lighten the load of ignorance which already crushes the children? Other persons who would be none the worse for a few prayers are doctors. What important persons they are to us at some portions of our lives, when we hang upon their words and eagerly listen for what we yet dread to hear. What different "sick beds" there would be, if those who have to give that ominous shake of the head, and almost sign the death-warrant, were Christian men, who knew how to point the sufferer to the Healer of the nations. And effectual, fervent prayer may, nay, will, avail much on their behalf. In this matter of the unprayed-for, it may be said to us, "This ought ye to have done, and not have left the other undone." There are many people in the world who are prevented by weakness, or press of other claims, from engaging in any department of active labour for Christ. They cannot teach in the Sunday-school, or distribute Bibles and tracts, or visit the sick. But there is one thing they can dothey can pray. Let them do this. Let them every day spend a few minutes in earnestly asking God's blessing on those who are, for the most part, unprayed for, and they do not know the good which they may do. Evening. WHAT tender memories gather around our evenings! They are our happiest times, and we crowd them with sweet thoughts or loving communings of true hearts. They are times when the hard-earned rest comes to us, laying cool fingers upon aching heads, and bidding the weary limbs be free. All the day long we must toil: our duties stand in the way, and with clamorous voices keep our feet from strolling into the fair meadow-land that lies outside of the busy work-places. But when the evening comes let us rest, let us taste the luxury of idleness for a little time, and be content to let our hands and heads and feet do nothing. Everybody should have rest in the evening. Work is an ennobling, strengthening, healthy thing, but he who begins it as soon as he rises in the morning, and keeps at it until he goes to bed at night, has too much of it. We need not only sleep for our bodies and minds, but we need recreation too, and we must set aside some time for the cultivation of those kindly affections which, as much as anything else, make life worth having. Is it not the evening of the day, with all its sweet associations, that makes our English homes so dear to us? When we are away from them, do we think so often of the family pursuing their different avocations, as of that time when, the evening meal taken, all are at home, and the book is read, or the pleasant conversation held, or the sweet household music is enjoyed? It seems too as if Jesus has made the evening sacred for us: "And when He had sent the multitude away, He went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, He was there alone." "And at even when the sun did set, they brought unto Him all that were diseased." "They constrained Him, saying, Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. And He went in to tarry with them." "And the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and said unto them, Peace be unto you." It is not so still? He is with us all the day long, but at eveningtide we recognise Him, and feel how near He is, and know that He talks to, and we with Him. And how often do our hearts burn within us as we tread the silent roadways or sit musing while the stars come out and look upon our joy. And this being the case, it is little wonder that we love the evening so well. How beautiful are our evening hymns! so popular "Sweet Saviour, bless us ere we go," That one now we are never weary of singing. Then there is the old favourite and that other soothing and comforting one "Saviour, breathe an evening blessing," also that peerless hymn, so dear to all who have read it "Abide with me, fast falls the eventide." Who can sing them without feeling once more how wonderful is the love of Jesus, that can fill the closing day with such peace and joy? It ought to comfort us too in looking forward to that other evening whose shadows are already beginning to fall upon our path. It is only the evening, and the evening is always a blessed time. Let us not fear but that that will be the most blessed of all. Sweet will be the rest that comes to us weary ones then. Softly the Father's arms will bring us into a safe shelter. So happy, so blessed shall we be that only two things will need to be said: "So He giveth His beloved sleep; ""Until the day dawn and the shadows flee away." The Perplexities of Life. THERE are times in the lives of all of us when we would give almost all we have to know whether it would be right or wrong to do certain things. And we cannot surely know, although we may take days of thought and nights of anxiety and consideration, until having decided one way or other circumstances unfold themselves and make the matter plain. Life is often most aptly compared to a journey in which there are ups and downs, pleasant meadows, and barren rocks, flowery ways, and rugged mountains. And the comparison is always good. Life is a journey, and we pilgrims have to take it whether we will or not, and although one sure result is that it will cause us often to be very tired and worn out. But one of the most trying things connected with the journey is that we so often come to cross-roads, and find no finger-post to direct us. "Which is the way?" Anxiously we look along first one and then the other, but no familiar marks meet our eyes. The roads are all strange, and we know not which to take; we have never been that way before, and cannot tell what lies hidden in the misty distance. Our perplexity would not be so great if life were merely a holiday, and a mistake in the roads did not matter. It matters very much that we choose only the right ways. It is not easy to retrace our steps; and sometimes it is impossible. We cannot go back and start again. The time, and strength, and opportunity that we had at the beginning are spent now. We must keep on where we are, however much we may regret the choice we made. It is remembering this that fills us with anxiety when the time comes for fresh changes to be made. We are so afraid of making mistakes that we would almost rather keep in the old, well-trodden way than branch off into untried scenes, though it may be that great benefit would follow. Who has not known hesitation when a new kind of occupation, a new sphere of labour, a new mode of life is suggested? Who does not know the feeling of timidity with which a strange place is approached? It may be that all sorts of blessings and treasures await us there; but then we cannot be sure. It is also possible that danger, pain, and sorrow are lurking there too. What we want is to know beforehand, to see into the future, though it be only a little way. In our perplexity we are much given to seeking advice. "Where no counsel is the people fall; but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety." So we gather our counsellors about us, and happy are we if they make the way plain and do not increase our perplexity. Some help it may be they give; some wise things they are able to tell us; but even then we are left to decide for ourselves, and take the step without really knowing whither it shall lead Besides, even the best of friends are often compelled to acknowledge that they are not wise enough to guide or direct. us. "If I said, Go left or right, The counsel would be light, The wisdom poor of all that could enrich thee. My raising would depress thee, My choice of light would blind thee, Of way would lead behind thee, Of end would leave bereft." And so we are all made to feel in our time of difficulty that very little help can come to us even from our friends. What would become of us if there were no light to guide us, no wisdom to direct? But happily there is. Long ago the people in their perplexity did the only thing there is for us to do, when they said to the God of all wisdom, "Neither know we what to do, but our eyes are upon Thee." To-day as then the only hope we can have is in God. He who sees the end from the beginning, who alone knows whither the intricate pathways of life lead, will help us when we have most need of greater foresight than our own. Who has not felt the quiet and repose which come from simply pouring out our perplexities before our Father, and asking His direction?— "We kneel how weak, we rise how full of power;' and even if at first we are not able to see any more plainly, yet we feel that our cause is in strong hands, and are content to wait. But it is also true that we are made to see. The writer of a story says, "She knelt long with uplifted hands by her bedside, .. but as she prayed the thorny path grew less forbidding, and her certainty that it was the right one the stronger." So it often is with us. Light comes upon the path which it is better for us to take. We see a finger directing us out of the maze. Let us then not hesitate to ask for wisdom to guide us every step of the way. If f perplexity be trying, and repose be sweet, why do we not more frequently enjoy the latter? We might if we would. We have only to "commit our way unto the Lord," and He will keep his promise, " And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.' |