The Love of Invitation and Revival

Chapter 9 THE LOVE OF INVITATION AND REVIVAL: AN EXPOSITION.

O Israel, return unto the LORD thy God; for thou hast fallen by thine iniquity. Take with you words, and turn to the LORD: say unto him, Take away all iniquity, and receive us graciously: so will we render the calves of our lips. Asshur shall not save us; we will not ride upon horses: neither will we say any more to the work of our hands, Ye are our gods: for in thee the fatherless findeth mercy. I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely: for mine anger is turned away from him. I will be as the dew unto Israel: he shall grow as the lily, and cast forth his roots as Lebanon. His branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive tree, and his smell as Lebanon. They that dwell under his shadow shall return; they shall revive as the corn, and grow as the vine: the scent thereof shall be as the wine of Lebanon. Ephraim shall say, What have I to do any more with idols? I have heard him, and observed him: I am like a green fir tree. From me is thy fruit found. Who is wise, and he shall understand these things? prudent, and he shall know them? for the ways of the LORD are right, and the just shall walk in them: but the transgressors shall fall therein. - Hosea 14:1-9

PART I. THE INVITATION AND WELCOME.

Israel or Ephraim, on behalf of which Hosea prophesied, was the national name of the ten tribes which revolted from the house of David on the accession of Rehoboam, and chose Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, to be their king. Afraid lest his subjects should be seduced from their new allegiance by frequent journeys to the capital in observance of the great festivals ―' lest the heart of the people should turn again to its lord'― the crafty monarch set up two calves as objects of worship, 'made priests of the lowest of the people, which were not of the tribe of Levi,' and caricatured the sacred seasons of Jerusalem. To this source may be traced the rapid degeneracy of the people. The ties of law were relaxed, the claims of religion disregarded, and the express commands of Jehovah opposed and nullified by the idolatrous policy of him who has been branded with the indelible stigma of Jeroboam 'who did sin, and who made Israel to sin.' Peace and prosperity fled the land of revolt and schism ― faction and conspiracy revelled in it ― might and murder became the twin sentinels of the throne ― a false religion begat ferocity and sensuality, and the frown of Heaven rested on the fated confederacy. Only one child of Jeroboam came to the grave, and he died in early youth ― the rest were doomed to the dogs and birds. His successor, Nadab, was assassinated by Baasha, of the ' house of Issachar,' and Elah, the son of Baasha, fell by the hands of Zimri, who put to death all his 'kinsfolk and friends.' But the usurper was hated by the people, and after a brief reign of a few days, and to escape the vengeance of Omri, his rival, he 'burned the king's house over him with fire, and died.' Omri enjoyed no peaceful period, for half the people adhered to Tibni the son of Ginath; but having triumphed over his competitor, he ' did worse than all that were before him.' His son and successor, Ahab, outdid even his father in infamy, ' sold himself to work wickedness in the sight of the Lord,' and died, in his ignoble disguise, on the fatal field of Ramoth-gilead. The house of Aliab was extirpated by Jehu, who yet followed the nefarious policy of Jeroboam. Foreign nations at this time rose in opposition, and 'in those days the Lord began to cut Israel short.' Jehoahaz had a disgraceful rein; but Jehoash, his son, was more successful, and internal prosperity was restored for a short interval under the second Jeroboam. His son, Zachariah, was murdered by Shallum, and Shallum's usurpation of a month was ended in his blood. Menahem, his assassin, bribed the king of Assyria with the extorted wealth of the kingdom; and his son, Pekahiah, reigned but two years when he was killed by the conspirator, Pekah, who, in turn, died by the stroke of one who followed his own example ― Hoshea son of Elah. He soon became the vassal, and ultimately the prisoner of Shalmaneser, by whom Israel was depopulated and laid waste. What a history of rapine, misery, and bloodshed ― almost without a parallel among the nations!

It was in the reign of Jeroboam II, that Hosea exercised the prophetic function. He felt that the crisis was fast approaching. The seer already saw the terrible penalty ― the cantons of his land ravaged, and its tribes murdered or enslaved. Already his prophetic ear caught the tramp of accoutred squadrons, and the piercing shriek of hopeless misery. No wonder that his soul is thrown into that turmoil of agony, which gives his oracles their abrupt and awful significance. There are few menaced judgments couched in so dreadful language as his, and few promised mercies offered in such subduing pathos. The tender and the terrible are shaded off into each other. The book begins with severe expostulations. The blood of Jezreel is to be avenged on the house of Jehu, and national calamities of no common bitterness are announced. But love intervenes, and blessings interrupt the progress of the curse, or become the happy sequel. The thunder cloud that lightened and muttered, is at length dissolved in a shower of sunny tears. The whole of this last chapter is a scene of love ― love of invitation and consequent revival.

Verse 1. ' O Israel, return unto the Lord thy God.' The love which had borne so long with their provocations, bears with them still. It is unwilling to leave them; but takes a last, and yet a last and lingering look, ere they pass out of its view. It is so loath to say farewell, that it will yet argue and remonstrate, take them by the hand and look through their eyes into their hearts, ere it give them up as hopeless and irreclaimable. 'Israel return.' Thou hast wandered far and long, spurned, in wanton pride, the voice that would have wooed thee, and the hand that would have led thee back, yet thou hast another offer ― another still ― but it may be a last. Forward, there is certain destruction if thou perseverest; the path is darker, downward ― hellward: 'Thou hast fallen by thine iniquity.' Sin is both separation and declension ― it carries the soul away from God, and the depth increases with the distance. But God stoops in love to the lowest aspect of it, and reaches in His mercy to the farthest point of it. The whole design of the dispensation of grace is to invite sinners to return to God. This is its pressing offer, its central injunction. Were its doctrines and histories, its invitations and warnings combined, and were they required to utter in one short word their whole, their eternal import, that one word would be 'return.' Sinners are still invited to return ― not to purify themselves that God may love them, or to present any merits that Christ may the more readily accept them. To seek and enjoy a Saviour, it is enough that they be sinners claiming the warrant of the divine promise. Man is not bidden rise to heaven, because with Him to hear is to will, and to will is to accomplish. For the offer of pardon per-supposes guilt, and the promise of the Spirit implies inability. The poor and guilty wanderer is enjoined to come back ― and the command contains the assurance that he will be welcomed.

He is asked to ' return' ― the divine love is content with nothing less; and nothing less, and nothing else, will give him safety. There must not only be a cessation of the present journey, but a definite and conclusive retracement of the steps. What the prophet sighs for, and what His God so earnestly commands, is not the mere 'inactive terror of proceeding onwards when the fiery abyss stretches to the view, nor the attempt, while that terror lasts, to breathe a hasty vow or utter a disordered prayer. No; what the divine love insists on is a decided and complete retreat, such, as when the wanderer turns his back to the danger and his face toward God, with a radical change of thought, purpose, and pursuit; when, conscious of peril, and aware of only one Refuge, and that in God, he eagerly seeks Him with the whole heart. ' I will arise and go to my Father,' is his earnest and practical resolution. And the injunction, moreover, is peremptory ― an instant compliance is demanded, and an instant acceptance is pledged. The God of infinite love does not deliberate whether He will receive sinners or not. There is in Him nothing but goodwill toward men; and, in spite of all they have done, they will meet with no frown on His brow, with no taunt from His lips, if they will only return. Alas that men should trifle with the offers of reconciliation ― that they should still persist in wandering, or 'halt between two opinions!' Even while the conviction is gathering upon them, that return to God can alone make them happy, do they still preserve their distance from Him. A more convenient season is confidently expected, but it may never be enjoyed. There may be a sudden and swift departure. Let not youth claim a few more years of thoughtless gaiety ― and then; let not mercantile pursuit ask a few more busy seasons and profitable sales ― and then; let not science demand further leisure for its discoveries and its fame ― and then it will pause, and give itself to God. Ah! hell is paved with good intentions. If man would but prosecute his immediate convictions, and at once act on them ― if he would take the first step backward to God as soon as persuaded of its duty, he would keep himself from deep anxiety and peril. Did not the Psalmist say, ' I thought upon my ways, and turned my feet unto thy testimonies. I made haste and delayed not to keep thy commandments?' Our safety is in instant compliance, for the next step away from God may be over the precipice, followed by a plunge into the vortex, out of which there is no rescue. But let no one say, how am I to return? The love that invites you has paved a path for you. You are not left to grope your way in uncertainty. It is indeed a dismal thing; for a traveller to be overtaken with darkness. He casts about in eager anxiety, and knows not whither he is going in the painful obscurity Occasionally he stumbles and falls, and, so far from making progress, he only treads round and round again the same melancholy circle. The storm begins to moan in the distant forest, and his blood curdles at the sudden roar and rustle of a beast of prey. The owl cleaves the air so close to his head, that the flap of its wing startles him. The surf of a hidden lake is heard beating upon its bank, and he trembles to take another step lest he fall into it. As he gazes on all sides a bright point suddenly looks up into his eye ― it is the glare of a crouching tiger. But as he waits and quakes, the clouds begin to part above him, and a solitary star shines out. How his spirit rejoices as star after star comes into view, and the bright edge of the moon gradually shows itself out of the rack that has been drifted to the eastern horizon. Such has been man's spiritual history. Sin involved him in gloom, and the early promises at length twinkled on his path. The lunar effulgence of the Mosaic economy next broke feebly upon him; but it waned and faded as the Sun of Righteousness arose in his majesty. 'Now the way of return lies in day-light. The sinner is accepted of grace and for the merits of his Saviour: ' I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man Cometh unto the Father but by me.'

It is surely needless to urge on sinners any preparatory exercises, ere they return to God. Jesus has removed every barrier in their path. They have but to return. It is vain for any one of them to say, I am not worthy, let me prepare, or give me a place for repentance, ere I draw nigh. Is not this the fallacy of attempting to cure, that you may safely send for the physician. Such a plausible reformation is a deceitful refuge, for it tempts its victim to stay in the outer court, and not to pass the vail and lie low in 'the holiest of all.' The injunction is, 'Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ,' and the promise is, thou shalt be saved;' and to enforce any other duty is just as foolish and preposterous as if Christ had commanded Lazarus to step forth from the tomb, ere himself had restored the principle of animation. What then should hinder thy return? Has not love removed every obstacle ― assured thee of welcome ― given its angels charge concerning thee' ― sustained thee by its promises when thy soul was apt to faint because of the way ― given thee 'the hidden manna' ― opened for thee the 'strait gate,' and enabled thee to enter, and secured thee against the overflow of the waters when thou passest through them. Return, O return, then ― 'The Spirit of the Bride says. Come.' Refuse not the love that invites thee, the Spirit that wrestles with thee, and the Leader who beckons thee onward to God and glory. The invitation to Israel is. Return to the 'Lord thy God.' They were to forsake the Egyptian worship of the calves at Bethel and Dan, and resort to the adoration of the one living and true God. Jehovah was their God, and to Him in this character they were to return. And still the wanderer is asked back to his God ― his God in covenant, his God in Christ. Jehovah in Himself is an appalling vision to the transgressor. The brightness of His glory dazzles and overpowers, and the guilty spirit trembles, shrinks away, and would hide itself. It feels that to approach would be death, and that to look is to court destruction. It flees from the intolerable vision. But to thee, O sinner, Jehovah assumes, in His earnestness, the aspect and character of 'thy God.' He robes Himself in love, and His royal seat is a throne of grace. As in the vision of Ezekiel, the glow of the sapphire is tempered by the green of the emerald. The wanderer is amazed at the softness of the voice which invites him. He beholds God loving him and sending His Son to die for him. He wonders at the fact, and seeing the majesty of God dissolving in a flood of tenderness for him, he is emboldened to approach, and as he breathes freely, he exclaims, 'My Lord, and my God.' The prophet now enforces the injunction by the true and terrible rebuke, ' Thou hast fallen by thine iniquity.' Their experience echoed the appeal. As a portion of the Hebrew church, they had fallen. To them, along with the tribes from which they had separated, had been 'committed the oracles of God.' The law had been given from Sinai, they had been freed from captivity, and brought into the promised land of rest. The temple had been built, the hierarchy consecrated, and the altar smoked with the morning and evening sacrifice. But, alas! how soon 'the gold became dim, how soon the most fine gold was changed!' The ten tribes in particular sadly apostatized ― changed the truth of God into a lie,' and His glory into an 'image made like to four-footed beasts.' Baal also became the rival of Jehovah, and in the dark recesses of their groves were practiced the impure and murderous rites of heathen divinities. As a State, too, they had fallen. They had in earlier times held a high rank among eastern kingdoms, and the victorious arms of David had reached ' from the sea to the river.' The land of milk and honey had been signalised by its tranquility. The mountains brought peace, and the little hills by righteousness. ' One chased a thousand, and two put ten thousand to flight.' ' The barns were filled with plenty, and the presses burst with new wine.' The dew of Hermon fell in profusion, and the balm of Gilead ripened in luxuriance. Ammon and Moab bowed before them, Amalek and Philistia licked the dust. The skill of Tyre and the gold of Ophir built and adorned the sacred fane. Sheba and Seba presented gifts. But as if victory had always been awarded to their own prowess, as if civil prosperity had been the result of their diplomacy and economic skill, and as if their own bow and sword had gotten them the triumph, they forgot the Lord of Hosts, whose 'right hand' and 'holy arm' had achieved their successes. Proud, luxurious, and discontented, they became a prey to invasion and internal commotion, and were threatened with famine and pestilence. The divine complaint is, 'For she did not know that I gave her corn, and wine, and oil, and multiplied her silver and gold, which they prepared for Baal. Therefore will I return, and take away my corn in the time thereof, and my wine in the season thereof, and will recover my wool and my flax given to cover her nakedness.' So it was that nature was summoned to vengeance. The flock was cut off from the fold, and there was no herd in the stall. Lebanon poured down the ferocious inhabitants of its dens. Jordan withheld the wonted fertility of its stream. The heaven hung forth its drapery of woe, and the earth drooped beneath the ominous canopy. What grace more needed than penitence, for ―

'Our woes
Are like the moon reversed ―the broad, bright disc
Turned heavenwards, the dark side toward us;
Till God, in His great mercy, turn them round,
And roll them, with a wise and gentle hand,
Into the dim horizon of the past,
To bless us with their smile of tearful lustre.' And Israel was but in spirit a symbol of humanity. Truly man has fallen. And who shall gauge the depth of his descent, or compute the leagues of his moral distance from God? Measured in its effects, it exceeds comprehension. It had already changed angels into devils, and prepared for them a prison-house. It has subjected man, and the creation around him, to groaning and travail, doomed the former to death, and the latter to final conflagration. It has made a wreck of humanity, and filled it with the elements of damage and disorder. There is no perception and appreciation of spiritual truth, no confidence in God, and no preparation for futurity. We do not libel humanity ― we say not that it does not possess and exemplify many virtues. There are many instances of integrity, kindness, heroism, and philanthropy ― warm domestic ties and filial affections ― sympathy with affliction, and liberality in relieving it. or are all equally sinful; there are fairer ruins in the universal fall. But even where these virtues exist apart from the indirect influence of Christianity, and where they are not the mere promptings of animal instinct, still their existence is no proof against the assertion that man has fallen. That fall consists not in severing man from his fellows, but in severing man from God. The virtues of one rebel towards his brethren in crime are no compensation for the want of fealty to their common Sovereign. And our present is not our original state; it is the loss of primeval purity and communion. Mysterious hints are given us of the agency of superior beings in producing that spiritual revolt which did so debase our race, that while the first man was a rebel, the second man was a murderer. But we know not how these beings lost their purity, how they arrived at the knowledge of this new-peopled orb and discovered its locality, how long time intervened between their own lapse and their entrance into Eden, how they were employed in the interval, or why they were permitted to ply our first parents with their wiles. The mode of the fall is wrapt in mystery, but the fact of it is matter of sad and daily experience. Therefore the gospel comes to us as a system of remedy and restoration, professing to bring us back to the favour and image of God. It edges its offer with the appeal, Thou hast fallen.' And its return is a spiritual ascent. For if man will listen to divine love, and lay hold of the remedy, not only will he be forgiven, but he will be elevated to a higher than his first position.

It would have been a work of great mercy to have brought us back to our first condition, to have given us the image, and introduced us to the abode of the first Adam. We bear 'the image of the earthy' in his second and fallen condition, and it would have been a restoration of unspeakable magnitude to have re-stamped us with his image in its first and perfect form. To have given us such a soul as Adam's when it loved and served its Master amid the bowers of Paradise; to have spread the bounties of Eden over the world, eradicated all traces of the curse, cleared the sky, calmed the waves, refurnished the globe, and made it all like the warden of the Lord ― this would have been a restorative enterprise which God alone could execute, and must have called forth a song of happy and unending harmony. But the ideal of God and His plan is higher. The love that has opened up the path of return, and that repeats this invitation, has provided a most glorious destiny. Not only shall the returned penitent be as high as he was, but he shall be indescribably higher. Man was, at his best, but a fallible creature; now he is confirmed in holiness, and beyond the possibility of apostasy. The serpent found his way into the garden, but he shrinks from intruding into glory. Eden was on earth, our inheritance is in the skies. It had one river parting into four streams, but the river of life has ever a current of undiminished volume. Then man was expelled lest he should eat of the tree of life, but now he shall have free access to it, and to the shedding of its monthly fruits. It is not the image of the first Adam, but that of the second, to which the redeemed sinner is to be conformed. Is not this higher enjoyment than we lost, nobler honour than we forfeited? That love which restores the fallen is not stinted in its blessings, for it lifts earth to heaven. What eye that pictures out such a vision will ever withdraw its grateful gaze; what ear that listens to such an invitation will not vibrate with its melody! Is there a heart that will not respond in the words of the prophet, ' Behold we come unto thee, for thou art the Lord our God?'

Verse 2. ' Take with you words, and turn to the Lord: say unto him. Take away all iniquity, and receive us graciously: so will we render the calves of our lips.' As the returning penitent no sooner feels his guilt and danger than he craves the divine assistance, and as his lips, unaccustomed to prayer, might stammer in his first petition, the divine love condescends to teach him, and not only to furnish him with ideas, but to put words into his mouth. There is no excuse ― the form of supplication is provided. And the prayer He teaches us, is surely one which He will readily answer. He knows what is best for you, and He tells you to ask it, and how to ask it, in order that He may honour Himself in conferring it.

'Take with you words, and turn to the Lord.' "Words ― mere words are wingless, and will never rise to heaven and enter into the ear of God. But these 'words' are symbols of thought; and the fervid thought suddenly and instinctively throws itself off in earnest words. ' Take with you words, and turn to the Lord.' To pray and not to turn is hollow impiety; and to attempt to turn without prayer is gross presumption. He who feels his danger shrieks for help; so that the accents of prayer are the first symptoms of spiritual life ― the first sounds that fall from the lips of him who is born again. To quench all doubts in the mind of Ananias of the reality of Saul's conversion, it was said, as an argument not to be resisted, 'Behold he prayeth.'

' Say unto him.' Yes, speak to Him in open-faced confidence. What a privilege! ' Say unto him.' Fill His ear and touch His heart with human language. The 'words ' of faith are never rejected. The power of prayer lies not in fluent expression or rich language ― in chaste tones or graceful demeanor; these are not the odors ' in the golden vial full of prayers of all saints.' 'As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he;' so that these words to be spoken are the expression of emotions already felt. Insincerity damages many a prayer ― words from the lips are not words from the heart. The heart must be in an agony of earnestness, lifting an eager and outstretched hand to receive the blessing and to grasp it as it descends. Surely it is a grievous mockery to approach the divine throne and repeat the form of prayer from mere mechanical habit; to utter admiration of the divine character we have never experienced; to present confessions which we have never felt; to ask pardon for sins we have no desire to abandon; and to offer petitions for mercy while we are willfully braving His wrath and scorning His indignation. Is not such profanity enough to provoke Jehovah to pour down His vengeance in fiery ruin on our heads, and mingle our blood with our sacrifice? The prayer here taught us has four parts ― the PETITION, the THANKSGIVING, the DISCLAIMER, and the ARGUMENT. And the PETITION, ' Take away all iniquity,' proves itself to be divine in its origin. Brief and simple though it be, it manifests its source ― that it 'also cometh forth from the Lord of Hosts.' Left to themselves, the returning suppliants might have presented a very different supplication. Would they not at once have prayed for the removal of judgment, and the revival of prosperity ― that God of His great mercy would arrest impending calamity, divert the march of the invader, inspirit their troops in the day of battle, clothe their pastures with flocks, and cover their valleys with corn? But in the wise benignity of Him who dictates the prayer, they are directed to the cause of disaster, and to pray for its removal. ' Take away all iniquity;' for iniquity is the origin of all suffering. Too often do sinners, when overtaken by a pricked conscience, a shattered constitution, public odium or detection, or swift and sudden penalty ― too often do they then pray God, in the bitterness of their spirit, to save them from ruin, and restore them to health, comfort, and safety. But it is the punishment they hate, and not the sin which leads to it. The murderer dreams of the gibbet, the halter, the executioner, and the gaping multitude, and wakes in a sweat of agony; but he does not lift his heart's desire from violence and blood. What transgressor is there who does not abjure the chains and darkness of hell, and would not shudder as he gazed upon that lake, each wave of which breaks upon a living shore? Let it be iniquity itself which you seek to remove; for, it being taken out of the way, all saving results will follow. The divine love, which has taught you this cry, has made ample provision for listening to it, and granting your request, for 'in Him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace.'

Besides, the prayer, in another of its features, shows that it is not the spontaneous production of fallen humanity. Their own desires, if indeed they had referred to the removal of iniquity at all, would have pointed to sins which they might easily abandon, or those which certainly involved them in open and alarming ruin. But He who knew their frame instructs them to pray for the removal, not of this or that, but of 'all iniquity;' not of such sins as brand us in the world, or eject us from the church which fashion condemns or interest forbids; but of all sins ― those, too, which no eye can detect, and no human statute can reach, which lurk in the recesses of the heart, and are gratified in secret security. Nay, secret sins are specially included ― those which we are so apt to indulge ― which grow with our growth, and strengthen with our strength ― form temptations out of every occurrence, and gather hardihood from every indulgence. For if any sin claim and wield the mastery, if we pray for the removal of all but it, aye, and loathe and abandon all but it, still our relation of enmity to God remains unchanged. ' He that offendeth in one point is guilty of all,' inasmuch as the spirit of insubordination reigns within him, and needs but opportunity for committing grosser outrage. The man possessed by one foul spirit was as really the slave of Satan as he who named and numbered a legion. The pardon of Christ respects every transgression, and the operation of His Spirit extends to all impurity. Pray then, we entreat you, pray to God for the removal of all iniquity, without exception, and without reservation, for all is hateful to God, and equally hurtful to yourselves. And Jehovah directs them to look to Himself, and ask Him to ' take away all iniquity.' He alone can do it, and He is willing to do it. He invites the desire, and He will fulfil it. In His love He tells you where to apply, and in what words to make the application. Will not you, so equipped by Himself, look up to Him with confidence and say unto Him, 'Take away all iniquity?' Do not try it yourselves, the attempt will only convince you of your folly and add to your agony. But, sensible that you cannot cleanse yourselves, that you have no sacrifice to present, and that no punishment which you can suffer will be an equivalent satisfaction, look up to God and cry to Him for help, and He will hear the request which His own Spirit has prompted, when presented in the language which His own love has furnished. Man must be led to renounce all self-reliance, either to obey the law he has violated, or merit the salvation he is in quest of, to avert the wrath he has incurred, or elevate himself to that dignity and felicity which he covets as the end and glory of his existence. The second part of the prayer is, ' Receive us graciously;' or as in the margin, ' give good.' The order of the petitions is to be adverted to. Sin is pardoned, ere any spiritual good can be enjoyed. The ' good' prayed for as the result of the removal of iniquity is incalculable ― the indwelling of God's Spirit, peace of soul, adoption into His family, assimilation to His image, and assurance of His love. But the sinner's relation to God must be changed ere his nature be renovated, and pardon and purification are inseparably connected. This good is highest good ― spiritual in its essence, and permanent in its results, fitting in to our moral nature, creating present satisfaction and the hope of ampler possession. ' The Lord shall give that which is good.' Knowing what is good for us. He gives it as it seemeth good to Him; at His own time, which is the best time; and in His own way, which is the best way. The heart is ever to be aspiring to it, ever asking it and asking more of it, till, grace upon grace being lavished upon it, it reaches perfection. What was the ' chief good,' was a vexed question in the ancient schools of philosophy. Some placed it in one thing, and some in another; some in pleasure, and some in progress; some in contemplative leisure, and others in intellectual superiority. It was only one phase of good which they saw when they caught a momentary and sudden glimpse of it. They knew not the appearances of their own spiritual nature, nor could they rise to the height of their destiny. They neither understood nor relished this purest good ― which is at once the beautiful and the true. As then we merit so much evil, and are so devoid of good; nay, as so much evil lodges in us, presses so heavily upon us, and reigns so malignantly around us, ought it not to be our eager and incessant cry, ' Give good.' Nor must it be thought that this ' good' is given always in a form to be at once enjoyed. "What is good for a saint God will send, but ' God is judge.' What the saint reckons good for himself may be ultimately destructive of his comfort. . What is good for him may be affliction, and it is ' not joyous but grievous.' Or it may be a battle, and he does not relish it; a time of trial, and he does not like it. Yet he has really gotten what was good for him. Or he may ask a deeper penitence, but because he might be 'swallowed up of over much sorrow,' God may} vouchsafe him a gracious sense of His presence. He may long and pray for a fuller assurance, but lest he should be betrayed into high-mindedness, he is thrown back into the billows, and must anew maintain the conflict. He may earnestly long for this good, and he may wonder why the gift is deferred. But ' the times and the seasons' are God's prerogative. And this postponement makes him pant more earnestly after the gift, and value it more highly when it does descend upon him.

After prayer comes PRAISE ― 'So will we render the calves of our lips;' or, as the apostle quotes, 'the fruit of our lips, giving thanks unto his name.' Is there any wonder? 'So will we render.' So; that is, our prayer being granted. And well might they. If they did not offer praise, they did not merit the blessings which they asked. The Divine Love shows them how God is pleased with praise, how welcome to Him is a grateful heart. It was a merited rebuke of our Lord in the case of the healed lepers, 'Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine? There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger.' And if this prayer, brief but comprehensive, has been heard ― if its blessings, so rich and varied, have been conferred ― if sin has been pardoned, and its power laid low ― if good, in all its germs, has been given ― if such a change has taken place as frees from condemnation, brings into acceptance, creates a glowing holiness, and guarantees final perfection ― then indeed the spirit so richly laden cannot but express its gratitude, and give relief to its sensations in song. If it has been forgiven much, it will love much, and bless much. For praise as naturally follows the pardon of sin as prayer does the conviction of guilt. The soul melts with the thought of its deliverance, and naturally bursts into praise, and often into melody. Its very passion seems to mould its words into harmony, and lend a music to its song. 'Praise ye the Lord: for it is good to sing praises unto our God; for it is pleasant; and praise is comely.' None can so praise but those who have prayed. The empty heart can have no cause. ' So ― we will render the calves of our lips.' But the lips can produce no melody, if the heart does not beat in unison. It is neither the beauty, nor the rapidity, nor the grace, nor the solemnity of execution that gives praise its acceptance with God. Let there be a spirit of genuine humility and dependence, with a true knowledge of self and its relation to the God against whom it has sinned so grievously, and by whose love it has been saved so graciously; let there be a true recognition of its utter helplessness, and of the magnitude of its spiritual gifts ― God the one giver, and His fervid and spontaneous love the one source ― and it cannot but pour itself out in loud and joyous minstrelsy: lamenting, all the while, that its emotions are so languid, its words so dull, and its strains so tame and un-proportioned to the mighty theme. 'Praise ye the Lord. Praise the Lord, O my soul. While I live will I praise the Lord; I will sing praises unto my God while I have any being.' 'Nay, in the midst of so much to humble us, there is sometimes a plaintive melody and the tune is set to a minor key. But how frequently the note changes from that of sorrow to gladness, as in the experience of the sweet singer of Israel, who seems often lifted out of the depth of his meanings, and carried on seraph's wings to the midst of the choirs before the throne. why should not praise be on every lip which might have borne upon it the howl of despair? ― why should not an anthem be on every tongue that might, but for the intervention of Divine love, have been craving a drop of water from a finger's tip to fall upon it? If we call our walls ' salvation,' we must name our gates 'praise.' 'Rejoice in the Lord, O ye righteous; for praise is comely for the upright. Praise the Lord with harp; sing unto him with the psaltery and an instrument of ten strings. Sing unto him a new song, play skilfully with a loud noise; for the word of the Lord is right; and all his works are done in truth.' And when all ill shall have been surmounted, and the bliss of final purity shall have been enjoyed ― when good commensurate with our desires shall have been conferred, and iniquity shall be a theme of memory, and the chief mention of it in songs of deliverance from it ― then, indeed, shall the family of the redeemed soar into its noblest raptures, and raise its psalm of victory ― ' Louder than the thunder's roar,
Or the fulness of the sea,
"When it breaks upon the shore.'

Verse 3. 'Asshur shall not save us; we will not ride upon horses; neither will we say any more to the work of our hands, Ye are our gods: for in thee the fatherless findeth mercy.' In turning the penitent sinner to itself, the Divine Love is anxious to show the grounds of contrition, and to teach what ought to be forsaken when God is prayed to. Conduct must be in unison with profession. And the disclaimer is in these words: 'Asshur shall not save us; we will not ride upon horses; neither will we say any more to the work of our hands, Ye are our gods.'

' Asshur shall not save us.' Alliance with Assyria is a vain thing: any attempt to bribe off its hostility but postpones for a brief season the period of national overthrow. 'We will not ride upon horses;' ― we will not use cavalry as a means of national defence. The allusion is to Egypt, famous for its war-steeds. The king of the Hebrews was not to multiply cavalry, lest he should be obliged to go down to Egypt for horses. The prophet Isaiah says, in his sternest mood, ' Woe to them that go down to Egypt for help, and stay on horses, and trust in chariots, because they are many; and in horsemen, because they are very strong: but they look not unto the Holy One of Israel, neither seek the Lord.' And they might be the more inclined to go down to Egypt, as Jeroboam the first had found an asylum there, and brought back the worship of its 'foddered gods.' In times of panic, they promise no longer to resort to an arm of flesh. Their king, in a civil sense, was God, for their government was a Theocracy. So long as they were true to his charter. He would be true to His promise, and defend them. 'The shields of the earth belong unto God,' and no weapon formed against them should have prospered. Every confederacy would have been broken. But the heraldry of heaven was such that their dull eye could not detect it; their sovereign dwelt not in visible pomp, and they longed to have a human king to emulate the neighbouring nations. They abandoned confidence in Jehovah ― the Lord of hosts, whose 'stars in their courses' had fought against Sisera. And still nations are apt to trust in fleets, and armies, and mighty alliances, and to forget 'the Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.' Such expectations are often dashed ― for they look not to the Eternal Thunderer, who 'brake the arrows of the bow, the shield, and the sword and the battle; at whose rebuke the chariots and horses are cast into a deep sleep.' It is remarkable that those two nations, here cast off as allies, have a special and blessed prophecy attached to them by a contemporary' prophet: ' In that day shall there be a highway out of Egypt to Assyria, and the Assyrian shall come into Egypt, and the Egyptian into Assyria; and the Egyptians shall serve with the Assyrians. In that day shall Israel be the third with Egypt and with Assyria, even a blessing in the midst of the land: Whom the Lord of hosts shall bless, saying, Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel mine inheritance.' And they are also taught to forswear idolatry ― ' Neither will we say any more to the work of our hands, Ye are our gods.' A strange and humiliating confession indeed! The enlightened mind can scarce believe that any rational being should call that a god which his own fingers have formed. How vile and blinded does a man appear when before God he pledges himself to renounce idolatry. To see a creature in such an attitude, and with such a resolution on his tongue, what a startling proof of the degradation of our race! And yet what so common as polytheism ― myriads have fallen under the unhappy delusion. ' Gods many and lords many' have been all but universally adored ― some in the likeness of humanity, and others in the guise of quadrupeds and reptiles. The gods which the tribes had worshiped were calves, imitated from the base and bestial superstitions of Egypt, the love of which had never wholly left them, and to these tendencies Jeroboam had wickedly pandered as a matter of statecraft. We cannot comprehend how man can descend so far, and so miserably besot himself. How terribly the Hebrew prophets satirize idolaters, and how justly. Their finest idols want the ordinary attributes of humanity. The eye is there, but still and dark; the ear is there, but no sound enters it. The lips are sealed and mute. The deifying process is ignoble. The god was once a stick, but compasses and planes are applied to it, and after being blocked out with an axe, and plated and nailed together by a 'cunning workman,' it needs to be ' borne upon the shoulder,' ' set in his place,' and there he stands; ' from his place he cannot move,' unless, perchance, he tumble from his niche, like Dagon at the presence of the ark. "When such a deity changes his scene, ' Bel boweth and Nebo stoopeth,' 'the carriages are heavy laden,' and the divinities are 'a burden to the weary beast.' The one end of the tree burns to cook provisions, and the other end of the same tree has incense burned before it. There could not be a sin of more heinous aggravation for Israel than to break the first commandment of the decalogue, to call the calf a god, to bow the knee before the cloven hoof, and to ascribe power and prerogative to the golden brute, that could not, like its living type, brush a fly from its mane, or toss its horn in defiance, or bellow over its grass. Alas for humanity! These returning penitents are to renounce this worship; and no love but God's, deep and tender, could ever welcome them, after such sin and profanity, and teach them to make this confession and disclaimer. And so it is that man must still be divested of all self-dependence as a necessary step to his spiritual acceptance and restoration. The church cannot save him, nor can the water of baptism secure his salvation. Existence in a Christian land, or descent from pious parents, is not identical with the second birth. The Lord's Supper is not to every one the bread of life. A place in the roll of ecclesiastical membership is no infallible proof of inscription on the pages of the book of life. Protestantism is no pledge of deliverance from the universal apostasy. God's grace alone, Christ's work alone, and the Spirit's influence alone, are the one basis of hope, and the one means of deliverance. 'Nor are we wholly free from idolatry. You may not worship an uncouth fetish ― a stock or staff; but how many bow to those absorbing passions which rule the world as a divinity ― the birth which ennobles, the talent which elevates, the accomplishments which adorn, the treasure which enriches, aye, and the pleasures which debase and brutify. Who is there that consecrates his whole mind and heart to the God who has given to the one all its powers, and to the other all its susceptibilities, and who therefore has an indefeasible claim for undivided and hearty service? Who has not some idol in the hidden chambers of imagery within, to which matins and vespers are regularly chaunted? to be able to acknowledge God alone, not in theory, but in practical reality, to ' cast the idols to the moles and to the bats,' and so to level the mountains and fill up the valleys, that Jehovah alone may be exalted! Thou art the one Benefactor, to Thee may we ever turn; the one Preserver, in Thee may we ever trust. Who is a God like unto Thee? Be this our conviction and this the rule of our faith and worship. Let us encircle the one throne, and prostrate ourselves "before its one loving and majestic Occupant. Thou art God alone, and beside Thee there is none else.

Feeling how far they had wandered away, and how deeply they had provoked Him; how they had wantonly broken the covenant, and in insane superstition had offered sacrifice to the calves, they needed some mighty inducement to go back, and they encourage themselves as they return by the blessed reflection, 'In thee the fatherless findeth mercy.' The pathos of the argument is equal to its logic. The poor orphan has a ready paternity and refuge in God. The bereaved child that strays in poverty and filth, in ignorance and wretchedness, turns him to a lordly portal, but he meets with a curt and surly refusal. He looks with wistful gaze to a passer by, but his appearance creates disgust, and he is spurned away as a loathsome thing. Children of his own age stand aloof from him, and the dogs instinctively snarl at him. And yet he may be sinned against, the victim of mystery, the waif of a dark and disastrous providence. But in the crisis of his fate some good Samaritan may discover him, and see God's image through incrusted filth, and may tend him, wash him, feed him, clothe him, educate and provide for him; develop his spiritual nature, and open up for him a path of usefulness and honour. It may be so ― it has often been so ― but there are many melancholy exceptions.

Yet though such compassion is not found universally among men, it never fails in God. It is ever true of Him, 'In thee the fatherless findeth mercy.' Whoever, prompted by the declaration, seeks to Him will find the statement verified. No one who has in this spirit claimed fatherhood in God was ever dismissed, no orphan who comes because of his faith, in this report, was ever repulsed. And he is not put off with some civil but useless inquiries, nor served with a few cheap counsels, nor cheated out of his expectations with a miserable verbal condolence. The fatherless finds what he most wants, he finds ' mercy' in God, and that mercy secures to him every needed blessing. Bread is given him, his water is sure. The filthy garment is taken from him, and he is dressed with a change of raiment. His flesh comes to him as the flesh of a little child. He had long fed upon ashes, but he has now the chief place at the feast ― his Father's bosom. His heritage was want and the prospect of it, now he is an heir of God and a joint heir with Christ. The storm had often beaten on his brow, but a ' fair mitre' is set upon it; the feet had often been bruised and bleeding, but shoes are now put upon them. Yes; 'In thee the fatherless findeth mercy' ― at once and without hesitation, always and without change. It is prompt and overflowing. It is mercy leading to acceptance, mercy that knows what to give, and how and when to bestow it. For the crowning mercy is that the fatherless finds a father, aye, his own father, finds the love of the paternal heart unchanged, and is welcomed across the threshold with outstretched arms. That Father will not scorn the wanderer, or taunt him with his folly. He will not chide him and say, you have now come back because you could find no better place; but He says, though you have found no better place, but a worse, yet you are welcome home. Repose again on the bosom of mercy, let the paternal arm again encircle you and wander no more.

It is, therefore, a truth which forms the argument ― a truth that has its birth in the unquenchable ardour of the Divine Love. It has been verified again and again, and it will remain a truth for the solace of the fatherless in all succeeding ages. Could we but fix this conviction in your minds, that you are by your apostasy fatherless wanderers ― no parent to protect you, no domicile to receive you, and no social board to welcome you; then would it not follow, that you should earnestly desire restoration? Knowing that God has successfully solved his self-proposed problem, ' How shall I put thee among the children;' rejoicing that He has said to the outcast ' ye shall be my sons and daughters;' looking up to Him and repeating the argument, 'in thee the fatherless findeth mercy,' and we shall find it too, ― will you not return to the Lord your God? O will not the whole company of the ransomed encourage one another as they go back, and ' fill their mouth' with the cheering inducement? "When man had sinned at first, and was expelled from Paradise, the cherubim and fiery sword prevented his return, lest he should eat of the tree of life; but a ' new and living' path has been opened up, and the angels are the servants and guardians of such as walk upon the high-way paved for the redeemed.

0, then, let me ask you to take but the first step back, and your feeble endeavor will be blessed. They who have returned, bid you follow. The Father, whose tenderness has been so often tested and never found wanting; the Son who shed His blood to open up the pathway by which the orphan might find his home; and the Spirit who shows the apostate how dreary he is, till he wonder at himself, and long to go back, ― the Triune Jehovah has His heart set on your return. 'Turn, turn ye; why will ye die.' 'Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return to the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.'

PART II.

REVIVAL. And now, it is supposed that the wanderers, so kindly and earnestly spoken to, have listened to and been won by the Divine Love; that they have turned, taken with them words' and offered this brief and cordial prayer; that they have been welcomed and accepted, and that the first notes of the song of praise are now springing out of their incipient bliss. Then bursts forth the glorious promise of revival, which is like ointment poured forth,' and the remainder of the chapter is filled with the odour. He joys over them with singing;' and the song of Divine Love thus begins: ― 'I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely: for mine anger is turned away from him.'

'I will heal their backsliding.' Their alienation was not only offensive to God, but also hurtful to themselves. It had brought spiritual malady upon them: The whole head was sick, and the whole heart was faint.' They had strayed into a climate where the dew never fell, and the sun never shone through its damp and sickly vapors. 'Woe is me,' might each of them have said, ' my leanness, my leanness!' Health had left them, and what had the semblance of it was a hectic deception. Nor did the region into which they had wandered supply any antidote ― what seemed to be so, only yielded a momentary relief followed by a deeper depression. But Jehovah assumes the function of healer, and He effects what He promises. There is a balm in Gilead which never fails, and a physician there who was never baffled, who never tries an experiment ― never seeks counsel with any co-ordinate wisdom, and always effects a permanent cure ― redeeming our life from destruction.' The God whom they had offended does not suffer them to perish, nor spurn them away as loathsome; but He revives and quickens them. The gangrene disappears, and they return to soundness and health, with the assured prospect of coming at length to the fulness of the stature of perfect men.'

' I will love them freely.' For their wandering deserved punishment, but it is remitted. Continuance in sin, especially when provision is made for deliverance from it, justly deserves the anger of God. Still to wander, when He wooes you back; still to be ignorant, when a Bible has been inspired; still to be in poverty, when the fulness of His wealth is offered; still to be under the curse, when means of reconciliation have been secured; still to be unaccepted, when ' words' have been found for you, and a throne of grace has been erected for you; still to be an orphan, exposed and destitute, when a father's heart yearns over you, and a home is swept and garnished' to receive you; O such infatuation is no ordinary sin, and must bring upon itself no ordinary penalty! But when you comply, and come back, His anger turns away: 'Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage; he retaineth not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy. He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities: and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.' And O remember what is implied in His free love; what stores of spiritual blessings, and what generosity to confer them. How He will lavish His riches upon you ' exceeding abundantly above all you can ask or think.'

' Human loves soon part,
Like broken clouds, or like the stream
That, smiling, left the mountain brow,
As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet, ere it reach the plains below,
Breaks into floods that part for ever But the Divine love endures like His own being! Nothing can tear us from it. What a gush of emotion rushes upon the apostle's mind as this high thought passes through it: '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.' The divine beneficence is next portrayed ― rich, varied, and satisfying in its nature: ' I will be as the dew unto Israel: he shall grow as the lily, and cast forth his roots as Lebanon. His branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive-tree, and his smell as Lebanon. They that dwell under his shadow shall return; they shall revive as the corn, and grow as the vine: the scent thereof shall be as the wine of Lebanon.'

'I will be as the dew unto Israel.' Blessing is promised, and its glorious results are portrayed. The dew was a favourite symbol of divine influence with the Hebrew bards. It fell in copious drops after the hot day had passed. Every blade of grass, and every leaf, bore a refreshing globule, which threw out its prismatic sparkle as the next sun rose upon it. The dew comes not like the hurricane with a sweep and a howl, nor does it beat lustily upon the earth like a tropical shower. Calmly and insensibly it steals downward to its destiny, beyond human recognition or control, ' waiting not for man, nor tarrying for the sons of men.' ' Hath the rain a father? or who hath begotten the drops of dew?' The mode in which divine influence operates is usually beyond human analysis and detection. It comes when many perceive it not ― it comes when many expect it not. It comes to its own appointed place, and to none other, as when the fleece of Gideon was wet, and all was dry beyond it. "We are not to seek to solve the mystery, but our special desire should be to feel the blessing. How divine influence descends is not for us the question; but the question is, how shall we enjoy it? We may not know how its impulses harmonise with the functions of reason; but we know that reason is not compelled while it cheerfully yields. "What forms of access the Divine Spirit may have to my spirit, to move it and guide it, is a species of knowledge too high for me.' Yet I may rest contented that He has modes of entrance, not the less numerous and not the less real, though I cannot trace them. I may not feel the falling of the dew, but I see the wetted ground. Let us not therefore perplex our minds as to how God may perform this promise, but let us rest assured that He in His love will be true to it.

What fulness and richness of blessing in such a promise! The dew moistens all about it with its copious influence. His reviving blessing will not be stinted in its nature. The divine love will not be niggardly in its gifts. It gives like itself, and the church will be filled 'with all spiritual blessings.' Such powerful impulses, such healthful impressions, such a tone of deep self-consecration, such an amount of spiritual mindedness ― these are the blessings of revival. And when they are found everywhere, and everywhere in fulness, then may we say that the promise is realized. And the dew descends silently, and in the calm of the evening. It comes not from the thundercloud. The church should prepare itself for the fulfillment of the promise, and banish everything which would repel the Spirit. All earthiness of temper and fierceness of passion ― all disunion and schism ― all indulgence in sins of which anger, scorn, and sensual lusts are the representatives; these repress divine influence, and forbid its descent. Let the church hush every evil burst by the strains of her hallowed minstrelsy, and calm her bosom in holy expectancy of the promised gift. And it will come, and what a glorious epoch will the coming of it be! A second Pentecost. In order to secure such a large blessing, the best way is to improve what you have got. Such is the method of His love. Praise for past favors is the best prayer for future gifts. The imagery employed by the prophet to portray the results of this reviving influence is of exceeding beauty. And there is no wonder. The rich and tranquil landscape is only a faint type of spiritual revival and abundance. He shall grow as the lily, and cast forth his roots like Lebanon. His branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive-tree, and his smell as Lebanon. They that dwell under his shadow shall return; they shall revive as the corn, and grow as the vine: the scent thereof shall be as the wine of Lebanon.' The imagery is tenderly grouped. The lily sends up from the green bosom of the plain its tall and graceful stalk, surmounted with its brilliant cup. The cedars of Lebanon strike their roots deep into the earth, and shake their boughs in luxuriant wantonness. The brow of Hermon is crowned with their glory, and the storm that rocks them only so loosens the soil that their fibers creep outward and downward with rapidity and firmness. The olive rejoices in its fatness and fragrance, for its foliage never fails, and it still shows its silvery hue as it is ruffled by the breeze. The scent of Lebanon, borne upon the winds, is refreshing with its coolness and odors. Under the shadow of that mighty range, the fields and orchards are protected from the northern blast. The crops shoot up in healthful verdure. The soft tendrils of the vine burst and blossom on the slopes, and its laden boughs droop at length with the swelling cluster. The landscape is perfect, and as the eye gazes around it, it sees at one sweep hill and orchard, vineyard and field, each enriched with its appropriate blessing, and all rejoicing in the beneficence of God.

It is a picture of the church enjoying a revival. What will not the blessing of heaven effect? Had no dew fallen, bare cliffs and drooping cedars might have met the eye ― the lily pale and withered, the fields parched and sickly, and the vine shorn of its pregnant loveliness. Were no divine influence to descend upon us, what spiritual sterility should characterize us! If the heaven be iron, the earth will be brass. But if the Spirit be poured out from on high, 'the wilderness will be counted for a fruitful field.' If, then, you see a Christian society growing in grace and abounding in love, its consecration to its divine Lord becoming fuller and more tender, striving with one heart for mutual edification, continuing 'steadfast in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship,' exhibiting a constant vigilance, self-denial, and energy that others may be brought in and blessed, are you not induced, on beholding such a delightful spectacle, thus to salute it ― 'Hail, highly-favored of the Lord, blessed art thou' among churches! Such a community, whatever its numbers or wealth, is enjoying a revival ― has experience of the divine love. "Which was the more blessed ― the crowd of Jews bowing , their turbaned heads in the courts of the temple as the smoke of the sacrifice ascended, or the hundred and twenty met with one accord in the upper room? Which was the more blessed ― the Romish hierarchy in its pomp and magnificence, its cathedrals and palaces, its princes in scarlet, and its secular dominions; or the poor Waldenses gathered in some lonely glen, or escaping to the mountains for their life, bleeding among the snows, and wrapt at length in nature's purest winding-sheet? Barnabas, when he saw the grace of God, was glad; let us share in his joy.

We have before us also a picture of healthfulness. The cedars might have been scant in foliage, the 'goodly fruit' of the olive might have been deficient, the corn in ear might scarcely have covered the clod, and the clusters of the vine might have been light and few. But all here wears an aspect of exceeding health and promise. There may be real religion, but it may be in a sickly state. It needs to be nursed. Faith may want vigor and compass ― love may be cold and languid. ' The things that remain' may be ' ready to die.' There may be too great conformity to the world, too great formality in all religious service. The people may still come before God as His people, but too much from habit, and too little from eagerness to see His power and glory, as they have' seen Him in the sanctuary. That predominant motive has lost its freshness and predominance ― ' we would see Jesus.' In prayer, while blessings are sought, it may be without due appreciation of them, or earnest faith in Him by whose blood they have been provided. The word of God may be still read, but the mind may have lost its early docility and its first felt need of divine enlightenment. The thoughts may wander when they ought to be concentrated, and the pulsations of life may be slow and feeble. Too much and too often is this the case; and the churches ought ever to be on their guard lest they fall into this ' lukewarm' state. But if this promise be fulfilled, if the dew descend in its divine copiousness, health returns, and the 'well watered' church revives. The young will be filled with ardour, and the old enriched with a happy experience. The men of secular activity, while they are ' diligent in business,' will be at the same time ' fervent in spirit.' Mothers will nurse their babes for Christ, and fathers train their children not only for worldly advancement, but especially 'in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.' Every house will be a Bethel, and every heart a sanctuary. The rich will be 'poor in spirit,' and the poor 'rich in faith.' The flush of a holy enthusiasm will be spread over all. Would to God that we witnessed such scenes, and that there were no rarity among us! Then the churches would be edified' ― walking in the fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the Holy Ghost.' The picture presented to us is, at the same time, one of beauty. The landscape smiles upon us in its variety and richness, and its ' scent is as the wine of Lebanon.' What object can be so attractive as revived religion ― every grace in lively exercise, ― Christ loved with ardour, and the Spirit's influence earnestly cherished ― prayer arising as incense ― praise felt to be 'comely,' and therefore habitual ― every believer as happy as he is useful, reflecting the divine image, and breathing the atmosphere of heaven. Men may scoff at such a scene, and wonder, and, it may be, caricature it, calling it fanatical excitement; but the church luxuriates in it, and is filled with grateful amazement at the divine goodness. Nay, such a scene would soon tell on the world, and compel it to admiration. "When it saw such purity and happiness, such elevation and dignity, such an assemblage of all the virtues which adorn humanity ― piety combined with patriotism ― devotion nourishing philanthropy ― science, art, and business hallowed and ennobled by the spirit in which they are pursued ― earth enjoyed while heaven is looked for ― time improved while eternity is prepared for ― would not the world be moved by the spectacle, and brought to confess that religion has a power and a glory which proclaim its superhuman birth? A revived church would certainly be a mighty and successful agent in the conversion of the nations. The world would not then ask in taunt, 'What do ye more than others,' or how are ye better than others? but it would see and acknowledge an arm divine.

Again, the scene is one of great fertility. There is not only fragrance of blossom, but also exuberance of fruit ― the fields growing ' white unto harvest,' and the ruddy clusters foretelling an early and ample vintage. There is not merely the show of fruit, but the reality. Under the out-poured influence of the Spirit, there are seen the fruits of deep practical piety'. There is not only enjoyment, but activity: fruitfulness ' in every good work,' as there is added ' to faith, virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly-kindness; and to brotherly-kindness, charity.' Whatever good needs to be done, the earnest church does it. Whatever be the form of activity, physical or spiritual, it meets with a ready response. Neither wealth nor labour is grudged; neither patience nor travail is spared. Whatever interests humanity, interests the church; whatever gives man social elevation or civil freedom ― whatever removes any disturbing element on his health or industry ― whatever, in short, has a tendency to 'roll the stone from the wells mouth,' comes home to the bosom and sympathies of the church of Christ. He cleansed the leper, as well as proclaimed the kingdom ― supplied wine to a feast, as well as preached the gospel ― fed the multitudes, as well as expelled the demon. Especially will the spiritual interests of the world engage the efforts of the church. Revived piety is recruited strength for the task. The gospel is not merely enshrined in the heart, but borne upon the lips, carried in the hand, and commended by the life. Divine fruit! ― and the end is 'glory to God in the highest.'

What an unbroken harmony pervades the prophetic landscape! There is no conflicting prominence in any part of the imagery. The cedar is not proudly overshadowing the lily ― the olive is not struggling to dwarf the vine; and there is no thicket to choke the reviving corn. A spirit of unity reigns throughout. The church enjoying the divine blessing, is one ― each part rejoicing in every other; for asperities are smothered, and past bitternesses are mellowed. The per-eminent does not boast itself over the retiring ― the wealth that gains itself a noble name, does not arrogate any superiority over the sympathy that washes a beggar's feet. Divested of prejudices, men 'see eye to eye,' and wonder why they came afore-time to so different conclusions. Controversy lays aside its mail, and difference of position does not create sectarian rivalry. The believer, whoever he be, is hailed as a brother; for your arm may embrace him whom Christ's arm has encircled and blessed. The ' one mind' receives the one truth; the ' one heart' is filled with the one love; and there is the 'one mouth' to glorify God. So near Christ, all the members of His church are near one another. The realization of their union to Christ, leads them to feel their brotherhood in Him. The whole church will breathe that ' charity which is the bond of perfectness,' loving and loved, by an indissoluble tie. When shall such love be exhibited in this distracted world, and amidst its feuds and factions? What prayer for the Spirit must precede it ― prayer that He may reign until the 'one Lord' is confessed, and the 'one baptism' has been enjoyed. The foul flap of the raven's wing has too often darkened the scene. for the brooding of the gentle dove! Nations covet the eagle of quick eye, strong pinion, and bloody talon as their humble symbol; but the church has for hers the dove ― the Spirit that alighted on her Master, and 'abode upon Him.'

There is also, and in fine, the prospect of increase. It is no evanescent scene. ' He shall cast forth his roots as Lebanon.' What is now seen is only as the first-fruits of a richer verdure and plenty. And to the enjoyment of this spiritual plenty, the prayers and energies of the church be directed. Amidst all exercises and functions, this one end should ever be in view. When an emigrant goes to a new country, he may engage in many kinds of rural labour; but his heart is borne up by the prospect of a crop. Whether he fells timber and clears the soil, or drains it or ploughs it ― the one motive is to see his fields laden with promise. Now, to enjoy such spiritual plenty, from the descent of the promised dew, should animate the church to exertion and prayer. O did we feel our need of the Spirit, with our own insignificance and feebleness ― did we feel how dry and parched is the land where there is no water, then should we eagerly long for and pray for the fulfillment of the promise. And in answer to such prayer, the atmosphere, surcharged with blessing, will moisten the earth, and the 'fruits of righteousness' will gladden the heart of the Divine Husbandman; ― the gleanings of Abiezer shall be better than the vintage of Ephraim,' and the handful of corn on the top of the mountains shall shake with fruit like Lebanon. It will come. God speed the time! O that it would come, and that soon ― be this our fervent and repeated prayer. Till then, we believe, and wait, and hope.

Verse 8. 'Ephraim shall say, "What have I to do any more with idols? I have heard him, and observed him: I am like a green fir-tree: from me is thy fruit found.' And what is the immediate effect of such blessings on his people? ' Ephraim shall say. What have I to do any more with idols?' ' Gods they had tried of every shape and size
That god-smiths could produce, or priests devise But now Ephraim wonders why he ever should have had to do with them, and he is heartily ashamed of them. None of them could do for him what God has done; none of the 'vanities of the Gentiles' could either promise or send the dew. So thoroughly convinced is he now of God's unity and supremacy, that he is effectually cured of all propensity to idolatry. There is no word so ominous to him as idol ― no practice so revolting as that of idolatry. That sin now stands out to him as ' exceeding sinful.' His penitence is sincere, and it is accepted. When Ephraim says, in this contrite spirit, ' What have I to do any more with idols?' Jehovah responds, ' I have heard him and observed him.' His actions declare his intentions to be honest ― his practice justifies his declared resolution. God had observed him. The eye of heaven was upon him, but it had not detected any lurking inclination to bow in secret, or to make any compromise with the calves. His confession and vow are therefore accepted and registered. The humbled Ephraim hears the glorious promise; but as he gazes on the imagery taken from hill, field, and orchard, he feels as if none of it was realized in him. 'I am,' he sobs, like a green fir-tree.' That tree is fruitless, only a piece of timber. Ephraim, in his humility, can see in himself neither the vine, nor the olive, nor the field of cereal crop. He feels as if reviving influence was only partially enjoyed by him as yet; for he is but 'a green fir-tree.' But Jehovah responds at once to his moaning, and says, From Me is thy fruit found.' Ephraim shall have fruit, and it will be from God. Let not despair seize thee: the power to bear fruit is fast descending upon thee, and it comes from Me. If men complain of spiritual sterility, and if their complaint be genuine, the Hearer of Prayer will not disregard it, but will graciously impart His fructifying influences; so that ' they shall bring forth fruit in old age, they shall be fat and flourishing.' Such is the last and blessed tenderness of the Divine love. And now this change or revival is so peculiar as not to be understood by ordinary intellect.

Verse 9, ' Who is wise, and he shall understand these things? prudent, and he shall know them? for the ways of the Lord are right, and the just shall walk in them: but the transgressors shall fall therein.' Who is wise, and he shall understand these things? prudent, and he shall know them?' It needs wisdom and prudence not our own to learn the blessedness and reality of a revival. The sphere of spiritual influence is beyond the cognizance of our senses. While many scoff and toss their heads in credulity, let us experience it ― then shall we really know it. Let us not be content with admiring it; let us seek, aye seek above all things, to share in it. ' For the ways of the Lord are right, and the just shall walk in them.' God's procedure is always just, and His people at all times acknowledge its equity: 'But the transgressors shall fall therein;' they cannot comprehend it. It offends them by its seeming mystery and inequality, and they stumble and fall ― declaring it to be a hard and uneven path, and exclaiming in bitterness that 'the ways of the Lord are not equal.' But surely you will rejoice in the magnificent manifestation of Divine Love which this chapter has brought before us. What can be more refreshing? ― its language is so full of pathos; its imagery reposes in tranquil brightness; and its spirit is that of deepest solicitation and most gorgeous promise. O that the period were come, and that all our churches felt it! Never let us regard it as a romantic impossibility. It has been partially witnessed, and it will be more fully experienced. Christ's church has not been forgotten by Him. 'No: as his bride sighs for Him, will He not respond? And as He advances, will not she recognise Him in the distance, and joyfully exclaim, ' The voice of my Beloved: behold He cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills!' Let the spirit of prayerful and confident anticipation 'prepare the way of the Lord.' And Thou, whose Name is Love, do Thou grant 'times of refreshing.' Send forth Thy pioneers to prepare the church for this overshadowing power of the Highest. Revive by Thy gracious influences Thy withered and mourning possession. Let Thy dews come thick, heavy, and prolonged, as ' floods upon the dry ground.' Give sap and verdure to Thy 'trees of righteousness,' Thine own planting, that Thou mayest be glorified. Let not Lebanon be ashamed, nor Sharon be as a wilderness; let not Bashan languish, nor the top of Carmel wither. Fulfill Thine old promise ― 'I will hear the heaven, and the heaven shall hear the earth, and the earth shall hear the corn, and the wine, and the oil.' And then Thy revived and satisfied church shall respond to this love, and cry in her eagerness, 'Awake, north wind, and come thou south, blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.'