Chapter 27

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 23

1. When thou sittest to eat with a ruler, consider diligently what is before thee: 2. and put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appetite. 3. Be not desirous of his dainties: for they are deceitful meat.

THE book of God is our rule of practice, not less than of faith. It enforces religion not only in our religious, but in our natural, actions. It directs in the daily details of common life. Suppose we are invited, in the way of Providence, to the table of a man of rank—how wise the caution—Consider diligently what is before thee! Think where you are—what is the besetting temptation—what impression your conduct is likely to make. Wantonness of appetite, or levity of manner, gives a plausible ground of prejudice to the ungodly, or "stumbling to the weak."

But after all—ourselves are mainly concerned. May not the luxuries of the table spread before us stir up disproportionate indulgence? The rule is plain and urgent. If thou art conscious of being given to appetite—making it thy first object and delight—bridle it as by force and violence. Act as if a knife was at thy throat. Be stern and resolute with thyself. Give no quarter to the lust. Resist every renewed indulgence. The dainties are deceitful meat—sometimes from the insincerity of the host; always from the disappointment of the anticipated pleasure.13 To use them may be lawful. To be desirous of them is fearfully dangerous.

Who that knows his own weakness will deem this caution needless? Alas! was not "the lust of the flesh" the first inlet to that sin, which has overwhelmed us all? How has sensual pleasure tarnished may a Christian profession,2 and damped the liveliness of spiritual apprehensions and enjoyment! If Christ's disciples—conversant only with mean and homely fare—needed a caution to "take heed;" 'much more must it apply to a ruler's table, where every thing ministers to the temptation.

It is man's high prerogative to "have dominion over the creature." It is his shame, therefore, that the creature in any form should have dominion over him. God gives us a body to feed, not to pamper; to be the servant, not the master, of the soul. He gives bread for our necessities6—man craves "meat for his lust." We are to "make provision" for the wants, not "for the lust, of the flesh."8 And surely a soul, that "puts on the Lord Jesus Christ," can never degrade itself to be a purveyor of the flesh. If an heathen could say, 'I am greater, and born to greater things, than to be the servant of my body'—is it not a shame for a Christian—born as he is—the heir of an everlasting crown—to be the slave of his carnal indulgences?

To go as near as we can to the bounds of intemperance is to be in imminent danger of exceeding. 'He that takes his full liberty in what he may, shall repent him.' Temptation presses hard. Then put the strongest guard at this weak point. 'Curb thy desires, though they be somewhat importunate; and thou shalt find in time incredible benefit by it.'11 Take the prayer of our Church—'Grant unto us such abstinence, that, our flesh being subdued unto the spirit, we may ever obey thy godly motions.' Connect with it the resolution of one apostle—"I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection"13—and the rule of another—"Add to your faith temperance." This practical warfare will break thespower of many a strong temptation, and triumph over the flesh gloriously.15

4. Labor not to be rich; cease from thine own wisdom. 5. Wilt thou set thine eyes (cause thine eyes to fly, Marg.) upon that which is not? for riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward heaven.

We have now a warning against covetousness. If riches come from the blessing of God, receive them thankfully, and consecrate them wisely and freely for him. But to labor to be rich—is the dictate of our own wisdom—not of that "which is from above." 'Let them be gotten if they can, and how they can,' without needless scrupulosity. Solomon, however, describes by a beautiful figure their true nature—a mere non-entity—an illusion—that which is not. Folly indeed then must it be to set the eyes (to cause them to fly, like a ravenous bird upon its prey) upon this nullity, continually eluding the grasp. At one moment it seems to be within reach. The next it has flown away as an eagle towards heaven.

And yet practically to acknowledge the stamp of vanity upon this idolized treasure is a lesson not learnt in a day—learnt only in the school of discipline. The eagerness for the earthly, and the neglect of the heavenly, object, show, either that eternity is a delusion, or that the world is mad. For were the things of eternity really believed, would not the thoughts be fixed, and the heart be filled with them, with but little time or room for the engrossing vanities of life? As to intrinsic value, Luther not less truly than boldly declared—that 'the whole Turkish empire in all its vastness was only a crust, which the great Father of the family cast to the dogs.' And then—as to the abiding—there is no need to invent wings. Riches make them to themselves. The man who concentrates all his wisdom, talents, and energy, who sacrifices all his peace; "rising up early, and late taking rest," in the labor after riches, may be, and often has been, at one stroke deprived of all, just as he supposed himself to be secure of all. Divine chastisement, indolence,4 extravagance, injustice,6 robbery, may bring to the lowest poverty. The longest stay is but a moment. Eternity is at the door;8 and naked shall we go out of the world, as we came into it. Yet even this palpable consciousness fails to teach men the important lessons, to cease from their own wisdom, to seek true substance on earth, and in God's wisdom to lay up enduring "treasures in heaven."11

Here then lies the contrast. The world apprehends realities only in the objects before them; the Christian only in invisible things. Therefore if our judgment looks upon the one as a shadow, and the other as substance—mind that we proportion our affections accordingly; giving the shadow of love to the things of earth, the marrow and substance of the heart to the things of eternity. Thank our God for the present possession of "a better and enduring substance." But are there not moments of rest and indulgence, when "uncertain riches" become our confidence,13 and we need a sharp lesson to remind us, how certainly they make to themselves wings, and flee away? Oh! think—Christian—of thy heavenly birth—thine eternal expectations; what manner of man thou wilt be in a short moment, when the false pageant shall nave given way to the real manifestation of the Son of God, and thou shalt be on the throne with him for ever. With this glory in prospect, what a degradation is it to set thine eyes upon a "fashion that passeth away!"

6, 7. Eat thou not the bread of him that hath an evil eye, neither desire thou his dainty meats: for as he thinketh in his heart, so is he: 'Eat and drink,' saith he to thee; but his heart is not with thee. 8. The morsel which thou hast eaten shalt thou vomit up, and lose thy sweet words

Kindly intercourse with our neighbors is a part of the courtesies of life. Yet we ought not to entertain the invitation of a niggardly man, who grudges the very food we eat, or of a deceitful man, whose friendship is a cloke for selfish purposes. The evil eye will peep through the covers of his dainty meats, and betray him, in spite of his effort for concealment. We judge him not by his words; for as he thinketh in his heart, so is he. And while he saith, Eat and drink, it is but too plain, that his heart is not with us. "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is," than his dainty meats. "A poor man is far better than such a liar." Every morsel at his table is loathsome; and gladly would we retract, and lose the sweet words, with which we had unworthily complimented our host.

No such danger attaches to the invitations of the Gospel. There is no evil eye—no grudging—"Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters."7 And while he saith—"Eat, O friends; yea drink abundantly, O beloved," his whole heart is with us. There are no repentings—no disappointments here. Every taste increases the appetite for more. And the prospect is near at hand, when we "shall be abundantly" and eternally "satisfied with the fatness of his house."

9. Speak not in the ears of a fool: for he will despise the wisdom of thy words.

Our Lord's rule is to the same purport—"Give not that which is holy unto the dogs; neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under foot, and turn again and rend you." Cast not away your good counsels upon incorrigible sinners. So long as there is any hope of reclaiming the fool, make every effort for his precious soul. In the true Spirit of our Master, bring the Gospel to the worst and the most unwilling; and never make the rule of prudence the excuse for indolence. Yet "there is a time to keep silence, as well as a time to speak." Such a time we shall understand by the trial to our own spirit. We long to speak in compassion. But self-denial—not self-indulgence—restrains. We have before been warned against untimely rebuke.2 This caution extends further—Speak not in the ears of a fool. Such was our Master's silence before Herod. If he would hear, there would be hope. But, instead of being thankful for instruction, he will despise the wisdom of thy words, and take occasion from them only to scoff and blaspheme the more. Many doubtful cases however require much wisdom. And the safe rule will be, never to speak without prayer for Divine guidance, and simplicity, and love.

10, 11. Remove not the old landmark; and enter not into the fields of the fatherless; for their Redeemer is mighty; he shall plead their cause with thee.

The general prohibition to remove the old landmark has been before given. A special warning, and a powerful reason is here added. Many would not dare to touch the rich, while they oppress the poor at their will. But the field of the fatherless is under the Almighty protection. Beware of arming against yourself the Divine vengeance by entering into it. Helpless they may seem to be. But have they no counsel to plead their cause? Their Redeemer is mighty; he shall plead their cause with thee. Was the nearest of kin bound to be the Goel—the Redeemer of his kinsman's wrongs? Adored be the unsearchable pity, grace, and condescension of Emanuel! When he could not redeem as God, he became our kinsman, that he might be our Redeemer!8 And he now bears the endearing title of "the Father of the fatherless." His moral government shows, that "in him they find" not "mercy"10 only, but justice also. Is not here their strong confidence, when human help is gone? "The poor committeth himself unto thee; thou art the helper of the fatherless. "Pure and undefiled religion is" therefore to follow his heavenly pattern—"to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction." Hence the special provision made for the apostolical ministration for these friendless objects of Christian help.14 The Gospel reflects the image of Christ when native selfishness thus melts away under the influence of sympathizing love.

12. Apply thine heart unto instruction, and thine ears to the words of knowledge.

The frequent repetition of these counsels implies an humbling truth—familiar to every day's experience—man's natural revulsion from Divine instruction, and his inattention to the words of knowledge. It is well to have these injunctions renewed from time to time. We all need "precept upon precept, line upon line;" and that to the very end of our course. The best taught and most advanced Christian will be most earnest in seeking more instruction, and will most gladly sit at the feet of the Lord's ministers, to hear the words of knowledge. Here lies the value of the Bible, as the one source of instruction, and the alone treasure-house of the words of knowledge. The simple reference to this standard is the keeping of the soul from Romish errors, whether on Romish or Protestant ground.

Observe the connexion between the application of the heart and of the ears. The heart, open to sound advice or moral precept, is yet shut to Christ and his doctrine. It is closed up in unbelief, prejudice, indifference, and the love of pleasure. A listless heart therefore produces a careless ear. But when the heart is graciously opened, softened, and enlightened, the attention of the ear is instantly fixed. This indeed is the Lord's Sovereign creation work;3 yet wrought by a God of order in the use of his own means. Awakened desire brings to prayer. Prayer brings the favor and the blessing.5 And how precious then is every word of knowledge—more "than thousands of gold and silver."

13. Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. 14. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell.

Christian parents do not always recognize the scriptural standard of discipline. "Foolishness is bound in the heart" of the parent, no less than "of the child." Does "the wild ass's colt" tame itself? Surely it must always need its measure of correction. The rule therefore is—notwithstanding all the pleas of pity and fondness—withhold it not. Do the work wisely, firmly, lovingly. Persevere notwithstanding apparently unsuccessful results. Connect it with prayer, faith, careful instruction. Use it as God's means, linked with his blessing.

But are not gentle means more likely to be effectual? Had this been God's judgment, he would not as a God of mercy have provided a different regimen. Eli tried them, and the sad issue is written for our instruction. 'Must I then be cruel to a child?' Nay—God charges thee with cruelty, if thou withhold correction from him. He "goes on in his own foolishness." Except he be restrained, he will die in his sin. God has ordained the rod to purge his sins, and so deliver his soul from hell. What parent then, that trembles for the child's eternal destiny, can withhold correction? Is it not cruel love, that turns away from the painful duty? To suffer sin upon a child, no less than upon a brother, is tantamount to "hating him in our heart." Is it not better that the flesh should smart, than that the soul should die? Is it no sin to omit a means of grace, as Divinely appointed as the word and the sacraments? Is there no danger of fomenting the native wickedness, and thus becoming accessory to the child's eternal destruction? What if he should reproach thee throughout eternity, for the neglect of that timely correction, which might have delivered his soul from hell? Or even if he be "scarcely saved," may he not charge upon thee much of that difficulty in the ways of God—the influence of deep-rooted habits of evil, which early discipline might have restrained or subjugated?

Yet let it not be used at all times. Let remonstrance be first tried; like our Heavenly Father, who will never stir the rod with his children, if his "still small voice" of instruction prevail. Magnifying trifles into grave offences; chiding every slip of childishness or troublesome forgetfulness, casts a baneful gloom upon home. It is "a continual dropping in a very rainy day." This indiscriminate correction soon brings a callous deadness to all sense of shame. Let it be reserved, at least in its more serious forms, for wilfulness. It is medicine, not food. It is the remedy for constitutional diseases, not the daily regimen for life and nourishment. And to convert medicine into food, gradually destroys its remedial qualities.

Some parents, indeed, use nothing but correction. They indulge their own passions at the expense of their less guilty children. Unlike our Heavenly Father, they "afflict and grieve their children willingly;" to vent their own anger, not to subdue their children's sins. This intemperate use of a scriptural ordinance brings discredit upon its efficacy, sows the seed of much bitter fruit; engendering in their children a spirit of bondage and concealment, sometimes of disgust, and even of hatred, towards their unreasonable parents. 'If parents'—said a wise and godly father—'would not correct their children, except in a praying frame, when they can "lift up their hands without wrath," it would neither provoke God nor them.'3

Other parents freely threaten the rod, yet withhold it. It was only meant to frighten. It soon becomes an empty sound, powerless and hardening. This again contravenes our Great Exemplar. His threatenings are not vain words. If his children will not turn, they will find them faithful and true to their cost. This threatening play is solemn trifling with truth; teaching children by example, what they had learnt from the womb, to "speak lies." Let our words be considerate, but certain. Let our children know, that they must not trifle either with them or with us. Truthful discipline alone can convey a beneficial influence.

After all, parents have much to learn. We must not expect too much from our children; nor be unduly depressed by their naughtiness. Yet we must not wink at their sinful follies. We must love them not less, but better. And because we love them, we must not withhold—when needed—correction from them. More painful is the work to ourselves than to them. Most humbling is it. For since the corrupt root produces the poisoned sap in the bud, what else is it, but the correction of our own sin? Yet though "no chastening for the present be joyous, but rather grievous;" when given in prayer, in wisdom, and in faith, it is ordained for the pain of the flesh, that the soul may be delivered from hell. 'Lord, do thou be pleased to strike in with every stroke, that the rod of correction may be a rod of instruction.'3 'It is a rare soul'—said good Bishop Hall—'that can be kept in constant order without smarting remedies. I confess mine cannot. How wild had I run, if the rod had not been over me? Every man can say, he thanks God for his ease. For me, I bless God for my trouble.'

15. My son, if thine heart be wise, my heart shall rejoice, even mine, (I will rejoice, Marg.) 16. Yea, my reins shall rejoice, when thy lips speak right things.

The wise man now turns from parents, and addresses himself most tenderly to children—perhaps to his own child. What Christian parent but responds? Could we be happy to see our child honored in the world, admired, talented, prosperous, without godliness? If thine heart be wise—this is the spring of parental joy—my heart shall rejoice, even mine. His health, his comfort, his welfare, are inexpressibly dear to us. But while we watch over the casket, it is the jewel that we mainly value. The love of our child's soul is the life and soul of parental love. None but a parent knows the heart of a parent. None but a Christian parent knows the yearning anxiety, the many tears, prayers, and "travailing in birth again" for the soul of a beloved child; or the fervor of joy and praise, when the first budding of heavenly wisdom bursts to view. The sight brings joy into the innermost depths of the bosom.8 Parents, who have not sympathy with these sensations, and with whom Solomon's language is unfelt and uninteresting, realize but little either of their responsibilities or their privileges.

Greatly is the parent's joy heightened to hear his son's lips speaking right things; to see him in a day of apostacy and unstable profession openly standing forth on the Lord's side; "asking for the old paths of rest," now that the "highways are" too often "unoccupied, and the travellers walking through bye-ways."

But surely this child—now such a joy to his father—is one, from whom correction has not been withheld. The "foolishness bound in his heart has thus been driven from him,"2 and its place graciously supplied by a wise heart—a witness to the rule and promise subsequently given—"Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest."

And are not ministers also partakers of this parental joy? "Paul the aged" was filled with prayerful delight in his "beloved son in the faith." The thriving churches were "his glory and joy."5 Another apostle "had no greater joy, than to hear that his children walked in truth." And may we not rise higher, and adore the manifestation of this joy in heaven7—yea! the rejoicing in the bosom of God himself over the return of his corrected child to a wise heart—"This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found?"

17. Let not thine heart envy sinners: but be thou in the fear of the Lord all the day long. 18. For surely there is an end; and thine expectation shall not be cut off.

Exactly similar is David's counsel. He sets out the end, and shows how little reason we have to envy sinners, and what is the true path of duty and quietness. He was, however, himself, for a while perplexed and shaken by this temptation. And though he did not envy sinners, so as to covet their worldly prosperity, yet comparing their condition with his own 'chastening,' "it was too painful for him, until he went into the sanctuary of God. Then understood he their end," and learnt to rest in the assurance—Thine expectation shall not be cut off.

What then is the safeguard proposed against this temptation? Just what the Psalmist had found so effectual—a close walk with God—"being continually with him"—the very spirit of the rule—Be in the fear of God all the day long. Here he gathered confidence for both worlds—"Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory." With such a portion both for time and for eternity, could his heart then envy sinners? "I have set the Lord alway before me. Thou wilt show me the path of life, the fulness of everlasting joy." What more could he desire? His heart—instead of envying sinners—would be drawn out in compassionate pleading for them, who have no portion, but a dying world, no expectation, but that which shall quickly be cut off.

But this habitual fear of the Lord is nothing separate from common life. It gives to it an holy character. It makes all its minute details not only consistent with, but component parts of godliness. Acts of kindliness are "done after a godly sort." In stead of one duty thrusting out another, all are "done heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto man."2 Some confessors confine their religion to extraordinary occasions. But Elijah seems to have been content to await his translation in his ordinary course of work; an example that may teach us to lay the great stress upon the daily and habitual, not the extraordinory, service. Others are satisfied with a periodical religion; as if it was rather a rapture or an occasional impulse, than a habit. But if we are to engage in morning and evening devotions, we are also to "wait upon the Lord all the day." If we are to enjoy our Sabbath privileges, we are also to "abide in our weekly" "calling with God."5 Thus the character of a servant of God is maintained—"devoted to his fear."

In this Christian walk with God, all is safe for eternity. The hope of the ungodly, the hypocrite,8 the worldling, shall perish. But thine expectation shall not be cut off. It is "a hope that maketh not ashamed.11 It is grounded upon "the immutability of God's counsel," and "entereth into that within the vail." Surely there is an end for this. If the cross be heavy, thou hast but a little time to bear it. If the way be wearisome to the flesh, the, end drawing nearer will abundantly compensate. If the light be not visible, "it is sown" for thee. And in waiting for the glorious harvest—"here is the patience and faith of the saints."14 Meanwhile judge not the Lord hastily, by sense and feeling. Hold fast by God's word. Give time to his providence to explain itself. Pronounce nothing upon an unfinished work. Wait, and "see the end of the Lord." "I know the thoughts that I think towards you, saith the Lord; thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. What I do thou knowest not now; but thou shalt know"—and not only know, but approve—"hereafter."

19. Hear thou, my son, and be wise, and guide thine heart in the way. 20. Be not among winebibbers; among riotous eaters of flesh: 21. For the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty: and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.

These repeated exhortations to hear, remind us of our Lord's earnest and affectionate calls—"Who hath ears to hear, let him hear." They show the great importance of hearing, as the first step to being wise. For wisdom, no less than "faith, cometh by hearing." "Guide thine heart in the way." The promise to make this call effectual, is—"I lead in the way of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment."

But the call especially warns against a besetting temptation. God's creature abuses his gifts. Wine becomes the occasion of excess. Riotous eaters of flesh degrade the soul as the slave of the body. Not only be not one of them, but be not amongst them. Can we be among the leprous without infection? May we not get a stain, that will not easily be wiped out? Do we not insensibly receive the world in our society?3 Did not Lot probably learn his dreadful wickedness by contact with the ungodly? The right love is not to sit down with them, but to labor for their conversion; and—this being ineffectual—to avoid them. Young people! remember—'Tinder is not apter to take fire, wax the impression of the seal, paper the ink, than youth to receive the impression of wickedness.'5 Fancy not that the enemy in this snare intends even your present happiness. His malice holds out a poisened bait. Poverty and shame are the temporal fruits. But the eternal ruin of his deluded victims is his far more deadly design.

Noah as a winebibber, and the Corinthian converts—profaning the sacred feast by drunkenness and gluttony8—warn the man of God—"Watch and pray that ye enter not into emptation." Always however evangelize these parental warnings, on the moving principles of the Gospel. "Walk not in rioting and drunkenness; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ,"—the only effectual covering from the wantonness of the flesh—"Having these promises, dearly beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit."

22. Hearken unto thy father that begat thee, and despise not thy mother when she is old.

"We have had fathers of our flesh, and we gave them reverence." Such is the rule of nature. Such is the law of God.12 The wise man here enforces its special application to aged parents—thy mother when she is old. Then surely, love and reverence are doubly due. 'A thing comely and pleasant to see,' says Bishop Hall—'and worthy of honor from the beholder, is a child understanding the eye of his parent.' More lovely still is this filial exercise, when the age of the child has naturally loosened the restraints of authority. Respect is then the effect of principle and gratitude. The child no more feels at liberty to despise his parents' wishes, than if he were subject to their early discipline. The Scripture examples are beautiful patterns for our imitation. Isaac with Abraham; Jacob with both his parents;15 Joseph's deference to his aged father, and desiring his blessing on his own children; Moses with his father-in-law;2 Ruth with her mother-in-law; Solomon in the grandeur of royalty paying respect to his mother;4 the Rechabites hearkening to their deceased father's command; and above all the rest—the Saviour's tender care for his mother in his own dying agonies.6

The contrary conduct is marked with the most awful reprobation. It forms a part of the dark mass of Heathen depravity,8 and one of the signs of "the perilous times" threatened "in the last days." The spectacle will ever bring a blot upon the child's name and character.10

But is not this trial of neglect the Lord's chastening of foolish fondness of our children when young, of unwise treatment, or inconsistent conduct? Sinful indulgence will always in the end make us despised in their eyes, and lay our authority in the dust for them to trample under foot. Christian dignity and consistency, on the other hand, commands the impressive influence of respect, even where they fail of producing the full practical results. Oh! what need have we of divine grace and wisdom, honorably to maintain parental responsibility?

23. Buy the truth, and sell it not: also wisdom and instruction, and understanding. 24. The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice: and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him. 25. Thy father and thy mother shall be glad, and she that bare thee shall rejoice.

This is the merchantman, who purchased the "pearl of great price at the cost of all that he had." The blessing can indeed only be "bought without price." It is as free as it is precious. But the figure sets out the importance of gaining it at any cost. First, however, let us satisfy ourselves, that the seller is no deceiver—that he is perfectly upright in his dealings. "Buy of me"—saith the Saviour. This sets the matter at rest. If we do not really want the article, we shall not pay much heed to the injunction—"Buy those things that ye have need of"—is the rule. Ponder also its inestimable value. It is the truth—the only means of salvation—the only deliverance from sin17—the only principle of holiness—the "One thing needful."19 Place the blessing fully in view—"The excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord. That I may win Christ, and be found in him. That I might attain unto the resurrection of the dead." We cannot be defrauded in the purchase. It is a cheap purchase at any price. No cost was too great for the baubles of Vanity Fair. But Bunyan beautifully describes his pilgrims, answering the sneering reproach—'What will you buy?' They lifted up their eyes above, saying—'We will buy the truth.'

But like the well-practised merchant, we must secure the genuine article. Much counterfeit coin is current. Bring every thing "to God's standard."3 That which brings wisdom, instruction, and understanding, is the truth of God.

Then—having ascertained its riches and its purity—not only wish for it—gaze at it—commend it—but buy the truth. Not only bid—make an offer; but strike the agreement. Make it thine. The man did not wish for the field with the "hidden treasure;" but he "sold all that he had, and bought it." And let thy purchase be the whole truth. Every particle—the very filings of the gold—are invaluable—"Set thine heart upon all that I shall show thee." Many are content to be at some pains, but they stop short of the prize.6 Herod shrunk from the full price. So did the young ruler;8 and Agrippa; and therefore they bought it not. Moses gave up for it "the treasures of Egypt;" Paul his Jewish privileges and high reputation.11 The Hebrews "took joyfully the spoiling of their goods." The martyrs "loved not their lives unto the death."13 And who of these repented of the costly purchase?

Having thus made the purchase, shall we part with it? Should we not find it all we expected; or should we after all discover that we did not want it, we should doubtless be glad to be rid of it. Many an estate has been bought and sold again from disappointed expectations. But though usually what we have bought, we are at liberty to sell; here is a command to buy, but a prohibition to sell. And a merciful prohibition it is! For those who sell the truth, sell their own souls with it. And "what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul!" Can we look at Esau,15 Judas, Demas,17 selling their treasures for a thing of naught, without sorrowful trembling? Yet their apostacy clearly proved, that they had never "received the truth in the love of it;" that it was some shining shadow, merely notional and speculative; never engrafted in their hearts. Having therefore never felt the power, or known its price, they could sell it for this world's lust or pleasure, or for the more flattering delusions of their own hearts. Reader: have you ever known that apprehension of Divine Truth, that has made it, in your eyes, worth every sacrifice to buy it? No one—be assured—who has really bought it, will ever be willing to sell it.

A joyous sight it is to see children realizing their parent's fondest hopes; proving "a wise heart" by a diligent enquiry about this only gainful purchase: not content with receiving it by education, but making the contract for themselves; discovering that religion must be a personal concern, an individual transaction between God and their own souls. Cause is it indeed for greatly rejoicing, to see their righteous children thus enriched for eternity, in possession of a treasure which they can never spend, and which no troubles, no changes, no malice of hell can touch. If the godly parents have had a seed-time of tears, their precious sheaves of joy are an abundant recompense. The stern exclusive system, which recoguizes little, save the Divine purpose and Sovereignty, annuls, or at least, enervates, the responsibility of means, and thus loses the privilege both of trusting the promise, and witnessing its accomplishment. Will not the child feel the constraining obligation to fulfil his parent's rejoicing thus vividly portrayed? Most unnatural must he be, if his heart does not glow with the desire thus to repay his father's anxious love, and the yearning tenderness of her that bare him. They ask no other requital than the joy and gladness of seeing a righteous and a wise son. Selfishness itself might supply a motive; since parental gladness is the child's own joy, walking in "wisdom's ways of pleasantness and peace."

26. My son, give me thine heart, and let thine eyes observe my ways. 27. For a whore is a deep ditch; and a strange woman is a narrow pit. 28. She also lieth in wait as for a prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men.

Solomon here manifestly rises above himself, and speaks in the name and Person of Divine Wisdom. For who else could claim the gift of the heart—the work of his own hands—the purchase of his own blood? My Son. Such is the relationship which God acknowledges; including every blessing which he can give, and all the obedience that he can claim. No obedience can be without the believing and practical acknowledgment of this relation—My Son—not a stranger—not an enemy—not a slave—but a son; invited to return. An amnesty of the past—a perpetual jubilee of joy—awaits thee at thy Father's house.

Many are the claimants for the heart. Heaven and hell contend for it. The world with its riches, honors, and pleasures—and science with its more plausible charms—cries—Give me thine heart. Nay, even Satan dares to put in a loud and urgent plea—"If thou wilt worship me, all shall be thine." The loving Father calls—My Son, give me thine heart. The answer too often is—'I have no heart for God. It is engaged to the world. I cannot make up my mind to be religious—at least not yet.' And so the "darling is given to the lion"—the heart to the murderer. And to him, who alone deserves it—few hearken—and many even of those, only when they have proved to their cost the falsehood and disappointment of all other claimants.

An honor indeed he puts upon his creatures, in condescending to receive as a gift what is his most rightful debt, and what he might at any moment command for himself. But his call wakens his child to recollection and conscious dependence. It is the Father's striving with his child's will. It is the test of his child's obedience. It is a pointed arrow of conviction to his conscience for wilful resistance to his call—the only hindrance to his giving his heart being, that he has already given it to claimants, infinitely unworthy of it. 'My guilt is damnable'—exclaimed an humbled saint—'in withholding my heart; because I know and believe his love, and what Christ has done to gain my consent—to what?—my own happiness.'

Indeed happiness is bound up in this gracious command. For what else can 'fill the aching void' within, but "the love of God shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost." Created objects only seem to widen the chasm. If our appetite is satisfied, it is but for a moment; while every irritation increases the general dissatisfaction. The heart, wilfully remaining at a moral distance from God, can find its home only in a land of shadows. It grasps nothing solidly; while its incessant conflict with conscience, is "the troubled sea, which cannot rest."3 God will never abate one atom of his full requisitions. He asks not for magnificent temples, costly sacrifices, pompous ceremonials, but for the spiritual worship of the heart. He demands—not the hands, the feet, the tongue, the ears, but that which is the moving principle of all the members—the heart. Give that. It is all he desires. Withhold it,—Nothing is given. What the heart does not do, in a great measure is not done at all. The cold conformity of a lifeless faith is a dead—not "a living"—not therefore an acceptable "sacrifice"6—not "a reasonable service." "How canst thou say, I love thee, when thine heart is not with me?"

Never will he dispense with this claim of the love of all our heart. We must not deal with Him as Lot's wife, moving slowly forward, while the heart is behind;9 or like Orpah, stopping at the very moment that the cross is to borne. Dream not of dividing the heart with the world.11 He loves a broken heart. He spurns a divided throne. Satan will seem to be content with a part; because he knows that, as God will accept nothing less than all, the whole will thus fall to him. It is far beneath the Majesty of heaven to possess any thing less than the throne—a mean throne at best for the Almighty Sovereign of the universe. But his claims are paramount. And never are we truly our own, till we unreservedly acknowledge ourselves to be his. Indeed all false religions in the world are but vain substitutes for this plain and most happy duty. However plausible the show, if it does not lead the heart to God, it is fearful delusion. Whatever principles, practices, or society, turn our hearts from God—it is the high road of ruin.

And doth he ask his child for his heart? and will he refuse to give it? Does it open immediately to Satan and the world—yea—even before they knock? And is the beseeching Father to be excluded? Are there no "bands of love to draw?" Out of what rock was it hewn, that it can be proof against the pleadings of Divine parental love? Canst thou not give it him? Surely hadst thou the will, thou wouldst have the power too. If thou hast the faintest will, at least show though but the feeblest effort. Offer it, though but with a trembling hand. His hand will meet thine, and take it of thee. The happiest day of life is now arrived—a day, the recollection of which will never be tinged with one shade of regret.

If thou hast not done it—do it now. If thou hast—do it daily. Thou canst not do it too soon or too often. The command does not hale us (as Saul haled his victims) to the service of God. The citadel is not stormed, but it opens its gates. A principle of immortal energy constrains the heart; yet only by "making it willing."4 The reluctancy is melted away, and by the power of love the heart is "compelled to come." What so free as a gift? And never is the will so free, as when it moves towards God. Weak as he is, yet the child can testify, that to give his heart, is his first desire; that he never designs or intends any thing less; that he longs for the consuming of every corruption, which hinders the full surrender. Oh—my God—thy grace alone can enable me—I am ashamed of the gift. Nothing can be more unworthy. But because thou callest for it, it is thine own. Take it as it is. Make it what it is not. Keep it with thyself. Bind it so close to thee with the cords of love, that it may never cast a wishful look away from thee. Had I a thousand hearts, all should be thine. This one thou alone canst fill. Thou alone art worthy of it. Exalt thine own throne in it forever.

And now when the first command is duly regarded, the second will soon follow. The heart once given to God, the eyes will observe his ways. 'Our heart given, gives all the rest. This makes eyes, ears, tongue and hands, and all to be holy, as God's peculiar people.'7 His word will be our rule; His Providence our interpreter.9 The heart—no longer divided, is now at full liberty for the service of God. The eyes, no longer wandering, like "the eyes of a fool, in the ends of the earth"—are now fixed upon an object supremely worthy, and abundantly satisfying.

Here also is our power of resistance to the gross seductions of the enemy—"I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot"—I will not—"go back."3 He hath my heart, and he shall have it. True indeed—sc long as we carry about us a body of sin and death, we need a continual supply of "the Spirit to mortify the deeds of the body." But in our new atmosphere of heavenly light, the mask falls off from the allurements of sin. The strange woman appears frightful as a deep ditch—or what is even more—a narrow pit—with no room to escape from the ruin. Mighty and strong men have fallen into it.6 The tempter hides the danger, while she lays wait for the prey; and thus she successfully increases the trangressors among men. Blessed be God—if, while fleshly lusts "have destroyed their thousands and tens of thousands,"8 we have, by giving our heart to its Divine Lord, been enabled to abhor the temptation, and to ascribe to our faithful God the glory of our deliverance.

29. Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? 30. They that tarry long at the wine: they that go to seek mixed wine. 31. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his color in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. 32. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. 33. Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thine heart shall utter perverse things. 34. Yea, thou shalt be, as he that lieth down in the midst of the sea, or as he that lieth upon the top of a mast. 35. They have stricken me, shall thou say, and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not: when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again.

A warning was lately given against keeping company with sensualists. Here it is enforced by the most graphical delineation of the sin in all its misery, shame, and ruin. It is the drunkard's looking glass. Let him see his own face. Let it be hung up in his cottage—in the alehouse. Could he go there? The picture is drawn with such a vividness of coloring. 'No translation or paraphrase can do justice to the concise, abrupt, and energetic manner of the original.'10 Drunkenness is a time of merriment. But what must be the stupifying insensibility, that can find a moment's joy, with such an accumulation of woe. Every sin brings its own mischief. But such woe—such sorrow—in all its multiform misery—who hath it? The brawls and contentions over the cup; the babbling words of pollution; the wounds—often to murder—without cause; the redness of eyes, showing the effect of liquor on the countenance; the impure appetites that are kindled; the infatuation almost incredible—this is sensuality in all its wretchedness.

Whence this world of woe and sorrow? It is the curse of indulged will. Not satisfied with healthful refreshment, many will "add drunkenness to thirst." They continue long, "morning to night, till wine inflame them." They go to seek the mixed wine—the strongest and most inebriating drink.

Wisdom's voice therefore is—Avoid the allurements of sin. Often has a look—harmless in itself—proved a fearful temptation. Look not therefore at the wine when it is red. Its very color; its sparkling transparency in the cup; the relish with which it moves itself aright, 'or goes down pleasant,' all tends to excite the irregular appetite. Crush it in its beginnings, and prove that you have learnt the first lesson in the Christian school—"Deny yourself."8 Whatever be its present zest, at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. Did it bite first, who would touch it? Did Satan present the cup in his own naked form, who would dare to take it? Yet it comes from his hand as truly, as if he were visible to the eyes. If poison was seen in the cup, who would venture upon it? Yet is the poison less dangerous, because it is unseen? The adder's sting is concealed, yet most fatal. The cup of sparkling wine becomes "a cup of fearful trembling in the hands of the Lord."

Seldom does any sensual indulgence come alone. One lust prepares the way for others; the first step is sure to lead onwards. The poor deluded victim cannot stop when he pleases. Drunkenness opens the door for impurity. The inflamed eye soon catches fire with the strange woman; and who knoweth what the end may be? Loathsome indeed is the heart of the ungodly laid bare. Drink opens it, as far as words can do; and through the organ of the tongue it does indeed utter perverse things. 'Blasphemy is wit, and ribaldry eloquence, to a man that is turned into a brute.'13

But the delirium is the most awful feature of the case. The unhappy victim, having lost all will and power to escape, sleeps quietly amid dangers as imminent, as lying down in the midst of the sea, or upon the top of the mast. Nay—even the senses seem to be stupified. Stricken and beaten he may be. But "his heart is as a stone," and he thanks his drunkenness, that he felt it not. Therefore "as the dog to his vomit, the fool returns to his folly," craving fresh indulgence—When shall I awake? I will seek it yet again. More senseless than the brute who satisfies nature, not lust; so lost to shame; his reason so tyrannized over by his appetite, that he longs to be bound again, and only seeks relief from his temporary awakening to a sense of his misery, by yielding himself up again to his ruinous sin.

Oh! how affecting is the thought of the multitude of victims to this deadly vice in every age and clime, and among all ranks of society! Perhaps there is no sin which has not linked itself with it, while the unconsciousness in the act of sin only serves, not to palliate the guilt, but to increase the responsibility.

While we see the whole nature so depraved in taste—so steeped in pollution—we ask—"Is any thing too hard for the Lord?" Praised be his name for a full deliverance from the captivity of sin—of all and every sin—even from the chains of this giant sin! The mighty, though despised, instrument is "Christ crucified—the power of God, and the wisdom of God."6 It is this, which, when vows, pledges, and resolutions—all have failed; works secretly, yet most effectually imparting new principles, affections, and appetites. The drunkard becomes sober; the unclean holy; the glutton temperate. The love of Christ overpowers the love of sin. Pleasures are now enjoyed without a sting, (for no serpent, nor adder is here) and the newly-implanted principle transforms the whole man into the original likeness to God—"Whatsoever is born of God doth not commit sin, for his seed remaineth in him; and he cannot sin, because he is born of God. He that is begotten of God keepeth himself and that wicked one toucheth him not."

CHAPTER 24

1. Be not thou envious against evil men, neither desire to be with them: 2. For their heart studieth destruction, and their lips talk of mischief.

THIS counsel has been lately given. But it is very difficult in the false glare of this world's glory to "walk by faith," as the evidence of things not seen.9 In the confined atmosphere of impatience and unbelief, "the spirit that is within lusteth to envy." This evil spirit, if it does not bring the scandal of open sin, curses our blessings, withers our graces, cankers our peace, clouds our confidence, and stains a Christian profession. The full cup in the house of evil men stirs up the desire to be with them. But if their fearful end did not restrain, their awful character is warning enough.3 It is the malignity of Satan himself—studying destruction in their heart; mischief in their lips. Take away then the delusive veil; and who would envy them? When Haman was studying the destruction of the holy nation, the barbed arrow of discontent was corroding his vitals. Who would envy Judas, studying his master's destruction? In the agony of remorse, his "soul chose strangling rather than his life." "Gather not my soul with sinners"—is the prayer of the child of God—"nor my life with bloody men, in whose hands is mischief." Let me, instead of studying the destruction—study the salvation of my fellow-sinners—what can I do to win them to Christ? Let me desire to be with the man of God, employed in this God-like work. The Christian is the only enviable person in the world. 'The seeming blessings of evil men are God's heavy curses; and the smart of the stripes is a favor too good for them to enjoy. To judge wisely of our condition, it is to be considered, not so much how we fare, as upon what terms. If we stand right with heaven, every cross is a blessing; and every blessing a pledge of future happiness. If we be in God's disfavor, every one of his benefits is a judgment; and every judgment makes way for perdition.' Instead of envying sinners in their successful wickedness, is therefore their character and influence to be dreaded—no less than their end!

3. Through wisdom is an house builded: and by understanding it is established: 4. And by knowledge shall the chambers be filled with all precious and pleasant riches. 5. A wise man is strong; yea, a man of knowledge increaseth strength. 6. For by wise counsel thou shalt make thy war; and in multitude of counsellors there is safety.

Why should we envy the prosperity of the wicked? Even if their house be built, it cannot be established, by iniquity. 'It is only the snow-palace, built in the winter, and melting away under the power of the summer's sun.'11 "The wise woman buildeth her house" upon piety and prudence—a far more solid establishment. Let every chamber of the mind be enriched with these precious and pleasant endowments. Without them the man is feeble in the springs of action; without strength of character; the creature of accident, circumstances, or society, thinking and living upon the opinion of others. A general irresolution marks his insignificant course. If the soul is a house consecrated as God's dwelling, it will be built on an enlightened understanding of Divine Truth: and every chamber will be filled with the precious and pleasant riches of godly fruits. Heresy is restrained by conceding supreme authority to the Bible. The crude professor acts under feverish impulse,—a sickly sentimentalist in religion. Instead of retaining a firm hold of truth, he imbibes with ease the most monstrous opinions. He is "carried about with divers and strange doctrines," instead of exhibiting "the good thing of an heart established with grace." A "growth in" spiritual, as distinct from speculative, "knowledge," will always be accompanied with "growth in grace."3

In extending this view to the building of the spiritual house, may we not observe, how God has laid its foundations, shaped and framed the materials by his own Divine wisdom, and filled all the chambers with his precious and pleasant riches? Delightful is the contemplation of the building, as it is rising, and as it will be when it is finished. 'O the transcendent glory'—exclaimed the heavenly Martyn—'of this temple of souls; lively stones, perfect in all its parts, the purchase and work of God!'

But a wise man is strong. Every view confirms Lord Bacon's far-famed aphorism—'Knowledge is power.' The discovery of the mechanical forces, and of the power of steam, has increased strength in an hundred fold proportion to physical force. Intellectual knowledge wisely applied has immense moral ascendency. It restrains the King from unadvised wars; and if forced into the field—instead of treading his perilous path alone, he ensures the safety of his kingdom by multitude of counsellors. The man of spiritual knowledge is a giant in strength. He combines the power to draw the bow, with a steady hand and eye to guide to the mark. Conscious ignorance is the first principle of his knowledge. "I am but a little child"—said the wisest of men; and the moral power of this humility of wisdom, was the establishment of his kingdom. The Christian, who is "filled with all wisdom and spiritual understanding," is also "strengthened" in his warfare "with all might according to the glorious power of his God." For the people that do know their God shall be strong, and do exploits.10

7. Wisdom is too high for a fool: he openeth not his mouth in the gate.

The commendation of wisdom is here continued. The man richly endowed with it comes forth with authority, and speaks at the gate among the wise. The fool, destitute of wisdom, is debarred from this honor. The humble and diligent13 prove, that the treasure is not really out of reach. But it is too high for the fool. His grovelling mind can never rise to so lofty a matter. He has no apprehension of it; no heart to desire it;2 no energy to lay hold of it. And therefore, though in the Gospel it "is nigh him, even in his mouth, and in his heart,"4 it is inaccessible. Its holy spirituality is too high for his reach. He commands therefore no respect in his own station of society. His counsel is not sought. His opinion, if given, is of no account. Though he may have a babbling tongue in the street, yet he openeth not his mouth in the gate; utterly unfit to give judgment in the presence of wise and judicious men. Nor is this from natural defect, but from wilful perverseness. His Lord had committed at least one talent to his trust. But he had frittered it away—not traded with it. Oh! let wisdom be sought, while it is within reach; while it is so freely promised. When found, let it be diligently improved for the great ends of life. What! if we should die without it, under the fearful responsibility of having done nothing for God or our fellow-creatures; of having neglected the way of life: and "in the greatness of our folly gone astray to everlasting ruin!"8

8. He that deviseth to do evil shall be called a mischievous person. 9. The thought of foolishness is sin: and the scorner is an abomination to men.

What a picture is here of human depravity, in its active working, its corrupt fountain, and its fearful end! To see talent, imagination, active mind, so debased, as to be all concentrated upon Satan's own work—devising to do evil. He was the first deviser, and he practises his children, till he makes them, like himself, masters of mischief; contriving new modes of sinning, ways of trickery and deceit; like the degraded Heathen, "inventors of evil things."11 To do evil is the principle; devising to do evil is the energy, of his service. For this craft of evil, Balaam might justly be stamped as a mischievous person. Abimelech has earned for himself the same reputation.13 Jeroboam's subtle mischief has stamped his name with the black mark of reprobation—"who made Israel to sin." Jezebel,15 and others of less note, though equally industrious in evil, will appear in the same ranks at the great day.

Even when it is not wrought out into action, the thought of foolishness—giving it lodgment, instead of casting it out as loathsome—is sin. But what guilt—it is asked—can there be in a thought? 'It is but an airy notion; next to nothing. It can make no impression. A malicious thought cannot hurt. A covetous thought cannot rob. What guilt or danger can belong to so minute a being?' Perhaps did we deal with man, these might be trifling evils. But as the thought is the fountain of the act, God counts it as the act, and holds us responsible for it. The smallest sin involves us in the breach of the whole law.2 This is his decision, and who can answer against it?

The awakened sinner admits his total depravity upon the same demonstration as his own existence—consciousness. One sin gives birth to another. Countless multitudes follow its rapid and continuous succession. "Every imagination of the thoughts of the heart is only evil continually." Did we fully realize this apprehension, the flitting moments of the day—each bringing with it an increase of guilt—could not slide away so pleasantly from us; not at least without shame and humiliation; without habitual application of the Divine remedy. Job's sensitive conscience carried his sons continually to the atoning sacrifice.4 Bunyan (unlike many loose professors, who are never troubled about their thoughts,) was deeply afflicted in the remembrance of one sinful thought. Nor was this a morbid temperament, or weakness of faith; but the tender sensibility of a heart humbled in the sight of the great sin offering before his eyes. To have sympathy with this mourning is a clear mark of Divine teaching and grace.

But let us follow out this thought of foolishness unrestrained. It gathers strength in every action, till its full influence is is developed in the "scorner's seat," an abomination, not only to God, but to man. For however misused wit and talent may gain the fool bad preëminence; he secures no respect, and is generally avoided or dreaded,7 and ultimately brought to shame.

10. If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small, (narrow, Marg.)

Let this be a word of strengthening encouragement. The marvel is, that those who know not where to look for a refuge, when the storm is breaking over their heads, do not always faint. But natural courage and buoyancy, or a deeper plunge into the world, as a diversion from sorrow, raises them above their troubles for a while; estranging them yet further from God.

But why should the child of God, contrary to his Father's injunction, faint? Thy privilege is—"The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms;" thy duty—"Call upon me in the time of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me;"—thy security—"I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee." Trial can indeed sweep away our earthly comforts. But it cannot "separate us from the love of Christ."

Yet we "speak not parables." Every Christian's heart responds to the confession—that he is apt to faint. 'The strongest and holiest saint on earth is subject to some qualms of fear,' not from the greatness of the danger, but from the weakness of his faith.3 When he seeks his strength from his own resources; when faith gives way to disrrust;5 praise to murmuring; hope to despondency;7 when relinquished pleasures vividly come to mind, and protracted toils press heavily9—then he faints in the day of adversity.

For this day we must prepare. "Man is born to trouble," as his portion inherited from his first father. He may be called to drink a deep draught of the bitter cup, requiring much strength, that "patience may have its perfect work." The day is needful for the trial of our principles. What seemed more promising than the confidence of the stony-ground hearers, or than the longer endurance of the Apostle's companions? But the day of adversity exposed their hollow profession. Often also, even when "the root of the matter is found," a painful exhibition of faintness. unable to weather out a bad day, proves the smallness—not the vigor—of strength.

But why—again we ask—should the child of God faint? If "affliction came from the dust, and sprung out of the ground," he might be discouraged by his ill fortune. But where every minute circumstance has been the fruit of eternal counsel, where "the hairs of his head are all numbered,"15 well may he "stay himself upon his God." If his soul—like Israel of old—"be much discouraged because of the way," it leadeth to his Father's house. If he be wearied with his burden, soon will he rest eternally in his Saviour's bosom. Never will he be called to a martyr's trial, without a martyr's faith.17 The chastening rod is the seal of everlasting love. The temporal cross comes from the same hand as his everlasting crown. If thy strength—Christian—be small, go to the strong for strength. "He giveth power to the faint, and to them that have no might he increaseth strength." Commit thyself to him for "grace sufficient for thee." So go onward, meeting thy real trials with real faith; weak and strong at once; weak in order to be strong; strong in thy weakness, "his strength being made perfect in it;" and thou at length "glorying in thy" depressing "infirmity, that the power of Christ may rest upon thee;" not only sustained, but "strengthened unto joyfulness."2

Oh!—hasten the time, when the dark and cloudy day shall be changed for unclouded sunshine; the crown of thorns for the crown of glory; "the spirit of heaviness" for the garment of "everlasting praise."

11. If thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death, and those that are ready to be slain; 12. If thou sayest, Behold, we knew it; doth not he that pondereth the heart consider it? and he that keepeth thy soul, doth not he know it? and shall not he render to every man according to his works?

Suppose a fellow-creature in imminent danger—as it were drawn unto death, and ready to be slain, unjustly, or from wickedness.6 If the magistrate—standing in the place, and invested with the power, of God—forbear to deliver—on the false pretence that he knew it not—the Lord will require it. This obligation, with all the responsibility of its neglect, is the universal law of the gospel. Whoever knows his brother's danger, and forbears to deliver—doth not he that pondereth the heart consider it? Will he not render? The Hebrew midwives, and Esther in after ages,10 thus delivered their own people drawn unto death. Reuben delivered Joseph from the pit. Job was the deliverer of the poor in the moment of extremity. Jonathan saved his friend's life at imminent risk to himself.13 Obadiah hid the Lord's prophets. Ahikam and Ebedmelech saved Jeremiah.15 Johanan attempted to deliver the unsuspecting Gedaliah. Daniel preserved the wise men of Babylon.17 The Samaritan rescued his neighbor from death. Paul's nephew delivered the great Apostle, by informing of the murderous plot. The rule includes every kind of oppression, which has more or less the character of murder.20

Excuses are always at hand. 'We want charity, but abound in self-love. Our defect in that appeareth by our backwardness to perform our duties to our brethren; and our excess in this by our readiness to frame excuses for ourselves.' But he that pondereth the heart will thoroughly sift; his Omniscience will perfectly know; his retributive justice will render. Disinterested kindness will be considered. But to forbear deliverance—whether from cruelty, selfishness, or fear of personal consequences2—involves an awful account before the great Judge.

But how much more guilty to forbear the deliverance of immortal souls!—in ignorance, ungodliness, or unbelief, drawn unto death, and ready to be slain! Ought they not to be the objects of our deepest, most yearning anxiety? What shall we then say to that frozen apathy, which forbears to deliver? 'We have no right to judge—We knew it not—"Am I my brother's keeper?" It is no concern of mine.' But might not many a soul have started back from the brink of ruin, if only the discovery of his danger had been made, ere it was too late? Yet the one word, that might have saved him, was forborne. Is there no brother, child, or neighbor, who may pierce the conscience to eternity with the rebuke—'Hadst thou dealt faithfully with my soul, I had not been in this place of torment.' If others may charge us with the bodies of our fellow-creatures, God commits their souls to our care. The Lord preserve us from an indictment in the court of heaven for the murder of our brother's soul, by forbearing to deliver!

And does not this ring a solemn peal of warning to those, whose special office it is to deliver them that are drawn unto death? How little will this plea avail—We knew it not! Ought we not to have been "watching for souls, as those that must give account?" And what will be the tremendous reckoning for souls, perishing by the neglect of their pledged and Divinely appointed guardians! "While thy servant was busy here and there"—upon his own pleasure—the soul "was gone!" "But his blood will be required at the watchman's hand."6

13. My son, eat thou honey, because it is good; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to thy taste: 14. So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul: when thou hast found it, then there shall be a reward, and thy expectation shall not be cut off.

Honey was the choice produce of Canaan; the food of its inhabitants,8 even of children,—good and sweet to the taste. So—when "the spiritual senses are exercised"—will the knowledge of wisdom be 'unspeakably delectable, to thy soul—that knowledge of Christ, without which we are undone, and in which we are supremely happy. Eating only can convey—what the most accurate description fails to give—a just perception of the sweetness of the honey-comb. Experimental knowledge alone gives spiritual discernment, and proves the gospel to be, not a golden dream, but a Divine reality. And who ever mistakes honey for any other substance? Who would not instantly detect a counterfeit? And what intelligent Christian would mistake the semblance of heavenly wisdom for its substance? The soul hungering for bread, and feeding upon an experimental apprehension of Christian doctrine, realizes solidly what no formalist ever knows. He possesses only a plausible shadow—emotion, impulse, conviction, external reformation. But the living faith carries its own witness with it. 'It is all true—"I believed, and therefore have I spoken." '3 The treasure is found with the transport of Archimedes—bringing its own reward.

Thy expectation—so far from being cut off—shall be infinitely exceeded. "The love" that is manifested "passeth knowledge." "The peace" that is sealed "passeth all understanding."6 "The joy" that is felt is "unspeakable, and full of glory." Shall we then timidly exhibit these privileges, as if they would lower the obligations of holiness, or paralyze exertion? They are not opiates, but cordials. They invigorate, while they refresh. Depression unnerves; fear unchains; but "the joy of the Lord is strength."8 It inspires energy, elevates hope, and makes our 'service perfect freedom.'

15. Lay not wait, O wicked man, against the dwelling of the righteous; spoil not his resting-place: 16. For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again: but the wicked shall fall into mischief.

The wise man breaks off from affectionate counsel to the children of God, with a solemn warning to the wicked man. Should we exclude him from the circle of instruction? If he be left unconverted, it is his own guilt. But if he be unwarned, uninstructed, beware lest "blood-guiltiness" be charged.

Hatred to the righteous is deeply rooted in the wicked man's heart. He imagines—especially if he be in power,10 that he can tyrannize over them with impunity. But it is venturing upon an hazardous course—"He that toucheth you, toucheth the apple of mine eye. I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest"—was a voice, that struck the most relentless of persecutors "trembling"12 to the earth. The plots against their dwelling—the spoiling of their resting-place—may prosper for a while. But if the just man falleth seven times, overwhelmed with the assault, he riseth again. Courage then—poor afflicted soul! Look thy foe in the face, and sing triumphant—"Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy, though I fall, I shall rise again. He shall deliver thee in six troubles; yea in seven shall no evil touch thee. Who delivered us from so great a death, and doth deliver; in whom we trust, that he will yet deliver." "Cast down, but not destroyed." Here is our conflict, and our security. The life is untouched, yea—it is strengthened and "made manifest" by the successive supplies of upholding mercy.2 Many trials cannot overwhelm the righteous. But one is sufficient to sweep away the wicked. He falleth into mischief; and there is no rising again5—no recovery—no remedy. He lies where he falls, and he perishes where he lies. Sinner! whatever be thy wickednes; the Lord save thee from the millstone of condemnation—the persecuting of the saints of God!"

17. Rejoice not, when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad, when he stumbleth: 18. Lest the Lord see it, and it displease him, and he turn away his wrath from him.

Yet did the chosen people of God rejoice with Divine exultation in the fall of their enemies. Nay—is not this joy the triumph of the righteous?8 Is it not the adoration of heaven, as the, manifest glory of God? But how different is this sublime sympathy in the triumph of the Church, from the malignant joy of private revenge! A secret, if not an avowed, pleasure in the fall of an enemy, is nature's impulse. But what has grace done for us, if it has not overcome nature by an holier and happier principle? David "wept and chastened his soul" in his enemies' affliction.11 David's Lord wept in the prospective ruin of the infatuated race fraught with malignity against himself. To rejoice in the fall of an enemy, would be to fall deeper than himself; to fall not into trouble, but into sin; to break the commandment, which enjoins us to "love our enemies," and to repay cursing with blessing and prayers.13 This selfish cruelty is most hateful to God. It has often turned away his wrath from the criminal to the mocker at his calamity. Does the glass of the word show our character in the sin that is rebuked, or in the contrast of our compassionate Lord?

19. Fret not thyself because of evil men, neither be thou envious at the wicked; 20. For there shall be no reward to the evil man; the candle of the wicked shall be put out.

This fretting temper must be a deep-rooted disease to need such repeated discipline. One moment's recollection of our mercies might show, how little reason there is for it. Mercies infinitely more than we discover ought to be sufficient to sweep the clouds from our sky, and to make us ashamed of our despondency. Before—the envy of the wicked was checked by the remembrance, that there was an end—surely an happy end—to the righteous. Let them wait for it. It will not disappoint them. Here we are further reminded—there is no end3—no reward to the evil man. Leave him to his judge. His candle—notwithstanding all his efforts to keep it burning—shall be put out. Sometimes he puts out his own candle in daring presumption. 'I give'—said the infidel Hobbes—'my body to the dust, and my soul to the Great Perhaps. I am going to take a leap in the dark.' Alas!—was it not a leap—a fearful leap—into the dark—into "the blackness of darkness forever?"

Take then the balance of eternity. Learn neither to overvalue the fancied sunshine of the wicked, or to undervalue our own real happiness. Envy not his lot. Repine not at our own. Ours is far beyond his reach. His is far below our envy. 'His candle burneth; his prosperity flourisheth, until it hath kindled hell-fire, and then it is extinguished; whereas the lamp of the godly is put out here, to shine as a star in heaven.'

21. My son, fear thou the Lord and the king: and meddle not with them that are given to change: 22. For their calamity shall rise suddenly; and who knoweth the ruin of them both?

We have another affectionate exhortation to the fear of God. And what wonder? Is it not the substance of our holiness and our happiness? Oh! reverence his majesty. Acknowledge thy dependence upon him. Be as careful in "walking before him" in thy secret thoughts, as in thy outward conduct. No more allow the indulgence of a sinful motive than a gross sin. If there be no rod of outward shame, will not the thought keenly pierce thy heart—how unkindly does this defilement requite such unspeakable love?

The connexion between the fear of God and the King is not local or accidental. The one is the spring of the other. Disloyalty has often been a libel upon godliness. But the Christian is loyal, because he is godly. "Subjection to the powers that be" is repeatedly inculcated,2 and the neglect is visited with the most heavy condemnation. Yet there is no interference with the primary obligation. Solomon 'puts God before the king, because God is to be served in the first place, and our obedience is to be given to the king, only in subordination to God; and not in those things, which are contrary to the will of God.'4

Man's independence however naturally kicks against submission. The popular cry is for the voice and sovereignty of the people; a plain proof that "there is no new thing under the sun;" as the picture of those demagogues has been drawn to life nearly two thousand years ago—"walking after the flesh—despising government—presumptuous, self-willed—not afraid to speak evil of dignities." Such men love change for the sake of change. To become leaders of a party, they disturb the public peace, by proposing changes, without any promise of solid advantage.7 "O my soul, come not thou into their secret!" It is dangerous to meddle with them. To oppose all change indeed, is to set up a plea of perfection. Every improvement (and where is there not room for improvement?) is a change. But public evils are not to be mended by railing. To be given to change; to be weary of the old, and captivated with the new, however untried; to make experiments upon modes of government—is a fearful hazard. It is losing the substance of real good in the dream of imaginary improvements; as if we must undo every thing, rather than be idle. This way-wardness we see in Korah's sin; in Absalom's rebellion;10 in the continual struggle for royalty in the Israelitish Kings. How suddenly did their calamity rise, even when they seemed to be in the grasp of their object! Who knoweth the ruin—which both the Lord and the king may inflict on the despisers of their authority14—often fearful beyond precedent—without remedy?

23. These things also belong to the wise. It is not good to have respect of persons in judgment. 24. He that saith unto the wicked, Thou art righteous; him shall the people curse, nations shall abhor him: 25. But to them that rebuke him shall be delight, and a good blessing shall come upon them. 26. Every man shall kiss his lips that giveth a right answer.

We have had a solemn exhortation to the people. We have now a word to the wise, specially to those in authority. God has given many warnings against respect of persons in judgment. It is not good. Nay—rather he rebukes it as an abomination, with most pungent remonstrance.3 Let truth be considered, not favor. This is an evil in church as much as in state. No responsibility is more momentous in our sacred high-places, than "Doing nothing by partiality." Man, corrupt as he is—often abhors unrighteous judgment. A bad magistrate deprives us of the blessing of good laws.

On the other hand there is no greater national blessing than a government rebuking the wicked. This was a part of Job's God-fearing character.7 The good blessing that came upon Nehemiah's upright administration is abundantly manifest. Indeed for the most part every one will kiss—pay the homage of love and respect to—him who giveth a right answer in judgment. He is a public treasure; "a blessing in the midst of the land."

Is the responsibility of rulers, and the welfare of thousands depending on them, a quickening impulse to prayer? And may not our want of "godly quietness" be traced to this neglect?

But we are not rulers. Yet are not many of us in authority—Parents—Heads of Families—Teachers and Guardians of the young? Uprightness and consistency alone can maintain that influence so essential to usefulness. For a spiritual ruler to say to the wicked—Thou art righteous, is indeed perfidious dealing with his Divine Master; cruel deceit to immortal souls; hiding the ruin which he is bound to reveal; acting the part of a minister of Satan, under the cover of a minister of Christ. His people will live to curse and abhor him, perhaps throughout eternity. Whereas even the very people that hate both his Master and his message will kiss his lips, that giveth a right answer—a reluctant but honorable witness to his faithfulness.

27. Prepare thy work without, and make it fit for thyself in the field; and afterwards build thine house.

This rule of prudence applies to all worldly matters, Religion, so far from forbidding, inculcates care and forethought. Much of our domestic comfort hangs upon it. Much inconvenience and suffering flow from its neglect. Acting upon this useful direction, the wise builder first prepares his work without. He collects his materials, calculates upon the quantity required; then he makes his work fit by shaping and bringing them into their place; and afterwards—having all things in readiness—he builds his house. The work was thus prepared for Solomon's magnificent temple, before the house was built. The spiritual house is similarly raised of materials prepared and fitted, and thus it "groweth unto an holy temple of the Lord."

But ponder well the care, with which the great work should be prepared. Count the cost anxiously. Consider whether the profession will stand the storm. Lay the foundation deep upon the Rock.4 Be much in prayer for Divine strength. Avoid that outward display, which so often shames the inconsiderate builder, who had begun to build his house, without having thoroughly prepared his work.

Need we suggest to the minister of the Gospel the special need of preparing his work? An unfurnished minister cannot be "a wise master-builder." Even when the foundation is laid, "let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon." Let him look well to the day of trial. And let all the Lord's servants weigh deeply their responsibility. Indigested haste, and crude judgment have blasted many a Christian project. Let us be guided by the well-considered wisdom of experienced men,6 and collect our materials from their prudence, forethought, and sound-judging energy. A house will thus be built to the honor of our God, and for the service of his Church.

28. Be not a witness against thy neighbor without cause; and deceive not with thy lips. 29. Say not, I will do so to him, as he hath done to me: I will render to the man according to his work.

The welfare of society may sometimes constrain to be witness against a neighbor. But never let it be without cause. Yet when compelled to this revolting duty—whatever be the temptation or consequence—deceive not with thy lips. Speak plainly, truthfully, the whole truth. Doeg's witness against his neighbor was without cause—not from conscience, but from malice. The main fact also was concealed of David's imposition upon Abimelech, which would have cleared him from the suspicion of treason, and saved his life. This garbled witness therefore deceived with his lips and bears the black stamp of "a deceitful tongue."

Profit is the bait to the thief, lust to the adulterer, revenge to the murderer. But it is difficult to say, what advantage redounds to this evil witness, or what allurement belongs to the sin, save that which Satan himself feels—the love of sin for its own sake, or for the satisfaction that is vainly anticipated from the commission. Should we however be clear from the grosser forms of this sin; yet do we resist the unkind witness against our neighbor, in magnifying his failings, and measuring them with a far stricter line than our own; rashly censuring his indifferent or doubtful actions; and censuring even his sins with an unchristian intention?

And then—as to indulging personal resentment—it is natural to say, though only in the heart—I will do as he hath done to me. But shall we dare thus to take the sword out of God's hands, and place ourselves upon his tribunal? "Vengeance belongeth unto me; I will repay—saith the Lord." 'Let wisdom and grace be set to work to extinguish the fire from hell, before it gets head.'2 Far sweeter will be the recollection of injuries forgotten than revenged. But grace alone can enable us to "forgive from the heart." And yet too often its exercise is so feebly cherished, that natural feelings gain the ascendancy; and, if there be not an actual recompence of evil, there is merely a negative obedience to the rule—a refraining from the ebullition, rather than an active exercise of the opposite principle. The wise man sets out in this book the true rule,4 according to the mind and image of God; more lovely, more constraining, as enforced by the Divine example. Humility and tenderness mark the self-knowing Christian, forgiving himself little, his neighbor much.

30. I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding; 31. And, lo, it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down. 32. Then I saw, and considered it well: I looked upon it, and received instruction. 33. Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep; 34. So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth; and thy want as an armed man.

Every thing around us reads an useful lesson to an observant eye. Every particle of creation may be taxed to furnish its quota to our store of knowledge. We can extract good even from evil, and "gather grapes of thorns, and figs of thistles." Solomon describes with his usual vigor of thought and strength of coloring, an affecting sight, that had passed before his eyes—the field and vineyard of the slothful—grown over with thorns and nettles, and the wall utterly broken down. Instead of turning away, he considered it well and received instruction. The slothful by strange delusion conceives himself to be wise. Yet how manifestly is he void of understanding; without heart to improve his many advantages! He might enrich himself by his field and vineyard. But he has never cultivated or weeded it. The broken wall leaves it a prey to any invader; while he lives as a mere animal in sensual indulgences, bringing himself gradually, but irresistibly to poverty. Not that he means to come to beggary. He only wants yet a little sleep, a little slumber more—and then he will bestir himself. But this little insensibly increases. Every hour's indulgence strengthens the habit, and chains the victim in hopeless bondage. His efforts for exertion are only the struggles of the paralytic, without energy or effectiveness. If his dependence is upon his own industry—manual or mental, sloth must hasten on his ruin. In a higher station it deprives him of the means of using his influence aright, or of employing his talents to any valuable purpose. This is poverty to himself, impoverishing the springs of solid happiness, and frittering away the true ends of life.

But let us look at the spiritual sluggard. If a neglected field is a melancholy sight, what is a neglected soul! a soul—instead of being cultivated with the seeds of grace, left to its own barrenness; overgrown with the native produce of thorns and nettles. Time, talents, opportunities have been vouchsafed; perhaps the blessing of a godly education added—every encouragement for hopeful promise. But if diligence is needed; if the man must "labor and strive,"3 then his field must be left—at least for the present. He must have a little more sleep first. And thus he sleeps on, and shuts both eyes and ears against every disturbance of his fatal slumber. Nothing is done or attempted for God, for his own soul, or for his fellow creatures. His vineyard is left open. All his good purposes are the stone wall broken down. Satan "goes out and returns at his will." All is devastation and ruin.

Christian! is there no danger of this evil creeping into our religion? No habit is so ruinous. It enervates, and at length stops, the voice of prayer. It hinders the active energy of meditation. It weakens the influence of watchfulness. It checks every step of progress in the Divine life; so that "the soul," instead of being "a well-watered garden," sending forth refreshing fragrance and grateful fruits—relapses into its former wilderness state; laid open to every temptation; and too often ultimately a prey to sensual appetites.7

Let our Father's voice be instantly heard—"Son, go work today in thy vineyard." Dost thou not see that it is overgrown with thorns? Look forward—not backward. Not complain, but decide. Not pray only—but strive. Always connect privilege with practice. Prove the principles of moral character as well as spiritual experience. Aim at every active exercise, that may strengthen religious habits. 'Surely if we look to stand in the faith of the sons of God, we must hourly, continually, be providing and setting ourselves to strive. It was not the meaning of our Lord and Saviour in saying—"Father, keep them in thy name"—that we should be careless to keep ourselves. To our own safety our sedulity is required.'

CHAPTER 25

1. These are the proverbs of Solomon, which the men of Hezekiah king of Judah copied out.

THIS seems to be a third division of this sacred book. The selection was probably made (with several repetitions from the former part3) from "the three thousand Proverbs which Solomon spoke;" and which, having been carefully preserved, the men of Hezekiah copied out, nearly three hundred years after. Thus the word of God, brought out of obscurity for the instruction of the people, stamped the reformation of the godly king. The New Testament fully authenticates this section of the book as a part of the inspired canon.6 We are not reading therefore the maxims of the wisest of men. But the voice from heaven proclaims—"These are the true sayings of God."

The Holy Spirit mentions not only the author, but the copyists of these Proverbs. And often has good service been done to the Church, not only by original writers, but oftentimes by those, who have copied and brought out their writings into wider circulation. The world usually honors only the grand instruments; while the more humble agency is cast into the shade. But God honors not only the primary, but the subordinate, instruments; not only the five—but the one talent—faithfully laid out for him. The blessing is not promised to their number, but to their improvement.8

2. It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honor of kings is to search out a matter. 3. The heaven for height, and the earth for depth, and the heart of kings is unsearchable (there is no searching, Marg.)

The great King of heaven and the puny kings of earth are here finely contrasted. The glory of each is opposite—of God to conceal; of kings to search out. Whether "he dwelleth in his pavilion of thick darkness," or whether "clothed in his garment of light, and dwelling in unapproachable light"2—it is the glory of God to conceal a thing. What glory indeed could belong to a God, whose name, and ways, and works were open to the view, and within the comprehension of worms of the earth? What he has brought to light only shows how much is concealed. We look at his works—"Lo! these are parts of his ways; but how little a portion is heard of him!" We study the dispensations of his Providence—"Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters; and thy footsteps are not known!"4 We ponder the great purposes of his grace; and our hearts only find vent in reverential adoration—crying—"Oh! the depth!"—'rather standing on the shore, and silently admiring it, than entering into it.'6 To be wading in those depths is the sure way to be overwhelmed in them.

Thus does he educate his children in mystery, that he may exercise them in the life of faith, coming to his revelation without any mind or will of their own. And is not this shade of mystery our highest joy, as the dwelling-place of our adorable God and Saviour? Are not the clouds of his concealment the effulgence of his glory, as the most simple—yet the most incomprehensible Being, whom the mightiest intellect can never "by searching find out to perfection?"9 'As there is,' says Bishop Hall, 'a foolish wisdom, so there is a wise ignorance. I would fain know all that I need, and all that I may. I leave God's secrets to himself. It is happy for me, that God makes me of his court, though not of his council. O Lord! let me be blessed with the knowledge of what thou hast revealed. Let me content myself to adore thy Divine wisdom in what thou hast not revealed.'

The highest glory of earth is at an infinite remove—God conceals. For who could bear his full irradiation? But the honor of kings is to search out a matter. They must not affect to be like God. By themselves they know nothing beyond their people. Yet as all depends upon them, they must, by searching out, avail themselves of all stores of wisdom. Hence the Divine command, that they should write out a copy of the law, for their daily study and direction. This wise king had himself attained singular discernment in searching out a matter, even without external evidence, and with all the perplexity of conflicting testimony. The lawgiver must however often frame his councils with much caution and reserve. Many of his purposes are far beyond the comprehension of the great mass of his people, so that to their minds the heart of kings is unsearchable, and they might as soon think of measuring the heaven for height, or fathoming the earth for depth. Ought not this to teach forbearance in pronouncing judgment? Are not the "presumptuous and self-willed, who are not afraid of speaking evil of dignities," convicted of the guilt of "speaking evil of the things that they understand not?" Is not "prayer for kings and for those in authority," a far more fruitful and "acceptable" exercise?6

4. Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a vessel for the finer. 5. Take away the wicked from before the king, and his throne shall be established in righteousness.

The finer produces "the vessel unto honor," by taking away the dross from the silver; which mars its beauty and purity. Such is the influence of the wicked in the royal councils, tending to destruction. Take them then away from before the king. Let him purify his court and government from this dross. Let him exclude it from high places. Let him discountenance it in authority at any cost. David thus established his throne in righteousness, and commended this resolution by his dying counsel to his wise son.11 This is political wisdom on scriptural principles. If "righteousness exalteth a nation," the open acknowledgment of it is the sure path to national prosperity.13 And will not the throne of our great King be established by the entire and eternal removal of the wicked? O my soul! In the great day of trial and decision shall I be found reprobate or purified silver? Lord! let me, under the refiner's hand, be purified as an offering of righteousness in that day!

6. Put not forth thyself (set not out thy glory, Marg.) in the presence of the king, and stand not in the place of great men: 7. For better it is that it be said unto thee, Come up hither; than that thou shouldest be put lower in the presence of the prince whom thine eyes have seen.

Our Lord applies this proverb more generally. Who needs not this caution against ambition? Even godly Baruch seems to have "sought great things for himself,"2 Not even the fellowship of the Saviour, his heavenly instruction, his Divine pattern of holiness could restrain the "strife among the disciples—Who should be the greatest;"4 repeated even after the most wondrous exhibition of humility—nay—after they had just partaken with him of the holy feast.6 "Loving to have the pre-eminence," is the bane of godliness in the Church.

Wolsey's fall is an instructive beacon to ambitious men, not to put forth themselves, or to set out their glory in the presence of the king. The usurpation also of the place of great men usually subjects a man to be put lower, to his own mortification. "Before honor is humility;" shown in a backwardness to obtrude either our presence or our opinion upon those in higher stations; shrinking from external respect, rather than courting the "vain show." Gideon10—Saul in his early and better days—David—were thus advanced to honor.12

Let each of us lay himself to the work of casting down our high tower of conceit; cultivating a deep sense of our utter worthlessness, and carefully pondering that example, which is at once our pattern and our principle. Oh! think of him, who was "fairer than man," being the most humble of men—nay—of him, who was infinitely more than man, making himself "a worm and no man." 'What!' cries Bernard, 'shall the Majesty of Heaven become a worm, and man—the proud worm—exalt himself!' Think of that day, which will set us all on our own true base; when each of us shall stand before the Great Prince, just that—and that only—which he counts us to be! What will it be to be put lower—to be utterly cast out in his presence, whom our eyes shall then see to our eternal confusion!

8. Go not forth hastily to strive, lest thou know not what to do in the end thereof, when thy neighbor hath put thee to shame. 9. Debate thy cause with thy neighbor himself; and discover not a secret to another; (of another, Marg.) 10. Lest he that heareth it put thee to shame, and thine infamy turn not away.

Dissension under any circumstances is a serious evil. The considerate Christian will rather concede rights, than insist upon them to the hazard of his own soul, and to the injury of the Church. Hasty strife must always be wrong. Think well beforehand whether the case be right—or even if it be—whether it be worth the contention. Duly calculate the uncertainty or consequence of the end. See the fruits in Gaal's quarrel with Abimelech—Amaziah's strife with his brother king of Israel—godly Josiah's unadvised contention with Pharaoh.3 So little do we know what to do in the end thereof. Often has a man brought himself to ruin by a hasty strife at law. Instead of triumphing, his neighbor has put him to shame. So long as 'meum and tuum' are in the world, sin and Satan will stir up contention. Yet never forget, that not "hatred and wrath" only, but "variance and strife" are "works of the flesh," excluding from heaven. Hence the constraining obligation to "seek peace, and pursue it;"5 after the noble example of our father Abraham, who quenched "the beginning of the strife," by yielding to his nephew his natural terms of superiority, and his just rights.

Yet—if after all, strife be inevitable, then let us ponder, how much wisdom, and rule over our own spirit, is needful to conduct it honorably to our profession. Debate thy cause with thy neighbor himself. Show him that the great object is not to make good thy cause, but to put a speedy end to the strife. Abraham, instead of complaining to others, carried his wrongs straight to the king, who was answerable for them. Jephthah thus debated his cause with the king of Ammon himself, as the best means of bringing it to an amicable settlement. But to discover secrets to others, even though we enjoin them to secrecy, is a breach of integrity. And if—as often is the case—confidence is betrayed, the just consequence must be to ourselves10—infamy, that may not turn away from us. Backbiter will be the stamp on our name. And many privacies hitherto unknown may be published in retaliation, to our shame.

How many unholy heats would be restrained by the practice of these rules of wisdom and love! A generous self-forgetting warmth of kindness puts down the first evil; denying ourselves the pleasure of testifying our cause, or triumphing over our opponent; instead of standing upon punctilious reforms, or waiting for an acknowledgment from the offender. And as to the other evil—if it be more easy to talk of our neighbor's faults to others, than wisely and prayerfully to tell him of them alone—ask for self-discipline, and the mind of Christ. "Let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called in one body."

11. A word fitly spoken (spoken upon his wheels, Marg.) is like apples of gold in pictures of silver. 12. As an earring of gold, and an ornament of fine gold, so is a wise reprover upon an obedient ear.

The allusion is to the curiously wrought baskets of silver network, in which delicious fruits were served up. The beauty of the texture set off the fruit with additional charms. So does a lovely medium enhance the attractiveness of truth. "The preacher should strive to find out acceptable words"2—words fitly spoken—giving to each their proper meat—and that "in due season," suited to their ages and difference of temperament. "How forcible are right words!"4 Our Lord witnessed of himself, as "gifted with the tongue of the learned, that he might know how to speak the word in season"—a word upon his wheels—not forced or dragged, but rolling smoothly along, like the chariot wheels. His discourses on the living water and the bread of life arose naturally out of the conversation,7 and therefore were full of arresting application. Paul powerfully charged superstition on the Athenians, by an inscription on their own altar; and strengthened his reasoning by quoting from one of their own poets. To a corrupt and profligate judge he preached "righteousness, temperance, judgment to come."9

In general intercourse much depends upon the word given, the occasion, the spirit of giving it. Many who feel strongly the impulse of being "instant out of season," neglect the not less Christian obligation of being "instant in season." We must consider the time and the person, no less than the truth. We may think to relieve our conscience by speaking our mind. But to do it rudely and harshly may put a stumbling-block in our brother's way. The apples of gold in their beautiful cover, evidently imply good sense, good taste, with good things. A well-meaning absurdity rather brings contempt than conviction.

All of us are bound to rebuke broad and palpable sins; yet on more doubtful individual nature the duty is far more restricted. Some Providence will direct into it. There must be intimate connection, full knowledge of the case, some right from age or station to warrant it. From the extreme difficulty of receiving it, no words require to be more fitly spoken. No duty calls for more delicacy of feeling, and more "meekness of wisdom." Yet reproof well-timed and well taken, a wise reprover to an obedient ear is an earring of gold, and an ornament of gold set out to the best advantage. Such was Eli's word to Samuel; Abigail's and Nathan's to David;14 Isaiah's to Hezekiah. We see the good fruit in Jehoshaphat, whom, instead of producing revulsion, it stimulated to higher service of God.16 The Apostle's probing reproof to the Corinthian Church worked so efficiently, that "in all things they approved themselves clear in the matter." What a triumph of grace is it, when the kindness of reproof is acknowledged, and the motive of love appreciated.'3 Faithful indeed is the blessing, when the gift of an obedient ear prepares the Lord's children for a profitable hearing of his reproof.

13. As the cold of snow in the time of harvest, so is a faithful messenger to them that send him: for he refresheth the soul of his masters.

Snow itself would be unseasonable in the time of harvest. But the cold of snow would be most refreshing to the parched and fainting reapers, "So is a faithful messenger to them that send him." How did Eliezer refresh the soul of his master, when 'he returned with a true account and speedy dispatch of the important affair committed to him!' Judge of Isaac's feelings in his evening walk of meditation—his heart full of the great matter under suspense—when "he lifted up his eyes, and behold! the camels were coming," bearing the desired blessing.7 How was Cornelius refreshed, when his messenger returned with the joy of his heart, and the answer to his prayers.' Often does the Apostle acknowledge this refreshment to his anxious spirit, when burdened with "the care of all the churches." And may we not ascend to the highest, and with reverence mark our Divine Master condescending to receive refreshment through the agency of his faithful messengers? "We are unto God," saith the Apostle—"a sweet savour of Christ." He appears to be overwhelmed with the contemplation, and in prostrate astonishment he cries out—"Who is sufficient for these things?" Yet does the Great Master vouchsafe to acknowledge his messengers as "the glory of Christ." And as his crown will he honor them at the great consummating day. "They that turn many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for ever and ever."12

14. Whoso boasteth himself of a false gift, (in a gift of falsehood, Marg.) is like clouds and wind without rain.

The last Proverb described an invaluable blessing. This marks a destructive curse. Suppose a drought, as in the days of Elijah, threatening desolation to the land, and a thick cloud, seemingly big with the fruitful blessing, yet passing over—the wind without rain. This is a true picture of the boaster; rich in promises, but performing nothing; exciting large expectations, then sinking them in disappointment. Whether it be a vain conceit of his own understanding, or an hypocritical desire to maintain a profession, it is a boasting in a gift of falsehood. If it be bad to promise and deceive; it is far worse to promise with an intention to deceive. This was the very character of the Great Deceiver. Did he not put before our unhappy parent a false gift—a promise, which could never be realized—"Ye shall be as gods knowing good and evil?" Nay—did he not with a presumption, that hell itself might almost be ashamed of, boast himself of his false gift, offering the world to its own Maker, as a temptation to the vilest blasphemy?

How melancholy is it to find this character in those, who stand in the place of God! Yet the church has ever been chastened with false teachers; ministering delusion, instead of instruction. And are there none among ourselves, feeding the flock with false gifts; seeking to maintain their hollow profession even in the sight of Him, whose frown at the great day will banish them for ever from his presence? Oh! let those that bear the Lord's message, take heed, that if they be counted "as deceivers," they may be "yet true."5 Not as those, which corrupt the word of God; but as of sincerity, as of God, in the "sight of God," let them "speak in Christ."

15. By long forbearing is a prince persuaded, and a soft tongue breaketh the bone.

The wise man had before given a general rule for gentleness. Here he takes an extreme case, and shows its power with the prince, whose anger—having no restraint upon him—may rise to immediate revenge. Yet submission, long-forbearing, has mighty power to persuade. David thus wrought upon Saul's enraged temper. Often by putting a case before an angry prince at a fitting opportunity, he may be persuaded by "the meekness of wisdom" against his present mind.

But the general principle is most instructive. The soft member breaking the hard bone may seem to be a paradox. But it is a fine illustration of the power of gentleness above hardness and irritation. Apply it to those who are set against the truth. Many a stout heart has been won by a forbearing, yet uncompromising, accommodation to prejudice. In reproof Jehovah showed what he could do in "the strong wind and the earthquake." But his effective rebuke was in the "still small voice"—without upbraiding—sharp, yet tender.11 So powerful is the energy of gentleness! As regards endurance—it is a manifest fruit of regeneration; a clear exhibition of the mind of Christ,13 and the practical resemblance of his own long-forbearance amidst our continued and most aggravated provocations. For, when we have been indulged with the privilege of the beloved disciple—"leaning upon Jesus's breast," nothing have we felt to be there, but gentleness, tenderness, and love.

16. Hast thou found honey? eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith, and vomit it.

Solomon lately had warmly invited us to eat honey. Here, however, he imposes a restraint. Eat so much as is sufficient. So far it is sweet. Beyond this it is nauseating. The principle directs to a thankful, but temperate, enjoyment of our earthly blessings. "Every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving." But as a needful balance to this universal privilege—"Let your moderation be known unto all men."4 Satisfy the wants, but mortify the lusts, of the flesh. Then the gifts of God become blessings to us, and we glorify him in them, and by them. But the most elevated pleasures of earth become in the excess, distasteful, and injurious; fraught with disappointment, when separated from the great end.6 Our affections can never safely flow out to any object, unless they are primarily fixed on God. 'Then we may be sure not to offend, either in the object or measure. No man can in God love whom he should not; nor immoderately love whom he would. This holy respect doth both direct and limit him, and shuts up his delights in the conscience of a lawful fruition.' In earthly pleasure however, we can never forget how slight the boundary law is between the lawful and the forbidden path. Sin and danger begin on the extremity of virtue. For does not the legitimate indulgence of appetite to its utmost point bring us to the brink—and often hurry us to the allowance—of gluttony? Does not the undisciplined glow of earthly affections endanger idolatry? Nay, even spiritual luxury may need self-control; lest it be excitement without deep principle, which must eventually prove unsubstantial and delusive.

But in eating the real honey of the Gospel there is no danger of excess. Never shall we know satiety in this delight. The increasing desire will be fully satisfied only in eternity. 'O God, let me but taste and see, how sweet the Lord Jesus is in all his gracious promises; in all his merciful and real performances. I shall want no more to make me happy. This is not the honey, whereof I am bidden not to eat too much. No, Lord, I can never eat enough of this celestial honey. Here I cannot surfeit; or if I could, this surfeit would be my health.'

17. Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbor's house; lest he be weary of thee, and so hate thee.

No code of laws enters, as the Bible, into minute regulations for the courtesies of life. Yet surely we do not mar the sanctity of religion by spreading it over the face of human society. Daily life is evangelized by the pervading influence of its wholesome principles. This rule illustrates some of our own Proverbs, which have lost nothing of their significancy by traditional usage. 'Too much of a good thing. Familiarity breeds contempt.' Kindly intercourse with our neighbor cannot be maintained without a considerate feeling. An ordinary acquaintance would give just umbrage in claiming the free and unrestrained intercourse of intimate friendship. And the intruder would probably receive a plain intimation, that he was an unwelcome guest. To withdraw the foot is an useful rule to prevent so mortifying a result. "Make thy foot precious" to thy neighbor, by not giving it too often. It is far safer to err on the side of reserve, than to incur contempt by the opposite mistake.2

Nay—even the closer bond of friendship requires its measure of prudent restraint. It is worth all our care to preserve this invaluable blessing from interruption. It is the sweet of life. And yet in this honey there may be a surfeit. Without mutual respect it may nauseate. Unseasonable interruption to our friend's time; frequent visits without call or object; interference with his necessary engagements, or family comforts; inconvenient tax of expense—perseverance in this course might produce weariness, if not disgust, or even hatred.

Blessed be God! there is no need of this caution and reserve in our approach unto him. Once acquainted with the way of access, there is no wall of separation. Our earthly friend may be pressed too far. Kindness may be worn out by frequent use. But never can we come to our heavenly Friend unseasonably. Never is he weary of our importunity. His gates are always open; and "blessed are they, that are watching and waiting there."5 The more frequent the visits, the more welcome, and the more fruitful. What with man would be intrusion, with God is confidence. Earnestly does he invite to his closet and most endearing fellowship. And does his child presume upon this most gracious privilege? Far from it. While he has the "boldness of access;"7 he seeks for "grace whereby he may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear."

18. A man that beareth false witness against his neighbor is a maul, and a sword, and a sharp arrow.

False witness is universally condemned. But where, save in the word of God, is its true character and deep aggravation of guilt adequately set forth? What a picture is here of cruelty and malice—nay—even intentional murder! Three murderous instruments are before us, identifying the sixth and ninth commandments. The tongue—intended as "a tree of life"—becomes a weapon of death. Who knows the sin involved in this fearful perversion? Often does the open perjury, as a sword and sharp arrow, pierce the fountain of life. And little better are those calumnies and unkind insinuations—all breaches of charity—uttered so freely in common conversation. 'Consider—ye that deal in such conversation—whether you could think of treating the objects of your defamatory discourse as Jael did Sisera,3 or as Joab did Abner. Would you shrink with horror at the thought of beating out your neighbor's brains with an hammer, or of piercing his bowels with a sword, or a sharp arrow? Why then do you indulge in the like barbarity; destroying as far as you can that reputation, which is dear to men as their life, and wounding all their best interests, by mangling their character?'

Truly affecting is it to think of the multitude of these mauls, swords, and sharp arrows even in the Church of God. It is not "setting the battle in array against the Philistines, army against army," but brother against brother. The Shibboleth of a party,7 not the standard of the cross, is the watch-word for the destructive conflict. "How long, Lord! How long."

19. Confidence in an unfaithful man in time of trouble is like a broken tooth, and a foot out of joint.

The broken tooth and disjointed foot are not only useless for their respective offices, but sources of pain and uneasiness. So is an unfaithful man in time of trouble. "A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity." But many have the name only. Very friendly are they, when they are not needed, when we are dispensing, not receiving our gifts; when there is no cost to pay. But in the time of trouble, "a faithful man who can find?" Keenly did Job feel this was a sinking confidence in his time of trouble. David was sorely tried by this affliction,11 even at the very last stage of life. The brethren came out to meet the Apostle at Appii Forum. Yet of a time, when their support would have been especially cheering—he records—"At my first answer no man stood by me, but all men forsook me."13 Need we wonder at this appointed cross? His Master had endured it before him; and "it is enough for the servant that he be as his Lord."

The world abounds with instances of this disappointment. Micah's Levite ungratefully repaid the trust reposed in him. Mephibosheth's trust in Ziba2—Israel's dependence upon an arm of flesh—showed the broken reed, not the staff of real support. Truly, when has the world ever answered its fair promises? When has it ever given a faithful confidence in time of trouble? When has it failed to make the soul "ashamed of its hope?" A merciful correction to the child of God, when in an evil hour he turns aside from his true confidence to vain dependences!

But whoever be unfaithful, God is true. Who ever trusted in him, and was confounded? Who has ever built upon his sure foundation, and not witnessed its unshaken security? Though he has pledged himself never to forsake his servants,5 yet specially—"I will be with him in trouble—a very pleasant help in time of trouble."

20. As he that taketh away a garment in cold weather, and as vinegar upon nitre, so is he that singeth songs to an heavy heart.

What could be more inhuman than taking away a poor man's garment, or the coverlid of his bed, in cold weather? Such an act of cruelty was forbidden by the God of the poor. Again—what could be more unfitting than pouring vinegar upon nitre; which, instead of being serviceable, would only dissolve it with violent effervescence? Not less unseasonable would be the merriment of singing songs to an heavy heart. "Give wine"—is the inspired rule—"unto them that be of heavy hearts" But however great be the charms of music,11 they are ill-suited to sooth the pangs of sorrow. A constrained song was a keen edge of the Babylonish affliction.13 And where no unkindness is intended, inconsiderate levity, or even excessive cheerfulness, is as "a sword in the bones." The tenderness, that shows a brother's tears; that knows how to "weep with them that weep," as members of the same body;15 and directs the mourner to the mourner's friend and God—this is Christian sympathy—a precious balm for the broken heart.

The outward expression of this sympathy may not be always needful. But Oh! let its spirit be deeply cherished, specially by Christians of a buoyant or frigid temperament; most of all by the minister of Christ, that he may take his chair by the mourner's side, and "comfort him with the same comfort, wherewith he himself is comforted of God." Much may be done to correct a constitutional deficiency. Redundancy of feeling, however, needs self-control. But never let us forget that our Divine Saviour for this end "took our infirmities, and bare our sicknesses," that "he might be touched with the feeling of them."2 Yes—"he knoweth our frame;" and his work is not to take away the garment from his child in the cold weather, but to cherish him with all the tenderness of his own bosom. Instead of unsuitably pouring vinegar upon nitre; like the good Samaritan, he "pours in his oil and wine for the healing of the wound."

21. If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: 22. For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.

In what heathen code of morals shall we find this perfection of love? Every system concedes largely to man's selfishness. None reach beyond "loving those that love us," of which the true Lawgiver justly asks, "What reward have ye?" Nay—even the corrupt teachers of Israel could not rise to this sublime standard. 'They did not, it seems, perceive anything to be disapproved in hatred more than in good-will. And, according to their system of morals, "our enemy" was the proper natural object of one of these passions, as "our neighbor" was of the other.'7 They could not come up to the law; and therefore—perverting the rule of judicial, to authorize private, vengeance—they brought the law down to their own level.

The agreement between the Old and New Testament, codes is most complete. Both were dictated by the same Spirit. Each stamps the other with Divine authority. 'The law of love is not expounded more spiritually in any single precept either of Christ or his Apostles, than in this exhortation.'10 We need not therefore disparage one system, in order to exalt the other. "The new commandment is that, which we had from the beginning;" old in its authority; "new" only, as enforced by a new principle and example. To suppose that the gospel stretches beyond the measure of the law, would imply, either that the law demanded too little or the Gospel too much. Neither supposition honors the law as the unchangeable transcript of the Divine perfections.

There may be no overt breach of the law, while yet the heart secretly revolts from its high standard. Circumstances may hinder open retaliation. Our enemy may be out of our reach, or too great to offend with impunity. But the grudge remains. There would be a pleasure at his misfortune. We think of him only in reference to our injuries. The spark may be confined for years, and on some favorable opportunity burst out into a murderous flame.2 And even when we seem to be in the way, how many haltings and shiftings are there, before we fully and practically embrace the obligation! How much of a retorting spirit, or measuring our conduct towards our enemy by his towards us! And if on any point we have constrained our selfish hearts to return good for evil, what ministering to self-complacency, or self-righteousness?

Too often also our love "to our enemies" is only ceasing to quarrel with him. If we put off revenge as inconsistent with our Christian name; yet do we "put on as the elect of God, bowels of mercies—forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any?" 'Love is of too substantial a nature to be made up of mere negatives; and withal too operative, to terminate in bare desires.'4 We may profess our good-will towards our enemy—that we forgive and pray for him from our heart. But unless we are ready with the practical exercise of sympathy—feeding him, when he is hungry, and giving him to drink, when thirsty, we are only the victims of our own self-delusion. 'O noble revenge of Elisha'—exclaims pious Bishop Hall—'to feast his persecutors! To provide a table for those who had provided a grave for him! No revenge but this, is heroical, and fit for a Christian imitation.' To feed our hungry enemy with the tenderness of a nurse, who breaks the portion into morsels for her infant's nourishment—what a splendor does the opposition of nature give to this victory of grace!

No man ever conquered his enemy's heart by revenge; many by love. Was it not thus, that the Almighty Saviour dissolved the hardness of our unyielding hearts? Let the effort be tried. Surround the untractable metal beneath and above; not only putting it over the fire, but heaping coals of fire upon it. Few hearts are so obdurate, as not to melt under the mighty energy of patient, self-denying, burning love. Or even should it be dross, that resists the vehement flame, all will not be lost. If thine enemy will not recompense thee for all the good done to him, concern not thyself with that. The Lord shall reward thee. The God of love will honor his own image on his own children. David in this confidence restrained the rising vengeance in his zealous servants,9 and in similar forbearance found his "prayer for his enemy's good returned into his own bosom." We are directed to return "blessing for railing, knowing that thereunto are we called, that we should inherit a blessing."

To dispute the reasonableness of the precept is to say—that 'man is the proper object of good-will, whatever his faults are, when they respect others; but not when they respect myself. I am sure,' (adds Bishop Butler—probing this principle to the bottom) 'there is nothing in it unreasonable. It is indeed no more, than we should not indulge a passion, which, if generally indulged, would propagate itself, so as almost to lay waste the world."

But most reasonable as this precept is, it is infinitely removed from man's native power. The rules, no less than the doctrines, of God are "foolishness to him." Let those, who look to "enter into life, by keeping the commandments," begin with this. They would see, that they might as soon turn the sun backward; that they could as readily "cut off a right hand," as to reach it out, to feed an enemy in distress. Such an exhibition of love would be in their eyes an ideal perfection; or at least, like an exquisite piece of workmanship, which every one admires, but no one attempts to imitate.

Yet is it really impracticable? So the world counts it. So my own corrupt heart finds it. But "I can do all things"—this then among the rest—"through Christ which strengtheneth me." It shall then be done willingly—joyfully. My enemy has no claim upon my love; yet he that bids me love him, claims and deserves my full obedience.5 'We are the disciples of him, who died for his enemies.' Did we but drink more largely into his spirit, this impracticable precept would be, not our task or our cross, but our delight and indulgence.

23. The north wind driveth away rain: so doth an angry countenance a backbiting tongue. (The north wind bringeth forth rain: so doth a backbiting tongue an angry countenance. Marg.)

The backbiter—who should tolerate him? He is a pest in society; in the circle of friendship;9 in the church of God. Neither his plausible garb, nor the good company, who give him the hearing, can hide his real character. If the north wind driveth away the rain, let an angry countenance frown him from our presence. If it brings the rain: let the very sight of him bring a rebuke of holy indignation. This is to "be angry, and not sin." Indeed, not to be angry here, would be to sin. Holy anger is a property in God.12 It was manifested in the humanity of Jesus. When God's name was dishonored, "the meekest man upon earth waxed hot" in anger, while his heart was melting in love to the rebels.2 And should not we feel this, when the backbiting tongue breaks his law of love—dear to him, as his own Godhead? And yet rare indeed is the exception—alas!—even in Christian circles when the faults of others—real or imagined—do not occupy conversation; or at least, when some lowering of the absent, or some ridicule of their infirmities, is not admitted!

This tongue wounds four at one stroke—the backbiter himself, the object of his attack, the hearer, and the name of God. All involves the Christian professor in the fearful guilt of "offending the little ones." For how can the weak and inexperienced but be stumbled at so inconsistent an exhibition of the gospel of love?

But if he be rather welcomed than repelled, is not the willing listener thus partaker of his sin? Flee this deadly pest. Keep thine ears as well as thy mouth from the poison. Let thine angry countenance drive away either the slander from him, or the slanderer from thee. Where remonstrance cannot be given, a marked displeasure of countenance is often an effective rebuke to the shameless offender.

24. It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman in a wide house.

This Proverb has been given before. Scriptural repetitions show not want of matter, but the deep importance of the matter laid out. Such is the vexation connected with this evil, that the most uncomfortable dwelling, where the soul might retire for communion with God, would be a grateful alternative.

This Book presents a graphical picture of conjugal happiness, where "the wife is as the loving hind and the pleasant roe"—her husband's most satisfying delight. Here is a vivid contrast of misery, from which the wide house provides no refuge—no rest.

The relative position of the parties in the Sacred ordinance is wisely appointed. Equality would only have provoked contention for superiority. The Divine appointment preserves peace without degradation. If "man is the head of the woman," "the woman is the glory of the man"8—the diadem in his domestic circle, and upon her slightly lowered level—still his support, solace, and "helpmeet."10 The brawling woman, revolting against her Maker's rule of subjection, is no less a tormentor to herself than to her husband.

Let the Christian professor beware of trifling with the law of this ordinance—"Only in the Lord." If he comes into the world, instead of "coming out;" if, instead of "being separate," he unites himself in the closest bond; if, when forbidden to "touch the unclean thing," he makes himself "one flesh" with it,2 let him not wonder, if his God "curse his blessing," and leave him to choose for himself an house of contention, unvisited with one ray of heavenly sunshine. Young man! ponder the deep responsibility of the marriage-choice. Let it be manifestly the Lord's choice for thee, not thine for thyself. Yea—let him be thy first choice, and he will order the rest.4 Watch and distrust thine own will. Consult the "lamp and light of thy path." Mark the Providence of thy God;6 and his blessing "that maketh rich, and addeth no sorrow with it," will sanctify his own gift.

Christian women! Think not these Proverbs unworthy your attention. Be it so, that you answer not to the revolting picture. But surely the repeated exhibition strongly inculcates the cultivation of the opposite graces, the absence of which clouds the female character in painful deformity.

25. As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.

What were the cold waters to Hagar and her child in the wilderness; to Israel, at Rephidim;10 to Samson at Lehi! Such is the cordial of good news from a far country. Solomon had before spoken of the "refreshment of the messenger;" here of the message. This Proverb, like many others, was probably familiar to his own experience. The return of his fleets sent to a far country for precious merchandize (like our own merchant-ships) were doubtless welcomed with no common delight. The exile from his country, or one that has interests in a foreign land—near and dear relatives, from whom the separation has been long—will fully realize this lively illustration. Had Joseph's brethren brought to their sorrowing father as many pieces of gold as grains of corn, it would have been nothing to the good news from a far country—"Joseph is yet alive." Distant intelligence is naturally more cheering, than tidings in themselves equally interesting—nearer home. The long interval of these tidings; the lengthened separation from the beloved object; the anxiety necessarily excited by want of intercourse; the uncertainty of his welfare and prospects—all combine to make these cold waters specially refreshing to the thirsty soul. "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick; but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life."

Reader! if thy heart has ever leaped within thee at the news of some earthly advantage—hast thou heard and welcomed the good news from the far country? Dost thou know thy need—thy danger of perishing? Then what refreshment can compare with the "good tidings of great joy" brought to thee from heaven—"Unto you is born a Saviour?" Mountains of gold could never have purchased the blessing now brought to thine ears—yea—to the door of thine heart—"without money and without price."2 Does not thine heart spring in the song of praise—"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him, that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace!" Most grateful also are the messengers' tidings from a far country, of the welcome reception of their message. The angelic harps strike up the song.5 Even the bosom of God is filled with adorable joy!

26. A righteous man falling down before the wicked is as a troubled fountain, and a corrupt spring.

Eastern fountains and springs (where the rains are only periodical, and at long intervals) are of no common price. The injury of corrupting them is proportionate. The well is therefore a blessing or a curse, according to the purity or impurity of the waters. A righteous man in his proper character is "a well of life—a blessing in the midst of the land." But if he fall down before the wicked by his inconstant profession, the blessing becomes a curse, the fountain is troubled, and the spring corrupt. What a degradation was it to Abraham to fall down under the rebuke of an Heathen King; to Peter, to yield to a servant-maid in denying his Lord!12 How did David's sin trouble the fountain, both to his family and his people!14 How did the idolatry of his wise son corrupt the spring through successive generations!

When a Minister of Christ apostatizes from the faith (and mournfully frequent have been such spectacles) or compromises his principles from the fear of man,17 the springs and fountains of truth are fearfully corrupted. When a servant of God, of standing and influence, crouches and falls down under the wicked, the transparency of his profession is grievously tarnished. Satan thus makes more effective use of God's people than of his own. The gross wickedness of the ungodly passes in silence. But he makes the neighborhood ring with the failings of Christian professors. Godly consistency so grates upon the consciences of the world, that at any breach of it they clap their hands with Satanic joy; to see the Lord "wounded in the house of his friends."19 Principles and practices are sanctioned, that wound our Divine Master. The consciences of the ungodly are lulled. "The lame," instead of being "healed," are "turned out of the way." Thus 'the scandalous falls of good men are like a bag of poison cast by Satan into the spring, from whence the whole town is supplied with water.'

Nor let this be considered as the responsibility only of eminent Christians. All are by profession "the salt of the earth, and the light of the world." Let all therefore see to it, that "the salt does not lose its savor," and that the candlestick gives its clear light. None of us stand or act alone. "None of us"—be it well pondered—"liveth unto himself."4 The conduct of each has its measure of influence on the body. Each is the centre of a circle more or less extended. Each is either a pure spring, or a troubled fountain. Lord! "cast the salt into the spring of the waters that they may be healed."

27. It is not good to eat much honey: so for men to search their own glory is not glory.

Honey is good; but in moderation. It is not good to eat much honey. A man's own name and reputation is honey to him. Let him carefully preserve it from "the dead fly that spoils it." The honor of God is connected with the honorable profession of his people. But this carefulness is a virtue on the brink of vice; a duty on the borders of imminent danger. To be puffed up by our own endowments; to listen to our praise; to force ourselves upon public attention10—thus to search out our own glory, is not glory, but shame. As unseemly is it to seek our own glory, as to ascribe to ourselves our own being.

Yet is there no danger of seeking the fame rather than the substance of godliness—a well-known name in the Church, rather than an unknown name in the book of life? Few ministers, but have been severely exercised here; identifying their usefulness with their honor; cherishing the desire for public approbation, rather than for unnoticed fruitfulness; dreading to be counted upon an ordinary level, as "vessels of wood and earth," rather than of "gold and silver." Oh! it is a mighty victory over self, to trample man's judgment under foot, and eye only God's approval. Nothing is right, except it be wrought in the true spirit of the gospel—"doing nothing in vain glory, but in lowliness of mind each esteeming others better than himself."13 The great apostle spoke of matters of glorying only by compulsion. A vain-glorious spirit cankers many a plausible profession. Did we turn from the flattering glass of self-love to the pure and faithful mirror of the law; the inconceivable deformities opening to view would constrain us to take the lowest place among the most unworthy. Most wholesome is the recollection—"That which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God."2

28. He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.

A former proverb declared "him that had rule over his spirit" to be a mighty conqueror. And certainly the noblest conquests are gained or lost over ourselves. For he that hath no rule over his own spirit is an easy prey to the invading foe. Any one may irritate and torment him, and spoil him of his comfort. He yields himself to the first assault of his ungoverned passion—offering no resistance—like a city broken down and without walls—the object of pity and contempt. Thus having no discipline over himself—every temptation becomes the occasion of sin, and hurries him on to fearful lengths, that he had not contemplated. The first outbreaking of anger tends to murder.6 Unwatchfulness over lust plunges into adultery. The mightiest natural strength is utter feebleness in the great conflict.8 How should such an object excite our tenderest compassion!

But there are many cases of this moral weakness—less shameful, and yet scarcely less injurious to the soul. Every out-breaking of irritation—every spark of pride—kindling in the heart, before it shows itself in the countenance, or on the tongue—must be attacked and determinately resisted. It is the beginning of a breach in the walls of the city. Without instant attention, it will widen to the ruin of the whole. The natural man may talk of 'self-control,' as if the reins were in his own hand. But he who has been "born of the Spirit," and taught "to know the plague of his own heart"—is made to feel that effective 'self-control' is Divine grace, not his own native power. What then is to be done? On the first assault, fortify the walls by prayer. Never dare to trust to the strength of the citadel. Have not repeated defeats taught us the need of calling in better strength than our own? How could we enter into the conflict—much less hold on the fight—but for the promise—"Sin shall not have dominion over us?" Oh! for simple—cleaving faith, to draw out from this mighty source—energy—continual watchfulness—perseverance—triumphant victory!

CHAPTER 26

1. As snow in summer, and as rain in harvest; so honor is not seemly for a fool.

THE richest blessings lose their value, when unsuitably bestowed. Snow is the beauteous wintry covering of the earth; preserving the seed from the killing cold.2 But in summer it is out of season. Rain in its season is a fruitful blessing. But in harvest it is an unsuitable interruption to the reaper's work—and often a public calamity. Just so, honor, unsuitably bestowed on a fool, is not seemly for him. 'He neither deserves it, nor knows how to use it.' Honor bestowed on Joseph and Daniel, suitably to their wisdom, was seemly to themselves, and a blessing to the land. But when a fool—sometimes a scoffer at religion—is promoted to a station of public influence, how ungracefully does his honor sit upon him! In Haman it was only the display of his pride and vain glory—the occasion of his more public disgrace.

Learn then to adorn our profession with consistency. Seek that heavenly wisdom, which will make us worthy of any honor that may be appointed for us. "He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much."

2. As the bird by wandering, as the swallow by flying, so the curse causeless shall not come.

Groundless fears are real evils, and often press heavily upon enfeebled minds. A curse flies out of an angry mouth undeserved, unprovoked. 'What if it should come to pass?' But we need no more fear the causeless curse, than the birds wandering over our heads. The swallow flying up and down never lights upon us; so the curse causeless shall not come to hurt us. Powerless was the curse of Moab, though attempted to be strengthened with the divination of the wicked prophet. Goliah's curse against David was scattered to the winds.10 What was David the worse for the curse of Shimei; or Jeremiah for the curse of his hateful persecutors?12 Under this harmless shower of stones we turn from men to God, and are at peace. "Let them curse; but bless thou; when they arise, let them be ashamed; but let thy servant rejoice."

But if the curse be not causeless, it will come. Jotham's righteous curse came upon Abimelech and the men of Shechem. Elisha's curse fearfully came on the young mockers of Bethel. The curse abides on Jericho from generation to generation.2 And—reader—if thou be an unconverted, unbelieving sinner, without love to thy Saviour—there is a curse for thee—not causeless—justly deserved; and come it must—come it will. Yea—has it not already come from thy Maker and thy God?4—thy blessing and thy curse—awful thought! coming from the same mouth! Nor is this an impotent wishing of ill, but the substance of God's everlasting wrath centering in thy heart. Oh! flee from it, while time is given; while the refuge is open to thee! If thou be under cover, it shall not come. Thou shalt rejoice in "thy redemption from it,"7 and find confidence in complete security.

3. A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back.

This proverb inverts our ideas. We should have given the bridle for the horse, and the whip for the ass. But the Eastern asses are a very superior race, both in beauty and spirit; valuable property to their owners.10 The bridle is necessary to curb and to guide them; while the horse—perhaps badly broken in—may need a whip—if dull, to accelerate his speed; if fiery, to correct his temper. Every creature subdued for the service of man needs his appropriate discipline. The Lord "guides his children with his eye." But let them cultivate a pliable spirit; "not as the horse and the mule, whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle." The fool neither hears the voice, nor sees the directing eye. He will be ruled neither by reason nor persuasion. A rod therefore is for the fool's back. Pharaoh provoked this severe chastisement at the hands of God;14 the men of Succoth and Penuel at Gideon's hands. Many such fools are in the Church—self-willed, full of conceit. They need the rod, and they have it. Discipline is the most probing test. What is its fruit? In the child submission and tenderness;17 in the fool (except it beat out his folly, which is too often a desperate case19) hardness and rebellion. Sad indeed is it, that the child sometimes needs the rod intended for the fool's back. Yet never does his loving Father use it, till gentle means have been tried in vain. O my God! use thine own wise means, to save me from my own waywardness, folly and ruin.

4. Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him. 5. Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit.

We are forbidden, yet commanded—to answer a fool. The reason however attached to each rule explains the apparent contradiction. Both together are a wise directory for the treatment of the fool, according to the difference of character, time, or circumstance. Suppose a free-thinker or scoffer at religion, showing the desperate "folly of his heart, by making a mock at sin," by witty and profane jestings, or specious arguments against the word or ways of God. Generally speaking, it would be better to follow Hezekiah's command against Rabshekah's blasphemy—"Answer him not." Jeremiah thus turned away in silence from the folly of the false prophets.4 If however we are constrained to reply—Answer him not according to his folly; not in his own foolish manner; "not rendering railing for railing." Moses offended here. He answered the rebels according to their folly—passion for passion, and thus he became like unto them. David's answer to Nabal was in the same degradation.7

But what may be at one time our duty to restrain, at another time, and under different circumstances, it may be no less our duty to do. Silence may sometimes be mistaken for defeat. Unanswered words may be deemed unanswerable, and the fool becomes arrogant, more and more wise in his own conceit. An answer therefore may be called for; yet not in folly, but to folly; 'not in his foolish manner, but in the manner which his foolishness required; not according to his folly, but according to thine own wisdom. Our words should be sharp as rods. The fool's back needs them. Such was Job's answer to his wife—grave, convincing, silencing—"Thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh. What! shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?"

Oh! for wisdom to govern the tongue; to discover "the time to keep silence, and the time to speak;" most of all to suggest the "word fitly spoken"12 for effective reproof! How instructive is the pattern of our great Master! His silence and his answer were equally worthy of himself. The former always conveyed a dignified rebuke. The latter issued in the confusion of his captious enemies.14 Will not a prayerful meditative study communicate to us a large measure of his divine wisdom?

6. He that sendeth a message by the hand of a fool culteth off the feet, and drinketh damage. 7. The legs of the lame are not equal: so is a parable in the mouth of fools. 8. As he that bindeth a stone in a sling, (putteth a precious stone in a heap of stones, Marg.) so is he that giveth honor to a fool. 9. As a thorn goeth up into the hand of a drunkard, so is a parable in the mouth of fools.

Surely this diversified exhibition of the foolishness of folly is an incentive to the study of heavenly wisdom. The fool is utterly unfit for service. When a message is sent by his hands, he makes so many mistakes, careless or wilful, that it is like bidding him go, when we have cut off his legs. Indeed we can only drink damage from his commission. The employment of the unbelieving spies spread damage of discontent and rebellion throughout the whole congregation. How careful should we be to entrust important business to trustworthy persons! Fools are either unqualified for their mission, or they have their own interests to serve, at whatever cost to their masters. Solomon himself drank damage by employing an "industrious" servant, but a fool in wickedness—who "lifted up his hand against the king"—and spoiled his son of ten parts of his kingdom. Benhadad drank damage by sending a message by the hands of Hazael, who murdered his master, when the way was opened for his own selfish purposes.

See—again—how the fool exposes his shame. Never would a lame man show his infirmity so much, as if he were to pretend to feats of agility or strength. Never does a fool appear so ridiculous as when making a show of wisdom. It only creates disgust. 'A wise saying doth as ill become a fool, as dancing does a cripple.'6 A parable—'an authoritative weighty saying,'—in his mouth becomes a jest. "Is Saul also among the prophets? Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, and yet considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Physician, heal thyself. Thou therefore that teachest another, teachest thou not thyself!"

Place the fool in honor. The sling makes the stone bound in it an instrument of death. The honor given to the fool makes him a curse to his fellow-creatures. The prime favorite of a despot would have been the murderer of the chosen nation—had not God restrained him.11 Dangerous indeed is the placing unqualified persons in authority. 'It is like putting a sword or a loaded pistol into a madman's hand.'

But the fool does mischief also unconsciously to himself. 'It is no more fit for a fool to meddle with a wise speech, than for a drunken man to handle a thorn-bush.' When the thorn goes up into his hand, his insensibility only makes the wound more deadly. Thus the fool's parable—his wise and sharp sayings, gathered he scarcely knows whence—go up into him like a thorn—sharply pricking his conscience. Yet he feels no compunction—no alarm. Sad indeed is the sight (should it not make us tremble for ourselves?) of the ungodly prophet, dealing out from the mouth of God—yet with hardened indifference—words enough to "make both his ears to tingle."3

Such is the fool—a pest to his fellow-creatures—awfully responsible to his God! But in the sacred office how fearfully is this evil and responsibility increased! The great message sent by the hands of ungodly servants, brings most serious damage to the Church. The parable—our Divine Master's wise and holy instruction—in the mouth of a fool is perverted and contradicted by his unholy life. "Unto the wicked God saith—What hast thou to do to declare my statutes, or that thou shouldst take my covenant in thy mouth—seeing thou hatest instruction, and castest my words behind thee?" 'Almighty God, who alone worketh great marvels, send down upon all Bishops and Curates the healthful spirit of thy grace;'6 that "stewards faithful" to their trust, "workmen that need not to be ashamed,"8—true and authorized "ambassadors of Christ," may be multiplied in the Church; and that fools—unfaithful ministers—may be rebuked and restrained.

10. The great God, that formed all things, both rewardeth the fool, and rewardeth transgressors. (A great man grieveth all; and he hireth the fool; he hireth also transgressors, Marg.)

It is difficult to fix with certainty the interpretation of this Proverb. All however expound from it the Divine government—direct or permissive. Suppose the Great One to be God, that formed all things. He proportions exactly the reward of the wicked. The fool is responsible for sins of ignorance; not only for the little he knew, but for the much, which—had he not neglected the means—he might have known. The transgressor is much more responsible for his sins against knowledge, warning, and conviction. And at "the day of revelation of the righteous judgment of God," he will render to every man according to his deeds. "The servant that knew his Lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes."

Or suppose the Great One to be a mighty Prince—powerful in forming the minds, character, and principles of all around him. If he be taught to "rule in the fear of God," will not he reward the fool and the transgressor—the ignorant and the presumptuous? For how can his kingdom prosper upon the encouragement of the wicked?

Or if he be a wicked prince, he grieveth all by his countenance of sin; hiring transgressors as instruments of his will. Still is it the government of God. The sceptre is in the hands of unlimited power, wisdom, and goodness. "The wicked are his sword—his hand—the rod of his anger, and the staff of his indignation."4 Shall we then "reply against God?" Reverence, faith, humility, patience, expectation, are graces of the Lord's children. "Clouds and darkness are round about him; righteousness and judgment are the habitations of his throne." There is no sleeping of his Providence; no interruption of his Government. We are living only in a preparatory state. The veil will soon be lifted up, and the grand consummation will explain all. Fools and transgressors will receive their just reward; and one universal chorus will burst from heaven—"Who shall not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name? For thou only art holy; for thy judgments are made manifest."

11. As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.

And is this the picture of man—"made a little lower than the angels"—yea—"made in the likeness of God?"8 Who that saw Adam in his universal dominion, sitting as the monarch of creation; summoning all before him; giving to each his name, and receiving in turn his homage—who would have conceived of his children—sunk into such brutish degradation? The tempter's promise was—"Ye shall be as gods."10 The result of this promise was—'Ye shall be as beasts.' The vilest comparisons are used to show man's loathsomeness in the sight of God. 'Do any feel disgusted at the allusion? Let them remember that the emblem is far less filthy, than the thing denoted by it; and that the whole race of animals does not afford any thing so debasing, as not to be far outdone by the excesses of libertines, drunkards, and gluttons.' We naturally turn away with sickening from this sight. Would that we had the same disgust at the sin, which it so graphically portrays! Would that we might abhor ourselves for that, which God infinitely abhors in us!

The Apostle uses this "true proverb" to describe the awful condition of apostates—temporary conviction, unaccompanied with real conversion of heart, and falling away to desperate hardness. Many reasons may produce disgust in the sinner's mind to his folly. He may loathe, and for a while relinquish, it. It has proved so fraught with misery; its very pleasures so impregnated with poison; that no wonder if he make an occasional, or even a strong, effort to be rid of it. But when the sickness has passed away, the sweetness of the forbidden fruit again comes to mind; and as a dog returneth to his vomit—to the food which had caused his sickness; so a fool returneth to his folly—to that, which had been his hurt and shame.

Thus greedily did Pharaoh return from his momentary conviction; Ahab from his feigned repentance;3 Herod from his partial amendment; the drunkard from his brutish insensibility5—all to take a more determinate course of sin—to take their final plunge into ruin. Even a superficial knowledge of Christ is no preservative to an unrenewed heart. The "house may be swept" of outward sin, "and garnished" with external holiness. But if it be "empty;" if the Divine inhabitant be not heartily welcomed, the former possessor will quickly return, and tenant it as his fixed home with sevenfold destruction.7

Is not sin then justly termed folly? Does not the God of Truth pronounce it to be so now? Will not every fool confess it to be so at the end, when its wages shall be fully paid in "shame and everlasting contempt?" Child of God—hearken to thy Father's voice of "peace." But ponder also his solemn warning to "his people and to his saints—Let them not turn again to folly."

12. Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? there is more hope of a fool than of him.

Seest thou the man? God means to point at him. There is something to be learned from him. He castles himself up in his own conceit. He is fit to be a standard; for the false persuasion that he has gained wisdom, utterly precludes him from gaining it. He thinks himself wise because he knows not what it is to be wise. His wisdom is "science, falsely so called."12 For he has yet to learn the first lesson in the school—his own folly—a lesson not to be learned without severe exercise. "Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise." There is more hope of the fool, who knows himself to be one. The natural fool has only one hindrance—his own ignorance. The conceited fool has two—ignorance and self-delusion.

It was our Lord's cutting reproof to the conceited Pharisees—"The publicans and harlots go into the kingdom of heaven before you." It was his charge against the Laodicean Church—"Because thou sayest—I am rich, and increased in goods, and have need of nothing; and knowest not, that thou art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked." The prodigal fool, running into all "the excesses of riot," is more open to conviction, than the man, who prides himself upon his decorous religion. To the profane and ungodly we must go. But to bring a warning to him, he conceives to be knocking at the wrong door—"God! I thank thee, that I am not as other men are"3—is his heart's language before God. "Stand by, I am holier than thou"—is his haughty rule with his fellow-sinners. Offer him light. He "walks in the light of his own fire."5 Offer him life. He is "alive" in his own eyes. Offer him food. His "full soul loatheth the honey-comb!"7

Lord! preserve me from this hopeless delusion. Pull down all my pride and fancied wisdom. Take the blind from mine eyes, that I may know what I am in thy sight. "Clothe me with humility" from the soul of the foot to the head.

13. The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way; a lion in the streets. 14. As the door turneth upon his hinges, so doth the slothful upon his bed. 15. The slothful man hideth his hand in his bosom; it grieveth him to bring it again to his mouth. 16. The sluggard is wiser in his own conceit than seven men that can render a reason.

The counterpart to these illustrations may be seen in the man dozing away his life in guilty idleness; without an object, and therefore without a spring for exertion. But let us look at the picture, as it more frequently meets our eye in the Church.

The slothful man is utterly reluctant to his work. When therefore his indolence is disturbed, he is ingenious in inventing excuses, and fancying dangers, which have no real existence. For 'he, who has no mind to labor, never wants pretences for idleness.' Perhaps his insincerity may lull his conscience to sleep in his false excuses. Were it as easy to be spiritual as to wish to be so, who would not be a Christian? If religion were only one great effort, soon to be accomplished, it would be worth the struggle. But to see no end of the toil—duty upon duty—trouble following trouble—no breathing time of peace—is an appalling hindrance. And therefore a fierce lion in the way12—a lion in the streets ('a bugbear rather than a lion') excuses him from a decided profession.

We wonder not that he shrinks from his work. He loves his bed of ease. Here he turneth himself, as the door upon his hinges—moving indeed, but making no progress. He works from one excuse to another, but never removes from his place. Difficulties hinder him from going forward. Conscience keeps him from going backward. And therefore, like the door upon his hinges, where he was one day, one year, there he is found the next. He moves within a scanty round of duties, always beginning, never finishing, his work; determining nothing; not quite at ease; yet with no heart for exertion. Stretched upon his bed of sloth—he cries—O that this were working! O that I could raise my heart to heaven! But is heaven to be gained by complaining and wishing?

Nay—even the most needful exertion is grievous to him. Suppose him to have arisen from his bed, his case is not improved. Ease is still his cry. How to preserve it, his only care. He hides his hand in his bosom for the cold, and never makes an effort to bring it to his mouth for his necessary food. Thus for the want of the most trifling exercise he starves his soul, though the bread of life is put before him. No marvel—if his life—instead of "a continual feast"—is a constant vexation.

And yet withal—such is the strange union of self-complacency with folly—this worthless being—a mere "cumberer of the ground"—prides himself upon his superior wisdom. Not giving himself the trouble to think, he sees none of the difficulties that are obvious to a considerate mind, and arrives with speed at the most unreasonable conclusions. He will not be beaten out of his sloth. Any wise man could render a reason for his conviction. But he is wiser in his own conceit than them all.

In how many striking lights is sloth presented in this book! Do I not think too slightly of it? Let me look closely—in what respect am I influenced by it—bodily, mentally or spiritually? Does it never follow me throughout my work—to my knees—to my Bible-reading? Do I not excuse myself from work of painful effort? Or when conscience forces me to it, how is it done? O my God, enable me to resist this paralysis in every shape! If just about to resolve, let me propose my work to myself as to be done with full purpose of heart; not opposing difficulties to necessity; not allowing heartless despondency. What if after all, my faith be a fancy—my hope a delusion? Self-suspicion is the first awakening of the soul—"Search me, O my God."

Well is it, if the slumber be only a little roused; far better, if the eyes are fully opened. Active simple faith carries us onward, in the faces of the lions in the way, seeming to stand open-mouthed to devour us. It is a special mercy to realize the holy violence of the conflict. Bunyan puts his pilgrims under the conduct of Great-heart for their encouragement. Heaven never will be won by folded arms. "The violent take it by force."

17. He that passeth by, and meddleth with strife belonging not to him, is like one that taketh a dog by the ears.

If we would honor our God in our Christian path, we must take time at every step, for prayer, and for the exercise of a sound judgment. Else we shall often rush on unbidden to our loss. To take a dog by the ears will bring good reason to repent of our folly. To meddle with strife belonging not to us will surely bring its trouble—its own cross—not our Master's. A wide difference is made between "suffering as a busy-body, and suffering as a Christian." The one the Apostle links with "murderers, and thieves, and evil doers." To the other he gives the dignified exhortation—"Let him glorify God on their behalf." If we must not "go forth hastily to strive"3 in our own cause, still less in our neighbor's. This is "entering into contention"—the wantonness of the fool.

Even with Christian intentions many of us are too fond of meddling with strife not belonging to us. We constitute ourselves too readily judges of our neighbor's conduct. Neutrality is often the plain dictate of prudence. Uncalled for interference seldom avails with the contending parties; while the well meaning mediator involves himself in the strife to his own mischief. Our blessed Master reads us a lesson of godly wisdom. He healed the contentions in his own family. But when called to meddle with strife belonging not to him, he gave answer—"Who made me a judge or a divider over you?"

Must we then "suffer sin upon our brother?" Certainly not. But we should ponder carefully the most effectual mode of restraining his sin. We do not forget the special "blessing to the peacemakers."7 But the true peacemaker, while he deplores the strife, well knows, that interference in the moment of irritation will kindle, rather than extinguish, the fire. Self-control, however, with him is not indifference. He commits the matter to Him, whose strength and wisdom he so greatly needs. He will seize the first moment for favorable remonstrance; "and a word spoken in due season, how good is it!" Indeed the common intercourse of life much requires that "wisdom, which dwelleth with prudence."9 "Who is a wise man, and endued with knowledge among you? Let him show out of a good conversation his works with meekness of wisdom."

18. As a madman who casteth firebrands, arrows and death. 19. So is the man that deceiveth his neighbor, and saith, Am not I in sport?

How little does the thoughtless man consider the misery, which his wantonness occasions to others! He bears no malice—he indulges no revenge. It is the pure love of mischief. He carries on a scheme of imposition as harmless play. His companions compliment him upon his adroitness, and join in the laugh of triumph over the victim of his cruel jest. But "sporting with their own deceivings"—is a black mark of ungodliness. What the man calls sport. the Lord regards as the work of the madman, scattering murderous mischief—firebrands, arrows and death—'There is little difference in this case betwixt fraud and fury. He that purposely deceives his neighbor, under a colour of jest, is no less prejudicial to him than a lunatic, that doth wrong out of frenzy and distemper.' This awful line however is drawn. Whereas the madman is irresponsible for his actions, the deceiver is accountable to God and his fellow-creatures. 'He that sins in jest, must repent in earnest; or his sin will be his ruin.'

'What hath a Christian'—saith Bernard—'to do with jesting?' Let him practically observe the wholesome caution against it as "not convenient." Let him diligently cultivate the valuable graces of seriousness, consideration, and self-discipline. Let him study the spirit as well as the rules of the Gospel, and honor his Master's image embodied in his rules.

20. Where no wood is, there the fire goeth out: so where there is no talebearer, the strife ceaseth (is silent, Marg.) 21. As coals are to burning coals, and wood to fire: so is a contentious man to kindle strife. 22. The words of a talebearer are as wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts (chambers, Marg.) of the belly.

The busy tongue makes work, where it does not find it. Hence the talebearer's employment—that despicable trade! So deeply-rooted is the principle of self-love, that 'man is naturally his own grand idol. He would be esteemed and honored by any means; and to magnify that idol self, he kills the name and esteem of others in sacrifice to it.' Real virtue revolts from this base and abominable selfishness.

The fire of holy zeal seizes on things nearest home. This is a wildfire scattering its destruction abroad. The tale-bearer should be looked on as an incendiary. His "tongue is a fire, itself set on fire of hell." His raking up old and forgotten tales supplies the fuel, without which the fire of strife, as where no wood is, goeth out. To quench the flame we must take away the fuel. We must remove the talebearer; stop him in his words; compel him to produce his authority; face him, if possible, with the subject of his tales. This decisive course will prevent a mass of slander, and put him to shame. Near akin is the contentious man. His mischief indeed is more open. His determination to have the last word is as coals to burning coals, and wood to the fire. It keeps up the flame, kindled perhaps by a mere angry word or a contemptuous look; and which, but for this constant succession of fuel, might quickly have been extinguished. Do we never aim at the wit of a sharp answer, that "stirreth up anger," rather than at the wisdom and grace of "a soft answer, that turneth away wrath?"9

The talebearer's wounds are however the most dangerous. They go down into the chambers—the vitals of the heart. Only one noiseless word may be the stab of death. But—however he may escape for awhile—all his secret sins shall "be set before his eyes," and his wanton trifling with his brother's character be justly recompensed.

Are we closely watching against these sins? Do we carefully damp the rising flame of contention? Do we resist the temptation to speak needlessly of the faults of others? We may feel indignant at the charge of talebearing. Yet how many degrees are there of this vice! It requires no ordinary exercise of Christian discipline to maintain the silence of charity, and to regulate both the tongue and the ear within its well-advised limits.

23. Burning lips and a wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross. 24. He that hateth, dissembleth with his lips, and layeth up deceit within him. 25. When he speaketh fair, believe him not: for there are seven abominations in his heart. 26. Whose hatred is covered by deceit, his wickedness shall be showed before the whole congregation. 27. Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein: and he that rolleth a stone, it will return upon him.

The sin here described is a disgrace to society! Yet is it often covered with a flattering garb, as the worthless potsherd with a thin coat of silver. "The tongue of the just is as choice silver." Here is only silver dross—"the heart of the wicked, which is nothing worth;" lips burning with warm affection, yet covering a heart filled with malice and wickedness. Such were the lips of Joseph's brethren, when "they rose up to comfort their father" under the bereavement which they had brought upon him. Such was Absalom's smooth hypocrisy.7 Such were the traitor's lips and heart, uniting with the rest in protestations of faithfulness; yet "betraying the Son of man with a kiss." An open enemy could be much better borne.9 The cant of hypocrites, the benevolence of infidels, the smooth enticement of the false "angel of light," all answer to this strong figure.

Often also when the lips do not burn, there is dissembling of the hatred. "Cain talked with his brother in the field," while murder was in his heart. Saul pretended to honor David, while he was plotting his ruin.11 Absalom dissembled with his brother, by seeming to let him alone, and for two years laying up deceit within him. Joab covered his murderous intentions with peaceable profession.

Christian prudence will guard against credulity, which is in fact the "harmlessless of the dove," without "the wisdom of the serpent."15 This weakness cost Gedaliah his life. A sounder spirit saved Nehemiah from the snare of his malignant adversaries.17 The source of this wickedness gives good reason for distrust. There are seven abominations in his heart—a great variety of abominations closely folded up—only within the ken of that heart-searching eye, "before whom all secret things are naked and open." And here lies the root of the disease. 'A guileful heart makes guileful tongue and lips. It is the workhouse, where is the forge of deceit and slander; and the tongue is only the outer shop, where they are mended; and the lips the door of it; so then such ware as is made within, such and no other can be set out. From evil thoughts, evil speakings; from a deceitful heart, guileful words, well-varnished, but lined with rottenness.'3 Oh! let this despicable character be a beacon to us to shun all approaches to false dealings. Better to risk giving offence by faithfulness (though let this—so far as conscience allows—be avoided) rather than cover our hatred by flattering words.

Dissembling never answers in the end. The Providence of God brings dark deeds to light—"The voice of Abel's blood cried from the ground." "Some men's sin's are open beforehand, going before to judgment; and some men they follow after."5 The hand strips off the mask, and exposes the flatterer to shame. His seven abominations shall be proclaimed—if not more privately—at least before the whole congregation, when all shall appear before men and angels as they really are, and when all hypocrites shall receive their just recompense of "everlasting contempt."

Often however does retribution reach the offender in this world—'He will fall into the pits, which he has bestowed pains to dig for his neighbor, and be crushed by the stone which he meant to roll upon him.' Even the place of sinning is sometimes made the place of punishment.8 Those who plot mischief for others, will be overwhelmed with it themselves. Moab in attempting to curse Israel, fell himself under the curse of God.10 Haman's gallows for Mordecai was his own "promotion of shame." The enemies of Daniel were devoured in the ruin which they plotted against him.12 Thus does God "take the wise in his craftiness"—"the wicked in his wickedness."14 The death of Christ, which was to be the means of warding off national judgment, was the just cause of the deprecated scourge. The malice that meditates the evil, is often the cause of its own overthrow. What an Aceldama would this world be, but for the restraining grace of God! Oh! may my heart, my soul, every member, every principle, not only be restrained from hateful passions; but be imbued with the spirit of the Gospel, and consecrated to the service of God!

28. A lying tongue hateth those that are afflicted by it; and a flattering mouth worketh ruin.

Rarely do we see a solitary sin. One sin begets another. Lying and malice are here linked together. The lying tongue against our Lord was the fruit of hateful malice. The slander against Stephen originated from the same source. The tacit reproach of his godly profession was intolerable.2 If men afflict because they hate; much more do they hate them whom they have afflicted, and thus made their enemies. Amnon having afflicted his sister Tamar, hated her with great hatred than his former love, as the witness against his own shame?

But again and again—watch against the flatterer. From some favorable position he presents an attractive face. But a nearer view shows him as a subtle, murderous enemy, working ruin. His great advantage is that he has a friend in our own bosom. The sweet song of our own praises lulls us to sleep, and in the moment of security the net is too successfully spread.5 The flattering tongue worked the ruin of the world. The temptation—"Ye shall be as gods"—proved irresistible. And still in the path of sin,7 in the determinate indulgence of the wayward will, flattering is the snare; ruin is the end.

What then should be our treatment of the flatterer? Homer puts it into his hero's heart to regard him as a fiend of hell. Our safety then is in flight,10 or at least in frowning resistance. Show plainly that they please us least, who praise us most. Give timely warning, that the repetition of the offence threatens the disruption of friendship. Cherish the deepest views of native corruption, such as will at once belie any fair picture of ourselves that may be presented to us. Pray for wisdom to discover the snare; for gracious principles to raise us above vain praises; for self-denial to be content, and even thankful without them. This will be God's means of Providential deliverance.

All these Scriptures strongly teach, how hateful to a God of truth is the attempt to deceive. All warn us against the common habit of slight deviations from truth, and of any want of sincerity of expression, as totally inconsistent with a Christian profession, a breach of the law of love, and often leading to habitual deceit.

CHAPTER 27

1. Boast not thyself of to-morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.

LET the Apostle expound the wise man—"Go to now, ye that say—'To-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain.' " Both apply the same rebuke to the boast;—Thou knowest not what a day may bring forth—Whereas "ye know not what shall be on the morrow." To provide for the morrow is a scriptural duty. The Christian in his calling, reposing on God's Providence, walks with God. But to boast of to-morrow—"all such rejoicing is evil." Indeed it is absurd to boast of what is not our own. To-morrow is finely described as an unknown birth. It may be in eternity. And yet the sensualist and the worldling boast, as if it was their own; and thus virtually put God out of his own world. The ungodly reckon upon being religious to-morrow, and therefore put off repentence, forsaking the world, and living for eternity, to some indefinitely future day. Would they do this, if they did not reckon upon to-morrow being given to them! Nay, do we not all naturally cherish this looking forward, which the great enemy works up into practical forgetfulness of God! Yet we must not live, as if to-morrow would not come. Else would the world be in a state of stagnation. The present duties of the day would be absorbed in the instant preparation for the coming eternity. We start from death, when he enters our houses, as if we did not expect him. How little do we die daily! We can even coolly calculate upon the death of others, for our own benefit. Our intense anxiety about earthly, and apathy about heavenly things, speaks but too plainly. The young look to the middle age; the more advanced to the last stage of life. All, in contradiction to their avowed profession, boast themselves of to-morrow.

How awfully has this boasting been put to shame! In the days of Noah, "they married wives, and were given in marriage, until the very day, when the flood came, and destroyed them all." Abner promised a kingdom, but could not ensure his life for an hour.8 Haman plumed himself upon the prospect of the queen's banquet, but was hanged like a dog before night. "The fool's soul was required of him "on the very night" of his worldly projects "for many years" to come.10 The infidel Gibbon calculated upon fifteen years of life, and died within a few months, at a day's warning. We know not what a day may bring forth.

How natural is it for the young to be looking for to-morrow's prospect! But have you never seen the lovely flower cropped, and faded in the blossom? Is not the robust as well as the feeble frame cut down in the prime? Have you a lease of your life? If there be a promise of forgiveness to the repenting, where is the promise of to-morrow for repentance? Will consideration naturally come with years? Or will not rather long-protracted habits of ungodliness harden into a second nature? What if in the midst of thy boasting, flattering thyself that thou shouldest see another and another day—thou shouldest be surprised unprepared, and be left to lament forever thy presumption in the lake of everlasting fire! Stop—consider—weep—pray—believe—now—while conscience speaks; while thou art halting between God and the world, between conviction and inclination. Now in this "accepted time" devote thyself to God. Enthrone the Saviour in thine heart.

The universe does not present a more affecting sight than an aged sinner—with one foot in the grave—losing all in the world, infinitely more in eternity. A moment and he is gone. Heaven and hell are no trifles. To-morrow presumed upon—to-day neglected—ruins all. Standing on the brink of the precipice—how precious the moment for prayer—ere the door of mercy is closed for ever!

Has the child of God reason to boast of to-morrow? What a change may it make in your worldly circumstances, or Christian experience?4 Never will you feel more secure, than in the consciousness that you have no security for a single hour. Rest all your cares in the bosom of your God. Let disappointment prepare you for your heavenly rest, and bound all your wishes and pleasures by his gracious will.6 But have you no need of warning? How speaks the too full current of affections towards earthly enjoyment? Did you practically believe that "the time is short, and the fashion of this world passeth away"—would you not "rejoice, as though you rejoiced not?" Would pleasures of earth be so highly prized, if there was no secret dependence on to-morrow? Surely this thought may more than sustain in the loss of them—The shadow only is gone—the body of my happiness remains immoveable. To see things temporal, as if we "looked not at them," is the life of spiritual religion. To have "our loins girt about" for our Lord's coming; to live, so as not to be surprised by the call, and in readiness to "open to him immediately"—this is our security and our happiness. "Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord, when he cometh, shall find watching."

2. Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips.

'Praise'—says an old expositor—'is a comely garment. But though thyself doth wear it, another must put it on, or else it will never sit well about thee. Praise is sweet music, but it is never tuneable in thine own mouth. If it cometh from the mouth of another, it soundeth most tuneably in the ears of all that hear it. Praise is a rich treasure, but it will never make thee rich, unless another tell the same.' Indeed—except as the vindication of our character,2 or our Master's honor connected with it, may require—nothing so degrades a man with his fellow-men, as setting forth his own praise. For though every man is his own flatterer,4 yet men usually know how to estimate pride in others, while they cherish it in themselves. "The things that are of good report—let us think of them to do them." But "let our works"—not our tongues—"praise us in the gates."6 And while our works shine, see to it, that ourselves be hid. "Confess our faults one to another." But leave to another to speak our praise.

Our name will lose nothing by this self-renouncing spirit. If our own mouth be silent, another's will be opened. John was "unworthy" in his own eyes to "unloose the latchet of his Master's shoes." Yet did his Lord's mouth proclaim him, as "the greatest of all that had been born of women." The centurion spoke of himself, as "not worthy that Christ should come under his roof." Yet did the elders testify, that "he was worthy, for whom he should do this." Yea—the Saviour's own mouth confirmed the testimony—"I have not found so great faith, no not in Israel."9 Luke mentions nothing in his Records to his own credit. Yet another praises him warmly as "the beloved physician," and his sole faithful companion in his trials.

Self-seeking is a shameful blot upon a Christian profession. What! Shall one that has said before God—"Behold, I am vile!"—be ready to say before his fellow-men—"Come see my zeal for the Lord"—Come, see how humble I am? Oh! for the self-abased spirit of our glorious Master—ever ready to endure reproach; but never "receiving honor from men;" never "seeking his own glory."12 Contrast what God shows us of ourselves in the closet with our "fair show in the flesh." And will this not put self-complacency to shame? Surely that we are so little really humble—is matter enough for the deepest humiliation.

3. A stone is heavy, and the sand weighty; but a fool's wrath is heavier than them both. 4. Wrath is cruel, (cruelty Marg.), and anger is outrageous (an overflowing, Marg.); but who is able to stand before envy?

The wrath even of a wise man in the moment of folly is cruel. What then must be a fool's wrath 'where there is not a drop of heavenly water to quench the fire?' It is indeed like the weight of a stone or sand3—intolerable, 'being without cause, measure, or end.' Its abiding sullenness marks it from the temporary impulse, to which the child of God may too hastily yield. Absalom kept it in for two years.5 David's anger melted away under the first conviction of reproof, and "the sun went not down upon his wrath."

And yet cruel as anger may be, overflowing as the spring-tide, it may be appeased. Esau's wrath was soothed into brotherly love. The outrageous despot was subdued in witnessing the presence and power of God. But envy is an implacable passion—the native principle, with a fearful train of evils.11 Anger is stirred up by offence; envy by godliness, prosperity,13 or favor. The force of reason is rather the oil to fan the flame, than the water to quench it. The happiness of a neighbor gives pain; his ruin, or at least his injury, would be a source of pleasure. 'Proud men would be admired by all, and preferred above all; and if it be not so, a secret enmity invadeth their spirits, and settleth itself. Men cannot endure the real or reputed excellency of others. The proud creature would shine alone.'15 The occasion is never wanting for the exercise of this hateful principle. Something is always wrong in a neighbor's conduct; something at least, that, if it does not deserve blame, at least greatly detracted from his praise.

Well then might it be asked—Who is able to stand before envy? Even the perfect innocence of paradise fell before it. Satan lost his own happiness. Then he envied man's, and ceased not to work its destruction. Abel fell a martyr to this malignant passion.17 Joseph and Daniel19 were its temporary victims. Nay—even the Saviour in his most benevolent acts was sorely harassed by this evil, and ultimately sunk under its power.21 His servants, therefore, must not expect to "be above their Master."

But—Christians—remember—Sin is not dead within us. And though the promise is sure, that it "shall not have dominion;" yet the struggle with every corruption is sharp to the end. Let us probe the corruption deeply. Do we love to see a brother's superior eminence—his larger gifts or graces? Do we take pleasure in his prosperity, in honor paid to him, though to our own disparagement?2 And are we alive to any risings of content at his success? Is our tone of praise as decided of him, as we should wish that of others to be of us? Can we bear to be past by in favor of others, of those especially, who may seem to be doing our work in opposition to ourselves? Oh! how hateful would be the exhibition of the hidden depths of our deceitful hearts! "Who can understand his errors? Cleanse thou me from secret faults."4

5. Open rebuke is better than secret love. 6. Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.

What is the friend, who will be a real blessing to my soul? Is it one, that will humor my fancies, and flatter my vanity? Is it enough, that he loves my person, and would spend his time and energies in my service? This comes far short of my requirement.

I am a poor, straying sinner, with a wayward will and a blinded heart; going wrong at every step. The friend for my case is one, who will watch over me with open rebuke (not always public, but with a free and open heart); a reprover when needful—not a flatterer. The genuineness of friendship without this mark is more than doubtful; its usefulness utterly paralyzed. That secret love, that will not risk a faithful wound, and spares rebuke, rather than inflict pain—judged by God's standard—is hatred. Far better the wound should be probed than covered. Rebuke—kindly, considerately, and prayerfully administered—cements friendship, rather than loosens it. The contrary instances only prove, that the union had never been based upon substantial principle.

Could Paul have answered to God for his secret love to a brother apostle, when the compromise of a fundamental principle called for open rebuke? Obviously, however, the sin should be brought to view, ere we rebuke. Nor should we vehemently reprove involuntary slips; much less forget the exercise of a loving spirit. Leighton's gentleness gave such a power to his reproof, that rare was the repetition of the offence, rather perhaps from shame, than from genuine contrition. The mark of true godliness is an anxiety to have our faults pointed out; and a thankfulness to those, who undertake the self-denying offices.10 Much more valuable is this faithfulness, than the smooth politeness of the world's intercourse. Nay, some defect in this courtesy to be excused for the sake of the sterling quality.

Who would not choose this faithful wound—however painful at the moment of infliction—rather than the deceitful kisses of the enemy? The kiss of the apostate was a bitter ingredient in the Saviour's cup of suffering. His foreknowledge of the treachery3 in no degree weakened those exquisite sensibilities, which, from their intimate union with the Godhead, rendered him susceptible of suffering beyond all comprehension.

7. The full soul loatheth (treadeth under foot, Marg.) an honeycomb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.

This is a true figure, as regards the enjoyments of this life. Abundance, instead of increasing the happiness of the possessor, deprives him of the rest, which often belongs to a more scanty portion. The man, whose appetite is cloyed with indulgence, turns with disgust from the sweetest dainties; while every bitter and distasteful thing is keenly relished by the hungry soul, perhaps just saved from starvation. This healthful appetite is one of the many counterbalancing advantages of poverty. The sated epicure might well envy the luxury of a homely meal. The children of Israel, after "eating angels' food to the full," loathed and trod it under foot as "light bread."

And is not this so in spiritual things? The Laodicean professor—"rich and increased in goods, and having need of nothing"—loathes the honeycomb of the gospel. Christ in his bitter sorrow is nothing "to him, while he passeth by."8 His love excites no tenderness. His hope no interest. "The consolations of God are small"—of little account—"with him." He can spare them without sensible loss. He reads the Bible only to carp at its most precious truths—offensive, as implying a ruin, of which he has no apprehension, and which he has no heart to contemplate. Thus he nauseates the most nourishing food; having no relish, because he feels no need. Another case presents itself, not less affecting. "Fulness of bread"—richness of spiritual ordinances—does not always bring its corresponding appetite. May not satiety be as great a curse as famine? Upon many a Christian professor it is fearfully written—The full soul loathed the honeycomb?

Far more enviable is the hungry soul, feeding upon unpalateable truths; yea—welcoming even bitter dispensations as medicine for the soul's health The sweet of the gospel is known by this bitterness. It makes Christ sweet to the soul. A sinner in all his guilt—a Saviour in his perfect merit and love.—well does the one answer to the other. Every view of Christ embitters sin. Every view of sin endears Christ. Nor is there any terror in the conviction, that thus endears the Saviour. A sense of want and a sense of guilt lay the foundation for solid confidence, and happy privilege.

What then is the genuine pulse of my religion? Am I willing to receive the word in its completeness—the bitter as well as the sweet? Do I love its humbling spirituality, its self-denying requirements, subordinating every desire to a cheerful and unreserved obedience to my God; ready to walk in his narrowest path, to have my most secret corruption exposed, to have my conscience laid open to the "sharp piercing of the two-edged sword?"—Oh! may my soul be preserved in this vigorous devotedness!

8. As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.

Instinct teaches the bird, that the nest is the only place of safety or repose. Here God has provided for her a special cover. Nothing therefore but danger awaits her in her wanderings. And seldom does she return from them without some injury to herself or her nestlings. Perhaps her nest is cold and inconvenient. But her wanderings make her more restless and dissatisfied. She is safe and happy only while she keeps her nest.

No less senseless and dangerous is it, lightly to leave the place, society, or calling, which Divine Providence has marked out. Here man is 'in God's precincts, and so under God's protection;' and if he will be content to remain in his place, God will bless him with the rich gain of "godly contentment." But the man wandering from his place is 'the rolling stone, that gathers no moss.' His want of fixed principles and employment exposes him to perpetual temptation. Always wanting to be something or somewhere different to what and where he is, he only changes imaginary for real troubles. Full of wisdom is it to know and keep our place. The soul, the body, the family, society—all have a claim upon us. This feverish excitement of idleness is the symptom of disease—wholly opposed to religion—the bane both of our comfort and usefulness.

The plain rule cannot ordinarily be broken without sin. "Let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God." Would we then abide in fellowship with God? We must "abide in our calling." Every step of departure without a clear Scriptural warrant is departure from God. We are safe in following Providence. But to go before it; much more to break away from its guidance—a man thus wanders from his place to his own cost. Never can we put our foot out of God's ways, but we shall tread the path back with a cross.

It is often the wayward impulse of pleasure or idleness, but always with the same fruit. Dinah was safe in the bosom of her family, as the bird in her nest. But when she "went out to see the daughters of the land," the fowler's snare soon entangled the unsuspecting wanderer.

Let us look at this spirit in the Church. The "idler wandereth about from house to house," neglecting his own duties, and therefore with plenty of time upon his hands, to "meddle with what doth not belong to him."3 So busy is the enemy in finding his own work for those, who have no heart to work for God! The discontented professor unhappily is shut up in so obscure a corner, that he will die, before the world knows his worth. He wants a larger sphere. The world is scarcely wide enough for him. Thus he wandereth from his place, "seeking rest, and finding none." The gifted professor is full of zeal for God and his church. His gifts were not intended to run to waste. What he can do, he thinks he ought to do. He sees the minister of God neglecting his flock—Why should not he—as he is well able—step into his room? But is not the man wandering from his place? Our Master's charge is—"Give an account of thy"—not of thy neighbor's—"stewardship."

If grace gives the desire for usefulness, Providence must open the path. Our "wisdom is to understand our own way;" our duty, to "do our own business." Not a single talent need be wasted. Every Christian has his own field, large enough for the exercise of his measure of gifts, without "removing the ancient landmark," that separates the sacred office as the Lord's consecrated service. Many might be found to perform competently the ambassador's office. But who would venture upon it without the accredited authority of his sovereign? The unsteady professor has no spiritual home. No church is sound enough for him; none wholly moulded to his taste. Like the wandering bird, he is always on the wing. Any one place is too strait for him. The accustomed bread, even though coming down from heaven, is "loathed as light bread." His vitiated appetite leaves him often on the Sabbath morning undecided whom to hear, his own will being his only guide. He is anxious to hear from all; and, as the sure result, he learns from none.8 In his self-willed delusion the form and substance of the Church is destroyed. It is not a few wandering sheep, but a fold and a shepherd; not a heap of loose scattered stones, but stones cemented, fitted into their several places. "The building, thus fitly framed together, groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord." The Church is "terrible"—not in her single members, but "as an army with banners;"10 close in rank, where each soldier keeps his own place. The individual profession in the stead of collective unity is a pure schismatical spirit—the essence of pride and selfishness.

And is not this spiritual vagrancy the history of many, who under the pretence of conscience have separated from the Church which had "nourished and brought them up as children?" After their own lusts "they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears." The end of this wandering from their place, like that of the bird from her nest, is the loss of every thing valuable—"They shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables."

Christian Professor! Beware of this tampering with simplicity and godly steadfastness. A wandering spirit proves—not expansive love, but latitudinarian indifference; freedom—not from prejudices, but from settled principles. Our Lord restrained his disciples from "forbidding" the man, "who was doing a good work," But he did not direct them to wander from their own place, and follow him. The rule to "prove all things" is coupled with another—to "hold fast that which is good."3 Christian establishment is the result of Scriptural balance. "Order and steadfastness"—"Beauty and bands"—are the two staves of the Good Shepherd;—the strength of the Church; the "joy" of her Ministers. If the "order" be broken, "the steadfastness" soon fails. Confusion reigns, instead of peace and unity. The enemy's watchword prevails—'Divide and conquer.' Let every man therefore be in his own place in the Church; not weakening his Minister's hands to please his own fancy; but marking carefully "the footsteps of the flock;" and seeking to find "him whom his soul loveth," by "feeding beside the Shepherd's tents."

9. Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart; so doth the sweetness of a man's friend by hearty counsel (counsel of the soul, Marg.)

Most refreshing are ointment and perfume to the senses. Not less so is the cordial of friendship to the soul.7 Who does not feel the need of a brother's or sister's bosom—their hand—their heart? Cold indeed is social intercourse without individual sympathy. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend." But his very faithfulness alone would crush. His sweetness and tenderness soundly heal the wound. Sympathy is the balm of friendship. "My friend is to me as my own soul," the sharer of my joys and my sorrows.10 How could I more than half enjoy my pleasures—how could I bear my sorrows—alone? What ointment and perfume must have rejoiced the heart of the two bosom-friends "in the word"—when their hearty counsel "strengthened each other's hands in God!"

The heartiness of a friend's counsel constitutes its excellence. It is not official, or merely intelligent. It is the counsel of his soul. He puts himself in our case, and counsels, as he would wish to be counselled himself. Moses's heart was thus rejoiced by Jethro's counsel, relieving him from a heavy and needless burden. Many cases of spiritual perplexity have been thus opened. When unable to see the needful consolation, a friend's counsel, like the angel of old, has pointed to the well of water near at hand for our support. Often has the sympathy of a brother's experience cleared our path,3 and turned the stumbling-block into a way-mark set up for our direction and encouragement. Ought we not then to "comfort" our fellow-sufferers "with the same comfort, wherewith we ourselves have been comforted of God?" The Lord give us, as he did our Divine Master, the gift of "the tongue of the learned!"5 'Matchless teacher, that teachest more in one hour than man can do in a whole age! that we may be learned in real living Divinity, we sit down at thy feet! What I know not, teach thou me.'

10. Thine own friend, and thy father's friend, forsake not; neither go into thy brother's house in the day of thy calamity: for better is a neighbor that is near, than a brother far off.

Man without principle is the creature of caprice. His friendships have no warranted stability. The ointment soon looses its fragrance. The sweetness of hearty counsel is forgotten. New friends gain influence; and even the father's friend—the long-tried family friend—is forsaken. Solomon exemplified his own rule, by cultivating kindly intercourse with Hiram—his father's friend. The unprincipled contempt of this rule cost his foolish son his kingdom.9 If other things are better when new, a friend is better, that it is old and tried. For how can you trust an untried friend? Never forget his rare price. Never be tempted by the lure of advantage to incur the risk of loosing him. His house not thy brother's—may be thy shelter in the day of thy calamity. For though relationship ought to be the closest bond; yet, without an higher principle, it cannot subdue the energy of selfishness. Joseph found far greater kindness among foreigners than from his own kindred.12 The affection of Jonathan afforded to David what the jealousy of his brother would never have given him. The Saviour found his most soothing sympathy in the day of his calamity—not in his brethren's house, but in the persevering attachment of his devoted friends. One friend and neighbor closely knit in unity—near at hand, and in readiness to assist, is better than a brother as far off in affection as in distance.

'But if it be an indecency, and uncomeliness, and a very unfit thing—that is—contrary to the precept of studying "whatsoever is lovely, and thinking of these things"—to forsake my friend, and my father's friend, how much more horrid must it be to forsake my God, and my father's God!—"My father's God shall not be my God!" ' But was not I given up to this God with great solemnity at my first coming into the world? And was this solemn transaction a trifle at the time, and to be regarded as a trifle to the end of life? Solomon could never forget the injunction of his aged Parent—"Thou, my son, know thou the God of thy father."2 Exquisitely beautiful is the picture of the venerable Patriarch commending his friend and his father's friend to his children for his heavenly blessing—"God, before whom my fathers, Abraham and Isaac, did walk—the God, which fed me all my life long unto this day—the Angel, which redeemed me from all evil—bless the lads." Here is a wise friend, who knows our need; a sympathizing friend, who feels our distress; a mighty friend, able to cover and provide; a faithful friend—true to his word; a fast friend—who will never leave. Young people, do you know him as your father's friend? Make him your own in the hearty receiving of his Gospel. Cleave to him. He will never disappoint you.

11. My son, be wise, and make my heart glad, that I may answer him that reproacheth me.

An ungodly child is his parent's reproach. Hence the offending damsel was "stoned at the door of her father's house." The graceless children of gracious parents are a special reproach, even upon the name of God. The world will charge it (however in many cases most wrongfully) to their parent's example or neglect. A wise son therefore makes the heart glad. He is his father's weapon of defence, "when he speaketh with his enemies in the gate."12 Should not the children of the Church consider carefully the responsibility; to carry such a profession, as may answer him that reproacheth, and stop the mouth, ever ready to open with taunts against the Gospel? Specially should this responsibility be felt by children of ministers; to 'adorn' (as Mr. Richmond affectionately inculcated upon his children) 'not only their Christian profession, but their parent's principles; showing, that the principles of their father's house and ministry are the rules of their conduct, and their real delight?'

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

Even animal instinct is the exercise of prudence. Every intelligent man acts upon it. He foresees coming evil, and provides himself a shelter. We often see the Christian's patience, security and hope. Here is his prudence, securing a refuge. There is frightful evil on every side. But God in Christ is to him "the munition of rocks"—not a cold and barren refuge, safe from enemies, but exposed to hunger; but a storehouse of food, as well as a citadel of defence. "Bread shall be given him, and his water shall be sure." The man who has never realized the evil is without an hiding-place. The man who stays outside the gate, perishes as if there was no refuge. Only he, who "runneth into the strong tower is safe." A mighty blessing is any dispensation that awakens from slumber, and brings care, prudence, confidence.

The Israelites, warned of the destruction of the first-born, and many ages after, of the ruin of their city,6 hid themselves. This prudence combined with faith, rouses us as the man-slayer to flee from impending danger, and to "lay hold of the hope set before us." For him there were six cities8—For us there is but one. Nothing short of vital faith brings us into it.

But the simple—the wilfully foolish—leave things to take their course. God is so merciful. All will be well at last. They will not be warned. The fooleries of the world engage their heart. All besides is forgotten; and so they pass on and are punished. The prudent hide themselves in God. The simple rush blindfold into hell. Oh! sinner, does not thy ruin lie at thine own door? What will it be to take the mad pleasures here, and to "lie down in everlasting sorrow?" The tears of the penitent are but for a moment, and end in everlasting joy.11 Thine will be for eternity—"the weeping" of utter despondency. Wilt thou scorn this warning? The ox is driven to destruction. The sinner plunges into it in despite of every effort to restrain him.

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

This Proverb also we have had before. 'But what conduces to the happiness of life is needful to inculcate again and again, to fix it deep in the mind.'14 This may be an illustration of the prudence just described; foreseeing evil, and, instead of rushing into it, avoiding it. For what can be more imprudent, than to trust a man, that is surety for a stranger, or for a strange woman. Such folly is utterly unworthy of confidence. And therefore take his garment—full security for a debt. Rather incur the charge of selfishness, than by imprudence hinder yourself from helping more worthy objects. And yet let not the discipline of prudence chill the glow of active self-denying love. Let every grace be in its order, proportion and combination, "that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works."

14. He that blesseth his friend with a loud voice, rising early in the morning, it shall be counted a curse to him.

Is it a sin to bless our friend? Often did our Lord openly acknowledge the love of his friends. And yet a loud voice, and extravagant praises, bring sincerity into question. When a man exceeds all bounds of truth and decency, affecting pompous words, and hyperbolical expressions, we cannot but suspect some sinister end. Real friendship needs no such assurance. One act of love is more than many loud blessings. 'There is no wise man, but had rather have one promise than a thousand fair words, and one performance than ten thousand promises. For what charge is it to spend a little breath, for a man to give one his word who never intends to give him any thing else?' The man may be rising early in the morning, lest some one be before him; lest otherwise there would be scarcely time to finish this great business; and yet while harping upon the same string, he may be undermining me all the day. Contrast David's early rising for the service of God, with his son's early rising for the hypocritical blessing of his friends. The Apostle could not endure this exaggerated praise.6 Indeed every intelligent man must look upon it rather as a curse to him. For any supposed encouragement of such fulsome flattery would stamp him as a fool. And the blessing—should he be deluded by it—would end in a fearful curse.

The Scriptural rule of friendship is—"Let me not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth." The rule for ourselves is—"Walk before God"9—not before men. Let worldly things and worldly men be little in your eyes. Man's day will soon have passed away. Eternity in all its substance and glory is at hand.

15. A continual dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike. 16. Whosoever hideth her hideth the wind, and the ointment of his right hand, which bewrayeth itself

The figure of the dropping has been given before. The time is here added—a very rainy day—shutting us up at home. There is rain without and within—both alike troublesome; the one preventing us from going abroad with comfort—the other from staying at home in peace. The storm within is however much the most pitiless. Shelter may be found from the other. None from this. The other wets only to the skin; this even to the bones. Contention with a neighbor is a sharp shower, over and gone. This is a continual dropping—the bane of a house, even though replete with every luxury.

Whether it be in the woman the lust for rule, or the repining discontent under the obligation to submit; either principle breaks the rank, in which God has placed her. Occasions always present themselves for the display of this unhappy temper. After the attempts to soothe and pacify her, the "return of clouds after rain" betokens more showers, and dispels the hope, which a passing sunbeam may have raised. Even under the restraint of Divine grace—much more when wholly unrestrained—she becomes her husband's torment, and her own shame. For as soon might we hide the wind, that it should not be known, or the ointment of our right hand, that it might not bewray itself, as restrain her tongue, or hide her turbulence. Nay—as the wind pent up howls more frightfully; so the attempt to still her noise, only makes her more clamorous.

Such repeated warnings seem to be needful. "Fleshly lusts" too often rule conscience and judgment in the important choice. "Some shall have trouble in the flesh." Prudence and prayer—not blind affection—give the only security of happiness and peace.

17. Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.

Man was framed not for solitude, but for society. It is only as a social being, that his powers and affections are fully expanded. Iron sharpeneth iron. Steel, whetted against a knife, sharpens the edge. So the collision of different minds whets each the edge of the other.7 We owe some of the most valuable discoveries of science to this active reciprocity. Useful hints were thrown out, which have issued in the opening of large fields of hitherto unexplored knowledge. In the sympathies of friendship, when the mind is dull and the countenance overcast, a word from a friend puts an edge upon the blunted energy, and exhilarates the countenance. The commanding word in the field of battle puts a keen edge upon the iron. This mutual excitation for evil is a solemn warning against ungodly communication.10 But most refreshing is it, when as in the dark ages of the Church, "they that feared the Lord spake often one to another." Sharpening indeed must have been the intercourse at Emmaus, when "the hearts of the disciples burned within them." The Apostle was often so invigorated by the countenance of his friends, that he longed to be "somewhat filled with their company."4 Upon this principle—"Two are better than one"—our Lord sent his first preachers to their work. And the first Divine ordination in the Christian Church was after this precedent.6

'The communion of saints' is an Article in our Creed. But is it practically acknowledged in its high responsibility and Christian privilege? "Am I" not "my brother's keeper?" Gladly take up the bond of brotherhood. If a brother seems to walk alone, sharpen his iron by godly communication. Walk together in mutual "consideration" of each other's infirmities, trials, and temptations; and mutual "provocation" of each other's gifts and graces. "If the iron be blunt, the edge will thus be whetted, and more strength put into it."8 Were this high obligation and privilege more realized; were we walking with God more closely in this holy atmosphere; we should not so often complain of social intercourse, where much might have been communicated, and yet all has ended in barrenness and disappointment.

18. Whoso keepeth the fig-tree shall eat the fruit thereof: so he that waiteth on his master shall be honored.

An encouragement to diligence in our calling! The fig-tree was a valuable product of Judæa. The cultivation was probably a profitable labor, and therefore illustrated the general reward of faithfulness. The dresser's industry was recompensed by eating the fruit thereof. The fidelity of the attached servant will be similarly honored.—Eliezer's uprightness,13 and Deborah's long and faithful services, were suitably honored. Elisha's affectionate devotedness to his master was honored with a double portion of his spirit. The Centurion's care for his servant was probably an acknowledgment of diligent waiting upon his master. The exceptive instances of ingratitude17 do not invalidate the rule.

There are no exceptions, however, in the service of the Divine Master. Our happiness is in receiving his word, and studying his will. Our honor is secured by his promises—"If any man serve me, him will my Father honor." "Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord, when he cometh, shall find watching. Verily I say unto you, that he shall"—adorable condescension!—"gird himself, and make them to sit down to meat, and will come forth, and serve them." Their honor will be proclaimed to each before the assembled world—"Well done! good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." It will seal their overwhelming portion in eternal bliss—"His servants shall serve him; and they shall see his face, and his name shall be in their foreheads."3

19. As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.

This proverb does not confound all in one indiscriminate mass, as if all were alike under an endless diversity of condition. We cannot identify infancy with age, or the proper individualities of constitution and education. But under the same circumstances, and on the same level, the coincidence is most remarkable and instructive; and just as in the reflection of the water face answereth to face; so in another heart we see the reflection of our own. Human nature has suffered no change since the fall. The picture of man's corruption drawn above four thousand years since, is man, as we see and know him now.5 The Apostle's graphical delineation of the Christian conflict, is as if we had been sitting before his pencil for our own likeness. This identity of Christian experience is most valuable. 'No one'—exclaims a tried child of God—'has ever felt as I do.' Let him open his case to a brother or sister, compare notes with their exercises; and who will hesitate to subscribe their own name to his complaints? Thus, instead of "thinking it strange concerning this fiery trial," he learns that "the same afflictions are accomplished in his brethren that are in the world."7 The same features and "measure of the stature in Christ," mark the whole family; inasmuch as "all these worketh that one and the self-same Spirit, dividing to every man severally as he will."

Scripture history also illustrates this unity. Ishmael's mocking shows the enmity of the heart in all ages. Who of us does not find something answering to Jonah's evil temper in our own fretfulness, waywardness, or ingratitude. Job shows us our impatience, our mistaken judgments of God's dealings with us, and the special trial of Satan's temptations. David's heart in all its varied exercises answereth to our heart. Else how could we take up his confession, praises, conflicts, and triumphs, and feel that no words of ours could more entirely and accurately express our own selves? It is these scripture portraits, that make the word of God so "profitable for reproof, correction, and instruction in righteousness."

Hence we learn sympathy with the members of Christ. We share their joys and sorrows, their confidence and temptations. Self-knowledge also instructs us thus to know human nature, and to deal wisely and profitably with our fellow-sinners. The practical lesson of humility and forbearance is also deeply taught. A man observes a face, reflected in the water, not thinking that it is his own face, which is the actual object of disgust. He exclaims with vain self-preference against the ungodliness of the sinner, or the infirmities of the saint. Why! it is thine own nature that thou art reviling. Change then thy language of scorn for self-abhorrence and shame.

20. Hell and destruction are never full: so the eyes of man are never satisfied.

A striking picture of the two great devourers—hell and destruction—never full. Hell—the grave—ever since Adam's sin has been insatiable. It has opened its mouth to receive countless millions; and still it yawns—craving for more. Generations have sunk into destruction—doing the work, and earning "the wages, of sin." Still the pit is not full. The broad mouth still opens for more.

Thus insatiable are the eyes—the desires—of man—always requiring new gratification. "He enlargeth his desire as hell, and is as death, and cannot be satisfied. His eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor his ear filled with hearing." Curiosity, love of novelty, covetousness, ambition—all these desires—like thirst in the dropsy, are aggravated in their indulgence.5 Man is always seeking for what he can never find—satisfaction in earthly things. He toils after his object, and when he has grasped it, he toils still; the possessor of an earthly shadow—not of real happiness. The height, of ambition, when reached, is not his resting place—only the point, whence he stretches after something higher. He may fancy his desires to be moderate. He may set bounds to them, and flatter himself, that he shall never overpass them. But give him a world; and, like the far-famed conqueror, he will weep for another.

Nor is this altogether the effect of his depravity. Corruption indeed leads us to seek rest in something short of God. But it is our nature not to find it. How can an immortal being quench his thirst but from an infinite source? Here the gospel meets our case. So often as the eager question starts up—"Who will show us any good?"—listen to the voice—"Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters. If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink. He that cometh to me shall never thirst."8 Here our desires are at once increased and satisfied. Such is the joyous character of the gospel. God is our satisfying portion—our supreme delight. To delight in any thing else—independent of him10—is as if we cast him down from his throne. All is misery and delusion. Delighting in him—all ministers to our comfort, as flowing from this great centre. At the grand consummation, the satisfaction of the eyes will be complete. "Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty. As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness. I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness."

21. As the fining-pot for silver, and the furnace for gold; so is a man to his praise.

The fining-pot and furnace have been before mentioned, as the Lord's "trial of the heart." The most searching furnace is here shown. The courting of the praise of our fellow-creatures is the world within. Praise is a sharper trial of the strength of principle than reproach. 'If a man be vain and light, he will be puffed up with it. If he be wise and solid, we will be no whit moved therewith.' A haughty and supercilious deportment; "loving to have the pre-eminence;4 forwardness to give our opinion,—and offence, if it be not taken—this is the dross brought out of the furnace, Count the discovery a special mercy. Know thy need of purifying, and let the great Refiner do his perfect work.

But see a man humbled by praise, in the consciousness how little he deserves it, and "who maketh him to differ." See him made more careful and diligent, bearing his honor meekly, and the same man as before; here the furnace proves the real metal, and brings out "a vessel of honor, meet for the Master's use."

Absalom was tried in this fining pot, and found "reprobate silver." Herod, under the shouting praise of his flatterers, "gave not God the glory," and was blasted in shame.9 Joseph and David11 maintained their humility; Daniel his consistency; the apostles their singleness for their Master's glory13—here was the bright gold in the heated furnace.

When the Minister of Christ becomes the object of popular applause—his people's idol; when they look at the pole, instead of the brazen serpent; when men of strong impulse and weak judgment put the servant in the Master's place—then he is in the fining-pot. He that is but dross consumes. Even if there be true metal, the man of God "is saved, yet so as by fire." Without some painful discipline his usefulness would be withered, his spirituality deadened, his soul lost.

Two rules strongly present themselves—Be careful in giving praise. Is it merciful to expose a weak fellow-sinner to the frown of a jealous God? or to stir up the innate corruption of his heart? For put even the finest gold into the furnace—how humbling is the spectacle of the dross, that yet cleaves to it.! Be not less careful in receiving praise. While our taste revolts from extravagant flattery, yet we are apt to think it kindly meant, and it is very rare not to take unconsciously a drop of the poison. But the praise of the church is by far the most insidious poison—so refined, so luscious. Specially when we feel it to be lawfully obtained, how hard to receive it with self-renouncing consecration to God! 'Christian! thou knowest thou earnest gunpowder about thee. Desire those that carry fire to keep at a distance. It is a dangerous crisis, when a proud heart meets with flattering lips.' May not even the habit of speaking humbly of ourselves be a snare of the devil? Would it not be safer not to speak of ourselves at all? At least to confine our conversation in strict sincerity to what we are—not what we appear to be—would be a "wise refraining of our lips." Guard against dwelling even in thought upon any thing, that brings man's approving eye upon us. Delight mainly in those works, that are only under the eye of God. Value alone his approbation. Ever think of the love of human praise as the most deadly bane of a Christian profession,5 to be resisted with intense energy and perseverance. A steady look into eternity shows its vanity; a glance at the cross its sinfulness.

22. Though thou shouldest bray a fool in a mortar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness depart from him.

The allusion is to the Eastern mode of beating off the husk from the corn by braying it in a mortar. Yet the husk sticks not so close to the grain, as foolishness to the fool. The beating of the mortar may separate the one. The other will not depart by repeated strokes. Much is said of the effectiveness of correction.7 But of itself it works nothing. What can it do for the fool that despises it? "The rod," as an ordinary means, "will drive foolishness out of the heart of a child." But the child is here become a man in strength of habit, and stubbornness of will. As soon therefore "can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots," as those can do good, "who are accustomed to do evil."

Examples of this incurable hardness abound. The deluge—that besom of Divine vengeance—destroyed the race—not the foolishness—of man. Nay—God himself declared its inefficacy for this end. Pharaoh was once and again brayed in the mortar; yet did not his foolishness depart from him. Ahaz under the same infliction "trespassed yet more against the Lord," and stands out as a beacon to all ages—"This is that king Ahaz!" "Why should ye be stricken any more?"—was the despondent complaint of God concerning his Israel.4 The deepest affliction of chastisement produces only the fruit of blasphemy and hardened impenitence. If Manasseh's foolishness when brayed in the mortar—departed from him; this was not the innate power of affliction, but the superadded power of Sovereign Grace. The belief in the necessary working of affliction for our saving good is a fatal delusion. Never did it of itself bring one soul to God. In all cases, it is only what God is pleased to make it. A man may be crushed, yet not humbled. Like the broken pieces of the rock, he may retain all his native hardness. Still will he cling to his foolishness; and part with Christ and heaven, rather than with that which is interwoven into every part of his nature. Was it not thus, Christian, with thyself, till Omnipotent love awakened—what chastisement alone could never have stirred—the cry of unreserved submission?—'Lord! spare me not; bruise me; humble me; do any thing with me, but leave me under my sins. Who can deliver me, if thou dost not?' Most welcome is the "bemoaning" of the penitent child to his yearning father—"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. Surely after I was turned, I repented; and after that I was instructed, I smote upon my thigh; I was ashamed, yea, even confounded, because I did bear the reproach of my youth. Is Ephraim my dear son? Is he a pleasant child? For since I spake against him, I do earnestly remember him still; therefore my bowels are troubled for him: I will surely have mercy upon him, saith the Lord."

23. Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flock, and look well (set thy heart, Marg.) to thy herds. 24. For riches are not for ever; and doth the crown endure to every generation? 25. The hay appeareth, and the tender grass sheweth itself, and herbs of the mountains are gathered. 26. The lambs are for thy clothing, and the goats are the price of the field. 27. And thou shalt have goats' milk enough for thy food, for the food of thy household, and for the maintenance of thy maidens.

'This declareth the great goodness of God towards man, and the diligence that he requireth of him for the preservation of his gifts.' It is a lively picture of the occupations, advantages, and responsibilities of rural life in olden days. It is specially appropriate to a nation, whose chief riches were, in its early origin, in pastures and flocks. Their father Jacob admirably exemplified this rule. He knew well the state of his flocks and herds—probably also their very faces. Even King David—mindful of his ancient interests—kept his flocks and herds under constant inspection. Uzziah also deemed a pastoral charge no degradation to his royal dignity.2 The rule inculcates personal attention. All should not be left to servants. The master's eye—like Boaz—should, as far as possible, overlook the work. Riches are a fickle possession. They would not be for ever. Even the crown might not endure to every generation. Native produce is more permanent wealth. Honest industry secures a more certain maintenance, springing up out of the earth, a more immediate gift of God.

The Bible is thus a directory for all the diversified employments of life. It teaches, that every man ought to have a business, and rebukes the neglect of practical everyday duties. God may be glorified by a single eye and purpose in every station; by the laborer, the farmer, the servant, no less than the master. We must "serve the Lord in fervency of spirit." But a part of this service is, that we be "not slothful in business."6 Indolence would make the cares of life an excuse for a low standard of religion. But to retire from their burden would be to neglect "serving the will of God in our generation; to "put our light under a bushel, instead of upon a candlestick," to cover it, instead of "letting it shine."8 Our own calling is the way of God for us; and in this way, let us commit ourselves to God, and be at peace. His Providence extends to little things, as well as to things of greater moment. Thus it becomes a balm for that cankering care, which is the bane of all godliness.

This picture also exhibits the fruits of industry as far preferable to those of ambition. The comparison with those, whose station places them beyond the need of labor, affords no matter for envy; much for thankfulness. The various produce of the field—the hay and grass in the pastures; the herbage on the mountains; the suitable clothing from the lambs; the goats paying the price of the field; the sufficiency of wholesome food for the household and maidens—all is the overflowing bounty of our gracious God. "How excellent is thy loving-kindness, O God!" Thus "man goeth forth unto his work and unto his labor until the evening," singing his song of praise—"O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches."13

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