Chapter 22

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 19

1. Better is the poor that walketh in his integrity, than he that is perverse in his lips, and is a fool.

POVERTY is never a disgrace, except when it is the fruit of ill-conduct. But when adorned with godly integrity, it is most honorable. Better is the poor man than he, whom riches lift up in his own eyes; and he is given up to his perverseness and folly. Often man puts under his feet those, whom God lays in his bosom; honors the perverse for their riches, and despises the poor for their poverty. 'But what hath the rich, if he hath not God? And what is a poor man, if he hath God? Better be in a wilderness with God, than in Canaan without him.' Was not Job on the dunghill, walking in his integrity, better than ungodly Ahab on the throne? Was not Lazarus in his rags, better than Dives with his "fine linen and sumptuous fare?" Calculate wisdom by God's standard, who judges not by station, but by character. Estimate things in the light of eternity. How soon will all accidental distinctions pass away, and personal distinctions alone avail! Death will strip the poor of his rags, and the rich of his purple, and bring them both "naked to the earth from whence they came."6 Meanwhile let us learn from our Lord's voice to his despised people.—"I know thy poverty; but thou art rich." How glorious the stamp upon the outcast professors walking in their integrity—"Of whom the world was not worthy—For such is prepared the honor that cometh from God only—his seal—his smiles—his everlasting crown.

2. Also, that the soul be without knowledge, it is not good; and he that hasteth with his feet sinneth.

Also—seems to trace the fool's perverse ways to their source. His soul is without knowledge. Ignorance gives perpetuity to folly. Knowledge is valuable even to the mind. It expands its powers, and, when rightly directed, preserves from many besetting temptations. 'Be assured,'—says an eloquent Preacher, 'it is not, because the people know much, that they ever become the willing subjects of any factious or unprincipled demagogue. It is just because they know too little. It is just because ignorance is the field, on which the quackery of a political impostor ever reaps its most abundant harvest.' Knowledge also opens much wholesome enjoyment. The intelligent poor are preserved in their home-comforts from the temptations of the ale-house. The most educated are raised above the frivolities of dissipation. Thus both classes are restrained from the sensualities of ungodliness.

But—much more for the soul—made for God—to be without his knowledge is not good. Here it is not merely expansion or restraint, but light and life. Without it—what know we of present forgiveness and peace, or of life eternal?3 The careless worldling, immersed in pleasure, and playing with trifles—what is he, but a "man without understanding," justly compared to "the beasts that perish?" Is ignorance then the mother of devotion? Is it not the worst of evil—the centre of all evil5—the parent of irreligion, and the precursor of ruin. Awful indeed are its aggravations—to be ignorant in a time of knowledge—blind in a land of light—unenlightened in "the valley of vision!"

But let us mark the practical evil of this want of knowledge. 'Where no discretion is, there the soul is not well.' The uninstructed child or savage acts rashly. Thus the man without knowledge, instead of "pondering his path," hasteth with his feet—misseth his aim—sinneth. Haste, as opposed to sloth, is the energy of Divine grace. 'As opposed to consideration, acting hastily is sin. Not taking time to enquire, he is without knowledge. This impatience is a ruling evil—the genuine exercise of self-will—"not waiting for the counsel of the Lord." Godly Joshua offended here. Saul's impatience cost him his kingdom.11 David's haste was the occasion of gross injustice. Jehoshaphat's precipitancy—asking counsel after, instead of before, his course—was sharply rebuked.13 Rash experiments—the result of haste—often threaten serious evils in the state. The same spirit rends the Church with schism. The heady professor wanders from Church to Church, and from sect to sect, without pondering. In common life how much sin has been the fruit of a few rash words or hasty lines! A sudden impulse has taken the place of considerate principle. Let us ever remember, that without self-discipline, there can be no Christian consistency or stability; that in a thousand cases haste may plunge our feet into sin, if not into ruin; and that out strength is to stand or sit still, and see how God will appear on our side, to make a way for us through many a deep water of per plexity. "He that believeth shall not make haste."2

3. The foolishness of man perverteih his way; and his heart fretteth against the Lord.

Such was the foolishness of Adam! First he perverted his way, then he charged upon God its bitter fruit. "God—making him upright"—made him happy. Had he been ruled by his will, he would have continued so. But—"seeking out his own inventions"—he made himself miserable. As the author of his own misery,—it was reasonable, that he should fret against himself. But such was his pride and baseness, that his heart fretted against the Lord, as if He—not himself—was responsible. Thus his first-born, when his own sin had brought punishment on him, fretted, as if it "were greater than he could bear." This has been the foolishness of Adam's children ever since. God has linked together moral and penal evil—sin and sorrow. The fool rushes into the sin, and most unreasonably frets for the sorrow; as if he could "gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles."7 He charges his crosses—not on his own perverseness, but on the injustice of God. But God is clear from all the blame; He had shown the better. Man chooses the worse.9 He had warned by his word—by conscience. Man, deaf to the warning, plunged into the misery; and while "eating the fruit of his own ways," his heart frets against the Lord. 'It is hard to have passions, and to be punished for indulging them. I could not help it. Why did he not give grace to avoid it.' Such is the pride and blasphemy of an unhumbled spirit! The malefactor blames the judge for his righteous sentence.11

But let us look a little at this bold impeachment of God's righteousness. 'Why did he not give me grace?' Is then God bound to give his grace? Have we any claim upon God? Is not God's grace his own? Is not the fool following his own will, and therefore responsible for his doing? Why cannot he turn to God? He will not listen or obey. The means are free before him. No force of natural impossibility hinders. It is only his stubbornness,—that is his impotency. He cannot, because he will not; and therefore, if he perish, it is not in his weakness, but in his wilfulness.13 The worst part of his wickedness is the wicked will. It is not that his nature is wicked, but that he is willing that it should be so. Did he but feel his moral inability; would he but look to him, who is "eyes to the blind," "ears to the deaf," "feet to the lame;" his healing would be sure.

This perverseness shows itself in every rising of corruption. The Pharisee mocks God by his hypocritical service, and then frets, because no good comes out of it. The proud worm cherishes a discontented humor with Providence. Either the desired comfort is withheld, or the will has been crossed. If his tongue is quiet, his heart frets. Had he been placed differently, he would have succeeded better. God therefore has the blame of his failure. Whereas it is obvious, that if he is not ready now to serve God, he needs a change of heart, not a change of place. The disease is within, and therefore would follow him through altered circumstances with the same result; leaving him as far as ever from happiness. The constant struggle of the will is to be any where, but where God has placed us for our best welfare.

Humbling it is to see this foolishness in the Lord's people. Our carelessness or waywardness provokes the rod; yet the heart fretteth under the rebuke. While we shun what is positively sinful, too often we allow occasions of sin—circumstances, society, which experience has taught us, hinders prayer, damps the spiritual taste, and wounds the conscience. Why then indulge it? At least, charge on yourselves, not on God, the bitter consequence. Often also we are found quarrelling with what we cannot alter, and only doubling the burden, by adding guilt to our trouble. If "a fool's contention" with his brother "calleth for strokes,"3 much more when we have a murmurer and complainer against God; "the man striving with his Maker;"5 or rather the child kicking against his Father's rod, instead of "humbling himself under his mighty hand." Did he but know himself—could he but trust his God—he would look, not at the rod, but at the hand that holds it.7 Could the heart fret to see it in his Father's hands? Should he not kiss it, even while it smites him; peacefully—yea, thankfully—"accepting the punishment of his iniquity?"

This turbulent insurrection against Divine sovereignty brings its own torment. It sets all the powers of the soul out of course. There is no peace or tranquillity, but in complacency with the will of God, being fully reconciled to his disposals and dispensations. While "Ephraim was as a bullock unaccustomed to the yoke," it was only the more fretting. After that he "was turned, and instructed," and "quieted himself as a weaned child," he found case.

Always let us be ready with the cry—"Show me wherefore thou contendest with me. That which I see not, teach thou me. If I have done iniquity, I will do so no more." Instead of "complaining for the punishment of our sins, let us search and try our ways, and turn again unto the Lord." "I will bear the indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned against him."11 The discipline that schools the will into subjection, is an invaluable blessing. Well satisfied are we, that all that God does will appear, when the mystery is finished; that every leaf of his Providence will be expounded with the full manifestation of his glory; that the cross of disappointed wishes was the gracious means of saving us from ruining ourselves, and of exercising us for endurance, and ultimately for enjoyment. Joy and delight indeed will it be to look back upon every step of "the right way, by which our Father has led us to the city of habitation,"2 and to mark, how needful was the discipline at every point, how suited to every exigency; and what abundant matter of praise does it furnish for that unwearied patience, with which our loving Father "suffered our manners in the wilderness."

4. Wealth maketh many friends; but the poor is separated from his neighbor.

We have had the substance of this proverb before. It is nominally true, that wealth maketh many friends. But generally they are little worth. 'Riches have them'—says Bishop Hall—'not the man.' The principle is selfishness—no earnest for true and permanent friendship. Few among them will be found "loving us at all times, brethren born for adversity."6 God has made poverty a gradation of rank; and as such we are bound to regard it. Man makes it a wall of separation. It tries our own faith and patience, and not less the love and sincerity of our friend. But what, if the Lord's poor be separated from his selfish neighbor? There is one that "knoweth his soul in adversity,"9 and that hath pledged his word—"I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." Yes! this is the joy, the stay of his confidence—"I am poor and needy; but the Lord thinketh on me."11 Poverty may separate him from his neighbor. But who or what shall separate him from his God? "Joint-heir as he is with him, whom God hath appointed heir of all things," what can he want?13 'If it were possible for him to stand absolutely in need of the use and service of the whole creation, all the creatures in the world would surely wait on him, and be appropriated to him.'

5. A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall not escape.

If "a true witness delivereth souls," a false witness destroyeth them. Fearful guilt and responsibility—reaching—without the atoning sacrifice—throughout eternity! Can we wonder, that the detection should bring him under certain condemnation?17 It is an offence against both tables of the law. The perjurer "takes God's name in vain." The false witness is a direct transgressor against the law of our neighbor. This wickedness does not however come to this height at once. But the habit of speaking lies, the allowance of untruth in sport, or perhaps under the pretence of good, grows to this aggravation.2 The indulgence of a lie soon banishes all fear of an oath. It may escape detection from man. But it lies open and unveiled before the eye of God. It shall not be unpunished—it shall not escape, there. The liar may perhaps have thought or intended no harm. But no palliation is admitted at the bar of God. "All liars shall have their part in the lake, that burneth with fire and brimstone."

6. Many will entreat the favor of the prince; and every man is a friend to him that giveth gifts. 7. All the brethren of the poor do hate him: how much more do his friends go far from him! he pursueth them with words, yet they are wanting to him.

The fourth verse is here further opened with too accurate a description of man's native selfishness. 'A prince never wants suitors for his favor.' Every one loves, or professes to love, those from whom they expect a benefit; "having men's persons in admiration, because of advantage;"5 valuing them for their possessions, not for their virtues. Yet if "riches make to themselves wings, and flee away," will not they take their flight with them? If the same person, now fawned on for his gifts, were by Providence brought to poverty, the same friends would hate or neglect him. 'Which of them'—asks Bishop Hall—'would dare acknowledge him, when he is going to prison?' The friends of the poor go from him, deserting him in his calamity, and, if he pursueth them with words, yet they are deaf to his entreaties for help and sympathy. Job found these "summer" friends a great aggravation to his affliction. Jerusalem in its days of prosperity was "the joy of the whole earth." In the time of after-destitution "they called thee"—said the mournful prophet—"an outcast, saying—this is Zion, whom no man seeketh after."9

But how ought we to entreat the favor of our Prince! What gifts does he give to his beloved people! And shall not they exhibit his rule of mercy to their poorer brethren, specially to his poor—the princes and heirs of his kingdom?11 As a spiritual writer pleads—'Lord! in my greatest plenty, help me to mind and feel others' poverty; and in my most prosperous condition keep me from forgetting the afflictions of thy Joseph.'

8. He that getteth wisdom loveth his own soul: he that keepeth understanding shall find good.

It would seem that self-interest might win us to religion. Careless sinner! little do you know your loss of solid happiness. If any thing is worth getting, and when got—worth keeping—"Wisdom is the thing: therefore get wisdom, and with all thy getting get understanding." How this blessing is to be obtained, Solomon had before explained. Apply thine heart diligently to the search; then bring thine heart to God for his light and teaching; and the treasure is thine own.2 Yet it requires as much care to keep the blessing, as to get it. Soon may it slip away from a negligent hand. "Keep thy soul diligently;" and thou wilt keep thy treasure; as the man, who, having found the hidden treasure in the field, buys the field to secure it.4 It is no carnal good, however, that is found here. This is the Christian's sacrifice, not his portion. Yet it is real, infinite, heavenly; "whoso findeth me, findeth life"6—all in me—all with me. Is not this the chief good, above every earthly good—the eternal good, when every earthly good shall have passed away?8 Whether Christ or the world shall have our highest love, our supreme trust, our first time, and our choicest talent—one should be ashamed to admit the question. Is not the very mention of it a sufficient answer? It is like comparing pebbles with pearls, dust with diamonds, dross with gold. To follow our own way is then to destroy—not to love—our own souls. "Whoso sinneth against me wrongeth his own soul; all they that hate me love death."

9. A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies, shall perish.

"A God of truth, and without iniquity; just and right is he—A God that cannot lie—Faithful and True." Such is the revealed character of Jehovah! We cannot wonder at the repeated denunciations against deceit. So gross a dishonor is it to his unchangeable attribute! One addition is here made to the former sentence.11 The punishment shall not only be certain—"he that speaketh lies shall not escape,"—"but it shall be utter ruin:—He shall perish. "Lies and desolation" are linked together.13 "I will be a swift witness against false swearers—and them that fear not me—saith the Lord of Hosts."

10. Delight is not seemly for a fool: much less for a servant to have rule over princes.

What has a fool to do with delight? This world's prosperity—so far as he knows it—can only be a curse to him. Delight "is comely to the righteous," suitable to his character. He has a right and title to it.2 But it is not seemly for the fool. He has indeed his merriment and folly.4 But solid joy he knows not. Far more suitable to him a chastening rod. And should the Lord graciously sanctify this dispensation—as in how many instances he has done so!—then indeed will it introduce him to that "delight, which will then be seemly to him."

Much less seemly is the exhibition of a servant having rule over princes. Such an elevation is dangerous to the individual. To the kingdom it is one of the "things which the earth cannot bear."8 The servant has indeed the same rational power with his sovereign. But contracted habits of mind unfit him to rule. Exceptions there are, as in the case of Joseph. But seldom is God's order reversed without anarchy and confusion.10 Such was the reign of our second Edward, when worthless minions had rule over the prince; chosen either for their external accomplishments, or for their subserviency to his folly. Peace and happiness belong to godly contentment. "Let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God."12 To those whom he has placed in a subordinate station our Father's voice is full of instruction—"Seekest thou great things for thyself? Seek them not."

11. The discretion of a man deferreth his anger; and it is his glory to pass over a transgression.

What is anger, but temporary madness? To yield therefore to its paroxysm—to act without deliberation under its impulse, is to do we know not what, and what will surely bring work for repentance. An interval between the inward rising and the outward manifestation of the anger is most important. The discretion of a man deferreth his anger. Mindful of his own infirmity, he will guard against indecent sallies of temper, taking time to weigh, and careful not to overcharge the offence. An affront therefore is the test, whether he has discretion, or whether he is the slave of his own passion. The standard of common usage is—'To be even, and return one insult by another.' The Christian standard is to be above; "not rendering railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing."

Again—To pass over a transgression—such is the proud folly of man's judgment—is disgrace—want of courage and proper spirit. But Solomon—a wise man—a King—declares it to be weakness, not strength or greatness, to be able to bear nothing. It is glory to pass over a transgression. So it must be, because it is likeness to God. What a motive! What a pattern is his long-suffering with such wilful—daily—hourly provocations! If he create us anew, it must be, as before, in his own image. Forbearance and forgiveness will therefore take the place of resentment and malice. Moral strength may in some men curb the outward expression. But the poison lurks within. Forbearance from a pure motive—passing over transgression in free love—is a noble triumph of grace—most honorable to God—fraught with the richest spoils to our own souls.

12. The king's wrath is as the roaring of a lion: but his favor is as dew upon the grass.

The monarch of the forest is a just comparison to the monarch of the land. "The lion hath roared; who will not fear?"4 The rocks and hills echo the terrific cry. The whole race of the animals of the forest are driven to flight, or petrified to the spot. Such is the king's wrath in a land of despotism—reigning without law—above law—his will his only law—an awful picture of cruelty,6 tyranny, or caprice!8 Unlimited power is too much for proud human nature to bear, except with special grace from above. Just so is the king's power a reviving blessing, as dew upon the grass—the nourishment of vegetative life in the East, where the more powerful influence is only partially or periodically known.

But if the wrath of a king be so terrible—Oh, my soul, what must be the wrath of God! If it be so terrible in this world, where every drop is mixed with mercy; what will it be in eternity, where it is "poured out without mixture"—without cessation11—where his power is so fearfully manifested—not only in tormenting, but in preserving—"establishing for correction." Oh! let this wrath be the grand object of my reverential fear. Let me flee from it by the only way of escape, while escape is open to me; and seek his favor, as the enriching "dew" unto Israel—invigorating and fertilizing my barren soil.

13. A foolish son is the calamity of his father: and the contentions of a wife are a continual dropping.

'Many,' observes an old commentator—'are the miseries of a man's life; but none like that, which cometh from him, who should be the stay of his life.' As "a wise son maketh a glad father,2 so a foolish son is the father's calamity—a multitude of calamities meeting in one, such as no earthly portion—no riches, honor or station—can alleviate or balance. The denunciation—"Write this man childless"4—would be to his heart a comparative boon. The throne of grace to the Christian father will be the only refuge for his grief. There will he pour out the bitterness of his soul in humiliation for himself, and supplication for his child; and find rest. Oh! can we be too earnest for the prevention of this calamity? Shall we not seek early grace for our children, and—combined with this—special grace for ourselves, to preserve us from unwittingly sowing the seed in their young hearts, that will afterwards spring up with such deadly fruit?

Another domestic calamity is mentioned, not less poignant. The contentions of a wife are as a continual dropping of rain through the roof of an old house. Such a dropping utterly destroys his household comfort, and "wears away" a heart as firm as a "stone." This trial is the more fretting, because there is no lawful escape. The foolish son may be cast out. The contentious wife must be endured. Yet would this cross have been, were the plain Scriptural rule of subjection duly honored?11 Or is it not the just chastening for the neglect of the Divine injunction, so essential to secure happiness in the yoke? Or may it not be the "thorn in the flesh"—the needful restraint from some imminent—subtle—fearful danger?13 Self-will and impatience would flee from the cross. Faith will seek strength to bear it meekly to the honor of God, extracting a solid blessing out of a heavy trial. And who knoweth but the contentious wife may be given to persevering prayer and patient forbearance, as an helpmeet to her husband, and both shall ultimately "dwell as heirs together of the grace of life?"

But surely our God teaches us a valuable lesson of this world's vanity, by fixing disappointment on its most substantial comforts. Let his children beware of building their rest on an earthly portion, of being ensnared by their best blessings, else will their jealous Father embitter their sweetest sources of enjoyment, and teach them by painful discipline to look to enter into no rest but his.

14. House and riches are the inheritance of fathers: and a prudent wife is from the Lord.

"Every good gift is from the Lord;" only some in the ordinary course; others more directly from him. Houses and riches—though his gifts—come by descent. They are the inheritance of fathers. The heir is known, and in the course of events he takes possession of his estate. But the prudent wife is wholly unconnected with the man. There has been no previous bond of relation. She is often brought from a distance.4 "The Lord brought her to the man" by his special Providence, and therefore as his special gift. The history of Ruth beautifully illustrates the train of matrimonial Providence. The Moabitess married, contrary to all human probability, a man of Israel, that she might be brought into Naomi's family, return with her to her own land, and in course of filial duty be brought under the eye, and drawn to the heart of Boaz, her appointed husband.6 Often do the wheels of the Lord's working in this interesting matter constrain the admiration of men not well exercised in spiritual observation. And how much more endearing and secure is a special gift of God! The bread coming down from heaven was more valued than if it had been the fruit of labor. Thus is the prudent wife honored—as 'a special blessing of God's immediate choosing, and therefore to be obtained by our prayers at the hand of the giver.' The prudence however, here described, implies not only her wise governing of her household, but that godly consideration connected with Divine wisdom,10 by which she becomes the joy and confidence of her husband, as the contentious wife is his trouble and disgrace.

But is not the husband, no less than the wife, from, the Lord? Let each prospectively seek the blessing of God's ordinance from himself; never trusting to our own judgment and affections, without primary reference to his guidance. Let us realize the responsibility, as well as the indulgent comfort, of the union; ever counting it a talent for God, for his service and glory: and not doubting for ourselves, that 'all things shall turn to our commodity and comfort, if we draw the yoke in one concord of heart and mind.'13

15. Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep; and an idle soul shall suffer hunger.

All experience and observation attest the fact, that slothful habits destroy mental energy, and idleness is the road to want. What could we expect from a sluggard lying in his bed all the day? As little from the slothful, who goes about his work, as if he was cast into a deep sleep.

Thoughtless sinner! Think how this applies to the work of God. You persuade yourself that all is well, because you will not trouble yourself to open your eyes to the truth; and you are content to let things run their course. You do not rebel against the Gospel. But has not our Divine Master said—"He that is not with me is against me?" You conceive that you have done no harm. But is it no harm to have hitherto wasted every opportunity for eternity? to have wandered about in vanity from your cradle, instead of living to God? You are determined to sleep at any rate. And though the two grand treasures—the favor of God, and your own soul—are in imminent peril; yet still you "say to your soul—Soul, take thine ease."3 Instead of weeping love, wrestling prayer, and working dilligence—you are cast into a deep sleep. "Awake, thou that sleepest;" else wilt thou sleep the sleep of eternal death.

Professor! do you expect the grace of God to work as a charm, without, or independent of, means? This were a deadly delusion, casting you into the deep sleep of presumption. Such an idle soul shall suffer hunger! The enduring meat is the gift of God; but, like every other blessing of the Gospel, it is given only to labor.6 The idle mouth—full only of heartless complaints, perhaps sending up a dull prayer for the present quiet of his conscience—shall suffer hunger. The soul can never flourish, if it be not in earnest with God. It may be roused for a while; but only to be cast into a deeper sleep than ever. Now look at the child of God awakened out of a deep sleep; set out in good earnest for the kingdom; enabled to fight—yea—to conquer. But sleep has followed; and, instead of improving the advantage, a sudden assault of the enemy has laid him low. Mind thy work and thy conflict more than thine ease and comfort; else wilt thou be—not a conqueror, but a captive. In time of ease, how naturally, as Bunyan's pilgrim found it, does the air of the plain make us drowsy! And then the soul, instead of being "satisfied as with marrow and fatness,"8 suffers hunger, and becomes faint for want of its proper nourishment. Nothing but the unceasing prayer and exercise of a mortified spirit can shake off this "baneful disease that cleaveth to us." Be thou, Lord, our Helper, our Strength, our Physician!

16. He that keepeth the commandment, keepeth his own soul; but he that despiseth his ways shall die.

The fearing of the commandment is the path of honor. The keeping of it is our security. Keep the word, and the word will keep us securely. Our duties are thus identified with our privileges. This is the first successful effort to shake ourselves from the deep sleep of slothfulness; when we "stir up ourselves to take hold of God, "choosing the things that please him, and joining ourselves to him, to serve him, and to love his name." Yet the power to keep the commandment is not in a man's self. Is it not God working in us—through—by—with—us?4 Thus "all our deeds are wrought in him;" and nothing is left but the thankful humbling acknowledgment—"Yet not I, but the grace of God that is in me."6 Let then the world know, that we do not exercise obedience in a covenant of works, nor reject it as a system of bondage and despondency; but that keeping the commandment evangelically is keeping our own souls—the way of present happiness8—the seal of everlasting mercy—the pathway to heaven.10

But alas! the multitude, instead of keeping the commandment, "go at all adventures," careless of their ways, reckless of their end. It is with them scarcely worth looking into—whether God is displeased or not; whether they be walking in the narrow or broad path;—and what the end of that path may be. Sometimes they come into the world fresh from the influence of a religious education. For a while they yield alternately to their conscience and their corruptions. They are touched a moment under the convictions of the word, or the corrections of the rod. Yet the want of steadiness and consistency soon sweeps all away into "worse" hardness than before. They are "carried away unto their idols, even as they were led;"13 and—slaves of their wills, their lusts, their fancies—they know not;—they care not to know—"that for all these things God will call them to judgment." They despise their ways, and die.

Young people—'Ponder the path of your feet.' Look to it well at every step, that "your ways be established" in converting grace—the only security for Christian steadfastness.16 Keep the conscience tender—the Divine rule before your eyes—the promise in the heart. Cherish a pliable spirit for your Father's guidance. How solemn the warning—He that despiseth his ways shall die. Sinner! would that thou wouldst ponder this death! It is no creation of a distempered fancy. It is the death, which sin bringeth forth to perfection. It is the harvest from that seed.18 It is the death such as a soul can die—an eternal reality of infinite—unchangeable misery; the extinction—not of thy being, (that were a boon indeed!) but of thy happiness. What must it be to be immoveably linked with the wrath of God? Yea—to have the wrath of an immortal God filling the conscience of thine immortal soul, with all its power eternally enlarging to receive the full and eternal impression. And whilst thou art "going on frowardly in the way of thine heart," remember "there is but a step"—who knows how short a step—how soon taken?—"between thee and this death."2 "Why wilt thou die"—when the oath of thy God testifies—"he hath no pleasure in thy death"—when his gracious voice to thee is—"Turn and live. Consider thy ways."4 Oh! listen—ere thou learn the wisdom of fools—to be wise too late.

17. He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will he pay him again.

The ordinance of God is, that "the poor shall never cease out of the land." Hence the universal obligation is to have pity upon the poor. This is according to the New Testament standard, which inculcates the spirit no less than the act. We must open our heart as much as our hands,7 "draw out our soul" as well as our bread, "to the hungry," thus doubling the alms, by giving a part of ourselves. It is possible to "give all our goods to feed the poor," without one atom of the true charity of the heart.9 But whatever we give, "if we shut up the bowels of compassion from our brother, how dwelleth the love of God in us?" The good Samaritan showed true practical pity. Never let us forget our Lord's application—"Go, and do thou likewise."

The appointment of the Deacons in the Primitive Church; the anxiety of the Apostles when delegating a commission to their brethren;13 the high commendation of the Macedonian Churches; the weekly rule of charity laid down (not enforcing a fixed standard, but "as God hath prospered")—all this shows the acceptableness of this Christian service.

The worldly philanthropist however has no conception of the Divine honor of this principle. If our brother is the object of pity, in truth the majesty of Heaven is concerned. It is lending to the Lord. Selfishness would evade the obligation under the cover of prudence. But what we give is only a loan, to be paid again, and that with such security, as can never fail. The Lord of heaven condescends to be the Surety for the poor. He takes the debt upon himself, and gives us the bond of his word in promise of payment. Though he has a right to all, and is beholden to none, he becomes a debtor to his own. Many acts of kindness have been buried and forgotten. The witness of our conscience is the only fruit. But here is a safe deposit in the very heart of God. It can never be lost or forgotten.17 'If then'—as Bishop Hall writes—'we will needs lay up, where should we rather repose it, than in the Christian's treasury? The poor man's hand is the treasury of Christ. All my superfluity shall there be hoarded up, where I know it will be safely kept, and surely returned me.'

It is indeed an act of faith—often of naked faith, when there seems no hope of return. But this is the principle, which "the King delighteth to honor." Franke's Orphan Institution stands out before us. Doubtless the experience of the Lord's people—were it fully brought out—would declare many similar manifestations of His faithfulness to his word. The resurrection day will bring all to light.3 Meanwhile let us admire this his wondrous grace. He puts the desire into the heart—disposes the heart, opens the opportunity, 'and after all accepts the act,' as if it had been the Creator's work, without spot or pollution!

18. Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying.

Christian Parents! carefully study the word of God. See here our Father's wise and loving discipline with his children. "Like as a Father, he pitieth his children." "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you." Yet when his children need chastening; though the flesh cries—spare; though every groan enters into his heart—he loves so well, that his soul spares them not for their crying. He uses the rod—yea—if need be—heavily.7 He will wither their brightest comforts—children—property, if they turn them to idols; and this—"not for his pleasure, but for their profit." And what child has not blessed him, that he did not refrain his discipline, till it had done "its perfect work?"

Is not this then our pattern—our standard; setting out the sound principles of Christian education? "Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath; lest they be discouraged." But let not the rule—chasten—spare not—be "a hard saying." Is not tenderness for the child a cover for the indulgence of weak and foolish affections? There is much more mercy in what seems to be harshness, than in false tenderness. Let the child see, that we are resolved; that we are not to be diverted from our duty by the cry of weakness or passion. Far better that the child should cry under healthful correction, than that the parents should afterwards cry under the bitter fruit to themselves and children, of neglected discipline. 'Eli could not have devised which way to have plagued himself and his house so much, as by his kindness to his children's sin. Parents need no other means to make themselves miserable than sparing the rod.' Yet much less of it would be needed, did they govern, as they ought to do, by the steady decision of a word—a frown—a look.

But the great force of the rule is its timely application—while there is hope. For hopeless the case may be, if the remedy be delayed. "Betimes"—is the season, when the good can be effected with the most ease, and the fewest strokes. Sharp chastening may fail later to accomplish, what a slight rebuke in the early course might have wrought. But is there not too often a voluntary blindness, that does not choose to see what it is painful to correct? The false notion—'Children will be children'—leads us often to pass over real faults, and consider their tempers and waywardness too trifling to require prompt correction. And thus sin, winked at in its beginning, hardens in all the strength of deep-rooted corruptions. Whereas—who would neglect the most trifling bodily ailment in children, which might grow into serious results? If they cannot be argued with, they must be controlled. How often have we found in after life the evil of fixed habits, which early discipline might have subdued with far less cost of suffering. Oh! what grace and wisdom is needed to discipline our minds, judgment, and affections to that tone of self-government, which will enable us to train our children practically for the service of God, and for their own happiness.

19. A man of great wrath shall surffer punishment: for if thou deliver him, yet thou must do it again.

How often does the unchastened child grow up to a man of great wrath, bringing himself into trouble by his boisterous and ungoverned passions! Adonijah, whom "his father had not displeased at any time," rebels against his brother, and suffers punishment. The wretched victim gained nothing by experience. Delivered from one broil, he plunges into another. Indeed who knows what will be the end of undisciplined passion? Cain—a man of great wrath—the murderer of his brother—the punishment that he suffered was "greater than he could bear." The friendly efforts to restrain this wrath must be repeated again and again5—too often ineffectually. Meanwhile the man suffers his own punishment—the miseries of a fierce intestine war—driven about by the fury of his raging lust. Truly "it is a man's discretion to defer his anger," as the first, often the successful, effort to restrain an indulgence, which leaves him degraded and defenseless.7

After all that man boasts of his self-government, there is a fermentation within, which restraint may bind, but cannot subdue. Wounded pride and unquelled resentment leave the wretched criminal in his brooding chamber within—suffering an intolerable burdon of self-inflicted punishment—What then is the radical cure? "Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart." The glory and encouragement of the gospel is that religion with all its difficulties is a practicable thing.9 "My grace is sufficient for thee"—is the cheering word of Him, who sealed the faithfulness of the promise with his blood. Doubt not then, that "he will perfect that which concerneth us"—even to the moulding of the man of great wrath into his own image of meekness, gentleness, and love.

20. Hear counsel, and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end.

We have just had a word for parents directing their Christian discipline. Here the children are exhorted to humility. Again are they awakened to hear counsel and instruction. And constantly do they need the word. "Childhood and youth are vanity."3 Present gratification is the main object. Oh! remember that the seed, now sown in the season of youth, will produce either blessed or bitter fruit in the latter end. Rich indeed was the harvest from Timothy's early attention to instruction. Fearful indeed was the judgment upon the scoffers;5 the awful death of the profligate, the ruin of the holy nation7—all the fruit of despising timely wisdom and instruction. Rehoboam—and Amaziah9—might they not have escaped the ruin of their kingdom, had they heard counsel, and thus obtained wisdom in their latter end? 'I am going to die,' said a thoughtless King on his death-bed; 'and yet I have not begun to live.' How does the wisdom of mature age depend upon diligence in hearing counsel and instruction—upon "bearing the yoke in the youth"—a "good" thing indeed, fraught with profit. Who can refrain, in the sight of the mass of ungodliness, from the weeping lamentation of the man of God: "Oh! that they were wise! that they understood this! that they would consider their latter end!"11

21. There are many devices in a man's heart; nevertheless the counsel of the Lord, that shall stand.

When God and man were as one, it was "as the days of heaven upon earth." But ever since the fall, man's devices and God's counsel are at opposite. Which will triumph, who can doubt? "There is no wisdom, nor understanding, nor counsel against the Lord. I will work and who shall let it? My counsel shall stand, and I will do all my pleasure." We mark this conflict in every-day life. Man looks for advancement. God in mercy restrains him from it. Man's devices are to be rich. God's wise counsel keeps him poor. Man sets his heart upon enjoying his stores. God in a moment "requires his soul. Thus man proposes—God disposes. The devices in the heart of godly Isaac resisted—though in vain, the declared counsel of the Lord. And what is the page of history, but the overruling of man's devices for the accomplishment of the Lord's counsel. The malice of Joseph's brethren was the means of fulfilling the Divine counsel in the salvation of his Church. The plot laid for the destruction of Israel furthered their prosperity.3 The vain attempts at opposition to Christ were subservient to the great end of "the determinate counsel and foreknowlege of God." The device of man to prevent the Apostle's journey to Rome was signally defeated. How vain the impious attempt to "fight against God!"6 "Woe unto him that striveth with his Maker!" All is clear above, however cloudy it be below. All is calm in heaven, however stormy it may be on earth. There is no confusion there. One will alone reigns. Every purpose reaches its appointed end—"He is of one mind, and who can turn him? And what his soul desireth, even that he doeth."8

22. The desire of a man is kindness, and a poor man is better then a liar.

The privilege of doing good is within the reach of all. For when the poor fails, the desire of a man is his kindness, as acceptable as the most expensive proof of love. "If there be a willing mind, it is accepted, according to that a man hath, not according to that he hath not." The dealings of God to his people are grounded on this principle. David's desire to build the temple was accepted and honored, as the act itself appointed for his son. Such also was our Saviour's estimate of the value of the widow's mite,11 of the box of ointment poured upon himself, of the "cup of cold water given to a disciple."13 The desire was the kindness, more rich and fruitful than the offerings of self-pleasing abundance.

Yet the desire must be active—not indolent excitement but "the communication of faith effectual" according to the power given to us. Such a desire is far better in the sight of God, in the heart of one of his poor people, than a man with large opportunities and hollow professions, who proves himself to be a liar. The poor gives readily. The rich cannot afford. He denies that he has the ability. He promises, and does nothing. The poor man is better than the liar. Only take heed to the motive. Men know not the heart. "The Lord weigheth the spirits;" and "the fire will try every man's work of what sort it is."18

23. The fear of the Lord, tendeth to life: and he that hath it shall be satisfied: he shall be visited with evil.

The fear of the Lord as a legal principle, is a privilege to be exempt from. As a grace of the gospel, cultivate it to the uttermost.1 Threefold fruit is here set before us—life—satisfaction-security. It tendeth to life—not the mere natural life, common to the ungodly—(though this blessing, so far as is good, is included) but a heavenly—yea an eternal—life, in the favor and enjoyment of God.3 So far as we are under its influence, we speak, pray, think, and deal with man; as if God was standing by. The genial beams of "the Sun of righteousness" nourish this holy principle; and soon will it be perfected in the service above.5

Meanwhile the satisfaction which it imparts is a precious privilege. The worldling's heart is torn with 'an aching void.' He travels from one source of his happiness—crying—"who will shew me any good?" "Lord! lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon me"—is the cry and solid satisfaction of a child of God above the best portion of earth. Whoever wants, "they that fear the Lord want no good thing. Their souls dwell at ease." He that hath it shall abide satisfied. Is not this the very soul of happiness?

Still an object of fear usually brings dread. 'But add, whom. He that feareth the Lord—That touch turns it into gold. He that so fears, fears not.' He has his "confidence and place of refuge."9 We do not begin to enquire the way. "God is known in the palaces of Zion as a sure refuge." We go to him as a God with whom we are acquainted, and who is engaged in covenant to us. And now taking our sanctuary in God, we sit and sing under his shadow. In this hiding-place how can any evil—properly so called—visit us? What is evil in itself will turn to good. It cannot separate from God. It will tend only to bind us closer to him. We can tread upon scorpions unhurt, when our conscience is kept tender, and our heart fixed in his ways. We fear not his uplifted arm. But his frown of rebuke "enters into our soul." His mercy sweeps away the fear of terror. His holiness maintains the fear of reverence. Conscious security only tends more than ever to make us dread departure and separation from his love.

24. A slothful man hideth his hand in his bosom, and will not so much as bring it to his mouth again.

Another forcible figure of the palsy of sloth! It so grows on its victim, that he has no heart to do even necessary things for himself; as if he could not take his hand out of his bosom; and would rather suffer the cravings of hunger, than make the exertion of putting his food into his mouth. A melancholy picture it is of many fair intentions and promises, and apparently good beginnings in religion—all stopped for want of the effort to overcome the least hindrance. Every religious duty is a burden. The struggle necessary for prayer—the only means of receiving our spiritual food—is too hard. And the soul that seemed to have been awakened, sinks into its former lethargy; and the effort to rouse it becomes each time fainter and more hopeless.

Some indeed seem to feel little or no exertion to be necessary, a plain proof that they have never been really in earnest about this momentous concern. The conflict is not imaginary. "Woe unto those," who reposing on the lap of indulgence, "are at ease in Zion." A religion without sacrifice, without diligence, will never open a way to heaven. It is treasuring up unavailing repentance against the latter days. If the work of the day—much more the work of eternity, calls for all diligence,—if the Emperor Titus could mourn, that he 'had lost a day,' what will be the stinging remorse of having lost a life! To think, that by a right beginning, followed up by "a patient continuance in well doing,"2 we might have effectively "served the will of God in our generation," so as to have been missed in the world, after we had "fallen asleep;" to think that we might have sown seed for eternity, so that our "memory" instead of "rotting," would have been "blessed"4—that all this was wished, contemplated—nay—even resolved—yet not an atom of it accomplished: will not this be a thorn for a dying pillow—perhaps the tormenting worm for eternity?

How then shall we resist this deadly disease? Thomson's excuse for reposing in his own 'Castle of Indolence' was—that he had nothing to do. The want of an object makes an idler of a man of talent. Oh! then have this grand object ever in sight. "To me to live is Christ." Be employed for God and for his Church. Form habits of early energy. Beware of a dreaming sentimentalism. Cultivate bodily activity. Regard the incursions of sloth as the effects of those poisons, which, while they cause sleep—unless counteracted by constant resistance—must prove fatal. Yet with all these means, never forget the one only principle, that makes them effectual—prayer, unceasing, believing—"looking unto Jesus"—who not only gives life, but liveliness.6

But are we then struggling in the conflict? Forget not to thank God for every victory—yea—for the continued strength, enabling us to persevere in the fight; for the wise dispensation also that appoints this holy conflict, as the means of invigorating our faith, our hope, our meetness for the crown, and our joyful expectation of it. If peace with God is our life, "the joy of the Lord is our strength," our health, our happiness, yet not to be found in a listless enervated habit.

25. Smite a scorner, and the simple will beware: and reprove one that hath understanding, and he will understand knowledge.

There is a difference of opinion upon the profit of punishments. Some will have it, that, if the will does not give way to reason, forced obedience is of little use. But God's word and ordinance is our standard, though great wisdom is regarded in the measure and adaptation. Two kinds are here mentioned; each measure out according to the character of the offender; but both wholesome in their results. The scorner is a bold sinner. Smite him, that the simple may beware. It may be a timely warning to those that are led by him. The taking the ring-leader of a mischievous party may put an end to the combination. This is the benefit of laws. Often an example made, though the sinner himself continues hardened, is for the good of the whole body. Thus 'God strikes some, that he may warn all.'2

But a man of understanding reprove. There is no occasion to smite. "A reproof entereth more into a wise man, than an hundred stripes into a fool." In the scorner's case, the profit is to others. In the wise man's, it is to himself. He will understand knowledge. His wisdom enables him to profit, and to be thankful for the seasonable check.5 Never let us forget the mercy of being kept from sin, or being restored from it, though it be by our Master's sharp and gracious rebuke—"As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten; be zealous therefore, and repent."

26. He that wasteth his father, and chaseth away his mother, is a son that causeth shame, and bringeth reproach.

This is alas! not an ideal picture of recklessness. "Without natural affection"—is an awful mark of unrestrained depravity. Man is the debased slave of his selfish lust. The profligate may waste his father's substance by extravagance, and his spirits and health by his ill-conduct. Absalom wasted his father by his un-dutiful rebellion. And often has a mother's tenderness been repaid with crushing unkindness—the insolence of an ungrateful son virtually chasing her from her home—her idol becoming her curse! Such monsters in human shape—outraging every principle of humanity—have been found in every generation. Yet seldom do they escape without some mark of retributive justice even in this life. And though they may be callous to public opinion, while causing shame and bringing reproach on their names; yet conscience will speak; and sooner or later the stroke will fearfully fall. Children! A parent's sorrows carry a heavy account before the bar of God. If "the commandment be with promise,"11 will not the breach of the commandment cut off the entail of the promise, with an awful and aggravated weight of condemnation?

27. Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that, causeth to err from the words of knowledge.

Hear the same caution from the lips of our Divine Master—"Be ware of false prophets. Take heed what you hear." All instruction is not to life. Teachers of evil—"Ministers of Satan"—abound—their instruction, causing to err from the words of knowledge, is more palatable to the perverseness of the heart; more alluring to the inexperience of the young, than solid Scriptural teaching. The Apostle reproves the Galatian Church for listening to teachers, causing them to err fatally from the words of knowledge. And would he not have warned us against the same teaching, so fearfully prevalent: placing ordinances in the stead of Christ, or conjoined with him; man's proud work of voluntary humility and external service in the room of pure simplicity of reliance on the Redeemer's work? When the soul has thus "fallen from grace,"5 what ground of confidence can we bring before God? What is his service, but the bondage of outward ceremonies, leading to cheerless despondency?

This instruction is not generally a bold and direct departure from truth. But, as in the first temptation, it causeth to err sc gradually, that the deviation from the straight line is scarcely perceptible, till the mischief has been accomplished. Had Eve at once ceased to hear, she would not have erred from the words of knowledge. But the success of the first attempt has emboldened the seducer to deal out his deadly poison to her enfeebled children. And what faithful Pastor does not feel a "godly jealousy" for his flock, lest by the same beguilement "they should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ?"

Often does the warning voice cry—Cease from hearing. Needlessly to tamper with error, is "entering into temptation." Nay it is most hazardous to deal with it at all, ere our minds are thoroughly grounded in the truth, and we have obtained "the good thing of the heart established with grace."9 Yet we have senses given for discernment. Use increaseth this discernment. Increasing clearness should be the matter of daily supplication.11 We are bound therefore to exercise our senses by the plainest commands. Our Divine Master distinctly rebukes indolence.13 When the words came with the stamp of an apostle, the appeal to the unerring standard was highly commended. Should we give up our judgment to the Church, be it remembered, that "every one of us shall bear his own burden—shall give an account of himself to God."15 Be the son—not the slave—of the Church. Reverence her just authority. But maintain that right of private judgment, which constitutes our personal responsibility.

This Christian independence however must be held with humility and simplicity. Self-will and self-conceit must be carefully restrained. We must not attend the ordinances to try the Minister. We must hear as learners, not as judges; seeking wholesome food, not intoxicating excitement: watchful that a sound appetite does not give place to a spiritual lust. While the right of judgment is our great privilege, the licentiousness of it is a cankering evil.

But what—if our lot be manifestly cast, and our sphere of Christian obligation opened, where words of knowledge are not found? Let not the ungodliness of the Minister be an excuse for the neglect of Christian ordinances. Activity in the Church will be a quickening means of grace. The constant application of the touchstone will be a preservation from error. The food of the word will be more precious. And who knows but an unenlightened Minister may be given to the power of believing prayer, and to the living influence of godly meekness, patience, and consistency.

28. An ungodly witness (witness of Belial, Marg.) scorneth judgment, and the mouth of the wicked devoureth iniquity. 29. Judgment are prepared for scorners, and stripes for the back of fools.

Justly is this man called a witness of Belial. Satan himself hath suborned him for his own malicious purposes. Scorning—instead of regarding—judgment, his testimony is worthless. He has "cast the law behind his back." He devours iniquity with greediness, feeds upon it as his proper food, and, sinning without remorse, he is always ready to trade in his deceit, either for gain or revenge.

But in this greedy devouring he has swallowed the hook with the bait. For such scorners judgments are prepared. For such fools as thus "make a mock of sin"—stripes are ready for their backs—often inflicted by men,—the instruments of God. Scorners are warned "lest their bands be made strong" for judgment, which, however they may despise, they cannot resist—"Can thine heart endure, or can thine hands be strong, in the day that I shall deal with thee? Who shall dwell with the devouring fire? Who shall dwell with everlasting burnings? It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." Oh! that thoughtless, light-minded young persons would lay such words to heart! When they join in the laugh of their more hardened companions, and learn from them to scorn judgment, in spite of the accusing of a conscience not yet silenced; let them tremble, lest from "standing in the way of sinners;" they may go on to "sit in the seat of the scornful," and may even exceed their companions in despising the threatenings of God.

And when under these slighted judgments, who is to blame for them? 'Our sin'—saith Bishop Hall—'is our own, and the wages of sin is death." He that doth the work, earns the wages. So then the righteous God is cleared both of our sin and our death. Only his justice pays us what our will needs deserve. What a wretched thing is a wilful sinner, that will needs be guilty of his own death!' Blessed—blessed day!—should it ever see him bemoaning himself thus—"Thou hast chastised me, and I was chastised, as a bullock unaccustomed to the yoke; turn thou me, and I shall be turned; for thou art the Lord my God."2

CHAPTER 20

1. Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.

THE history of the world from the days of Noah proves that the love of wine and strong drink is a most insidious vice. The wretched victims are convinced too late, that they have been mocked and grievously deceived. Not only does it overcome them before they are aware, but it promises pleasure which it can never give. And yet so mighty is the spell, that the besotted slave consents to be mocked again and again, till "at last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder."

Its raging power degrades below the level of the beast. The government of reason is surrendered to lust, appetite, or passion. Ahasuerus, with his "merry heart" showed himself most irrational.4 The conqueror of the East murdered his friend. All is tumult and recklessness. The understanding is gradually impaired. "The heart uttereth perverse things."6 Other sins of the same black dye follow in its train, often hurrying into the very jaws of destruction.8 Surely then whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.

Humbling indeed is it to human nature, to see, not only the mass of the ignorant, but splendid talents, brutalized 'by this lust,'—that which was once "created in the image of God," now sunk into the dregs of shame! Yet more humbling is the sight even of God's own people "wallowing in this mire." The example of Noah and Lot are recorded, not as a laughing-stock to the ungodly, but as a beacon to the saint. "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall."10 Even an Apostle had practically learnt, that his security lay not in the innate strength of his principles, but in the unceasing exercise of Christian watchfulness. "Take heed to yourselves,"—is the needful warning of our Divine Master,—"lest your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness, and so that day come upon you unawares. Be not drunk with wine"—said the great Apostle—"wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit."12

2. The fear of a king is as the roaring of a lion: whoso provoketh him to anger sinneth against his own soul.

The wrath of the king has been before mentioned under this figure. Here his fear is described—the effect for the cause. Even Joab with all his valor trembled at this roaring of the lion, and fled for refuge to the horns of the altar. Jonathan felt the strong necessity for appeasing it.3 Such was the power of the King (unknown in Our happy land)—the sole—uncontrolled arbiter of life and death; that whosoever provoked him to anger—sinned—as Adonijah found to his cost—against his own soul. What must then be the fear of the Great King! 'Armies of terrors and doubts are nothing to a look of his angry countenance. "O Lord," says that holy man, (considering the frailty of poor man, and the power of God) "who knoweth the power of thine anger! according to thy fear, so is thy wrath." ' Even "a little kindling" is ruin past conception, without remedy.7 Nay—his very "enduring long-suffering" kindles the fire more fiercely for "the vessels of wrath," whose aggravated provocations of it have "fitted them for destruction." 'Miserable sinner! deprecate his wrath. Seek a Mediator. Beware of continuing to sin.'9

3. It is an honor for a man to cease from strife: but every fool will be meddling

The opposition of this precept to the maxims of the world proves it to be from God. A world of sin must always be a world of strife, because governed by "the wisdom that descendeth not from above," the parent of "strife, confusion, and every evil work." And yet an evil world is a fine theatre for the display of the grace of God, in the fruits of "the wisdom that is from above"—meekness—gentleness.11 We have been before reminded, that "it is the glory of a man to pass over a transgression"—here to cease from strife. Many, from the love of quiet, if not from a better motive, would overlook an injury. Yet if they were embroiled in strife, they would feel their honor at stake—not in ceasing from it, but in following it up—striking the last blow. Far more difficult is it to gather back the waters once let out, than to restrain them within their proper bounds. To "leave off contention," especially when we see that we are in the wrong—or if in the right—that no good will come from it—this "is an high honor for a man—a noble triumph over the flesh." Abraham thus ceased from strife by disinterested concession. Isaac showed himself a man of peace under the vexatious annoyance of the Philistines.16 The prophet "went his way," to prevent a further kindling of anger. But how much more commonly is strife fed by the folly of man's pride, than extinguished by a peaceful and loving spirit! The meddling fool rushes into strife as his element—a torment to himself, and a plague to those around him. To return "a soft answer" to "grievous words"3—to keep out of the way of an angry person, is the path of wisdom. "Put on meekness, long-suffering—let the peace of God rule in our hearts"—are the marks of "the elect of God"—the example of our Divine Master.5

4. The sluggard will not plow by reason of the cold: therefore shall he beg in harvest, and have nothing.

Again are we instructed by a vivid picture of a most baneful vice. The sluggard always has his excuses ready, to shift off any work that requires exertion. He will not plow by reason of the cold; although the season (our autumn) offered no hindrance, where the heart was in the work. And does not the most trifling difficulty hinder, where the heart is cold in the service of God? Let the professor ask himself—Have his prayers during his whole life cost him exercise answering to one hour's plowing? What has he given to God but the shadow of duties, when the world has had his full glow and energy? The flesh flinches from suffering; and even under the wakefulness of temporary conviction, the heart is "sorrowful" at the requisitions of Christianity, which it cannot admit. Farewell heaven forever, if it must be obtained at such a cost! How affecting is the contrast between our work for Christ, and his work for us—We grudging exercise for him; He so filled with the absorbing interest of his work for us—"How am I straitened until it be accomplished!"8

But the sluggard must reap the fruit of his sin. If he will not plow in the seed-time, he cannot reap in harvest. At that happy season—the recompense of the laborer's toil—he shall beg, and have nothing. 'Men's hearts are justly hardened against that man, who by his own sloth and wilfulness hath brought himself to want.' And what else can the spiritual sluggard look for? The cold keeps him heartlessly from the house of God. His soul is therefore perishing for lack of food. If wishing would secure heaven, who would miss it? But heartless wishes, without the crucifixion of the flesh, will stop short of the prize. Millions have perished in serious religion from want of diligence and self-sacrificing devotedness. And what will it be to beg in the great harvest, and beg in vain; then to have all wicked excuses silenced,—and the fearful doom pronounced upon the unprofitable servant!11

Christian professor! Is it time to stand idle, when we stand at the door of eternity? to be slack, when so near our great salvation? Blessed are those, who have sown much for God in their lifetime. Oh! the glorious harvest that those shall have! The very angels shall help them to take in their harvest at the great day. And Oh! the joy that there shall be in that harvest! The angels will help to sing the harvest-song, that they shall sing, who have been sowers of righteousness!'

5. Counsel in the heart of man is like deep water; but a man of understanding will draw it out.

The depths in the heart of man are not easily fathomed. Often is it the subtilty of evil. David was duped by the smooth promises of Saul,3 and afterwards by the religious hypocrisy of hid ungodly son. The counsel of Daniel's enemies was too deep for Darius to see the bottom of it.' The counsel of Herod probably blinded the wise men as to his real intentions. And yet a man of understanding will often draw out the subtle counsel, and set it in its true light. David described the deep counsels of his enemies, as one who had penetrated the bottom. Job accurately discovered the true, but indirect counsel of his mistaken friends. Paul drew out the secret counsel of selfishness in the schismatical preachers of the gospel.

But let us look at the bright side. Observe the man of God—instructed by God. Natural sagacity of intellect is deepened and enlarged by spiritual light. His mind is enriched with the fruits of scriptural study and meditation—here are the deep waters of heavenly counsel. The talkative professor in his superficial judgment sees nothing. But a man of understanding will discern and draw out valuable instruction. The Queen of Sheba thus drew out from the wise man's capacious well, deep and wholesome water. Often, however, men of a comprehensive mind have little sympathy with general intercourse. We may be in contact with them, without consciousness of their worth. The waters are deep. But there is no bubbling up. Yet a well directed excitement will draw out flowing water from the well-spring of wisdom. And often the intercourse—hitherto lost—with a godly and experienced minister, or a soundly instructed Christian, becomes most precious,—"He that walketh with wise men shall be wise. But above all is to be prized familiarity with the deep waters of the counsel of God. Say not—"I have nothing to draw with, and the well is deep." A thinking habit in a prayerful spirit will enable you "with joy to draw water from the wells of salvation."14 Nay—will it not bring into your own soul "a well of water, springing up unto everlasting life?

6. Most men will proclaim every one his own goodness; but a faithful man who find?

The last Proverb showed the depth of the heart—this is deceitfulness and pride. Judge a man by his own estimate of himself; and we need no further proof of his want of self-knowledge. Even the ungodly proclaims his own goodness. "Jehu took no heed to walk in the way of the Lord." Still—said he—"come, see my zeal for the Lord." Absalom, while treason was at work within, "stole the hearts" of the people by his loud pretensions to goodness. The whole nation, while given up to all manner of iniquity, boasted of its integrity.4 The Pharisee proclaimed his goodness at the corner of the streets—yea—even in the presence of his God.6 Such is the blindness of a self-deceiving heart! Lord! teach me to remember—"That which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God."

After all, however, does not this glass—honestly used—exhibit more resemblance to our own features, than we would readily admit? We all condemn the Pharisaic broad open boasting. But too often we eagerly catch at the good opinion of the world. Contrivance is made to gain the shadowy prize! A seeming backwardness and retiredness is only, in order that others may bring us forward. Care is taken that it be known that we were the authors, or at least had a considerable part, in some work that might raise our name in the Church. Sometimes we are too ready to take a degree of credit to ourselves, which we do not honestly deserve; while we shrink from real reproach and obloquy for the gospel's sake.

In opposition to this self-complacent goodness, Solomon—an accurate observer of human nature—exclaims almost in despondency—A faithful man—as a parent—a reprover—an adviser—one "without guile"—who can find? Canst thou find him in thine own sphere? Look closer—view thyself in the glass of the word. Does thy neighbor—thy friend—find thee faithful to him? What does our daily intercourse witness? Is not the attempt to speak what is agreeable often made at the expence of truth? Are not professions of regard sometimes utterly inconsistent with our real feelings? In common life, where gross violations are restrained, a thousand petty offences are allowed, that break down the wall between sin and duty, and on the first step of forbidden ground bring the charge of guilt. Never let it be forgotten, that the sound influence of the virtues of society can only be maintained by the graces of the gospel. Never let the Christian professor deem moral integrity to be a low attainment. The man of God bursts forth into fervent praise for the upholding grace of God.11 And what can bring greater honor to God, than the proof manifested in the conduct of his people, that their daily transactions are animated with the soul of integrity—that their word is unchangeable? Never does godliness show more bright than in "showing all good fidelity in all things."

7. The just man walketh in his integrity: his children are blessed after him.

The faithful man is here fully drawn—rich in the blessing of his God. Take the history of the father of the faithful—Abraham was the just man—accepted with God, and "walking before him" in his integrity. And did not the covenant of his God engage an everlasting blessing for his children after him? And thus does every child of Abraham, walking in the same integrity, secure "an inheritance for his children's children." It is 'not however for the merits of the parents, that they deserve it; but such is the mercy of God to the root and the branches, that, because the fathers are loved, their children also are embraced.'4 But we must show our integrity, as did our father Abraham, in the practical habit of faith; not only "taking hold of the covenant" on our children's behalf, but bringing them under the yoke of the covenant.

Christian parents!—let integrity as before God, be the standard of our family responsibility. Walk not according to the maxims of the world yourselves, nor allow them in your children. Make God's word—his whole word—our universal rule; his ways—however despised—our daily portion. "Seek first," for our children as for ourselves, "the kingdom of God and his righteousness." Thus walking in our integrity—look for the honored blessing of being the parents of a godly race. Our children are blessed after us.

8. A king that sitteth in the throne of judgment scattereth away all evil with his eyes.

This is the picture of a godly king, such as the wise man's father described and exemplified—"just, ruling in the fear of God;" making it his great care and business to execute judgment. In those days he sat himself on the throne of judgment, and decided the law. And such might be conceived to be his influence that the wicked dared not come and sin in his presence. "Will he force the queen also before me?"—was the indignant exclamation of a sovereign, on feeling not only his own rights, but the reverence for royalty, grossly outraged. David, as a man of God, and a sovereign of his people, could not endure the wicked in his presence.2 And always in proportion as the ruler realizes his responsibility, evil will be made to flee, and be scattered away from him.

But what is it to be ever standing before the Great King, who scattereth away all evil with his eyes? "Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity. The foolish shall not stand in thy sight. All things are naked and opened unto the eyes of Him, with whom we have to do." May the High Priest ever stand between the sinner and the Holy God, that while we walk in reverence, we "may not be afraid with any amazement!"

9. Who can say, I have made my heart clean, I am pure from my sin?

Behold the great King sitting on the throne of judgment, and challenging every child of Adam—"Gird up now thy loins like a man, for I will demand of thee? and answer thou me." The questions are confounding. The answers humble us in the dust—Who can say—truly say—I have made my heart clean? A sinner in his self-delusion may conceive himself to be a saint. But that a saint should ever believe that he made himself so—is impossible. Who can say—I am pure from sin? What! no vain thoughts—no sinful imaginations—lodging within! No ignorance, pride, wandering, coldness, worldliness, unbelief indulged! The more we search the heart, the more will its impurity open upon us. "Turn thou yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations"—evils hitherto unsuspected. Vain boasters there are, who proclaim their good hearts. But the boast proves—not their goodness, but their blindness—that man is so depraved, that he cannot understand his own depravity.7 What say they, who have entered into the presence of the King, whose holiness scattereth all evils away? "Behold! I am vile!"—said one. "Now mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore I abhor myself." Woe is me, said another—"for I am a man of unclean lips, for mine eyes have seen the King—the Lord of hosts." The clean heart is the heart cleansed. If none can say—I have made my heart clean, myriads can bear witness to the blood of the Son of God cleansing it from guilt, and to the mightiness of the Creator to renew it unto holiness.10

But are there not many, who in the house of God will confess themselves miserable sinners, and at the holy table will acknowledge 'the burden of their sin to be intolerable,' who yet will go back to the world, and boast or comfort themselves in the confidence of their goodness? confessing indeed, that they are sinners, but stoutly warding off every charge of sin? Ah! such are not the "heavy-laden," to whom Christ hath promised "rest;" not "the lost,—whom the Son of Man is come to seek and to save."2 They will he beside the cleansing fountain, but never care to "wash and be clean." But observe in this proverb the fundamentals of the gospel—man's total corruption; his inability to make his heart clean; and his grievous tendency to self-deception. Hence his need—hence—when that need is felt—the value of the cleansing remedy. "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part in me." If this be so—then—Lord—"not my feet only, but my hands and my head." "Wash me thoroughly from my transgression, that I may be whiter than snow." "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me."4

10. Divers weights (a stone and a stone, Marg.) and divers measures, (an ephah and an ephah, Marg.) both of them are alike abomination to the Lord.

This probably refers to the iniquitous custom of having different weights and measures for buying, and for selling—one stone too light—the other too heavy. Such practices seem to have been among the crying sins of the nation, that brought down the judgment of God upon it. So opposite are they to the character of "a God of truth and without iniquity,"6 that the very stone and ephah were abomination to him. The disuse of barter, and the more accurate system of inspection, have in some measure restrained this gross form of fraud. But the cheats of trickery and close dealing, the evasion of legal duties, taking advantage of the ignorance of the unwary—all those deviations from the rule are alike abomination to the Lord. What a fearful disclosure will the great day make, to the "shame and everlasting contempt" of the ungodly trafficker! Every man of moral integrity will scorn the flagrant breach of the golden rule. But—Christian—let it be a wholesome warning to remember, that Churches fruitful in the graces of the gospel, needed to be reminded, "that no man go beyond or defraud his brother in any manner," and that the most aggravated forms of deceit were detected in connection with a high profession of godliness. Let this, as every other temptation—be a matter of prayerful watchfulness.9 And be not satisfied with the restraint from this hateful vice. But blot out its darkness by the bright steady shining of an upright profession, full of simplicity, love, self-forgetfulness, and active sympathy with our neighbor's wants.

11. Even a child is known by his doings whether his work be pure, and whether it be right.

Let parents watch their children's early habits, tempers, doings. Generally the discerning eye will mark something in the budding of the young tree, by which the tree in maturity may be known. The child will tell what the man will be. No wise parent will pass over little faults, as if it was only a child doing childish things. Every thing should be looked at as the index of the secret principle, and the work or word judged by the principle. If a child be deceitful, quarrelsome, obstinate, rebellious, selfish, how can we help trembling for his growth? A docile, truth-loving, obedient, generous child—how joyous is the prospect of the blossom and fruit from this hopeful budding! From the childhood of Samuel, Timothy,3 much more of the Saviour, we could not but anticipate what the manhood could be. The early purity and right principles promised abundant and most blessed fruit.

But do we mourn over the evil of our child, specially when tracing it to its original source? Oh! let it be our stimulus to earnest and persevering prayer—to the diligent use of the appointed means for that entire change of heart and nature, which we so intensely desire. Take the child to the covenant of grace. Put the finger on the parental promise, and plead—"Remember the word unto thy servant, whereon thou hast caused me to hope."6 The answer may be delayed. But "though it tarry, wait for it. For at the end it shall come; it shall not tarry." Meanwhile "live by faith"—work in faith. Despair not of the grace of God. Doubt not his faithfulness. Hold on in active energy and patient hope. The prodigal shall yet return. "The end of the Lord" will put unbelief to shame.8

12. The hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made both of them.

Seeing and hearing are the two senses, by which instruction is conveyed to the mind. They are component parts of that Divine structure, so "fearfully and wonderfully made." The natural senses are gifts common to all. The spiritual senses are the special gifts of sovereign power and grace.10 It was left for man to make the ear that cannot hear, and the eye that cannot see; and then to degrade himself to the senseless level, by worshipping the work of his own hand. But the hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made both of them.

Man is deaf and blind in the things of God—"Having ears, he hears not; having eyes, he sees not." The voice of mercy is disregarded. To his need, and to his remedy, he is alike insensible. His ear is open to sound advice, to moral doctrine, to the dictates of external decency. But as to the gospel—he is a perfect statuary, without life. All his senses are blinded, deadened, chained.2 His moral disabilities can only be removed by that almighty power, which on earth gave ears to the deaf, and sight to the blind. As soon could we create our natural, as new-create our spiritual, self. 'The hearing ear, which Solomon intends is that, which believeth and obeyeth what it heareth. The seeing eye is that, which so seeth, as that it followeth the good which it seeth.' But who of us, whose ears are wakened, and whose eyes are opened, but will rejoice in the adoring acknowledgment—The Lord hath made both of them. Would Lydia have ascribed "the opening of her heart" with a new power of attention and interest, to her own natural effort? O my God—may the ears and eyes which thou hast made be for thyself alone! to hear thy voice—to "behold thy beauty!"7

13. Love not sleep, lest thou come to poverty; open thine eyes, and thou shall be satisfied with bread.

Use 'sleep, as tired nature's sweet restorer.' So man requires it. So God graciously gives it.9 Without it "man" could not "go forth to his work and to his labor." Thus recruited for the active diligence of the day, he opens his eyes; "in the sweat of his brow he eats his bread, and is satisfied with it." But love not sleep for its own sake. The indulgence is a baneful and ruinous habit, by which the man of talent, who has much responsibility upon his hand, and no heart to act up to it—cometh to poverty. Valuable opportunities for improvement are let slip, and "the strong man armed" readily takes possession of his prey. Strange inconsistency and delusion! Man wishes for a long life, and yet wilfully shortens the life given him, by dozing it away in sleep!13 The time given for eternity is wasted. The talent entrusted for trading is hid in a napkin. Nothing is done for God—for the soul—for his fellow-creatures—for heaven. Justly is he cast out as a wicked, because a slothful, servant.

Should not those of us, who are of a drowsy habit of body, listen to the call—Love not sleep? Here perhaps may be the Christian conflict. Could ye not "in the house of God" watch one hour? "Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation." When resisted, it is an infirmity; when allowed, or only feebly opposed, it is sin. At all events, in the service of God it is safer to consider it—not as a weariness to be encouraged, but as an indulgence to be mortified, and that with vigorous energy of conflict. Else whilst the self-denying Christian will open his eyes and be filled with bread, the power of the flesh may impoverish the spirit by the indulgence of a lifeless habit of prayer, hearing, and meditation.

14. It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer; but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth.

The Bible gives abundant proof, that man has always been the same in every generation since the fall. Where is the market, where the counterpart to this disclosure of fraud and selfishness centuries ago is not found? Commerce—the Lord's providential dispensation to bind man to man—is marred by man's depravity. Solomon had before detected the iniquity of the seller. Here he lays bare the buyer—and to bring it home more closely—he gives even the market-language—It is naught—it is naught—'The article is of an inferior quality. I can get it cheaper elsewhere. If it is worth so much—yet not to me—I have no present want of it—no particular care about it.' And when, having struck a shrewd bargain by these convenient falsehoods, he is gone his way; he boasteth, laughing at the simplicity of the seller, and is probably highly commended for his cleverness.

The same principle of fraud applies to the seller. If the one says—It is naught—it is naught—the other no less eagerly cries—'It is good—it is good'—'when neither of both speaketh, either as he thinketh, or as the truth of the thing is.' The one is bent on buying cheap; the other on selling dear. The one decries unjustly; the other praises untruly. He asks one price, when he means to take another, and takes advantage of the confidence of his customer to impose on him a worthless article.5 In fact—'no man's experience would serve him to comprehend, no man's breath to declare, the infinite variety of those more secret and subtle falsehoods, that are daily invented and exercised everywhere under the sun.'

All of us are engaged in pecuniary transactions. With many, it is the main business of life. Yet such are the temptations from our own interest or self-defence, the selfishness of others, and the general example of the world, to deviate from the straight line; that we should be most thankful for this probing analysis of deceit. The man of God stands on the frontier of the line of demarcation, and warns against a single step of encroachment. Passing over the line is bidding defiance to the Great King. The gain may be trifling. But the sin is vast. Enough of guilt was included within the dimensions of a single apple to 'bring death into the world and all its woe' to successive generations. And here the law of God is deliberately broken; conscience is violated; deceit is practised; "evil is called good, and good evil;"2 our duty to our neighbor transgressed—and all this perhaps without a moment of remorse—only to feed man's covetousness.

But do Christian professors always "prove themselves clear in this matter?" Yet how can we be Christians really, if not relatively and universally; if not in the week, as well as on the Sabbath; if not in our dealings with men, as well as in our communion with God? What is our title to the name of disciples of Christ, unless we yield to his authority, and in heart, hand, and tongue, are governed by his laws? Let us each ask—Have we trembled before the solemn warnings of the great Lawgiver? Are we ready to be tried by his rules of guileless simplicity4 and reciprocal justice? Have we always acted as under the eye of God? Are there no money transactions, that we should be ashamed to have "proclaimed upon the house-tops?" Are we prepared to go to the bar of a heart-searching God with "a conscience void of offence both towards God and towards man?"6—Let us never forget the gospel as the only expulsive principle of selfishness—in its active exercise of grateful devoted love—in its holy spirit of "doing all to the glory of God."

15. There is gold, and a multitude of rubies; but the lips of knowledge are a precious jewel.

This is not the standard of the world. There gold and rubies are far above the lips of knowledge. So the young man made his choice, and preferred his "great possessions" to those gracious words, that arrested the admiration of the multitude. But when "gold is our hope and confidence," it will surely be our ruin.8 Solomon's estimate was that of one, to whom "the Lord had given a wise and understanding heart." Gold and precious rubies were abundant in his days. Yet all these earthly treasures were as nothing in his eyes in comparison of heavenly teaching. The lips of knowledge were a more precious jewel. It is Divine knowledge only, however, that stands out in this high preeminence. Human wisdom may captivate the imagination, and furnish its measure of useful information. But the words for the most part die away upon the ear. They do not feed the heart. They furnish no comfort to the afflicted, no hope to the desponding, no teaching to the ignorant in "those things that belong to their" everlasting "peace." If therefore they be "goodly pearls." at least they are not "the pearl of great price"—that precious jewel, which dims the lustre of earth's most splendid vanities.

How precious a jewel are the lips of knowledge, when the messenger of the gospel "bring his glad tidings of great joy" to the burdened conscience—to him "that is ready to perish!" Truly the very sound of his feet is welcome for the sake of his message. Precious also will be the communications of Christian fellowship. Though falling infinitely short of the grace that dwelt in our Divine Master; yet, in proportion as we are taught of him, will our "tongues be as choice silver," and our "lips will disperse knowledge" as a precious jewel, enriching, adorning with the glory of our heavenly Lord.

16. Take his garment, that is surety for a stranger; and take a pledge of him for a strange woman.

Again and again are we warned against such suretiship for a stranger—any new acquaintance, whose company may entice; much more for a strange woman, whose character has lost all credit. This is the sure road to beggary and ruin. If a man is so weak as to plunge into this folly, he is not fit to be trusted. Lend nothing to him without good security. Nay—if needful—take his garment as his pledge. The letter of the Mosaic law forbad this extremity. But the spirit and intent of the law pointed at the protection of the poor and unfortunate: who were forced to borrow for their own necessity, and therefore claimed pity. The command here touches the inconsiderate, who deserve to suffer for their folly, in wilfully plunging themselves into ruin. Nor does it in any degree incur the just suspicion of covetousness or close dealing. The love of our neighbor does not involve the forgetfulness of ourselves. The path of godly prudence is the safest for all parties. It never can be wise to assist, where kindness only gives advantage to hurry on to ruin. The refusal may be an exercise of self-denial. It is well that it should be so. Let it be clearly seen to be the sacrifice—not the indulgence of self: prudence, not selfishness. This grace is one of the combined perfections of Immanuel.9 Let it not be wanting in the profession of his people. It is necessary to the completeness of the Christian profession, and to avoid many occasions of offence to the Gospel.

17. Bread of deceit is sweet to a man; but afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel.

'Holiness is sweet in the way and end too. Wickedness is sometimes sweet in the way, but always bitter in the end.' It is with deceit, as with every other sin, Satan always holds out a bait; always promises gain or pleasure as the wages of his service, and as surely disappoints the victims of his delusion. If corn be threshed upon a gravelly floor, the grating soil would spoil the sweetness of the bread. Oh! how many has this arch-deceiver allured by the sweetness of his bread, whose mouths have been afterwards filled with gravel! 'The bread, which a man hath got by fraud and cozenage, seems sweet and pleasant at the first taste of it; but by that time he hath chewed it a little, he shall find it to be but harsh gravel, that crasheth between his teeth, galls his jaws, and wounds his tongue, and offends his palate.' 'Every thing gotten wrongfully is here implied.'4 Look at Gehazi. What profit had he from his talents of silver, and changes of garments? Bitter indeed was the bread of deceit to him. Look even at Jacob—a true servant of God—and yet chastened heavily almost to the end of his days with the bitter fruit of deceit. To the mass of such blinded sinners, it is eternal ruin. Whatever be the tempter's proffered advantage, his price is the soul—to be paid in the dying hour. Oh! the undoing bargain! an eternal treasure bartered for the trifle of a moment! Charmed we may be with the present sweetness—but bitter indeed will be the after-fruits, when the poor deluded sinner shall cry—"I tasted but a little honey, and I must die." So surely is the bitterness that springs out of sin the bitterness of death!

Not a single step can be trodden in the way of godliness, without an entire renunciation of every accursed practice. Not even the smallest violation of the law admits of palliation. To venture on what we fancy the lesser shades of sin is a most dangerous experiment. The smallest sin breaks down the fence; and, this once overstepped, the impulse is beyond our restraint. Universal uprightness is the mark of the child of God. Let the man of doctrine exhibit the holiness of doctrine. Never let our religion be one thing, and our business another. But let the image and glory of the Lord give the pervading expression to our whole history. Every turning aside from the straight path "grieves the Holy Spirit of God," darkens the sunshine of our soul, blasts the consistency of our profession, and wounds the church of God.

18. Every purpose is established by counsel: and with good advice make war.

This is true wisdom—to deliberate before we act, and to establish our purpose by sound and experienced counsel. Even the wisest of men valued this strengthening resource. God has placed us in society more or less dependent upon each other. And therefore, while it is most important to possess a calm and decided judgment, it is not less so to guard against an obstinate and exclusive adherence to our own opinions.2 Especially in the national counsels the rule is most weighty. With good advice make war. Wars for the purpose of ambition or aggrandizement can never be wisely made. Fearful may be the result of inconsiderate, self-willed measures. David took counsel of the Lord;4 Nehemiah, while supporting his courage by faith, established his purpose by counsel, and called his counsel to deliberate in all emergencies. Ahab, asking counsel of his false prophets;7 Amaziah, despising the sound counsel given to him—both with bad advice made war to their own ruin. Even godly Josiah—neglected to establish his purpose by the counsel of the Lord's prophets then living among his people—was chastened with temporal destruction.

Now ponder Bishop Hall's description of the spiritual war. 'It admits of no intermission. It knows no night, no winter. It abides no peace, no truce. It calls us not into garrison, where we may have ease and respite, but into pitched fields continually. We see our enemies in the face always, and are always seen and assaulted; ever resisting, ever defending, receiving and returning blows. If either we be negligent or weary, we die. What other hope is there, while one fights and the other stands still? We can never have safety and peace but in victory. Then must our resistance be courageous and constant, when both yielding is death, and all treaties of peace mortal.' Does not this war bring the greatest need of deliberate counsel, carefully counting the cost; cleaving to our All-wise Counsellor12 and Almighty Helper? Yet fear not—under the conscious direction of his counsel, and support of his grace—to take up the song of praise—"Blessed be the Lord, my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight!"

19. He that goeth about as a talebearer revealeth secrets: therefore meddle not with him that flattereth with his lips.

Never let us forget, that all intercourse of social life must be based on love. Any breach of this is highly displeasing to God. Witness the talebearer. His name describes his work—indulging an impertinent curiosity, making a tale of every thing he sees or hears. It is the business of his life, for which all other business is sacrificed—as if the whole man were one tongue; in its restless babbling discovering the grand secret of perpetual motion. Such a one—meddle not with him. We would not wish him to look over our wall; much less to enter into our houses; least of all to associate with our family circle, where his whole employment would be either to draw out, or to put in, what "was not convenient."

The flagrant blot, however, in this contemptible, yet dangerous, character is his unfaithfulness—going about—revealing secrets. This is peculiarly offensive to a God of truth. Even when matters have been given to him under a seal, his restless irritation breaks through the feeble bond. There he 'dismantles and rends the robe from the privacies of human intercourse. Who entrusts a secret to his friend, goes thither as to a sanctuary; and to violate the rites of that is sacrilege and profanation of friendship.'3 Never let us think this to be a trifle. Never let us undertake a trust without the most resolute determination of Christian faithfulness.

Observe his other name—flattering with his lips. Thus he insinuates himself into the secrets of the unwary, and gains his materials for talebearing; flattering the present at the expense of the absent. Watch and pray earnestly against this deadly evil. Keep thine own vineyard carefully. Else if thine eye be abroad, when it ought to be at home, it will be like "the vineyard of the slothful, full of thorns and nettles;"5 like the 'curious people,' whom Augustine rebuked, who 'pry into another's heart and life, but are slothful to amend their own.' Be diligent in our own calling, serving the Lord and his church. Study the obligation of Christian character, according to the standard of the Divine Example, where every word was fraught with the flowing of love. Oh! how many in self-indulgence, and forgetfulness of their own obligation, having no employment for their hands, set their tongues to work;7 bringing as it were the plague of flies with them; buzzing from house to house, from one neighbor to another, all the report of evil heard or done! A sharp reproof is their just desert, and an effectual means of driving them away.9

20. Whoso curseth his father or his mother, his lamp shall be put out in obscure darkness.

If darkness be the punishment—is it not also the cause—of this atrocious sin? For surely even the light of nature must be extinguished, ere the child should curse those, who under God have taught it to speak—the authors and preservers of its existence—its greatest earthly benefactors. Even an undutiful look—much more a word—is an offence against the commandment. What then must be the weight of guilt involved in the cursing of them! The deepest reverence is due to them when they are dead. What then must be the provocation of sinning against them, while they are living for their children, in all the active, self-denying energy of love and service! This cursing, according to our Lord's standard, includes "setting light by father and mother"—wilful disobedience—a fearful, palpable mark of the last days.2 How God regards it—let his own curse on mount Ebal—his judgment of temporal death4—testify. The present degradation of Africa is a witness, on the confirming page of history, of the frown upon an undutiful son—his lamp put out in darkness. And if the temporal sentence of death is repealed, the more awful judgment still remains unchangeably upon the Divine statute-book—obscure darkness—"the blackness of darkness"—darkness eternal without a ray of light—of which "blackness" is only the shadow, to show what the substance must be.

21. An inheritance may be gotten hastily at the beginning; but the end thereof shall not be blessed.

The wise man obviously limits his observation to an inheritance gotten dishonestly. The advancement of Joseph in the glory of Egypt, of Mordecai in the Persian courts,8 of Daniel in Babylon—was gotten hastily—in a moment; yet under the special Providence of God. The evil eye, hasting to be rich or great, may get an inheritance at the beginning; but the end thereof shall be blasted, not blessed. Absalom and Adonijah13 reached after a kingdom to their own ruin. One king of Israel succeeded another, treading on each other hastily; and each hurrying on to destruction. In our own history, Richard the Third ended his hastily gotten crown in shame. In our own day—Napoleon rose with inconceivable rapidity to a magnificent inheritance. Yet he finished his course in disgraceful banishment. Less splendid possessions end in the same disappointment. What a curse was that hastily gotten inheritance of Naboth's vineyard to the reckless oppressor! Let not the warning be in vain—"They that will be rich"—what is the fruit?—"Many foolish and hurtful lusts—many piercing sorrows."—What is the end? "Destruction and perdition."16 Place the cross and crown of Jesus in view. The world fades—selfishness dies—at every sight. One object only attracts and satisfies. "O my soul! thou hast said Unto the Lord, Thou art my Lord—the portion of mine inheritance." Here is blessing beyond conception—without end.

22. Say not thou, I will recompense evil; but wait on the Lord, and he shall save thee.

"Vengeance belongeth unto me"—is the awful proclamation of God. Most reverently do his people adore this high prerogative.2 Who besides is fitted to wield it? He is Omniscient. We know but imperfectly. He is without passions. We are blinded by our selfish lusts. He is just—"without partiality." We are prejudiced on our own side. What presumption, therefore, not to say—impiety,—for the angry worm to entrench upon his prerogative! Revenge is indeed a cherished lust of the flesh. And but for the Divine restraint upon it, this world would be an "Aceldama—a field of blood." But never did the Lord allow it in his people.4 Not even an Edomite—their most bitter enemy; not even the Egyptian—their most cruel oppressor—was to be "abhorred." The folly and sin of this passion are alike manifest. 'He that studieth revenge, keepeth his own wounds open.'6 His enemy could not do him a greater injury. The tongue is the great instrument—"speaking like the piercings of a sword." Yet often, when the open purpose is restrained, the passion broods only the more fiercely within.8 Or at least it is only a reluctant obedience; not the glorious victory exhibited in the history of the men of God—"overcoming evil with good."

What then is the remedy? In humility and faith lay our matters before the Lord. Put them in his hands—wait on him, and he shall save us. Revenge rises, only because we have no faith. For did we believe that God would take up our cause, should we not leave ourselves implicitly in his hands? How did he plead the cause of "the meekest man upon earth." With what confidence did David rest himself in the midst of reproach;11 thus warranting his rule of faith by his own experience! And thus did David's Lord "commit himself unto him that judgeth righteously."13 After this blessed example therefore "let those, that suffer according to the will of God, commit the keeping of their souls to him in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator." Be satisfied with his management. Suffice his word, that "he shall deliver and save, because we put our trust in him."15 Let us, as his praying people, stay our souls on the great consummation—"Shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them? I tell you, that he will avenge them speedily."

23. Divers weights are an abomination unto the Lord; and a false balance is not good.

Here let us search into the mind of God. Thrice does he bring home one point of practical detail. Yet doubtless this is not a "vain repetition."3 There is a "needs be" for it. Instead of "precept upon precept, and line upon line," the infinite "treasures of wisdom and knowledge" might have poured forth endless variety of instruction. We wonder not to see the apostolic ministry once and again upon the same argument of a sinner's justification before God.5 And we gather from this repetition the primary importance, and the revolting character of the doctrine. Does not then this continuous inculcation similarly teach the great weight of the principle involved, and the innate resistance to its full operation? If we feel, that we cannot be too often gladdened with the manifestation of the grace of God; and yet shrink from a frequent and probing application of practical obligation; if we love to be told, what we owe to God on the Sabbath, but revolt from the minute detail of the week—the market and the shop; we do not receive the whole revelation of God, and therefore do not savingly receive any part of it. Ours is not "the wisdom that is from above—without partiality, and without hypocrisy."7

Most palpable is the need for this repeated word. The evil runs throughout our commercial sphere. The divers weights—though once and again declared to be abominable—yea, an abomination to God—yet how often are they palliated, as of daily occurrence—perhaps even of necessity! But 'the scant measure will fill up a full measure of guilt, and the light weights bring upon the soul an heavy weight of judgment.'9 If Job was fearful, lest his "land and furrows should cry against him," let the trader beware, lest his weights and measures bear witness against him. Cause indeed have we for watchfulness! What means this cumbrous and expensive machinery of administration, with all its checks and counter-checks—its fearful multiplication of oaths; but the humiliating declaration—than man cannot trust his fellow-man? Oh! let me not forget, that of all this deceit my heart is the native soil; that nothing but the culture of Divine principle keeps down these poisonous weeds, and nourishes in their room "the fruits of righteousness to the praise and glory of my God."11 'The love of God constrains his servant. God is true to him; and he will not be false to others. God is merciful to him; and he will not be unjust to others.' This is the practical influence of the Gospel.

24. Man's goings are of the Lord; how can a man then understand his own way?

God's uncontrollable power and sovereignty; man's absolute dependence and helplessness—let these be foundation principles. Here is no infringement of liberty on the one side; no excuse for passive indolence on the other. Man often acts, as if he were the master of his own purposes; as if his goings were of himself. Or else, in the crude notion of the predetermination of every event,—instead of diligently working out the Lord's purposes, he finds "his strength is to sit still." But the humble heaven-taught Christian acts free agency in the spirit of dependence. The consciousness that his goings are of the Lord gives energy to his faith. It is written—"The way of a man is not in himself." It is written again—"This is the way—walk ye in it."4 Thus does Scripture guard Scripture. Here is dependence without passivity; diligence without presumption or self-confidence. Antagonal principles thus work together in harmonious combination.

The true liberty of the will is the power of acting according to choice, without external restraint. Divine agency, so far from hindering its freedom, removes the obstacle of a corrupt and tyrannizing bias. This let removed, it acts more freely, more powerfully. The man is not moved as a machine, unconscious of its operations and results, but acted upon by intelligent principles. He is not carried along the way, but enabled to walk. He is "drawn," not driven; "with the cords of a man," not of a beast; and those cords so wisely applied, that they are felt to be "bands of love." He is enlightened, so that he sees; softened, so that he turns; "drawn, so that he runs."6 He is moved effectually, but willingly; invincibly, but without constraint. Nothing is distorted. There is no unnatural violence. It is "the day of the Lord's power," who "worketh in him to will and to do of his good pleasure." His goings are of the Lord.

The world of Providence shows the same over-ruling agency. Man determines and acts freely in the minute circumstances of life. Yet the active pervading influence, disposing every step at the right time and place, makes it plain, that man's goings are of the Lord. Rebekah came to the well just at the moment, that Abraham's servant was ready to meet her. "He being in the way, the Lord led him." Pharaoh's daughter goes out to bathe just at the crisis, when the infant Moses was committed to the water.9 Was this the working of chance, or some fortunate coincidence? Who can doubt the finger, or the leading, of God? A curse of extermination was pronounced against Eli's house. The word was fulfilled by a combination of apparently casual incidents. David flees to Abimelech for relief. That very day Doeg was there—not in the ordinary course, but "detained before the Lord." He gives information to his cruel master, and in the moment of anger the curse was accomplished. Who can doubt but the goings of Doeg and of David meeting together were of the Lord? All parties acted freely. What was false in Doeg was righteous in God, whom we adore as a sin-hating God, even while, as in the crucifixion of Christ, he makes use of sin for the fulfilment of his own purposes.

Man's goings therefore, being of the Lord, must often be enveloped in mystery. How then can he understand his own way? Often does it run counter to his design. The Babel-builders raised their proud tower to prevent their dispersion: and it was the very means of their dispersion. Pharaoh's "wise dealing" for the aggrandizement of his kingdom, issued in its destruction.4 Haman's project for his own glory was the first step of his ruin. Often also is the way, when not counter, far beyond our own ken. Little did Israel understand the reason of their circuitous way to Canaan. Yet did it prove in the end to be "the right way." As little did Ahasuerus understand the profound reason, why "on that night could not the king sleep"—a minute incident seeming scarcely worth recording, yet a necessary link in the chain of the Lord's everlasting purposes of grace to his Church. Little did Paul understand his own way, or suppose that his "prosperous journey" to see his beloved flock in Rome, would be a narrow escape from shipwreck, and to be conducted a prisoner in chains. Little do we know what we pray for. "By terrible things wilt thou answer us in righteousness, O God of our salvation."9 We go out in the morning, not understanding our way—"not knowing what an hour may bring forth." Some turn connected with our happiness or misery for life, meets us before night. Joseph, in taking his walk to search for his brethren, never anticipated a more than twenty years separation from his father. And what ought those cross ways or dark ways to teach?—Not constant trembling anxiety, but daily dependence. "I will bring the blind by a way that they know not: I will lead them in paths that they have not known."11 But shall they be left in the dark perplexity? "I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things strait. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them." Often do I look back, amazed at the strangeness of my course—so different—so contrary to my way. But it is enough for me, that all is in thine hands; that "my steps are ordered of thee." I dare trust thy wisdom, thy goodness, thy tenderness, thy faithful care. Lead me—uphold me—forsake me not. "Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory."2

25. It is a snare to the man who devoureth that which is holy, and after vows to make inquiry.

In every path has the great fowler laid his snares. Perhaps, however, the most subtle are reserved for the service of God. Offerings made holy to the Lord often were devoured by the hypocritical worshippers, and sacrilegiously appropriated to their own use. Thus Achan—robbing the treasury of the Lord—found a snare to his ruin. This was the sin of "the whole nation"—and fearful indeed was the judgment—"Ye are cursed with a curse."4 Voluntary vows were commonly practised, yet sometimes inquiry made after, which ought to have been made before. They were at full liberty not to vow, but having vowed, they were bound to pay.

As the counterpart to this hollow half-hearted profession—'a man vows in distress to give something to God: but, having obtained his desires,' devoureth that which is holy, and after vows makes inquiry, 'how he may be loosed from this obligation.' Often too in a moment of excitement—perhaps under the glow of a religious meeting—has a sacrifice been pledged to God; and—the impulse having subsided—after the vow inquiry is made how the bond might be retracted. Such evasions—what a revolting exhibition do they present of man's deceitfulness! 'He entangleth his soul in the snares of death, who resumeth unto a profane use that which is once consecrated unto God; and who, after he hath vowed aught unto the Lord, argues within himself, how to alter that holy purpose, and to defeat God of his due.' Alienation of the gift proves the prior alienation of the heart. Let Ananias and Sapphira testify, that God is a jealous God.9 Take care of rash—be faithful to upright—engagements. Before entering into the service of God, make inquiry into its full requisitions. Beware of a religion of temporary excitement; far different from deep, solid, permanent principle. And whatever be the cost, be true to the consecration of thyself as "a living sacrifice" on the altar of thy God.

26. A wise king scattereth the wicked, and bringeth the wheel over them.

Solomon, a wise king, was constantly eyeing his own responsibilities. His standard was—not to commit wickedness himself, nor to allow it in his people; to scatter, not to encourage, the wicked. As the husbandman's wheel, brought over the grain, cut the straw, and separated the chaff; his sifting administration of justice brought the wheel of vengeance on the wicked, and scattered them as worthless chaff, or crushed them in ruin.3 In the same spirit did his father David destroy them, when they boldly claimed his countenance. Godly Asa removed wickedness from the high place nearest his own throne and heart.5 Amaziah justly punished it with death. Nehemiah—that true reformer—rebuked it even in the family of the high priest.7 Our own Alfred appeared to maintain this standard, as a witness for God in an age of darkness. But it is the King of kings alone, that, can make this separation complete. Often does he sift his church by trial, for her greater purity and complete preservation. But what will it be, when he shall come "with his fan in his hand, and shall thoroughly purge his floor!"9 What a scattering of chaff will there be! Not an atom will go into the garner. Not a grain of wheat will be cast away. O my soul! what wilt thou be found at this great sifting day! "Who may abide the day of his coming? And who shall stand when he appeareth?"

27. The spirit of man is the candle of the Lord, searching all the inward parts of the belly.

God has not left himself without witness in his own benighted world. At the first creation bright indeed was the candle of the Lord, shining in the little world—man. But every faculty partook of the fall. Still enough is left in the inner mind and conscience, to show, even in the thick darkness of heathenism, the Divine perfection13—the just desert of sin, and even some faint glimpses of the standard of right and wrong.15 But dim indeed is this candle, except it be lighted at God's lamp. When the Word and Spirit of God give light to it, it will effectually perform its important offices—(as Bishop Reynolds defines them)—'direction, conviction, and consolation;'17 not only exhibiting the outward acts, but searching the innermost parts of the belly—all the hidden acts and conduct of the inner man. The man of ungodliness would be glad to extinguish this candle. He is too great a coward to venture into his secret chamber in the dark; yet he hates the light, which, in spite of all his opposition, drags forth into day many secret lurking evils; never allowing the plea—"Is it not a little one?" Most valuable is this candle, throwing the light of God upon the narrow path; so that we 'are not scrupulous and nice in small matters, negligent in the main; we are still curious in substantial points, and not careless in things of an inferior nature; accounting no duty so small as to be neglected, and no care great enough for principal duties; not so tything mint and cummin, that we should forget justice and judgment; nor yet regarding judgment and justice, that we should contemn mint and cummin.'

Now let me ask—when God causes his candle to shed a clearer light, can I abide it? Do I welcome the hateful discoveries which it brings out? Do I value its light, as opening the secret business of communion between a sinner and a jealous holy God? Do I exercise myself to preserve the light from being dimmed in the atmosphere of sin; to guard its purity, as the means of establishing my confidence with God? Oh! let there be no inward part of my soul, where I am not most willing—most earnest—to bring the candle of the Lord, that all secret indulgences may be searched out and mortified. "He that doeth good cometh unto the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God."

28. Mercy and truth preserve the king: and his throne is upholden by mercy.

Punishment is indeed a necessary security against the infringement of the law. Yet a wise King will follow the example of the Great Sovereign, and "make judgment his strange work," and mercy his "delight." And so long as truth inviolably is his guiding principle, the abuse of mercy need be little feared. Nay, mercy is the upholding pillar of his throne. For who does not know, that, while truth commands reverence, it is mercy that wins the heart? Solomon himself had a strong body-guard around him, for the safety of his person. Yet were the mercy and truth of his government not only the most splendid jewels of his crown, but the 'best guard of his body, and supporters of his throne?'

How lovely is this combination, in the administration of the Great King! "Justice and judgment are the habitation of thy throne; mercy and truth shall go before thy face." Much more bright is the manifestation of these glorious perfections in that great work, by which he sacrificed even his beloved Son, that man might be saved without the tarnish of one spot upon his infinitely adorable name.11

29. The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the gray head.

Every stage of life has its peculiar honor and privilege. 'Youth is the glory of nature, and strength is the glory of youth. Old age is the majestic beauty of nature, and the grey head is the majestic beauty which nature hath given to old age.' Yet these pictures describe the use—not the abuse. It is the youth usefully exercised, especially consecrated to God, and employed for his glory. Otherwise, as an occasion of wantonness2 or vain glorious boast—its strength is its shame, and will end in vanity. The silver crown brings honor, and reverence, and authority—only "in the way of righteousness."5

Yet the beauty of the grey head is most likely to be found, where the strength and glory of youth have been dedicated to God. The young plant, stunted and deformed in its youth, will generally carry its crookedness into advancing growth. But who can calculate upon the extent of fruitfulness, where "the beginning of our strength"—"the dew of our youth"—has been given to the Lord? Let youth and age however each beware of defacing their glory. Each takes the precedence in some things, and gives place in others. Let them not therefore envy or despise each other's prerogatives. The world—the state—the church needs them both—the strength of youth for energy, and the maturity of age for wisdom.

30. The blueness of a wound cleanseth away evil: so do stripes the inward parts of the belly.

Chastisement is the Lord's ordinance—the pain of the flesh for the subjugation of the spirit; sometimes even "the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus." It describes not the gentle stroke, but the severity of parental discipline; not in pleasure or caprice—much less in anger—but for profit.8 The diseased body needs medicine no less than food, and indeed to give nourishment. The diseased will needs chastening no less than consolation, and as the main preparation for consolation. But if the blueness of the wound—the mark of severe chastisement—cleanseth away evil, is it not the lesser evil, as the means of subduing the greater? Do not the Lord's stripes cleanse the inward parts? Misery beyond measure miserable is the untamed stubbornness of self-will. A gentle stroke is first tried. When this remedy is ineffectual, the blueness of the wound is needful. Manasseh's Babylonish chains doubtless prevented the "everlasting chains of darkness." Similar discipline was effectual with the holy nation,10 the prodigal son, and the incestuous Corinthian.12 Multitudes have borne witness to the love, wisdom, and power of their Father's discipline—"chastened of the Lord, that they might not be condemned with the world." The evil was cleared away, and those, who groaned under the stripes, to all eternity will tune their harps to the song—"I know, O Lord, that thy judgments are right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me."

Child of God! Think of your Father's character. "He knoweth your frame. He doth not afflict willingly." Nothing will be given in weight or measure beyond the necessity of the case.3 But truly blessed are the stripes, that humble and break the proud will. Rich indeed are "the fruits of righteousness" from the conflict and suffering of the flesh.5

CHAPTER 21

1. The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord, as the rivers of water: he turneth it whithersoever it will.

THE general truth here implied has been before stated—man's entire dependence on God. It is taught here by the strongest illustration—his uncontrollable sway over the king's heart—the most absolute and unsubjected will. He turns all his most despotic rule—all his political projects—to his own purposes, with the same ease, that the rivers of water are turned by every inflexion of the channel. While their course is directed, the waters flow naturally and unforced on their own level. The king's heart he directs as a responsible agent, without interfering with the moral liberty of his will.

Nehemiah fully acknowledged this prerogative when, having a favor to ask of the king, he "prayed unto the God of heaven." And indeed Scripture witness is abundant. Abimelech's heart was in the hand of the Lord for good. Pharaoh's heart was turned towards Joseph.10 The Babylonish monarchs shewed kindness to Daniel and his captive brethren. The Persian monarchs countenanced and assisted in the building of the temple.12 The hearts of wicked kings are alike in the hand of the Lord; yet he hath no part in their wickedness.14 The hatred of Pharaoh; the ambition of Sennacherib and Nebuchadnezzar, were his instruments for his own purposes. Ahab's murderous heart was restrained, and even made to accomplish the downfall of Baal.16 The counsels of the kings of the earth against Christ were under Divine control. Thus does "the wrath of man praise him; and the remainder he restrains."2 The same Almighty agency is visible by its effects in the minutest affairs. Ahasuerus's sleepless night; Nebuchadnezzar's divination;4 the appointment of the year of general taxation—these seemingly unimportant events were turning points in the dispensations of God, fraught with immensely momentous results.

The history of our blessed, though now calumniated, Reformation shows the same sovereign control of the royal heart. Henry VIII. was employed as an unintentional instrument, and his godly son as a willing agent, in furthering this great work. The recollection encourages us to refer all anxious care for the Church to her great Head; to rejoice that, not kings, but the King of kings reigneth. And shall not we be quickened to earnest prayer for our beloved sovereign;7 that her heart, being in the Lord's hand, as rivers of water, may be disposed to rule for his glory, as a nursing-mother to his Church—a blessing to her people?

2. Every way of a man is right in his own eyes: but the Lord pondereth the hearts.

Let me be thankful for the repetition of this weighty proverb; most valuable for the close probing of my heart, and the testing of the vital spirituality of my profession. So "deceitful is the heart above all things"10 that it deceives—not others only, but—what even Satan never does—itself. Every intelligent Christian bears painful witness to this self-deception. How differently we judge of the same action in others, and in ourselves! Often do we palliate, if not justify, in ourselves the very habits, which we condemn in others. Never therefore is the prayer out of season—"Search me, O God; know me, try me; show me to myself."

Hid as the self-deluded professor is from himself—his way is right in his own eyes. But is it right in God's eyes? The Lord pondereth the heart. Solemn and awakening recollection! He thoroughly reads every heart. And what defilement does he see in those ways that are most right in our own eyes! Saul thought that he was serving God acceptably. But the all-searching eye discovered pride, covetousness, disobedient rejection of his God. What more self-satisfying than Israel's strict fast and humiliation? But the defective motive marred the sacrifice. "Did ye at all fast to me, even to me?" Little did the self-complacent ruler suspect the spiritual pride, false confidence, and worldliness, which his heart-searching God brought to view,14 And how much base alloy is hidden even in a sound-hearted profession! The disciples covered their own spirit under the pretence of vehement zeal for their Master. The Lord pondereth the heart—He "weigheth the spirits"—proving exactly what is of him self, and what is of a baser kind—what—how much—there is of God—what—how much—of man. The principles of the heart lie deep. The work may be good in itself. But what are the ends? The same work—according to its end—may be accepted—or be cast away. Jehonadab and Jehu both were engaged in the same exterminating work. With the one it was right service—with the other, vile hypocrisy.2 Self-distrust is therefore the wisdom of true godliness, daily—hourly trembling in ourselves; yet readily grounding our confidence in God! But for the covering of the High Priest, how could we stand for one moment under the piercing eye of our Judge? Did our dearest earthly friend know what was passing in our thoughts at any one hour, could he ever deem us worthy of confidence? Must not his heart revolt from contact with such vileness? Yet does our gracious Lord—while pondering our hearts, and privy to all their hidden corruptions—forgive—accept—yea—rejoice in us as his people.

3. To do justice and judgment is more acceptable to the Lord than sacriffice.

Did Solomon mean to undervalue sacrifice? Never did man more highly honor it. Perhaps the splendor of his sacrificial service may have given rise to the national perverted trust in external forms. Sacrifice was appointed as a type of the Great Sacrifice for sin. But never was it intended to take the place of that universal moral obedience, which the law of God had from the beginning indispensably required. Yet how soon did man mistake the intention of the ordinance! How easily did he substitute the offering of bulls and goats for the more self-denying service of the heart!6 Israel abounded in the observance of their outward ceremonials, while, indulging the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah. The Corban sacrifice stood in the room of filial obligation. The lesser services of "anise and cummin" were scrupulously observed, to the neglect of "the weightier matters of the law—judgment, mercy, and faith." Justly therefore did our Lord commend the "discretion" of the scribe, who gave the due place and proportion to the ceremonial and moral service.10 Both are his requirements. And a soundly instructed conscience will aim at both. Yet plainly has he in some instances dispensed with the former; never with the latter.12 He has accepted the moral without the ceremonial; but never the ceremonial without the moral, observance. What would the world be without that justice and judgment, which at once "establish the throne," "exalt the nation,"14 and realize to their disciples a true interest in that richest of all possessions—the love of God!

We indeed have no sacrifices to place in the stead of these invaluable principles. But the same preference and indeed exaltation of external service prevails among us. Whether under the grosser form of Popery, or the more plausible cover of Tractarian delusion, it is the true religion of man's heart—something to recommend us to the favor of God—something easier and less humbling, than the "living sacrifice" for his service. Christian professor! art thou resting in the shell and surface; or art thou worshipping in the spirituality of service? Dost thou hear the voice calling thee from the dead forms, to seek the living power of godliness? Those externals, that stand in the place of a consecrated heart, are the delusion of the great deceiver. Let thine heart be with God, walking with him in the sound exercise of Christian obligation.

4. An high look, and a proud heart, and the plowing (the light, Marg.) of the wicked, is sin.

Another stamp of abomination upon pride! We cannot mistake the mind of God so continually declared. Yet so many shapes does this sin assume, that until the Spirit of God shows a man to himself, he rejects the idea of any concern in it. Nay—he will be proud of his very pride—proud of a high spirit; counting a Christian mean and cowardly, who in the true spirit of the Gospel, yields up his rights to a stronger hand.3

But not only the haughtiness, but even the natural actions—the plowing—of the wicked—is sin. "This is an hard saying—who can hear it?" How can the plowing of the soil—in itself a duty—become a sin? The motive determines the act. The most natural actions are inculcated for Christian ends. They become therefore moral actions—good or bad—according to their motives. The man, who plows the soil, acknowledging God in his work, and seeking his strength and blessing—"does it" acceptably "to the glory of God." It is essentially a religious action. But the wicked, who does the same work without any regard to God—for want of a godly end—his plowing is sin. His idleness is sin against a plain command.8 His industry is the sin of ungodliness—putting God out of his own world. The substance of his act is good. But the corrupt principle defiles the very best action. "Every thought, every imagination, of the natural heart" is unmixed "evil."10 If the fountain-head be bitter, how can the waters be pure? Sin indeed defiles every motive in the Christian's heart. But here it is the substance of sin. In the one case it is infirmity of walk in the straight path. In the other, it is an habitual walk in a crooked path. With the wicked—'his eating as well as his gluttony; his drinking as well as his drunkenness; his commerce, negociation, and trafficking, as well as his covetousness, and inordinate love of the world; are all set down and reckoned by God for sins, and such sins as he must reckon for with God.' Fearful indeed is his condition. Would that he could see it! Whether he prays2 or neglects to pray—it is abomination. He cannot but sin; and yet he is fully accountable for his sin. To die—is to plunge into ruin.4 To live in unregeneracy is even worse; it is daily "heaping up wrath against the day of wrath." Ought he then to leave his duties undone? 'The impotency of man must not prejudice God's authority, nor diminish his duty.'6 What then ought he to do? Let him learn the absolute necessity of the vital change—"Ye must be born again." The leper taints every thing that that he touches. But let him seek to the Great Physician, whose word is sovereign healing;8 whose divine blood cleanses from every spot. His nature once cleansed, his works will be clean. His thoughts and principles, all will be for the glory of God; all acceptable to God.10

5. The thoughts of the diligent tend only to plenteousness; but of every one that is hasty, only to want.

The diligent is usually contrasted with the slothful: here with the hasty. The thoughts of each Work their own fruit—for plenteousness, or for want. The patient plodding man of industry perseveres in spite of all difficulties; content to increase his substance by degrees, never relaxing, never yielding, to discouragement. This care of diligence is profitable under the blessing of God. 'Thou mayest as well expect' (says an old writer) 'riches to rain down from heaven in silver showers, as to provide for thy family without industry in thy calling.'13 Haste has much of diligence in its temperament. But as indolence is its defect, this is its excess—its undisciplined impulse. The hand too often goes before, and acts without, the judgment. The hasty man, is driven under a worldly impulse into rash projects; and high-raised delusive expectations he finds to be the short and sure road to want. Need we remark—how rich the harvest of Christian diligence—of patient perseverance in well-doing—"eternal life?" The heavenly race is not to be run by so many heats, but by a steady course. "Run"—not with haste or speed—but "with patience, the race set before us." The seed springing up in haste withered. Excitement is delusion, and ends in disappointment. What so important as to cultivate a deep work of grace, pervading the whole man, and abounding with fruit to the glory of God?

6. The getting of treasures by a lying tongue is a vanity tossed to and fro of them that seek death. 7. The robbery of the wicked shall destroy (saw, Marg.) them, because they refuse to do judgment.

A graphical picture of the hasty spirit—its own crooked ways tending to want. Treasures may be gotten by lying. But they become vanity. They are "put into a bag with holes," and sink away. They are like a ball tossed to and fro by a withering blast, or dust and chaff before the wind. Unrighteous gain is a dear bargain. The wrath of God mingles gall and bitterness with the wages of iniquity.7 Eagerly did Judas desire to get rid of his ill-gotten treasure as an intolerable curse. Yet he could not fly from his torturing conscience. He sought death, and he found it.

Indeed it is with the ungodly, as if they sought death as their reward. So fondly do they love the way of eternal death! Their own sin is the seed of destruction. Their robbery virtually destroys them. And who can they blame but themselves? It is not ignorance, or inconsideration, but wilfulness, that destroys—because they refuse to do judgment. "Know ye not, that the Unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God?"—that "the wages of sin" invariably—inevitably—"is death"? What else did the robbery of Achan and Gehazi bring to them? Short indeed was the enjoyment of Ananias and Sapphira in "the part of the price kept back" at the expence of a lying tongue—Sudden and everlasting destruction was their doom—a beacon to worldly professors—half-hearted—self-deceiving!

8. The way of man is froward and strange: but as for the pure, his work is right.

Observe the striking contrast—man by nature; man by grace Who will say that man is now, as he first came from his Maker's hands? How is he born? Froward, "as a wild ass's colt." How soon does he develope his nature! "Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child—childhood and youth are vanity."3 Need we add that this is a strange way? How strange from God who made and loved him! Turned from God—"turned to his own way;" with no law but his lust, no rule but his will;5 loving his own liberty, but despising true liberty; made by his own self-delusion "the servant of corruption"—ignorant—licentious—wanton; lusting only to be the fountain of his own happiness—the maker of his own sufficiency.

Take him in his noblest path—the pursuit of wisdom. Here too his way is froward and strange. Is not forbidden wisdom his delight, wisdom—not as wisdom—but as forbidden—"intruding" into the counsels—prying into the ark—of God? Such was the first lusting of frowardness—not desiring to know God, which "is life eternal;" but to know as God, which was pride in its principle, and death in its issue.

But man—by grace made pure—new "created in the image of his God"—mark him well—his will now conformed to God; his actions regulated by his perfect standard. Therefore his rule and aim being right, his work is right. He lives now—as does his divine Saviour—"to God."12 Such is the dignity of his great object! Such his fellowship with his glorious Head! Such his earnest of heaven, and growing meetness for it! Oh! the mercy of being turned from our own froward and strange way to the pure service of our God! Yet such remains of the frowardness still—such intricacies of self-deceitfulness—such twisted workings of depravity—that—O my God—show me to myself, so far as I can bear the sight, that I may be kept humbled—self-abased—always near my Saviour—always applying his precious blood—always covering myself in his pure and perfect work of righteousness!

9. It is better to dwell in a corner of the house-top, than with a brawling woman in a wide house (a woman of contention in a house of society, Marg.)

In the spacious houses in the East several families lived together in society. A brawling woman would be a grievous disturbance to the little community; and a peaceable man would prefer the corner of the housetop, exposed to all the inconveniences of wind and weather; to the ample accommodation of a wide house in the atmosphere of contention. A solitary life without would be better than a quarrelsome life within. Some intervals of comfort might be abroad; none at home. Infinitely greater is this trial, when it comes from a man's own flesh; when she, who ought to be "a crown to her husband," becomes "rottenness to his bones;" when she that is bound to be his choicest treasure, becomes his piercing scourge. 'It cannot but be a miserable thing to behold, that yet they are of necessity compelled to live together, which yet cannot be in quiet together.'2 The intent of the Divine ordinance is here contravened. For it would seem "good for the man to be alone," rather than his "help-meet" should turn to be his hindrance and his curse. But how many bring this bitter trouble upon themselves! They plunge into the important connexion on adventure; with no thought of the duties to be done, the temptations to be avoided, the crosses to be borne. They never sought direction in the momentous choice. The wife, not being sought from the Lord, came not from him, and brought no "favor of him."4 Lust, avarice, or waywardness, brought a calamity, that no external accomplishments, no advantages of riches or rank, could for a moment counterbalance.

The only safe entrance into this 'honorable estate' is when each party—as Chrysostom instructs—commit themselves to God—'Bestow me as thou wilt, and on whom thou wilt.' The only security for happiness is when, with due regard of mutual fitness, mutual love is grounded reverentially upon the ordinance, which makes of "twain one flesh."6 Contentions will be restrained by the preventive habit of Christian discipline. Each will consider, that passion improves nothing, and patience much, and that it is far better to "give place" to each other, than "to the devil." The husband in his claim for submission will remember, that he has found—not a servant, but a wife. She on her side, will not forget the beauty and order of graceful sacrifice and ready concession; and that her glory is departed from her, should she lose "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit"—lovely in the sight of man—and "in the sight of God of great price."8 'Each severally performing their faithful duties, every thing around them acquires firmness and stability.

10. The soul of the wicked desireth evil: his neighbor findeth no favor in his eyes.

A lively portraiture of Satan himself! not only doing, but desiring evil! Evil is the very nature of the wicked. What wonder then if his very soul desireth it? His "heart is fully set to do it." He craves it as his appetite, his main delight.11 What "fitting for destruction" must there be in vessels thus full of sin, and therefore full "of wrath!" And here lies the difference between the godly and the wicked; not that the one is pure from evil, and the other commits it; but that the one does it from constraint—the other from delight. The one testifies—"What I hate"—the other—What my soul desireth—"that do I." As the essence of this native cherished principle—self to the wicked is both his god and his object. Intent upon his own will—not only his enemy, or a stranger—but even his neighbor, who might have a claim upon him, findeth no favor in his eyes. His charity does not extend beyond his own door. No one is regarded, who stands in the way of his own interest. Friend and brother must give place to selfish gratification.

Such is sin in its hateful character and baneful fruits. "Men are lovers of their own selves—hateful, and hating one another!" Look at the man of God—his heart enlarged and softened with the pervading influence of the gospel. Where is the neighbor in distress, that does not find favor in his eyes? "Charity seeketh not her own"5—is his spirit. "Bear ye one another's burdens"—is his rule. "The members of the body have the same care one for another."7 Oh! for a larger measure of this gracious spirit—"as the dew of Hermon descending upon the mountains of Israel," upon the church of God!

11. When the scorner is punished, the simple is made wise: and when the wise is instructed, he, receiveth knowledge.

This proverb in substance has been given before, as an instructive illustration of the Lord's providential discipline. No stroke of his rod is without its effect. The blow that strikes one, reaches two—the scorner for punishment; the simple for improvement. If the punishment be without fruit to the scorner, it reads a lesson of wisdom to the simple, who had been, or were in danger of being, misled by his evil example. Nay—even the man of God learns a lesson of love mingled with wholesome trembling, from this awful dispensation. "Thou puttest away all the wicked of the earth like dross; therefore I love thy testimonies. My flesh trembleth for fear of thee; and I am afraid of thy judgments."12

The wise—though already taught of God—through his daily teaching thankfully receives increasing knowledge, Among his most fruitful lessons are the instructions of the rod—instructions (mark the difference of the terms)—not punishment. Often does the teaching rod seal the teaching law. And the well-disciplined child is ready with his acknowledgments—"Blessed is the man, whom thou chastenest, O Lord, and teachest him out of thy law. I will bless the Lord, who hath given me counsel; my reins also chasten me in the night season. It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn thy statutes."

12. The righteous man wisely considereth the house of the wicked: but God over throweth the wicked for their wickedness.

The punishment of the wicked reads a lesson not only of love and trembling, but of wise consideration. Yet many are the perplexing mysteries of Providence. The righteous man does not always see with his right eyes. The prosperity of the wicked staggers his faith, excites his envy, and induces hard thoughts of God. But when he looks with the eye of faith, he sees far beyond the dazzling glory of the present moment. He wisely considereth their house—not its external splendor and appurtenances—but how it will end. He justifies God, and puts himself to shame. "Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?"3 Here we rest, until he shall "arise and plead his own cause," and "with the breath of his mouth, and the brightness of his coming, destroy" the very existence of evil. Meanwhile—when the superficial eye sees nothing but confusion, let the righteous man wisely consider lessons of deep and practical profit. The shortness of the prosperity, and the certainty of the overthrow of the wicked; the assurance of a day of recompense;7 the contrast of the substance of the godly for time and for eternity—these are the apprehensions of faith. Do they not marvellously set out the perfections of God, and call to each of his children—"My son, give glory to God?"

13. Whoso stoppeth his ears at the cry of the poor, he shall also cry himself but shall not be heard.

If there were no poor, much of the word of God, applying to their comfort, and directing our obligations—would have been written in vain. The obligation implies not only an helping hand, but a feeling heart; hearing the cry of the poor with sympathy, cheerfulness,10 self-sacrifice. The stopping the ears implies cruelty or insensibility;13 turning away from real and known distress; any kind of oppression; beating down "the hire of the laborer"15 beyond the power of earning the necessaries of life; and neglecting, so far as is in our power, to defend them against oppression.

Sometimes indeed it might be our duty to stop our ears. The law of God discountenances the trade of begging, with all its pathetic cries and appeals. To retain therefore the poor in idleness, however compassionate or self-pleasing the motive, is to encourage—if not to participate in—sin. Considerate discretion—not feeling—should direct our charity. Honest distress taxes most of us to the utmost of our power; considering our responsibility to put out all that we have—little or much—to the most profitable use. Yet ever let the withholding of charity be a constraint upon our feeling, not the indulgence of our selfishness. Count it a privilege, no less than an obligation, to minister to the poor. Ponder it as conformity to our Divine Master's spirit and work.2 Consider niggardliness in giving; the useless expenses that abridge our power of helping; luxuries, while our brethren are starving around us; restraining the full extent of what we ought and might give—all this as virtually stopping our ears against their cry. Covetousness and sensuality harden the heart; and when the heart is hard, the ear is deaf. This sin was wrongfully charged upon Job.4 But wherever it be found, the stamp of Divine displeasure is fearfully marked; and the great day will openly stamp it as the ground of condemnation.6

And even now—as the selfist's hardness shows no love to God, he will find no love from God. "With the same measure that he meted withal, it shall be measured to him again"8 Did he stop his ears at the cry of the poor? God will stop his ears against his cry. He that would not give a crumb on earth, was denied a drop of water in hell.10 "He shall have judgment without mercy, that hath showed no mercy." Christian professor! study the character of thy God—"pitiful, and of tender mercy;"12 and be like him. Remember—"bowels of mercies—kindness" are the mark and ornament of the elect of God.

14. A gift in secret pacifieth anger: and a reward in the bosom strong wrath

We have before noticed cases of resentment, where a legitimate and prudent distribution of gifts may quell the storm, and restore the calm. But a gift in secret implies a perversion; else why should the light be dreaded?16 Both parties are involved in the guilt. The giver acts as a tempter. The receiver wilfully breaks the law of God. The passions of men are easily charmed. Rarely will a covetous man be so angry with his friends, as not to be pacified with his gift, especially when, given in secret, it tells no tales. A reward in the bosom to such a man is stronger far than strong wrath; and when it has shown its errand, the melting process is rapidly accomplished. Thus is the wounded pride expelled by another ruling passion—avarice! Who then can excuse himself in the indolent cry—'I cannot help my passion or gain any power over it?' Secret covetousness cankers many a plausible exercise of forbearance. How do we need a close watch and keeping of our own hearts, in order to a Christian walk with God!

15. It is joy to the just to do judgment; but destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity.

It is not that the just does judgment. Conscience may dictate this—at least externally—while the bias of the heart is on the side of sin. But it is joy to the just to do it. His rest, purpose, affections—all centre in it. He has as much delight in doing judgment, as "the soul of the wicked desireth evil"—as his own soul ever desired it.2 It is joy, but only to the just. To the mere professor of religion it is conviction—fear; the service of a slave. He knows God only as a Master, and conceives of him as a task-master. He has never known him as a Father, and therefore never served him as a child. It is this service—is it not—Christian? that identifies holiness and happiness, and brings its own rewards with it, as naturally as heat accompanies fire, and beams flow from the sun.—Such is its refreshing, its smiles, its income of happiness, that "the way of the Lord is strength to the upright."4 Was it not thus with our beloved Lord? He could say—"I delight to do thy will, O my God. My meat, that the world knows not of, is to do my Father's will, and to finish his work." Oh! that the servant might be in spirit like his Lord!

What then is the gloom and sadness charged upon religion? Truly the children of this world have never tasted the clusters of Canaan. How then can they know their sweetness? Christian! look up, and be cheerful, for the honor of your God and his gospel. Live not as if some affliction had happened to you; but as one snatched from destruction—as a child of God—an heir of heaven. Let the world see in you, that the "work of righteousness is peace," and "the yoke of Christ is easy;"—nay—that the sharpest sacrifices for him are sweet; that there is more pleasure in "plucking out the right eye" for him, than in using it for sin or for Satan. And then think further, if this be the happiness amidst all the clogging hindrances of sin, what will it be, when these hindrances shall be removed, and we shall serve him without sin forever!7 If such be the wilderness, what will the Canaan be!

But what know the ungodly of this reality? Sin is to them a mockery—a sport9—even a joy. But never can it be their solid joy. It is their weariness—never their rest. To the workers of iniquity belong only vanity and disappointment, ending in destruction. Hear the testimony of God—"Destruction and misery are in their ways, and the way of peace have they not known. There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked."

16. The man that wandereth out of the way of understanding, shall remain in the congregation of the dead.

This seems to describe the fearful and irretrievable ruin of apostates. God has opened the way of understanding. The wandering out of it implies, that the man was once in it; at least that he was instructed, and professed to walk in it. The end of wilful wandering is eternal death. Such was the character and end of the wicked son of Jehoshaphat; and the rebellious children of godly Josiah,3 apostates from the religion "received by tradition from their fathers."

But—not to go to olden times. It is no rare sight to see the children of godly parents cast off the privileges of their birthright, as despised in their eyes. Early instructed in "the Holy Scriptures;" instead of "continuing in the things which they have learned, and been assured of," they have "loved to wander." They have never proved a real apprehension of the substance of truth—never a just appreciation of its value. The way has been too strait—too humbling. Novelties have been preferred: self-confidence indulged; self-pleasing delusions cherished; the want of godly sincerity has darkened the path; conscientious error, varnished with external holiness, is readily admitted; and the man, destitute of a solid scriptural standard, wanders out of the way of understanding.

Wandering indeed is man's fallen nature. But light, conviction, advantages of instruction, awfully aggravate the responsibility.8 Take care of the first wandering step—whether it may be in doctrine or in practice. It may fix in a state of apostacy; like Bunyan's blinded wanderers out of the straight path, who were found among the tombs—remaining in the congregation of the dead. A special mercy will it be, if the wayward wanderer does not find his last and final remaining among 'the mighty dead,' "to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness forever." "It had been better for him not to have known the way of righteousness, than, after he has known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered unto him."10 Let such as he remember, that remaining among the congregation of the dead shows their character, their state, and their home; and that, though they be by birth Abraham's children, born of godly parents; yet, wandering out of the way of understanding, they are out of the way of life.

One can only wish to view such sad apostates, as Faithful and Hopeful did, with tears gushing out of our eyes, silently pondering. Do they not stand as warnings to us, that we should tremble—yea—"rejoice with trembling?" While we "stand by faith," must we not remember the needful caution—"Be not highminded, but fear?"2 Ever let us combine self-distrust with our Christian confidence; "fearing lest a promise being left us of entering into rest, any of us should seem to come short of it;" thankful alike for the warnings to make us fear, and for the encouragements to preserve us from despondency.

But the great mass are also here described. They never profess; they never have professed. They know that "wisdom crieth without," yet they "refuse to hear the voice of the charmer." Many will occasionally hear, yet "they go their way, and straightway forget what manner of men they were."5 Noah's mighty congregations were of this character; and they remained in the congregation of the dead. And will not every one, who, with the opportunities to attain wisdom, refuses, departs, turns away—be found here—"dead in their trespasses and sins"7—dead eternally?

17. He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man; and he that loveth wine and oil shall not be rich.

What then? are we to have no pleasure? This were indeed to drive men from religion. Why—pleasure is the very character of the ways of God; pleasure infinitely more satisfying "than in the time that corn and wine increased." Are we not—again—to rejoice in our earthly comforts? "The living God giveth us richly all things to enjoy."10 This large flow of happiness is more than doubled by the rule of "thanksgiving." Yet, strange as it may seem—the way to enjoy pleasure is not to love it; to live above it; to "rejoice as though we rejoiced not; to use the world, as not abusing it."13 The man bent upon pleasure—giving his whole heart and time to the love of it—sacrificing to it all his prudence and foresight—is surely on the high road to poverty. On the same road is he that loveth wine—under the power of a "mocking delusion." He that loveth oil—one of the most precious fruits of Canaan—may find, that "those who could not live without dainties come to want necessaries."17 But the most melancholy sight in the universe is the man who sacrifices to the love of pleasure the interest of his immortal soul. Salvation is thrown away as a thing of naught. Fearful indeed is the poverty—the utter—eternal ruin of this wilful infatuation. "Woe unto you that are rich; for ye have received your consolation! Son! remember! that thou in thy life-time received thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented."

Christian! you wonder not, that those who know not heaven, should take their portion on earth. But should not the heirs of heaven live above the love of earth, having no more sympathy with the sensual devotee, than with the pleasure of "the sow wallowing in the mire?" Mark well the danger and temptation—the need of unceasing watchfulness, that in the necessary use you keep within its due measure—the heart loosened here and fixed above. For should you be growing in the love of earthly pleasure, you shall be a poor man indeed—growing indifferent to prayer; heartless and dead to God; fancying shadows to be substance, and despising the true substance as a shadow. Heavenly pleasures will lose their sweetness, as earthly pleasures are relished. Keep then ever before you the witness of your better experience—the emptiness and bitterness5 of the world's pleasures; the all-sufficiency of your real portion. And shall a man's appetite and poisoned taste blot out these records—this solemn judgment of experience? God forbid!

18. The wicked shall be a ransom for the righteous, and the transgressor for the upright.

The ransom is here spoken of only in a popular sense, as equivalent to a substitute. God sometimes, for wise reasons, involves the righteous in the same judgment with the wicked. Sometimes the punishment of the wicked is the ordained means of averting calamity from a righteous nation. Often, in the Lord's retributive justice, the wicked are brought into the very trouble which they design for the righteous. Thus, suffering in their stead, they are as it were a ransom for them. God may seem in trouble to "sell his people for naught;" yet "so precious are they in his sight," that a whole nation shall—if needful for their preservation—be given to ruin. Egypt and Ethiopia were thus a ransom for Jerusalem, when God turned Sennacherib's fury against them, and warded off the threatened stroke from the sacred city; just as a bait, thrown to a beast of prey, would give opportunity to the devoted victim to escape. Often does God blind the enemies of the church to fight among themselves, so that the destined scourge for his church is turned to another quarter, as if the crushed nation was a ransom—a victim in the stead of the innocent. However lowering the prospects of the church may be, yet there is no ground for faintness or trembling for the ark of God. His promises to his church are not empty sounds, but "the munitions of rocks." "No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper. He that toucheth you, toucheth the apple of mine eye." The night may be dark; but the morn will look forth gloriously.

19. It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and an angry woman.

Another, perhaps even a stronger, picture of the misery of domestic dissension. It is better to be destitute altogether of the communion of social life, if it must be purchased at so dear a rate, as the companionship of one, whose contentions will turn every comfort into bitterness. It is better to dwell, not only "upon the house-top," where there might be alleviation, but even in the wilderness; giving up all social indulgences for desolation, solitude, and even dangers. Oh! it is the poison in 'the sweetest cup of earth's best joy,' where "two are joined to each other, and made one flesh;"4 yet not "joined to the Lord," and so "made one spirit." The woman only is mentioned. Yet the disruption is as frequent, and at least as guilty, from an imperious husband, as from a scolding wife. Surely our gracious God here teaches his children a lesson too often neglected to their cost—to put their necks into this sacred yoke, 'reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.' Let them carefully ponder the fact, that a choice influenced by the fascinations of manners or disposition, by intellect or accomplishments, if made without reference to godliness, can give no promise of the Divine blessing, or of individual happiness. Often indeed it issues in a state of degradation, too painful to dwell upon, into which one or both parties are content to plunge, making themselves odious for the sake of indulging their angry passions. Nor does this apply only to the matrimonial yoke. All members of the family circle, bound together by natural ties, and living together by providential arrangements, may do not a little towards embittering each other's happiness. The subjects of these uncontrolled tempers must, however, reap the natural harvest of their seed sown, and suffer under the mortifying consciousness, that others recoil from their society, and would readily embrace—if need be—the alternative of the wilderness, as a welcome change from perpetual irritation.

'The family,' as Mr. Cecil justly observes, 'is sometimes a fierce fire. Our family comprehends the greatest portion of our world. It is to us the most interesting, and therefore is capable of becoming the most trying, portion.' The child of God is bound indeed to recognize effectual and fatherly discipline in his trials from the tempers of those around him. Yet not less strange the fact, that even among Canaan's pilgrims, words are often uttered, that must produce pain; and thus thorns, which our heavenly Father hath not planted, are strewn in our brother's or sister's path. Effects still more lamentable are to be traced in impressions made upon the young, or on others watching the exhibition of such inconsistencies, where better things might have been expected.

The matrimonial "thorn in the flesh" may be a needful chastening, overruled as a preventive against self-confidence, and for the exercise of adorning Christian graces.2 Yet much prayer and forbearance are required to avoid needless occasion and subjects of irritation, to keep aloof from the immediate bursting of ungoverned passion; to realize present support under this heavy cross, in the assured prosperity and intense longing for the home of everlasting peace.

20. There is treasure to be desired and oil in the dwelling of the wise: but a foolish man spendeth it up.

To love an earthly treasure is the way to poverty. Yet we may thankfully enjoy the prudent gathering, as the fruit of the Lord's blessing,2 like the oil of Canaan, for refreshment. This is not the forbidden "laying up for ourselves treasures upon earth"4—a hoard for selfishness and distrust of God. This treasure is in the house of the wise. For prudence is not worldliness; an indifference to coming trial is not faith, but foolish simplicity.7

Even the cottage of the godly poor often contains this desirable treasure—the reward of Christian diligence. Yet poor indeed is the palace, where this is the primary treasure. The Bible with its stores of unsearchable riches is the grand treasure of man. The oil of gladness, which it poureth out richly, is his choicest comfort. Wherever this treasure is pre-eminently prized—this is the house of the wise—whether it be the prince or the pauper.

Whatever the earthly treasures of the foolish man may have been, or however obtained, his improvidence is a wide gulf to spend it up. All goes one way. Drunkenness, wasteful expenditure, idleness, gambling, devours it all. He serves a master, who will leave him nothing at the year's end; and, as the only reward of his drudgery, will bring him to utter destitution. Such was the prodigal's course; yet in the gracious mercy of his Father the means of changing him from his folly into a better mind, and bringing him to the house of the wise—a possessor of a treasure more desirable, than his earthly appetite had ever longed for.

But there are other foolish men besides the drunkard and the spendthrift; and other treasure infinitely more desirable, that is spent up. Admission to the house of the wise—the opportunity of thus growing rich in knowledge and holiness—what a "price would it be, in the hands of a fool," had he but "an heart for it." But the golden moment is lost; the treasure is spent up. Time is wasted in reckless frivolity of pursuit in innumerable ways. The entire absence of an holy aim in his daily employments deadens all sense of responsibility. He lives only as the creature of the present moment, with no object worthy of an immortal being—with no object connected with eternity. Oh my God! leave me not to my own folly, lest I spend up my treasure, instead of trading with it, and thus enlarging it for my best welfare.

21. He that followeth after righteousness and mercy, findeth life, righteousness, and honor.

Here the desirable treasure is not spent up but followed after with a distinctness of purpose that shows a perception of its value. This is the Christian standard—"Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect. But I follow after." Heaven—"the prize of our high calling"—is the bright consummating object. But righteousness and mercy—all our obligations to God and man—are the pathway to it—the meetness for it. Holiness must be our daily habit, as well as our religious service—"in all manner of conversation."3 There must be nothing at home or abroad, where the man of God is not seen. The true evidence of Divine Grace on the heart is the practical influence upon the temper and conduct.5

But this following after is not the toiling at a daily task; not a compulsory law, chaining the conscience against the inclinations of the will. It is delight, freedom, enlargement; the flow of the heart filled with fearless love.7

Nor is this following for the sake of the reward. Yet it finds the reward in its exercise—a reward of grace indeed it must be. For how infinitely is it above our faint and sinful efforts! He that followeth, findeth life9—that which is the life of life—the treasure of the best happiness; fellowship with God; the sunshine of his face; the enjoyment of his love. He findeth righteousness—a retributive blessing from a God of grace. He findeth honor. For "if any man serve me"—saith our Divine Master—"him will my Father honor." "To them, that by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, and honor and immortality, he will render eternal life." Then—to depart in the joy of conscious acceptance—"I have finished my course. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness."13

Such is godliness, with its faithful and precious promises for both worlds! Are they not worth following after? Yet where—Christian professor—do we see this strenuous sustained effort—this plying to the real work of the daily cross—this making a business of religion? We look for the picture of men on the stretch;—all energy—all pursuit; nothing diverting from the object; pressing all their might with constant urgency in the momentous service. This high standard of perseverance will only just bring us to the goal. The half-hearted—temporary professor—the creature of impulse—instead of the child of faith—though for a while he may "run well," will utterly fall short.

22. A wise man scaleth the city of the mighty, and casteth down the strength of the confidence thereof.

The art of war has always shown the pre-eminence of wisdom above strength. Prudent tactics, or a wise application of courage, triumphs above mere personal prowess. Joshua's stratagem in taking of Ai was a proof of military wisdom. Solomon seems to have known of a wise man singly delivering his city from the power of a mighty king; a proof of wisdom quite tantamount to the strength of an aggressor scaling the walls, and thus casting down its confidence. Much more therefore will spiritual wisdom—the immediate gift of God, overcome difficulties as formidable, as the scaling of the city of the mighty. A wise calculation of the cost is eminently serviceable in achieving most important triumph. For does not conscious weakness lead to a single dependence upon God? And what difficulties are too great for an Almighty arm? "By thee"—said a valiant soldier in the army—"I have run through a troop; and by my God have I leaped over a wall."5 "Weapons of a spiritual, not of a carnal," temper, "are mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds," impregnable to the power of man. All the promises are "to him that overcometh."7 Let the soldier go to the conflict "strong in the Lord," and "putting on his whole armour"—the triumph is sure. The heavenly city will be scaled. "The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force."

23. Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.

How frequently does the wise man remind us of the responsibility connected with the use "of the little member!" Yet as the test of a sound or unsound religion, can we have it too often before our eyes?11 How large a portion of this world's ceaseless troubles may be traced to this prolific source! It is the unbridled horse, that brings his rider into fearful jeopardy. The mouth has been opened rashly. The tongue has flowed unguardedly; and "behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth!" Our neighbor has been injured; God has been dishonored; and bitter trouble of soul has been the fruit.

What then is our preventive from this imminent temptation? Cultivate a deep and watchful sensibility. Walk closely with God. Cherish the tender spirit of his constraining obligations. Keep the tongue for his service; asking for his grace at once to restrain and employ it. Thus consecrated to God, it becomes "the glory of man;"2 not only keeping him from trouble, but elevating him to fellowship in the ceaseless praises of the heavenly world.

24. Proud and haughty scorner is his name, who dealeth in proud wrath.

And who gave him this name? Even he, who "will destroy the tongue that speaketh proud things; who have said, "With our tongue will we prevail; our lips are our own: who is Lord over us?" See how God loads him with disgrace. Man's rebukes may be "the curse causeless, that will not come."4 But God's stamp is indelible. Proud and haughty scorner! Such is his name. He may pride himself upon his scorning. But contrast him with the man, to whom God looks—him that "is poor, and of a contrite spirit, and that trembleth at my word."

Look at this vivid picture in Pharaoh—that haughty scorner bursting out in his proud wrath—"Who is the Lord, that I should obey his voice?"—in Sennacherib—"reproaching and blaspheming the Holy One of Israel."7 Haman meets with an affront. His proud wrath kindles. He cares neither for God, nor man. The ruin of his single enemy will not suffice. He must glut himself with the blood of a whole unoffending nation.

Scorner is his name. Not an empty name. Never let us separate the name which God hath given, from the doom which he hath denounced. "The day of the Lord of Hosts shall be upon every one that is proud and lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up; and he shall be brought low. Behold! the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and all the proud shall be as stubble; and the day that cometh shall burn them up, saith the Lord of Hosts, that it shall leave them neither root nor branch." Now we call the proud happy. "But how shall they abide the day of his coming?" Oh! with such a manifestation of the mind of God—never think lightly of a proud thought, or a scornful feeling or expression.

It may be, that this hateful abomination is indulged in God's own children. Yet he will not wink at this sin, nor spare his rod. The glory of their name shall be darkened. His frown shall be made visible. If "Asa's heart was" in the main "perfect with God all his days," yet for the sin of haughtiness and proud wrath, his sun went down in a cloud. "Even our God is a consuming fire."2

25. The desire of the slothful killeth him: for his hands refuse to labor. 26. He coveteth greedily all the day long: but the righteous giveth and spareth not.

Often have the shame and wretchedness of sloth been before us. Here is the finishing stroke. The desire of the slothful killeth him. It leads to no effort, therefore to no fruit. "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick;" and perpetual vexation frets him to death.4 'What he longs for, he does not set his hand to purchase.

But he would rather sit still and starve.' He thinks to live by wishing, not by working.6 Some faint desires he may have to work. But the effort to "take his hand out of his bosom" is too great. His hands therefore—as if they were given him only to be folded—refuse to labor. There is no want of physical power and activity. He could spend his whole time in 'busy idleness.' But for useful labor he has no heart. Meanwhile, with all his inactivity, he is a prey all day long to a greedy covetousness; tantalized with insatiable desires; while the hope of enjoyment, though not out of sight, yet, from want of exertion, is out of reach. Thus he dies with his desires in his mouth; envying those, whose industrious diligence enables them to give, and spare not.

Such is the temporal evil of sloth; one of the many forms of moral selfishness, that paralyze alike our energy and our comfort. But far more ruinous is it in the higher and deeper concern. The stamp of death is broad and palpable upon the heartless professor. We ask—What is his religion? He hopes he has a desire; and he has often heard, that 'the desire of grace is grace.' Now this is true—if the desire be predominant. Faith as it may be in its first dawn, it "is the day of small things, not to be despised." It is "the smoking flax," which the Saviour "will not quench,"12 but kindle into a flame. But if it is always a desire, and no more, habitually overcome by a contrary inclination; instead of grace, it is a delusion—a mere sentimental excitement, to lull the conscience asleep. 'How can an object, which standeth in a fixed distance from the nature which it should perfect, be procured by idle and standing affections? Those affections must have life in them, which would bring life after them. Dead desires are deadly desires.' Take care then of the sluggard's prayer. His desires, instead of carrying life in them, are cold things, that strike death into the soul. Earnest seeking is the test of godly desire. No quarter will be left unexplored, where we might find our God;15 no means of grace unimproved, where we might enjoy his presence.

Some will call this active energy legal. But our Lord's command to "labor" proves that it is scriptural. Whoever does not strive to come near to the standard, has never really apprehended it. Whoever desires only, and refuses to labor to be a growing Christian daily, gives doubtful evidence, whether he be a Christian at all. Not that the power is in ourselves. But when did God ever fail to help the sinner's endeavor? "That thou givest, we gather." Prayer and diligence, dependence and energy, harmonize in the Bible; however they may be discordant in the crude systems of man's devising. Divine agency is given, not to excuse the neglect of human means, but to encourage their improvement.3

What then want we for active service, but the continued exercise of faith? This gave power at first; this alone sustains the power. There is no moment, when the Lord is not giving; when he has not bound himself to give by infinite, most loving obligations. Deliberately devote yourselves. Put the resolution into practical form, habit, and place. Make all sacrifices for it. Seize all opportunities for making it good. Our work will be our recompense; our labor our wages. And while the slothful man only covets for himself, the righteous, in the flowing of the willing heart lives for the Church. He has to give, and he spares not—"a blessing in the midst of the land."

27. The sacrifice of the wicked is abomination; how much more, when he bringeth it with a wicked mind? (in wickedness, Marg.)

This is the repetition of a former proverb with additional intensity. At no time—under no circumstances—can the sacrifice of the wicked be acceptable. All the true requisites of holy worship are wanting. There is no heart. The service is therefore only formality or hypocrisy. There is no way of access7—no "altar to sanctify the gift." Therefore it is presumption, self-righteousness, will-worship.9 There is no "faith, without which is is impossible to please God." The material act—considered in itself—may be good; but the corrupt principle makes the sacrifice an abomination.

How much more—the sin is double—when he bringeth it with a wicked mind!—as when Balaam brought his sacrifice, that he might curse Israel; Saul, in wayward disobedience.2 Absalom and Jezebel, to cover their treachery; the adultress, as a lulling to her unwary prey;4 the Pharisees, as a handle to their covetousness; Antinomian professors, for the indulgence of their lusts!6 What an abomination must this service be before him, who is "of purer eyes than to behold evil, and cannot look on iniquity!"

And yet apparent acceptance is sometimes granted to the sacrifice of the wicked. God, as the moral governor of the world, externally rewards actions externally good. But never does he fail to punish the evil principle in those very actions, which are the subjects of his reward. Our Lord's love of the amiable victim of self delusion, was the compassion of his humanity, not Divine complacency; and fully consistent with holy abhorrence of his proud rejection of the gospel.9

What then are the wicked to do, rejected as they are under the most favorable circumstances? Shall they lie down in despondency, or harden themselves in rebellion? Or shall they wait for better dispositions, and prepare themselves for the gospel? The door of prayer is their only refuge.11 That door opens the gospel to them with a free warrant of faith, abundant encouragement, and sure acceptance.

28. A false witness (witness of lies, Marg.) shall perish: but the man that heareth speaketh constantly.

The last clause of the proverb seems to fix and restrict the first. A false witness often becomes so by the culpable habit of thoughtlessly repeating, without examination or certain knowledge. A man may thus do very serious injury to his neighbor's character or property. It proves a very loose conscience, and an utter want of that "charity, which covers," instead of exposing, faults. It is rejoicing in iniquity, rather than "rejoicing in truth."14 This false witness will certainly be punished by God; and even 'by man he will be confounded and silenced. No one for the future will regard or credit his testimony.'16 But the man that heareth—the true witness—that speaketh only what he heareth, and is fully acquainted with—he speaketh constantly—to conviction. He holds to his testimony—never contradicts himself. His word, even if it had been slighted at first, gains more and more credit and authority, when the false witness shall have perished.

Thus "the faithful and true witness" declared for himself and his servants—"We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen." The apostles, to give this solid weight to their testimony, would fill up the vacancy in their body only from among those, "who had companied with them all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among them;" as if those only, who had heard, would speak constantly. They claimed authority to their commission, as having heard from the mouth of God, and therefore being assured of its Divine warrant. And indeed this constitutes the main power of testimony. A feeble and hesitating tone is spiritless and ineffective.3 A decided accredited presentment of truth—speaking constantly—commands conviction. "We believe and therefore we speak."

29. A wicked man hardeneth his face: but as for the upright, he directeth his way.

A hardened face—without shame or blush for sin—is a fearful manifestation of a hardened heart. Cain standing bold in the presence of his God, with his hands reeking with his brother's blood; Gehazi with his fearless lie;6 the Traitor, bearing to be pointed out by his Master, without visible emotion, then afterwards with unblushing effrontery kissing his sacred cheeks8—how hardened must have been their faces in determined wickedness! The adulteress also, clothing her seductive witcheries with an impudent face, stands out before us. Sometimes the wicked man, bent upon his way, hardens his face against the most distinct warnings and intimations of the will of God. Nothing would hinder Balaam from his own "perverse way." He even anticipated the conditional permission of his God, lest it should ultimately stand in his way. Ahab determinately hardened his face against the clear forbidding will of God. Jehoiakim, before his whole council, set his God at defiance.12 His people "ran" with the bravery of madmen "upon the thick bosses of his buckler." And does not sin stand out before us with a brazen face?14 The drunkard reels at noon-day. The swearer pours out his wickedness in the open crowd. The sensualist "glories in his shame." Truly this is the spirit of Satan. How near to hell! How awful is the plain stamp of the seal of wrath!16

Cheering is it to contrast the tender spirit of the child of God. This is rest indeed—to put ourselves under the Lord's hands, fearful of taking one step alone; carefully ordering our steps, lest by inadvertence, much more by wilfulness, they should bring shame upon his face. Godly simplicity greatly clears the eye of the soul. Where the heart is set in the duty, there will be seldom any great difficulty in discovering the path.18 Secret heavenly direction is engaged. An unfixed, unresolved mind gives great advantage to the enemy's assault. Here lies the contrast—the wicked man hardens his face against God's ordinances. The godly directs his way by it; not waiting in indolent passivity for miraculous leading, but improving ordinary means for the light upon every step. Temporals as well as spirituals; trifles as well as important matters, are brought under the eye of our gracious God. Child-like confidence brings sunshine and acceptance.

30. There is no wisdom, nor understanding, nor counsel against the Lord. 31. The horse is prepared against the day of battle: but safety (victory, Marg.) is of the Lord.

This proverb is not true in the strict letter. All the wisdom and policy of earth and hell are in active operation. But all is in vain against the Lord. The history of the Church abundantly proves this. 'The decrees and counsels of God are firm as adamant—immoveable, notwithstanding all human machinations; no more to be stayed than the course of the sun.' Wisdom and understanding—the best-contrived counsel—when against the Lord—come to foolishness. "He taketh the wise"—not in their ignorance, but "in their craftiness;"3 not when their wisdom was fading, but when it was at the utmost zenith. Ahithophel's counsel was befooled at the time, when "it was as if a man had inquired at the oracle of God." Pharaoh's counsel to depress the chosen nation issued in their increase. His murderous decree, as a link in the chain of Providence, nurtured the Leader and Lawgiver of the people.6 Balak's desire to curse Israel was overruled for blessing. The wise man vainly set up in his darker days his own wisdom against the declared purpose of God. Ahab's project to ward off the threatened stroke against his life;9 his determination to avert the extinction of his family; Athaliah's deep-laid plot to exterminate the family of David,11 and so to frustrate the Divine promise; the enmity against the builders of the temple—all this diversified mass of wisdom, and counsel, and understanding against the Lord—what was it?—a thing of nought. 'They all signify nothing, if they oppose the counsels and decrees of heaven.'14

Mark the history of our Lord. It would seem, as if nothing could have hindered the success of Herod's wisdom and counsel against his infancy. What a combination of wisdom from all quarters vainly strove to "entangle him in his talk!" How near to failure were the prophecies connected with his death, burial, and resurrection! Stoning was the sentence for the charge laid against him. His burial was appointed among the wicked.2 His resurrection—so far as man could do—was effectually prevented. But God had ordained crucifixion for his death,4 his burial among the rich, his resurrection as the confusion of all their counsel.6 The event proved, that there was no wisdom, nor understanding, nor counsel against the Lord. 'God's desire is fulfilled by those, who have the least mind to it. All man's wisdom, while it strives for masteries, is overmatched.'

Let us look at that kingdom of Providence—so finely represented by "the wheels full of eyes round about them." To deny an absolute superintending control, is to 'place an idle sceptre in the hands of Him, who governs the universe.'9 How many movements baffle alike previous calculation and subsequent inquiry! effects for which no adequate cause is producible; anomalies manifestly intended to remove our eyes from second causes to the First Great Spring of agency, moving above all, and in despite of all opposition. The raging Dioclesian struck his medal—'Christianity is extinguished.' The Great Author brings out from the very fire the palpable proof, that 'the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.' 'Oh! the folly and blindness of men, that think to carry all to their minds, and walk as masters of their own designs, and never have any serious thought of him, in whose hands both they, and all their business, and all the affairs of states and kingdoms of this world, are as a piece of wax, to frame them to what he pleases!' And do not some of us remember with shame our "striving with our Maker"11—how long we endeavored to defeat his purposes of love—until at length we were brought to cast our weapons at his feet, and to acknowledge that there is no wisdom, nor understanding, nor counsel against the Lord?

But—putting away rebellion—beware of vain confidence, scarcely less displeasing to the Lord. The horse was a forbidden confidence in the day of battle. The most glorious days of victory were, when that veto was regarded.13 Declension commenced from the transgression of the law; defeat from the very quarter of confidence. The after-renunciation of this confidence was a time of gracious acceptance.15 The horse indeed may be legitimately employed as a means of defence. But never let the material of war fare be our confidence. Use the means, but idolize them not. They that "trust in them fall." Those—that remember that safety is of the Lord—"are risen, and stand upright." "The horse is a vain thing for safety." "The remembrance of the name of the Lord" was mightier to the young warrior than the strength of the giant.2 Much more—in the spiritual warfare—let us have the active exercise of dependence. "Salvation is of the Lord"—free—complete—everlasting—triumphant victory over all the powers of hell.

CHAPTER 22

1. A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favor rather than silver and gold.

BUT what is this good name, here commended as a precious jewel? Not the name, which the Babel-builders would "make to themselves." Not as Absalom, who reared a pillar to "keep his name in remembrance," or rather to commemorate his shame. It is not the popular voice. So different is God's standard from man's, that to have "all men speak well of us," would be a bad name! So apt are men to "put darkness for light; and light for darkness,"8 that the reputation too often serves in the place of the reality, the false glare for the genuine principle, the shadow for the substance, the tinsel for the gold. The good name is gained by godly consistency. The possessor is either unconscious of the gift, or humbled with the conviction, that it is wholly undeserved. The loving favor connected with it is often seen in early childhood. It was the heavenly seal upon the Pentecostal Christians.11 And every servant of God values it as a trust and talent for his Master's service and glory.

Such is its value, that it is rather to be chosen than great riches,—than silver and gold. A bye-word may be attached to riches. Add to which—"They fly away upon eagles' wings."15 But the good name "will be in everlasting remembrance." And even now it brings confidence and respect.17 It largely adds to usefulness; gives authority to reproof, counsel, and example; so that—if the world cannot love, neither can they despise. Hence the Christian obligation to be "blameless, as well as harmless, to shine as lights in the world." Hence the honor of "having a good report of all men, and of the truth itself."2 Hence the qualification for efficiency in the sacred office—"blameless—having a good report of them which are without." But how often do the "dead flies" spoil "the precious ointment!"4 Satan, when he cannot hinder the instruments, will blemish them, to give currency to error, to stumble the ungodly and unstable.

This ornament is too often indiscreetly underrated. 'So long as my conscience is clear, I care not what the world think or say of me. Other consciences are not my judges.' Now in resisting the efforts of the world to turn us aside from the path of duty, 'we may seasonably comfort ourselves in our own innocency, fly for refuge against the injuries of tongues into our own consciences, as into a castle, there repose ourselves in security, disregarding the reproaches of evil men.' But it should be our great care to stop the mouths of gainsayers; and while we count it "a very small matter to be judged of man's judgment," most anxiously to "provide things honest, not only in the sight of the Lord, but also in the sight of men."7

Yet precious as this blessing is, take care it be not purchased at the expence of conscience. Far better that others should blot our name, than that we should wound our consciences. 'Two things there are, saith St. Augustine, whereof every man should be specially chary and tender—his conscience and his credit. But that of his conscience must be his first care; this of his name and credit must be content to come in the second place. Let him first be sure to guard his conscience well; and then may he have a due regard of his name also. Let it be his first care to secure all within, by making his peace with God and in his own breast. That done—but not before—let him look abroad, if he will, and cast about as well as he can, to strengthen his reputation with and before the world.'

But that God should register a good name in the annals of the church—"in the book of remembrance10—in the book of life"—Oh! is not this infinitely above all this world's glory?12 And how gladly will he own these jewels at the day of his appearing! How sure and glorious is his promise to his faithful servant—"I will not blot out his name out of the book of life; but I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels!"14

2. The rich and the poor meet together: the Lord is the maker of them all.

There is great diversity in the several stations and circumstances of mankind. Yet the difference is mainly superficial; the equality in all important matters manifest. The rich and the poor—apparently so remote from each other—meet together. All have the same birth. All enter the world naked,2 helpless, unconscious beings; all stand in the same natural relation to their God; dependent on him for their birth; the children of his Providence;4 the creatures of his moral government. All are subject to the same sorrows, sicknesses, infirmities, and temptations.6 "All go to one place." All—"small as well as great—shall stand before God."8

We meet together on the same level as sinners. All are tainted with the same original corruption. "All, like sheep, have" personally "gone astray."10 All need alike the same new-birth to give them life, the same precious blood to cleanse them, the same robe of righteousness to cover them. It is in fact a common need,12 a common salvation. In all these matters the rich and the poor are as one—"God is no respecter of persons." The difference appears only as the outward garment.15 Yet what a distance it makes! The one scarcely hears or knows the other!

And when redeemed into the family of God, is not every member of the family our brother? Here then—rich and poor—we meet on equal standing at the same throne of grace—in the same soul and body—at the same holy table. We communicate to each other the same blessed hopes, feel the same sympathies, anticipate the same home.

Nor is this a constitution of accident, or of mechanical arrangement. The Lord is the maker of them all. Not only does he make us as men; but he makes us rich and poor. Adored be that infinite wisdom, that has knit the rich and the poor together so closely in mutual dependence, that neither can live without the other; neither can say to the other, "I have no need of thee."20

Yet this Christian equality before God does not annihilate the gradation of rank before men. "The servants under the yoke must not despise their believing masters, because they are brethren; but rather do them service, because they are faithful and beloved." Could men continue in equality of rank, for a single day? Difference of mind and talents, industry, self-denial, providences, would shake the balance before the morning was gone. God never meant to level the world, any more than the surface of the earth. The distinction of rich and poor still remains in his appointment, and all attempts to sink it must end in confusion. To each of us are committed our several talents, duties, and responsibilities both to God and man. Let each of us therefore be given to our own work, and "abide in our calling with God." "Let the brother of low degree rejoice, in that he is exalted; but the rich, in that he is made low."2 Soon shall we all be one family in our Father's house—to "go out no more."

3. A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished.

God has not given to us the knowledge of futurity. This would only have encouraged presumption. But he has given us prudence, naturally foreseeing evil, and forecasting the most effectual means of deliverance. David was thus directed to hide himself from Saul; Elijah from Jezebel.6 The disciples were taught to flee from impending evil. Paul repeatedly hid himself from threatened destruction. Even our Divine Master acted on this rule of prudence, till his hour was come.10

But to apply this rule to spiritual evils foreseen—"Noah, moved with fear, prepared an ark for the saving of his house." Josiah endeavored to ward off the threatened judgment by humiliation before God.12 Paul "labored" for the covering of present acceptance; foreseeing the tremendous evil of "appearing" unsheltered "before the judgment-seat of Christ."

Not that the prudent man is gifted with supernatural knowledge. He only uses the discernment which God hath given him. He regards the signs of the times. He studies the word of God in reference to coming judgment; and he acts accordingly. To walk carelessly in the midst of evil is reckless folly. We cannot "stand by faith" only, but "by faith" balanced with fear; yet not the fear of bondage and scrupulosity, but of care, watchfulness, and diligence.15 In such a path as ours—guilty, wandering, tempted, afflicted, dying, does not common—at least does not Christian—prudence, show us our need of an hiding-place? Except we seek one in time, we are lost for eternity. Did we but realize the huge mass of guilt lying upon us, and the infinite wrath that for that guilt hangs over us, could we rest in an unsheltered state? Should not we tread upon all that lies in our way to run to shelter? Coming judgments there may be. But set our face towards our hiding-place. God will undertake for our dangers. Nay—does not his most loving voice, point to a shelter in himself—in his own perfections?—"Come, my people; enter thou into thy chamber; and shut thy door about thee; hide thyself, as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast."

Very different is the course of the simple. Devoid of all prudence; foreseeing no evil; fearing none; given up to their own ways, and reckless of all consequences, they pass on and are punished, by their own folly. Oh! many such are there, who, "when the Lord's hand is lifted up, will not see;"4 who will not hear the distant thunder, betokening the approaching storm; who in their fancied security laugh at those, who are preparing for an evil day; laugh even on the brink of that destruction, which—unless Sovereign grace interpose—will make them wise too late.

4. By (the reward of, Marg.) humility and the fear of the Lord are riches, honor, and life, (lives, Marg.)

Who then will say—"It is vain to serve God?" Riches, honor, and life to enjoy them—such an accumulation and completeness of happiness!—all belong to his service. But observe the two marks of his ways, humility and the fear of the Lord. Humility is not the mere meekness of modesty. This, though a lovely temper is not a Christian grace. Nor is it the servility of the hypocrite for his own selfish ends;7 or the temporary conviction of external humiliation. We may easily distinguish the genuine principle by its accompaniment—the fear of the Lord—that blessed holy reverence, which none but his children feel, and which, while it represses presumption, establishes humility. A just apprehension of God will always lay us in the lowest dust before him. The contrasted sight of his majesty with our meanness, of his holiness with our defilement, constrains the cry from one—"Behold! I am vile; I abhor myself"—from another—"Woe is me, for I am undone."10 Humility is thus the truest glory. The most humble is the most triumphant Christian. Depressed indeed he may be; yet is he highly exalted. Riches are his—both of grace and of glory. None can deprive him of them. Honor is his—the true fruit—the gracious reward13—of humility—high and glorious; the title and present privilege of a child of God—"an heir of God, and jointheir with Christ." Life is his—lives—every kind of life—not natural only, but spiritual and eternal; life with the Father and the Son, now "hid with Christ in God; and when Christ, who is our life, shall appear"—then to be manifested in all its fulness of everlasting joy. Shall we look then beyond the narrow limit of time, and search what is the character of the heirs of glory? "He will beautify the meek with salvation. Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of God."2 Thus glorious is the end of this lowly path of humility and godly fear!

5. Thorns and snares are in the way of the froward: he that doth keep his soul shall he far from them.

A forcible image to show, that nothing stands so much in a man's way, as the indulgence of his own unbridled will. The man who is most perversely bent on his purposes, is most likely to be thwarted in them. He thinks to carry all before him; whereas his frowardness makes thorns and snares for his way. 'He is as a man on all sides encompassed with thorns and snares. His stubbornness brings him into infinite perplexities, out of which he can find no issue.' Sarah,5 Jacob, Balaam,7 found the way of the froward full of hindrance and entanglement. A special mercy is it, when the thorns embitter the way, and bring the froward sinner as an humbled child, asking and seeking the road to his father's house. If there be difficulties in the ways of God, are there none in the ways of sin? A fair balance would prove, which yoke—which burden—is the more "easy and light." The stings of conscience; the rebukes of Providence; the disappointment of the cherished desires, the tyrannical power of lust—all tend to make "the way of transgressors to be hard."9 Nay—not the world only—but even the holy Gospel, is made a snare in the way of the froward. Such are "the depths of Satan" and his devices, that he "turns the grace of God into lasciviousness," and the occasion or excuse of sin!

Here then lies the security of a close walk with God. An humble submission to the Lord; desiring nothing so much as conformity to his will; dreading nothing so much as being left to our own waywardness—thus keeping our soul, we shall be far from the thorn and snares of the froward. We shall "make straight" and safe—if not smooth—"paths for our feet," and "all our ways shall be established."12 "He that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and that wicked one toucheth him not."

6. Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart fron it.

The hopes of at least two generations hang upon this most important rule. How can we look on a child without thoughtful anxiety? An existence is commenced for eternity. No power of earth or hell can crush it. The whole universe does not afford an object of deeper interest. It is an "arrow in the hand of a mighty man"—a most powerful instrument of good or evil, according to the direction that is given to it.

Every thing depends on his training, Two ways lie before him—the way in which he would go—headlong to ruin, and the way in which he should go—the pathway to heaven. The rule for training implies obliquity; else he would not need it. A young and healthy tree shoots straight upwards, and instead of putting forth crooked and deformed branches, gives promise of a fine and fruitful maturity.

Begin the training of the child, as Hannah did, with his dedication to God, This done—train him as God's child—entrusted to your care, asking guidance from day to day—"How shall we order the child, and how shall we do unto him?"3 Train him as a baptized child, in the principles of his baptismal engagements. Pray for him. Teach him to pray. Instruct him "from a child in the Holy Scriptures" as the sole rule of faith, and directory of conduct." Never was this training so momentous. From a defect here many young persons are tossed to and fro in every vacillation of error; and the anxious attempt to set them right we find to be—'building, where there is no foundation, or rather, where there is not so much as ground to build upon.' In fact, the mind—abhorring a vacuum—must have some notions. And the alternative is not between sound principles and none; but between wholesome truth and those crude or poisonous errors, which the subtle enemy is ever ready to inject, and the corrupt heart equally prepared to receive. Nor let the formation of sound practical habits, diligence, industry, and self-government be forgotten. Let the child be trained, as the soldier under arms, to endurance, order, and subjection.

Wisely does Solomon direct us to begin at the mouth or entrance of his way—at the first opening intelligence. The more early the training, the more easy the work, and the more encouraging the results. It is a matter of experience, that what is early learnt, is most tenaciously retained. It stands the friction of time with the least injury. Far better, instead of waiting for the maturity of reason, to work upon the pliability of childhood. The gardener begins to graft in the first rising of the sap. If the crooked shoots of self-will and disobedience are not cut off, their rapid growth and rapidly growing strength will greatly increase the future difficulty of bending them. Present neglect occasions after risk and perplexity. We may begin our work too late, but we can scarcely begin it too soon.2 If the child be too young to teach to read, he cannot be too young to teach to obey. Never let the watchfulness to check the buddings of evil, and to cherish the first tenderness of right feeling, be relaxed. The ceaseless activity of the great enemy teaches the value of early training. Be beforehand with him. Pre-occupy the ground with good seed, as the most effectual exclusion of his evil tares. Be at the mouth of the way with wholesome food, ere he has the opportunity of pouring in his "bread of deceit;" ere nature is hardened by the habits of sin—brutalized by familiarity with vice.

But this training must be practical. The mere talk to a child about religion, without bringing it to bear upon his loose habits, and self-willed tempers, is utterly ineffective. Here also lies the momentous weight of Christian consistency. If the child hears of godliness, and sees but wickedness, this is bringing him bread with one hand and poison with the other; 'beckoning him with the hand to heaven, and at the same time taking him by the hand, and leading him in the way to destruction.' Who would receive even the choicest food from a leprous hand! Neglect is far better than inconsistency; forgetfulness, than contempt of principle. A child is influenced by the eye more than by the ear. He is ready to look out for apologies for his own faults; and their discovery in parental example will harden him in infidelity or ungodliness.

This is indeed a work of watchful anxiety, attended with painful, and often long-protracted exercise, of faith and patience. Who could hold on in it, but for the Divine support of the parental promise—When he is old, he shall not depart from it. The man will be, as the child is trained. Education is utterly distinct from grace. But—when conducted in the spirit, and on the principles of the Word of God—it is a means of imparting it. Sometimes the fruit is immediate, uniform, and permanent to the end. But often "the bread cast upon the waters of the covenant is found" not till "after many days"2—perhaps not till the godly parent has been laid in the grave. Yet the fruit, though late, will not be the less sure.4 The child may depart when he is young. But when he is old—in after years—smothered convictions will bring back the power of early impressions. The seeds of instruction will burst forth into life. He will find it "hard," in a course of sin, "to kick against the pricks."6 The scriptures early fastened on his memory, will force themselves upon him with many a sharp and painful struggle. Conscience will disturb his pleasures, and embitter the sweetness, which he had found, or fancied that he had found, in his sins. The remembrance of his father's house brings the prodigal "to himself," and he comes home with shame in his face, tears in his eyes, and godly sorrow in his heart.

Cultivate, then, the exercise of parental faith; trusting—not to what we see, but to what God has promised; like our father Abraham—"against hope, believing in hope." Expect the fulfilment of the parental promise, as confidently as any other free promise of the gospel.9 Exercise faith in the full energy of Christian diligence, and in the patience of Christian hope. Leave God to accomplish his own gracious will. If his Sovereignty reserves the time and means to himself, his faithfulness secures the promise to us, which is, and ever must be, "Yea, and Amen"—"I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee. I will pour out my Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring."

This is faith—the reward of faith—of those who make the salvation of the soul the primary object of education. The mass of mankind deal with their children as if they were born only for the world—'Must they not be like others, to make their way in the world?' Thus they fearlessly bring them into contact with the evil around them, set their feet in the "broad road of destruction," and bid them go on with the rest. In all important matters they educate them consistently for time, not for eternity. They concentrate their grand interest on matters in which the soul has no concern; accomplishments or scholarship, not godliness; refinement of taste and manners, not soundness of faith. Need we say that this is an education without God—without his promise—without rest? The parents of such children, and the children of such parents, are alike objects of compassion. Eternity will bring a solemn account to both.

7. The rich ruleth over the poor, and the borrower is servant to the lender.

"The rich and the poor meet together," for mutual sympathy and helpfulness; yet God has appointed one to rule and the other to submit. And this gradation of rank in all its forms, involves distinct obligations to be carefully sought out and followed. Subjection, on the one hand, is cheerfully acknowledged as God's own ordinance; while the sense of responsibility is enlarged on the other. The rule applies to all the domestic relations between dependants and superiors. Yet let it be the rule of order, not of pride, caprice, or selfishness. And especially, when exercised over young persons of refined minds and education, let dependence be soothed by "the hand of kindness," elevating them to an high rank far above the menials of the house. The golden rule of love will diffuse Christian happiness without disorder or compromise of obligation.

Too often, however, it is a rule of harshness. And, indeed, without a practical submission to God's rule over us, we can scarcely be trusted with power over our fellow-men. Obligations—such as that of the borrower to the lender—often forces the dependent to a servile bondage. Man becomes an alien to his brother; the victim of his gratification, not the object of his sympathy.

Very important is it to maintain an independence of mind, quite distinct from pride, which elevates far above doing or conniving at evil, for the sake of pleasing a patron. Many have been forced to great entanglement of conscience—perhaps to vote contrary to their conscience—rather than lose the great man's smile. This is a tyrannizing rule of the rich over the poor—thus to make them the creatures of their own will. Shun, therefore, that proud independence, which scorns the kindly offer of needful help. But avoid all needless obligations. 'Sell not your liberty to gratify your luxury. If possible "owe no man anything but love." 'Guard against that poverty, which is the result of carelessness or extravagance. Pray earnestly—labor diligently. Should you come to poverty by the misfortune of the times, submit to your lot humbly; bear it patiently; cast yourself in childlike dependence upon your God.'2

8. He that soweth iniquity shall reap vanity: and the rod of his anger shall fail, (with the rod of his anger he shall be consumed, Marg.)

The seed-time and harvest furnish a striking scriptural image, full of practical use. They are linked together in the spiritual, not less than in the natural, world. The harvest is according to the seed.4 Such is the transcendant dignity and worth of the soul, that eternity is stamped upon all its actions. Every thought—every principle (is not this a solemn recollection?)—is a seed for eternity, issuing in an harvest of eternal joy or "desperate sorrow." The wise man only adverts to the latter harvest. All experience and observation testify to the fact, that the diligent perseverance of the ungodly sower can only end in vanity—in utter and eternal disappointment.

The connexion, however, of the two clauses of the Proverb may intimate, that the iron rod of the rich ruling over the poor—following the dictates of selfishness—will insure disappointment. Their abused power will shortly fail, and they will reap only the harvest of their injustice. Often may oppressors prosper for a time. God may use them as his chastening rod. But the seed-time of iniquity will end in the harvest of vanity, and when they have done their work, the rod of their anger shall fail. Such was Sennacherib in olden time. Such was Napoleon in our own day. Never has the world seen so extensive a sower of iniquity—never a more abundant harvest of vanity. A fearful rod of anger was he to the nations of the earth. But how utterly was the rod suffered to fail, when the purpose was accomplished! Despoiled of empire—shorn of greatness—an exiled captive—such is not the harvest from God's seed! "A sure reward"—not of vanity, but of substantial everlasting joy. Here may we "sow bountifully, that we may reap also bountifully!"9

9. He that hath a bountiful (is good of, Marg) eye shall be blessed: for he giveth of his bread to the poor.

The heart often looks out at the eye. The bountiful or good eye is contrasted with "the evil eye." This man can look with indifference on distress,3 satisfy himself with the heartless expression of good-will, and find many reasons for withholding his charity. But the man of a good eye delighteth in contriving acts of kindness. He not only relieves what is brought before him, but he looks out for objects, and looks pleasantly on them. Nehemiah was a bright example of this bountifulness. Instead of using his ample power for his own aggrandizement, he spent his substance in feeding the people at his own table—giving of his bread to the poor. His great work required a large heart. And such a heart God had given him. Ever remember—Christian—that sacrifice—not convenience—is God's acceptable service. Giving of our bread—letting the poor share with ourselves. Nor must it be wrung from us by importunity. "God loveth a cheerful giver."8 His "charge is, that we be ready to distribute, willing to communicate." This is his own pattern of bountifulness. "He openeth his hand, and satisfieth the desire of every living thing. He giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not." We are only the stewards of his bounty. Of our property—whether it be little or much—we must be ready to say—"We are not our own." But mind that the motive be higher than the mere gratification of kindly feelings. Cherish carefully godly simplicity. "Let your light shine before men for your Father's glory."12 But "take care that you give not your alms before men to be seen of them, otherwise you have no reward of your Father which is in heaven."

This bountifulness is a privilege which earth possesses above heaven. Many a rich blessing is sealed to it; and the man that shows it "hath a continual feast," because his objects are always before him. Man will bless it according to his ability; and when "they cannot recompense thee, thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just;"16 when 'one good work done for God will be seen'—as Luther says—'to show more glory than the whole frame of heaven and earth.' It is the power of his grace, the following of his pattern, the reflection of his image, the "shewing forth of his virtues."

10. Cast out the scorner, and contention shall go out; yea, strife and reproach shall cease.

This is a word to rulers. The scorner is a firebrand of contention in the church. He must be restrained.2 If restraint be ineffectual, he must be—if possible—cast out. If "his seat" be allowed in the family,4 strife and reproach must be the issue. A jeer or biting taunt is more provoking than a blow. If therefore "peace is to the house," and "the love of peace is to abide there,"—cast out the scorner and the contention will cease. He must not be argued with.7 We must keep no terms with him. We must meet him with bold and open rebuke, lest his influence should overthrow the faith of the simple. If God "scorneth the scorners,"9 what less can we do, than banish them from our society? "Depart from me, ye wicked; I will keep the commandments of my God." Yet if we cast him out, cast him not off. Pray for him. Remember, "such were some of you." While we abhor the sin, let us pity the sinner.

But what if we should not be able to cast him out? He may be a husband—a child. At least give a protest. Show that you stand not on the same ground. Turn away from his scorning, this will mortify if not silence. Turn from him to your God. This will bring peace. Dwell with him sighing, as David in Mesech.13 One greater than David teaches by his example. Honor your Divine Master by "enduring," as he did, year after year, "the contradiction of sinners." And who knoweth, but this meek and silent endurance, with a loving bleeding heart, may have power to cast out the scorning, and to mould the scorner into the lowliness of the cross? Then who would be a more welcome member of the church or of the family? Strife and reproach would cease in both, should the persecutor of the faith become a monument of grace—a shining witness to the truth.16

11. He that loveth pureness of heart, for the grace of his lips the king shall be his friend.

Pureness of heart describes not the natural, but the renewed, man. It is no external varnish—no affectation of holiness; but sincerity, humility, shrinking from sin, conformity to the image of God. He who hath fully attained this pureness is before the throne of God. He who loveth it is the child of God on earth. His perfection is desire, constant progress, pressing towards the mark. When the fountain is cleansed, it sendeth forth sweet waters. When "the tree is made good, the fruit will be good." "Of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." Pureness of heart sheds such refinement over the whole character, and pours such grace upon the lips, as attracts the admiration of those who do not understand its source, and cannot appreciate its principle. Such was the grace upon the lips of the holy Saviour, that "the multitude hung upon them, wondering at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth." The moral influence also of this purity of character is to put impurity to shame.

Solomon doubtless spoke his own determination—that the king should be the friend of the gracious servant. This had been his father's resolution. This character smoothed the way to royal favor for Joseph,5 for Ezra, and Daniel.7 Nay—we find godly Obadiah in the confidence of wicked Ahab. So powerful is the voice of conscience, even when God and holiness are hated. Yet this choice of the gracious lips is too often rather what ought to be, than what is.9 Well is it for the kingdom, when the Sovereign's choice is according to this rule. Such—such alone—the great King marks as his friends. Such he embraces with his fatherly love. Such he welcomes into his heavenly kingdom.12 "Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see God."

12. The eyes of the Lord preserve knowledge, and he overthroweth the words of the transgressor.

The eyes of the Lord often describe his searching Omnipotence—here his fatherly care.15 So many inlets to false principles—such specious appearances to warp the judgment—does the subtle enemy pour in; so strong is the natural tendency in the same direction—that, but for his gracious covering to preserve knowledge in our hearts, the words of the transgressor might "overthrow our faith." Oh! let us seek our Christian establishment in close communion with Him, for continued preservation from a cloud upon our intellectual faculties and spiritual apprehensions.'

But the proverb illustrates upon a wider scale His faithful keeping of the truth in the world. Indeed it may be regarded as a prophecy in the course of fulfilment to the very end of time? For how wonderfully has the knowledge of God been preserved from age to age; and all the plausible or malignant schemes to blot it out been overthrown! The Scriptures, as the words of knowledge, have been preserved in a far more accurate state than any other book of corresponding antiquity; though man's wisdom has never been wanting in ingenuity to corrupt it. When knowledge seemed on the eve of perishing, a single copy of the Scriptures, found as it were accidentally, preserved it from utter extinction. For successive generations the Book was in the custody of faithful librarians, handed down in substantial integrity.2 When the Church herself was on the side of the Arian heresy, the same watchful eyes raised up a champion, to preserve the testimony. In the succeeding dark ages witnesses prophesied, as from the earliest eras of Revelation—some indeed for a long time in sackcloth,5 until the dawn of a brighter day. Nor was this in peace and quietness. Often has the infidel transgressor labored with all might of man for its destruction. Often has Rome partially suppressed it, or committed it to the flames, or circulated perverted copies and false interpretations. Yet all these words and deeds of the transgressors have been overthrown. And notwithstanding all heretical corruptions, the eyes of the Lord have preserved knowledge. Still is his word continued among us with its Divine credentials unimpaired, and its unsearchable store undiminished—a standing miracle of the faithfulness of its Almighty Keeper. Full of joy and confidence is the believer's acknowledgment—"Concerning thy testimonies, I have known of old, that thou hast founded them forever."

13. The slothful man saith, There is a lion without, I shall be slain in the streets.

Real difficulties in the way of heaven exercise faith. And such there are, far too great for those who have never "counted the cost," or who "go to the warfare at any time at their own charges." But imaginary difficulties are the indulgence of sloth. The slothful man is a coward. He has no love for his work, and therefore he is always ready to put a cheat upon his soul, 'inventing some vain excuse, because he will not do his duty.' He shrinks from every work likely to involve trouble.11 Fancied dangers frighten him from real and present duties. There is a lion without; I shall be slain in the streets—an absurd excuse!—as if public streets—except in special cases—were the haunts of wild beasts. He is afraid of being slain without, when he willingly gives himself up to be slain within. Thus the unbelieving spies—when holding up to view the exuberant fruit of Canaan, added—"But we be not able to go up against the people. The cities are walled up to heaven—and the giants are there." As if the promise of God was not a stronger ground of faith than the giants of fear!16 But much more sad is it to see Moses shrinking—nay—Jonah running away—from the Lord's work. All excuses against doing it partake of this cowardly spirit. And who has not felt the temptation, when called to a plain but self-denying duty; to encounter painful opposition to the gospel, or to a faithful rebuke of sin? There is a lion without. True. But hast thou forgotten the promise in the ways of God? "Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder; the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet?" Does not our Master's word, "Follow me?"3—call us to tread in his steps—to follow him in a life of self-devoted conflict and energy? Ponder the terms of discipleship. "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me." Godly courage, "endurance of hardness," "standing in the whole armor of God"—all this is needed—all this must be daily and hourly sought for—not only by those who stand in the forefront of the battle, but by the meanest soldier of the cross; else, though "armed, and carrying the bow, he will turn back" disgracefully "in the day of battle."6

14. The mouth of strange women is a deep pit: he that is abhorred of the Lord shall fall therein.

This fearful temptation has been already frequently opened. But in a book specially for the young, who that knows the power of "youthful lusts,"8 and the seductive witcheries of sin, will deem a fresh warning needless? Is it not the voice of mercy? For what but unbounded compassion could stand as it were at the edge of the pit, and unfold to the unwary its awful peril? A deep pit indeed it is—easy to fall into; hard—next to impossible—to get out of.11 So besotting is this sin to the flesh—to the mind—to the conscience! It is the mouth of a pit far deeper. "For her feet go down to death; her steps take hold of hell." What more humbling proof can there be of the total depravity of the nature, than the fact, that those affections, originally given as the purest enjoyments of life, should become the corrupt spring of such a defilement. The sin and snare would seem to be a judicial infliction for those, whose wilful rejection of God have made them abhorred of him. They have turned away from instruction, hated reproof, resisted conviction, and, given up to their abomination, they give too plain proof, that they are abandoned by God15—abhorred of the Lord! Is the embrace of the strange woman a compensation for such a judgment? Every curse—eternal frown and banishment—the weight of infinite unmingled wrath—is involved in this awful name. Not that he willeth the death of the vilest sinner. But must not his justice and his holiness be in array against those, who of their own will choose evil, and reject alike the warnings of his wrath, and the invitations of his love?

15. Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.

What parent—what instructor of children will not bear sad, but decisive, testimony to the foolishness of the child? 'A little innocent'—is the miscalled name of fondness and fancy. One only of Adam's race, and he—adored be his name! preserved by his holy conception—lays claim to it. Foolishness is the birthright of all besides. The early development of waywardness and passion—even before the power of speech—before the child is capable of observing and imitating those around him—is a touching but undeniable evidence of the innate principle.

Observe—it is foolishness—not childishness. That might belong to an unfallen child. No moral guilt attaches to the recollection—"When I was a child. I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child." 'A child is to be punished'—as Mr. Scott wisely observed—'not for being a child, but for being a wicked child.' Comparative ignorance, the imperfect and gradual opening of the faculties, constitute the nature, not the sinfulness, of the child. The holy "child increased in wisdom."6 But foolishness is the mighty propensity to evil—imbibing wrong principles, forming bad habits, entering into an ungodly course. It includes all the sins of which a child is capable—lying, deceit, wilfulness, perverseness, want of submission to authority8—all seeds of future evil, multiplying to a fruitful harvest.

We delight in our children's harmless play. We would make ourselves one with them in their sportiveness. But this foolishness—visible every hour before our eyes—never let it be a subject of sport, but of deep and constant sadness. Nor let childhood plead as an excuse for it. Children's sins—though not chargeable with the guilt of adult responsibility, yet God has awfully shown, that they are sins against Himself. The judgment on the "little children" of Bethel is enough to make "both the ears of" thoughtless parents "tingle."

But whence the origin of this foolishness? "Look unto the rock whence we are hewn. Look unto" Adam, "our father, and unto" Eve "that bare us." As is the root, so are the branches. As is the fountain, so are the waters. Our nature was poisoned at the spring. Our sinful parent, having lost God's image, could only "beget a son after his image"—a sinner begetting a sinner. "That which is born of the flesh is flesh,"2 and could be nothing else. For "who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean?" The creature therefore is produced into being with a radical enmity against God," and "by nature" therefore "a child of wrath."4 The entail is held from "our first father," and can never be cut off. There is no division of this sad inheritance. Each of his children has the whole. His Maker testifies concerning him, as "a transgressor from the womb—that his heart is evil from his youth." In shame he acknowledges the testimony—"Behold! I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me."6 If the joy of a child's birth blots out the remembrance of its pain and sorrow, yet must not this joy be chastened in the humbling recollection of what the man-child brings into the world—foolishness?

Observe also the rooted character of this evil. It lies not on the surface, like some of the childish habits, easily corrected. It is bound in his heart—held firmly there by chains invincible to human power. It is woven and incorporated into his very nature. And so various are its forms, so subtle its workings, that the wisest parent is often at a loss how to detect and treat the evil.

The general rule however—the prescribed remedy—is clear. It is vain to bid the foolishness depart. It is no less vain to persuade the child himself to drive it far away. The rod of correction is distinctly named, and repeatedly inculcated, as God's own means for this important end. And surely the thought of having been an instrument of producing an envenomed nature against a God of love must constrain the parent to use the means thus divinely appointed for destroying the deadly poison.

Only let the child see that, as with our heavenly Father, love is the ruling principle; that we follow the example of the wisest and best of parents; that we use his rod for driving foolishness away; that, like him, we "chasten, not for our pleasure, but for our child's profit;"12 not from caprice or passion, but from tenderness to his soul. Use the Lord's means, and we can then—what otherwise we cannot do—wait in faith for the promised blessing. Many a stirring movement of the flesh may be restrained. Shame of sin will ripen into abhorrence; and in sorrow and humiliation the path of wisdom will be chosen, loved, and followed.

16. He that oppresseth the poor to increase his riches, and he that giveth to the rich, shall surely come to want.

These two men seem to be at opposite. Yet they meet at the same centre. Both are equally destitute of the love of God and of their brother. Both alike are seeking their own aggrandizement. The one oppresseth the poor to increase his riches. The other giveth to the rich, "hoping for something again." Both courses—paradoxical as it may appear—are the road to want. "For the oppression of the poor—now will I arise—saith the Lord. Him that loveth violence his soul hateth." 'Sin pays its servants very bad wages; for it gives the very reverse of what it promised. While the sin of oppression promises mountains of gold, it brings them poverty and ruin.2 Injuries done to the poor are sorely resented by the God of mercy, who is the poor man's friend, and will break in pieces his oppressor.' But if oppression is the road to poverty, is not liberality the way to riches? Doubtless it is, if it be for God. But here the man was putting forth a false show of munificence to ensure gifts in tenfold return; while he could at the same time indulge his selfishness in grinding the poor with impunity. Our Lord, therefore, forbids his host to "make a feast for the rich, looking for a recompence."5 "If ye do good to them"—said he to his disciples—"that do good to you—if ye lend to them, of whom ye hope to receive—what thank have ye?" To give to the rich is perverting our stewardship for the service of the poor. But retributive justice will blast the ill-gotten gains of selfishness; and hypocrisy will meet its just reward of shame and disappointment.8 Oh! let the Christian ever hear his Father's voice—"I am the Almighty God; walk before me, and be thou perfect."

17. Bow down thine ear, and hear the words of the wise, and apply thine heart unto my knowledge. 18. For it is a pleasant thing, if thou keep them within thee; they shall withal be fitted in thy lips. 19. That thy trust may be in the Lord, I have made known to thee this day, even to thee. 20. Have not I written to thee excellent things in counsels and knowledge. 21. That I might make thee know the certainty of the words of truth: that thou mightest answer the words of truth to them that send unto thee?

Solomon here seems to change his mode of address. From the tenth chapter he had chiefly given detached, sententious aphorisms in an antithetical form; contrasting right and wrong principles with their respective results. His observations are now more connected and personal; like a wise minister preaching to his people, not before them; and preaching to them, not only in the mass, but in contact with their individual consciences.

He begins with an earnest call to attention. He was speaking no ordinary matters, but the words of the wise—Bow the ear—apply the heart unto knowledge—as to a message from God. Lord! "waken mine ear to hear as the learned."11

Observe the attractiveness of wisdom. It is a pleasant, no less than a profitable, thing. And who is not alive to the call of pleasure! Yet incomprehensible is it to the world to connect religion with pleasure. It spoils all their pleasure. And what amends can it make? It includes in their view much to be done, but nothing to be enjoyed; somewhat very serious, perhaps important in its place, but grave and gloomy: a duty, not a privilege. Yet how little has our profession wrought for us, if it has not realized it as a pleasant thing, adorned with somewhat of an angel's smile. Often alas! it fails to comfort and invigorate us—a body indeed of truth, but "a body without the spirit;" cold and lifeless. It is a pleasant thing only, if we keep it within us. Heart-religion conveys vital happiness. The fruit is of "the tree of life;"2 its taste "sweeter than honey or the honey-comb." "Thy words were found, and I did eat them, and thy word was unto me as the joy and rejoicing of my heart."4

Mark also the connection between the religion of the heart and of the lips. Keep it within thee. "Let this word dwell in your heart;" and how graceful will be the furniture of the lips; fitting them to speak with natural simplicity and suitable application! When "the heart is inditing a good matter, the tongue is the pen of a ready writer."6 It becomes as "choice silver." The words are fitted 'like a string of rich and precious pearls.' "The lips of the righteous feed many."8 Yet the words will be but little fitted in the lips. where there is no treasure in the heart. Never let the mouth attempt to "speak of wisdom," until "the meditation of the heart has been of understanding."10

But how powerless are even the words of wisdom without personal application! Let each for a while isolate himself from his fellow-men, and be alone with God, under the clear searching light of his word. If prayer be cold, graces be languid, privileges be clouded, and profession unfruitful, is it not, because religion has been taken up in the gross, without immediate personal contact with the truth of God? O, my soul, the message of God is to thee—even to thee—this day—"To-day while it is called to-day"—welcome his voice with reverential joy. "Take fast hold of his instruction, for it is thy life."13 That thy trust may be in the Lord—that thou mayest claim thine interest in him—that thou mightest seal his truth upon thine heart—he hath made it known to thee—even to thee. Believe—love—obey—be happy here and for eternity. And who can doubt the excellency of the things that are written, so rich in counsels and knowledge—'words fit for a prince to speak, and the best man in the world to hear?' Such free—such pleading invitations!15 Such deep manifestations of the Divine counsels! Such wise, earnest, parental warnings against sin!2 Such encouraging exhibitions of the service of God. Such a minute and practical standard for relative life and social obligation!4

But let us not forget the great end of this Revelation—that we may know the certainty of the things—that we may give an answer concerning our confidence. The Gospel itself was written with a special reference to this important end. Yet this confidence is not a natural, but a Divine, attainment. "The word must come with power, and with the Holy Ghost," in order to come "with much assurance."6 That cannot be a sound faith, which does not extend to the whole of the testimony. And even a general admission of the authority of the whole, without an individual application, would—if carefully analyzed—prove to be a want of cordial reception of any part of the Revelation. A lodgment in the heart can alone bring that full conviction—"Now we believe, not because of thy saying; for we have heard him ourselves."

Doubts may arise as to the integrity of the foundation. But a candid and intelligent survey of the external evidence would satisfy all reasonable minds. And a fair trial for ourselves would confirm the mass of proof with all the weight of internal evidence. Far better to make the trial at once, than to paralyze the modicum of remaining strength by unreasonable doubtings. The Bible exhibits a Divinely-appointed remedy commensurate with man's infinite distress, and accepted of God in its power and prevalence. Let this at least encourage the effort to fit our case to the remedy, and to apply the remedy to our case. If there be any shaking, it will be in the exercise, not in the foundation, of our confidence.

No further proof can be expected. None, in fact, could be given, save a voice from heaven, which the busy enemy, working upon the imagination, would readily convert into a vehicle of doubt. Actual demonstration would leave no room for faith, which is clearly man's discipline in the present dispensation; humbling him in the consciousness alike of his ignorance and his dependence upon God. We have only therefore thankfully to receive, and diligently to improve, the sufficient evidence vouchsafed to us. Paley has given us a golden maxim of Christian philosophy—defining 'true fortitude of understanding to consist, in not suffering what we do know to be disturbed and shaken by what we do not know.' To delay, therefore, "the obedience of faith,"10 until we shall have solved all the ten thousand objections of a proud infidelity, is to waste the urgent responsibilities of the present moment in an unwarranted expectation of light, which was never promised, and never intended to be given.

Yet the importance of a soundly-assured confidence cannot be over estimated. It constitutes the weight and effectiveness of the sacred office. "The priest's lips keep knowledge, and they shall seek the law at his mouth, as the messenger of the Lord of Hosts." But except he know himself the certainty of the words of truth, how can he answer the words of truth to them that send unto him? Scarcely less necessary, and on the same ground, is it for the Christian, that he may "be ready always to give an answer to every one, that asketh him a reason of the hope that is in him." Temporary scepticism may be a chastisement of a disputatious spirit. But prayer, and humility, with all its attendant graces, will ultimately lead to Christian establishment. Thus shall we be preserved from the fearful, but alas! too prevalent danger, of receiving the traditions of men in the stead, and with the authority, of the testimony of God. Ours will not be a blind Romish faith in the priest or in the Church; but alone "in the law and the testimony;" standing not in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God;4 stamped by the impress of the Spirit, as "the witness in ourselves." No power of Satan or his emissaries will drive us permanently from this stronghold. We "know whom" and what "we have believed,"6 and confidently "testify," for the support of our weaker brethren, "that this is the true grace of God wherein we stand."

22, 23. Rob not the poor, because he is poor; neither oppress the afflicted in the gate: for the Lord will plead their cause, and spoil the soul of those that spoil them.

Perhaps after so solemn an exhortation, we might have expected something more important. Yet what can be more important than the law of love, and to rebuke the breaches of that law? Robbery and oppression, under any circumstances, are a breach of the commandment. But to rob the poor because he is poor, and has no means of protection, is a cowardly aggravation of the sin. Much more base is it to oppress the afflicted at the gate—the place of judgment: to make his only refuge a market for bribery,11 and to pervert the sacred authority of God given for his protection. 'The threatenings of God against the robbers of the poor are sometimes laughed at by the rich and great. But they will find them in due time to be awful realities.' 'Weak though they be, they have a strong one to take their part.'14 He will plead their cause. And woe to the man, against whom he pleads. "What mean ye"—demands the poor man's pleader—"that ye beat my people to pieces, and grind the face of the poor?"

The accumulation of Divine vengeance is heaped upon this sin. Ahab's judgment testified to the fearful spoiling of those who Spoil the poor. The captivity in Babylon was the scourge for this wickedness.2 and when the deeds of secrecy shall be brought to light, how black will be the catalogue of sins of oppression! How tremendous the judgment of the oppressor! Meanwhile let the poor commit himself to his God;4 yea, take up the song of praise, in the confidence, that the Divine pleader will "maintain his cause," and triumphantly carry it through, to the eternal confusion of his sinful spoilers.

24, 25. Make no friendship with an angry man; and with a furious man thou shalt not go: lest thou learn his ways, and get a snare to thy soul.

Sin is contagion. Alas! our corrupt constitution predisposes us to receive it in any form, in which it may be presented to us. The unlovely passions of a furious man rather repel than attract. But sin never loses its infectious character. Friendship blinds the eye; and where there is no light in the mind, no true tenderness in the conscience, we can see hateful things done by those we love with blunted sensibilities. Common intercourse with a furious man is fraught with danger. His unreasonable conduct stirs our own tempers. One fire kindles another. Occasional bursts of passion soon form the habit. The habit becomes the nature. Thus we learn his ways, and get a snare to our soul. How soon does a young person, living with a proud man, get the mould of his society, and become imperious and overbearing!9 Evil ways, especially when they fall in with our natural temperament, are much sooner learnt than good, and are much more powerful to "corrupt good manners," than good manners to amend the evil. We learn anger easier than meekness. We convey disease, not health. Hence it is the rule of self-preservation, no less than the rule of God—Make no friendship with an angry man.

26. Be not thou one of them that strike hands, or of them that are sureties for debts. 27. If thou hast nothing to pay, why should he take away thy bed from under thee?

Avoid contention, not only with angry, but with imprudent, perhaps unprincipled, associates. Strike not your hands as a surety without forethought, sometimes without upright principle. Repeated warnings have been given of this danger. The putting your hand to a bill may be almost signing a warrant for your own execution. At all events it is a fraud, to give security for more than you are worth; promising what you are unable to perform. The creditor may fairly in this case proceed to extremities13—not with the debtor (whom he knows to be worth nothing, and whom indeed the law of God protected)—but with the surety. And why—the wise man asks—shouldst thou rashly incur beggary and ruin, so as to have the bed taken from under thee?

There is, however, so much danger of erring in over caution, and of indulging selfishness under the cover of prudence, that these wholesome cautions must be considerately applied. Yet, in "devising liberal things," we must combine scrupulous regard to justice and truth.2 Else our very charity will prove the scandal, instead of the glory, of our profession. 'We may "take joyfully the spoiling of our goods," for the testimony of a good conscience. But as the fruit of our own rashness and folly, we cannot but take it heavily.' Oh! let our Divine Master be honored in our profession; by well doing "putting to silence the ignorance of foolish men."5

28. Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set.

Every one has an undoubted right to his own. He must therefore have the means of knowing and securing his right. Even the heathen admitted the sacredness of the landmark. The stone or the staple was honored as the god, without whose kindly influence every field would be the subject of contention. The landmark was protected by the wise laws of Israel. God himself set the bounds to the respective parts of his own world, restricting each part within its proper limits. Thus also he distributed the different nations,8 and appointed the same security for the several allotments of his own people. The ancient landmark stood as a witness and memorial of each man's rights, which his father had set. Its removal therefore was forbidden, as a selfish and unjust invasion of property, included in the curses of Ebal,11 and noted, in subsequent ages, as the head and forefront of national provocation.

All sound expositors warn us, from this Proverb, to reverence long-tried and well-established principles, and not rashly to innovate upon them. Some scorn the ancient landmarks, as relics of byegone days of darkness. Impatient of restraint, they want a wider range of wandering, to indulge either their own prurient appetite for novelties, or the morbid cravings of others for this unwholesome excitement. Endless divisions and dissensions have been the fruit of this deadly evil. The right of individual judgment oversteps its legitimate bounds; and in its licentious exercise "every man" feels justified to "do" and think "that which is right in his own eyes."15

Rome, on the other hand, charges us with removing the ancient landmark of unwritten Tradition, which our fathers have set. We ask—What right had they to set it up? We do reverence to no unwritten traditions upon the footing of "the law and the testimony." We rebut the charge against Rome, and contend, upon the broad ground of historic testimony, that she has removed the ancient landmarks, and substituted her own in their place; that Protestantism (not in name, but in principle) is the old religion, and Popery a comparative novelty.

If we turn to our own beloved and venerated Church—The last age witnessed a rude, but by Divine mercy an unsuccessful, effort, to root up her landmarks. We have seen a subtle and insidious attempt to remove them from the place, where our well-instructed fathers have set them, and fix them nearer Rome; leaving but a narrow boundary of division between Christ and Anti-christ. This is indeed the rooting up of the foundations of the grace of God, which ought—if need be—to "be resisted unto blood." The Lord make us "valiant for the truth," and consistent witnesses of its power!

29. Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men.

Seest thou a man? He is marked out for our special notice. And who is it? A man diligent in his business—quick, ready, actively improving his time, his talents, his opportunity for his work—like Henry Martyn—who was known in his college, as 'the man who had not lost an hour.' A mean sphere is too low for such a man. He shall stand—as Joseph, Nehemiah,8 Daniel,—all diligent in their business—did—before kings. If the letter of the promise is not always fulfilled, "the diligent man will bear rule" in his own sphere. Such was the honor put upon Eliezer's care, forethought, and activity for his master's interest.11 'Nobleness of condition is not essential as a school for nobleness of character. It is delightful to think, that humble life may be just as rich in moral grace and moral grandeur, as the loftier places in society; that as true a dignity of principle may be earned by him, who in homeliest drudgery plies his conscientious task, as by him, who stands entrusted with the fortunes of an empire.'

Diligence, even without godliness, is often the way to worldly advancement. Pharaoh chose Joseph's brethren, as "men of activity," to be rulers of his cattle. Jeroboam owed his elevation in Solomon's house to his "industrious" habits. But when a man "serves the Lord in fervency of spirit,"2 faithfully occupying his own talent for the day of reckoning—the mean man of the world will be too low for him. He shall stand before the King of Kings with unspeakable honor, with unclouded acceptance—"Well done! good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

And if "the servants of the wise king were" happy, which stood continually before him, and heard his wisdom, what must be the joy of standing before the great King, seeing his face, and serving him forever! "This honor have all his saints."6 "If a man serve me," saith our gracious Master, "where I am, there shall also my servant be; if any man serve me, him will my Father honor."

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