mercy. His glorious design of love "was, and is, and is to come." What appears most majestic in accomplishment in human endeavours, may have only as great a relation to the blessed whole, as the lily of the field, to this boundless universe of beauty. To what results can we turn in any such comparison? The labor of long generations only inscribes one single added word, we might say, in that book of God's love, which is to be unfolded to the ages as they pass. The ministry of Jesus, all-glorious though it were, the hope of earth, the joy of heaven, that is but a single page in this great volume of infinite mercy, And what new revelations of redeeming love shall beam from these great manifestations in the long periods of an eternal progress! God's work is never finished. And therefore, man's action, thanks be also given, can never end. It is not closed by any hasty course of years, even when continuing through the longest day of earthly being, not in these interpretations can the text be applied, it is needless to repeat. Yet it has a sure and joyful application when referred to the feeble endeavours, and the brief workings of man. The duty of the hour can be met. The work of this infancy can be accomplished, although in its utmost fullness it must be only a simple prelude to the nobler labor of the manhood.

The devotion of heart to the duty of the hour is

the accomplishment of our work. Ah! I question nothing respecting the limitations of present being when I am truly wise. "Are there not twelve hours in the day?" said Jesus on one occasion, when the disciples endeavoured to deter him from returning to Judea, by intimations of danger, "Are there not twelve hours in the day? Work while the day lasts." Every man has an immortality until his work is done. The twelve hours of his appointed day shall come. Let him work while the day lasts. No oppositions of men could bring Jesus to the cross, until the seeds of truth had been deeply planted in the world. Nothing can harm the faithful servant until his allotted work is done. Let him work while the day lasts. Ah! we know it is as nothing, we are enabled to accomplish. We can only speak of our endeavours in the prostration of humility, in connection with the declaration of the text when applied to the redeeming agency of Jesus. In this wide ocean of sorrow and sin, God is building up an abode of truth, a dwelling-place of love, which shall rise at last above all the waves. And man's action in his utmost energy, is like the work of the single insect, deep in the sea, which adds one grain to the rock, whereon fertile isles eventually shall rest. Yet let him come with that contribution towards the fulfilment of the purposes of God's love. "Work while the day lasts," and

although the labor be humble and the time be short, in the spirit of its performance, shall be found a sympathy full and free with the heart of Jesus himself. And man can know no better hope.

Enduring Life.

II CORINTHIANS, iv: 18.

"While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal."

"THE things which are seen, are temporal." Doubtless there are moments of deep experience in the history of most men, when this is felt as an overwhelming conviction. It stirs no fear in ordinary life. But in the suddenness of change it rushes into the heart with a power that cannot need, and may scarcely bear to hear, any feeble words of man endeavouring to give it impressiveness. The vivid comparisons of the scripture illustrating the fleetingness of the things that are seen, comparing them in their quick flight to the morning cloud, and the early dew, almost appear to fail as images of our actual feeling. The strong man perhaps, before the company of friends, hastening with winged feet, can gather around him, bows his head and passes away. The child, fair as the morning flower, bright as morn itself in the radiance of infant joy, droops before the night-fall. It may be an age of experience indeed, yet only as a moment of time, and the voice full of glee is forever still. How do any peculiar illustrations of this truth, which

wear a strangeness like that of the miracle, compelling attention, but which are still known to be only peculiar manifestations of a universal law, how do they sometimes bring dread shudderings of conviction for the hour into the heart? The mother goes noiselessly, to listen more intently to the breath of her sleeping child, lest disease may steal upon it unperceived. The friend looks inquiringly into the face of friends, to see whether any deceitful line of disease enters into the flush upon the cheek, he had hailed as the promise of health. At some moments of such impressions the man almost trembles while he steps, lest the ground suddenly fail beneath his feet. The silent air seems to be bearing forward invisible arrows of disease in a noiseless flight; unperceived until they are fixed within our own breasts, or what is a deeper dread, in the heart of friend or child. Sometimes providence preaches this truth until man believes and trembles. And ah! no deepest impression in such occasional moments of fear, though it were to make men dread surrendering themselves to sleep lest there be no more waking, though many thoughts were mingled with it a true heart must condemn, no such shuddering impression could overstate the truth that "the things which are seen are temporal." We hail their coming, rising as every welcome gift comes, bright as morning beaming over the sea, we hail their coming as if they