on which it falls. Its careless, school-day hours. Its holidays, the sunniest of the year. Its free, light-hearted carols. The shaded slope, on which the vacant noon was lounged away. The woodland echo. The brawling stream, that, in the distance, seems a silver thread, upon a ground of green. The toys and sports, brief sorrows and bright joys, of girlish gentleness or boyish mirth. The brow, that never bore a cloud. The breast, that never felt a pang. Thus passed away, with smiles, that were the sunshine of the heart, and tears that in their warmth were soon exhaled, the happy years of childhood. And every guided step that fell securely among dangers, and every guarded hour with its hair-breadth escapes, proclaimed the goodness of the Lord. The pageant passes on. A wider circle opens, and a scene more varied. The horizon, as it recedes, brightens with stronger lights, and is defined by more decided lines. It is the age of youth. The world is new and fair. Hope tells a flattering tale. The cheated ear supplies a ready listener. Fancy arrays her air-drawn. castles, and her gardens in the clouds; and the enchanted eye believes them true. Who, if the ear of youth detected, in what seems, to its unpractised sense, the music of the spheres, the thousand discords that disturb it, could ever bear to brave the din of life! Who, if the eye of youth could see, beyond the gorgeous clouds that bound its prospect, the gathering tempest and the brooding storm, would not shrink back, in terror, from the threatening shipwreck? How does the merciful goodness of God display itself, in making the inexperienced ignorance of youth subservient to that moral strength, which is to meet the trials and ride out the storms of life! Once more, the pageant changes. The youth becomes a man. The wisdom, that befits him for the various duties that await him. The health that makes the humblest fortune blessed, and without which, life has lost its joy. The strength that bears him up in troubles, and sustains him in temptations. The care that keeps him through the dangers of the day; and after every night renews his life. Private esteem. The public confidence. The competence that crowns his toils. The distinctions that reward his services. His happy home. The friends that cheer its hearth. The loved ones, that, by dividing, more than double all its joys. What are these but gifts of Him from whom all good things come! And how, in these, and all the countless blessings which, as vivid and as varied as the tints of the autumnal forest, like them defy the art of man to number or describe them, does God forever make His goodness pass before us. cup Nor is this yet the whole. Deep as this overflowing of human life, sin, like a subtle poison, lurks: and sickness, sorrow, pain and death are its inevitable issues. Upon the fairest scene of earthly happiness, the cloud is lowering, and the storm will break. In sickness or in sorrow, the sweetest draught of mortal joy is turned to gall. The grave breaks off, alike the rugged road of honour, and the tranquil path of peace; and rends in twain the hearts that love has knit, and sympathy made one. And, worse than all, the pang of conscious guilt, and the heart-sickness of anticipated condemnation bear the wrung spirit down to earth, and ante-date the sentence of the day of doom. But, ever mindful of the creatures which His hand has formed, and pitying them in their rebellion, He interposed again, for their deliverance; and in His gracious plan of pardon and redemption made His goodness pass before us. Tongue cannot tell the wonders or the grace of that mysterious interference: when the world beheld its incarnate Maker dying for its sins; and the degenerate and ruined race paid, on the bleeding Cross, and in the person of the spotless Lamb, the price of its propi tiation. For the full measure of that gratitude which it demands, our hearts are all too narrow, and our lives too short. But, in His gracious mercy, the love, even of our frail hearts, the obedience even of our imperfect lives, if rendered humbly, in sincere reliance on the merits of our Saviour, will find acceptance in His sight. He will pardon what is done amiss, strengthen what is weak, supply what is wanting, of our sincere endeav ours; giving, as one well says, not only the pardon, but the way to find it, and the eye to search for it, and the heart to desire it; and then, for Jesus' sake, accepting the unworthy offering, as though it were our own, and crowning it with blessings, which the heart fails to comprehend, and eternity cannot exhaust. Thus does the Lord, in the works of His Creation, the ways of His Providence, and the wonders of His grace, continually make His goodness pass before us. Let it be the theme of our lips, and the effort of our lives, to acknowledge it with gratitude and devotion, and to proclaim it, in holy obedience. To-day, our eyes have seen His goodness pass before us. It pours upon us, in deliverances and preservations, in bounties and indulgences, His unnumbered and unnoted gifts of Providence. It crowns them all with the abundant means of grace; with the transcendent hope of glory. What shall we render unto the Lord, for all the benefits that He hath done unto us? Shall we not receive the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord? Shall we not offer Him the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and pay our vows to Him, in the presence of all His people? Thus, through our lives, the goodness of the Lord shall fill our hearts with gratitude, and our mouths with praise. In death, it shall sustain us with its comforts, and console us with its peace. And, after death, its perfect consummation shall be found, when He who has guided us by His grace shall receive us into His glory: to be with Him, where there is fulness of joy, and pleasure for evermore. Through all eternity, to Him, A joyful song we'll raise; And find eternity too short To utter all His praise. SERMON XXXVIII. THE EVER-LIVING REDEEMER. JOB XIX. 25.-I know that my Redeemer liveth. WHO has not heard these words? It may be, wafted up, to mingle, with the choirs of Heaven, on the divinest wings of Handel's minstrelsy. It may be, uttered, by the Pastor's deep-toned voice, as, with sad step and slow, he follows up the aisle, the ashes of the loved and lost. It may be, syllabled, with stammering tongue, by simple rustic, from the moss-grown grave-stone. "I know, that my Redeemer liveth." However uttered, or wherever heard, they are the clear and conquering key-note of our ransomed nature: as, prostrate, at the cross, it looks up, through the grave, to God. "I know, that my Redeemer liveth." A REDEEMER IS NEEDED FOR US; HE IS MY REDEEMER; HE LIVETH; I KNOW THAT HE LIVETH; HE LIVETH, TO MAKE INTERCESSION, FOR US. HE LIVETH TO BE OUR JUDGE. HE LIVETH TO REIGN OVER US, FOREVER. |