unworthiness, weakness, and vileness, are not tokens of wrath, nor proofs of utter unregeneracy. An unregenerated heart would not be pained nor shamed by them. An unenlightened mind could not discern their enormity. A conscience untouched by the blood of sprinkling or by the grace of the Spirit could not tremble at the plagues of the heart. However, therefore, such penitents may doubt their own penitence, or hesitate to ascribe their shame and self-condemnation to the work of the Holy Spirit, they are true penitents. They do not see this; but God, "who seeth not as man seeth," looks with a father's pity on all who "tremble at his word." John, when he lay at the Saviour's feet as dead, was as much an object of Divine compassion as he was of Divine complacency when he vied with the hosts of heaven in singing the new song. That shock of terror prepared him to join this shout of triumph. True, he was "the beloved disciple" before his trials or raptures began: but he too, in common with all the disciples, had long been "slow of heart to believe" or understand the gospel, even whilst hearing it from the lips of the Saviour. And if Jesus allowed him to "lean on his bosom" then, it was not because John had then entered into the spirit of the gospel, or had approved all that he understood; but because he was upon the whole neither a wayward nor an unwilling learner at the Master's feet.

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But it is only the truth and grace of the new song itself that will ever charm us into the spirit or habit of making it our own song. It must draw our harps from the willows of Babylon, as well as become their "chief joy." And it has power both to attract and tune them, until the melody of the heart is in full harmony with the melody of heaven. Be not therefore too hasty in concluding that you can never sing the Lord's song in a foreign land." You already love to hear others sing it; and, like the Jews in Babylon, you cannot "forget" it. You would rather that your right hand lost its cunning, and your tongue cleave to the roof of your mouth, than forget or despise the worthiness of the Lamb slain. Well, all its melody in any heart began in this heartfelt desire to sing the song of the Lamb.-Philip on Redemption.

THE TRIUMPHS OF PRAYER.

PREACHING itself-benevolent activity itself-except so far as it is associated with devotion-shall be passed over to

record the triumphs of prayer. Many a Christian who once filled the public eye with his active deeds and burning zeal shall be comparatively unnoticed; and the man of prayer, the wrestler with God, shall be drawn out from his closet obscurity, and proclaimed in his stead, and it shall appear that while the one was only moving earth, the other was moving heaven.

Are we asked for proof of this? Brethren, a great portion of the world's history is written-written by the finger of God. The Bible is God's summary of the history of the world, down to the close of the first century of the present

era.

What are the deeds-what is the kind of human instrumentality which he has deemed most worthy of record? Oh! if I did not deem you to be sufficiently acquainted with that already, I would say, Paint them on the walls of this sacred place; let those spaces, now left in unadorned simplicity, be occupied with the principal scenes out of God's history of man's instrumentality; and they would soon be peopled with suppliants in all the postures of devotion, crowded with the various forms and attitudes of prayer. In one place Abraham would appear interceding for Sodom, and Omnipotence waiting till he had done, the tempest of descending fire suspended in the air, suspended and ready to be blown away by the breath of prayer. In another Moses would appear, holding back the arm of God, while Omnipotence is saying, as if hampered and embarrassed, LET ME ALONE-"Let me alone, that I may destroy them." In one compartment should stand the temple, with the scene of dedication-a nation at prayer -and clouds of massive glory filling the house; and in another the same temple, with its high priest occupied in the office of two-fold intercession-prayer with the voice, and prayer by sacrifice, the prayer by blood-thus justifying the description given of it in the text, "a house of prayer." Did Jesus pray? Oh! in a sense more than figurative, he saved the world by prayer. Portray a mountain top, and Jesus on it, prostrate, alone, wet with the dew of night, praying to God "with strong crying and tears;" and next a garden-Gethsemane—and Jesus there, praying in an agony, which baptizes him in his own blood; and next the "place called Calvary," for "there they crucified him," and Jesus died, offering that great sacrificial prayer, which still pleads, still fills the ear of God, and for the sake of which alone all other prayers

are heard. Can the "cloven tongue of fire" be portrayed? Forget not to represent the apostles, on whom they rest, assembled in prayer. Elsewhere let an angel be seen, despatched from the Divine presence to liberate Peter from prison; but forget not to represent the disciples, in a neighbouring house, in prayer. But, oh! there is a vision no human eye but one hath seen, which sums up all: an angel standing at the altar, having a golden censer, and there is given him much incense, that he may offer it with"-mark, "that he may offer it with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar, which is before the throne; and the smoke of the incense, blending with the prayers of the saints, ascends up before God out of the angel's hand.' Yes, here is the summing up of man's instrumentality. Of all the various ways in which he employs himself here, look into that censer, and mark which of them it is that reaches heaven. When the clamours of a prayerless zeal have subsided, and the undevout deeds, which have dazzled and astonished men, have spent their force, mark what is left in the censer; only that which partakes of the nature of prayer. This is all that lives to reach the skies, all that heaven receives from earth, all that is ever permitted to ascend before God.-Harris.

HOME.

THERE is something in the word home that wakes the kindliest feelings of the heart. It is not merely friends and kindred that render that place so dear, but the very hills, and rocks, and rivulets throw a charm around the place of one's nativity. It is no wonder that the loftiest harps have been tuned to sing of home, "sweet home." The rose that bloomed in the garden where one has wandered in early years, a thoughtless child, careless in innocence, is lovely in its bloom, and lovelier in its decay. No songs are sweet like those we heard among the boughs that shade a parent's dwelling, when the morning or the evening hour found us gay as the birds that warbled over us. No waters are bright like the clear silver streams that wind among the flower-decked knolls where in childhood we have often strayed to pluck the violet, or the lily, or to twine a garland for some loved schoolmate. We may wander away and mingle in the "world's fierce strife," and form new associations and friendships, and fancy we have almost forgotten the land of our birth; but at some evening hour, as we listen perchance to

sea.

the autumn winds, the remembrance of other days comes over the soul, and fancy bears us back to childhood's scenes, and we roam again the old familiar haunts, and press the hands of companions long since cold in the grave, and listen to voices we shall hear on earth no more. It is then a feeling of melancholy steals over us, which, like Ossian's music, is pleasant, though mournful to the soul. The Swiss general who leads his army. into a foreign land, must not suffer the sweet airs of Switzerland to be sung in the hearing of his soldiers; for at the thrilling sound they would leave the camp and fly away to their own green hills. The African, torn from his willowbraided hut, and borne away to the land of charters and of chains, weeps as he thinks of home, and sighs and pines for the cocoa land beyond the waters of the Years may have passed over him, and stripes and toil may have crushed his spirits; all his kindred may have found graves upon the corals of the ocean; yet were he free, how soon would he seek the shores and skies of his boyhood dreams! The English mariner, amid the icebergs of the northern seas, or breathing the spicy gales of the evergreen isles, or coasting along the shores of the Pacific, though the hand of time may have blanched his raven locks, and care have ploughed deep furrows on his brow, and his heart have been chilled by the storms of ocean, till the fountains of his love had almost ceased to gush with the heavenly current; yet, upon some. summer's evening, as he looks out upon the sun sinking behind the western wave, he will think of home, and his heart will yearn for the loved of other days, and his tears flow like the summer rain. How does the heart of the wanderer, after long years of absence, beat, and his eyes fill, as he catches a glimpse of the hills of his nativity! and when he has pressed the lip of a mother or a sister, how soon does he hasten to see if the garden, and the orchard, and the stream, look as in days gone by! We may find climes as beautiful, and skies as bright, and friends as devoted; but that will not usurp the place of home.

There is one spot where none will sigh for home. The flowers that blossom there will never fade; the crystal waters that wind along those verdant vales will never cease to send up their heavenly music; the clusters hanging from trees overshadowing its banks will be immortal clusters; and the friends that meet will meet for ever.

CASTING OUR CARE ON GOD. DAILY, by anxious cares, do I discredit those soul-comforting, soul-composing truths, that God cares for his people, that their concerns are his, and that he keeps them as the apple of the eye. Were a kind-hearted Samson to go along the way with me, and take my burden from my back, and bear it on his robust shoulders, would it not be impertinent to run up every now and then to bear up the burden, although forbidden, and convinced that he could carry me as well as my burden? Just so God has commanded me to cast all my care upon him, with this assurance, that he careth for me. And he has no more need of my assistance to support the world. Though rolling my burden on the Lord does not supersede a moderate care and the use of lawful means, yet I am so to cast my cares on God as if I had no more concern with them.

Oh how unlike a child of God, an expectant of glory, to have so many anxious cares and disquieting forebodings about the things of time, under the pleasing hopes of a happy eternity! My cares may multiply-my concerns may grow; but they can never be too great or too many for God. He has borne the cares of the church and the people through many generations, and well may I cast all of mine on him.

Were a mighty potentate to send me this message, "Make yourself happy, for I will provide for you and yours," should I not rely on the royal promise, and think myself secure ? Then are the promises, the compassion, the treasure, and the faithfulness of the King of kings less to be depended on than those of any earthly king? His care has been extended to a numerous race of my ancestors since Japheth left the ark, and, through pagan darkness and popish delusion, has brought me to the clear light of the gospel; and to his unerring care, both with respect to soul and body, I may well commit myself and my posterity to the end of time. His care fashioned me in my mother's womb, and he will not forsake me now that I am near to be laid in the bowels of the earth.

"Be careful for nothing," is a command as large and extensive as it is kind and gracious; that is, have no anxious concern about future periods, or apparent losses, about friends and relatives, about wife or children, widow or orphan, house or home, food or raiment, poverty or reproach, sickness or death.

So often has my own care produced nothing but pain and disquiet, that it is high time for me to be ashamed of it, and to give it up entirely. And so often has the heavenly care done wonders for me, watched over me for good, and done all things well, that on him I may cast every care with confidence and joy.

SPIRIT OF FORGIVENESS. HISTORY furnishes an affecting illustration of the need of a spirit of forgiveness, in order to the retaining of our evidence of forgiveness from Christ. There was in the church at Antioch, in the third century, a minister by the name of Sapricius, and a layman by the name of Nicephorus, who, after a long intimacy with each

other, had fallen into an unhappy quarrel, and carried it so far that they would not speak to each other when they met. After a while Nicephorus relented, and took every measure for reconciliation, but in vain. He even threw himself at the feet of the other, and entreated forgiveness for the Lord's sake, but without effect. About this time a new outbreak of a storm of persecution against Christians came on, and Sapricius was marked out as one of the victims. The magistrates ordered him to obey the emperor, and sacrifice to the heathen god. But he appeared ready to witness a good confession, and he replied, in an expression of his higher allegiance to the King of kings, and said, "Perish idols, which can do neither harm nor good." Torture was applied, and he bore it firmly. The magistrate then commanded him to be beheaded, and while he was led out to execution, Nicephorus followed him, entreating his forgiveness in vain. Sapricius' unforgiving temper remained to the last.

At this juncture did Christ make good his assertion," If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive your trespasses." For at this trying period all Sapricius' firmness forsook him; the fear of death overpowered him, and he recanted, and saved his life, while seemingly on the point of seizing the crown of martyrdom. Nicephorus, amazed at so unexpected a change, exhorts him to adhere, but in vain. He then himself, flaming with zeal for the Christian cause so dishonoured, turned to the executioner and said, "I believe in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, whom he has renounced." This was reported to the governor, and Nicephorus received the crown of martyrdom. This example impressively teaches us that we cannot effectually rely upon Divine grace while indulging in an unforgiving and unchristian temper.

EDUCATION NOT RELIGION.

We do not deny that there is frequently much kindness and urbanity, much benevolence and generosity, in men who do not even pretend to be religious. These qualities often flow from constitutional feeling, natural softness of temper, and warm affections; often from an elegant education, that best human sweetener and polisher of social life. We feel a tender regret as we exclaim, "What a fine soil would such dispositions afford to plant religion in!" Well-bred persons are accustomed to respect all the decorums of society, to connect inseparably the ideas of personal comfort with public esteem, of generosity with credit, of order with respectability. They have a keen sense of dishonour, and are careful to avoid everything that may bring the shadow of discredit on their name. Public opinion is the breath by which they live, the standard by which they act; of course they would not lower by gross misconduct that standard on which their happiness depends. They have been taught to respect themselves; this they can do with more security while they can retain, on this half-way principle, the respect of others.

LULLING THE CONSCIENCE. THERE is a fatal way of lulling the conscience by entertaining diminishing thoughts of sins long since committed. We persuade ourselves to forget them, and we therefore persuade ourselves that they are not remembered by God. But though distance diminishes objects to the eye of the beholder, it does not actually lessen them. Their real magnitude remains the same. Deliver us, merciful God! from the delusion of believing that secret sins, of which the world has no cognizance, early sins, which the world has forgotten, but which are known to "Him with whom we have to do," become by secrecy and distance as if they had never been. "Are not these things noted in THY book?" Perhaps if we remember them, God may forget them, especially if our remembrance be such as to induce a sound repentance. If we remember them not, he assuredly will. The holy contrition which should accompany this remembrance, while it will not abate our humble trust in our compassionate Redeemer, will keep our conscience tender and our heart watchful.

FAMILY WORSHIP-INCONSISTENCY. IT may startle some of our readers to hear us remark upon the inconsistency of family worship. We do not hesitate to affirm that in some cases it is the only inconsistent practice in the family; a practice, we mean, marked by its utter want of conformity to, nay, its absolute contrariety with, the general habits of the house. For what else can be said of the fact that, apart from the custom of assembling the family, perhaps, even twice in the day, there is nothing in the course of the various individuals of the household but what indicates the most entire and systematic worldliness, the most complete forgetfulness of God and of eternity, the most consistent exhibition of a life according to the fashion of a vain and sinful world? It is somewhat difficult to conceive the inducement to endure the drudgery of this formal service, except it be traditionary observance, the recommendation of some influential friend, the standard of decent respectability in the sphere around them, or possibly one of the many ways of propitiating conscience devised by those who are building upon no better righteousness than their own.

The true influence is, when it forms a part of a consistent whole-when practice illustrates and confirms profession-when we live as we pray. This commends our religion, not as a notion of sentimentalism or form, but as reality, privilege, holiness; as something that is not only practicable, but delightful. And most valuable is this influence, both on him that conducts the worship and on those that unite in it. The practical remembrance of family responsibility operates most beneficially on the head, in promoting a recollected and circumspect profession. Suppose him to realize his sacred responsibilities, as the priest of his household, and the mouth of his family to God, surely he cannot walk in the unseemly spirit of lightness or unspiritual tone of intercourse. When about to present the several members of his family, his wife, children, household, before God, will he not be constrained to live before them in the habitual exercise of his practical obligations? His open confession of his own sins before his Father's mercy-seat will surely operate to check,

in some measure, their gross and lawless influence. For how revolting will be the exhibition of religion if what has been solemnly expressed in this holy service be not fully carried out in the moulding of the heart and conduct throughout the day! It is, indeed, well for him to remember how deeply the impressive or barren influence of the worship is connected with the manifest sincerity or hypocrisy of his own profession

THE ARMOUR OF THE SOUL. WHAT are the truths which are to be used as the armour of the soul against the enemies of its safety and peace? They consist of all those great and solemn truths which concern a man as a rational and immortal being, and his relation to that incomprehensible One who is now his witness and will soon be his judge. In the present short and transitory state of being he is placed for a period of moral discipline. He has various duties which he is called upon to perform, and many responsibilities and means of usefulness which he is required to improve to the glory of God and the good of man; and he has committed to his care an immortal spirit, to be disciplined for the solemn realities of a life which is to come. Through every step of this mortal pilgrimage, he is exposed to an eye that never sleeps-the eye of Him who is not only the witness of his conduct in every relation of life, but before whom even his most secret desires and imaginations are open, and are weighed in the balance of the sanctuary. Each day, as it hurries unheeded over him, is leading him with fearful rapidity to the grave; and after the short night of the grave, is that dread morning when the voice of the Eternal shall wake the dead-and then there is the awful solemnity of the judgment of Him who cannot err-and then there is eternity. Were the solemn truth habitually present to the mind, that each day, as it passes over us, affects our preparation for these dread realities-that each day, each hour, each act of life, each train of thought that is encouraged in the mind, has its part in advancing or retarding us in this mighty work, and has thus a bearing on our prospects for eternity-oh! how could the impression fail to act as armour of the soul, and, under an influence from on high, tend to guard it against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, and spiritual wickedness in high places! Such is the mighty import of having the loins girt about with truth.

BELIEVING THE PROMISES.

We must not seek to build up a false confidence and peace, on a false estimate of our real situation and danger, either by overrating our own strength, or underrating Satan's power. God's plan for keeping the soul in peace is unlike this. His word tells us the truth, "that our hearts are deceitful above all things and desperately wicked;" that we have no power of ourselves even to think anything as of ourselves; that without Christ we can do nothing. And then it tells us that helpless as we thus are in ourselves, we have to contend with a tremendous enemy, of appalling subtilty and strength, unrelenting hatred, and unceasing vigilance, more dangerous than the lion seeking whom he may devour; more dangerous than the serpent seek

ing whom he may deceive; yea, of such power, that he is called "the god of this world." And then when this startling view of our own helplessness and our adversary's power has humbled us, and almost driven us to despair; when the storm of fear begins to shake the soul, and the wild waves of tempestuous terror to toss the troubled heart, suddenly a voice is heard amidst the storm, saying, "Peace, be still!" and immediately "there is a great calm." And amidst the stillness of that calm, the voice that breathed peace upon the troubled waves is heard, in accents sweeter than heaven's sweetest music, whispering to the believer, "Fear not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God!"

THE GENTLENESS OF CHRIST. WHAT an expression! How much is there in that short sentence ! How much to admire; how much to imitate! Christ performed great deeds such as no one ever did; but not that we should imitate them; he spake to the tempest, and stilled the rolling billows-but not that we should lift up our voices when the wind blows, and the thunders roll, and the waves are piled mountain high, and attempt to hush them to peace. He stood by the grave and spake; and the dead man left his tomb and came again to life-but not that we should place ourselves by the graves of the dead and attempt to restore them to life. He opened the eyes of the blind, and taught the lame man to leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb to sing-but not that we should imitate him in this, or attempt by miracle to give vigour to the feeble, or health to the diseased. But Christ was meek and gentle, that we might be so too. Christ was benignant and kind, that we might be so too. Christ patiently bore reviling, that we might do it also; he was not irritable, and uncharitable, and fretful, and envious, and revengeful-and in all these we may imitate him. His was a life of benevolence; diffusive like the light of a morning without clouds; a life undisturbed by conflicting emotions; unbroken by a harsh and dissatisfied temper; kind when others were unkind; gentle when the storms of furious passion raged in their bosoms; and tranquil and serene while all around him were distracted by anger, and ambition, and envy, and revenge. To us may the same spirit be given; and while the world around us is agitated with passion, and pride, and wrath, in our hearts may there reign for evermore "the gentleness of Christ."

JESUITS NEVER SING.

We

A CONVERTED Roman Catholic priest, who spent his novitiate at Rome, and was familiar with the characteristics of the different ecclesiastical orders who throng and curse that city, states, that whatever else the Jesuits do, it is contrary to the rules of the order to sing. are not surprised at this, knowing the harmonizing effect of music, and the kind of work they have in hand. They would be half unfitted for their intrigues and plots of mischief for the world, if the spirit of song were to be allowed to breathe upon them.

We are reminded at once, on learning this fact, of the words of Shakspeare:"The man that hath no music in his soul,

And is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."

ABROAD AND AT HOME.

A GENTLEMAN who had been active in aiding a missionary collection was met the following day by one of different habits, who chided him with folly of which he deemed him guilty, in giving to such an object, and in such profusion.

It was folly he said to be sending heaps of money abroad, to be spent, no one knew how, while there were so many unemployed starving poor at home. if you

“I will give £- to the poor of

will give an equal sum," said the Christian friend. "I did not mean that," replied the objector; "but," continued he, "if you must go from home, why so far? Think of the miser

able poor of Ireland." "I will give £- to the poor of Ireland, if you will do the same." "I did not mean that either," was the reply. No, it is neither this nor that, which this class of objectors exactly mean; but simply to veil their covetousness, by blaming the proceedings of liberal men, whom, if they did not condemn, they must, for very shame, in some degree imitate.

BEAUTIFUL APOLOGUE.

A SHEPHERD was mourning over the death of his favourite child, and in the passionate and rebellious feelings of his heart was bitterly complaining that what he loved most tenderly, and was in itself most lovely, had been taken from him. Suddenly a stranger of grave and venerable appearance stood before him, and beckoned him forth into the field.

It was night, and not a word was spoken till they arrived at the fold, when the stranger thus addressed him:

"When you select one of these lambs from the flock, you choose the best and most beautiful among them. Why should you murmur because I, the good Shepherd of the sheep, have selected from those which you have nourished for me the one that was most fitted for my eternal fold ?"

The mysterious stranger was seen no more, and the father's heart was comforted.

DIVINE GUIDANCE.

WHEN God should guide us, we guide ourselves; when he should be our sovereign, we rule ourselves; the laws which he gives us we find fault with, and would correct; and if we had the making of them, we would have made them otherwise; when he should take care of us, we will take care of ourselves; when we should depend on him in daily receivings, we had rather have our portion in our own hands; when we should submit to his providence, we usually quarrel at it, and think that we could make a better disposal than God hath made.

TO DEFEAT CALUMNY.

1. DESPISE it. To seem disturbed at it, is the And stabbing your way to make it believed. 2. Live defamer will not prove you innocent. an exemplary life, and then your general good character will overpower it. 3. Speak tenderly of every one, even of your defamer, and by so doing you will show the world that you are innocent.