account of sin,
   and bowed with terror down, there is a way of salvation for thee, a way
   open and accessible,--accessible now. Thou mayest now have all thy
   griefs assuaged, and all thy sorrows may flee away. Hear thou then the
   remedy, and hear it as from the lip of God, and take care that thou
   availest thyself of it now, for the longer thou tarriest, the harder
   will it be to avail thyself of it. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ
   and thou shalt be saved." Dost understand me? Trust Christ and you are
   saved; trust him now and all your sins are gone; there is not one left.
   Past, present, and to come, all gone. "Am I to feel nothing?" No, not
   as a preparation for Christ; trust Jesus and thou art saved. "Are there
   no good works required of me?" None, none; good works shall follow
   afterwards. The remedy is a simple one; not a compound mixture of thy
   things and Christ; it is just this--the blood of Jesus Christ. There is
   Jesus on his cross. His hands are bleeding; his heart is bursting; his
   limbs are tortured; the powers of his soul are full of agony. Those
   sufferings were offered to God in the place of our sufferings, and
   "Whosoever believeth in him shall not perish, but have everlasting
   life." Believe on him now. "But I may not," says one. Thou mayest, nay,
   not only thou mayest, but thou art condemned if thou dost not believe
   him now. "I cannot," saith one. Canst not believe thy Lord? Is he a
   liar? Canst thou not believe his power to save? The Son of God in
   agony, and yet no power to save!! "I cannot think he shed his blood for
   me," saith such an one. Thou art commanded to trust him. Thou shalt
   read thy title clear in him afterwards. Thy business now is simply with
   him, not with thine interest in him. That shall be known afterwards.
   Trust him now and thou art saved. Faith is not believing that Christ
   died for me. If Christ died for every man, then every Arminian, saved
   or unsaved, hath the true faith: for he believes Christ died for every
   man. We as Calvinists, do not believe this, but we believe faith
   consists in trusting Christ, and whosoever trusts Christ shall know as
   the effect of that trust, that Jesus died for him, and he is saved.
   Trust Jesus now; just as thou art, fall flat on thy face before him.
   Away with that last dirty rag of thine--that last good work; away with
   that last filthiness--that last good thought; thy good thought, and thy
   good works are rags and filthiness. Come just as thou art; naked, lost,
   ruined, helpless, poor. If thou art so bad that I cannot describe thee,
   and thou canst not describe thyself, yet come. Mercy's free, mercy's
   free. I am never afraid of preaching grace too free, or a Christ too
   willing to save. You do want a Mediator to come to God with, but you
   want none to come to Christ with. You do need some preparation if you
   are going to the Father; you want none if you are coming to the Son.
   Come as you are; and God himself must be untrue, his throne must have
   foundations apart from righteousness, Christ must be false, and this
   Bible a lie, bef