m 
 
1- 
 
 Srom t^e feifirarj^ of 
 
 Q^equeaf^eb 6)? ^im to 
 f ^ &i6rari5 of 
 
 (princefon C^eofogicaf ^emindtjj 
 
 BV 210 .H333 1846 
 Hamilton, James, 1814-1867. 
 The mount of olives 
 
THE 
 
 MOUNT OF OLIVES, 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 LECTURES ON PRAYER. 
 
 BY T h;b^ 
 REV. JAMES HAMILTON. 
 
 NATIONAL SCOTCH CHXXBCH, EEGENT'S SQUARE. 
 
 Author of "Harp on the Willows," "Life in Earnest," &c. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 ROBERT CARTER, 58 CANAL-STREET. 
 
 PITTSBURGH : 56 MARKET-STREET, 
 
 1846, 
 
TO THE 
 
 KIRK SESSION AND CONGREGATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NATIONAL SCOTCH y:HURCH, 
 REGENT SQUARE. 
 
 My dear Friends. — Of all ministerial employments 
 — and some of them are exceedingly delightful — there 
 is none in which I am so happy, nor so sure that I am 
 profitably engaged, as when meditating over, and writing 
 down, the truths of the Bible for your benefit. These 
 sometimes come out to view with a vividness and beauty 
 which words cannot perpetuate, but still with a radiance 
 which, to my own memory, lingers on many texts, ana 
 has left an entrancement round days and places devoted 
 to their study. And just as I rejoice when a day of un- 
 invaded leisure secures some fresh materials for the 
 edification and comfort of that beloved people whose wel- 
 fare lies nearest my heart ; so I have sometimes had to 
 mourn when personal exhaustion, or stormy weather, or 
 some adverse incident on Sabbath, frustrated the medi- 
 tation of the week. There is the two-fold sadness, that 
 
IV 
 
 one's thoughts have perished, and that another opportu- 
 nity of doing good is gone for ever. 
 
 And yet the mere wish to preserve a fragment of these 
 Saturday musings would not be a sufficient reason for 
 printing them. I feel that something like the following 
 pages is a needful supplement to a tract with which you 
 are already acquainted.* Besetting as the sin of indo- 
 lence is, we shall find many persons diligent who are 
 not devout. Perhaps some of these may read this little 
 book, and, by the blessing of God, may see prayer in a 
 new light, and be lei themselves to practise it. 
 
 Except that in the third and seventh Lectures three 
 discourses have been condensed into one, and several 
 have been omitted altogether, I have not made many al- 
 terations. I thought it best to retain the sermonic style, 
 as well as the homely illustrations so hazardous in print. 
 
 This is not a treatise on prayer. Those who desire 
 something fuller and more systematic will find a variety 
 of excellent works already provided. None is more 
 comprehensive, or more enriched by Scriptural truth, 
 and extensive acquaintance with Christian literature, or 
 by its tone more calculated to awaken devotional feeling, 
 than the well-known treatise of my revered and beloved 
 friend Mr. Bickersteth. I lately read with much plea- 
 sure a small volume by Mr M'Gill, of Hightae, " Enter 
 into thy closet." It is judicious, systematic, and practi- 
 cal. For original and elevated sentiment, delicate ob- 
 servation, and experimental wisdom, conveyed in the 
 happiest style, we have few books comparable to Mr 
 Sheppard's " Thoughts on Private Devotion." 
 
 I have a friend, — many will know him when I say 
 that his large accomplishments and lofty mind intended 
 
 * Lifa iu Earnest. 
 
him for authorship, — but his unweariable benevolence 
 and consummate taste have hitherto kept him busy as 
 the referee and coadjutor of all his book-making acquain- 
 tance. When he discovered what I was about, he lent 
 me a manuscript volume of notes of the late Mr. Foster's 
 Lectures, — several of them on the subject of prayer. 
 Had there been room I should have quoted more freely 
 from them, in the hope that their gnarled vigour would 
 lend a strength and solidity to the text ; but this book is 
 already too long, and the notes are worthy of being printed 
 separately. And now that I am acknowledging obliga- 
 tions, I cannot refuse to my grateful feelings the satis- 
 faction, — and I hope he will not be angry at it, — of 
 mentioning how much I owe, in the way of suggesting 
 subjects and trains of thought to the conversations of 
 another friend, — one to whose eminent professional tal- 
 ents and personal kindness I owe numberless obligations, 
 and to whom I am indebted for my first acquaintance 
 with more than one field of theological authorship. 
 Amongst others, he induced me to read the writings of 
 Alexander Knox, — an author from whom I have, per- 
 haps, learned the more, all the rather that, in many 
 things, I am constrained to differ from him. 
 
 It would have made the course, — such as it is, — more 
 complete, had the Lecture on " Social and United Prayer" 
 been added. The especial blessing attached to consenta- 
 neous prayer is one peculiarity of the New Testament 
 dispensation, and its abundant exercise is a delightful 
 token of Christian vitality. This year is likely to be 
 ushered in with a larger amount of united supplications 
 than opened any year since the commencment of the 
 Christian era ; and I doubt not this agreement in prayer 
 is the harbinger of better days in the Church's history. 
 1* 
 
VI 
 
 Our own prayer-meeting on Monday evening has often 
 been a season of refreshing When conducted by our 
 brethren, the elders and deacons, it is the minister's 
 Sabbath, and, like yourselves, I have nothing to do but 
 to worship. And whenever I see a goodly attendance, 
 I am led to hope that the previous day has been a day of 
 profit, and that the remainder of the week will reap the 
 blessing of that prayerful hour. 
 
 My beloved hearers, amidst many misgivings occa- 
 sioned by want of time for revising it, I send this little 
 book to you. I know that you will receive it kindly for 
 the truth's sake and for the author's sake ; and, as it is, 
 I am glad to think that you have in this more permanent 
 form, and with all your friendly prepossessions, words 
 which were some of them spoken in weakness, but 
 which, even when dead, I should still desire to speak. 
 Should you derive any profit from perusing them, — 
 *' Brethren, pray for us." 
 
 Ever most affectionately yours, 
 
 JAMES HAMILTON. 
 
 January 1, 1846. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LECTURE I. 
 
 THE MOUNT OF OLIVES. 
 
 Mountains of Scripture. Olivet. The Saviour's 
 Compassion. The Agony in Gethsemane. The 
 Saviour's Example in Prayer. Submission. Per- 
 severance. Preparation for suffering. The Sa- 
 viour's Love to his Own .... Page 11 
 
 LECTURE n. 
 
 THE PARTING PROMISE AND THE PRESENT SAVIOUR 
 
 Climbing Plants. The Tree of Life. Reasons why 
 Men do not love the Lord Jesus. The Saviour 
 neither dead, nor distant, nor different from what 
 he was. Christ ever present with his people. 
 His presence sanctifying and sustaining. Paul 
 and Nero. Christ's presence comforting. The 
 Short Journey. Bunyan in Prison, and Ruther- 
 ford in banishment. The Infant Dreamer. " For 
 ever with the Lord." . . . Page 25 
 
Vm CONTENTS, 
 
 LECTURE III. 
 
 THE HEARER OF PRAYER. THE INTERCESSOR ABOVE 
 THE PROMPTER WITHIN. 
 
 Prayer has actual Power. The Petitionless Prayer. 
 The Efficacy of Prayer revealed. It is Matter 
 of Fact. A priori Objections irrelevant. The 
 Declarations of God himself. The Saviour's 
 Testimony. Instances of answered Prayer. New- 
 ton's Experience. The Inhabitant of Jupiter, 
 and the Husbandman. God is the Hearer of 
 Prayer, for he is the Living God, the Almighty, 
 and the God of Love. The Mediation of Christ. 
 The Work of the Spirit. Guilt on the Conscience. 
 Dull Perception. The Dog and the Naturalist. 
 Cold Affections. The Intermitting Fountain. 
 The Disposition to ask Wrong Things, and to ask 
 Right Things in a Wrong Way, . . Page 44 
 
 LECTURE IV. 
 
 THE PRIVILEGE OF PRAYER. 
 
 Athenian Curiosity. A Supposition. Another. 
 Affliction. The Shipwrecked Mariner. Per- 
 plexity. Mentor. Solomon's request. The 
 Important undertaking. The Warrior and the 
 broken Buckle. Henry IV. Michael Angelo. 
 The Spiritual Inquirer. The Blind 'Man of 
 'jBethsaida Page 70 
 
CONTENTS.. . U 
 
 LECTURE V. 
 
 THE OPEN REWARD OF SECRET PRAYER 
 
 The Closet. Abraham. Isaac. David. Corne- 
 lius. John Welsh. Peden. The stated Place. 
 The secret Reward. Jacob at Jabbok. The 
 Talisman. Presence of Mind. Nehemiah. Boer- 
 haave. Spirituality. The Smell of the Ivory 
 Palace. The open Reward of the great Day. 
 Prayers self-registering .... Page 90 
 
 LECTURE VI. 
 
 REASONS WHY PRAYER IS NOT ANSWERED. 
 
 The blank Petition. The wrong Channel. The 
 Serpent asked. The wrong Motive. The Prayer 
 countermanded by the contrary Sin. Unbelief. 
 The Answer comes unawares . . . Page 104 
 
 LECTURE VII 
 
 CONFESSION, ADORATION, AND THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Confession. Remorse and Silence. The Psalmist. 
 Sullenness. Callou.sness The Fountain opened. 
 The Scape-Goat. — Adoration. The bestowment 
 of the Affections. Platonism. Mysticism. As- 
 ceticism. Christianity. Refuge and Solace in the 
 Divine Perfections. — Thanksgiving. Interposi- 
 tions. The best Gifts. Joseph AUeine. The 
 joyful Life ... . . Page 114 
 
C ONTE NTS. 
 
 LECTURE VIII 
 
 BIBLE INSTANCES. 
 
 History. Enoch. Moses. David. Matthew. Henry 
 Cornelius Winter. Bishop Heber. Dr. Williams. 
 Count Zinzendorf. S. Pearce. President Ed- 
 wards. Daniel. A Praying Atmosphere. The 
 Diving Water Spider . . . Page 134 
 
 LECTURE IX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 What is Prayer ? Communion with God. Peace 
 and Joy. Exotic blessings. The Branch run- 
 ning over the Wall. Intercession. M. J. 
 Grahame . . Page 149 
 
LECTURE I. 
 
 THE MOUNT OF OLIVES, 
 
 " And he went, as he was wont, to the Mount of 
 Olives." — LiTKE xxii. 39. 
 
 The mountains are Nature's monuments. 
 Like the islands they dwell apart, and like them 
 they give asylum from a noisy and irreverent 
 world. Many a meditative spirit has found in 
 their silence leisure for the longest thought, and 
 in their Paimos-like seclusion the brightest vi- 
 sions and largest projects have evolved ; whilst 
 by a sort of over-mastering attraction, they have 
 usually drawn to themselves the most memorable 
 incidents which variegate our human history. 
 And, as they are the natural haunts of the high- 
 est spirits, and the appropriate scenes of the most 
 signal occurrences, so they are the noblest ceno- 
 taphs. Afar off they arrest the eye ; and though 
 their hoary chronicle tells its legend of the past, 
 their heaven-pointing elevations convey the spirit 
 onward towards eternity. We do not wonder 
 that excited fancy has sought relics of the ark on 
 the top of Ararat, and in the grim solitude of 
 Sinai it is solemn to remember and easy to be- 
 lieve that the voice of Jehovah has spoken here. 
 
12 
 
 LECTURE I 
 
 Elijah has made C^RMEL all his owe, -and the 
 death of Moses must be ever Pisgah's diadem. 
 The words of Jesus seem still to linger on the 
 hills of Galilee, their lilies forbidding " thought 
 lor raiment," and their twittering little birds " no 
 tnought for to-morrow," whilst every grassy tuft 
 and scented flower is breathing its own beatitude. 
 But though heavenly wisdom spake on that 
 mountain-side, and excellent glory lighted up the 
 top of Tabor, there is another height to which 
 discipleship reverts with fonder memory, and 
 which it treads with softer step — that mountain 
 where beyoiid any spot in Palestine " God was 
 manifest in flesh" — where the great Intercessor 
 w^as wont to pray, where Jesus wept over Jeru- 
 salem, on whose slopes he blessed the Apostle- 
 band, and sent his message of mercy to mankind 
 — the mountain at whose base lay Bethany and 
 Gethsemane — on whose gentle turf his feet last 
 stood, and where they yet may stand again — the 
 Sabbatic, pensive, and expectant Mount of 
 Olives. 
 
 Round this Incarnation-monument let our 
 thoughts this day revolve. To learn the mind 
 w^hich was in Christ, and so the mind which is 
 in God, let us confine our view to that little spot 
 and ponder those scenes in the Saviour's history 
 and those words in the Saviour's ministry of 
 which the theatre was Olivet. And whilst we 
 do this for purposes of general piety, to get ma- 
 terials for our faith and love, let us, as the best 
 introduction to a few discourses on Prayer, keep 
 an especial eye to the suppliant Saviour. That 
 we may know the Intercessor above, there is no 
 
LECTUREI. 13 
 
 way so excellent as to get acquainted with that 
 same Jesus while he sojourned here below. 
 
 1. Olivet reminds us of the Saviour's pity for 
 such as perish. It was a pleasant evening in 
 spring, and the Holy Land looked happy. The 
 rapid verdure — the bright blush of the pomegra- 
 nate, and the tender scent of the budding vines — 
 the nestling dove in her murmuring joy, and the 
 colt and lamb in their crazy gambols — all felt the 
 gush of vernal glee. And people felt it. It was 
 the sundy paschal tide, and the waysides re- 
 sounded with shouting pilgrims on their journey 
 to Jerusalem. From Hermon to Zion it was one 
 long stream of music and merry hearts, and even 
 round the Man of Sorrows it looked like a dawn 
 of joy. They seem at last to guess his mission 
 and suspect his glory. They are conducting him 
 in triumph. They are rending down the palm- 
 branches and cleaving the welkin with their 
 shouts, " Hosannah to the Son of David," and 
 proud is he on whose mantle the pacing colt of 
 their new monarch sets his elated foot. — But why 
 this solemn pause ? this slackened gait, this quiv- 
 ering lip, this tearful eye ? Jerusalem is full in 
 sight — straight over yon narrow vale, so near that 
 you may count each stone of the glistening tem- 
 ple, and catch from the teeming streets this even- 
 ing's tune of mingled sfladness. Is it not a 
 goodly sight ? yon gorgeous fane, the true Jeho- 
 vah's sanctuary, yon crowding population — God's 
 ancient people — and more than all, the thought 
 of happy meetings and blessed homes on which 
 this evening's sun will set? But the Saviour 
 5aw another crowd, and heard another shout. 
 2 
 
14 LECTUREl. 
 
 Through the darkened noon he saw the erected 
 cross, and round it heard the frantic mob ex- 
 claiming, " Away with him, away with him — 
 Crucify him, crucify him — His blood be on us 
 and our children." The Saviour saw another 
 sight. Across the gulf of forty years he looked 
 as clearly as then he looked across the valley of 
 Jehoshaphat, and saw the dismal prayer fulfilled. 
 He saw another passover,and another multitude, 
 and another evening like this — but saw that there 
 should never be the like again. He beheld the 
 Roman eagle swoop down on his quarry, and in 
 the straitness of that siege saw things from which 
 the piteous soul of Immanuel shrunk away. He 
 saw another sight. He saw these goodly stones 
 all tumbled down, and barley growing in silent 
 fields where now so many footsteps nimbly trip- 
 ped it — no temple, no ephod, no priest, no passo- 
 ver. And, oh ! he saw yet another sight. He 
 saw another world, and in its sullen gloom and 
 endless weeping recognized many a one whose 
 beaming face and sparkling eye lit up that even- 
 ing's festival. As if already in the place of woe 
 he looked on many round him ; and though their 
 voices were that moment merry and shouting in 
 his train, he knew that they would despise his 
 blood and hate his Heavenly Father, and their 
 present mirth made Jesus weep the more. " He 
 beheld the city, and wept over it, saying. If thou 
 hadst known, even thou, in this thy day, the 
 things which belong unto thy peace I but now 
 they are hid from thine eyes." 
 
 Every tear that Jesus wept is a mystery, and 
 this solemn incident ia the Redeemer's history 
 
LECTUREI. 15 
 
 no one can entirely explain. But, my dear 
 friends, it teaches this awful lesson — that' some 
 may share a Saviour's tears who never profit by 
 a Saviour's blood. It shows that his pity for 
 sinners is far beyond their pity for themselves. 
 O Chrislless sinner ! these tears of the Saviour 
 speak to thee. They ask, Do you know to what 
 a hell you are going, and what a heaven you are 
 losing ? You may be merry now — but so was 
 Jerusalem then — and yet its mirth made Jesus 
 weep the more. You may be light-hearted and 
 lovely to your friends — and so were many of 
 those whose ungodly souls and dark hereafter 
 made Jesus weep. You may be in the midst of 
 mercy and surrounded with the means of grace 
 — and so were they; but mercy so near them and 
 grace rejected only made the Saviour's tears flow 
 faster. " Would that thou hadst known in this 
 thy day, the things that belong to thy peace." 
 And you may have even some interest about the 
 Saviour. Under some erroneous impression, or 
 on a holiday triumph, you may join the jubilant 
 company and shout Hosannah — but oh ! if you 
 despise his blood or join the world that crucifies 
 him, you are one of those whose cup of wrath 
 will only be embittered by a pitying Saviour's 
 slighted tears. You who never come to a com- 
 munion — you who have never got such faith in 
 a dying Saviour, or such love to him as to do 
 this in remembrance of him — you who do noth- 
 ing to identify yourselves with the Nazarene — 
 the Crucified, — whose zeal is all expended on the 
 road from Jericho to Jerusalem — who never fol- 
 low to the guest-chamber, to Gethsemane, to the 
 
16 
 
 LECTURE I. 
 
 cross, ^to the tomb, and back into a scorning world 
 — you who are not moved by a Saviour's blood, 
 will you not be melted by a Saviour's tear ? 
 That tear fell from an eye which had looked into 
 eternity, and knew the worth of souls. It fell 
 from an eye which was not used to weep for 
 nothing, and which must have seen something 
 very sad before it wept at all. It fell from an 
 eye which, sinner ! would glisten with ecstasy 
 if it saw thy dry lids moistening and thy dry 
 heart melting — an eye which would sparkle in 
 affection over thee if it saw thee weeping for thy- 
 self, and weeping for the pierced One. 
 
 2. The Mount of Olives reminds us of the 
 Eedeemer's agony to save. At the fool of the 
 mountain, and between two paths, both of which 
 lead over the hill to Bethany, is a little enclosure 
 called Gethsemane."^ To this day it contains 
 some singularly large and very ancient olive- 
 trees. Being on the way-side to Bethany, and 
 at a convenient distance from the noise and in- 
 terruption of Jerusalem, " Jesus ofttimes resorted 
 thither with his disciples;" and when he crossed 
 the brook and got in, either alone or with his 
 little company, under the soft shelter of the olive 
 branches, and the city gates were closed, and no 
 footfall was heard on either path, he enjoyed 
 " communion high and sweet " w4th his Hea- 
 venly Father. And this holy fellowship en- 
 deared the place. It was not the dewy stillness 
 — though that was welcome at the close of the 
 jaded day, — nor the sweet moonlight, and the 
 
 * See Narrative of a Mission to the Jews, by Messrs. 
 Bonar and M'Chejne, chap. 3. 
 
LECTUREI. 17 
 
 gentle fall of tiny flakes from the blossomino- 
 trees, and the murmur of the brook, and the song 
 of evenmg birds — though, after the rousrh jeering 
 and blasphemy of men, the inarticulate^music of 
 the loyal universe was thrice welcome to the Sa- 
 viour's ear ; but because in that seclusion He and 
 the Father were alone together. Intercourse 
 such as he enjoyed while as yet in the Father's 
 bosom he tasted here, and it so gladdened and 
 strengthened his soul that he ofitimes resorted 
 thither. Others would go home to sleep, but 
 Jesus would go here to pray. Ever}' man went, 
 at evening, to his own place ; but Jesus " went 
 to the Mount of Olives."* And, as it had been 
 the scene of his highest delights, he selected it 
 as the fittest place for his deepest sorrow. The 
 Son of Man had no dwelling of his own ; but 
 Gethsemane was the Saviour's " closet.'""^ It 
 was there that, in secret, he had so often prayed 
 to his Father ; and as the memory of blessed 
 moments, and the sunshine of heaven opened, 
 rested on it. now that grief was near, he, as it 
 were, entered into it and shut to the door. But 
 oh ! how changed I 'Tis no longer the same 
 Gethsemane. All his days of flesh the Surety 
 had been bearing his people's sin, and at all 
 times carrying in his bosom the vial of indiana- 
 tion due to their sin. But it was not wrath 
 poured out ; it was wrath in a vial. Now, how- 
 ever, the vial burst, and his inmost soul was 
 drenched in its burning fury. He was sore 
 amazed. To be made ''a curse" was a new 
 thing to Immanuel. To be brought into such 
 
 * John vii. 53 ; viii. 1. * Matt. vi. 6. 
 
 2# 
 
18 LECTUREI. 
 
 horrid contact with the thing which his soul 
 hated — to be numbered with transgressors, and 
 to bear the sin of many — was a strange and ap- 
 palling thing to the Holy One of God. He was 
 sore amazed ! A cup was put into his harmless 
 hand ; and, as he gazed at this cup of trembling, 
 it was not the sharp anguish of the flesh, nor the 
 taunts of ruffian men, nor the malignity of hide- 
 ous fiends, — but it was guilt which made its bit- 
 ter dregs and the Father's wrath its flaming 
 overflow. And though his hand was too gentle 
 and filial to fling that cup away, separateness 
 from sin, and the joyful sense of his Father's 
 love, were to Jesus dearer than life ; and though 
 his omnipotent hand still clasped the cup, his 
 holy soul revolted from it, and in ecstasy of pain 
 — in the agony of a bloody sweat — he prayed 
 that it might pass from him. But had he not 
 drunk it, that cup must have journeyed on, and 
 all his people, in a lost eternity, must have drunk 
 it for themselves ; and though the fainting flesh 
 prompted him to let it pass, and the hatred of the 
 accursed thing, and the instinct after the Father's 
 smile, seconded the prayer of the feeble flesh, 
 love to man still held it fast, and love to the Fa- 
 ther enabled him to drink it all. And when at 
 last, from its paroxysm of woe, he wakened up 
 in the strengthening angel's arms, the work was 
 well-nigh done, justice was all but satisfied, and 
 the Church all but saved; and, for the joy so 
 much nearer now, the cross had no terror and 
 the sepulchre no gloom ; and, now that the bit- 
 terness of death was past, Judas and his torch-lit 
 band could not come too quickly. 
 
LECTUREI. 19 
 
 Oh, what wonders love hath done ! 
 
 But ho^ little understood ! 
 God well knows, and God alone, 
 
 What produc'd that sweat of blood : 
 Who can thy deep wonders see, 
 Wonderful Gethsemane ! 
 
 There my God bore all my guilt : 
 This through grace can be believed : 
 
 But the horrors which he felt, 
 Are too vast to be conceived : 
 
 None can penetrate through thee, 
 
 Doleful, dark Gethsemane !* 
 
 8. The Mount of Olives is identified with the 
 supplications and intercessions of Immanuel, and 
 so suggests to us the Lord Jesus as the great ex- 
 ample in prayer. The supplications which 
 ascended on those solitary nights, when, of his 
 people, there was none with him, sur'^ive in no 
 human record ; yet, doubtless, to the end of time 
 our world will be indebted to the lonely hours 
 when the Man of Sorrows watched and prayed 
 upon the Mount of Olives. The petitions offered 
 in Gethsemane the pen of Inspiration has pre- 
 served ; and the seventeenth of John records a 
 long and fervent prayer offered, in all likehhood, 
 in some calm spot near the same venerable moun- 
 tain's base. In these supplications the heavenly 
 High Priest w^as not only his people's mediator 
 and intercessor, but their model and their guide. 
 And from these we learn — 
 
 (1.) Submission in prayer. In praying for his 
 people, the Mediator's prayer was absolute : 
 " Father, / wiliy But in praying for himself, 
 
 * Hart's Hymns. 
 
20 LECrUREI. 
 
 how altered was the language ! , " Father, if it 
 be possible, let this cup pass from me : neverthe- 
 less, not as I will, but as thou wilt.' " Now is 
 my soul troubled, and what shall I say ? Fa- 
 ther, save me from this hour ; but for this cause 
 came I unto this hour. Father, glorify thy 
 name." 
 
 (2.) Perseverance in prayer. The Evangel- 
 ist"^ tells that there was one prayer which Jesus 
 offered three times, and from the Epistle to the 
 Hebrews we find that this prayer prevailed.! 
 Although the more palpable sufferings did not 
 pass away, the more exquisite and inward an- 
 guish, which made his soul exceedinc: sorrowful 
 even unto death, did pass away. In answer to 
 his " strong crying and tears," he was saved from 
 this deadly and soul-crushing grief. 
 
 (3.) The best preparation for trial is habitual 
 prayer. Long before it became the scene of his 
 agony, Gethsemane had been the Saviour's 
 oratory. " He ofltimes resorted thither." But 
 when the hour of darkness came, and he trod the 
 wine-press alone, he found that even He had not 
 been there too often. And, brethren, it will be 
 the best preparation for your own days of dark- 
 ness and scenes of trial, to resort ofttimes thither 
 in anticipatory prayer. Days of bodily weak- 
 ness or sad bereavement will come abated, and 
 the day of death will come less startling, if in 
 prayer you have oft repaired to it beforehand, and 
 bespoken almighty help against its time of need. 
 
 4. The Mount of Olives recalls to us the Sa- 
 viour's affectio7i for his own. I fear that the 
 
 ♦ Matt. xxvi. 44. f Heb. v. 7. 
 
LECTUREI. 21 
 
 love of Christ is little credited even by those who 
 have some faith in his finished work, and some 
 attachment to his liviiifr person. There are sev- 
 eral relations which link souls on earth together, 
 and the affection, the instinct of endearment cre- 
 ated by that relation is in some instances in- 
 tensely strong ; but, O disciple ! do you believe 
 that your Saviour's love is stronger? A brother 
 knows how he loves his brother — but their love 
 to one another will not explain a Saviour's love 
 to them — for Jesus is " a friend who sticketh 
 closer than a brother ;" a friend whose love will 
 stand severer shocks and enter into finer feelings. 
 A mother knows how she loves the infant in her 
 arms, how little she would grudge the hours 
 spent in watching' his feverish slumber, and the 
 health she lost in restoring his ; but that will not 
 tell her how a Saviour loves his own. She may 
 forget, but Jesus will not forget his ransomed. 
 And in regard to the most sacred of all relations, 
 the Bible says, " Husbands, love your wives, 
 even as Christ also loved the Church, and gave 
 himself for it, that he might sanctify it." Not 
 that it is possible to have the same high and self- 
 devoting and transforming love ; but the nearer 
 approach to it the nearer a perfect affection. But 
 though the Word of God employs these three 
 comparisons to shadow forth the Saviour's feel- 
 ing towards his own, the labouring words and 
 disappointed metaphors leave us to infer that 
 there is something in the heart of Immanuel to- 
 wards his people — something more specific — 
 more . solicitous — more bent on their happiness 
 and more bound up in their holiness — more ten- 
 
22 LECTUREI. 
 
 der and more transforming than anything which 
 the dim affections and drossy emotions of earth 
 can rightly represent. Oh, disciple I do yoa 
 credit this ? Have you not been rather wont to 
 regard yourself as occupying in the Saviour's 
 mind such a place as a star in the firmament, or 
 a symbol in a formula, or a leaf in the forest, or 
 at best a sheep in the uncounted fold ? If these 
 be your notions go back to Olivet. Hear the Di- 
 vine Intercessor at its foot exclaiming, " Neither 
 pray I for these alone, but for all who shall here- 
 after believe through their word ;" and hear him 
 promising, ere his feet sunder from its grassy 
 slopes, " And lo, I am with you alway, even to 
 the end of the world ;" and recollect that he who 
 prayed thus and who promised thus is He to 
 whom " all power is given in heaven and in 
 earth " — the Alpha and Omega, who is, and was, 
 and is to come — the Almighty. Remember that 
 in his comprehensive eye you as truly had a 
 place as Peter and John, and in his all-sufficient 
 love you have a place as specific if not as large 
 as they. You are one of those over whom he 
 stretched his uplifted hands, and pronounced his 
 parting blessing. You are one of those to whom 
 he has promised another Comforter, and whom 
 he has engaged to be with alway ; and though 
 formal teaching may forget it, and your own cold 
 heart may contradict it, if you belong to Christ at 
 all, however much you may be prized and cher- 
 ished by some around j-ou, there is One unseen 
 who loves you more, and who having loved you 
 from the first will love you to the end. 
 
 Except his bodily absence, there is no altera- 
 
LECTUREI. 23 
 
 tion in the Friend of Sinners. It was ineffable 
 love to the souls of men that brought him to the 
 manger, and that love was nothing less when he 
 hasted to Jerusalem, impatient for the cross. 
 The bloody sweat of Gethsemane did not ex- 
 haust that love — the desertion of disciples did 
 not damp it, and the soldiers' buffeting and the 
 rabble's shouts did not disgust it. It was love to 
 men, which in the ransomed thief for a moment 
 brightened his dying hour, which gave him 
 breath to cry, " Father, forgive them," and 
 strength to bow the head and give up the ghost. 
 Love to man was the last thing which left the 
 heart of Jesus, and the first thing that throbbed 
 in it when it was a living heart again. The 
 darkness of Golgotha had not eclipsed it, nor in 
 Joseph's sepulchre had the tomb-damp tarnished 
 it. No sooner was he risen indeed, than this 
 love glowed ao-ain so fervent that that resurrec- 
 tion evening it made two faithful hearts on their 
 way to Emmaus burn within them, and after 
 lighting up one little company after another for 
 forty days, in a burst of concentrated kindness, 
 in a blaze of final blessing it vanished from them 
 into heaven. And in the same manner as they 
 saw him go, we shall see him come ; the same 
 mighty yet benignant Saviour, as full of grace 
 when he returns the Man of Joys as when he 
 first and for ever ceased to be the Man of Sor- 
 rows. And, oh ! brethren, do you learn it — do 
 you believe it. Let the Mount of Olives be your 
 incarnation monument. Let the road from Jeri- 
 cho be the record of a Saviour's pity. Let 
 Gethsemane be the measure of a Saviour's de- 
 
24 LECTUREII. 
 
 sire for souls, and let Bethany be the token how 
 much he loves his own ; and like the men of 
 Galilee, let the last and habitual aspect of the 
 Saviour be that look which lingered on their 
 memory till one by one they passed away to see 
 him as he is — that look w'hich spake more love 
 than even his melodious blessing, and which, 
 after the cloud had closed him from their view, 
 made them loath to quit the Mount of Olives. 
 
LECTURE II. 
 
 THE PARTING PROMISE, AND THE PRESENT 
 SAVIOUR. 
 
 " And, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of 
 the world." — Matt, xxviii. 20. 
 
 There are some plants which, grow right up 
 — erect in their own sturdy self-sufficiency, and 
 there are some feeble ones which take hold with 
 their hands and clasp and climb. The soul of 
 man is like these last. Even in his best estate 
 he was not meant to grow insulated and stand 
 alone. He is not strong enough for that. He 
 has not within himself resources sufficient to fill 
 himself. He is not fit to be his own all-in-all. 
 The make of his mind is an out-going, exploring, 
 petitionary make. The soul of man is a clasp- 
 ing, clinging soul, seeking to something over 
 which it can spread itself, and by means of which 
 it can support itself. And just as in a neglected 
 garden you may see the poor creepers making 
 shift to sustain themselves as best they can ; one 
 convolvolus twisting round another, and both 
 draggling on the ground ; a clematis leaning on 
 the door which will bye and bye open and let the 
 whole mass fall down ; a vine or a passion-flower 
 wreathing round a prop which all the while is 
 3 
 
26 L E C T TJ R E I I . 
 
 poisoning it • so in this fallen world it is mourn- 
 ful to see the efforts which human souls are mak- 
 ing- to get some efficient object to lean upon and 
 twine around. One clasps a glittering prop, and 
 it poisons him. The love of money blasts his 
 soul, and it hangs round its self-chosen stay a 
 blighted, withered thing. Another spreads him- 
 self more amply over a broad surface of creature- 
 comfort, — a snug dwelling, and a well-furnished 
 library, and a pleasant neighbourhood, with the 
 command of everything that heart can wish, and 
 a steady income buy, — but death opens the door, 
 and, with nothing bat vacancy to lean upon, he 
 falls over on the other side all helpless and de- 
 jected. And a still greater number, groping 
 about along the ground, clutch to one another, 
 and intertwine their tendrils mutually, and by 
 forming friendships and congenial intimacies, and 
 close relations, try to satisfy their leaning loving 
 nature in this way. But it answers little end. 
 The make of man's soul is upward, and one 
 climber cannot lift another off the ground. And 
 the growth of man's soul is luxuriant, and that 
 growth must be stifled, checked and scanty, if he 
 have no larger space over which to diffuse his 
 aspirations, his affections, and his efforts, than the 
 surface of a fellow-creature's soul. But, w^edy 
 as this world-garden is, the Tree of Life still 
 grows in the midst of it, — erect in his own omni- 
 potent self-sufficiency, and inviting every weary 
 straggling soul to lay hold of his everlasting 
 strength, and expatiate upwards along the infinite 
 ramifications of his endless excellencies and all- 
 inviting love. 
 
I. E C T U R E 1 1 . 27 
 
 God has formed the soul of man of a leaning, 
 dependant make ; and for the healthy growth 
 and joyful development of that soul, it is essen- 
 tial that he should have some object far higher 
 and nobler than himself to dispread his desires 
 and delights upon. That object is revealed in 
 the Gospel. That object is Immanuel. His 
 divinity is the Almighty prop — able to sustain the 
 adhering soul, so that it shall never perish nor 
 come into condemnation — the omnipotent support 
 which bears the clinging spirit loftily and secure- 
 ly, so that the whirling temptations which vex it 
 cannot rend it from the Tree of Life, and that the 
 muddy plash, which soils and beats into the earth 
 its sprawling neighbours, cannot tarnish the ver- 
 dant serenity and limpid glories of its flowering 
 head. And just as his divine strength is the 
 omnipotent prop of the adhering soul, so his di- 
 vine resources and his human sympathy make 
 him the all-sufficient object, over which each 
 emotion and each desire of regenerate humanity 
 may boundlessly diffuse itself. And however 
 delicate your feelings, however eager your affec- 
 tions, and however multitudinous the necessities 
 of your intricate nature, there is that in this 
 Heavenly Friend which meets them every one. 
 There are in his unimaginable compassions, and 
 in his benignant fellow-feelings, holds sufficient 
 for every craving tendril and eager clasper of the 
 human heart, to fix upon and wreath around. 
 
 This is what the Gospel does. It just offers 
 you a friend, who can both save and satisfy your 
 soul. Jesus, the Son of God, God manifest in 
 flesh, Immanuel, the Gospel offers this Friend to 
 
28 LECTUREII. 
 
 you — not more tender than he is holy, not more 
 divine than he is human. Instead of clutching 
 to props which cannot elevate you, or if they do 
 bear you up for a moment, must soon be with- 
 drawn again, — the Gospel bids you grow against 
 the Tree of Life, and just as you grow up into 
 Christ, you will grow up into holiness and into 
 happiness. And if you have not yet found an 
 object to your heart's content, — if you feel that 
 there is still something wrong with you, — that 
 you are neither leading the life which you would, 
 like to lead, nor enjoying the comfort which you 
 think might be somehow got ; be advised. Take 
 the Lord Jesus for your friend. He is one in 
 whom you will find no flaw. He is one of whom, 
 — if you really get acquainted with him, — you 
 will never weary ; and one, who, if once you 
 really go to Him, will never weary of you. He 
 is a friend of whom no one had ever reason to 
 complain — a friend who has done so much for 
 you already, that he would have done enough 
 even though he were never to do any more, but 
 who is so generous, that his thoughts are all oc- 
 cupied with the great things he designs to do, — 
 a friend who is singularly kind and considerate, 
 for " he sticketh closer than a brother," — a friend 
 who does not vary, " for he is the same yester- 
 day, to-day, and for ever," — and, best of all, a 
 friend who is never far away, for " Lo, I am with 
 you alway." 
 
 My dear friends, — There are many reasons 
 why men do not love the Lord Jesus. Some 
 feel no need of him. They understand that he 
 is a Saviour ; but a SaV'our is vvhat they do not 
 
LECTUREII. 29 
 
 desire. Others have no congeniality with him. 
 They ui derstand that his character is divine — 
 that his love of holiness is as intense as his hatred 
 of iniquity, — and as they love the world, and 
 love their own way, and love the pleasures of sin, 
 they feel that they cannot love the Lord Jesus. 
 But the hearts of some towards Christ are cold 
 for other reasons. Their conceptions regarding 
 him are sufficiently vague and dim ; but so far 
 as they can be reduced to anything definite, we 
 might say that they do not love the Lord Jesus, 
 because they habitually think of Him as a dead 
 Saviour, or a Saviour different from what he 
 was, or a distant Saviour — a Saviour far away. 
 L Some look on the Lord Jesus as dead. 
 They read his history as of one who lived long 
 ago, but who is not living now. They read 
 Matthew's narrative, or John's, and they are in- 
 terested — for the moment moved. They feel that 
 these words are very beautiful — that this stroke 
 of kindness or tenderness was very touching — 
 that that interposition was very surprising. They 
 feel that the whole history of Jesus of Nazareth 
 is very affecting; and, just as they may have 
 wept at the death of Socrates, or when they read 
 the martyrdom of the saints at Lyons, so they 
 may have felt for him who had not the fox's 
 hole — they may have wept when they saw the 
 son of Mary hanging on the tree. And, if they 
 were visiting Palestine, they might linger over 
 many a silent spot with a solemn impression. 
 " Is this the grassy mount where he preached 
 that sermon ? Yon lake, rippling round its pebbly 
 margin, is it the one he so often crossed ? and 
 3^ 
 
30 LECTUREII. 
 
 are these the very rocks which echoed the strong 
 crying of his midnight prayers ?" But there they 
 feel as if it ended. They look on it all as a tale 
 that is past. They take for granted that it all 
 closed on Calvary — that the cross was the con- 
 clusion of that Hfe — the most wonderful life that 
 the world ever saw — but still its conclusion. To 
 them Christ is dead, not living ; and therefore no 
 wonder that they do not love him. You may 
 revere the character of those long ago departed ; 
 but love is an affection reserved for the living. 
 You will only love the Lord Jesus when you 
 come to believe in him as a living Saviour — one 
 who once was dead, but who, once dead, dieth 
 no more. Jesus lives. He was not more alive 
 when he sat at Jacob's well than he is alive this 
 moment.. He was not more alive when he poured 
 the water into the basin and washed their feet — 
 not more alive when he took the cup and made 
 a beginning of the Remembrance-feast — not more 
 alive when he rose from table and sang the part- 
 ing hymn, and went out among them to the 
 Mount of Olives, than he is living now. The 
 Lord Jesus lives. He is alive for evermore. 
 
 IL Some do not love the Lord Jesus because 
 they look on him as an altered Saviour — as differ- 
 ent now from what he once was. Earthly friends 
 are apt to change, and if they do not change, they 
 die. When a visitor comes from a foreign land 
 where you once sojourned, you ask eagerly about 
 the different acquaintances you once had there. 
 "And did you see such a one?" "Yes; but you 
 would not know him, he is so greatly altered." 
 " Did he remember me ?" " Well, I rather think 
 
LECTUREII. 31 
 
 he was asking for you, but I cannot be very sure. 
 He has got other things to occupy his thoughts 
 since you and he were wont to meet." " And 
 what of such another ?" " Ah, times are sadly 
 changed with him. You would be sorry to see 
 him now. I believe he has the same kind heart 
 as ever ; but he has not in his power to show it 
 as he used to do." " And our old neighbour, 
 who lived next door ?" " Your old neighbour ? 
 dear good man, he is safe in Abraham's bosom. 
 I found his house shut up, and all his family 
 gone away." And it is very seldom, after years 
 of absence, that you hear of one whose outward 
 circumstances are nowise different from what 
 they were, and rarer still to hear of one whose 
 dispositions are quite unchanged. 
 
 However, One there is who wears our nature, 
 but is not liable to the variations of mortality. 
 " Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and 
 for ever." The concurring testimony of those 
 who have seen him from time to time, along a 
 reach of some thousand years, goes to prove that 
 the Alpha and Omega, the friend of sinners, can- 
 not change. He who talked with our first pa- 
 rents in the cool of the day is the same holy yet 
 condescending one that he ever was, and loveth 
 righteousness, and hateth iniquity, as much as 
 when the first sinners ran away from his pure 
 and sin-repelling presence. The heavenly high 
 priest is still as accessible to prayer, and as ready 
 to yield to his people's entreaty, as when he six 
 times conceded to Abraham's intercession. The 
 God of Bethel is still the faithful keeper of his 
 people and their families as when he heard Jacob 
 
32 LECTUREII. 
 
 in the day of his distress, and was with him in 
 the way which he went.^ And anything which 
 has been heard of him since he went back to his 
 glory, goes to prove that he is the same Saviour 
 now as during the continuous years he sojourned 
 with us. 
 
 It is true, there are some circumstantial differ- 
 ences, but no intrinsic change. There is more 
 of the oil of gladness on him than when the Fa- 
 ther first anointed him, and crowns are on his 
 head which have been planted there since the 
 work givlen him to do was finished. His satis- 
 factions are fuller, as he continues to see the 
 travail of his soul ; and, doubtless, there are out- 
 bursts of his glory yet to come, more dazzling 
 than any which have yet astonished heaven. 
 But still the mind of the Lord Jesus is the same 
 as it ever was ; and when the last saint sits down 
 beside him on his throne — when the fulness of 
 " It is finished " comes to be understood, and 
 word is brought to the many mansions that death 
 is dead, and that time is now no more — the re- 
 deemed, as they bow beneath that exceeding 
 gloiy, will feel that it is still the glory of the 
 Lamb that was slain — the glory of the friend who 
 sticketh closer than a brother. 
 
 III. But the feelings of others towards the 
 Lord Jesus are vague and comfortless, because 
 they think of him as a distant Saviour — a Saviour 
 far away. The Lord Jesus is omnipresent. He 
 is not far from any one of us. His flame- 
 bright eye follows the Sabbath-breaker through 
 the fields, and is on the drunkard as he reels into 
 
 * Gen. XXXV. 3. 
 
LECTUREII. 33 
 
 the tavern. It reads the thought of tlie liar as 
 he forges his falsehood, and looks through and 
 through that heart which is full of its corrupt 
 imaginings. It notices the worldly professor at 
 the communion-table, and sees the unbeliever 
 tumbling, night after night, into his prayerless 
 bed. But though the Lord Jesus be everywhere 
 present, he is present with his own people in a 
 peculiar relation. He is with them as a Saviour, 
 a shepherd, a friend. His divine presence fills 
 immensity ; but his gracious and reconciled pre- 
 sence — his loving and interested presence — his 
 Saviour-presence — is exclusively with his own. 
 So constantly is the Lord Jesus present with his 
 people that, in order to get the full good of it, 
 they have only to remember the fact. From the 
 moment that a man becomes a disciple of Christ, 
 " Lo, I am with you alway" becomes a promise 
 to that man — a promise, the performance of which 
 is never for a moment suspended by the Saviour, 
 but the existence of which is often forgot by the 
 disciple. But, forgotten or remembered, it is 
 every moment true ; and, to enjoy the full bles- 
 sedness of this assurance you have only to re- 
 member, to realize it. Sometimes, without any 
 effort on your part, the conviction will dawn 
 gently, or flash brightly, on the mind, and you 
 will feel for a moment that Jesus is with you. 
 But why not feel it alway? for it is always 
 equally true. 
 
 A glance from heaven, with sweet effect, 
 Sometimes my pensive spirit cheers ; 
 
 But ere I can my thoughts collect, ; 
 
 As suddenly it d: sappears. 
 
34 LECTUREII. 
 
 So lightning in the gloom of night 
 
 Affords a momentary day ; 
 Disclosing objects full in sight. 
 
 Which, soon as seen, are snatch'd away. 
 
 The lightning's flash did not create 
 The opening prospect it reveal'd ; 
 
 But only show'd the real state 
 
 Of what the darkness had conceal'd.* 
 
 These lightning-bursts, these momentary 
 gleams, are just the hints of truth which the 
 Holy Spirit darts into the mind from time to time, 
 revealing matters as they really are. But we 
 ought to recollect, that even during the dark the 
 solid landscape has not vanished, but is only hid. 
 And even so, when Christ's sensible presence is 
 withdrawn, we should remember that he is near 
 as ever, and it is the believer's wisdom to go on 
 in the joyful strength of the assurance, " Lo, I 
 am with you." 
 
 Let me mention some benefits of Christ's per- 
 petual presence with his people, especially when 
 that presence is recollected and realized. 
 
 ] . It is sanctifying. The company of an earthly 
 friend is often influential on character. If he be 
 one of a very pure and lofty mind, and, withal, 
 one who has gained an ascendancy over your 
 own soul, his very presence is a talisman. If an 
 angry storm be gathering m your bosom or lower- 
 ing in your countenance, the unexpected sunshine 
 of his heavenly aspect will disperse it all again. 
 If mean or unworthy thoughts were creeping into 
 your mind, the interruption of his noble presence 
 will chase them all away. If you are on the 
 
 * Newton. 
 
LECTUREII. 35 
 
 point of declining some difficult enterprise, or 
 evading some incumbent duty, the glance of his 
 remonstrating eye will at once shame away your 
 indolence or cowardice, and make you up and 
 doing. So the Saviour's recollected presence is 
 a constant reproof and a ceaseless incentive to an 
 affectionate disciple. Is he provoked? Is his 
 temper ruffled ? Is he about to come out with 
 some sharp or cutting sarcasm, or to deal the in- 
 dignant blow ? One look from the Lamb of 
 God will calm his spirit — will cool the flush of 
 fury in his burning cheek — will make his swell- 
 ing heart beat softly. Are you tempted? Do 
 evil thoughts arise in your heart ? One glance 
 from these holy eyes can chase away a whole 
 legion of devils, and banish back into the pit each 
 foul suggestion. Are you seized with a lazy or 
 selfish fit ? Are you wearying of work which 
 for some time you were doing, or refusing work 
 which God is now giving you to do ? Are you 
 angry at an affliction, or averse to a given task? 
 Lo ! he puts to his hand and offers to help you 
 with this cross, and you observe that it is a 
 pierced hand ; and he offers to go before and 
 show you the way, and you notice that the foot- 
 prints are bleeding, and it wounds you to think 
 that you should have needed such an admonition. 
 Or you have just come away from a scene of 
 guilt — from a company where you have denied 
 him — where you have just been saying by your 
 conduct, by your silence, or your words, " I know 
 not the man;" and as you encounter the eye of 
 Jesus, whom they are leading away to crucify, 
 O Peter, do you not go forth and weep bitterly ? 
 
36 LECTUREII. 
 
 2. Christ's presence is sustaining. The Apos- 
 tles were wonderfully calm and collected men. 
 People, considering that they were, many of 
 them, unlearned and ignorant, were amazed at 
 their dignified composure in most difficult cir- 
 cumstances. It was scarcely possible to alarm 
 or agitate them. When brought before kings 
 and rulers, it was usually their judges who trem- 
 bled, but they themselves were tranquil. And 
 Paul tells us the secret of it. When he himself 
 was brought before Caesar, it was an agitating 
 occasion. Nero was a cruel prince, and the peo- 
 ple looked on his palace much as they would 
 have looked on a leopard's den. An order has 
 arrived to bring the Gallilean prisoner to the em- 
 peror's judgment-hall. The Apostle had just 
 time to warn a few friends, and like enough they 
 came and condoled with him ; but they thought 
 it prudent not to go with him into court. It 
 might compromise their own safety, and it could 
 do him no effectual good ; — and he did not urge 
 them. The soldiers arrived, and he went away 
 cheerily with them — the old weather-beaten man 
 — without his cloak, for he had left it at Troas ; 
 without his friends, for he had left them behind 
 at his own hired house — as forlorn as ever pri- 
 soner stood before Caesar. And how was it that 
 the infirm old man passed, with so serene a look, 
 the clashing swords and scowling sentries at the 
 palace-front ? How was it that he trod the 
 gloomy gateway with a step so full of merry inno- 
 cence and martyr-zeal, and never noticed Nero's 
 lions snuffling and howling in their hungry den ? 
 And how was it that in the dim and dangerous 
 
LECTUREII. 37 
 
 presence-chamber, where cruelty sat upon the 
 throne of luxury, — how was it that, with that 
 wolf upon the judgment-seat and those blood- 
 hounds all around him — with none but pagans 
 present, and not one believing friend to bear4^hee 
 company — how was it, O Paul ! that in suqii an 
 hour of peril, instead of pleading not guilty, and 
 falling down on suppliant knees, thou didst com- 
 mit the very crime they charged against thee — 
 the crime of loyalty to Jesus — and urge Christ's 
 claims on Csesar ? Why the secret of this 
 strange courage was, " At my first answer no 
 man stood with me, but all f(yrsook me. Not- 
 withstanding, THE Lord stood with me and 
 strengthened me, that by me the preaching might 
 be fully known, and that all the Gentiles might 
 hear ; and I was delivered out of the mouth of 
 the lion." 
 
 And you, my friends, will all be brought into 
 agitating circumstances. It is not likely that it 
 will be said to you, " Fear not, for thou must 
 stand before Csesar." But you may be arraigned 
 before terrible tribunals — the tribunal of public 
 opinion — the tribunal of private affection — the 
 tribunal of worldly interest — for Christ's name's 
 sake. From time to time you may be con- 
 strained to pass through ordeals which will make 
 you understand how Paul felt when passing in at 
 the palace-gate. When called to give your tes- 
 timony for Christ, the flesh may be weak, and 
 the willing word may be like to expire in your 
 choking utterance. Wordly wisdom may beckon 
 you back, and, like Paul's fearful friends, cau- 
 tious or carnal Christians may refuse to support 
 4 
 
38 , LECTUREII. 
 
 you. It is not Nero's hall, but a quiet parlour 
 you are entering ; but before you come out again 
 you may be a poor man, or a friendless one. 
 The Yes or No of one faithful moment may have 
 spurned the ladder of promotion from under your 
 feet, and dashed your brightest hopes on this side 
 the grave. Or, by the time the letter you are 
 now penning is closed and sealed and posted, and 
 the sinful assent, or the compromising proposal, 
 or the resolute refusal is written, the Lord Jesus 
 will have said, " I know thy works, that thou 
 .hast a name that thou livest and art dead;" or, 
 " I know thy works, that thou art neither cold 
 nor hot;" or, "I know thy works; behold, I 
 have set before thee an open door, and no man 
 can shut it ; for thou hast a little strength, and 
 hast kept my word, and hast not denied my 
 name. I also will keep thee." In such fiery 
 tri*als of love and fidelity, there is nothing so 
 sure to overcome as the recollected presence of 
 " Lo ! I am with you." And oh ! it is sweeter, 
 like the three holy children, to pace up and down 
 beneath the furnace' flaming vault, arm in arm 
 with the Son of Man, than to tread the green 
 pastures of an earthly promotion or a carnal tran- 
 quillity purchased by the denial of Jesus, and so 
 with the wrath of the Lamb. 
 
 3. Comforting. You have noticed the differ- 
 ence in travelling the same road solitary and in 
 pleasant company. " What ! we are not here 
 already ! It takes three hours to do it, and we 
 have not been half that time. Well, I could not 
 have believed it ; but then I never before travel- 
 led it with you." No doubt Cleopas and his 
 
LECTUREII. 39 
 
 comrade used to think the road from Jerusalem 
 to Emmaus long enough, and were very glad 
 when they reached the fiftieth furlong. But that 
 evening when the stranger from Jerusalem joined 
 them, they grudged every waymark which they 
 passed ; and as in the progress of his expositions, 
 Moses and all the prophets beamed with light 
 from heaven, and their own hearts glowed warmer 
 and warmer, they would fain have counted the 
 mile-stones back again. " How vexing ! This 
 is Emmaus ; but you must not go on. ' Abide 
 with us, for the day is far spent.' " Any road 
 which you travel solitary is long enough, and 
 any stage of life's journey where no one is with 
 you, will be dreary and desolate. But you need 
 have no such companionless stages — no such 
 cheerless journeys. If you be a disciple, the 
 Lord Jesus always is with you. And whether 
 they be the silent weeks which you spend in search 
 of health in some far away and stranger-looking 
 place, or the long voyage in the sea-roaming ship, 
 or the shorter journey in the rattling stage or 
 railway car — if, in reading, or musing, or lifting 
 up your heart, you can reahze that Saviour's 
 presence, who is about 3'our path and compasses 
 all your ways, you will be almost sorry when 
 such a journey is ended, and when such a soli- 
 tude is exchanged for more wonted society. I 
 can almost believe that John Bunyan left Bed- 
 ford jail with a sort of trembling, fearing that he 
 might never find again such a Bethel as he had 
 found in that narrow cell for the last twelve 
 years ; and I can understand how Samuel Kuth- 
 erford wrote from his place of banishment, 
 
40 LECTUREII. 
 
 " Christ hath met me in Aberdeen, and my ad- 
 versaries have sent me here to be feasted with 
 his love. I would not have believed that there 
 was so much in Jesus as there is. But ' Come 
 and see,' maketh Christ be known in his excel- 
 lency and glory." 
 
 The presence of Christ can turn a dark night 
 into a night much to be remembered. Perhaps 
 it is time to be sleeping, but the November wind 
 is out, and as it riots over the misty hills, and 
 dashes the rain-drift on the rattling casement, 
 and howls like a spirit distracted in the fireless 
 chimney, it has awakened the young sleeper in 
 the upper room. And when his mother enters, 
 she finds him sobbing out his infant fears, or with 
 beating heart hiding from the noisy danger in the 
 depths of his downy pillow. But she puts the 
 candle on the table, and sits down beside the 
 bed ; and as he hears her assuring voice, and 
 espies the gay comfort in her smiling face, and 
 as she puts her hand over his, the tear stands 
 still upon his cheek, till it gets time to dry, and 
 the smoothing down of the panic furrows on his 
 brow, and the brightening of his eye announce 
 that he is ready for whatever a mother has got to 
 tell. And as she goes on to explain the mysteri- 
 ous sources of his terror — " That hoarse loud 
 roaring is the brook tumbling over the stones; 
 for the long pouring rains have filled it to the 
 very brim. It is up on the green to-night, and 
 had the cowslips been in blossom they would all 
 have been drowned. Yes — and that thump on 
 the window. It is the old cedar at the corner 
 of the house, and as the wind tosses his stiff 
 
LECTUREII, 41 
 
 branches they bounce and scratch on the panes 
 of glass, and if they were not very small they 
 would be broken in pieces." And then she goes 
 on to tell how this very night there are people 
 out in the pelting blast, whilst her little boy lies 
 warm in his crib, inside of his curtains ; and how 
 ships may be upset on the deep sea, or dashed to 
 pieces on rocks so steep that the drowning sailors 
 cannot climb them. And then perhaps she ends 
 it all with breathing a mother's prayer, or he 
 drops asleep beneath the cradle-hymn. 
 
 And why describe all this? Because there is 
 so much practical divinity in it. In the history 
 of a child, a night like this is an important night, 
 for it has done three things. It has explained 
 some things which, unexplained, would have 
 been a source of constant alarm — perhaps the 
 germ* of superstition or insanity. It has taught 
 some precious lessons — sympathy for sufferers, 
 gratitude for mercies, and perhaps some pleasant 
 thought of Him who is the hiding-place from the 
 storm and the covert from the tempest. And 
 then it has deepened in that tender bosom the 
 foundations of filial piety, and helped to give that 
 parent such hold and purchase on a filial heart 
 as few wise mothers have ever failed to win, and 
 no manly son has ever blushed to own. 
 
 Then, for the parallel. " As one whom his 
 mother comforteth, so the Lord comforteth his 
 people." It is in the dark and boisterous night 
 of sorrow or apprehension that the Saviour re- 
 veals himself nigh. And one of the first things 
 he does is to explain the subject matter of the 
 grief, to show its real nature and amount. '' It 
 4^ 
 
42 LECTTTREII. 
 
 is but a light affliction. It lasts but for a mo- 
 ment. It is a false alarm. It is only the rain- 
 drift on the window — wait till the day dawns and 
 shadows flee away. Wait till morning and you 
 will see the whole extent of it." And then the 
 next thing ihat he does is to teach some useful 
 lesson. And during those quiet hours, when the 
 heart is soft, the Saviour's lessons sink deep. 
 And last of all, besides consolation under the trial 
 and peaceful fruits that follow it, by this com- 
 forter-visit, the Saviour unspeakably endears him- 
 self to that soul. Paul and Silas never knew 
 Christ so well nor loved him so much as after 
 that night which he and they passed together in 
 the Macedonian prison. And the souls on which 
 the Lord Jesus has taken the deepest hold, are 
 those whose great tribulations have thrown them 
 most frequently and most entirely into his -own 
 society. 
 
 But we hasten to a close. We have seen the 
 meaning of the words so far — Lo, I am with yo\i 
 alway ; I am with you to succour in temptation, 
 to strengthen in duty, to guide in perplexity, to 
 comfort in sorrow. From the instant you become 
 a disciple I am with you all along. I am with 
 you every day. All your life I am with you — 
 and at death ? — at death you are with me. That's 
 the difference. At present I am always with you, 
 but you are not always with me. At present 
 Jesus is constantly near his own, but his own do 
 not constantly desire to be near him. Here it is 
 only by faith that believers enjoy his presence. 
 There they shall see him as he is. Now the 
 Lord Jesus follows his own whithersoever they 
 
LECTURE II 
 
 43 
 
 go, but they do not always follow him. Then it 
 will be different, for they will follow the Lamb 
 whithersoever he goeth. And all that is wanting 
 to complete the promise is what death's twinkling 
 will supply. Now it is, " Lo, I am with you al- 
 way," — and then it is, •' And so shall we be ever 
 with the Lord." 
 
 " Ever with the Lord." At once and for 
 ever. At once — for absent from the body, we 
 are present with Him. So near is Jesus now, 
 that, like the infant waking from its dream, it 
 looks up, and lo I she sits beside it — waking up 
 from this life-dream, the first sight is Jesus as he 
 is. At once — no flight through immensity — no 
 pilgrimage of the spheres — for the everlasting 
 arms are the first resting-place of the disem- 
 bodied soul — it will be in the bosom of Lnman- 
 uel that the emancipated spirit will inquire, 
 *' Where am I ?" and read in the face of Jesus 
 the answer, " For ever with the Lord." For 
 ever — To be with him for a few years, as one 
 way with another John and Peter were — to be 
 with him one Lord's day as the beloved disciple 
 subsequently was — to be with him a iew mo- 
 ments, as Paul caught up into the third heavens 
 was — how blessed ! But to be ever with the 
 Lord — not only to-day, but to-morrow — nay, 
 neither to-day" nor to-morrow, but now, now, 
 one everlasting now ! 
 
 For ever with the Lord ! 
 
 Amen I so let it be ; 
 Life from the dead is in that word — 
 'Tis immortality. 
 
LECTURE III. 
 
 THE HEARER OF PRAYER! 
 
 THE INTERCESSOR ABOVE: 
 
 THE PROMPTER WITHIN. 
 
 " Oh thou that hearest prayer." — Psalm Ixv. 2. 
 
 " Jesus is able to save them to the uttermost that come 
 unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make inter- 
 cession for them, — Heb, vii. 25. 
 
 " The Spirit helpeth our infirmities ; for we know not 
 what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit 
 himself maketh intercession for us with groanings 
 w^hich cannot be uttered," — Rom, viii, 26, 
 
 The only proper object of worship is God — 
 the living^ and true God — Triune Jehovah. Fa- 
 ther, Son, and Holy Spirit. According to the 
 nature of the blessings implored or the mercies 
 acknowledged, we have instances of prayer ad- 
 dressed to all the Persons of the blessed God- 
 head ; but the tenor of Scripture shows that in 
 the economy of grace, prayer is usually addressed 
 to the Father through the Son, and by the Holy 
 Ghost. God in Christ is the object of Christian 
 worship, and the author of that worship is the 
 Holy Spirit, as the Spirit of Christ. 
 
 I. God is the hearer of prayer. 
 
 Dear friends, I am not sure that you all have 
 a distinct conviction of the power of prayer. I 
 
LECTUREIII.- 45 
 
 am not sure that you all have that confidence in 
 its efficacy, which makes prayer an interesting 
 exercise on ordinary occasions, or a natural and 
 hopeful resource on occasions of perplexity and 
 alarm. As the result of your own musings, or of 
 others' reasonings, you may either have ceased 
 to pray, or you may pray despondingly, as very 
 doubtful if prayer has any power at all, or your 
 so-called prayer may be a series of devout ascrip- 
 tions without containing a single earnest suppli- 
 cation. I shall read a prayer found among the 
 papers of one of the most amiable of worldly 
 philanthropists as well as one of the most tal- 
 ented of modern jurists. In the single element of 
 gratitude for temporal blessings, it so far sur- 
 passes the prayers of many Christians, that we 
 cannot biit grieve that it wants what no Chris- 
 tian prayer should want — " The offering of de- 
 sires unto God in the name of Christ." 
 
 " Almighty God ! Creator of all things ! the 
 source of all wisdom, and goodness, and virtue, 
 and happiness, I bow down before thee — not to 
 ofTer up prayers, for I dare not presume to think 
 or hope that thy most just, unerring, and supreme 
 will can be in any degree influenced by any sup- 
 plications of mine — nor to pour forth praises and 
 adorations, for I feel that I am unworthy to offer 
 them — but in all humility, and with a deep sense 
 of my own insignificance, to express the thanks 
 of a happy and contented being, for the innumer- 
 able benefits which he enjoys. I cannot reflect 
 that I am a human being, living in civilized so- 
 ciety, born the member of a free state, the son of 
 virtuous and tender parents, blest with an ample 
 
46 L E C T U R E 1 1 1 . 
 
 fortune, endowed wiih fiiculties which have ena- 
 bled me lo acq-uire thai fortune myself, enjoying 
 a fair reputation, beloved by my relations, 
 esteemed by my friends, thought well of by most 
 of my countrymen to whom my name is known, 
 united to a kind, virtuous, enlightened, and most 
 atfeciionale wife, the father of seven children, all 
 in perfect health, and all giving by the goodness 
 of their dispositions, a promise of future excel- 
 lence, and though myself fiir advanced in life, 
 yet still possessed of health and strength which 
 seem to afford me the prospect of future years of 
 enjoyment. I cannot reflect on all these things 
 and not express my gratitude to thee, God I 
 from whom all this good has flowed. I am sin- 
 cerely grateful for all this happiness. I am 
 sincerely grateful for the happiness of all those 
 who are most dear to me, of my beloved wife, 
 of my sweet children, of my relations, and of 
 my friends. 
 
 " I prostrate myself, Almighty and Omnis- 
 cient God, before thee. In endeavouring to con- 
 template thy divine attributes, I seek to elevate 
 my soul towards thee ; I seek to improve and en- 
 noble my faculties, and to strengthen and quicken 
 my ardour for the public good ; and I appear to 
 myself to rise above my earthly existence, while 
 1 am indulging the hope that I may at some time 
 prove an humble instrument in the divine work 
 of enlarging the sphere of human happiness.'"^ 
 
 This is the thankful but melancholy prayer 
 of a man as virtuous, and, we may add, as de- 
 vout as any man can be who has not the clear 
 
 * " Life ol\Sh S. Romilly," vol. iii., p. 76. 
 
LECTUREIU. 47 
 
 convictions and lively hopes of a believer in 
 Jesus. But even in this act of devotion he does 
 not venture to offer up a single petition, — for he 
 dares not think that the will of the Almighty can 
 in any way be influenced by any supplication of 
 his. And what this gifted lawyer wrote in his 
 meditative retirement, others tacitly think, or 
 openly avow. They feel as if the creation were 
 so vast, and its concerns so multifarious, that it 
 is impossible that even Omniscience can have an 
 ear for all their petitions. Or they feel that the 
 Creator is so exalted, — his throne so high and 
 lifted up, — that it is not fit for them to approach 
 it. Or they feel that the laws of nature are so 
 fixed, and the decrees of the Eternal so determin- 
 ate, that it is only presumption to expect that any 
 earnestness or importunity of theirs can alter 
 them. Such thoughts do arise in some men's 
 hearts. By some they are sported flippantly, by 
 others they are felt painfully ; but they are as 
 erroneous as they are fatal to hope and effort, as 
 preposterous as they are paralyzing ; and a few 
 considerations, carefully pondered, may, by the 
 blessing of God, set your minds conclusively at 
 rest on this and like misgivings. 
 
 And first of all, it must be remembered, that 
 the human mind has a much greater talent at 
 asking questions than at answering them, and 
 many minds have a greater propensity to raise 
 doubts and start difficulties, than to repose in that 
 scanty measure of truth which is already ascer- 
 tained and infallible. I am speaking not of 
 things 7iecessary ^ but of things contmgent ; and 
 by truth ascertained and infallible, I mean know- 
 
48 LECTUKEIII. 
 
 ledge which does not rest on mere opinion, but 
 knowledge which comes to us in the shape of m- 
 formation. Anything which I am told by a 
 credible witness is information, and so is any- 
 thing which comes to my knowledge through 
 any of my own five senses, and so is any know- 
 ledge that I gain directly by attending to the pro- 
 cesses and feelings of my own mind. But any 
 notion which does not come from one or other of 
 these three legitimate sources, — sensation, con- 
 sciousness, or competent testimony, — is good for 
 nothing. It may be an ingenious hypothesis, or 
 a plausible opinion, but it is not matter of fact ; 
 it is not information. Till it assume a positive 
 form it is not knowledge, and I have no security 
 for its eventual truth. 
 
 INow, excepting mathematical truth, which has 
 no connexion with the present subject, we re- 
 peat, that the human mind can attain no sure 
 and infallible knowledge, except that which it 
 gets in the positive form; that knowledge for 
 which it has the evidence of its own senses or 
 personal consciousness, or the senses and con- 
 sciousness of others. Beyond this the human 
 mind cannot go. If they be not the limited facts 
 which we have discovered for ourselves, for all 
 beyond we are at the mercy of others who know 
 better than ourselves — that is, of others who have 
 seen and felt and handled what we have not — 
 and to expect to come at absolute knowledge in 
 any other way is to expect an impossibility. — 
 The hawk may fly higher than the sparrow, and 
 the eagle, again, may soar above them both, but 
 none of them can rise beyond the atmosphere. 
 
LECTUREIIi: 49 
 
 An European may know more than a savage, 
 and a scholar may know more than either ; but 
 none of th^m can know for certain anything- ex- 
 cept facts, which they have observed for them- 
 selves, or facts which have been revealed to them 
 by others. 
 
 But whilst these are the limits of human cer- 
 tainty, they are not the limits of human curiosi- 
 ty. In our anxiety to be wise, beyond what is 
 ascertainable, we have invented a transcendental 
 Metaphysics, — a science on which the acutest of 
 human intellects have bestowed themselves, and 
 to whose literature some of the most eloquent 
 argument and finest fancy of ancient times and 
 modern has been contributed — but a science 
 which, amidst all its curious questions and doubt- 
 some answers — the accumulation of two thousand 
 years — has not added a single atom to the do- 
 main of ascertained truth or actual knowledge. 
 If you could conceive the fowls of heaven sud- 
 denly seized with a strong desire to get away 
 from this globe altogether, — if you could imagine 
 them all at different elevations in the atmosphere, 
 according to the strength of their pinions, or the 
 lightness of their forms, but all, beak uppermost, 
 struggling and fluttering, and screwing their way 
 a little and a little higher in the rarified medium, 
 you would have a very exact idea of- the object 
 of metaphysical inquiry, and the position of its 
 several votaries. Its object is to ascertain truths 
 regarding which we have no information, and 
 there may doubtless be many such truths, — but 
 are they ascertainable ? There are other planets 
 besides this one, and we have supposed the case 
 5 
 
50 L E C T U R E I I I . 
 
 of the fowls of heaven wishing to reach them,— 
 but are they accessible ? A bird of powerful 
 pinion, or singular lightness, may rise a mile 
 above his fluttering competitors, and as an aflfair of 
 aerial gymnastics, the fruitless effort may be good 
 practice ; but the wing which is farthest above 
 the surface is still a thousand times farther from 
 the next nearest world ; and so in the metaphy- 
 sical contest to get away from the regions of ab- 
 solute information — the terra jirma of positive 
 truth, there has been a wonderful display of men- 
 tal power and buoyancy, but the subtile spirit 
 which has mounted the highest above the ascer- 
 tained and the actual of our restricted humanity, 
 is still infinitely distant from the next nearest 
 domain of knowledge. As some one has truly 
 remarked, " To know more, we first must be 
 
 more. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 It is not a popular doctrine, but it is one to 
 which the world is slowly coming round — of con- 
 tingent truth we can know nothing regarding 
 wMch we have not positive information, and be- 
 yond these limits to wonder what things there 
 are, or how such and such things can be, is to 
 vex ourselves in vain. Those things which I 
 have observed for myself, and those which others 
 have told me, make up a solid basis of truth, — a 
 terra jirma of fact. If I am dissatisfied with its 
 narrow limits, I may fling myself over into the 
 abvss of speculation, and finding in every* deep a 
 deeper still, perish at last in total scepticism; or 
 I may try to soar upwards into a transcendental 
 region, and after fruitless efforts to be wise be- 
 * Lewes' " History of Philosophy." 
 
LECTUREIII. 51 
 
 yond my nature's capacity, be content to fold my 
 weary pinions at last on the homely landing-place 
 of common sense and tangible truth. There, and 
 there only, on the solid ground of information, 
 on the firm footing of what I have observed for 
 myself, or others have told me, can I find a per- 
 manent rest for my spirit, and a secure starting- 
 point for eternity. 
 
 Applying these principles to the case before us, 
 we do not ask what anterior probabilities are 
 there that prayer is heard and answered ? But 
 what proof? Can we say from our own experi- 
 ence, or have we reason to believe, on competent 
 authority, that prayer has actual power ? 
 
 Now, it is conclusive on the entire subject, that 
 for the efficacy of prayer we have the assurance 
 of God himself. " The eyes of the Lord are 
 over the righteous, and his ears are open unto 
 their prayers." " Delight thyself in the Lord, 
 and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart." 
 " Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in 
 him, and he shall bring it to pass." " Call upon 
 me in the day of trouble, and I will answer thee." 
 And lest we should desire more definite informa- 
 tion we have it. " No man hath seen God at 
 any time, — the only-begotten Son, who is in the 
 bosom of the Father, he hath declared him." 
 There was once amongst us one who knew pre- 
 cisely the reception which prayers are wont to 
 meet with in the Court of Heaven. There was 
 once on earth one who could testify, on this mat- 
 ter, what he had seen, and who could tell dis- 
 tinctly whether the prayers, of earth are audible 
 in the upper sanctuary, and how far the high and 
 
52 LECTUREIII. 
 
 Holy One is disposed to regard and answer them ; 
 and nothing can be nnore encouraging than the 
 language of this Faithful Witness. " When thou 
 prayest, enter into thy closet; and when thou 
 hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father who is in 
 secret ; and thy Father who seeth in secret shall 
 reward thee openly." " I say unto you, that if 
 two of you shall agree on earth, as touching any- 
 thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them 
 of my Father who is in heaven." " Whatsoever 
 ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the 
 Father may be glorified in the Son." " Ask, 
 and it shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall 
 find ; knock, and it shall be opened unto you : 
 for every one that asketh receiveth ; and he that 
 seeketh findeth ; and to him that knocketh it 
 shall be opened." 
 
 So conclusive are these and similar declara- 
 tions, that no farther warrant should be needful 
 to give precision and hopeful earnestness to our 
 petitions. We have the living God himself as- 
 suring us that he is prepared to accept, and con- 
 sider, and answer them ; and we have the Son 
 of God himself come down from the bosom of the 
 Father, the appointed medium of communication 
 betwixt heaven and earth ; we have the Interces- 
 sor himself declaring, that no petition passes 
 through his hand but it brings back its blessing ; 
 and farther assurances than these should scarcely 
 be needful to make the man who is conscious of 
 sincerity in prayer secure of an answer. But 
 farther assurance is given. It should be enough 
 that we have historic evidence that the Lord has 
 promised to answer prayer; but, over and above, 
 
LECTUEEIII. 53 
 
 we have historic evidence that, times almost un- 
 numbered, he has answered it. In the lives of 
 Abraham and Abraham's servant, of Lot, of Ja- 
 cob, of Moses, Joshua, Gideon, Manoah and 
 Samson, of Hannah and of Samuel, of David the 
 king and Solomon his son, Hezekiah and Manas- 
 seh, of the prophets Elijah, Elisha, Jeremiah, 
 Daniel, and Ezekiel ; then, again, in the history 
 of the apostles and the early Church,"^ we have 
 abundant evidence that, whatever may have be- 
 come of our own, others have directed prevailing 
 supplications to the Heavenly Majesty, and that 
 singular mercies have been, from time to time, 
 bestowed in answer to believing prayer. 
 
 And here you would not wonder though we 
 should close the case. Having God's promise 
 and the Saviour's assurance of the prevalency of 
 prayer, and having, both in the sacred narrative 
 and later histories, so many cases recorded of 
 accepted and answered supplications, there is 
 enough to justify the conclusion, that men ought 
 always to pray, and not to faint. But there is an 
 evidence, to most minds more satisfactory than 
 the most harmonious testimony — I mean, the 
 evidence of personal consciousness — the proof 
 they have from their own experience. There 
 have been persons who possessed this proof ; and 
 I believe almost every Christian could make, at 
 some stage of his progress, the same entry in his 
 journal as John Newton,! when he wrote : — 
 
 * See Fincher's " Achievements of Prayer," — a de- 
 lightful work containina; in the words of Scripture the 
 different prayers with their answers as recorded there. 
 
 t Quoted in M'Gill on " Closet Prayer." 
 5# 
 
54 LECTUREIII. 
 
 '• About this time I began to know that there is a 
 God who hears and answers prayer." We be- 
 lieve that, to most real Christians here present, 
 the whole discussion of this morning will be su- 
 perfluous, and, so far as they are personally con- 
 cerned, uninteresting; for their short argument 
 in favour of the practice, and conclusive answer 
 to all objections, is the Psalmist's own : — " But 
 verily God hath heard me ; he hath attended to 
 the voice of my prayer." The efficacy of prayer 
 is with them no longer a matter of probability or 
 a subject for reasoning. It is now a matter of 
 fact — an ascertained and positive truth — a truth 
 not even of others' testimony, but a fact of their 
 own consciousness. And so, brethren, if you 
 wish to have your minds set conclusively at rest 
 on the subject, like the Psalmist, pray — pray till, 
 like the Psalmist, you can sing — " I love the 
 Lord, because he hath heard my voice and my 
 supplications. Because he hath inclined his ear 
 unto me, therefore will I call upon him as long 
 as I live." 
 
 And now, having put on its proper footing, as 
 a matter of fact, the truth that God is the hearer 
 of prayer, the speculative difficulties with which 
 some have perplexed the subject need give us no 
 pain. If the truth be ascertained, and the mind 
 of the man who has discovered it be sound and 
 vigorous, no difficulties will disturb his faith. 
 To use the words of a clear thinker,"^ — " Before 
 a confessed and unconquerable difficulty, the 
 mind, if in a healthy state, reposes as quietly as 
 
 * Arnold's " Sermons on Interpretation of Scripture/* 
 p. 147. 
 
LECTURE III. 55 
 
 when in possession of a discovered truth — as qui- 
 etly and contentedly as we are accustomed to 
 bear that law of our nature which denies us the 
 power of seeing through all space, or of being 
 exempt from sickness and decay." Allow that 
 some serious objections could be started against 
 the efficacy of prayer, these objections do not 
 touch the evidence on which we beUeve that God 
 has promised to hear prayer, nor that other evi- 
 dence on which we believe that he has actually 
 heard and answered it. The greatness of crea- 
 tion and the littleness of man, the decrees of God 
 and the immutability of natural laws, would not 
 stop his prayer, nor startle from his knees the 
 man who could say — " Verily, God hath heard 
 me : he hath attended to the voice of my peti- 
 tion ;" but, superior to all speculative difficulties, 
 because secure in his experimental knowledge, 
 that wise and happy man would still pray on. 
 And, to see the wisdom of this course, you have 
 only to put a parallel case. In the infinite varie- 
 ty of this universe, there may be a world where 
 the processes of growth, and decay, and repro- 
 duction, so familiar to us, are utterly unknown. 
 Suppose that the inhabitant of such a world were 
 transported to our own, and that he witnessed 
 the husbandman's operations in spring. He 
 might marvel what he meant. He might wonder 
 why he cast these grains of corn into the ground ; 
 and, when told that it was with a view to repro- 
 duce them a hundred-fold, the mysterious process 
 might at once assume the aspect of infatuation, 
 and he might begin to remonstrate with the la- 
 bourer on this crazy waste of useful corn ; and, 
 
56 LECTUREIII. 
 
 if this visitor from Jupiter or Saturn were as acute 
 a metaphysician as many in our own world are, 
 he might adduce many subtile arguments — too 
 subtile, perhaps, for a farmer to refute. " Is not 
 this a mad notion of yours ? Do you really mean 
 to affirm, that this particle of corn will grow into 
 a hundred more ? Nay, do you pretend to say 
 thai you will put into that hole this hard and 
 husky atom, and come back in three months and 
 find it changed into the glossy stems, the waving 
 leaves, and rustling ears, of the tall wheat-stalk ? 
 What resemblance, or what adequacy, is there 
 between that seed and a sheaf of corn ? Besides, 
 if a buried grain is to grow up a hundred-fold, 
 why don't you bury diamonds and guineas, and 
 get them multiplied after the same proportion ? 
 Besides, simpleton ! do you not know that all 
 these matters have been fixed and settled from 
 everlasting ? It has been fore-ordained, either 
 that you are to have a crop next autumn, or that 
 you are to have none. In the former case, your 
 present pains are needless, for you will get your 
 harvest without all this ado. If the latter, your 
 pains are useless, for nothing will procure you a 
 crop where it is not the purpose of Omnipotence 
 that you should have one." Did the ploughman 
 listen to all this remonstrance, he might be much 
 perplexed with it. He might not be able to show 
 the precise way in which seeds exert an efficacy 
 on the future crop ; and he might not see at once 
 the reason why corn-grains should be reproduc- 
 tive, whilst diamonds and guineas are not ; and, 
 least of all, might he be able to dispose of the 
 fatalist objection. But he would deem it enough 
 
LECTUREIII. 57 
 
 to refute all this mystification to say — that he 
 had never known a harvest without a seed-time, 
 and that he had never sown sufficiently without 
 reaping something. And so, when a man comes 
 in from the prayerless world, and starts his objec- 
 tions, a praying man may not be able to discuss 
 them one by one — he may not even understand 
 them — " But this I know, God is the hearer of 
 prayer, and, verily, he hath heard myself." 
 And, like the farmer, who scatters his seed heed- 
 less of all that has ever been said on necessity, 
 and causation, and general laws, a wise believer 
 will, in the face of hypothetic difHculties, proceed 
 on ascertained facts, and, amidst objections and 
 cavils, will persist to pray, and continue to enjoy 
 the blessings which prayer procures. 
 
 Though hitherto I have not touched these 
 theoretic difficulties, I may now, in conclusion, 
 mention three simple truths, in whose successive 
 light every doubt and difficulty should melt 
 aw^ay. God is the hearer of prayer, — 
 
 1. Because he is the Living God. 
 
 2. Because he is Almighty. 
 
 3. And because he is the God of Love. 
 
 L Jehovah is the Living God. " The ten- 
 dency of many minds is to regard the Deity as a 
 principle rather than as a person.'"^ They look 
 upon him as a power — a presence — a principle — 
 the most general of general laws — not as the 
 great I Am, the Living God. No wonder that 
 they have litde heart to pray. If Elijah had 
 known no other deity than the little cloud, or the 
 sea from which it ascended, or the sky in which 
 
 * Chalmers' " Natural Theology," vol. ii., p. 315. 
 
OS LECTURE III. 
 
 it floated, or the electric action which condensed 
 more and more dark vapour round it, he would 
 scarcely have renewed his supplication seven 
 limes. But he addressed himself not to clouds, 
 but to the Living God of Israel. When I go to 
 my friend's house to procure some favour from 
 him, I do not speak to his books or his furniture 
 = — I do not invoke his genius or guardian spirit; 
 I do not apostrophise the abstract idea of benevo- 
 lence, or virtue, or friendship ; but I speak direct 
 to himself, a lowly friend, it may be, or an un- 
 worthy suppliant — but still a living man, I ad- 
 dress a living person. Prayer is not an appeal 
 to dead matter or to general laws. It is not a re- 
 quest to the rain to fall, or to the sun to stand 
 still. It is not imploring the principle of gravita- 
 tion to relax its rule on my behalf and disengage 
 my feet from the earth, or beseeching the fire to 
 forbear and not burn me. It is not to supplicate 
 such virtues as meekness and patience and forti- 
 tude to comedown aisd take up their abode in my 
 bosom. But when I pray I address myself to 
 that Living God who has the elements of nature 
 at his control, and, what is to me, as an immortal 
 and accountable being, far more important, who 
 has at his disposal infinite resources for making 
 his creatures holy. He is the Living Gcd; and 
 if, in asking mercies from him, I may not be as 
 sanguine as a friend when he entreats a friend, 
 or a child when he importunes a father, I may 
 at least be as earnest and urgent as a subject is 
 when he has opportunity to ply his suit with his 
 living sovereign. 
 
 2. But some who restrain prayer do err from 
 
L E C T U R E I 1 1 . 59 
 
 hot knowing the power of God. They feel as if 
 it were impossible even for Omniscience to attend 
 to every suppliant, and beyond the power even 
 of Omnipotence to bestow a separate boon in an- 
 swer to each petition. Or they feel as if they 
 were only the more important requests of the 
 more eminent suitors that are likely to be noticed 
 and conceded. But what is Omnipotence ? Is 
 it not the power of attending to all things undis- 
 tracted, as well as of doing the mightiest things 
 unexhausted? The Almighty — is he not able to 
 attend to all the wants of all his creatures ? Is 
 there in creation aught that would lead us to sup- 
 pose that to his comprehensive eye any grandeur 
 is imposing, or any minuteness despicable ? Did 
 he only create the suns and larger planets, and 
 leave it to moons and little worlds to create them- 
 selves ? Or, coming down to this lower world, 
 did he bestow a higher finish on the bulkier ex- 
 istences, and show little care for the lesser and 
 lower ? -Was he rejoicing in the greatness of his 
 strength when he formed the oak and the lion, 
 and had his arm grown weary when it reached 
 the lily and the nightingale ? Though there 
 were no Bible to proclaim it, there is evidence 
 enough — whether we look up into the heavens 
 with their circling worlds, or down into a drop of 
 water with its myriad of gay darting monads — 
 proof enough that He who viade the whole of 
 such a universe is able to attend to it all. There 
 is proof enough that no multitude of suppliants 
 can distract him and no magnitude of their re- 
 quests exhaust Him. There is proof enough that 
 if any prayer be unanswered, it is not because 
 
60 LECTUREIII. 
 
 the offerer was too little, nor because he asked 
 too much. 
 
 3. And others err, forgetting- God's goodness. 
 True, Jehovah may be the Living God, and a 
 God of boundless power ; but what if he be a 
 hard master or an angry king ? What if we our- 
 selves have put him in an attitude of estrange- 
 ment, and the same breath which addresses him 
 in the language of entreaty, what if it has previ- 
 ously assailed the High and Holy One in tones 
 of hostility ? Here does come in a difficulty on 
 which conjecture could only throw a more per- 
 plexing light. The hearer of prayer, is he not 
 also the hater of sin ? And coming into his pre- 
 sence, instead of procuring blessings, may I not 
 be provoking a more swift displeasure ? Here is 
 indeed a difficult}^ — the gloomier alternative of 
 which our own guilty consciences too severely 
 favour, and from which we should have found no 
 sure escape, had not the heavenly High Priest, 
 reposing in the Father's love, and holding out to 
 his guilty brethren his hand of mediation, said, 
 " After this manner pray ye, ' Our Father, which 
 art in heaven.' " 
 
 Nothing shows so strikingly that God is wil- 
 ling to hear and answer prayer as the provision 
 he has made for its acceptable and effectual pre- 
 sentation. However worthless the suppliant, he 
 may present his petition in the name of God's be- 
 loved Son ; and however dim his idea^ and pow- 
 erless his expressions, he may obtam as the insti- 
 gator of his desires and the guide of his devotion, 
 none other than the Spirit of God. 
 
LECVUREIII. 61 
 
 IT. Where prayer is offered in Jesus' name, he 
 maketh intercession with the Father. 
 
 Jesus sits on the Father's right hand, and there 
 he intercedes for his people. This is just the 
 sequel and continuation of Redemption. Just as 
 God's Providence is the preserving of his crea- 
 tion once he has formed it, so Christ's interces- 
 sion is the preserving of his Church now that he 
 has bought it. The Mediator's presence within 
 the veil secures the perseverance of his people 
 till they too be within it. For Christ maketh 
 intercession for us. He sees some Peter at this 
 moment about to be sifted as wheat, and he prays 
 that his faith fail not. He sees a child of light 
 walking in darkness, or some forlorn disciple like 
 to faint by the way, and he prays the Father, 
 and he sends the Comforter. He s?es a band of 
 sore-tempted disciples. He espies a Lot in Sodom, 
 or a Daniel in the den — a Joseph in Egypt, or a 
 saint in Sardis, and he says, " Holy Father, keep 
 through thine own name those whom thou hast 
 given me. Keep them from the evil." He sees 
 a believer waxing formal and cold, restraining 
 prayer and disrelishing the word ; and he says, 
 " Sanctify them through thy truth ; and then the 
 sickness comes which drives him back to the throne 
 of grace, or the sorrow which sends him to the 
 word again ; and finding out a multitude of un- 
 detected sins and lacking graces, the bbliever is 
 sanctified anew. And oh ! he rises eagerly from 
 his royal seat; for yonder is a believer dying; 
 he " stands "=^ up at the right hand of God, for a 
 Stephen is about to fall on sleep, and the Inter- 
 
 * Acts vii. 56. 
 
 6 
 
62 LECTUREIII. 
 
 cessor cries, " Father, I will that they also '.vhom 
 thou hast given me, be with me where I am, that 
 they may behold my glory." The Father wills, 
 and the Lord Jesus receives that spirit. 
 
 But although, so to speak, on the part of God, 
 "all things are ready;" though he sits on his 
 throne of grace, and though the Mediator waits 
 with his golden censer to receive and then to 
 offer up the prayers of sinners here on earth — all 
 things are not ready on the part of the sinner. 
 Diffidence Godward, dimness of perception, cold- 
 ness of desire, perversity of will, and distraction 
 of spirit, are all so many "infirmities" under 
 which each petitioner labours ; and it is for the 
 "help of these "infirmities" that the God of 
 grace has provided not only an Advocate above 
 but a prompter within. 
 
 III. The Holy Spirit guides the thoughts and 
 instigates the desires — he helps the infirmities of 
 believers when they pray. 
 
 1. Guilt on the conscience is one great hin- 
 derance to prayer. When sin is recent — when, 
 like Adam skulking among the trees, the bitter- 
 sweet of the forbidden fruit is still present to his 
 taste, and his newly-opened eyes are aghast at 
 his own deformity — it is not natural for the self- 
 condemned transgressor to draw near to God. 
 And it is not till the Spirit of God directs his 
 view to the unnoticed sacrifice, and encourages 
 him to put on the robe of God's providing, that 
 the abashed and trembling criminal can venture 
 back into God's presence. And it is not till the 
 Spirit of God comes forth into his soul, and 
 begins to cry " Abba " there, that the soul goes 
 
L E C T U R E I 1 1 . 63 
 
 forth with alacrity to meet a reconciled God. To 
 reveal the great High Priest, the daysman betwixt 
 Infinite Holiness and human vileness — to open 
 heaven and display Jesus standing at the right 
 hand of God — to impart confidence in the finished 
 work, and so, amidst abounding guilt, to give 
 hope to prayer — is His work who, when he is 
 come, convinces not only of sin, but of righteous- 
 ness."^ 
 
 2. Another great hinderance to prayer is dim- 
 ness of spiritual perception. When a man of 
 taste or science climbs a mountain in a bright, 
 transparent day, he rejoices in its goodly pros- 
 pect or curious spoils ; but his dog feels no inte- 
 rest in them. He sees the philosopher peering 
 through his telescope, or exploring for the little 
 plants that grow near the summit, or splintering 
 the rocks and putting fragments in the bag ; but 
 it never occurs to the spaniel so much as to mar- 
 vel what his master is finding there. He sits 
 yawning and panting on a sunny knoll, or snaps 
 at the mountain-bee as it comp-; sailing past him, 
 or chases the conies back into their holes, and 
 scampers down, with noisy glee, as soon as the 
 sad durance is over. The disparity between the 
 philosopher and his irrational friend is hardly 
 greater than it is between the believer and the 
 worldling when you bring them together into the 
 domain of faith. " The natural man perceiveth 
 not the things of the Spirit of God," and on the 
 Pisgah of the same revelation whence the be- 
 liever descries a goodly land, and where he is 
 making the most interesting discoveries, the other 
 * John xvi. 8. 
 
64 LECTUREIIl. 
 
 sees nothing- to arrest his attention. The word 
 of God and its promises — the throne of grace and 
 its privileges — the things of faith in all their va- 
 rieties — have no existence to worldly men. And 
 when constrained to bear others company in out- 
 ward ordinances, they are thankful when the 
 ended prayer or the closing sanctuary sends them 
 back to the world again. But just as the same 
 lover of nature might ascend his favourite emi- 
 nence on a future day, and find all his goodly 
 prospects intercepted bv a baffling mist, so dense 
 that, except a pebble here and there, he can 
 alight on none of its rare productions, and with- 
 0Ut any opening vista by which he can catch a 
 glimpse of the fair regions around : so the be- 
 liever may ascend the hill of God — he may open 
 his Bible or enter his closet — and find, alas I that 
 it is a foggy day, the beauteous panorama blotted 
 out and himself left to grope chillily in the cold 
 and perplexing gloom. But, like a gale of sum- 
 mer wind upspringing and lifting all the fog from 
 the mountain-top, the breath of the Omnipotent 
 Spirit can scatter every cloud and leave the soul 
 on a pinnacle of widest survey, rejoicing in the 
 purest light of God. 
 
 3. A third infirmity of the saints, and a great 
 hinderance to prayer, is the feebleness of aflfection 
 Godward. Human affection is an intermitting 
 spring. Even though the covert streams which 
 feed it should be always flowing, it is only now 
 and then, when the fountain is filled up to the 
 brim, that there is a momentary overflow. There 
 may be a very deep attachment between the 
 members of a family ; and yet it is only on some 
 
LECTUREIII. 65 
 
 casual occasion — the day of their re-union after 
 long separation, or tlie eve of parting, or one of 
 those propitious seasons when people realize how 
 happy is their lot — that the fountain overflows 
 and they give utterance to their irrepressible emo- 
 tions. But owing to this deficiency of ardour — 
 this infrequency of their fits of fervent affection 
 — it comes to pass that the members of a harmo- 
 nious family will be much together, and yet not 
 take full advantage of their opportunities of mu- 
 tual intercourse, nor grow remarkably in mutual 
 acquaintance or mutual endearment. This in- 
 firmity of human affection extends into the realm* 
 of faith. There is a real affection on the part of 
 the believer toward his Father in heaven ; but it 
 is often latent — often languid — not always w^ell- 
 ing up and flowing over — and it often requires 
 some special incident of mercy or of judgment to 
 swell it up to that point which makes himself 
 conscious of its presence. Just as separations, 
 threatened or actual, bring out the love of friends 
 to one another, so a decree, like that of Darius 
 interdicting prayer, or a flight, like that of David 
 from the house of God to the land of Jordan, 
 brings out the believer's love to his Heavenly 
 Father — reveals it to himself. And just as sud- 
 den acts of kindness surprise former friends into 
 a fonder and more outspoken affection, so the 
 unlooked-for arrival of some astounding mercy 
 will startle the believer into such thankfulness or 
 self-abasement as will transport him instantly to 
 the throne of grace. But, even apart from any 
 present visitation of judgment or mercy, there are 
 influences which will, from time to time, sur- 
 
6b LECTUREIII. 
 
 charge the believing soul with gratitude, or ado- 
 ration, or earnestness after God ; and, just as in 
 life's daily tenor there are auspicious moments 
 when memory or an open eye discloses, in all 
 the zest of novelty, the excellence of a familiar 
 friend, so there are genial hours in the believer's 
 history when the Spirit, the Enlightener and 
 Remembrancer, brings to view such attractions 
 in that all-sufficient Friend whom we so readily 
 forget, that the enraptured soul looks on and 
 wonders, and desires no greater blessedness. 
 Reverting to our original emblem : as the inter- 
 ^mitiing fountain takes a long interval to fill it in 
 a dry and sultry season, but fills the faster and 
 overflows the oftener as the mountain is bathed 
 in abundant dews, and may at last, amidst the 
 plenteous rain, become a constant stream ; so, as 
 the believer's heart is filled with more rapid love 
 and joy by the Spirit's plentiful downpouring, the 
 rare and intermitting spring of supplication flows 
 more frequently, till, anon, it becomes — not a 
 daily — but a constant emanation, and that full- 
 souled and heaven-replenished saint has learned 
 to " pray without ceasing." 
 
 4. Another infirmity of the saints is a disposi- 
 tion to ask wrong things. We know not what 
 to pray for as we ought. The blessings for 
 which it is most natural to pray, are those which 
 we least need — temporal mercies. There are 
 often an urgency and importunity for these 
 strangely disproportionate to the earnestness with 
 which we beg the better gifts. Sometimes the 
 believer prays the Lord that the thorn in the flesh 
 may depart from him, far more eagerly than he 
 
LECTTJREIII. 67 
 
 asks that sufficient grace which will make the 
 thorn no longer painful, or even will enable him 
 to glory in infirmity. Again, amongst spiritual 
 mercies, believers do not always covet most 
 earnestly the best gifts, or the gifts which in their 
 circumstances would be best for them. It was 
 good for Peter and James and John to be on the 
 holy mount, and they prayed to tarry there. But 
 it was good for the world, and eventually good 
 for themselves, that they were obliged to come 
 down. It is natural for believers to covet rapture 
 and elevation more intensely than hard labour 
 and hazardous testimonies for Jesus, and a toil- 
 some pilgrimage through a hostile world — but for 
 both themselves and that world, it is better that 
 they should go down to active service — remem- 
 bering, however, what they heard and saw when 
 they were with Jesus on the mount. 
 
 But the Holy Spirit knows the actual state of 
 each. He knows what spiritual blessings the 
 suppliant really needs, and what temporal mer- 
 cies it would be no eventual blessing for him to 
 attain. If it be a dangerous temporal good, he 
 can wean the soul from the vehement desire of 
 it; or by exhibiting some surpassing heavenly 
 good can awaken such longings after that as will 
 make the other be forgotten ; or by simply reconcil- 
 ing the soul to the adorable will of God, can make 
 it content to merge its own instinctive longings 
 in his majestic sovereignty. Then again he can 
 so reveal to the soul its actual necessities, that 
 praying time will not be expended in imploring 
 undesired mercies, or confessing unfelt deficiency.* 
 He knows the things which accord with the will 
 
G8 LECTUREIII. 
 
 of God, and teaches the petitioner to ask those 
 blessings in asking which he can plead God's 
 precept or God's promise. 
 
 5. A fifth infirmity of the saints is that, even 
 when asking right things, they do not ask in a 
 manner agreeable to the will of God. Some are 
 haunted by worldly and frivolous thoughts in 
 prayer, and feel as if their minds were never so 
 silly and trifling, so cloddish and carnal, as when 
 they attempt to pray. It would seem as if all 
 the vanities of the week came crowding into their 
 minds — as if on signal given — the moment they 
 went upon their knees — and petitions for the 
 most stupendous blessings will be ascending, 
 without force or meaning, through a swarm of 
 idle fancies and vagrant thoughts. Or perhaps, 
 amidst greater composure of spirit, there may be 
 Httle or no longing after the blessing asked. The 
 suppliant begs it, not so much because he appre- 
 ciates or desires it, as because he thinks it dutiful 
 to make mention of it, and after a formal enume- 
 ration of unsought mercies, he goes his way 
 without having actually lodged one prevailing 
 request — one effectual fervent prayer before the 
 throne of grace. Or perhaps amidst considera- 
 ble earnestness and urgency, the believer is em- 
 barrassed and distressed by the unsuitableness of 
 his thoughts — his mean conceptions of those un- 
 speakable benefits for which he is entreating, and 
 his unworthy thoughts of that God with whom 
 he has to do. Now, for all these distractions in 
 sacred duties, the remedy lies with the Spirit 
 "himself. We can shut to the door; but he can 
 shut the heart, and lock out the world and all its 
 
L E C T U R E 1 1 1 . 69 
 
 phantoms. We can open the Bible and look at 
 the promises ; but he can open heaven and show 
 each promise in its glorious fulfilment. We can 
 lift our eyes towards the hills ; but he can show 
 us " Him who is invisible," and can enable our 
 souls to rest on him with the sweetest security 
 for the fulfilment of all that he has spoken. We 
 can task ourselves to stated times of devotion and 
 resolve that we shall spend a given space in 
 prayer ; but he can so enlarge the heart — he can 
 make the spirit so strong in the Lord and in the 
 power of his might — he can fill the mind with 
 such longings after angelic purity — such delight 
 in heavenly things — such vehement aspirations 
 after God ; he can intercede within us with those 
 yearnings and groanings which cannot be uttered, 
 so that hours and minutes shall not be counted, 
 and the untiring soul continues " instant in 
 prayer." 
 
LECTURE IV. 
 
 THE PRIVILEGE OF PRAYER. 
 
 "Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing." 
 1 Thess. v. 16, 17. 
 
 " The Athenians spent their time in nothing 
 else, but either to tell or to hear some new thing;" 
 and whatever may have become of the Attic ele- 
 gance and the Attic genius, modern society is not 
 deficient in the Athenian curiosity. Nor do we 
 blame it. The desire of novelty is not in itself 
 blameworthy ; but there is one form of it which 
 we would like to see more frequent. To freshen 
 old truths is nearly as important as to discover 
 new ones ; and instead of telling or hearing some 
 new thing. Our time would often be as advanat- 
 geously occupied in thinking over, and bright- 
 ening up the meaning of some old thing. 
 
 Few expressions in theology are older than 
 that which speaks of the "privilege of prayer;" 
 but nothing could be a greater novelty in the 
 history of some who now hear me, than to find 
 prayer an actual privilege. Am I wrong ? " The 
 privilege of prayer ! " Do not some feel that the 
 burden of prayer, — the obligation, the duty, 
 would be a truer name for it ? Do not some of 
 you feel, that to call it a privilege is just to give 
 
LECTUREIV. 71 
 
 a pleasant name to an irksome thing? If so, 
 instead of initiating you in a new science, that 
 individual would do you a better service who 
 should give you fresh light on this old truth, and 
 make you feel, that not only has prayer power 
 with God, but it is very nearly the highest privi- 
 lege of man. 
 
 Let us make a supposition. "^ Suppose that 
 the individual in this kingdom, who combines in 
 himself the greatest wisdom and goodness, were 
 accessible to you. Suppose that when anything 
 pressed upon you, — a difficulty from which your 
 own sagacity could not extricate you, or an un- 
 dertaking which your own resources could not 
 compass, — you had only to send him a statement 
 of the case, and were sure, in good time, to get 
 his best and kindest counsel, — would not you 
 deem this a great privilege ? Would not some- 
 thing of this sort just meet the case of many 
 here ? One is entering on a new course of occu- 
 pation, and in its very outset meets with problems 
 that fairly baffle him, but which a friend of a 
 little more experience or perspicacity could in- 
 standy solve. Another is overtaken by a sea of 
 troubles, — a concourse of trials which quite over- 
 whelm him, but through which he perfectly 
 believes that a stronger arm or a more buoyant 
 spirit could carry him. But where shall he look 
 for that wiser friend, — that stronger arm ? Sup- 
 pose, again, that when in sudden danger or in 
 deep distress, there were some way by w^hich 
 
 * This was suggested by a similar idea in a Lecture 
 of John Foster, as preserved in the MS. notes of an 
 intelligent hearer. 
 
72 LECTURE IV. 
 
 yoiT could make known your situation, to a spirit 
 departed. That spirit is now far wiser than he 
 was when on earth. He has sources of knowledge 
 that are not open to you, and he has powers not 
 yet possessed hy you. Suppose that in grief or 
 in difficulty you could invoke him. Suppose 
 that there were some process by which you could 
 arrest his ear among the glorified, and in the lapse 
 of a brief moment bring him though unseen to 
 your side; and suppose that, to this spirit made 
 perfect, the spirit of your departed parent, or of 
 some one remarkable for his wisdom and sanctity, 
 you could detail the whole matter that grieves 
 and perplexes you, and though there should be 
 no response from the viewless shade, you knew 
 that he had heard you, and was away to inter- 
 pose effectively on your behalf, — would you not 
 feel much comforted and lightened ? Would you 
 not resume your own active exertions with far 
 greater hopefulness, — assured that there would 
 now attend them a power beyond what was proper 
 to them, or inherent in yourself? But farther, 
 suppose that instead of any v/ise or influential 
 personage on earth, or any glorified spirit in 
 paradise, it was possible for you to secure the ear 
 and engage the help of one of the principalities 
 or powers in the heavenly places ; some being 
 of such bright intelligence, that he can smile at 
 all our wisdom, and such commanding might, 
 that he can do in a moment what would occupy 
 our race for a millennium; could you for an in- 
 stant bespeak his attention, and gain assurance 
 of his willingness to help ; would you not feel 
 that your object was unspeakably promoted, or 
 
LECTUREIV. 73 
 
 your burden amazingly lightened ? To have 
 enlisted such ability and skill upon your side, — 
 the few minutes spent in securing such superhu- 
 man help, — would you not feel that they were a 
 larger contribution towards eventual success than 
 a life-time of your personal efforts ? But rise a 
 step higher — an infinite step ! — and suppose that 
 it were possible to arrest the ear and secure the 
 help of God himself; suppose that you could, by 
 any possibility, gain the attention of the living 
 God, — that you could secure not the cold and 
 distant on-looking, but the interested regard and 
 the omnipotent interposition of Jehovah himself, 
 — would not this be a privilege? But this is 
 precisely what prayer is. Some have no friend 
 of extraordinary sagacity or power to go to. The 
 spirits of the departed cannot come to us ; and 
 neither to them nor to angels are we warranted, 
 to pray. And even though we could evoke a 
 Samuel from the sepulchre, or bring down Gabriel 
 from above the sky, — the blessings which are 
 most needful for us are such as neither Samuel 
 nor Gabriel can give, — blessings of which the 
 treasure lies within the light inaccessible, and of 
 which Omnipotence alone preserves the key. 
 That Almighty hand prayer moves. That in- 
 communicable key prayer turns. That unap- 
 proachable treasury prayer opens. The blessings 
 which Solomon in all his glory, and Abraham in 
 the bosom of his God, and the seraphs who over- 
 shadow the throne, — the blessings which these 
 have not to give, it is the privilege of prayer to 
 procure. 
 
 But set it in another light. Imagine that there 
 7 
 
74 LECTUREIV. 
 
 had been certain limitations on prayer. Imagine 
 that there had onl}^ been one spot on the earth 
 from which prayer could arise with acceptance. 
 Imagine — by no means inconceivable, for there 
 was once something very like it — imagine that 
 the Lord had selected some little spot of earth — 
 a Mount Zion or a Holy Land — and said that 
 here, and here only, was the place to worship. 
 Imagine that from this hallowed spot alone there 
 had existed a passage into heaven for the prayers 
 of earth, and that all supplications, however car- 
 nest, uttered on the profane soil of the common 
 globe, had gone for nothing. What a resorting 
 we should have seen to this place of only preva- 
 lency ! When there occurred some conjuncture 
 decisive of weal or woe to an individual or a 
 family, or when a man became so anxious about 
 his soul's salvation that nothing could content 
 him save light from above, we should have seen 
 the busy trader arranging for his protracted ab- 
 sence, and the cautious, untravelled husbandman 
 preparing for the perilous pilgrimage, and multi- 
 tudes, on their own behalf or on behalf of others, 
 resorting to the place where prayer is heard and 
 answered. And imagine, farther, that there had 
 just been one day in the year when prayer was 
 permitted ; that those who arrived at the appoint- 
 ed place too late, found the gate of access closed 
 for the next twelve months, and, however sudden 
 the emergency, and however extreme its exigency, 
 that it was impossible to do anything for it till the 
 weary year moved round, and brought back the 
 one propitious day I — even thus restricted, would 
 not prayer have been felt to be a privilege worth 
 
LECTUIIEIV. 75 
 
 a pilgrimage and worth a long on-waiting ? Just 
 fancy that in our earth's yearly revolution round 
 the sun there was disclosed a crevice in the sky I 
 — that on one night in the year, and on one moun- 
 tain top, there was a vista opened through the 
 encircling vault, and a sight of dazzling glories 
 revealed to all who gazed from the favoured sum- 
 mit ; — and fancy that through the brilliant gap 
 there fell a shower of gold and gems, and that 
 this recurred regularly on the self-same evening 
 every year, what a concourse to that Pisgah might 
 you count upon I How many eager eyes would 
 strain the breathless hour beforehand till the first 
 streak of radiance betokened the bursting glory ! 
 And how many emulous hand's would rush to- 
 gether to catch the flaming rubies and the dia- 
 mond-rain ! 
 
 And just conceive — the only other supposition 
 we shall make — that certain costly or arduous 
 preliminaries were essential in order to success- 
 ful prayer; suppose that a day's strict abstinence, 
 or some painful self-punishment, were exacted; 
 or that each worshipper were required to bring 
 in his hand some costly offering — the choicest of 
 his flock, or a large per centage on his income — 
 And who would say that this was unreasonable? 
 Would not access into God's own presence — a 
 favour so ineffable — would it not be wisely pur- 
 chased at any price, and might not sinful " dust 
 and ashes" marvel that after any ordeal or puri- 
 fying process it was admitted near such Ma- 
 jesty ? 
 
 But how stands the case ? Prayer is not a 
 consultation with the highest wisdom which this 
 
76 LECTUREIV. 
 
 ^vorld can supply. It is not intercourse with an 
 angel or a spirit made perfect. But it is an ap- 
 proach to the living God. It is access to the 
 High and Holy One who inhabiteth eternity. It 
 is detailing in the ear of Divine sympathy every 
 sorrow. It is consulting with Divine wisdom on 
 every difficulty. It is asking from Divine re- 
 sources the supply of every want. And this not 
 once in a life-time, or for a few moments on a 
 stated day of each year, but at any moment, at 
 every time of need. Whatever be the day of 
 your distress, it is a day when prayer is allowa- 
 ble. Whatever be the time of your calamity, it 
 is a time when prayer is available. However 
 early in the morning you seek the gate of access, 
 you find it already open ; and however deep the 
 midnight moment when you find yourself in the 
 sudden arms of death, the wmged prayer can 
 bring an instant Saviour near. And this where- 
 soever you are. It needs not that you ascend 
 some special Pisgah or Moriah. It needs not 
 that you should enter some awful shrine, or put 
 off your shoes on some holy ground. Could a 
 memento be reared on every spot from which an 
 acceptable prayer has passed away, and on which 
 a prompt answer has come down, we should find 
 Jehovah-shammah — " the Lord hath been here" — 
 inscribed on many a cottage hearth and many a 
 dungeon floor. We should find it not only in 
 Jerusalem's proud temple and David's cedar gal- 
 leries, but in the fisherman's cottage by the brink 
 of Gennesaret, and in the upper chamber where 
 Pentecost began. And whether it be the field 
 where Isaac went to meditate, or the rocky knoll 
 
LECTUREIV. 77 
 
 where Jacob lay down to sleep, or the brook where 
 Israel wrestled, or the den where Daniel gazed 
 on the hungry lions and the lions gazed on him, 
 or the hill-sides where the Man of Sorrows prayed 
 all night, we should still discern the prints of the 
 ladder's feet let down from heaven — the landing- 
 place of mercies because the starting-point of 
 prayers. And all this whatsoever you are. It 
 needs no saint, no proficient in piety, no adept in 
 eloquent language, no dignity of earthly rank. 
 It needs but a simple Hannah, or a lisping Sam- 
 uel. It needs but a blind beggar, or a loathsome 
 lazar. It needs but a penitent publican, or a 
 dying thief. And it needs no sharp ordeal, no 
 costly passport, no painful expiation to bring you 
 to the mercy-seat; or rather, I should say, it 
 needs the costliest of all ; but the blood of atone- 
 ment — the Saviour's merit — the name of Jesus — 
 priceless as they are, cost the sinner nothing. 
 They are freely put at his disposal, and instantly 
 and constantly he may use them. This access to 
 God in every place, at every moment, without 
 any price or any personal merit, is it not a privi- 
 lege ? 
 
 And yet this old truth, I am anxious, before 
 we part, that you should find in it new signifi- 
 cance ; and therefore, to make it somewhat more 
 specific, let me apply it to a few cases, probably 
 all represented here. 
 
 ]. "Is any among you afflicted? Let him 
 pray." " In agony nature is no aiheist. The 
 mind which knows not where to fly, flies to 
 God."=^ And to spring into the arms of Omni- 
 
 * Hannah More on Prayer, p. 153. 
 7* 
 
78 LECTUREIV. 
 
 polence, to find refuge in the bosom of Mercy, is 
 to weep no longer. The drowning man whose 
 last sensation was the weUering brine ; who felt 
 the seething flood go over him, and as he settled 
 down among the trailing weeds, the memory of 
 home darted like a death-shot through his heart 
 and put an end to other anguish ; — when that 
 rescued man opens his eyes beneath some friend- 
 ly roof, and instead of the watery winding-sheet 
 and the crawling gulf-monsters, finds himself 
 on a couch of warm comfort, his chamber 
 glowing with the cheerful faggot, a friendly face 
 ready to greet his first waking, and see through 
 the window the ship that is waiting to bear him 
 back to his native isle, — it may be true that he 
 had treasures in the foundered vessel, and that 
 some curious or precious things he was carrying 
 home may never be fished up from the devour- 
 ing deep, — but how different his lot from the poor 
 castaway, whom the billows have landed on a 
 desolate rock, and who creeping about in his 
 dripping rags, can find no food but the limpets, 
 no fuel but the crackling sea-weed, no hovel to 
 shelter him, and no sail to waft him away. Both 
 have been wrecked, and both have lost their all; 
 but in the joy of his rescue the one forgets his 
 poverty, and in his wretched asylum from the 
 waves the other recognizes nothing but a prison 
 and a tomb. Precisely similar is the case of the 
 afflicted man who prays, and of him who, when 
 afflicted, cannot pray — the man whom the bil- 
 lows land on the desolate rock of worldliness or 
 atheism, and the man who, from the stun of 
 drowning waters, wakes up in the pavilion of 
 God's own presence. Both may have suffered 
 
LECTTJREIV. 79 
 
 equal losses. Both may have left a treasuie in 
 the deep. Both may have been washed empty- 
 handed ashore. But the man of prayer is like 
 the man who comes to himself in the asylum 
 of the friendly home. The bliss of present 
 fellowship with God abates or banishes the 
 grief of recent loss. On the lee-shore, which 
 has shattered his frail bark, he is astonished to 
 lift up his eyes and find himself the inmate of a 
 beloved friend, and a familiar dwelling. He 
 knows that he will land safe at last, and is happy 
 even now. " Is any among you afflicted ? Let 
 him pray." 
 
 2. Is any among you perplexed ? " If any 
 of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who 
 giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not ; 
 and it shall be given him." 
 
 There is an instructive Greek story which 
 tells us of a noble youth who had a more than 
 mortal guide. The Prince was frank and manly 
 and docile ; but on account of his inexperience 
 often found himself in straits through which his 
 own sagacity could not steer him. On such oc- 
 casions, when in danger of falling into designing 
 hands or committing himself to disastrous coun- 
 sels, or when actually involved in distresses from 
 which he could not extricate himself, this faithful 
 friend was sure to speed to his rescue. What- 
 ever was the scene of anxiety or affright, he had 
 only to bethink himself of his kind and sagacious 
 counsellor, and that moment Mentor was beside 
 him. What Homer dreamed, the Gospel veri- 
 fies. It tells that veiled from our view only by 
 the curtain of this corporeal, but nearer to us 
 than that flesh and blood which hides us from 
 
80 LECTUREIV. 
 
 our truest selves, there is an ever-present friend 
 who needs only to be remembered in order to 
 prove a present help. It tells us that amidst all 
 our embarrassments and sorrows, grief is never 
 so near but deliverance is nearer still. And it 
 tells us that all the confusion and blundering, the 
 foolish bargains and infatuated proceedings which 
 often make us so affronted or indignant at our- 
 selves might all have been avoided had we time- 
 ously resorted to that wonderful Counsellor who 
 encompasses all our ways. In other words, the 
 Bible assures us that, however much we may 
 suffer from the deficiency of our talents and the 
 darkness of our understandings, we suffer still 
 more from not taking advantage of that Wisdom 
 from above who can enlighten our darkness and 
 elevate all our powers. INo man, by taking 
 thought, can add a faculty to his mind any more 
 than he can add a feature to his countenance or a 
 cubit to his stature. But the man who has 
 learned to pray, can, at the Throne of Grace, 
 procure what really is the enhancement of his 
 intellect, and the augmentation of his faculties ; 
 that Divine wisdom which will either supersede 
 or supplement his own. 
 
 His must be a very easy calling who has 
 never felt the need of more skill and prudence — 
 more wisdom than is indigenous to himself. 
 Take the most common instances. You are a 
 father or a mother — perhaps a widowed father or 
 a widowed mother. There are your children 
 rising around you. Allowing that their minds 
 are ever so susceptible and plastic, how impor- 
 tant are your every movement and entire de- 
 
LECTUREIV. 81 
 
 meanour in their bearing on them ! A single 
 inconsistency, the most trivial inadvertency, com- 
 ing with all the sanction of a parent's example, 
 how influential for evil is it sure to be ! How 
 possible for a father, by mere inconsiderateness, 
 to perpetuate his own worst qualities in the per- 
 sons of many survivors ; and, just because they 
 loved him so well, and copied him so closely, 
 how possible is it to transmit in his children's 
 characters the facsimile of his worser self — the 
 image of his frivolity, or peevishness, or indo- 
 lence. Nay, how possible is it to convert a child 
 into the perennial monument of a few occasional 
 follies — to prolong, in its habitual character, the 
 sayings and doings of a few unguarded mo- 
 ments ! Then, again, there may be among these 
 children more puzzling problems — some who are 
 neither affectionate nor docile — who are not 
 likely, by a mere moral imbibition, to take in the 
 good influences with which they are surrounded 
 — problems in whose management more than pa- 
 tience and tenderness is needful — refractory, self- 
 ish, or peculiar natures, on which nothing but 
 the decisive measures of a deep-seeing sagacity — 
 the bold strokes of a forceful nature — can make 
 any permanent impression. Whosoever occupies 
 a station of moral influence — a station where his 
 labour lies amongst the most perilous materials 
 with which man can intermeddle — the affections 
 and dispositions — the wills of other people, must 
 have amazing self-reliance, or a deplorable cal- 
 lousness, if he is not frequently crushed down by 
 the solemnity of his position. It was by one in 
 such a position that a most considerate and mag- 
 
82 
 
 LECTURE IV 
 
 nanlmous prayer was offered — a prayer whose 
 spirit every parent, and teacher, and pastor should 
 emulate, just as a similar answer is what every 
 parent, and teacher, and pastor who offers it is 
 encouraged to expect : — " In Gibeon the Lord ap- 
 peared to Solomon in a dream by night : and God 
 said, ' Ask what I shall give thee.' And Solo- 
 mon said, ' Thou hast showed unto thy servant 
 David my father great mercy, according as he 
 walked before thee in truth and in righteousness, 
 and in uprightness of heart with thee : and thou 
 hast kept for him this great kindness, that thou 
 hast given him a son to sit on his throne as it is 
 this day. And nov/, O Lord my God, thou hast 
 made thy servant king instead of David my 
 father ; and I am but a little child : I know not 
 how to go out or come in. And thy servant is 
 in the midst of thy people which thou hast cho- 
 sen, a great people, that cannot be numbered nor 
 counted for multitude. Give, therefore, thy ser- 
 vant an understanding heart to judge thy people, 
 that I may discern between good and bad : for 
 who is able to judge this thy so great a people V 
 And the speech pleased the Lord that Solomon 
 had asked this thing. And God said unto him, 
 ' Because thou hast asked this thing, and hast 
 not asked for thyself long life ; neither hast asked 
 riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine 
 enemies ; but hast asked for thyself understand- 
 ing to discern judgment ; behold, I have done 
 according to thy words : lo, I have given thee a 
 wise and understanding heart, so that there was 
 none like thee before thee, neither after thee shall 
 any arise like unto thee. And I have also given 
 
LECTUREIV. 83 
 
 thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches 
 and honour.' "^ 
 
 3. Is any among you embarked in an impor- 
 tant undertaking ? " Commit thy way unto the 
 Lord, and He shall bring it to pass. In all thy 
 ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy 
 steps." Some feel as if it were presumption to 
 implore God's blessing on their daily toils and 
 secular callings. They feel as if spiritual mer- 
 cies were the only proper themes for prayer, and 
 as if it were a desecration of Jehovah's presence- 
 chamber to carry thither matters so mean as our 
 worldly undertakings and every-day concerns. 
 And assuredly if a man were to make nothing 
 else than his worldly welfare the subject of his 
 supplications, it would be much the same with 
 him as with those sordid spirits who had no other 
 use for the Temple than to make it a market- 
 place, and sell their oxen and doves; and " Let 
 not that earthly-minded man think that he shall 
 receive anything of the Lord." But if you be in 
 the habit of resorting to the Throne of Grace for 
 spiritual mercies, to that Throne you naturally 
 and lawfully resort for temporal mercies also. 
 And, indeed, no undertaking or employment of a 
 Christian can be altogether secular. The mere 
 fact that it is his gives it a certain sacredness, and 
 identifies it with the interests of God's kingdom 
 on earth. It is not a matter of no moment whe- 
 ther a servant who makes profession of religion 
 shall fulfil the duties of his station no better than 
 others who make no profession. It is not a mat- 
 ter of no religious moment whether a student pro- 
 
 * 1 Kings iii. 5—13. 
 
S4 l-ECTUREIV. 
 
 fessing \nv.ty shall not be more industrious and 
 successful than one who scoffs at the Bible. And 
 it is not a matter of no consequence whether the 
 business transactions and household arrange- 
 ments and personal exertions of Christian pro- 
 fessors shall not surpass the usual "style of the 
 •worldly. And so far as the glory of God and 
 the honour of the Divine Redeemer are impli- 
 cated, it is incumbent on every believer to bespeak 
 from above that help which will make him more 
 than a conqueror even in his worldly calling. 
 But more than this : there is nothing which can 
 be momentous to a child of God which is not also 
 interesting to his Heavenly Father. A gentle 
 parent is not only ready to snatch his child from 
 the fire, but to relieve him from lesser miseries. 
 He is not only willing to give him an ample edu- 
 cation or provide for his distant well-being ; but 
 if there be nothing wrong in it, he is ready to in- 
 dulge even his least desires — ready to help him 
 in his most trivial pursuits. And so, the peti- 
 tion, "Our Father, who art in heaven — give us 
 this day our daily bread," is to teach us that no- 
 thing affects the welfare or comfort of his feeblest 
 child, but it is ready to receive the consideration 
 of his Heavenly Father, and so is a fit subject 
 for prayer. And just as the Lord is ready to 
 hear prayer in such cases, so it is the wisdom of 
 every one to lighten his own labour and secure 
 his own success by timely supplication. Jacob's 
 prayer did more to propitiate Esau than Jacob's 
 present. Eliezer's petition, as he knelt by the 
 camel's side, did more to prosper his embassy 
 than his own and his master's precautions. And 
 
LECTUREIV. 85 
 
 Hezekiah's intercession rescued Jerusalem when 
 its walls were of little use, and nothing but the 
 arm of Jehovah could lay the invader low. We 
 know not the secret history of this world's mighti- 
 est transactions and its proudest monuments; 
 but from the little that we know we can affirm 
 that the men who have prospered best are the 
 men who have taken time to pray. It was to 
 prayer that Henry IV. of France ascribed his 
 crown, and Gustavus owed his victories. The 
 father of the modern fine arts was wont, before 
 he began any new composition, to invoke His in- 
 spiration, who in other days taught Aholiab ; and 
 the Goliath of English literature felt that he 
 studied successfully when he had prayed ear- 
 nestly. And what Michael Angelo and Milton 
 and Johnson found so hopeful to their mighty ge- 
 nius cannot hinder us. You have read in our own 
 history of that hero who, when an overwhelming 
 force w^as in full pursuit, and all his followers 
 were urging him to more rapid flight, coolly dis- 
 mounted in order to repair a flaw in his horse's 
 harness. Whilst busied with the broken buckle, 
 the distant cloud swept down in nearer thunder ; 
 but just as the prancing hoofs and eager spears 
 were ready to dash down on him, the flaw was 
 mended, the clasp was fastened, the steed was 
 mounted, and like a swooping falcon he had van- 
 ished from their view. The broken buckle would 
 have left him on the field a dismounted and in- 
 glorious prisoner. The timely delay sent him 
 in safety back to his huzzaing comrades. There 
 is in daily life the same luckless precipitancy, 
 and the same profitable delay. The man who, 
 8 
 
S6 LECTTTREIV. 
 
 from his prayerless waking, bounces off into the 
 business of the day, however good his talents 
 and great his diligence, is only galloping on a 
 steed harnessed with a broken buckle, and must 
 not marvel if in his hottest haste, or most haz- 
 ardous leap he be left inglorious in the dust : 
 and though it may occasion some little delay be- 
 forehand, his neighbour is wiser who sets all in 
 order before the march begins. 
 
 •4. But covet most earnestly the best gifts. Is 
 any among you in earnest about his soul, but 
 distressed by reason of darkness ? "If ye being 
 evil know how to give good gifts unto your chil- 
 dren, how much more will your Heavenly Father 
 give the Hoh' Spirit to them that ask him T' 
 If any one be in the outset of his religious in- 
 quiries, he will feel a special lack. The subjects 
 to which his thoughts are now turned are novel. 
 Till now, he has not paid much attention to them ; 
 and now, when they have become urgent, he 
 feels foreign in the midst of them. He takes up 
 the Bible, but it is altogether so peculiar, the 
 truths it handles are so far out of the ordinary- 
 way of his thinking, and its very style is so alien 
 to his ordinary mode of expression, that he feels 
 much as a person might be supposed to feel who 
 had somehow been transported to another planet, 
 and not only saw forms of existence there totally 
 ditlerent from anything which his fancy had ever 
 conceived, but who had not been long among 
 them till he began to suspect that he was not com- 
 petent to understand them thoroughly. He has 
 not been long in this new world till he begins to 
 suspect that more than five senses are needed 
 
L E C T U R E I V . 87 
 
 here. He notices appearances which indicate 
 that matters are transpiring which his ear cannot 
 detect, and into which his eye cannot penetrate. 
 He finds himself in a world of deepest interest, 
 but a world of distressing mystery. Enough 
 comes within his cognizance to make him wish 
 that he was able to know it all ; but enough to 
 convince him that its most characteristic things 
 are those which he does not know, and has not 
 the means for finding out. Or, to use a more 
 obvious illustration : Most persons, in the out- 
 set of their spiritual enlightenment, are in the 
 case of the blind man at Bcthsaida when his sight 
 was half restored. He looked up and saw men 
 like trees walking. He saw that he was in a 
 world of light, and verdure, and vivacity ; but it 
 was all a jumble of green men, and walking 
 trees — a medley of light and motion. He had 
 no clear perceptions — no sharp and definite ideas. 
 But — another touch of the same miraculous fin- 
 ger ! — he looked again, and the men walked and 
 the trees stood still, the boats winged their limpid 
 way over quivering Galilee, and lo ! Bethsaida 
 sleeping in the summer noon. At the com- 
 mencement of a religious inquiry, the man finds 
 himself in a region of deep interest, but withal, a 
 region of dim outlines and flickering obscurity. 
 His notions run into one another, and he has 
 rather a confused impression of the extent of the 
 landscape, than a clear perception of any one ob- 
 ject in it. Like the man who confounded walk- 
 ing people with growing trees, he is apt to con- 
 found one doctrine with another. He mistakes 
 faith for the Saviour. He blends to2:ether the 
 
88 LECTURE IV. 
 
 Gospel and the Law, and thinks that there must 
 be a change in himself before he is entitled to 
 believe in Christ for salvation. And if, at this 
 stage, friendly counsellors come in with their dis- 
 tinctions and explanations, they answer much the 
 same purpose as a neighbour who should have 
 endeavoured to expound the landscape to the half- 
 enlightened Galilean. After all his well-meant 
 efforts, the scene would still have showed a med- 
 ley of glimmering colours and dancing blotches, 
 and nothing but another touch of the omnipotent 
 hand could project the whole into splendid dis- 
 tinctness. And, just as in the case of the dim- 
 seeing Galilean, it was not so much a sunshine 
 as a ghost of light which saluted his eye-balls — 
 so, in the outset of a spiritual earnestness, it is 
 not the warm and radiant Gospel which glads the 
 exploring vision, but a cold and hazy version of 
 it. It is not a Gospel over which the love of God 
 sheds its flood of endearment, but a Gospel in a 
 mist — a Gospel of conflicting attributes and am- 
 biguous meaning — a Gospel of dim love and 
 doubtful kindness. And it is not till a power 
 from on high imparts clearer perceptions and in- 
 tenser vision that, like the joyful scenes which 
 rushed on the fully-opened eyes of the Bethsai- 
 dan, the scheme of mercy stands out in assuring 
 distinctness, and then melts in upon the soul in 
 its genial beauty and overwhelming glories. 
 
 Now, my friends, if any of you are in this 
 case — if you have for some time wished a clear 
 theology and a soul-satisfying religion, this is the 
 way to get it. You have, perhaps, sought it in 
 books and in sermons. Perhaps you have sought 
 
LECTUREIV. 89 
 
 it in the Bible, and in close thinking, and yet you 
 have not found it. Seek it " from above." Seek 
 it in prayer. Don't shut the Bible and forsake 
 the sanctuary. Don't fling away the book, or 
 cease to reflect and meditate, but seek the wis- 
 dom from on high. It is not plainer preaching — 
 certainly it is not a clearer Bible that you need ; 
 but it is a clearer eyesight — a power of sharper 
 discernment, and a more perspicacious insight in 
 yourself. This " opening of your eyes " — this 
 exaltation of your faculties, God alone can give. 
 But he will give it. You lack wisdom. Ask it 
 of God. With your reading, hearing, medita- 
 tion, mingle prayer; and, in the brightening of 
 your views, and the strengthening of your faith, 
 you will find that God is sending out his light 
 and truth, and, by the illumination of his own 
 Spirit, is making you wiser than all your teachers. 
 
LECTURE V. 
 
 THE OPEN REWARD OF SECRET PRAYER. 
 
 " Thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and 
 when thou hast shut' thy door, pray to thy Father 
 which is in secret ; and thy Father which seeth in 
 secrej;, shall reward thee openly." — Matt. vi. 6. 
 
 We do not need to enter the closet in order to 
 find the Lord. He is ever near to us. But we 
 enter it in order to escape from distractions, and 
 in order to regain those associations, and, it may 
 be, to surround ourselves with those mementos 
 which we formerly found helpful to our prayers. 
 One who has great powers of abstraction may 
 take refuge from surrounding bustle in the depths 
 of his own spirit, and pass along the crowded 
 streets in the perpetual hermitage of his own self- 
 seclusion, undiverted and undistracted by all that 
 is* whirling round him. But few have this 
 talent of inward sequestration — this power to 
 make a closet of themselves ; and, in order to 
 find for their thoughts a peaceful sanctuary, they 
 must find for their persons a tranquil asylum. It 
 little matters where or what it is. Isaac went 
 out into the field, and Jacob plied his night-long 
 prayer beside the running brook. Abraham 
 planted a grove, and, in the cool shadow of his 
 oaks at Beersheba, he called on the name of the 
 
LECTUREV. 91 
 
 Lord. Abraham's servant knelt down beside his 
 camel; and it would appear, from some of his 
 psalms^ that a cave, a mountain fastness, or a 
 cavern in the rocks, was David's frequent ora- 
 tory. Peter had chosen for his place of prayer 
 the quiet and airy roof of his sea-side lodging, 
 when the messengers of Cornelius found him. 
 It would seem that the open air — the noiseless 
 amplitude of the " solitary place " — the hill-side, 
 w^ith the stars above, and the shadowy world be- 
 low — the fragrant stillness of the garden when 
 evening had dismissed the labourers, w^ere the 
 places where the Man of Sorrows loved to pray. 
 It was in the old church of Ayr that John Welsh 
 was wont, all alone, to wrestle with the angel of 
 the covenant; and we have stood in the wild 
 rock-cleft where Peden found frequent refuge 
 from his persecutors, and whence he caused his 
 cry to ascend " unto the Lord most high." It 
 does not need four walls and a bolted door to 
 make a place of prayer. Retirement, and si- 
 lence, and a sequestered spirit will create it any- 
 where. By the shore of the sounding sea — in 
 the depths of the forest — in the remoteness of 
 the green and sunny upland, or the balmy peace- 
 fulness of the garden bower — nay, amidst the 
 dust of the dingy wareroom, or the cobwebs of 
 the owlet-haunted barn — in the jolting corner 
 of the crowded stage, or the unnoticed nook of 
 the travellers' room, you have only to shut 
 your eyes, and seclude your spirit, and you have 
 created a closet there. It is a closet wherever 
 the soul finds itself alone with God. 
 
 But, besides a still and silent place, it is im- 
 
92 LECTUREV. 
 
 portant to have a stated place for prayer — " thy" 
 closet — thy familiar and frequented place. Al- 
 though places have not so much influence on us 
 as persons, their influence is great. There are 
 places where we would Ijke to be when trial 
 comes — places where we should like to be if we 
 are to sicken and be laid aside — places where we 
 should like to die — and places where we find it 
 most congenial and delightful to pray. Homes 
 of the spirit they are ; places that seem to 
 understand us and be in sympathy with us ; places 
 that have, as it were, imbibed, and do still retain, 
 something of the joys we once tasted in them ; 
 places which make bereavement less awful, 
 loneliness less desolate, happiness more intense, 
 and heaven more near. When Elijah came to 
 Sarepta, and found the son of the widow dead, 
 he snatched the child from the bosom of the 
 weeping mother and carried him " to the loft 
 where he abode, and laid him on his own bed." 
 And there " he cried unto the Lord, Lord, 
 my God, let this child's soul come into him 
 again." He felt as if this loft, where he had so 
 often prayed before, was the likeliest place for 
 prayer now — the place where he might penetrate 
 into Jehovah's nearest presence and procure an 
 unprecedented blessing. And on this principle, 
 perhaps, it was that David, when tidings came 
 of the death of Absalom, hasted up to the " cham- 
 ber over the gate." His heart was breaking, and 
 lest it should split aUogether in this unutterable 
 sorrow, he sped away to the place where he had 
 found lesser sorrows lightened ; and, as he stag- 
 gered up into this secret sanctuary, passionate 
 
LECTUREV. 93 
 
 grief began to give place to prayer, " my son 
 Absalom, my son, my son Absalom ! would 
 God I had died for thee, Absalom, my son, my 
 son !" And this is the best consecration any 
 sanctuary or secret chamber can acquire — tiie 
 consciousnesss that there you have met with 
 God, and the hope instinctive that there you may 
 meet him yet again. Happy are you if there be 
 a house of prayer or a private dwelling which 
 awakens in you, as you near it, a rush of holy 
 feelings or happy recollections — a sanctuary 
 round which a constant Sabbath shines and a 
 perpetual air of heaven reposes. And happy are 
 you if, in your residence, there be a room — 
 however sombre the stranger may think it — 
 which you cannot enter without a secret comfort 
 suffusing your spirit ; a room where, in dreariest 
 moments, you feel that you are not friendless, 
 and in darkest days that you are not hopeless ; 
 a room in which memory has built its Peniels 
 and Ebenezers — its memorials of ecstatic hours 
 and answered petitions ; a chamber which you 
 abandon with regret when called to quit the 
 dwelling, as if, in leaving it, you left the gate of 
 heaven — the closet where you used to shut to 
 the door and pray to your Father in secret, and 
 feel that he was hearing you. 
 
 And here I may just notice, that besides the 
 open return, there is a secret reward of secret 
 prayer. There is a peculiar and present joy in 
 communion with God. The deepest pleasures 
 are the purest ; and of all pleasures the purest is 
 the peace of God. To feel that he is love — to 
 draw so near him as to forget the world — so 
 
94 LECTUREV. 
 
 near as to lose the love of sin — so near that all 
 sensual delights are drowned in the river of his 
 pleasures, and all holy joys enhanced in the 
 brightness of his smile — to bask, for ever so 
 brief a moment, in the light inaccessible, and 
 rejoice with loyalty of spirit in Jehovah's right- 
 eous sovereignty, and feel, through all recesses 
 of the soul, the sin-supplanting flow and bea- 
 tific thrills of infinite holiness and soul-trans- 
 forming love — to be this, and feel this, is, of all 
 pleasures the sweetest — of all blessedness the 
 purest and most profound. And next to this 
 high communion with God — next to this joy of 
 passions lulled, and sins slain, and self-forgotten 
 in adoring fellowship with the Father of Lights 
 — is their sedater comfort who can pour their 
 griefs into their Heavenly Father's bosom, or who 
 feel that they have bespoken help against com- 
 ing toils and trials at their Heavenly Father's 
 hand. To know that God is near — to know that 
 he is trusted, honoured, loved — to feel that you 
 are acting towards him as a reverential and affec- 
 tionate child, and that he is feeling towards you 
 as a gracious and compassionate Father — there 
 is in this, itself, an exquisite satisfaction, a pre- 
 sent reward. 
 
 The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
 
 With pray'r and praise agree ; 
 And seem by thy sweet bounty made 
 
 For those who follow thee. 
 
 There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, 
 
 And grace her mean abode ; 
 Oh ! with what peace, and joy, and love, 
 
 She communes with her God. 
 
LECTUREV. 95 
 
 There, like the nightingale, she pours 
 
 Her solitary lays ; 
 Nor asks a witness of her song, 
 
 Nor thirsts for human praise 
 
 But, besides this secret reward — this present 
 recompense, of which the praying soul alone is 
 conscious — there is an open reward of secret 
 prayer promised in the text, and verified wherever 
 secret prayer is practised. 
 
 1. And, first of all, we remark that the answer 
 is sometimes open when the prayer is secret. 
 The world sees the result when it little suspects 
 the effectual antecedent. When Jacob and Esau 
 met — on the one side the shaggy chieftain with 
 his four hundred swordsmen, and on the other 
 side the limping shepherd with his caravan of 
 children and cattle — a flock of sheep approaching 
 a band of wolves ; when the patriarch took his 
 staff in his hand and stepped forward to meet the 
 embattled company, and the anxious retinue 
 awaited the issue — they saw the tear start into 
 the rough huntsman's eye — they saw the sword 
 drop from Esau's hand — they saw his brawny 
 arms round Jacob's neck — they saw in the red 
 savage a sudden and unlooked-for brother. 
 They saw the result, but they had not seen the 
 prelude which led to it. They had not been 
 with Jacob at the ford of Jabbok the night before. 
 They had not viewed his agony and heard his 
 prayer; and though they noticed the halting 
 limb, they did not know the victory whose token 
 it was. They saw the patriarch, the husband, 
 and the father ; but they knew not that he was a 
 prince with God, and had gained Esau's heart 
 
96 LECTURE V. 
 
 from him who has all hearts in his hand. The 
 hailing thigh and the pacified foe were obvious ; 
 but the wrestling overnight was unknown. The 
 reward was open, but the prayer was secret. 
 
 And so there are many benefits which a be- 
 liever secures by prayer — benefits which the 
 world envies or wonders at, but of which the 
 world knows not the secret source. " This man 
 — there is some charm about him, for all things 
 answer with him. Things in which others fail, 
 he puts to his hand to them, and instantly they 
 take another turn — they swing right — they stand 
 fast — they prosper well. He has some magic — 
 for whatever be the mischief, he escapes it — 
 whatever be the calamity, it cannot come near 
 him. He has got the talisman which made the 
 wearer invisible, all except his shadow. When 
 any disaster comes down, it crushes that shadow 
 — any blow, it divides that shadow — any trap, it 
 only catches that shadoAV, — his truest self gets 
 always clear off." You are perfectly right. It 
 is a singular fact — a peculiar circumstance. " He 
 that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most 
 High, shall abide under the shadow of the Al- 
 mighty. He shall cover thee with his feathers, 
 and under his wings shalt thou trust. Thou 
 shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for 
 the arrow that flieth by day. A thousand shall 
 fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right 
 hand ; but it shall not come nigh thee. Only 
 with thine eyes shalt thou behold, and see the 
 reward of the wicked. Because thou hast made 
 the Lord, who is my refuge, even the Most High, 
 thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee, 
 
LECTUKEV. 97 
 
 neither shall any plague come nigrh thy dwelling. 
 Thou sh?k call upon him, and he will answer 
 thee : he will be with thee in trouble. He will 
 deliver and honour thee."^ Prayer is the talis- 
 man. The secret of the Lord's presence is the 
 protecting charm. The eye of Omniscience de- 
 tects his dangers, and the hand of Omnipotence 
 clears his path, and finishes his work, and dis- 
 pels or reconciles his foes. The closet secured 
 it, but the world beholds it. The prayer was 
 secret but the reward is open. 
 
 Amongst these open rewards of secret prayer, 
 we would specify presence of mind and compo- 
 sure of spirit. There are some persons of a calm 
 temperament, who pass sedately through every 
 scene, and are seldom taken by surprise. They 
 are persons of ready wit and exhaustless re- 
 sources and constant self-command. But there 
 are others fearful and foreboding, easily stunned, 
 and easily agitated. They are perpetually ap- 
 prehending a lion in the street, and go about any 
 new undertaking with as much anxiety as would 
 suffice for the most arduous enterprise. They 
 will pass by the perilous house on which they 
 are plotting a visit, or at last address themselves 
 to the knocker with as much trepidation as if 
 they expected an ogre to dart from behind it. 
 And when any little incident occurs — any con- 
 juncture requiring promptitude or dexterity — 
 their wits, only agile in forsaking them, are sure 
 to be out of the way. The moment is flown — 
 the propitious instant is past — and it is only when 
 the opportunity is gone and for ever that they 
 
 * Psalm xci 
 
98 
 
 LECTURE V . 
 
 perceive the very thing they should have said or 
 done, but in their confusion it did not occur to 
 them. For this sore evil we know no better 
 remedy than the prescription of the text. Prayer 
 calms and fortifies the mind, and so prepares it 
 for tlie rapid incidents and sudden emergencies 
 of the day. But it does more than this. Just 
 as you may have noticed those who move in the 
 highest circles, and who are accustomed to the 
 loftiest society ; they not only continue calm and 
 collecied when others are embarrassed or un- 
 hinged, but in circumstances of delicacy or dis- 
 tress to others, by a certain high-born address — 
 a certain conscious felicity — they not only save 
 themselves from awkwardness, but give a happy 
 extrication to all around them. So there are 
 certain persons belonging to the peerage of the 
 faithful — men of as old a family as Enoch's — 
 princely natures who are wont to converse even 
 with the King of kings — men who in their walk 
 with God have learned the happy art of possess- 
 ing their own souls and tranquillizing the souls 
 of others. Their hearts are fixed, and when they 
 hear of evil tidings, they not only are not them- 
 selves afraid, but their assurance comforts and 
 composes others. And beyond all this, the man 
 of prayer is preternaturally prompted and 
 strengthened from above. Like the first disci- 
 ples, he needs to take no thought how or what 
 he shall say or do, for in the hour of exigency 
 the Holy Ghost will teach him. And hence, in 
 all high conjunctures, men of prayer have sur- 
 passed themselves, and have felt that a courage, 
 or prudence, or eloquence, was lent them, at 
 
LECTUREV. yjl 
 
 which they themselves wondered, and which they 
 only understood by recollecting that in their lack 
 of wisdom they had asked of God. And so, 
 brethren, if you would be carried bravely through 
 scenes of affright — dexterously through scenes of 
 difficulty — or triumphantly through scenes of 
 awful alternative, resort to your Father in secret. 
 When Nehemiah was enabled to put the case of 
 his people so touchingly to the Assyrian monarch 
 — the pathos of his statement — the unwonted 
 kindness of the king — and the prompt concession 
 of his prayer, were the open reward of a secret 
 ejaculation. "^ And when Paul, on board the 
 foundering ship, played such a gallant part — the 
 prisoner superseding centurion, captain, pilot, and 
 ail — the heroic coolness, the veteran sagacity, 
 and sublime composure which made him appear 
 a sort of deity, were the answer to fasting and 
 prayer. When his friends asked the great phy- 
 sician Boerhaave how he could possibly go 
 through so much work from day to day, and pass 
 tranquil through so many fretting scenes, he told 
 them that his plan was to devote the first hour 
 of every morning to prayer and meditation on 
 the word of God. 
 
 Another open reward of secret prayer is spiri- 
 tuality of mind. By a spiritual mind we do not 
 mean a severe mind, or a sombre. We do not 
 mean a peculiar phraseology, or an affected reli- 
 gionism ; but we mean that state of a mind right 
 with God, when it is all alive to the things of 
 God, — that vividness of faith when the things 
 unseen are very solid, and that vivacity of feel- 
 
 * Nehemiah ii. 4 — 6 
 
100 LECTURE V. 
 
 ing when tnings sacred are congenial and inte- 
 resting and affecting. A spiritual mind is one to 
 which the Bible is something better than a Dic- 
 tionary, and to which the Sabbath, with its exer- 
 cises, does not bring the sense of drudgery. Ic 
 is a mind clear-seeing and keen-hearing ; a mind 
 of quick perceptions and prompt emotions ; a 
 mind to w^hich the Saviour stands out a living 
 person, and for which heaven is waiting an ex- 
 pected home : a mind so sensitive, that sin makes 
 it writhe with agony, whilst it finds in holiness a 
 true deliciousness, and in God's conscious favour 
 an Elysian joy. Now, brethren, if you would 
 possess such a mind you must keep it fresh and 
 vegete and lifesome by secret prayer. Some, 
 professors are, in this respect, deplorably want- 
 ing. Their religion is formahty. Their conver- 
 sation rather quotes from past experience than 
 utters what they now realize and feel. True 
 piety is like the vestal fire, which was intended 
 to burn day and night, and never to go out, and 
 which never did go out, so long as they remem- 
 bered to replenish it day by day. The religious 
 profession of some people is like the yellow ashes 
 on a key-cold altar, which show that there once 
 were warmth and light and flame, but which also 
 show that they have neglected it and suffered it 
 to die. Brethren, do you, morning by morning, 
 pour on the oil of secret prayer, and add the 
 fresh fuel of some Bible-truth well pondered, and 
 your fire will not go out. The altar of your 
 heart will never subside to the clear-steel cold- 
 ness which will make him who comes in contact 
 with it shudder ; and you will always have, at 
 
LECTURE V. 101 
 
 least, a little spark with which to kindle others 
 Or, using a homelier metaphor, religion, in the 
 soul of man, is like some precious thing in a ves- 
 sel of ill-seasoned timber. Not only does the 
 rough wear of this rude world sore batter it, but 
 the burning sun of secularity, the glow of daily 
 business, is enough to fill it full of flaws and fis- 
 sures ; and it is only by putting it to steep over- 
 night in the pool of Siloah, that the chinks will 
 close, and the cracked and leaky firkin be ren- 
 dered fit for another morning's use. But the 
 man who abounds in secret prayer will not only 
 preserve his own vitality, — he will carry away 
 from God's presence peace and joy and energy 
 enough to make him a benefactor to others. A 
 man, mighty in prayer, is a perpetual comfort, — 
 a continual cordial in a world like this. When 
 a prayerless professor tries to comfort the 
 afflicted, he defeats his own well-meant efforts. 
 When he enters the house of mourning, or sits 
 down by the sick man's side, it is like a traveller 
 coming in from a frosty atmosphere to the cham- 
 ber of a nervous invalid. Though enveloped in 
 frieze and in fur himself, he brings enough of 
 winter in his clothes to make the poor patient 
 chatter. But the man of prayer bears about with 
 him a genial clime. Even in the dead season 
 of the year, when frost is black and fields are 
 iron, he carries summer in his person. "All his 
 garments smell of myrrh and aloes and cassia." 
 For his closet is the ivory palace, — the gay con- 
 servatory where flowers of paradise are blooming 
 all the year. There is a gladness in his coming, 
 
102 LECTURE V. 
 
 for he never comes alone. He carries his Savi- 
 our with him. 
 
 Then comes the crowning recompense, — the 
 open reward of the great day. At that day no 
 man will be saved for his prayers. It will be 
 said to none, " You have been so holy and so de- 
 vout, you have prayed so much, and laboured so 
 hard, that on you the second death has no 
 power." But though it is entirely and solely for 
 the prayers, — the precious blood and perfect 
 righteousness of God's dear Son, — that any soul 
 can enter heaven ; there will, at that disclosing 
 day, be a rich reward of secret prayers. When 
 every one receives the things done in his body, 
 eminent intercessors will receive the final answer 
 to the prayers of a life-time. Of many of the 
 petitions offered now we know not what becomes. 
 Some are for places far away ; some for people 
 whom we never see again ; some for blessings 
 which, if bestowed, we can never know it. But 
 all these prayers are efficacious. If prayers of 
 faith, they all have pre valency. They have 
 effected something ; and they are all self-regis- 
 tering. They go into the Book of Eemembrance. 
 They keep account of themselves, or rather God 
 keeps it, and when the great day comes round, 
 and the throne is set, and the books are opened, 
 it will be seen how much every Christian has 
 prayed, what were the gifts he coveted most ear- 
 nestly, and what were the petitions he urged 
 most frequently. And strange things will come 
 to light that day. Here is one who was never 
 known on earth ; perhaps in all the right-hand 
 company none can recollect his name. He was 
 
LECTURE V. 103 
 
 very poor. He had no money to give to the 
 cause of Christ, — hardly the two mites ; — and he 
 was very plain, simple, and unlearned. He 
 could not express himself. But his name is 
 Israel. He was a prince with God, and see how 
 often he has prevailed. And here is another 
 who was bed-rid many years, could not work, 
 could not visit, could not write, — but she could 
 pray. And see what a benefactress she has been. 
 See this long list of affectionate intercessions for 
 her relatives and neighbours and friends ; these 
 many supplications for the Church and the 
 world, for the unconverted, for Missions, for 
 mourners in Zion ! And see the answers ! 
 What a Dorcas she has been, — though she could 
 make no garments for the poor ! What a Phoebe, 
 — though she could not stir a step ! What a 
 Priscilla, — though she could expound the way of 
 God to few, for her prayers often did it all I 
 And here is another. He had just escaped from 
 Papal darkness, and was beginning to enlighten 
 others, when he was put in prison, and after 
 months of languishing he went up from Smith- 
 field in his chariot of fire, — a martyr of Jesus 
 Christ. He never preached. He was refused 
 the use of ink and pen. He wrote nothing. He 
 printed nothing. He spake to no one, for thick 
 dungeon-walls enclosed him. But he prayed. 
 From the height of his sanctuary the Lord looked 
 down ; he heard the groaning of this prisoner ; 
 and in the Reformation sent the answer. 
 
LECTURE VI. 
 
 REASONS WHY PRAYER IS NOT ANSWERED. 
 
 " Ask, and it shall be given you."— Matt. vii. 7. 
 
 *' Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss." — 
 James iv. 3. 
 
 Suppose that a man takes up his pen and a 
 piece of parchment, and writes on the top of it, 
 " To the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty, the 
 humble petition of So and so," but there he 
 stops. He sits with the pen in his hand for half 
 an hour, but does not add another word, then 
 rises and goes his way. And he repeats this 
 process day after day — beginning a hundred 
 sheets of paper, but putting into them no express 
 request ; sometimes, perhaps, scrawling down a 
 few sentences which nobody can read, not even 
 himself, but never plainly and deliberately set- 
 ting down what it is that he desires. Can he 
 wonder that his blank petitions and scribbled 
 parchments have no sensible effect on himself 
 nor on any one besides ? And has he any right 
 to say, " I wonder what can be the matter. 
 Other people get answers to their petitions, but I 
 am not aware that the slightest notice has ever 
 been taken of one of mine. I am not conscious 
 of having got a single favour, or being a whit 
 
LECTURE VI. 105 
 
 the better for all that I have written ?" Could 
 you expect it ? When did you ever finish a peti- 
 tion? When did you ever despatch and for- 
 ward one to the feet of majesty? 
 
 And so, my friends, there are many persons 
 who pass their days inditing blank petitions — or 
 rather petitionless forms of prayer. Every 
 morning they bend their knee, and continue a 
 few moments in the devotional attitude. They 
 address themselves to the Heavenly Majesty. 
 They call on the " great and dreadful name " of 
 God, and they go over a few words and sen- 
 tences, but such incoherent and unfelt sentences as 
 the child who cannot write would scrawl upon a 
 piece of paper. Or perhaps they say nothing. 
 They leave it a perfect blank. And after this 
 form of worship they go their way and wonder 
 why their prayers are not heard. Other people 
 get answers, but the}'' are not conscious that any 
 prayer of theirs has ever produced the least 
 eflfect. 
 
 Now, of this we are very certain, that there is 
 no prayer but something comes of it. Leaving 
 out of view those vain and rambling repetitions 
 — those empty words which constitute the entire 
 devotions of some formalists — we are warranted 
 by the word of God to aver that there is no real 
 prayer which is not somehow disposed of — no re- 
 quest presented at the mercy-seat, which is not, 
 in Bible language, " considered," and either re- 
 fused or granted. Many appear to fancy that 
 prayers are like a flight of promiscuous missiles, 
 of which a few find the mark, but the greater 
 number alight nowhere and bring back nothing. 
 
f 
 106 LECTURE VI. 
 
 This infidel and irrational view gets no counte- 
 nance from the word of God. There we learn, 
 that if it be a prayer at all — a sincere desire 
 otTered to the living- God in his appointed way — 
 it obtains an answer — whether that answer be a 
 full or partial compliance, or an entire refusal. 
 And it therefore becomes a question of the utmost 
 practical moment to know what those conditions 
 are that mar the efficacy, or impede the return of 
 prayers. 
 
 1. It is competent to the sovereign to fix the 
 channel through which he desires that his sub- 
 jects should transmit their petitions. Owing to 
 their elevated rank, some have a right to request 
 an immediate audience of majesty, and present 
 their applications in proper person and in their 
 own name ; but usually there is some fixed me- 
 dium through which the suits of common sub- 
 jects must come — a particular minister through 
 whom all memorials and supplications must be 
 transmitted. Now there is a celestial peerage 
 who come before the King of kings in their own 
 right. The sons of God — some orders of the 
 heavenly host — need no mediator in drawing 
 near to God. They come with veiled faces and 
 lowly reverence, but still they come in virtue of 
 their birth-right — they come direct. It is not so, 
 however, with our world's population. Not so 
 much on account of our lowlier rank, as of our 
 personal demerit, there is no immediate entrance 
 for any son of Adam into the presence of the 
 heavenly majesty. But there is a day's-man 
 appointed ; and, so to speak, it is a standing order 
 ifl the court of heaven, that each petition from 
 
LECTURE VI. 107 
 
 earth shall be transmitted through " the minister 
 of the new covenant " — through that divine per- 
 son on whose shoulder is devolved the govern 
 ment of this our fiir-off colony. Now, what say 
 you ? Suppose that any one should try to over 
 leap this standing order — suppose that any one 
 sliould either in his proud stubbornness scorn it, 
 or in his carelessness forget it, and try to forward 
 his petition in his own name — can he wonder if 
 an omission so flagrant should ensure its rejec- 
 tion ? The petition may be very earnest and its 
 object may be perfectly right, but the mode of its 
 transmission is wrong. And this is no matter of 
 mere etiquette, like some of the court-arrange- 
 ments of earth, but a matter of high import, and 
 meant to fulfil exalted ends. It is designed in 
 honour of the Prince of Peace, to whose memo- 
 rable interposition it is owing that there is any 
 loyalty in this revolted world, and to whose ad- 
 ministration the entire of its affairs is now 
 entrusted, and to whose name it is but seemly 
 that every knee should bow. Whosoever would 
 present an acceptable petition and secure a return 
 to his prayer must remember that saying of the 
 Lord Jesus himself, " Whatsoever ye shall ask 
 the Father, in my name, that will I do, that the 
 Father may be glorified in the Son.'"^ 
 
 2. But, secondly, besides asking in a self- 
 righteous spirit, a person may actually ask wrong 
 things. A child who has never seen a serpent 
 before and who looks at it through the glass-frame 
 may think it very beautiful. As it curls and 
 glides about in its folds of green and gold, and 
 
 * John xiv. 13. 
 
lOS LECTURE VI. 
 
 Its ruby eyes spnrkle in the sun, it looks far pret- 
 tier than more familiar objects, and the child may- 
 long to grasp it : " But what man is there among 
 you who is a father, if his son ask a serpent, will 
 he give him the serpent ?" Aud supposing that 
 the fretful child should weep because he is not 
 allowed to fondle the asp, could worse befall him 
 than just to be allowed to smash the case and 
 clutch the envenomed reptile ? The Lord has 
 sometimes permitted his imperious and wayward 
 children thus to punish themselves ; but more 
 frequently and more mercifully, he refuses their 
 hearts' deceitful lust. One sets his eye on the 
 golden serpent, and prays that God would make 
 him rich. But the Lord still keeps the shining 
 serpent beyond his reach ; for should he have 
 succeeded in hugging it to his bosom, it might 
 have stung him with many sorrows, or even 
 plunged him in perdition. Another sets his eye 
 on the fiery flying serpent of fame, and wonders 
 after it, and wishes that he too could fix his re- 
 putation to it, and see his own name flickering 
 as a part of its meteor-train in its flight through 
 the firmament. But this wish is also refused — 
 and instead of a dizzy and dangerous renown, he 
 is appointed to a safe obscurity. And sometimes 
 requests, right or religious-looking, are refused. 
 When the mother of Zebedee's children came 
 and said, " Grant that these my two sons may sit, 
 the one on thy right hand and the other on thy 
 left, when thou comest in thy kingdom," — there 
 was a plausibility and a certain faith in the peti- 
 tion. It assumed that Christ had indeed a king- 
 dom, and was yet to come gloriously, and it said 
 
LECTURE VI. 109 
 
 that the highest honour she could seek for, James 
 and John, was the highest office there. But the 
 request was ambitious. It was wrong and was 
 refused. 
 
 3. And this leads us to remark that a person 
 may ask right things with a wrong motive. 
 When Simon Magus besought the Apostles that 
 he might receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, he 
 asked a good thing ; emphatically the best thing ; 
 but he asked it with a bad motive, that he might 
 make it a source of personal gain ; and instead 
 of a blessing his prayer was answered with a 
 curse. " Ye ask and receive not, because ye ask 
 amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts. "^ 
 Even spiritual mercies are refused to you, because 
 you would employ them on carnal ends. 
 
 4. Such a sin may be cherished in the heart 
 as makes prayer unavailing. " If I regard ini- 
 quity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me."t 
 To keep a sin in the heart whilst there is a prayer 
 on the lips, is like going into the monarch's pre- 
 sence arm in arm with a rebel, or getting some 
 noted enemy of his to countersign our petition. 
 It is, as it were, courting a refusal. " It is effect- 
 ually saying to God, ' Thy greatest blessing I 
 am content to want. Holiness, deliverance from 
 sin, I am willing to do without ; but this particu- 
 lar boon, as it is thine to bestow, so I am reluct- 
 antly constrained to ask it from thee.' "I It is 
 as if the one hand held out a plea for God's fa- 
 vour, and the other a plea for God's frown. In 
 truth, it is the more honest part of the man con- 
 tradicting the other ; the sinner shouting Nay to 
 
 ♦ James iv. 3. f Psalm Ixvi. 18. | Foster, MS. 
 
 10 
 
110 LECTURE VI. 
 
 the A?n€7i of the hypocrite, and drowning in his 
 louder voice the feeble muttering of the feigned 
 lips. You have all heard of Augustine's prayer. 
 In the days of his licentiousness he had too much 
 conscience to live without prayer, and too much 
 love of sin to pray without a secret reservation ; 
 and so his prayer ran, " Lord convert me — oh, 
 convert me — but not to-day, Lord, not to-day." 
 And the same is the translated purport of many 
 a prayer. One prays, " Lead me not into temp- 
 tation," when he has already in his possession 
 the play-house ticket which he means to use that 
 evening ; or when he has already made an en- 
 gagement with some of his ungodly friends, and 
 is looking forward with eagerness to their society. 
 Another prays, " And forgive me my trespasses," 
 when he has in his heart a scheme of revenge, 
 and is already in imagination glorying over his 
 humbled rival or his defeated adversary. And a 
 third prays, " Lord, let me die the death of the 
 righteous," when he has already made all the 
 arrangements for some nefarious transaction, and 
 when the very next act of self-denial which ho is 
 called to exercise will be the triumph of sensuality 
 or self-indulgence. And a fourth cries, " As I to 
 others mercy show, I mercy beg from heaven ;" 
 and at that moment he is allowing some neces- 
 sitous kinsman to languish in neglected misery, 
 or with an ample fortune is contributing nothing 
 to the diffusion of that Gospel, wliich is the only 
 means of rescuing men from eternal ruin. 
 
 5. Some prayers are not heard because men 
 do not believe that God will grant them. Were 
 you writing a note to a friend, and saying, " I 
 
LECTURE VI 
 
 111 
 
 would be" much the belter for such a thing " — 
 naming it. " You can easily spare it, but I have 
 little expectation that you will do me such a fa- 
 vour." Would this be a likely way to compass 
 his object? Though he had wished to fail, could 
 he have worded his application otherwise ? And 
 so, when a man gets down on his knees and prays 
 for pardon of his sins, or for the teaching of the 
 Holy Spirit, or for assurance of salvation, but 
 prays for them as if the Lord would grudge to 
 give them, can he wonder that he is not heard ? 
 Whatsoever the Lord has promised, that he is 
 willing to bestow, and "whatsoever things we 
 ask in prayer, believing that we have them, we 
 receive them." 
 
 6. Some prayers are not answered because, 
 though earnest at the time, the petitioner has 
 growm indifferent afterwards. 
 
 7. Some prayers are answered, but the an- 
 swer is a long time arrived before the petitioner 
 adverts to it. Like a man who despatches for 
 the physician one express after another, and at 
 last he arrives, and is actually in the house ; but 
 unapprised of his presence, the sick man sends 
 off another messenger to hasten his approach. 
 Or as you may have sent for some book or other 
 object which you were anxious to possess, but as 
 it is long of making its appearance, your anxiety 
 to see it begins to abate, and by-and-bye you have 
 almost forgotten it ; when some day you take up 
 a parcel that has long lain unopened in a corner 
 of the room, and find that it is the very thing you 
 were once so impatient to get. " And when did 
 this arriv^e?" Oh I months ago. " How strange, 
 
112 LECTURE VI. 
 
 then, that I should never have noticed it till now !" 
 In extreme agony Jacob vowed avow, and prayed 
 a prayer : " If God will be with me, and will keep 
 me in this way that I go, and will give me bread 
 to eat and raiment to put on, so that I come again 
 to my father's house in peace ; then the Lord 
 shall be my God, and this stone which I have 
 set up for a pillar shall be God's house." It was 
 an earnest and importunate prayer. It was an- 
 swered. Every petition was fulfilled. All that 
 he asked, Jacob obtained. He got bread to eat; 
 he got raiment to put on. He was delivered from 
 Esau his brother. He came back to his father's 
 house in peace, and in unimagined prosperity. 
 But it never occurred to Jacob that his prayer 
 was answered till the Lord himself reminded 
 him. He might have seen the answer in his 
 peaceful tent, in his grazing flocks and herds, in 
 his large and powerful family, and in himself — 
 the fugitive lad come home a prince and a patri- 
 arch. But it was not till the Lord appeared and 
 said, " Arise, go up to Bethel, and dwell there ; 
 and make there an altar unto God that appeared 
 unto thee when thou fleddest from Esau thy bro- 
 ther ;" it was not till then that Jacob recollected 
 the vow, or detected the answer ; and had the 
 Lord not reminded him. Bethel and its pillar 
 might have faded for ever from Jacob's memory. 
 And so, parents in the days of their children's in- 
 fancy often pray for their children's conversion, 
 and when they see their wayward freaks and 
 wicked tempers, the tear starts in their eye, and 
 they are ready to give up hope. But one by one 
 the Lord brings them to himself. The prayer is 
 
LECTURE VI. 113 
 
 partly or wholly answered, and ere they are 
 gathered to their fathers, these parents find them- 
 selves surrounded by a godly seed. But it never 
 strikes them that here is an answer to prayer. 
 Or a company of Christians pray for a revival of 
 religion, and they fix their eye on a particular 
 spot of the horizon, nothing doubting but that it 
 is there the cloud must appear. And whilst they 
 kneel and pray and mourn that the sky continues 
 brass, they never notice that in the opposite quar- 
 ter the heavens are melting, and there is an abun- 
 dance of rain. Though not in the form nor in 
 the direction which they first desired, still the 
 blessing is come, and perhaps in measure it sur- 
 passes their fondest expectation and their largest 
 prayer. 
 
 10^ 
 
LECTURE VII. 
 
 CONFESSION, ADORATION, AND THANKSGIVING. 
 
 *' I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord 5 
 and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin. 
 
 *• Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, ye righteous : and 
 shout for joy, all ye that are upright in heart." Psalm 
 xxxii. 5, 11. 
 
 Although prayer, in its strictest sense, be the 
 supplication of mercies for ourselves or others, 
 the devotional exercises of believers are not con- 
 fined to mere petitions. In the Psalms, and other 
 Bible-specimens of prayer, we find acknowledg- 
 ments of sin, the praises of the divine perfections, 
 and grateful ascriptions for good and perfect gifts 
 bestowed ; and, that our survey maybe the more 
 complete, we shall bestow the present discourse 
 on the three-fold subject of Confession, Adora- 
 tion, and Thanksgiving. 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 There are three things which often hinder con- 
 fession — callousness, suUenness, and remorse. 
 In the anguish of newly-committed sin, or in the 
 despair of a newly-awakened conscience, the 
 guilt is so ghastly that the sou. is afraid to ap- 
 proach it, even with a view to confession. Such 
 
LECTURE VII. 115 
 
 was the Psalmist's case. His convictions were 
 so dreadful that he wished some time to elapse, 
 trusting that the interval might make it some- 
 what better. He " kept silence ;" but, like the 
 damper, which only makes the furnace draw the 
 fiercer, the fire kindled in his spirit flamed the 
 more furiously from his efforts to suppress it. 
 He kept silence, but, whilst he did so, his bones 
 waxed old, and his moisture was turned into sum- 
 mer's drought. But, after thus battling with his 
 agonies, he yielded. In a lull of this mental 
 fever — in a lucid interval of his remorseful frenzy, 
 he took another thought, and said, " I will con- 
 fess my transgressions unto the Lord ;" and no 
 sooner said than there was a great calm in his 
 spirit. His sin was confessed ; his trespass was 
 forgiven ; his convictions vanished ; the Lord's 
 hand withdrew ; and, in the gayety of his con- 
 valescent spirit, he began to sing, " Blessed is he 
 whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is cov- 
 ered." — Then, there are others, who, without 
 anything of the Psalmist's sharp remorse, have a 
 sullen sense of wrong. They know that they 
 have offended, and that there is an unsettled con- 
 troversy betwixt themselves and God; but, instead 
 of resorting at once to his mercy in Jesus Christ, 
 they wish to wear off their guilt by degrees. 
 They would like to work it off, or live it off. 
 They expect that its crimson hue will fade in the 
 course of time, and that its pricks will be blunted 
 in the lapse of years ; and, as they cannot brook 
 to assume the publican's attitude, or to come as 
 poor abjects to the fountain, they carry their sin 
 about with them, unacknowledged and uncon- 
 
116 LECTUREVII. 
 
 fessed. Perhaps they go again and again to 
 prayer ; but there is no confidence in their worship, 
 aad no earnestness in their petitions, for this sin is 
 constantly presenting itself, and they are as con- 
 stantly evading it. They are walking contrary 
 to God, and he walks contrary to them. Feel- 
 ing that their position is false, their air is em- 
 barrassed and uneasy. Their footing is inse- 
 cure, and their resistance to temptation feeble. 
 And, going about their daily occupations under 
 the Lord's frown they are constantly frustrated. 
 Perhaps their worldly business goes back ; most 
 probably they are getting into endless perplexities 
 and entanglements — vexing their friends when 
 they did not mean to offend them — lowering 
 themselves in the eyes of others when they did 
 nothing particularly wrong: and standing rue- 
 fully, because remorsefully amid the wreck of 
 many schemes, and the crash of many efforts ; 
 and proving by a costly experiment, the truth of 
 the saying — " He that covereth his sins shall not 
 prosper." Oh ! that they were wise enough to 
 turn round and prove the truth of that other al- 
 ternative — " But whoso confesseth and forsaketh 
 them shall have mercy." — And then, again, there 
 are some who are kept from confessing their sin, 
 neither by the violence of their remorse, nor the 
 sullenness of their spirits, but by the callousness 
 of their conscience. They have got so much into 
 the custom of sinning without compunction, that 
 they can scarcely understand how confession 
 could bring them any relief, or make them hap- 
 pier than they this moment are. A man who 
 has laboured under a disease for many years, 
 
LECTURE VII. 117 
 
 comes at last to lay his account with it. If he 
 has no stound of exquisite anguish, or no unusual 
 feeling of pain or debility — if he be in his " frail 
 ordinary" — he is content. He expects no better. 
 The truth is, his nervous system has become 
 inured to a certain amount of habitual suffering, 
 and disease itself ceases to be pain. But if some 
 feat of medicine, or some sudden miracle should 
 expel the ailment from his system, and give him 
 at once absolute soundness, he would perceive a 
 world-wide difference betwixt the dull apathy of 
 disease and the joyous gush of health — betwixt 
 mere exemption from torture and positive sensa- 
 tions of salubrity and vigour. " By habit in sin 
 the stings of remorse may be blunted, yet peace 
 never will return. By repeating transgression a 
 great many times, we all come at last to feel a 
 general and settled uneasiness of heart, which is 
 a constant burden, but so constant that the sinner 
 comes to consider it as a necessary part of his 
 existence ; and when, at last, he comes and con- 
 fesses his sins, and finds peace and happiness, he 
 is surprised and dehghted with the new and 
 strange sensation." "^ 
 
 Were confession a mere act of self-mortifica- 
 tion — did it end in mere regrets and self-re- 
 proaches — it would answer little end. The rash 
 words which no compunction can recall — the 
 wasted Sabbaths which no wishes can redeem — 
 the broken hearts of distant days and departed 
 friends, w^hich no churchyard sighs can heal, 
 and the demolished joys which no tears can cre- 
 ate anew : 
 
 * Abbot's " Young Christian." 
 
118 LECTURE VIT. 
 
 For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers 
 Can ne'er make grow again : 
 
 were confessioa merely the mental penance of 
 remembering and brooding over these, there were 
 no need to add it to the sum of human sorrow. 
 But evangelical confession — that discovery and 
 acknowledgment of the outstanding sins of his 
 history, and the conspicuous sins of his charac- 
 ter, as well as of the guilt of his original — which 
 the Word of God requires from each of us, is for 
 purposes totally different. Evangelical confes- 
 sion is the inlet to peace with God, and the out- 
 set of new obedience. 
 
 The great object of self examination should be 
 to search out the sin with the express view, and 
 OQ very purpose, to cast it into the sin-cancelling 
 Fountain opened in the House of David ; and 
 then the confession will bring comfort to the sin- 
 ner, when he thinli:s that the cleansing currents 
 of atoning blood have washed his guilt away. 
 Like the camp of Israel on the day of atonement. 
 They all met — the most solemn fast of their year 
 — before the tabernacle, in the morning very 
 early ; and after many other ceremonies, two 
 goats were brought up to the high-priest at the 
 altar. He placed himself between them, and 
 shook a box, in w^hich were two little tablets, one 
 inscribed, " For Jehovah," the other, " For Aza- 
 zel."' When he drew the one, he said with a 
 loud voice, " For Jehovah," and placed the tablet 
 on the head of the right-hand goat. Then he 
 confessed over it his own and the people's sins, 
 and slew it, and carried the blood into the Holy 
 Place as an atonement for his own sins and the 
 
LECTURE V I T . 119 
 
 people's. The high-priest then went to the goat 
 " Azazel," and put his hands upon its head and 
 confessed over it again the sins of himself and 
 the people ; and, when this was done, an ap- 
 pointed person came fonvard and carried the goat 
 away to the wilderness, where it should wander 
 and be lost, or threw it over the rocks that it 
 might return no more. It needed the two-fold 
 emblem to shadow Him whose atonement is at 
 once the remoiial of guilt and the reparation for 
 it ; — whose blood cleanseth from sin, and whose 
 worthiness carrieth sin away. And, just as the 
 believing Israelite who could see the Lord's mean- 
 ing in the touching token — as that Israelite 
 would accompany, with earnest heart, the priest 
 as he made confession over the victim's head, 
 and would feel that his guilt was figuratively 
 transferred to this innocent substitute ; so, breth- 
 ren, it is for us to confess our trespasses over His 
 head who is the propitiation for the sins of the 
 world, and on whom the Lord hath really laid 
 the iniquities of us all. And if we do this — if 
 we make the deliberate transference of our guilt 
 to this all-sufficient substitute — like the Israelite 
 who saw the trickling blood of the one victim, 
 and felt, " Surely there is a sacrifice for sin. 
 Let this blood be for mine ;" so, looking to the 
 wounded, dying Surety, we can securely feel, 
 " This is not the blood of bulls or of goats, but a 
 better sacrifice. This is the precious blood of 
 God's only and well-beloved Son, shed for many. 
 Let it flow for me. Jesus, be thou my righteous- 
 ness — be thou the reparation for my sin." And 
 then as the Israelite saw the strong man leading 
 
120 LECTURE VII. 
 
 the other goat away into the wilderness, and 
 gazed with interest after them till they disap- 
 peared in the grey horizon, and felt, " There the 
 sin is away into a land not inhabited. It is lost 
 — forgotten ; if sought for it cannot again be 
 found." So, if you sincerely transfer your sin to 
 the Saviour, the Lamb of God will take it away. 
 It will vanish from God's sight. It will be count- 
 ed as if it had never been. You will be dealt 
 with not only as one who has made expiation, 
 but as one in whom there is no iniquity. You 
 will be, in God's sight, as innocent ; and that sin 
 will never be punished in you which the Son of 
 God hath atoned for, and which the Lamb of 
 God hath taken away. 
 
 ADORATION. 
 
 The heart is the noblest part of human nature, 
 and God says, " JVTy son, give me thine heart." 
 And, just as the affections are the noblest ingre- 
 dient in human nature, so the elevation and the 
 happiness of a human being mainly depend on 
 the ri<T;ht bestowment and ample exercise of these 
 affections. To be self-sufficient and self-seeking 
 — that is, to keep all the affections to one's self 
 — is the meanest and most miserable predicament 
 a creature can be in. The homestead of a finite 
 spirit — much more the desolate chamber of a 
 sinful heart — does not contain resources enough 
 for its own blessedness. The soul must go out 
 from itself if it would find materials of joy. It 
 must love its neighbour, or it must love the works 
 of God, or it must love its family, or its circle of 
 friendship, if it would not be absolutely dreary 
 
LECTURE VII. 121 
 
 nnd forlorn. And just as the soul's happiness 
 depends on going out from itself, so its elevation 
 depends on its going up — depends on its setting 
 its aflections on something higher than itself — 
 something nobler, or holier, or more engaging. 
 
 The main part of true religion is the right be- 
 stowment of the affections. When these are set 
 on the things above — on God and on Jesus who 
 sitteth at God's right hand — they are set as high 
 as a seraph can set his. They are set so high 
 thai they cannot fail to lift the character along 
 with them, and make his a peculiar life whose 
 ends in living are so lofty. A self- forgetting de- 
 votion to some noble earthly character has ex- 
 erted a refining and elevating influence on many. 
 Veneration for some illustrious sage has some- 
 times quickened a sluggard into a scholar, and 
 enthusiastic attachment to a high-souled patriot 
 has been kmown to kindle up an idler into a hero. 
 But there is only One of character so lofty, and 
 of influence so transforming, that love to Him 
 will convert a sinner into a saint. Such a One, 
 however, there is, and it is the business of the 
 Gospel 10 make Him known. 
 
 When re(|uired to love the Lord with all their 
 heart and soul and strength and mind, many feel 
 as if they were asked to perform an impossibility. 
 So vague, in general, are their notions of the 
 Great Jehovah, that they feel much the same as 
 if they were asked to love the principle of gravi- 
 tation, or as if they were bidden bestow all their 
 heart and mind on a fixed star, or as if they were 
 invited to lay up treasure in a cloud, or told to 
 set their afl!ections on infinite space. I appeal to 
 11 
 
122 LECTURE VII. 
 
 yourselves, Have not many of you felt something 
 of this son ? The command, " Thou shalt love 
 the Lord thy God with all thine heart," has it 
 not often fallen on your ear in comfortless tones, 
 rather as the funeral knell of your earthly affec- 
 tions than as the joyous summons to a present 
 and attainable blessedness ? Have you not rather 
 felt it as a command to kill your earthly delights, 
 than as an invitation to superadd a delight beyond 
 them all ? Have you not felt that the nearest 
 approach to obedience you could make would be 
 to cut the cords that bind you to the earth in 
 sunder, and, seeing that you cannot love One so 
 utterly beyond your conceptions, that you had 
 better cease to love altogether ? 
 
 This is the tendency of some books and sys- 
 tems. To love an abstract and impersonal God 
 is Platonism. It is mysticism ; but it is not 
 Christianity. The God whom the Gospel bids 
 us view, and whom Jesus bade us love, is not a 
 distant power nor a dim abstraction. He is not 
 a mere presence, nor a mere principle. He is 
 not the most vague of all diffusions, and the most 
 general of all general laws. But he is " the liv- 
 ing God " — of all beings the most truly living — 
 possessing, in intensest measure, all that is truly 
 excellent and which has won our veneration in 
 our fellow-men ; combining in himself all that 
 goodness which has ever arrested, or affected, or 
 entranced us in the objects of our earthly admi- 
 ration ; not only wiser than the wisest, but more 
 loving than the most affectionate — taking a kinder 
 and wiser interest in us than the friend to whom, 
 perhaps, we have devoted our earthly all, and 
 
LECTURE VII. 123 
 
 more present with us than the most anxious 
 friend can be. This Living God — possessing 
 perfections at whose outburst the eye of an arch- 
 angel dazzles — possesses also that power of spe- 
 cial condescension and individual interest which 
 can make him, to any one, most truly a friend 
 and a perfect brother. If you be on a right foot- 
 ing with Him — a footing of friendship and loyalty 
 — he is omnipotent and able to devote the same 
 regard to all your interests as if immensity con- 
 tained nothing else to attract his notice. He is 
 omniscient, and able to keep you more constantly 
 in his e^^e, and bear you more continually in his 
 loving thoughts, than you are able to watch over 
 the child, or to think of the friend, that is dearest. 
 And though he be a consuming fire — though 
 there be that in his holiness which is burning 
 antipathy to sin — there is nothing in this holiness 
 to hinder the humble soul from reposing on his 
 faithfulness as securely as meekest brow ever 
 rested on the fondest father's bosom. In the only 
 aspect in v^^hich mortal eye can view him — in the 
 person of Immanuel — the Living God draws near 
 and says, " Thou shalt love the' Lord thy God 
 with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with 
 all thy strength and with all thy mind." Thou 
 shalt love — not Fate — not Providence — not Eter- 
 nity — not Immensity — not Goodness — it is not 
 even said the Deity — but " Thou shalt love the 
 Lord thy God" — the God of the Bible — the great 
 I Am — the Living God — Jehovah — the most ma- 
 jestic yet most loving and most lovely of all be- 
 ings — thou shalt love the Lord with all thy soul. 
 Love Him of whom the earth saw, not merely a 
 
124 LECTURE VII 
 
 living-, but an incarnate, specimen in the person 
 of Jesus Christ. 
 
 Whatever Platonists and mystics and tran- 
 scendentalists may pretend to the contrary, and 
 whatever a theology, tinctured by these human 
 notions, may daily teach, if we would love God 
 at all, we must look to ths God of the Bible. It 
 may be difficult to love the " First Cause" of the 
 philosophers, or the Divine Essence of the 
 schoolmen, or the far-off abstraction of the mys- 
 tics, — but to love Immanuel, God with us, surely 
 this is possible. By the door of the incarnation 
 to get into some knowledge of God, and so into 
 some love, — surely this is possible. To perceive 
 the friendly disposition of the High and Holy 
 One, even towards our wretched and guilty 
 selves, is possible, when we look to the co-equal 
 Son pouring out his blood a ransom for many. 
 To apprehend his gentle and benignant bearing 
 towards his own is easy when we look at John 
 on the bosom of Jesus — yes, John on the bo- 
 som of God. And to see how much, not 
 only of awful majesty and spotless sanctity, 
 but how much of genial goodness and sweetest 
 loveliness, how much of truest tenderness and 
 heart-attracting graciousness there was in the Son 
 of Mary, and yet doubt whether the living God 
 be worthy of our love ; dear brethren, which of 
 you will answer, — This is possible ? " That 
 which was from the beginning, which we have 
 heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which 
 we have looked upon, and our hands have hand- 
 led of the Word of Life, (for the life — the Living 
 One — was manifested, and we have seen him,) 
 
LECTURE VII. 125 
 
 that which we have seen and heard declare we 
 unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with 
 us, and truly our fellowship is with the Father, 
 and with his Son Jesus Christ. And these 
 things write we unto you, that your joy may be 
 full." 
 
 It is a simple truth, — but oh ! that its starry 
 letters sparkled in every eye, — would that its 
 daily echo haunted every ear. The Incarnation 
 is as truly our door of entrance into all true 
 knowledge of God as the Atonement is our pass- 
 port to heaven. The living person of Jesus is 
 our theology as truly as the finished work of 
 Jesus is our righteousness. We can reach no 
 heaven except that which Immanuel bought for 
 us, and we can know nothing of God except that 
 which Immanuel is to us. But all that Imman- 
 uel was or is, all this the ever-blessed Godhead 
 is ; and ours is New-Testament divinity and ours 
 is Christian worship, when in Jesus Christ we 
 recognize " The Alpha and Omega, the begin- 
 ning and the ending, which is, and which was, 
 and which is to come, the Almighty." 
 
 And having discovered, — so far as finite pow- 
 ers and this dim world admit of, — what the true 
 God really is, cultivate each reverent and trustful 
 and admiring disposition toward him. Study his 
 perfections on very purpose to enkindle praise, 
 and when any fair scene in creation makes 
 your heart right glad, or when any marvellous 
 event in Providence solemnizes your spirit, let 
 the thought of the Omnipotent creator and ruler 
 convert it into present adoration. In the various 
 revolutions of your vvorldly lot, and the changeful 
 
126 
 
 LECTURE VII 
 
 moods of feeling, let the recollection of the Divine 
 perfections and recourse to the living God, be the 
 instant asylum of your soul. Are you weary 
 Yv^ith the world's boisterousness — with the rough 
 and high-handed ways of ungodly men ? Seek 
 the calm sanctuary of God's own presence. 
 " Though a host encamp against me, one thing 
 have I desired of the Lord — that will I seek 
 after ; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord 
 all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of 
 the Lord, and to inquire in his temple. For in 
 the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pa- 
 vilion ; in the secret of his tent shall he hide 
 me." Are you damped by the disappointment 
 of some hope, or the downfall of some joy which 
 you have long been rearing ? Think of the per- 
 manence of God and the perpetuity of those joys 
 which are at his own right hand, and in which 
 he himself is part; and learn to build your bless- 
 edness on the Kock of Ages. Are you shut out 
 from engagements which once were very sweet 
 — society, recreations, and pursuits, in which you 
 could indulge without satiety, and with ever- 
 growing zest ? Learn to live upon God, and like 
 that prisoner of the Lord who beguiled her ten 
 years' captivity with psalms, and who declares 
 that the heavenly society of her cell made " its 
 stones look like rubies,'"^ try to sing : 
 
 How pleasant is all that I meet, 
 
 From fear of adversity free, 
 I find every sorrow made sweet, 
 
 Because 'tis assigned me by thee. 
 
 * Madame Guion. 
 
LECTURE VII. 127 
 
 Thy will is the treasure I seek, 
 For thou art as faithful as strong ; 
 
 There let me, obedient and meek, 
 Repose myself all the day long. 
 
 My spirit and faculties fail ; 
 
 Oh ! finish what love has begun. 
 Destroy what is sinful and frail, 
 
 And dwell in the soul thou hast won. 
 
 Oh, glory ! in which I am lost, 
 
 Too deep for the plummet of thought 
 
 On an ocean of Deity toss'd, 
 
 I am swallow'd, I sink into nought. 
 
 Yet lost and absorbed as I seem, 
 I chant to the praise of my King ; 
 
 And though overwhelmed by the thought. 
 Am happy whenever I sing. 
 
 Do you grieve for the fickleness of man and 
 mourn over friendships which have dried like 
 summer-brooks ? If the fault be not your own, 
 think of the unchanging friend whose mercy is 
 in the heavens and whose kindness is unaffected 
 by the influences which make such havoc in the 
 affections of earth. Do you feel the flesh fading? 
 Then say, " Whom have I in heaven but thee ? 
 and there is none upon earth that I desire beside 
 thee. My flesh and my heart faileth ; but God 
 is the strength of my heart and my portion for 
 ever." Do you begin to wonder \v'hat is to be- 
 come of your own mouldered dust and that of 
 many dear to you, when long ages have slipped 
 away and the inscription on your tomb is a dead 
 language ? Do not err, forgetting the Scriptures. 
 Think of the great power of God. Remember 
 who hath said, " I am the Resurrection and the 
 
 i 
 
► 
 
 128 LECTURE VII, 
 
 Life ; he that believeth in me, though he were 
 dead, yet shall he live." And thus, whatever be 
 the grief, the vacancy, or fear, learn to find the 
 antidote in God. 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Adoration is devout meditation on what Jeho- 
 vah is, — the praise of the divine perfections. 
 Thanksgiving is delighted meditation on what the 
 Lord has do7ie for us or others — praise for his 
 mercies. Such praise is " comely." Just as 
 there is meanness in constant murmuring, so 
 there is a gracefulness and majesty in habitual 
 gratitude. And it is " pleasant." It is not the 
 full purse or the easy calling, but the full heart, 
 the praising disposition, which makes the blessed 
 life ; and of all personal gifts that man has got 
 the best who has received the quick-discerning 
 eye, the promptly-joyful soul, the ever-praising 
 spirit. 
 
 And, my dear friends, in searching for the ma- 
 terials of gratitude, you have not far to go. If 
 you have a lawful pursuit — a business to which, 
 with a clear conscience, you can devote your en- 
 ergy — and a possession which raises you above 
 the woes of penury; if you have contentment 
 within, and affection around, you are a wealthy 
 and a favoured man. Your daily lot may well 
 be your daily wonder ; and when other texts are 
 exhausted you may find a theme for thanksgiv- 
 ing in your very home — a Hosannah in the 
 blazing hearth and a Jubilate in each joyful 
 voice and merry sound that echoes through your 
 
LECTURE VII. 129 
 
 dwelling. But there are signal mercies, memo- 
 rable interpositions and marvellous deliverances, 
 which should be signalized by memorable thanks- 
 givings. Remarkable interpositions are rare, but 
 that life is rarer in which there has been no re- 
 markable rescue ; no signal interposition of 
 Providence. Just see. Is there any one here 
 present whose life has moved so smoothly that no 
 accident ever endangered it, and that he cannot 
 quote the time when there was but a hair-breadth 
 betwixt him and death ? The boat was upset, 
 but you were saved. You intended going by the 
 vessel that foundered at sea, but were unaccount- 
 ably hindered. You passed along, and three 
 seconds afterwards the tottering wall crashed 
 down. You still preserve the hat that was 
 grazed by the bullet, or the book that received the 
 shot instead of yourself. And how did you feel 
 at the time ? When you fell from the precipice, 
 or were thrown headlong from your startled 
 steed, and rose uninjured, did all your bones say, 
 Who is like unto thee, Lord ? When you 
 just escaped the fatal missile, was gratitude to 
 your gracious Preserver your first emotion, or did 
 you merely thank your stars and congratulate 
 yourself on your singular luck ? And when the 
 active arm saved you from drowning, or from 
 being crushed to death in the crossing, when de- 
 posited on the place of safety you were pale, or 
 you laughed wildly, or you clung to the arm of 
 your deliverer, for the danger was dreadful ; but 
 have you since praised the Lord for ^w goodness, 
 and for his wonderful work in saving you 
 then ? And do you adoringly remember it still ? 
 
130 LECIURE VII. 
 
 " Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, 
 even they shall understand the loving-kindness 
 of the Lord." 
 
 Then, farther, there are moral perplexities and 
 painful dilemmas ; times of heart-trouble and 
 fearful foreboding, followed by times for thanks- 
 giving. " I love the Lord because he hath heard 
 my voice and my supplications. The sorrows of 
 death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat 
 hold upon me : I found trouble and sorrow. 
 Then called I upon the name of the Lord ; O 
 Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul. Gracious 
 is the Lord and righteous ; yea, our God is mer- 
 ciful. I was brought low, and he helped me. 
 Return unto thy rest, my soul, for the Lord 
 hath dealt bountifully with thee. For thou hast 
 delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from 
 tears, and my feet from falling." You were in 
 some desperate crisis of your history, and unless 
 the Lord had made bare his mighty arm you saw 
 nothing for it but disaster, confusion, and dis- 
 grace. But in that vale of Achor the Lord 
 opened a door of hope. He raised up friends un- 
 looked-for, or sent supplies unhoped-for, and step 
 by step he opened up a gentle path, till you 
 found yourself in a large place, and at gladsome 
 liberty. And " what shall I render unto thee, O 
 Lord, for all his benefits toward me ? I will take 
 the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of 
 the Lord. I will pay my vows unto the Lord 
 now, in the presence of all his people. I will 
 offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and 
 will call upon the name of the Lord." 
 
 And the crowning mercies — the sweetest and 
 
LECTURE VII. 131 
 
 the surest — the most precious and most lasting — 
 have you tasted spiritual mercies ? " Then blessed 
 be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual 
 blessings in Christ : according as he hath chosen 
 us in him before the foundation of the world, that 
 we should be holy and without blame before him 
 in love." Have you heard of the Saviour 1 
 Then " Thanks be to God for his unspeakable 
 gift." Have you found the pardon of sin? 
 Then " Bless the Lord, my soul, and forget 
 not all his benefits, who forgiveth all thine iniqui- 
 ties ; who as far as the east is from the west, so 
 far hath removed my transgressions from me." 
 Have you the lively hope to light you on your 
 way through life ? " Then blessed be the God 
 and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who ac- 
 cording to his abundant mercy hath begotten me 
 again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of 
 Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance in- 
 corruptible, reserved in heaven for me." Have 
 you found the promises fulfilled ? " Blessed be 
 the Lord that hath given rest unto his people, ac- 
 cording to all that he promised. There hath not 
 failed one word of all his good promise." Have 
 you received an answer to your prayers ? "I 
 will praise thee, for thou hast heard me, and art 
 become my salvation. I called upon the Lord in 
 distress : the Lord answered me and set me in d 
 large place. give thanks unto the Lord, for he 
 is good : for his mercy endureth for ever." It is 
 written of that seraphic Christian, Joseph Al- 
 leine, " Love and joy and a heavenly mind were 
 the internal part of his religion, and the large and 
 
132 LECTURE VII. 
 
 fervent praises of God and thanksgiving- for his 
 mercies, especially for Christ, and the Spirit, 
 and Heaven, were the external exercises of it. 
 He was not neofligent in confessing sin, but praise 
 and thanksgiving were his natural strains ; his 
 longest, most frequent, and hearty services. He 
 was no despiser of a broken heart, but he had at- 
 tained the blessing of a healed and joyful heart." 
 And this is indeed the most blessed life, — the 
 most uplifted — the most impressive, and most 
 heavenly. The Lord wills his people to be hap- 
 py. He has provided strong consolation for them, 
 and he desires that their enraptured praises and 
 joyful lives should speak good of his name. 
 Dear brethren, aspire at habitual thankfulness. 
 Covet earnestly a life of prevailing cheerfulness 
 and praise. Seek to have your souls often brim- 
 ming over with holy gladness. Bring them into 
 broad contact with every happy thing around 
 you — not with every mad and foolish thing — but 
 with everything on which God's countenance 
 shines, and in w^hich his joy-awakening Spirit 
 stirs. Rejoice with a rejoicing universe. Re- 
 joice with the morning stars, and let your ador- 
 ing spirit march to the music of the hymning 
 spheres. Rejoice with the jocund spring in its 
 gush of hope and its dancing glory — with its 
 swinging insect-clouds, and its suffusion of mul- 
 titudinous song — and rejoice with golden autumn 
 as he rustles his grateful sheaves, and claps his 
 purple hands, as he breathes his story of fruition, 
 his anthem of promises fulfilled — as he breathes 
 it softly in the morning stillness of ripened fields, 
 or flings it in -^olian sweeps from lavish orchards 
 
LECTirRE VII. 133 
 
 and branches tossing- bounty into mellow winds. 
 Rejoice Avith infancy as it guesses its wondering 
 way into more and more existence, and laughs 
 and carols as the field of pleasant life enlarges on 
 it, and new secrets of delight flow in through 
 fresh and open senses. Rejoice with the second 
 youth of the heaven-born soul — as thje revelations 
 of a second birth pour in upon it, and the glories of 
 a new world amaze it. Rejoice with the joyful 
 believer when he sings " Lord, I will praise 
 thee : though thou wast angry with me, thine 
 anger is turned away and thou comfortest me. 
 Behold God is my salvation." Rejoice with 
 him whose incredulous ecstasy has alighted on 
 the great Gospel-secret — whose eye is beaming 
 as none can beam save that which for the first 
 time beholds the Lamb — whose awe-struck coun- 
 tenance and uplifted hands are evidently ex- 
 claiming, " This is my beloved, and this is my 
 friend." Rejoice with saints and angels, as they 
 rejoice in a sight like this. Rejoice with Im- 
 manuel, whose soul now sees of its travail. Re- 
 joice with the ever-blessed Three, and with a 
 heaven whose work is joy. Be glad in the 
 Lord, and rejoice, ye righteous ; and shout for 
 joy, all ye that are upright in heart. 
 
LECTURE Vni. 
 
 BIBLE INSTANCES. 
 
 " The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man 
 availeth much." — James v. 16. 
 
 Some have no turn for poetry, and others have 
 no taste for science. Many have no aptitude for 
 argument and dissertation, and no comprehension 
 for abstract statement. But almost all men have 
 an avidity for history. And wliat is history ? It 
 is truth alive and actual — truth embodied — truth 
 clothed in our kindred clay. It is knowledge, 
 not afloat on the mist-bounded sea — the shoreless 
 abyss of speculation — but knov;ledge coasting it 
 in sight of the familiar landmarks of time and 
 place ; knowledge anchored to this human heart, 
 and coming ashore on this our every-day exist- 
 ence. It is the maxim of the book made inter- 
 esting — the lesson of the pulpit or the desk made 
 simple and delightful, by being read anew in 
 living men. It is the grace made lovelier, and 
 the attainment made more hopeful, by its exhibi- 
 tion in men of like passions and like affections 
 with ourselves. The human spirit craves for 
 history, and the Bible meets this craving. The 
 half of it is history ; and we shall devote this 
 morning to some names of prayerful renown — 
 Bible instances, and their modem parallels. 
 
LECTURE VIII 
 
 135 
 
 1. The first we quote is Enoch. He walked 
 with God. The conception we form of him, from 
 what the Bible tells us, is, that his was a life of 
 delightful communion and constant devotion. He 
 had discovered the living God, and, from the 
 moment of that discovery, could date his blessed 
 life. So correct was his view of the Divine 
 character, that he was irresistibly drawn toward 
 it in confidence and love. So vivid was that 
 view that he never forgot it, and so influential 
 that it completely altered him. He " came to 
 God ;" " he walked with God ;" and " he pleased 
 God." " Every sacred engagement was perform- 
 ed with a holy alacrity. Eivery call to worship 
 welcomed as it came, from its inviting him to 
 contact with ' the Father of Spirits.' Every ex- 
 cursion of sanctified thought — every emotion of 
 virtuous feeling — w^as sustained and encouraged, 
 in anticipation of this intercourse, or as the 
 result of its enjoj-ment. ' God was in all his 
 thoughts.' If he looked upon the heavens, he 
 was there ; if he contemplated the earth, he was 
 there ; if he retired into his own bosom, he was 
 there. He felt his presence pressing, as it were, 
 upon his senses. It was the congenial element 
 of his moral being — the atmosphere in which his 
 spirit was refreshed. There was no terror to 
 hbn in the great and holy name ; he felt no tumul- 
 tuary agitation, because ' God had beset him be- 
 hind and before, encompassing all his ways.* 
 The recollection of this was rather a source of 
 sacred and animated pleasure ; it invested every- 
 thing with a new property ; it disclosed to him 
 the spiritual essence that pervades the universe; 
 
136 LECTURE VIII. 
 
 and thus gave him ever to feel as within the cir- 
 cle of the snblimest satisfactions."^ 
 
 And so, my friends, do you seek Enoch's in- 
 troduction to the living God. Go to him, as 
 Enoch went, believing that he is, and that he is 
 accessible.! And seek to get into the same just 
 and realizing knowledge of him that Enoch got. 
 He is revealed to you more amply, perhaps, than 
 he was to Enoch. Believe. Believe that he is 
 not afar off, but nigh. Believe that he is not 
 hostile, but propitious. Believe that he is all that 
 Jesus said — that he is all that Jesus was — and, 
 believing this, walk with him. Admit him into 
 your home, that he may hallow it. Admit him 
 into your hourly occupations, that he may elevate 
 and expedite them. Admit him into your happy 
 m.oments, that he may enhance them ; and into 
 your hours of anguish, that his presence may 
 tranquillize and transform them. Let his recol- 
 lected presence be the brightness of every land- 
 scape — the zest of every pleasure — the energy 
 for every undertaking — the refuge from every 
 danger — the solace in every sorrow — the asylum 
 of your hidden life, and the constant Sabbath of 
 your soul. Learn — with all reverence for his 
 greatness, but with equal reliance on his good- 
 ness — learn to make the eye that never slumbers 
 the companion of your nights and mornings; and 
 the ear that never wearies — make it the confidant 
 of your weakness, your solicitude, your ecstasy, 
 and woe. Learn to have not one life for God and 
 another for the world ; but let your earthly life 
 
 * Binney on Hebrews xi.. pp. 89,. PO f Heb. xi. 6. 
 
LECTURE VIII. 137 
 
 be divinely directed and divinely quickened — let 
 every footstep be a walk with God. 
 
 2. There was no prophet in Israel like unto 
 Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face ; and, 
 like all the conspicuous characters of Scripture, 
 Moses was a man of prayer. He, too, had been 
 introduced into a peculiar acquaintance with the 
 living God, and, from the memorable interview 
 at the burning bush, there always rested on him 
 an impress of that high fellowship to which he 
 had been admitted. It was not only when the 
 brightness of some recent interview lit up his 
 countenance with new and painful glory ; but, on 
 his habitual look there lingered that blended be- 
 nignity and majesty which, once seen in the as- 
 pect of Jehovah, its memorial might always be 
 seen in himself. The Lord had heard Moses' 
 prayer ;^ and, if he had not shown him all his 
 glory, he had at least made all his goodness pass 
 before him ; and from that moment when, hidden 
 in the mountain-cleft, the cloud swept over him, 
 and the pulses of encircling power and sanctity 
 thrilled through him, no conviction lodged deeper 
 in Moses' mind, and no element of influence told 
 more constantly'- on Moses' character, than the 
 assurance that " the Lord is merciful and gracious, 
 long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and 
 truth." The secret of the Lord was with him; 
 and surely it is important to know how one who 
 knew the Lord's mind so well, and with whom 
 the Lord so spake, face to face — how such a one 
 was wont to pray. And I think you will notice 
 these things in Moses' prayers : — (1.) A hopeful- 
 
 * Excdus xxxiii. 18. 
 
138 LECTTRE VIII. 
 
 7iess which felt that no moment was loo lale, nor 
 any depth of m'sery too profound, for prayer. 
 When brought to a stand-still on the Red Sea 
 shore — when ahnost poisoned by the waters of 
 Marah — when like to be swallowed up by the 
 fierceness of Amalek — it was all the same. Moses 
 had instant recourse to the arm of Jehovah, and 
 that arm brought salvation. And, in a case more 
 daunting still — when successive sins had made 
 the people outlaws from the covenant and its 
 mercies — when they erected the golden calf — 
 when Korah and his company rebelled — when 
 Miriam was struck with leprosy — when the fire 
 of God was sweeping through the camp — when 
 the burning serpents were darting death and con- 
 sternation on every side — these rapid plagues, 
 the wickedness of the people, and their wild dis- 
 may, which would have made another leader 
 " faint," only made Moses pray. He recollected 
 " the Lord merciful and gracious, forgiving ini- 
 quity, transgression, and sin;" and, when other 
 hearts were sinking, he still could " hope in God's 
 mercy," and his hopeful prayers were ever pro- 
 curing fresh forgiveness. (2.) And, besides this 
 expectancy of mercy — this confidence of being 
 heard — you may notice a holy urgency in Moses' 
 prayers. How he pleads with God ! How firm 
 he takes his stand on the Divine perfections and 
 the special promises, and with what security he 
 argues from them ! " Lord, why doth thy wrath 
 wax hot against thy people, which thou hast 
 brought forth out of the land of Egypt with great 
 power, and with a mighty hand? Wherefore 
 should the Egyptians speak and say, ' For mis- 
 
LECTURE VIII. 139 
 
 chief did he bring them out, to slay them in the 
 mountains, and to consume them from the face 
 of the earth?' Turn from thy fierce wrath, and 
 repent of this evil against thy people. Remember 
 Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, thy servants, to whom 
 thou swarest by thine own self, and saidst unto 
 them, ' I will multiply your seed, as the stars of 
 heaven, and all this land that I have spoken of 
 will I give unto your seed and they shall inherit 
 it for ever."^ And that other time, when the 
 Lord threatened to annihilate the murmuring 
 people — "And now, I beseech thee, let the power 
 of my Lord be great, according as thou hast spo- 
 ken, saying, ' The Lord is long-suffering and of 
 great mercy, forgiving iniquity and transgression, 
 and by no means clearing the guilty.' Pardon, 
 I beseech thee, the iniquity of this people, accord- 
 ing unto the greatness of thy mercy, and as thou 
 hast forgiven this people, from Egypt even until 
 now.' And the Lord said, ' I have pardoned, 
 according to thy word.' "t 
 
 From Moses, learn to pray and never faint. 
 However awful the exigency, however near the 
 destruction, and however abused past mercy may 
 have been, still resort to him whose power is 
 beyond all exigencies, and whose pity is more 
 prompt than our repentance. And, from Moses, 
 learn to glorify God, by pleading in prayer his 
 perfections and his promises. That prayer will 
 bring an absolute answer, which has for its found- 
 ation the Lord's absolute assurance ; and, in the 
 absence of a positive promise, that prayer will pro- 
 cure some mitigation or some mercy, which makes 
 * Exod. xxxii. t Num. xiv. 17—20. 
 
140 L E U R E VIII. 
 
 cordial mention of the Lord's goodness and lov- 
 ing-kindness. Remember the word unto thy ser- 
 vant, upon which thou hast caused me to hope. 
 
 3. Passing on to the " man after God's own 
 heart," we find, of human models, the most per- 
 fect specimen of prayer. It is not so much the 
 frequency of his devotional exercises, though 
 these were seven times a day ; nor the memora- 
 ble returns which these prayers procured, for the 
 prayers of Elijah and others may have brought 
 about more miraculous results — may have drawn 
 down, in the world's eye, more stupendous re- 
 turns ; but it is that David was so signally a man 
 of prayer, and that his prayers, in themselves are 
 so pre-eminent. He prayed without ceasing, and 
 with all prayer, in everything making known his 
 requests, and in everything giving thanks. Tak- 
 ing possession of his new house, or retreating 
 from it — on the eve of battle and in the flush of 
 victory — among the sheep-cotes and in the moun- 
 tain pass — on the tented field and in the trading 
 town — in the shepherd's hut and on the mon- 
 arch's throne — in the full height of spiritual joy 
 and in the depths of guilty misery — we find him 
 still the man of prayer. And these prayers have 
 in them everything that enters into our idea of 
 what prayer should be. David's was the darting 
 eye that could catch upon the wing the fleetest 
 of nature's phantoms and the swiftest flights of 
 man's imaginings ; and the divining eye that 
 could detect the passion ere it mantled on Doeg's 
 swarthy cheek, or read the cunning scheme ere 
 it glanced from under Achithophel's polished 
 brow. And his own soul was the well-tuned 
 
L E C T U R K VII 1 . 141 
 
 harp on which, from the deep notes of dull and 
 doubtful feeling- up to the shrillest tones of ecsta- 
 tic bliss or woe, the diapason sounded the full 
 compass of all the emotions which this harp of 
 thousand strings is able to express. And whilst 
 his soul was thus susceptible and his eye thus 
 quick, in his hand he held a poet's pen, and 
 could transfer into equal words each intuition of 
 his ranging eye and each aspiration of his yearn- 
 ing heart. And when you recollect that all this 
 glowing fancy and earnest feeling and creative 
 diction were the clothing of a spirit to which Je- 
 hovah was the chiefest joy — by which the living 
 God was known and loved, adored and trusted — 
 you can see how the Book of Psalms must ever 
 be the best manual of devotion. 
 
 (I.) From David, learn in everything to pray. 
 Learn to ask God's blessing on little things as 
 well as great. There is nothing which it is right 
 for us to do, but it is also right to ask that God 
 would bless it; and, indeed, there is nothing so 
 little but the frown of God can convert it into the 
 most sad calamity, or his smile exalt it into a 
 most memorable mercy ; and there is nothing v^e 
 can do but its complexion for weal or woe de- 
 pends entirely on what the Lord will make ?t. 
 It is said of Matthew Henry, that " no journey 
 was undertaken, nor any subject or course of 
 sermons entered upon ; no book conmiitted to the 
 press, nor any trouble apprehended or felt, with- 
 out a particular application to the mercy-seat for 
 direction, assistance, and success."^ And, on a 
 studying day, he writes, " I forgot explicitly and 
 
 * Life, by Sir J. B. Williams, p. 211. 
 
142 LECTURE VIII. 
 
 especially when I began to crave help of God, 
 and the chariot-wheels drove accordingly."* It 
 is recorded of Cornelius Winter, that he seldom 
 opened a book, even on general subjects, without 
 a moment's prayer.t The late Bishop Heber, 
 on each new incident of his history, or on the 
 eve of any undertaking, used to compose a brief 
 Latin prayer, imploring special help and guid- 
 ance. No doubt such a prayer preceded the com- 
 position of his famous poem, " Palestine." At 
 least, after it had gained the prize, and been read 
 in the ears of applauding Oxford, when the assem- 
 bly dismissed, the successful scholar could no- 
 where be found, till some one discovered him on 
 his knees thanking God who had given him the 
 power to produce that poem, and who had spared 
 his parents to witness and share his joy.l A 
 late physician of great celebrity used to ascribe 
 much of his success to three maxims of his fa- 
 ther, the last and best of which was, " Always 
 pray for your patients. "§ 
 
 (2.) From David, learn to give thanks in every- 
 thing. " Every furrow in the Book of Psalms 
 is sown with seeds of thanksgiving. "11 Many of 
 the Psalms are songs of vigorous and continuous 
 praise: "0 give thanks unto the Lord!" and 
 others which begin with grief and confession and 
 complaint, presently slide into gratitude. Praise 
 is the believer's seemliest attire ; and those have 
 
 * Tong's Life of Henry, p. 60. 
 t Jay's Life of Winter, p. 256. 
 
 I Life of Heber, quarto, vol. i., p. 33. 
 § Memoir of James Hope, M.D., p. 51. 
 
 II Jeremy Taylor 
 
LECTURE VIII. 143 
 
 been the most attractive Christians whose every- 
 day adorning was the " garment of praise." It 
 is mentioned of the famous Moravian, Count Zin- 
 zendorf, that " in his very aspect might be dis- 
 cerned the blessedness of a heart sprinkled from 
 an evil conscience with the blood of the Lamb." 
 " He looked for nothing but good from the Lord, 
 in whom he delighted ; and every subject of 
 thankfulness, however inconsiderable it might 
 seem to others, was important and interesting to 
 him.'"'^ u J ^j^ surrounded with goodness, and 
 scarcely a day passes over my head but I say, 
 ' Were it not for an ungrateful heart I should be 
 the happiest man alive ;' and that excepted, I 
 neither expect nor wish to be happier in this 
 world. My wife, my children, and myself in 
 health ; my friends kind ; my soul at rest ; and 
 my labours successful. Who should not be con- 
 tent and thankful if I should not ? 0, my bro- 
 ther, help me to praise."! 
 
 (3.) From David, learn to delight in God, and 
 so to view each scene in creation, and each event 
 in providence, in God's own purest light. God 
 was his chiefest joy, his sure and ascertained 
 friend ; and every scene was pleasant where 
 God's presence was enjoyed, and every object 
 interesting in which aught of God's glory could 
 be seen. He felt Jehovah's tread in the shaking 
 wilderness and the quivering forest. He saw Je- 
 hovah's chariot in the rolling cloud, the eddying 
 tornado, and the wheeling water-spout. He be- 
 held Jehovah's majestic flight on the wings of 
 
 ' • Life, pp. SOS, 509. 
 t Fuller's Life of Pearce, p. 36. 
 
144 LECTURE VIII. 
 
 mighty winds and in the sweep of the careering 
 clouds. He heard Jehovah's voice in the thun- 
 der-psalm and in ocean's echoing chime. He 
 heard it, too, in the hum of leafy trees, and in the 
 liquid music that trickled down the mountain's 
 side. He recognised Jehovah's frown in the 
 splitting rocks and smoking hills ; and hailed 
 Jehovah's smile in the melting tints of morning, 
 in the laughing joy of harvest-fields, in the glanc- 
 ing roll of sun-steeped billows and the plunging 
 gambols of leviathan as he played his ponderous 
 frolics there. "^ Every touch of pathos or power 
 passed away a heavenward melody from the 
 jEolian harp of his devotional spirit ; and, not 
 content with these strains of constant adoration, 
 on some occasions you can see him mustering all 
 his being for some effort of ecstatic worship, and 
 longing to flame away a holocaust of praise. 
 Describing the change which came over his own 
 feelings from the time that he knew God in Christ, 
 President Edwards says, " The appearance of 
 everything was altered ; there seemed to be, as 
 it were, a calm, sweet cast or appearance of Di- 
 vine glory in almost everything. God's excel- 
 lency, his wisdom, his purity and love, seemed 
 to appear in everything ; in the sun, and moon, 
 and stars ; in the clouds and blue sky ; in the 
 grass, flowers, trees ; in the water and all nature, 
 which used greatly to fix my mind. I often used 
 to sit and view the moon for continuance ; and in 
 the day spent much time in viewing the clouds 
 and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God in 
 these things ; in the mean time singing forth, 
 
 * See Psalms xxix., Ixv., civ., cxlviii., &c. 
 
LECTURE VIII. 145 
 
 with a low voice, my contemplations of the Crea- 
 tor and Redeemer. . . . My mind was greatly 
 fixed on Divine things, almost perpetually in the 
 contemplation of them. I oft walked alone in the 
 woods and solitary places, for meditation, solilo- 
 quy, and prayer, and converse with God. . . . 
 Prayer seemed to be natural to me, as the breath 
 by which the inward burnings of my heart had 
 vent." 
 
 4. And to take only one instance more, — " the 
 man greatly beloved." Daniel was a busy 
 statesman. Darius had made him his chief 
 minister. He had charge of the royal revenue, 
 and was virtual ruler of the empire. But amidst 
 all the cares of office he maintained his wonted 
 custom of praying thrice a day."^ For these 
 prayers nothing was neglected. The adminis- 
 tration of justice was not standing still; the pub- 
 lic accounts did not run into confusion. There 
 was no mutiny in the army, no rebellion in the 
 provinces from any mismanagement of his. And 
 though disappointed rivals were ready to found 
 an impeachment on the slightest flaw, so wise 
 and prompt and impartial was his procedure that 
 they at last concluded, " We shall find no occa- 
 sion against this Daniel, except we find it against 
 him concerning the law of his God." He found 
 leisure to rule the realm of Babylon, and leisure 
 to pray three times a day. Some would say that 
 he nmst have been a first-rate man of business to 
 find so much time for prayer. It would be nearer 
 the truth to say that it was his taking so much 
 time to pray which made him so diligent and 
 * Dan. vi. 10 
 
146 LECTURE VIII. 
 
 successful in business. It was from God that 
 Daniel got his knowledge, his wisdom, and his 
 skill. In the composure and serenity which 
 these frequent approaches to God imparted to his 
 spirit, as well as in the supernatural sagacity and 
 forethought and power of arrangement which 
 God gave in direct answer to his prayers, he had 
 an infinite advantage over those men who, re- 
 fusing to acknowledge God in their callings, vex 
 themselves in vain, and who, when the fret and 
 worry and sweltering of their jaded day is done, 
 find that they have accomplished less, and that 
 little far more painfully than their wiser brethren 
 who took time to pray. The man must be busier 
 than Daniel who has not time to pray, and wiser 
 ihan Daniel w^ho can do w^hat Daniel did without 
 prayer to help him. Daniel was in a place where 
 prayer was eminently needful. He was in Baby- 
 lon — a place of luxury and revelry — and from 
 his position in society he was peculiarly exposed 
 to the idolatrous and voluptuous temptations 
 around him. It was difficult and ere long it was 
 dangerous to maintain his singularity. But so 
 far as there was any seduction in the mirth of 
 that jovial city, prayer kept him separate; and 
 so far as there was any danger in withholding 
 countenance from its idol-orgies, prayer made 
 him bold. Though the clash of the cymbal and 
 the shouts of the dancers were coming in at the 
 window, they did not disturb his devotion ; and 
 though he had not forgotten the king's decree and 
 the lions' den, he did not close the lattice nor try 
 to conceal his faith and his worship ; and, secure 
 alike from spiritual detriment and personal dan- 
 
LECTURE VIII. 147 
 
 ger, the Lord hid his praying servant in the 
 hollow of his hand. 
 
 Among the elegant forms of insect life, there 
 is a little creature known to naturalists, which 
 can gather round it a sufficiency of atmospheric 
 air — and, so clothed upon, it descends into the 
 bottom of the pool, and you may see the little 
 diver moving about dry and at his ease, protected 
 by his crystal vesture, though the water all around 
 and above be stagnant and bitter. Prayer is such 
 a protector — a transparent vesture, the world sees 
 it not — but a real defence, it keeps out the world. 
 By means of it the believer can gather so much 
 of heaven's atmosphere around him, and with it 
 descend into the putrid depths of this contami- 
 nating world, that for a season no evil will touch 
 him ; and he knows where to ascend for a new 
 supply. Communion with God kept Daniel pure 
 in Babylon. Nothing else can keep us safe in 
 London. In secret of God's presence you might 
 tread these giddy streets, and your eyes never 
 view the vanity. You might pass theatres and 
 taverns and never dream of entering in. You might 
 get invitations to noisy routs and God-forgetting 
 assemblies and have no heart to go. Golden 
 images, public opinion with its lions' den, and 
 fashion with its fiery furnace, would never disturb 
 you. A man of prayer in this mart of nations, 
 you could pass upon your way unseduced and 
 undistracted, a Christian in Vanity Fair, a pil- 
 grim in a paradise of fools, a true worshipper 
 amidst idolaters, a Daniel in Babylon. 
 
 And so far as this is a world of distress and dan- 
 ger, prayer is the best defence. So Daniel found 
 
148 LECTURE VIII. 
 
 it in the den. So his three friends found it in the 
 fiery furnace. And so you, my friends, will find 
 it in the real or fancied perils of this mortal life. 
 " The name of the Lord is a strong tower ; the 
 righteous runneth into it and is safe." An asy- 
 lum ever open, the ejaculation of an instant will 
 land you in it, and nothing is evil which befalls 
 you there. By the omnipotent help which it at 
 once secures, prayer is strength in weakness and 
 courage in dismay. It is the buoy which rides 
 the roaring flood, the asbestos-robe which defies 
 the devouring flame. It is the tent in which 
 frailty sleeps securely, and anguish forgets to 
 moan. It is the shield on which the world and 
 the wicked one expend their darts in vain. And 
 when panic and temptation and agony all are 
 over, — whether wafted by Sabbath zephyrs, or 
 winged by scorching flames — whether guided by 
 hymning angels, or dragged by raging lions — 
 whether the starting-point be Patmos, or Jerusa- 
 lem, or Smithfield, or Babylon, it is the chariot 
 which conveys the departing spirit into a Saviour's 
 arms. 
 
LECTURE IX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 " Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the 
 Spirit." — Ephesian? vi. 18. 
 
 Then what is prayer ? Is it penance ? Is it 
 a part of that various punishment which God has 
 inflicted on our sinful family ? Is it so much 
 holy drudgery to which every soul must force 
 himself, under pain of incurring a severer pen- 
 alty, or sinking at last into a deeper woe ? Is it 
 the irksome ordeal through which you are doom- 
 ed to enter each successive day, and the moping 
 and mournful finale with which you must close 
 it up and leave it off? Is prayer the sackcloth 
 which you must wear beneath the silk attire of 
 daily joys, — the pebble which you must put into 
 the sandals of daily business, — the preliminary 
 thorn which you must break across or pluck 
 away before you reach the downy pillow of this 
 weary night's new slumber? Is prayer the cold 
 fog which you must scatter over this world's 
 bright landscape, — the memento mori with which 
 you must sober down its merry melodies, — the 
 Egyptian coffin at the banquet's close to lengthen 
 every visage, and with quashed delight and bit- 
 ter fancies to send each rueful guest away ? 
 
150 LECTURE IX. 
 
 And yet, I am sure that it is in this sombre 
 aspect that many look on prayer. Are you sure 
 that this is not the aspect in which you yourself 
 regard it ? Is it not a task, — an exercise, — an 
 endurance ? Instead of engaging in it with that 
 alacrity, or resorting to it with that avidity which 
 would bespeak the privilege, do you not betake 
 yourself to secret prayer with coldness and self- 
 constraint, and feel, when the devotions of the 
 family or sanctuary are ended, that it is a great 
 comfort to have this other " duty " done? 
 
 What then is prayer ? 
 
 1. It is communion with God. Oh I breth- 
 ren, prayer is not an apostrophe to woods and 
 wilds and waters. It is not a moan let fly upon 
 the viewless winds, nor a bootless behest expended 
 on a passing cloud. It is not a plaintive cry, di- 
 rected to an empty echo, that can send back 
 nothina: but another cry. Prayer is a living 
 heart that speaks in a living ear, — the ear of the 
 living God. It matters not where the worship- 
 per is, — on a dreary shore ; in a noisome dun- 
 geon ; amidst the filth and ferocity of brutal 
 savages, or the frivolity and atheism of hollow- 
 hearted worldlings ; surrounded by the whirr and 
 clash and roaring dissonance of the heaving fac- 
 tory, or toiling in the depths of the lamp-lit 
 mine, — the man of prayer need never feel the 
 withering pangs ot loneliness. Wherever you 
 are the Lord is there, and it only needs prayer to 
 bring Himself and you together. Recollect him, 
 and he is beside your path ; resort to him, and he 
 lays his hand upon you. And who is this ever- 
 present Help, — this never-distant Friend? Words 
 
LECTURE IX. 151 
 
 cannot tell. The Incarnate " Word " did tell, 
 but few could comprehend, and as few could 
 credit."^ If you imagine the tenderest affection 
 of your most anxious Friend ; the mildest con- 
 descension and readiest sympathy of your most 
 appreciating and considerate Friend ; and if you 
 add to this a goodness and a wisdom, such as you 
 never saw in the best and wisest of your friends ; 
 and if you do not merge but multiply all this 
 wisdom, all this goodness, and all this kindness 
 towards you by infinity, so as to give this tender 
 and constant Friend infinite knowledge to watch 
 over you, infinite forethought to provide for you, 
 and infinite resources to relieve or enrich you; if 
 you did not fully realize who the hearer and an- 
 swerer of prayer is, you would, at least, be a step 
 beyond that unknown God, whom many igno- 
 rantly and joylessly worship. In prayer you do 
 not address a general law or a first principle, but 
 you address a living person. You do not com- 
 mune with eternity, or with infinite space, but 
 you commune with the Father of eternity, — 
 with Him " who fills the highest heavens, and 
 who also dwells in the lowliest hearts." You do 
 not hold converse with abstract goodness, but 
 with the God and Father of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ ; with God in Christ ; with Him whose 
 express image Jesus is ; with Jesus himself ; 
 with your Friend within the veil; with your 
 Father who is in heaven. 
 
 And is there in this aught that should prove 
 repulsive or heart-chilling ? Is Christ so altered 
 from what he was, that you needs must depre- 
 
 John i. 5, 18. 
 
152 LECTURE IX. 
 
 cate his presence ; or are you so earthly, so sen- 
 sual, so sin -saturated, that though he were talk- 
 ing with you by the way your bosom could not 
 burn ? The Saviour and yourself ; is there so 
 little friendship between you ? is he so little a 
 reality that days pass without adverting to him ? 
 or is he so little loved that you rather deprecate 
 than desire his coming ? Have you found so 
 little that is engaging in him that you wonder 
 how people who loved one another dearly, loved 
 this Saviour more ? Or is the whole such a 
 phantom, — to your feelings such a nonentity, — 
 that you cannot comprehend how any one should 
 have such delight in God as to cry out in desire 
 of his more conscious presence, " God, thou 
 art my God ; early will I seek thee : my soul 
 thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a 
 dry and thirsty land. My soul shall be satisfied 
 as with marrow and fatness, when I remember 
 thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the 
 night-watches." 
 
 Yes, brethren, whatever you may fancy — or 
 rather, whatever you may forget — the Lord liveth. 
 There may be objects which fascinate all your 
 soul, and bind in welcome fetters all your facul- 
 ties ; but hidden from your view there is an ob- 
 ject, did you catch one glimpse of him, fit to 
 deaden the deliciousness of every lesser joy, and 
 darken the glare of every lesser glory. There 
 may be friends deep-seated in your soul, but 
 there is yet one friend, whom could you but dis- 
 cover, he would make you another man — he 
 would give your life a new nobility, your char- 
 acter a new sanctity. He would give yourself a 
 
LECTURE IX. 153 
 
 new existence in giving himself to you, and 
 would give society a new manner of person in 
 giving you to it. And with this glorious person- 
 age, and withal most gracious friend, it is possi- 
 ble to keep up an intercourse to which the most 
 rapid communication and the closest converse of 
 earih supply not the equivalent. The twinkling 
 thought — the uplifted eye — the secret groan — 
 will bring him in an instant — will bring him in 
 all the brightness of his countenance through the 
 midnight gloom — in all the promptitude of his 
 interposition through the thickest dangers — in all 
 the abundance of his strength into the fading 
 flesh — and in all the sweetness of his sympathy 
 and assurance of his death-destroying might into 
 the failing heart. And this communion, closer 
 and more complete than that of any creature with 
 another — for dearest friend can only give his 
 thoughts, and desires, and feelings — he cannot 
 impart himself; but in regard to the praying 
 soul and this divine communion, we read of its 
 being " filled with all the fulness of God." 
 
 2. Prayer is peace and joy. Two things con- 
 stitute the believer's peculiarity and make him 
 differ from the rest of men — ^just as two things 
 constitute the sinner's peculiarity, and make him 
 differ from the rest of God's creatures. The two 
 things which form the Christless sinner's pecu- 
 liar misery, are guilt and vacancy — a gloom 
 above him and a void within him. A gloom 
 above him — for he has no confidence in God — he 
 has no hopeful and confiding feeling heavenwards 
 — no firm reliance on a reconciled God, and no 
 smiling vista through a pierced and heaven-open- 
 
154 LECTURE IX. 
 
 ing sepulchre. A sense of sin — in shadowy 
 hauntings or in severe and burning incubus — is 
 lowering over his conscience, and whether it 
 merely mar his occasional joy, or convert his 
 days into habitual misery, this guilt, this con- 
 science of sin is a serious abatement on the zest 
 of existence — a mournful deduction from the 
 total of earthly joy. It makes the unpardoned 
 sinner's walk very different from the seraph's 
 limpid flight, who only knows guilt by distant 
 report, and very different from the newly-par- 
 doned sinner's lightened gaiety, who only knows 
 it by remembrance — breaking his daily bread in 
 the sprightliness of a vanished fear, and eating it 
 with the relish of a conscious innocency. But 
 not only is there a gloom above the Christless 
 sinner — a brooding guilt, and an impending dan- 
 ger — but there is a void within him. God did 
 not create man at first with that burden on his 
 conscience, and neither did he create him with 
 this aching gap in his bosom. Or rather, we 
 should say the all-wise Creator has implanted no 
 craving in any of his creatures, without having 
 provided some counterpart object. When that 
 object is attained, the creature is content. The 
 craving subsides in quiet enjoyment and compla- 
 cency. It is happy and wants no more. The 
 ox is at home in his rich pasture, and sends no 
 wistful thought beyond it ; and so is the insect 
 which " expands and shuts its wings in silent 
 ecstasy " on the edge of the sunny flower. But 
 il is far otherwise with the roaming soul of the 
 Christless sinner. There is no flower of earthly 
 growth in whose nectar bathing he can finally 
 
LECTURE IX. 155 
 
 forget his poverty — no green pastures of time- 
 bounded blessedness in whose amplitudes he can 
 so lose himself that misery shall find him no 
 more. Wide as is his range, his anxious eye 
 sees too well its weary limits, and sweet as the 
 honeyed petals are, he perceives them dying as 
 he drinks. Oh ! this fugacity of all that is plea- 
 sant — this scanty measure and momentary dura- 
 tion of earthly delights was never meant to satiate 
 the soul of man — this never is the counterpart 
 which the bountiful Jehovah created for the 
 yearning avidity of an immortal spirit. Cast 
 into the mighty gulf of man's craving soul, a 
 house-full of friendship, a ship's freight of wealth 
 and dainty delights, a world-load of wondrous 
 objects and lovely scenes, — the deep-sounding 
 abyss will ever echo, " Give, give ;" and though 
 you could tumble the world itself into the heart 
 of man, you could not prevent it from collapsing 
 in disappointment, and dying vacant and dreary 
 at last. 
 
 There is only one object so mighty as truly to 
 content this capacious desire — only one ultima- 
 tum so conclusive that when the soul has reached 
 it, it has nothing more to do than rest it and re- 
 joice. That object is the living God himself, 
 that uhimatum is the All-sufficient Jehovah. 
 The Gospel meets the two desiderata of our un- 
 easy and anxious humanity by offering a free 
 pardon and an infinite and eternal possession. 
 The affrighted and apprehensive soul finds peace 
 where it finds forgiveness ; and the yearning, 
 discontented soul finds joy where it finds a never- 
 dying, all-sufficient friend. It finds them both 
 
156 LECTURE IX. 
 
 where it finds Immanuel. The gloom vanishes 
 and the void is filled — the query of existence is 
 answered, and the problem of blessedness solved 
 when the soul ascertains what Jesus really is, 
 and in a Saviour-God discovers its Beloved and 
 its Friend. 
 
 Now the peace and joy of conversion it is one 
 great use of prayer to reproduce and perpetuate. 
 It brings the soul into the presence of that Sa- 
 viour, whom in the day of salvation it found, and 
 renewing the intercourse, it renews the joy. 
 When prayer is what it ought to be — when it is 
 earnest and realizing — it gives the believer fel- 
 lowship with the Father, and with his Son Jesus 
 Christ. It brings him in contact with those per- 
 fections of the Godhead which may at the moment 
 be chiefly revealed to his view : and in the pa- 
 vilion of prayer — beneath the canopy of the sure 
 atonement, and on the safe standing-point of 
 acceptance — the soul surveys the God of majesty, 
 or surrenders itself to the God of grace — hearkens 
 to his dreadful voice in the thundering power of 
 startling providences, or melts in sweet amaze- 
 ment beneath the full flood of his marvellous 
 mercies — but from every aspect of awful solem- 
 nity or benignant endearment, the assuring 
 thought comes home, " And this God is our own 
 God for ever." And perhaps there is no influ- 
 ence so abidingly tranquillizing — so permanently 
 hallowing and heart-assuring, as this high com- 
 munion with the great All in All. The pleasures 
 of sin will look paltry, and sin itself disgusting to 
 eyes which have just been gazing on the fountain 
 of light. The tossings of time — mountains of 
 
LECTURE IX. 
 
 157 
 
 prosperity rooted up, and pinnacles of fortune 
 flung into the roaring sea — will look trivial mat- 
 ters to one who has eyed them in their mote- 
 like distance from beneath the sapphire throne. 
 And even the groans of mortality and the w^ailings 
 of the sepulchre will come diluted and trans- 
 formed to ears resounding with golden harmonies 
 from the holy place of the Most High. 
 
 3. Prayer is the only means of importing to 
 earth blessings not native to it. There are many 
 commodities not of English growth, which ships 
 and wealth and enterprise can fetch from foreign 
 shores. But there are some things which no 
 wealth can purchase, which no enterprise can 
 compass, and with which no ship that ever rode 
 the seas came freighted. Where is the emporium 
 to which you can resort and order so much hap- 
 piness ? Where is the ship that ever brought 
 home a cargo of heart-comfort? — a consignment 
 of good consciences ? — a freight of strength for 
 the feeble, and joy for the wretched, and peace 
 for the dying ? But what no vessel ever fetched 
 from the Indies, prayer has often fetched from 
 heaven. Our earth is insulated. It is clean cut off 
 from all intercourse with the most adjacent w^orlds. 
 But even though the nearest world were peopled 
 by holy and happy beings, and though they could 
 cross the great gulf that severs them from us, 
 they could accomplish little for us. They could 
 not bind up bleeding hearts — they could not wash 
 stains from guilty souls — they could not infuse 
 their ow'n felicity into gaunt and joyless hearts, 
 and they could not transport their own sweet at- 
 mosphere so as to heal the miasma of a polluted 
 
158' LECTURE IX. 
 
 place, or the misery of a wretched home. Bat 
 what they cannot do, the Lord himself can do. 
 f^ Prayer is not a message to the moon. It is not 
 a cry for help to the sun, or to the stars in their 
 courses. It is a petition addressed to Him who 
 made the sun and moon and stars. It is recourse 
 to the ever-present and all-sufficient God. It is 
 frailty fleeing to omnipotence. It is misery at 
 the door of mercy. It is worm Jacob at the 
 ladder's foot, and that ladder's top in heaven. It 
 is the dying thief beside a dying Saviour, and 
 the same Paradise already open for them both. 
 The mercy-seat is the ark of the covenant opened, 
 and the legend over it, " Ask, and it shall be 
 given thee." And prayer is just the exploring 
 eye and the believing hand selecting from the 
 " unsearchable riches of Christ" the sweetest 
 mercies and the costliest gifts. Jacob compared 
 Joseph his son to a fruitful tree inside of a lofty 
 fence ;^ but though he grew in a " garden en- 
 closed," his growth w^as so luxuriant that his 
 branches ran over the wall, and the wandering 
 Ishmaelites, and the hungry passengers shot 
 their arrows and flung their missiles at the laden 
 boughs, and caught up such clusters as fell out- 
 side the fence. The tree of life grows now in 
 such a garden. There is now an enclosure 
 round it, but the branches run over the wall. 
 High over our heads we may perceive the bend- 
 ing boughs, and such fragrant fruits as " peace 
 of conscience, joy in the Holy Ghost, assurance 
 of God's love," " gentleness, goodness, faith, 
 meekness, temperance" — and prayer is the arrow 
 
 *Gen. xlix. 22, 23, with Harmer's explanation. 
 
LECTURE IX. 159 
 
 which detaches these from the bcugti — the mis- 
 sile which brings these far-off fruits, these lofty- 
 clusters, down to the dusty path, and the weary 
 traveller's feet. Happy he whose believing 
 prayer is " like Jonathan's bow, which never 
 came empty back."* 1 
 
 4. Prayer confers the largest power of doing- 
 good to others. " What am I to do with other 
 people's sorrows ?" The finest and the gentlest 
 spirits are often the most heavily burdened. 
 Many a one feels that he could pass right easily- 
 through the world if he had no griefs to carry- 
 but his own. He feels that his sensitive system 
 is just a contrivance for catching up other men's 
 calamities, — an apparatus on which every body 
 fastens his own peculiar vexation — his family 
 their's — his neighbours their's — till at last he 
 moves about the burden-bearer of a groaning 
 world. But after he has got himself thus charged 
 and loaded, he knows not what to do, for he can- 
 not alleviate the twentieth portion of the ills he 
 knows. He cannot heal all the wounds and mi- 
 tigate all the poverty of which he is the mourning 
 witness. He cannot minister to all the minds 
 diseased, all the aching hearts and wounded 
 spirits whose confidant he is ; and in the anguish 
 of his own tortured sympathies he is sometimes 
 tempted to turn these sympathies outside in, and 
 feel for his fellow-men no more. *' What then 
 shall I do with other people's sorrows ?" The 
 Christian feels that he has no right to be his own 
 little all-in-all. He feels that he dares not invert 
 the example of his Master, who was a man of 
 * Gurnall 
 
160 LECTURE IX. 
 
 sorrows very much because a man of sympathies. 
 He remembers of whom it is said, " Surely he 
 hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows ;" 
 and this reminds him what to do with the per- 
 plexities and disappointments and distresses of 
 his brethren. He takes them to the Throne of 
 Grace. He deposits them in the ear of the Great 
 High Priest. He urges them on the notice of one 
 who can be touched with a feeling of infirmity, 
 and who is able to succour them that are tempted. 
 And in this way a believer who is tender-hearted 
 enough to feel for his brethren, and who is so 
 much a man of prayer as to carry to the mercy- 
 seat those matters that are too hard and those 
 griefs that are too heavy for himself, may be a 
 greater benefactor to his afflicted friends than an 
 Achitophel who has nothing but sage counsel, or 
 a Joab who has nothing but a stout arm to help 
 them — than a man of fortune who can give noth- 
 ing but his money, or a man of feeling who has 
 nothing but his tears. The Christian has his 
 near relations and personal friends. Parents and 
 children, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, 
 — God has bound them very closely together, and 
 made it impossible for the joy of one to be full if 
 another's joy is incomplete. Besides these there 
 are friends not of one's house — kindred spirits 
 whom God, in creating, or the Spirit of God, in 
 new-creating, has made congenial with your own 
 — those to whom you are drawn by the affinity 
 of identical tastes, or by the discovery of those 
 mental gifts and spiritual graces, which cannot 
 be hid, and which cannot be seen without attract- 
 ing you. Now one way to sanctify such friend- 
 
 I 
 
LECTURE IX. 161 
 
 ships is to make them the materials and the 
 incentives of prayer. For example, there may 
 be seasons of spiritual languor when you have 
 little heart to pray. The Throne of Grace seems 
 distant or uninviting. A deep sloth has seized 
 the inner man. You are not inclined to ask any 
 blessing for yourself. You are too carnal to con- 
 fess any sin, and too sullen to acknowledge any 
 mercy — perhaps so earthly or atheistical that you 
 do not pant — nay, do not breathe after God, the 
 living God. At such a season of deadness you 
 will sometimes find that you can pray for others 
 when you cannot for yourself.^ Do even so. 
 Make your solicitude for them a motive for prayer. 
 Begin by laying their wants before the Lord, and 
 you will soon find out your own. Come in their 
 company, and you may soon find yourself left 
 alone with God. This is not to desecrate prayer, 
 but to consecrate friendship. It exalts and puri- 
 fies affection, and by making it friendship in the 
 Lord, makes it more lasting now, and more likely 
 to be renewed hereafter. 
 
 And lastly. Intercession sanctifies the be- 
 liever's relation to the Church. " Our Father " 
 makes all of us who are in Christ one family. 
 But this, too, is oft forgotten. There is little 
 family love amongst us yet — little instinctive 
 affection resulting from our common adoption 
 into the circle of God's dear children — little of 
 that affection towards one another which our 
 elder brother feels towards . very one — little out- 
 going of sympathy because one Comforter fills 
 us all. If the family relation of the household a f 
 
 * Sheppard's Thoughts on Private Devotion. 
 
162 LECTURE IX. 
 
 faith be ever realized, it is in social or interces- 
 sory prayer. Abba, Father — my Father truly, 
 because Father of my Lord Jesus Christ ; but, if 
 so. Father of many more — Father of the whole 
 believing family — " Our Father, which art in 
 heaven." And so the circle widens, till, starting 
 from the individual, or his own little band of im- 
 mediate brotherhood, it includes all whom the 
 arms of Immanuel enclose. One who was much 
 given to intercessory prayer writes thus to a 
 Christian friend : — " I beseech you to seek ear- 
 nestly the communion of saints. This is the only 
 progress I have made in the divine life. I have 
 received, as ajnost precious and unmerited gift, 
 the power of feeling the things of the flock of 
 Christ as if they were my own. You cannot 
 imagine the happiness of this feeling. I dedi- 
 cate an hour every evening to prayer, and prin- 
 cipally to intercession. I generally begin with 
 the thanks due to God for having made himself 
 known to us as our Father, for all that he has 
 done for every one of his sheep on that day. It 
 is impossible for me to tell you the great delight 
 of thus mixing myself up with the people of 
 Christ, and of considering their benefits as my 
 own. The thought which transports me the 
 most, is that of how many souls have been, per- 
 haps, this day joined to the Church ! how many 
 succoured under temptation ! how many recov- 
 ered from their backslidings ! how many filled 
 with consolation ! how many transported by death 
 into the bosom of Christ ! I then try to pray for 
 that sweet ' we,' and to think of the necessities 
 of my Christian friends. Besides, I have a list 
 
LECTURE IX. 163 
 
 of unconverted persons, for whom I wish to 
 pray."^ And, if there were more of this spirit, 
 how it would aher the tone of Christians to one 
 another I Instead of being so censorious and un- 
 charitable, it would make us feel, " Am I not my 
 brother's keeper ?" Instead of a fault-finding, it 
 would make us a fault-forgiving and a fault- 
 healing Church. It would make us suffer with 
 the suffering members, and ?!xult with the re- 
 joicing. It would make us like that high-souled 
 apostle who had " continual heaviness " for his 
 unconverted kindred, and who yet never wanted 
 topics of consolation ; remembering without ceas- 
 ing in his prayers his believing brethren, with 
 their work of faith, and labour of love, and 
 patience of hope. 
 
 * " Memoir of Miss M. J Graham," second edition, 
 pp. 375, 376 
 
TAIUABLE WORKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 ROBERT CARTER, 
 68 CANAL-STREET, NEW-YORK. 
 
 AND 56 MARKET-ST., PITTSBURG. P» 
 
 Cheap Editions. 
 
 HORNE'S INTRODUCTION. New' edition, coi- 
 reeled and enlarged. Illustrated with numerous maps and fao 
 similes of Biblical Majiuscripts. 2 vols, imperial 8vo. $3 50. 
 
 CHALMERS' ROMANS. $1 50. 
 
 CHALMERS' SERMONS. 2 vols. 8vo. $2 50. 
 Uniform with his ** Lectures on Romans." Nearly one half of 
 this work has never before been re-published in this country. 
 
 CHALMERS' N ATU R A L T H EC LO Q Y. 
 
 2 vols. 12mo. $1 00. 
 CHALMERS' EVIDENCES. 2 vols. $100. 
 
 LUTHER'S COMMENTARY ON GALA- 
 
 TIANS. New edition, printed on fine white paper, and large 
 type. 1 vol. 8vo. $1 50. 
 THE BRITISH PULPIT. Consisting of Discourses 
 by the most eminent living Divines in England, Scotland, and 
 Ireland, accompanied with Pulpit Sketches. By the Rev. W. 
 Suddards. Sixth edition. 2 vols. 8vo. $2 50. 
 
 CONNEXION OF SACRED AND PROFANE 
 
 HISTORY. Being a Review of the principal Events in the 
 World, as they bear upon the state of Religion, from the close of 
 the Old Testament History, till the establishment of Christianity. 
 By D. Davidson. 3 vols. 12mo. $1 50. 
 
 ANCIENT HISTORY. Containing the History of the 
 Egyptians, Assyrians, Chaldeans, Medes, Lydians, Carthagenians, 
 Persians, Macedonians, the Selucidas in Syria, and ParthiauB, 
 from Rollin and other authentic sources, both Ancient and Mod 
 em. 4 vols. 12 mo. $2 00. 
 
 SCRIPTURE NARRATIVES. 12mo. 33 cts 
 
R. CARTER'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 WORKS OF REV. JOHN NENA^TON. Com^ 
 
 taining an Authentic Narrative, &c., Letters on Religious Subject*, 
 Cardephonia, Discourses intended for the Pulpit, Sermons preach* 
 ed in the Parish of Olney, a Review of Ecclesiastical History, 
 Olney Hymns, Poems, Messiah, Occasional Sermons, and Tracts. 
 To which is prefixed Memoirs of his Life; by the Rev. Richard 
 Cecil, A. M. 2 vols. 8vo. $2 50. 
 
 ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF MISSIONS. A 
 
 Record of the Voyages, Travels, Labours, and Successes of the 
 various Missionaries who have been sent forth by Protestant So- 
 cieties to Evangelize the Heathen. Compiled from authentic 
 Documents, by the Rev. J. 0. Choules and the Rev. Thomas 
 Smith. Seventh edition. 2 vols. 4to., beautifully bound in full 
 cloth. Illustrated with twenty-five Engravings on steel. $4 50. 
 HORNE'S COMMENTARY ON THE PSALMS. 
 To which is prefixed an Introductory Essay by the Rev. Edward 
 Irving, of London. 1 vol. 8vo. $1 50. 
 
 SERMONS ON IMPORTANT SUBJECTS. 
 
 By the Rev. Samuel Davies, A. M., President of the College of 
 New-Jersey. With an Essay on the Life and Times of the Au- 
 thor, by Albert Barnes. Stereotype edition, containing all the 
 author's Sermons ever published. 3 vols. 12mo. $1 50. 
 
 ASSEMBLY'S SHORTER CATECHISM. 
 
 An Easy, Plain, Practical and Extensive Explication of the As- 
 sembly's Shorter Catechism. By John Brown, late Minister of 
 the Gospel at Haddington. 12mo. 63 cts. 
 MEMOIROFTHE REV. HENRY MARTYN. 
 
 Complete edition. 12mo. 50 cts. 
 
 D'AUBIQNE'S REFORMATION. 3 rols. 
 
 12mo. $1 00. 
 
 MOFFAT'S SgUTHERN AFRICA. 50 cts. 
 MASON'S ESSAY ON THE CHURCH. 50 cts. 
 MASON'S ESSAY ON ePISCOPACY. 50cts. 
 THE CHRISTIAN YOUTH'S BOOK. By 
 
 W. C. Brownlee, D. D. 50 cts. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE CHURCH OF SCOT- 
 LAND, from the Introduction of Christianity to the period of the 
 Disruption in 1843. By the Rev. W. M. Hetherington, A.M. 
 1 vol. 8vo. $1 50. 
 
 0\A^EN ON SPIRITUAL MINDEDNESS. 
 
 12mo. 38 cts. 
 
 (2) 
 
B. carter's publications. 
 
 THE 
 
 This Series of Books is printed on fine white paper, 
 with clear type. Neatly bound in English cloth. 
 Gilt backs. 18mo. 
 
 To Sabbath Schools and Congregational Libraries, 
 and to those purchasing in quantities, a liberal dis- 
 count is allowed. 
 
 MEMOIR OF MRS. MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. Being 
 
 Recollections of a Daughter by her Mother. New ed. 63 cts. 
 
 CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE. By the author of 
 " Christian Retirement." 63 cts. 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF SCOTTISH LIFE. 
 By Professor Wilson, of Edinburgh. New edition. 63 cents. 
 
 SABBATH MUSINGS. By Caroline Fr>', author of 
 ** Christ our Law," " Christ our Example," &c. &x;. 50 cents. 
 
 MEDITATIONS &, CO NTEMPLATIONS. 
 
 By the Rev. James Hervey, A. M. 50 cents. 
 
 REFORMATION IN EUROPE. The History of 
 the Reformation in Europe. With a Chronology. By the au- 
 thor of " The Council of Trent." 50 cents. 
 OLD HUMPHREY'S ADDRSSES. 50 cts. 
 
 Do. OBSERVATIONS. 50 cents. 
 
 Do. \A/ALKS IN LONDON. 50 ceuta. 
 
 Do. THOUGHTS. 50 cents. 
 
 Do HOMELY HINTS. 50 cents. 
 
 Do. COUNTRY STROLLS. 50 cents. 
 
 Do. OLD SEA CAPTAIN. 50 cents. 
 
 LUCILLA : or, THE READING OF THE BIBLE. Py 
 Adolphe Monod, D. D. Tmnslated from the French. 50 cents. 
 
 LECTURES ON THE BOOK OF ESTHER. By the 
 late Thomas McCrie, D.D., auttior of " The Life of John Knox," 
 &c. 50 cents. 
 
 (3) 
 
E. carter's publications. 
 
 MEDITATIONS AND ADDRESSES ON 
 
 THE SUBJECT OF PRAYER, By the Rev. Hagh White, 
 
 A. M. , of St. Mary's Parish, Dublin. 50 cents. 
 THE BELIEVER : a Series of Discourses. By the 
 
 same author. 50 cents. 
 PRACTICAL REFLECTIONS ON THE SEC- 
 
 OND ADVENT. By the same author. 50 cents. 
 
 FAMILY OF BETHANY; or, Meditations on tbe 
 Eleventh Chapter of the Gospel according to St. John. By L. 
 Bonnet. Translated from the French. With an Introductory 
 Essay, by Rev. Hugh White. 50 cents. 
 
 THE R ET R O S P EOT : or, Re%new of Providential 
 Mercies; vvrith Anecdotes of various Characters. By Aliquis, 
 formerly a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and now a Minister in 
 the Established Church. From the 17th London edition. 50 cts. 
 
 THE MARTYR LAMB : or, Christ the Representa- 
 tive of his People in all Ages. ByF. W. Krummacher, D.D. 50c. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN CONTEMPLATED, in a 
 Course of Lectures, delivered in Argyle Chapel, Bath. By the 
 Rev. William Jay. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN FATHER AT HOME; or, A 
 Manual of Parental Instruction. By W. C. Brownlee, D.D. 
 50 cents. 
 
 CHRISTIAN FRAGMENTS : or, Remarks on th« 
 Nature, Precepts, and Comforts of Religion. By John Bums, 
 M.D., F.R.S., Professor of Surgery in the University of Glas- 
 gow, &c. 50 cents. 
 
 BICKER ST ETH'S TREATISE ON PRAYER. 50 c 
 
 MICHAEL KEMP, THE HAPPY FARMER'S LAD. 
 A Tale of Rustic Life, illustrative of the Spiritual Blessings and 
 Temporal Advantage of Early Piety. By Anne Woodrooffe. 50 c 
 
 COMMUNICANT'S COMPANION. By the 
 Rev. Matthew Henry. With an Introductory Essay, by the Eer. 
 John Brown, Edinburgh. 50 cents. 
 
 ELIJAH THE TISHBITE. By F. W. Krtimn» 
 
 cher, D.D., author of *' The Martyr Lamb." 50 cents. 
 
 PIKE'S PERSUASIVES TO EARLY PIETY. 50e. 
 DODDRIDGE'S RISE AND PROGRESS OF BEU 
 GION IN THE SOUL. 50 cents. , 
 
R. carter's publications. 
 
 COTT AG E F I R ES I D E : or, the Parisih Schoolmaster 
 
 By the Rev. Henry Duncan, D.D., Ruthwell. 50 cents. 
 COMFORT IN AFFLICTION ; a series of Medi. 
 
 tations. By James Buchanan, D.D., Free Church, Edinb. 50 c. 
 
 HARP ON THE \A/ILLOWS, Remembering Zion, 
 Farewell to Egypt, The Church in the House, The Dew of Her 
 mon, and the Destination of the Jews. By the Rev. James Ham 
 ilton of London. From x\\e forty-fifth London edition. 38 cts. 
 
 MY SCHOOL- BOY DAYS. A very interesting ja- 
 venile book. 38 cents. 
 
 SORROWING YET REJO ICI NG j or, Narra- 
 tive of Successive Bereavements in a Minister's Family. Sixth 
 edition. 38 cents. | 
 
 ANECDOTES ON THE SHORTER CATECHISM. By 
 John Whitecross, Teacher, Edinburgh. 38 cents. 
 
 CHARLIE SEYMOUR j or the Good Aunt and '^he 
 Bad Aunt. By Miss Catherine Sinclair. 38 cents. 
 
 TRUE HAPPINESS : or, the Excellence and Power 
 of Early Religion. By J. G. Pike, author of " Persuasives to 
 Early Piety," " Divine Origin of Christianity," &c. 38 oents. 
 
 RELIGION AND ETERNAL LIFE; or Irreligion and Per- 
 petual Ruin, the only alternative for Mankind. By the same au- 
 thor. 38 cents. 
 
 DIVINE ORIGIN OF CHRISTIANITY. By the same 
 author. 38 cents. 
 
 CROOK IN THE LOT; By Thomas Boston. 38 c. 
 
 A TRIBUTE OF PARENTAL AFFECTION, to the Me- 
 mory of my beloved and only Daughter, Hannah Jerram, with a 
 short account of the last illness and death of her elder brother, 
 Charles Stranger Jerram. By Charles Jerram, A. M. 38 cents. 
 
 LIVE NA^HILE YOU LIVE. By the Rev. Thomas 
 Griffiths, A. M., Homerton. 33 cents. 
 
 A CALL TO THE UNCONVERTED, Now or Never, and 
 Fifty Reasons. By Richard Baxter. With an introduction by 
 Dr. Chalmers. 38 cents. 
 
 JUBILEE MEMORIAL: being the Sermons, Meet* 
 ings, Presentations, and full account of the Jubilee commemora- 
 ting the Rev. Wm. Jay's fifty years' ministry at Argyle Chapel, 
 Bath. 33 cents. 
 
 (5) 
 
R. CARTER'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BICKERSTETH'S TREATISE ON THE LORD'& 
 SUPPER. With an Introduction. Notes, and an Essay, by G. T. 
 Bedell, D. D.. late rector of St. Andrew's Church, Phiia. ' 38 cts. 
 
 FARMER'S DAUGHTER; a Tale. By Mrs. Ca- 
 
 inerson. 38 cents. 
 
 THE WORLD'S RELIGION, as contrasted with 
 genuine Christianity. By Lady Colquhoun. 38 cents. 
 
 A WORLD WITHOUT SOULS. By J. W. 
 
 Cunningham, Vicar of Harrow, 38 cents. 
 
 ADVICE TO A YOUNG CHRISTIAN. 38 cents. 
 LIFE OF REV. JOHN NEWTON. 38 cents. 
 
 WORKS OF REV. HENRY SCOUGAL; con- 
 
 eisting of the life of God in the Soul, Sermons, dtc. 38 cents. 
 
 JESSY ALLAN, The Lame Girl. 31 cents. 
 
 HELEN OF THE GLEN; a Tale of the Scotch Cow 
 nanters. Bv Robert Pollok, author of the " Cuu-, ^e of Tin*;,'* 
 &c. 31 cents. 
 
 PERSECUTED FAMILY; a Narrative of the Suf- 
 ferings of the Covenanters in tlie reign of Charles II. By Robert 
 Pollok, author of the " Course of Time," &c. 31 cents. 
 
 RALPH GEMMELL; or, the Banks of the Irvine, a 
 Tale of the Scottish Covenanters. By Robert Pollok. 31 cents. 
 
 DECAPOLIS; or, the indi\-idual obligation of Christians to 
 save souls from death. By David E. Ford. Fifth Edition. 31c 
 
 THE SINNER'S FRIEND. From the 87 th London 
 Edition, completing upwards of half a million. The Sinner'i 
 Friend is printed in Sixtlek different languages. 31 cents. 
 
 MEMOIR OF HANNAH SINCLAIR. By ti 
 
 Rev. Legh Richmond. 31 cents. 
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE WORLD TO COME, In 
 Waking Dream. By the late Geo. B. Phillips. 31 cents. 
 
 I N FA NT PI ETY ; a Book for Little Children. By i: 
 Rev, Baptist W. Noel, M. A. 31 cents. 
 
 A MEMOIR OF JOHN HUSS. Translated fron 
 
 the German. 31 cents. 
 
 LUTHER AND CALVIN; or, the True Spin, of tl» 
 Reformed Church. By J. H. Merle D'Aubi^e, author of th» 
 " History of the Reformation," &c. 31 cents. 
 
 (6) 
 
R. carter's publications. 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS OF BISHOP BUT- 
 LER ; containing Analogy of Natural and Revealed Religion, Dis- 
 sertations, Sermons, Correspondence with Dr. Clarke, &c. &c* 
 To which is prefixed an Account of the Character and Writings 
 of the Author. By Dr. Halifax, Bishop of Gloucester. 1 voL 
 8vo. Splendid edition, on pica type and fine paper. 
 
 BISHOP BUTLR'S SERMONS. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 " '* ANALOGY. 1vol. 8vo. 
 
 JAY'S MORNING EXERCISES FOR THE 
 CLOSET, for Every Day in the Year. New edition, 2 vols, in 
 one, 12mo. 
 
 JAY'S EVENING EXERCISES FOR THE 
 CLOSET, for Every Day in the Year. New edition, 2 vols, in 
 one, 12rao., bound uniform with the Morning Exercises. 
 
 LIFE, NA^^ALK AND TRIUMPH OF FAITH. 
 By the Rev. W. Romaine, A. M. 12mo. New edition, muslin. 
 
 BAXTER'S SAINT'S REST. Large type, 12mo. 
 
 LECTURES ON THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES. 
 By the Rev. John Dick, D. D., author of ** Lectures on Theolo- 
 gy," &c. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 MEMOIR OF DR. NISBET. By Dr. Miller, of 
 Princeton. 
 
 MEMOIR OF MRS. ISABELLA GRAHAM. 
 
 New edition. 
 POOR MAN'S MORNING PORTIONj being 
 a selection of a verse from Scripture, with short observations, for 
 every day in the year. By Robert Hawkes, D. D. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 HILL AND VALLEY; or. Hours in England and 
 
 Wales. By Miss Catherine Sinclair. 
 CHRIST OUR LAW. By Caroline Fr>'. J2mo. 
 CHRIST ON THE CROSS. By Stevenson. ., 
 BISHOP PORTEUS ON MATTHEW. 12mo. 
 THE INQUIRER DIRECTED to an Experimen- 
 
 tal and Practical View of the Work of the Holy Spirit. By Rev. 
 
 Octavius Winslow. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 REMAINS OF THE REV. RICHARD CECIL, A.M., 
 
 Minister of St. John's Chapel, Bedford Row, London. To which 
 
 is prefixed a View of his Character. By Josiah Pratt. 12mo. 
 
 (7) 
 
^^ 
 
 ■^ MCLEOD ON TRUE GODLINESS. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 SIR ROLAND ASHTON; a Tale of the Times. By 
 
 Lady Catherine Long. 2 vols. 12mo. 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF THE REV. JOSEPH 
 
 ALLEINE, author of *' An Alarm to the Unconverted," &c. 
 
 WfORKS BY THE LATE REV. JOM L CLAEK, D.D. 
 
 Uniformly bound in neat cloth. 12mo. 
 L A WALK ABOUT ZION. Revised and En 
 larg-ed. With two steel Plates. 
 
 II. THE PASTOR'S TESTIMONY. With 
 
 two steel Plates. 
 
 Ml. THE YOUNG DISCIPLEj or, A memoir of 
 Anzonetta R. Peters. 
 
 IV. GATHERED FRAGMENTS. Two steel 
 
 Plates. 
 
 V. GLEANINGS BY THE NA^AY, or Travels 
 
 in the Western Country. 
 
 VI. AWAKE, THOU SLEEPER I a Series of 
 
 Awakening Discom-ses. 
 
 ASSEMBLY'S SHORTER CATECHISM. 
 
 BRONA^N'S CATECHISM. 
 
 MANUAL OF BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION. By Dr. 
 
 McClelland. ISmo 
 
 GEOLOGICAL COSMOGONY : or, an Examina- 
 
 tion of the Geological Theory of the Origin and Antiquity of the 
 
 Earth. By a Layman. 18mo. 
 CALVIN ON SECRET PROVIDENCE. 
 MALCOLM ON THE ATONEMENT. 
 GIFT FOR MOURNERS: containing Cecil's Vish 
 
 to the House of Mourning, and Flavel's Token for Mourners. 
 SORRONA^ING YET REJOICING. 32mo. 
 CONTEST AND THE ARMOUR, by Dr. Aber- 
 
 crombie, author of the "Intellectual Powers," &c., muslin, extra 
 
 gilt edge. 32mo. 31 cents. 
 KEY TO THE SHORTER CATECHISM. New ed. 35 o 
 (8) 
 
Princeton Theologrcal Seminary-Speer Library 
 
 1 1012 01021 6325 
 
 ii|t 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
 I'' 
 
 ■I: 
 
 'iii!!^! 
 
 11: i 
 
 Q 
 
 III 
 
 .1 
 
 ilPiiiil!! 
 
 I' 
 
 i! Ill 
 i I 
 
 if 
 
 .n'M 
 
 liiiliMB^^^^^^^^