come.

For the degree of my trial, is the precise measure of my need of trial. In the power of the feeling it awakens, I see the nature and the magnitude of the work yet to be performed within the heart. That is a sure revelation of the distance between my own life, and an enduring rest. Few men live who are not patient in feeling in untroubled hours. We should scarcely be human, could we not abide in sweetness of spirit, when no clouds darken our paths. When man can bear life's smaller crosses with an unruffled breast; when he can learn to stand where others mock and revile, with an unreviling and all-compassionating patience; when he can enter the garden of trial, where a bloody sweat may bathe the forehead, but nought can furrow it with one murmuring thought, then does he begin to enter into the sublime idea of holy trust according to the Redeemer's teaching. I should not dare to benumb my heart by any deceptive draught, to the pain of the trial which alone may reveal my actual condition. Suppose change should plunge me into a distress, too deep to be imaged by aught, except the woe of him who could find no drop of water to cool his burning tongue! What could that reveal, except the breadth of the gulf between my heart, and the lowly faith reposing in Abraham's bosom? Supposc the tempest seem to rage around me in trying days, as it beat upon the disciples on the lake of Gali

lee, what could that reveal to me except the fact, that the spirit of the Lord had not yet spoken in the heart with an all-commanding voice, bidding its agitations cease. Let no veil be woven to hide this truth from view. Let the heart rather render its thanksgivings for the Providence that reveals it to itself. How diverse from this the teaching of the Redeemer's life! That desires no deliverance, except an eternal redemption through a perfect victory. It will not permit us to make the crown of thorns easier to the brow by any false view of its character. It takes it with a consenting heart; saying, "Not my will, but thine be done." And it strives to wear it, until through a victorious faith and trust, every thorn shall send out a stream of holy light, as the pencil has often pictured Jesus in his hour of trial, and yet of triumph.

There is but one possibility of misapprehension, in reference to the doctrine the text enforces. There is a process of self-torture, in which some in the day of suffering sit and brood over their woe. They not only look at the present trial until they see its every feature, but they look at that alone. The little cloud is magnified into an all-encompassing gloom. They refuse to be comforted, not simply in a desire to drink the cup Providence presents to the lips, but in a morbid feeling that feeds upon its bitter grief. No such self-torturings are sanctioned by the Christian

heart.

The spirit of Jesus is free from morbid grief, as from the desire to hide the actual trial from the heart. He neither seeks nor shuns, suffering or shame. He passes away from the enraged people, when no imperative call of truth forbids. He stands serenely in their midst when his hour is come. He courts no trial of heart. He shrinks from none, however great. He builds no cross for himself. He fears none the world may build. In no point of view does the greatness of Jesus more gloriously appear, than in this absolute freedom from any shade of self-torturing feeling, while he waves away every draught of wine and myrrh. And when we look at the manifold failures on either side in the history of the Church, we can only exclaim with increasing faith, "Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life."

It is not torture, but discipline, Christianity enjoins. It adds no tittle of weight to the discipline the Father's eternal love appoints. And it takes no tittle of its weight away. It hears that dread word of the Apocalypse in reference to the unfolding of the book of God's great Providence, and the teachings written therein; "Whosoever taketh away from the words of this book, from him shall be taken his part in the book of life." Whosoever beareth not the cross in the depth of its sacrifice, may not know the peace its sacrifice shall introduce. There is a sublime word of

Scripture which says, "I waited patiently for the Lord." It embodies the essential spirit of all holy trust. There is no impatient haste to see the light of the Father's countenance, while it still is veiled. The heart lays itself low in the hand of God. It beareth patiently its own infirmities, while it besieges the throne with prayer for holiness of heart. It sitteth down in the sackcloth of grief, while it never leaves the mercy-seat in its supplication. It prays as the rent and bleeding heart is permitted to pray. But its prayer obeys one thought forevermore; "Not my will, but thine, be done." To feel the pang, and not to shrink from its suffering, to pray for deliverance, but to have no repining thought, who shall bestow that victorious patience of soul? Thou bleeding heart.

"Come! learn thy Saviour's peace :

That Saviour, fount of good,
Who from his birth sought no release
From suffering, tears and blood.

O come! the holy cross

Do thou in patience bear;

Who meekly meets its shame and loss,
Its perfect peace may share.'

4

The Sign of Promise.

GENESIS IX: 14. "And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud."

THUS God is recorded to have spoken to Noah and his sons, when they went forth from the ark, to repeople the earth, after the deluge. Everything except that little company, as the Record tells us, had been swept away. God had passed over the world in terrible judgment. But after the flood, the bow appeared in the cloud, as a new glance of love to the re-appearing earth. And the representation seems to tell us, it was then made a beautiful sign of promise. It became a signal that no similar destruction should afterwards come. It was the token of God's everlasting covenant between Himself and every living creature of all flesh, for perpetual generations. It was the bright seal of heaven spanning the sky, seen anew after every storm, whose glorious device should forever whisper to the heart, in assurances of grace and love.

The consideration of the literal history is not our present purpose. The correspondence between the literal interpretation, and the great facts of all profound spiritual experience, attracts