S Arrows

S Safety in trusting fully.

There is a picture in a quaint old book, which represents a man with a flail trying to strike another, and the man who is assailed runs close in so that the adversary cannot strike him. Run in upon God and he cannot strike you.

Salvation. The salvation of a single soul is a mass of miracles. I have heard of a fire which consumed the shop of a jeweller, and a number of costly treasures of gold and silver and precious stones, were found among the ruins, caked into a conglomerate of riches. What a salvage! Such is the salvation of a single man; it is a mass of priceless mercies melted into one inestimable ingot, dedicated to the praise of the glory of His grace, who makes us to be "Accepted in the Beloved," and "Saved in the Lord," with an everlasting salvation.

Salvation for to-day.

I was once in a country town, and I said to my host when I went to bed, "I have to be in London to-morrow, and I cannot get up in time for my work unless I leave by a train which I can catch readily enough if you wake me at six." Well my host was an Irishman, so he woke me at five o'clock and told me I had only another hour to sleep. The consequence was that I missed my train. If he had only awoke me at the proper time and said, "Now you must get up," I should have dressed at once; but as he said "You have only another hour to sleep," of course I slept, being weary. The same principle applies to you. If I say to you, "Go home and think it over all the week," I shall be giving you a week in which to rebel against God, and I have no right to do that. I shall be giving you a week to continue an unbeliever; and he that is an unbeliever is in peril of eternal ruin, for "He that believeth not shall be damned." Worse than all, the week may lead to many other weeks; to months, perhaps years, perchance a whole eternity of woe. I cannot give you five minutes. God the Holy Ghost speaks by me now to souls whom God hath chosen, from before the foundation of the world, and He says, "Today if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts." The Holy Ghost says, "Today, even today."

Salvation—full. When I trusted Christ, I did not trust Him to save me for a year or two, but forever. When you go the heavenly journey, take a ticket all the way through. Some of our friends take a ticket to the next station, and then rush out to get another. Take your ticket for the New Jerusalem, and not for a halfway-house. The train will never break down, and the track will never be torn up. If you can trust Jesus Christ to carry you through to glory, He will do it.

"Saved alone"

We heard, not long ago, of the shipwreck from which a mother was washed on shore, but found all her children drowned. She telegraphed to her husband two words. The first was pleasant to his eye: "Saved." The next was full of misery: "Alone." Ah, me! would you or I like to have it so—"Saved alone"? God forbid! When we reach heaven's gate may we be able to say, "Here am I and the children that Thou hast given me."

Saved—a sinner. A certain youth was at a low playhouse. A scene occurred, in which a mutinous sailor was to be hanged, and, asking for a glass of spirits, he was represented as drinking his own health in the words, "Here's to my immortal soul." "Immortal soul," thought the foolish youth, "immortal soul!" He had almost forgotten that he had an immortal soul. It was a shot fired at the center of the target: it struck him home; he was ready to drop; he sought the open air and a place wherein to weep. The next Sabbath morning found the young scapegrace at a prayer-meeting, seeking his father's God, and before long he found peace through the blood of Jesus, and began preaching the Gospel, which he had so grievously abused. God knows how to get at the heart of sinners.

Savior for sinners.

If you put two canaries in a cage tonight, and in the morning when they awake they see a quantity of seed in a box, what will the birds do? Will they stop and ask what the seeds are there for? No, but they each reason thus, "Here is a little hungry bird and there is some seed; these two things go well together." And straightway they eat. So say, "Here is a Savior, and here is a sinner: these two things go well together. Dear Savior, save me, a sinner!"

Scripture landmarks. When a text stands in the middle of the road I drive no further. The Komans had a god they called "Terminus," who was the god of landmarks. Holy Scripture is my sacred landmark, and I hear a voice which threatens me with a curse if I remove it. Sometimes I say to myself, "I did not think to find this truth to be just so; but as it is so I must bow. It is rather awkward for my theory, but I must alter my system, for the Scripture cannot be broken." "Let God be true, but every man a liar." We want our children to have this deep reverence for Scripture, even as we have it ourselves.

Scripture warnings. A precept of Scripture is like a lighthouse upon a quicksand or a rock; it quietly bids the wise helmsman steer his vessel another way. The whole coast of life is guarded by these protecting lights, and he who will take note of them may make safe navigation; but remember, it is one thing for the Scripture to give warning, and another for us to take it; and if we do not take warning, we cannot say, "By them is Thy servant warned."

Sealed testimony. In olden times men did not often write their names, because they could not write at all. Even kings set their seals, because they could not give a signature. To this day, how often does it happen to me, as a trustee to a chapel or school, to have a paper laid before me, and I not only sign my name, but I put my finger on that red wafer, which represents my seal, and I say, "This is my act and deed!" When you believe in Jesus, you have set your seal to the testimony of Jesus, which is the revelation of the Lord. You have certified that you believe in God as true.

Season—A convenient. The countryman when he wanted to cross the river and found it was deep, sat down by the bank to wait till the water had gone past. He waited, but the river was just as deep after all his waiting; and with all your delay, the difficulties in the way of your accepting Christ do not become any the less. If you look at the matter rightly, you will see there are no great difficulties in the way, nor were there ever such obstacles as your imagination pictures. Another countryman having to cross Cheapside, one morning, was so confused by the traffic of omnibuses and cabs, and people, that he felt sure he could not get across then, so he waited until the people and traffic thinned, but all day long it was the same. Unless he had waited till the evening, he would have found little difference. Oh, friends, you have waited for a convenient season to become a Christian, and after all your delay, the way is no clearer.

Secular united to the sacred. In the days of Queen Mary, a foolish spite dug up the bones of the wife of Bucer. Poor woman! She had done no ill, except that she had married a teacher of the gospel; but she must needs be dragged from her grave to be buried in a dunghill for that offence. When Elizabeth came to the throne, her bones were buried again; but to make the body secure from any future malice of bigots, our prudent forefathers took the relics of a certain popish saint, who was enshrined at Oxford, and mixed the remains of the two deceased persons past all chance of separation. Thus Mistress Bucer was secured from further disrespect by her unity with the body of one of the canonized. I want the secular to be thus secured by union with the sacred. If we could only feel that our common acts are parts of a saintly life, they would not so often be done carelessly. If we lay our poor daily life by itself, it would be disregarded; but if we combine it with our holiest aspiration and exercises, it will be preserved. Our religion must be part and parcel of our daily life, and then the whole of our life will be preserved from the destroyer. Doth not the Scripture say, "Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus"?

Self-Complacency.

Self-complacency is the mother of spiritual declension. David said, "My mountain standeth firm: I shall never be moved," but ere long the face of God was hidden, and he was troubled. In the presence of a professor who is pleased with his own attainments, one remembers that warning text. "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."

Self-confidence.

Hear a parable. Yonder is a river, deep and broad. You imagine that the proper way to cross it is to wade or swim through it. You will not hear of any other way. The king has built a bridge; it is open free and without toll: the passage is as safe as it is plain. You refuse to be beholden to His Majesty. You mean to get across by your own exertions. Already you are wet and cold, but you mean to persevere. You are nearly up to your neck in the stream, and the current is too strong for you. Come back, O foolish man, come back, and cross the river by the bridge! The way of faith is so safe, so simple, so blessed; do try it! Have you not had enough of self-saving? After years of struggling you are no forwarder, and have no more comfort: quit the struggle, and rest on the Lord Jesus. Give up your self confiding folly, and confide in the Son of God, the bleeding substitute for guilty men.

Self-esteem.

Self-esteem is a moth which frets the garments of virtue. Those flies, those pretty flies of self-praise, must be killed, for if they get into your pot of ointment they will spoil it all. Forget the past; thank God who has made you pray so well; thank God who has made you kind, gentle or humble; thank God who has made you give liberally; but forget it all and go forward, since there is yet very much land to be possessed.

Self-examination. The mariner has been gaily sailing on a smooth sea, and he has given no heed to his bearings; on a sudden he sees a rock ahead; from this he ought to have been far away; at that sight he shortens sail, looks about him, and in consequence of what he sees changes his course, sets a better watch and is restless until once more he reaches the old familiar channel. Fellow voyager on the sea of life, may not this be your case?

Self-examination.

Tradesmen generally give up attention to their books when things are out of sorts with them; they do not like their books, for their books do not like them. The man who does not like self examination may be pretty certain that things need examining.

Self-made Christians.

I read a book one day called "Self-made Men," and in its own sphere it was excellent ; but spiritually I should not like to see a self made man. He would be an awful specimen of humanity. A self-made Christian is one of the sort that very soon the devil takes, as I have seen children take a bran doll, and shake it all out; he likes to shake out self-made Christians, until there is nothing left of them.

Self—righteous. Our own supposed fulness shuts us out from receiving Christ's fulness. It must be so. You will remember the story of the ploughman and Mr. Hervey. The ploughman asked Mr. Hervey what he thought was the greatest hindrance to men's salvation. Mr. Hervey replied, "Sinful self." "No,'' said the ploughman, "I think righteous self is a greater hindrance to men's salvation than sinful self. They that are sinful will come to Christ for pardon, but they that think they are righteous never will." The full oil jar can hold no more. A deserving sinner (if such a person could exist) would be of no use to the Savior, and the Savior could be of no use to him.

Self-righteousness. The man upon whom there is found a bad coin is very earnest in declaring that it is none of his; somebody must have slipped it into his pocket. He will not own it. A little while ago he thought to himself, "What a splendid imitation it is! How well I have cheated the Queen!" Self-righteousness is nothing but a piece of counterfeit coin; and when all goes well with us, we say, "How well I have done it! How splendid is my righteousness!" But when the Spirit of God arrests us, then we are anxious to get rid of the very thing wherein we gloried. What was our righteousness we reckon to be as filthy rags—and we reckon according to truth.

Self-salvation impossible.

It is with the sinner as with the Romish St. Dennis. You have heard the old fable, that when he had his head cut off he picked it up, and walked a thousand miles with it in his hand. A scoffer said that the thousand miles' walk was nothing much, it was only the first step that had any hardships in it. Just so, when a soul goes to heaven, if it takes the first steps in its own strength it can walk all the way; and then it will have all the glory.

Self-satisfaction.

Whatever shape self-satisfaction may assume—and it bears a great many—it is at bottom nothing but a shirking of the hardship of Christian soldierhood. The Christian soldier has to fight with sins every day, and if he be a man of God, and God's Spirit is in him, he will find he wants all the strength he has, and a great deal more, to maintain his ground and make progress in the divine life.

Self-surrender reciprocal.

You remember how Zinzendorf was converted to Christ by seeing, at Dussel-dorf, Stenburg's picture of Christ on the cross, and at the bottom these words—

"All this I did for thee, What hast thou done for Me?"

I pass on the question to you, though I cannot paint the picture, or make you see the vision. If Christ, has redeemed you, why, it follows as a matter of course that you will reckon you are not your own but bought with the price, and, like Amaziah, you will willingly offer yourself unto God.

Sense of need best plea.

We have an orphanage, and the qualification for our orphanage is that the child for whom admission is sought shall be utterly destitute. I will suppose a widow, trying to show to me and my fellow trustees that her boy is a fitting object for the charity; will she tell us that her child has a rich uncle? Will she enlarge upon her own capacities for earning a living? Why, this would be to argue against herself. So, sinner, do not pretend to be righteous; Jesus comes to make the ungodly godly, and the sinful holy.

Sermons—still being preached. A sermon ought to be like a musical box ; we wind it up when we preach it, and then it goes on playing until its tune is through. It should be said of a good sermon, "It being ended, still speaks." Hear what you hear in such a way that it shall be a seed, which will grow in the garden of your heart.

Shame—bravely borne.

I heard of a prayer the other day which I did not quite like at first, but there is something in it after all. The good man said, "Lord, if our hearts are hard, make them soft; but if our hearts are too soft, make them hard." I know what he meant, and I think I can pray that last prayer for some of my friends who are so delicate that a sneer would kill them. May the Lord harden them till they can despise the shame! Answer shame by making it see that you are ashamed of the scorner. Laugh at the laughter of fools, despise their despising. With glorious greatness of spirit Jesus remained unprovoked amid the cruel taunts of godless men. Run through the ribald throng. Shut your ears and run, despising the shame.

Sham sinners.

There are many sham sinners about. I saw, one day, in Italy, a fellow sticking out his arm, with an awful sore, and he begged of me. As I suspected that he had manufactured that sore with a little sulphuric acid or by some such process, I did not feel the least pity for him. We have lots of people, who come confessing their sins. "Oh, yes, we are sinners! we are sinners!" They do not mean it, they are only sham sinners. A real sinner, one who feels his guilt, is a sacred thing; as Hart says, "The Holy Ghost has made him so."

Signals most be correct.

Everything in railway service depends upon the accuracy of the signals: when these are wrong, life will be sacrificed. On the road to heaven we need unerring signals, or the catastrophies will be far more terrible. It is difficult enough to set myself right, and carefully drive the train of conduct; but if, in addition to this, I am to set the Bible right, and thus manage the signals along the permanent way, I am in an evil plight indeed. If the red light or the green light may deceive me, I am as well without signals, as to trust such faulty guides. We must have something fixed and certain, or where is the foundation.

Silence.

If an enemy has said anything against your character, it will not always be worth while to answer him. Silence has both dignity and argument in it. Nine times out of ten, if a boy makes a blot in his copy book and borrows a knife to take it out, he makes the mess ten times worse; and as in your case there is no blot after all, you need not make one by attempting to remove what is not there. All the dirt that falls upon a good man will brush off when it is dry; but let him wait till it is dry, and not dirty his hands with wet mud.

Silence—wisdom of.

I think I remember reading of George Fox sitting down, with a crowd of people round him, for a long time, and never saying a word. They were all watching and waiting; and if it had been myself, I should have stood up full soon, and have said something like a fool. But he was a wise man, and he sat still. It takes a very wise man to hold his tongue so long. George Fox kept silence that he might famish the people from words.

Sin a trouble.

Sin is not only fault but folly. It will be to your own injury as well as to my displeasure. Dear child of God, are you out in the storm just now? Have you no rest? Let me whisper in your ear. Is there not a cause? Somebody upon your vessel has brought this storm upon you. Where is he? He is not among the regular sailors who work the ship; he is neither captain nor mate; but he is a stranger. Down under the hatches is a man named Jonah; is he the cause of the tempest? "No," you say, "for he is a good fellow, and paid his fare." This makes one feel all the more suspicious. He is the cause of the mischief. You will never get peace, until the Jonah of sin is overboard. Cast him into the sea, and it will be calm unto you.

Sin coming home.

I heard the other day of one, in India, who was thought to be dead, and the Parsee method you know is not to bury their dead, they leave them naked in the "Towers of Silence," where there are vultures always waiting; and within three or four hours after, there is no flesh on the bones. One poor man who was only in a swoon, but was thought dead, was laid there: the vultures came, and one or two tore his flesh so terribly, that he started up as from a dreadful dream. There were the vultures coming to devour him while he was yet alive, and, defending himself as best he could, he managed to escape. What a plight to be in, lying in the place of the dead, surrounded by the cruel beaks of those ravenous birds! But in a far more awful position is a sinner when his sins come home to him. Only the Lord can drive those vultures away, and restore him to life and safety.

Sinful delay. To refuse to do right is a great evil, but to continue in that refusal till conscience grows numb upon the matter is still worse. I remember a person coming to be baptized who said he had been a believer in the Lord Jesus for forty years, and that he had always seen the ordinance to be Scriptural. I felt grieved that he had been so long disobedient to a known duty, and I proposed to him that he should be baptized at once. It was in a village, and he said that there were no conveniences. I offered to go with him to the brook, and baptize him, but he said "No, he that believeth shall not make haste." Here was one who had wilfully disobeyed his Lord, for as many years as the Israelites were in the wilderness, upon a matter so easy of performance; and yet, after confessing his fault, he was not willing to mend it, but perverted a passage of Scripture to excuse him in further delay.

Singing in fine weather.

Sing in fine weather! Any bird can do that. Praising God when all goes well is commonplace work. Everybody marks the nightingale above all other birds because she singeth when the other minstrels of the wood are silent and asleep; and thus doth faith praise God under the cloud. Songs in the day are from man, but God Himself giveth songs in the night. O come let us sing unto the Lord under the cloud; let us pour forth His praises in the fires! Let us praise Him under depressions, let us magnify Him when our heart is heavy.

Sin, its complete removal. When Dr. Neale, the eminent Ritualist, took John Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," and Romanized it, he represented the pilgrim as coming to a certain bath, into which he was plunged and washed, and then his burden was washed away. According to this doctored edition of the allegory, Christian was washed in the laver of baptism, and all his sins were thus removed. That is the High Church mode of getting rid of sin: John Bunyan's way, and the true way, is to lose it at the cross. Now, mark what happened. According to Dr. Neale's "Pilgrim's Progress," that burden grew again on the pilgrim's back, and I do not wonder that it did; for a burden which baptism can remove is sure to come again, but the burden which is lost at the cross never appears again forever.

Sin shows up God's love. The black background of sin makes the bright line of love shine out more clearly. When the lightning writes the name of the Lord with flaming finger across the black brow of the tempest, we are compelled to see it; so when love inscribes the cross upon the jet tablet of our sin, even blind eyes must see that "herein is love."

Sins forgiven. A story is told of a soldier who was much distressed by his heavy debts. He was in despair, for he owed a great deal of money, and could not tell where to get it. He took a piece of paper, and made a list of his debts, and wrote underneath, "Who will pay these debts?" The emperor of Russia passed by, and taking up the paper read it, and being in a gracious mood signed it at the bottom, "Nicholas." Was not that a splendid answer to the question? When the soldier woke up and read it, he could scarcely believe his own eyes. "Who will pay these debts?" was the despairing question. "Nicholas"! was the all-sufficient answer. So are we answered:

"Who will bear our sins?" The grand reply is "Jesus"!

Sin's slavery.

If you had a bird here—say, a canary—and it was all free except one leg, it would not be a free bird then. "It is only held by a single bit of cotton," you say. Still the bird is not at liberty: it cannot fly as it pleases. As long as a man is held a captive by a single vice, no matter how small it is, he is still in bondage to iniquity. If any one sin binds him, masters him, he is not the Lord's free man. He is still a slave in the worst form of slavery: he is under the dominion of evil.

Smooth places slippery.

It would not be wise to pray that we may be altogether delivered from trial, though we should like to be. It would be a pleasant thing to have a grassy path all the way to heaven, and never to find a stone in the road; but though pleasant, it might not be safe. If the way were a fine turf, cut every morning with a lawn mower and made as soft as velvet, I am afraid we should never get to heaven at all, for we should linger too long on the road. Some animals' feet are not adapted for smooth places; and brethren, you and I are of a very slippery-footed race. We slip when the roads are smooth: it is easy to go down hill, but it is not easy to do so without a stumble.

Sorrow—a quarrel with God.

You remember the Quaker saying to the lady who was wearing very deep double mourning years after one of her children had died, "Madam, hast thou not forgiven God yet?" And there is a truth about that remark; some do not forgive God for what He has done. Their sorrow amounts to this—that they have a quarrel with God over His dispensations.

Sorrow sinks us low. The nautilus, when disturbed, folds up its sails and sinks into the depths, and even so in every hour of storm, we descend into the depths of divine love.

Sorrow soothed.

You had a little medicine to give your boy the other night, and it had a bad flavor, but you mixed it with some sweet confection and he never tasted the bitter? Thus the pangs of separation will be mixed up with the sweetness of seeing Christ, so that you will not mourn.

Souls—care for. A vessel the other day was crossing the Atlantic, and it fell in with that disabled emigrant ship, the Denmark. Suppose the captain had kept on his course? He might have looked another way, and resolved not to be detained. He might have argued, "I am bound to do the best for my owners. It will hinder me greatly if I go pottering about after this vessel. I had better go by and not see it; or make haste to port and send out help." It could have been done and nobody would have been the wiser; for the ship would have gone down soon. The captain of that vessel was a man of nobler breed. He did not hide himself, nor turn the blind eye towards the vessel in distress. But what did the captain do? All honor to him, he came near, and took the ship in tow. This was not all: he found that she could not keep afloat, and he resolved to take those hundreds of emigrants on board his own ship. But he could not carry them and his cargo too. What then? The decision was greatly to his honor. Overboard goes the cargo, God's blessing rests on the man; into the sea went the freight, and the passengers were taken on board, and carried to the neares t port. He could have easily hid himself, could he not? So could you, you Christian people, as you call yourselves. Can you go through this world and always have a blind eye to the case of lost sinners?

Soul-winning.

I knew one who used to have a man calling upon him in the way of business, and bringing certain articles, which he bought across the counter. This tradesman said one day to himself, "I have dealt with that man for nine or ten years, and we have scarcely passed the time of day. He has brought in his work, and I have paid him across the counter, but I have never tried to do him any good. Surely this cannot be right. Providence has put him in my way, and I ought at least to have asked him whether he is saved in Christ." Well, the next time the man came, our good brother's spirit failed him, and he did not like to begin a religious conversation. The man never came again, but a boy brought in the next lot of goods. "How is this?" said the shopkeeper. "Father is dead," said the boy. My friend, the shopkeeper, said to me, "I could never forgive myself. I could not stay in the shop that day. I felt that I was guilty of that man's blood; but I had not thought of it before. How can I ever clear myself from the guilty fact that, when I did think of it, my ungracious timidity prevented me from opening my mouth?" My own dear friends and comrades, do not bring upon yourselves such cutting regrets! Avoid them by daily watching to save men from the second death.

Soul-winning. When a sportsman goes out after game, he does not know which way he will go, neither does he bind himself in that matter. If he is deer stalking he may have to go up the mountain side, or down the glen, across the burn, or away among the heather. Where his sport leads him, he follows; and so it is with the genuine soul-winner: he leaves himself free to follow his one object. He does not know where he is going, but he does know what he is going after. He lays himself out for the winning of souls for Jesus. On the railway he speaks to anyone who happens to be put in the same carriage; or in the shop he looks out for opportunities to impress a customer. He sows beside all waters, and in all soils. He carries his gun at half-cock, ready to take aim at once. That is the man whom God is likely to bless.

Speaking evil of Christ.

I generally find, when a man speaks against the Lord Jesus, that if you follow him home, he would rather not have you go indoors, for fear his inner life should be known. He does not want you to see the skeleton in the cupboard. I have so often met with this fact in actual life, that when I have heard a man speak bitterly of my Master, I have formed my opinion, and have not been wrong. A little inquiry has revealed so much that I have said, "It is not at all surprising that such a man should speak evil of Christ. It is as natural to such a man to talk against Christ as for a dog to bark." When a bad fellow once praised Socrates, that philosopher said, "I wonder what I can have been doing amiss, that such a man should speak well of me?" If lustful lips praised the Savior, one might begin to be afraid; but when they denounce and deride Him, we feel that it is the only homage which vice can pay to purity.

Spiritual change. The change that we have seen in some men has been as complete as that which could have been wrought by that fabled mill, into which, the legend says, they put old men, and turned the handle, and turned them out young men again. Truly, a far greater renovation is wrought in mind and heart, where Jesus comes. Men are "blessed in Him."

Spiritual life. As certain insects take their color from the leaves they feed upon, so have we become tinctured to the core of our nature with the living and incorruptible Word, which has proved its own inspiration by inspiring us with its spirit. Now we live in the Word as the fish in the stream; it is the element of our spiritual life.

Spiritual life.

Frequent those hills of holiness where the atmosphere is bracing for your new born spirit. I notice how people who are sickly will quit their homes and journey far for health. Not only will they sojourn upon the sunny shore of the Mediterranean, but they will encounter the pitiless cold of the Alps in mid-winter at St. Maritz or Davoust in the hope of restoration. If physicians would only guarantee prolongation of life, men would emigrate to inhospitable Siberia or banish themselves to Greenland's icy mountains. Men will do anything for life. Shall we not be eager to do all that we can to foster our spiritual life? Christian people, do nothing that will damage you heaven born lives. Act in this according to the highest prudence.

Spiritual life neglected. The other day we read in the newspapers of two persons in America being found dead from "starvation and cold," and we also read that each of these persons was possessed of a considerable sum of money. We say, "What fools!" Men with sums of money about their persons, or hidden away in their rooms, and yet suffering the ills of want till they actually die of hunger—what madness is this! Are those more sane who injure and dwarf their spiritual life for the sake of intellectual pride, or carnal joy, or the esteem of men? Is not the spirit infinitely more precious than the body? Brethren, if we starve at all, let us starve our bodies, and not our spirits. If anything must be stunted, let it be the baser nature. Let us not live eagerly for this world, and languidly for the world to come. Having the Divine life within us, let us not neglect to feed it and supply its wants.

Spiritually in tune.

Before our friend who leads us in singing begins, we sometimes hear his tuning fork. He is getting the keynote into his ear. When he comes forward, he often sounds that tuning fork, before he begins to sing. That is what David does in this wonderful psalm. He sounds the tuning-fork with this clear note, "Bless the Lord, O my soul." It is well for all to be ready to sing harmoniously: it is a pity when those who gather to worship do not know what they are at. I wish I could always have you spiritually in tune, and keep in tune myself. Alas! I I fear we are often half a note too flat. The words before us are the keynote of this psalm, and all the music is set to it, and closes with it. Notice that the psalm begins, "Bless the Lord, O my soul," as if to show that praise is the Alpha and Omega of a Christian life. Praise is the life of life. So we begin; so we continue, so shall we end, world without end.

Stand fast.

There was a ship some time ago outside a certain harbor. A heavy sea made the ship roll fearfully. A dense fog blotted out all buoys and lights. The captain had never left the wheel. He could not tell his way into the harbor, and no pilot could get out to him for a long time. Eager passengers urged him to be courageous and make a dash for the harbor. He said, "No; it is not my duty to run so great a risk. A pilot is required here, and I will wait for one if I wait a week." The truest courage is that which can bear to be charged with cowardice. To wait is much wiser when you cannot hear the fog-horn and have no pilot, than to steam on and wreck your vessel on the rocks. Our prudent captain waited his time, and at last he espied the pilot's boat coming to him over the boiling sea. When the pilot was at his work the captain's anxious waiting was over. The Church is like that vessel, she is pitched to and fro in the storm and the dark, and the Pilot has not yet come. The weather is very threatening. All around the darkness hangs like a pall. But Jesus will come, walking on the water, before long; He will bring us safe to the desired haven. Let us wait with patience. Stand fasti Stand fast! for Jesus is coming, and in Him is our sure hope.

Starving souls. The experiment of the Frenchman who had just brought his horse to live on a straw a day when it died, is being repeated among us, faith being literally starved to death. What low diet do some men prescribe for their souls. Marrow and fatness they do not even smell at!

Steadfastness. In the old Roman days, when a sentry was placed in his position by a centurion, he never thought of quitting his post. Rocks might roam, but not sentinels of the Empire. There was found in Pompeii among the ashes, a sentry standing in his place, with the javelin in his hand; he had not flinched amid the deadly shower which fell from the volcano and buried the city. His centurion, in the name of the Emperor, had set him there, and there he stood. How steadfast and immovable ought these to be, whom the Lord Himself has set in their place in connection with His Church.

"Stick to your last." The proverb says, "Stick to your last, cobbler" and I would say, "Stick to your pulpit, minister." Stick to your work, and you will find quite enough for all the strength you have, and even more. Oh, for preachers who "shall never hold their peace"!

Storms in life.

Remember, there are days in every life voyage in which the storm fiend puts all human power to a non-plus. Even in the fairest weather, we are all too apt to run on rocks or quicksands: but the voyage of life is seldom altogether a pleasant one, and we must be prepared for tempests. Our own unaided strength will not endure the waves and the winds of the ocean of life; and if you are trusting to yourself, disaster will befall you.

Strength in touching God.

We are to be like that fabled giant whom Hercules could not overcome for a long while, because he was a child of the earth, and every time he was thrown down he touched his mother earth, and rose with fresh strength. Hercules had to hold him aloft in his arms and then strangle him. Now, whenever you are thrown down and touch God in your faintness and weakness, you will find that He restoreth your soul. "To them that have no might He increaseth their strength."

Striking testimony.

One of our evangelists writes me, that when he was praying with an inquirer, and trying to lead him to Jesus, he was much helped by a working man coming in, and kneeling down by their side, and saying, "Lord Jesus, save this poor soul, even as thou didst save me at two o'clock this morning." Somehow that two o'clock helped the inquirer mightily; it put such a reality into the transaction. He thought, "This man knows he was saved at two o'clock in the morning; why should I not be saved now at eight o'clock in the evening?" I do not say that we can all tell the date of our conversion, many of us cannot. But if we can throw in such details let us do so, for they help to make our testimony striking.

Subservience—dishonorable.

It was the custom with certain Oriental despots to require ambassadors of foreign powers to lie in the dust before them. Some Europeans, for the sake of trade interests, submitted to the degrading ceremony; but when it was demanded of the representative of England, he scorned thus to lower his country. God forbid that he who speaks for God should dishonor the King of kings by a pliant subservience.

Success of simple gospel.

Tell out the simple gospel. The more you tell of pardon bought with blood the better. I saw our dear brother, Archibald G. Brown, this week, and he told me of a poor fellow in East London, who had been visited by a soul winning brother. He had been a wild and wicked man. He was ill, and the visitor talked long with him. It seemed to make no impression, till one day he explained substitution to him, and the man asked pointedly, "If I believe in Jesus, did you tell me He took all my sins upon Himself?" "Yes, He bore all your sins in His own body on the tree." "Well, well," the man cried, "if He took them, I have not got them?" "No," said the other, "that is the glorious truth. The Lord suffered for your sins." "Then I shall not have to suffer for them?" "No," said the visitor, "your sin is put away." "Never heard that before," said the rough man. "That is the most wonderful thing I ever heard. I believe it. Blessed be God. I believe it. I am saved." Soon after his son came in, another fellow of the Bill Sykes order, and the visitor began exhorting him. The elder man cried out, "Give him that little bit, that will do it."

Just so, that little bit will do it. The visitor told the story of the Lord Jesus dying in the sinner's stead, and the little bit did the work. Our chief business should be to cry, "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world."

Suffering saints.

Sufferers are our tutors; they educate us for the skies. When men of God can suffer—when they can bear poverty, bereavement or sickness, and still rejoice in God, we learn the way to live the higher and more Christly life. When Patrick Hamilton had been burned in Scotland, one said to his persecutors, "If you are going to burn any more, you had better do it in a cellar, for the smoke of Hamilton's burning has opened the eyes of hundreds." It was always so. Suffering saints are living seed.

Suffering yet shining.

Yonder light, set up in mid ocean on the Eddystone rock, see how the storm sweeps round it, and the waters leap over it, threatening to put out its flame; but shall the light complain? Standing where it is, beaten by Atlantic rollers, and braving the full fury of the storm, it is doing more good than if it were set up in Hyde Park for my lords and ladies to look at. The persecuted saint occupies a place where he warns and enlightens, and therefore suffers.

Sun of Righteousness.

Many of the wise men of the period ought to be treated as Diogenes treated Alexander. The conqueror of the world said to the man in the tub, "What can I do for you?" He thought he could do everything for the poor philosopher. Diogenes only replied, "Get out of the sunlight." These wise people cannot do us a greater favor than to remove their learned selves from standing between us and the sunlight of the ever blessed gospel of the glory of Christ. These Alexanders may go on ruling the Christian world, and the infidel world, but they have not conquered us, for our faith and joy lie outside the world, in yonder Sun of Righteousness, whose light is the rejoicing of our eyes.

Sunset glories.

I watched a glorious sunset, marveling at the beauty wherewith the evening skies were all ablaze, and adoring him who gave them their matchless coloring. On the next evening I resorted to the same spot, hoping to be again enraptured with the gorgeous pomp of ending day, but there were no clouds, and, therefore, no glories. True, the canopy of sapphire was there, but no magnificent array of clouds to form golden masses with edges of burning crimson, or islands of loveliest hue set in a sea of emerald; there were no great conflagrations of splendor or flaming peaks of mountains of fire. The sun was as bright as before, but for lack of dark clouds on which to pour out his lustre, his magnificence was unrevealed. A man who should live and die without trials would be like a setting sun without clouds.

Superfluities.

You have seen a rose tree which, perhaps, was bearing very few roses, and you half wondered why. It was a good rose and planted in good soil, but its flowers were scanty. You looked around it, and by and by you perceived that suckers were growing up from its roots. Now, these suckers come from the old original briar on which the rose had been grafted, and this rose has a superfluity of strength which is used in these suckers. These superfluities or overflows took away from the rose the life which it required, so that it could not produce the full amount of flowers which you expected from it. There must be a removal of superfluities in order that we may receive with meekness the engrafted Word, which is able to save our souls.

Supplements of good.

I incur certain little outlays in connection with my study; we need a few wafers, which may be paid for out of petty cash; but I have never spent, so far as I recollect, a single penny for string and brown paper; because as a reader and writer, I buy books, and the string and brown paper are added to me. My purchase is the books, but the string and brown paper come to me added as a matter of course. This is the idea of our text: you are to spend your strength on the high and noble purpose of glorifying God, and then the minor' matters of "What shall we eat? and what shall we drink? and wherewithal shall we be clothed?" are thrown in as supplements. Earthly things are but brown paper and string; and I pray you never think too much of them. Some people get so much of this brown paper and string that they glory in them, and expect us to fall down and worship them.

Sympathy.

I have heard speak of a lady who was out in the snow one night, and was so very cold that she cried out, "O, those poor people who have such a little money, how little firing they have, and how pinched they must be! I will send a hundredweight of coals to twenty families, at the least." But I heard say that, when she reached her own parlor, there was a fine fire burning, and she sat there with her feet on the fender, and enjoyed an excellent tea, and she said to herself, "Well, it is not very cold, after all. I do not think that I shall send those coals; at any rate, not for the present." The sufferer thinks of the sufferer, even as the poor help the poor. The divine wonder is that this Lord of ours, "though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor," now takes a delight in succoring the poor. Having been tempted, He helps the tempted: His own trials make Him desire to bless those who are tried.

Sympathy.

It is greatly comforting to have a person with you who feels just as you feel; who, when you are very stupid, seems to be stupid too; who frets as you fret, and groans in your groanings. "Mother," said a little girl once, "I cannot make it out; Mrs. Smith says I do her so much good. Poor Mrs. Smith has lost her husband, mother, and she is very sad. She sits and cries, and I get up and lay my cheek on her cheek, and I cry and say that I love her, and then she says that she loves me and that I comfort her.' Just so, that is the truest form of consolation, is it not? "Weep with them that weep." That is how God, my God, will hear me, feeling with me, sympathizing with me.

Sympathy.

There is a legend connected with Rufus and Alexander. I have never read it, but I have seen it set forth in glowing colors by an artist, in a cathedral in Belgium. I saw a series of paintings which represented Christ bearing His cross through the streets of Jerusalem, and among the crowd the artist has placed a countryman looking on, and carrying with him his mattock and spade, as if he had just come into the town from laboring in the fields. In the next picture this countryman is evidently moved to tears by seeing the cruelties practiced upon the Redeemer, and he shows his sympathy so plainly, that the cruel persecutors of our Lord, who are watching the spectators, observe it, and gather angrily around him. The countryman's two boys are there too, Alexander and Rufus. Rufus is the boy with the red hair; he is ardent and sanguine, bold and outspoken, and you can see that one of the rough men has just been cuffing him about the head for showing sympathy with the poor cross-bearing Savior. The next picture represents the father taken and compelled to bear the cross, while Alexander holds his father's pick, and Rufus is carrying his father's spade, and they are going along close by the Lord Jesus, pitying Him greatly. If they cannot bear the cross, they will at least help their father by carrying the tools. Of course, it is but a legend, but who marvels if Alexander and Rufus saw their father carry Christ's cross so well, that they, too, should afterwards count it in their glory to be followers of the Crucified One, so that Paul should say when he wrote down the name of Rufus, that he was a choice man, for so we may translate the passage, "Chosen in the Lord," or, "The choice one of the Lord." He was a distinguished Christian, with great depth of Christian experience, and in all respects a fit descendant of a remarkable father and mother.

Safe walking can only come of careful walking. Saintly souls should not be lodged in filthy bodies.

Sanctified adversity quickens our spiritual sensitiveness.

Saving faith is a life long act.

Show religion is a vain show. Sick saints are set to take the night watches.

Simple trust and grateful service make a link more precious than gold.

Sin in satin is as great a rebel as sin in rags.

Sin may drive you from Sinai; it ought to draw you to Calvary.

Some saints can be lead with a hair thread.

Some soil wants even cross ploughing and scarifying.

Sorrow unsettles the judgment.

Soul music is the soul of music.

Strong faith is ever on the winning side.

Style the fiend an angel of light, and he is none the less a devil.

Sympathy in sin is conspiracy in crime.