FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON. D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
JIEMOIR AND REMISS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 REV. JAMES D. BURNS, M.A. 
 
 OF HAMPSTEAD. 
 
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 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/remainsofrOOhami 
 
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V NOV 19 1931 ^ 
 
 MEMOIR AND REMAIN! 
 
 REV. JAMES D. BURNS, M.A. 
 
 OF HA.MPSTEAD. 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 REV. JAMES HAMILTON, D.D. 
 
 LONDON: 
 JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET. 
 
 MDCCCLXIX. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Soon after the lamented death, of the subject of this 
 memoir, a very general desire was expressed by those 
 who knew him, that some record of his life and char- 
 acter should be given to the Church. It was felt 
 that, notwithstanding the profound humility which 
 distinguished the man, and which made him shrink 
 from all display, there was that in the sweetness of 
 his disposition, in the tenderness of his Christian 
 sympathies, and in the elegance of his mental cul- 
 ture, which, as developed in his valuable life, it 
 would be right, and might be profitable, to set forth in 
 a short memoir. And although, by the volume of 
 poems and other smaller works which were published 
 in his lifetime, and by his occasional contributions to 
 periodical literature, the name of James D. Burns 
 had already become most favourably known, there 
 was a strong desire for a sketch of his too brief 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 career, and for the publication of such poetical and 
 other remains as might take their place with his 
 other works, and might help to perpetuate the 
 memory of one of the most loving and most Christ- 
 like natures that are met with in a lifetime. 
 
 The task seemed to fall naturally to one of his 
 friends who had largely possessed his confidence, and 
 to whom it would have been indeed a labour of love. 
 But the incessant toils of a busy London life, and the 
 heavy strain involved in the conduct of large affairs j 
 made it impossible for him to take the principal part 
 of the work. 
 
 It was, however, undertaken with characteristic 
 generosity by the beloved and lamented Dr James 
 Hamilton, and his felicitous pen will readily be traced 
 all through, the part of this volume comprising the 
 memoir. And we are sure that it will be felt to be 
 doubly precious when it is known that these pages, in 
 which he so lovingly sketched the life of his friend, 
 were the last which he wrote, and were finished dur- 
 ing a retirement at Hampstead at the commencement 
 of that illness which, in a few brief months, issued in 
 his own call to the higher service of the sanctuary 
 above. 
 
 The concluding part of the volume, in which refer- 
 
PKEFACE. Vll 
 
 ence is made to the character of Mr Burns' poetical 
 writings, as well as the editing of the remains and the 
 preparation of the whole for the press, has devolved 
 upon another hand. 
 
 To the many who knew and appreciated Mr Burns' 
 pulpit ministrations, it will, we are sure, he accept- 
 able that a few of his sermons have been inserted at 
 the end, and no apology need be offered for the inser- 
 tion of such of his fugitive poems and hymns as have 
 previously appeared from time to time in the Family 
 Treasury, the English Presbyterian Messenger, and 
 other periodicals. To the Messrs Nelson we are 
 indebted for much kindness in permitting the use of 
 hymns and pieces which were their copyright. 
 
 With these explanations, which seemed to be called 
 for, the volume is issued with the humble prayer that 
 it may be made a blessing to many, and that the 
 lessons of a life spent in the Master's service may not 
 be without fruit to the glory of His grace. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. EDINBURGH, ...... 1 
 
 II. DUNBLANE, . . . . . .15 
 
 III. MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER, .... 22 
 
 IV. RESIGNATION OF HIS MINISTRY AT DUNBLANE AND RETURN 
 
 TO MADEIRA, . . . . .54 
 
 V. CONTINENTAL TOUR, . . . . .78 
 
 VI. HAMPSTEAD, . . . . . .96 
 
 VII. MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END, . . . 141 
 
 HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES — 
 
 Lines written for an Alburn, 
 
 " I meditate in the Night "Watches," . 
 
 " Faint yet Pursuing," 
 
 The heavenly Shepherd, 
 
 The Dove and the Ark, 
 
 'Tis not the way that lay so bright before me, 
 
 Mourner in the dust low-lying, 
 
 Along a weary way we go, 
 
 Lament of David over Saul and Jonathan, 
 
 To the memory of Sir Walter Scott, 
 
 187 
 187 
 188 
 189 
 190 
 191 
 193 
 194 
 195 
 196 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 hymns and miscellaneous pieces, continued — 
 The Jew's Lament, 
 To a Friend leaving on a Voyage, 
 Fallen Leaves, .... 
 Lines on Eliza Cooter, a Blind and Deaf Mute 
 The Charge of the Seven Hundred, 
 The Daughter of Jephthah to her Father, 
 Tyre, . 
 Nineveh, 
 The Cherry-Tree, 
 Bethlehem, 
 A Reminiscence, 
 The First Hyacinth, 
 A Thought on the Sea, 
 Lines, 
 Lines, 
 Lines, 
 
 The Ave of Sao Jorge, 
 Jael and Sisera, 
 The Nightingale, 
 Lines written in an Album, 
 Sonnet — Mentone, 
 Lines, 
 To Flora, 
 
 Written at Hastings, 1860, 
 Life, 
 
 " Aaron's Rod," 
 Hymn for a New Year, 
 New Year's Hymn, 
 
 TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS — 
 
 " little Flock, be not Afraid !" 
 " Lord, I come, Thy Grace Adoring, 
 
 226 
 227 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 XI 
 
 TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS, Continued — 
 
 •• All the Saints will meet on high." 
 
 • ; From Thee, faithful God," 
 
 " Heaven, and Earth, and Sea, and Air," 
 
 "■ Wonderful and Bless' d," 
 
 "' i rod is Love, sing loud before Him," 
 
 •' Help me to pray, Lord," 
 
 " We meet, Lord, with voice and heart, 
 
 " Behold, the Bridegroom cometh," 
 
 "• Xow on the Holy Ghost we call," 
 
 "• So will I abide for ever," 
 
 ■" To God alone on high be praise," 
 
 i- All that God does is rightly done," 
 
 Our Refuge and Strength, 
 
 *' Jesus, lead the way," 
 
 Bearing the Cross, 
 
 " Now the crucible is breaking," 
 
 •' World ! see thy life languish," 
 
 " Be Clothed with Humility." 
 
 On the Death of his Son, 
 
 ■• Xow all give Thanks to God," 
 
 Friends in Heaven. 
 
 •• Waterfloods will I send rush: 
 
 '•' Friend of Souls, and our Salvation," 
 
 " Jerusalem ! fair dwelling," 
 
 " In the Abyss of Gloom and Misery," 
 
 Abide in Him, 
 
 " On God and on no Earthly trust." 
 
 " He who to Death maintaineth." 
 
 :i Jesus shall the Watchword be," 
 
 " From place to place the Christian goes,' 
 
 The Last Judgment, 
 
 Waiting for Christ, 
 
 " Sleeping in Jesus," 
 
xu 
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS, Continued — 
 
 " Who are those before God's Throne ? " 
 
 Evening Hymn, 
 
 " Sun, if from thy light a ray," 
 
 " Will not my Memory treasure ? " 
 
 PAGE 
 
 267 
 269 
 270 
 271 
 
 PSALMS — 
 
 
 Psalm I., 
 
 272 
 
 Psalm XIX., .... 
 
 273 
 
 Psalm XX., .... 
 
 274 
 
 Psalm CXXVL, 
 
 275 
 
 Psalm CXXX., 
 
 276 
 
 Psalm CXLVL, 
 
 276 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM " THE EVENING HYMN " — 
 
 
 " Out of the Depths," 
 
 
 
 
 278 
 
 Israel's Keeper, 
 
 
 
 
 279 
 
 The Night in Galilee, . 
 
 
 
 
 280 
 
 The Child Samuel, 
 
 
 
 
 280 
 
 " No Night there," 
 
 
 
 
 281 
 
 The Star of Jacob, 
 
 
 
 
 282 
 
 " Still with Thee," 
 
 
 
 
 283 
 
 Spiritual Worship, 
 
 
 
 
 284 
 
 Light in Darkness, 
 
 
 
 
 285 
 
 In the night His Song shall be with me. 
 
 
 285 
 
 SERMONS — 
 
 Sermon I., . 289 
 
 Sermon II., 
 
 
 
 
 308 
 
 Sermon III., 
 
 
 
 
 318 
 
 Sermon IV., 
 
 
 
 
 329 
 
 Sermon V., 
 
 
 
 
 340 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 Xlll 
 
 sermons, continued— 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sermon VI., 
 
 350 
 
 Sermon VII., 
 
 
 
 
 358 
 
 Sermon VIII. , 
 
 
 
 
 369 
 
 Sermon IX., 
 
 
 
 
 382 
 
 Sermon X., 
 
 
 
 
 395 
 
 Sermon XL, 
 
 
 
 
 405 
 
 Sermon XII., 
 
 
 
 
 415 
 
 Sermon XIII., 
 
 
 
 
 426 
 
 FRAGMENTS — 
 
 
 I., 
 
 437 
 
 II, 
 
 
 
 
 449 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE OF J. D. BURNS 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 EDINBURGH. 
 
 Through " The Fortunes of Nigel " every one has 
 made the acquaintance of that opulent goldsmith 
 who, in the days of James I. and Anne of Denmark, 
 so often relieved the wants of royalty ; and amongst 
 its many beautiful buildings there is none of which 
 Edinburgh is more justly proud than the pile which, 
 rising betwixt the Castle and Meadows, fills the 
 neighbourhood with a tranquil majesty, whilst per- 
 petuating the kindly name and noble deeds of George 
 Heriot. Suggested by the still grander Christ's Hospi- 
 tal of London, and in its leading features conformed to 
 that princely foundation, it may not exhibit such a 
 roll of illustrious alumni as its far-famed prototype ; 
 but within its walls have been educated many 
 hundreds of those who, in honourable callings, have 
 been a credit to their country, whilst an occasional 
 name, like that of Sir Henry Raeburn, has sprung up 
 
 A 
 
2 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 to eminence, and left renown to the school and an 
 incentive to youthful successors. Here, upwards of 
 thirty years ago, and in virtue of his privilege as the 
 son of a burgess-freeman of Edinburgh, one of the 
 hundred and eighty boys in residence, was James 
 Drummond Burns. He had been born at Edinburgh, 
 February 18, 1823. With dark hair, high forehead, 
 and features finely regular, the left eye had lost its 
 sight, and added a shade of sadness to a countenance 
 which, frequent gleams of playfulness notwithstand- 
 ing, was habitually pensive. Even as a little fellow 
 there was in his air something sober, almost subdued, 
 and he grew bigger without growing boisterous : the 
 diligent, attentive lad whom house-governors love to 
 quote, and who, in a home conscious of no sisterly 
 influence, exerts a gentle and unacknowledged control 
 on wilder companions. 
 
 To the Eev. Alexander Kodger, now the esteemed 
 minister of the Free Church at Coldstream, in his 
 own day a distinguished pupil at Heriot's, we are 
 indebted for nearly all our knowledge of those early 
 years. In a long and interesting letter he writes: — 
 " At a preparatory school he had already made good 
 progress for his years, and those of us who were 
 alongside of him in the class soon found that he had 
 great quickness and ease in learning his lessons. He 
 was a very diligent, well-behaved boy, very very 
 seldom, if ever, found in a fault ; not manifesting any 
 special aptitude or liking for any department in 
 particular, but taking a good place in all — English, 
 
EDINBURGH. 3 
 
 French, Latin, Greek, and Mathematics. I may 
 mention one proof of his proficiency. The boys used 
 to be moved from class to class as soon as they were 
 thought fit for advancement to a higher section of 
 the school. When Burns could be little more than 
 twelve years of age, he stood third in the highest 
 class, the boys above him having like himself run 
 too rapidly through the prescribed curriculum, and 
 reached the end of the course two years before the 
 usual time for leaving the school. In these circum- 
 stances the governors did what they had never clone 
 before, and sent the three boys to the Rectors class 
 in the High School, allowing them still to reside in 
 Heriot's Hospital. Dr Carson was a first-rate scholar, 
 and a most excellent teacher. Of these early years 
 the general impression which abides with me is, that 
 Burns was a kind, quiet boy, thoughtful, grave, more 
 given to reading than to play. As one of his com- 
 panions has since said to me, ' His nature was as 
 gentle as anything on this earth need be ; ' and he 
 was evidently one of those who pass through life 
 incapable (in a sense) of being contaminated by the 
 grossness of this lower sphere." 
 
 The disposition which thus early made him so inter- 
 esting and so exemplary could only have one source ; 
 but when or how it was that, under the fostering care 
 of the good Spirit, the seeds of piety sprang up, as in 
 many similar instances, it is now impossible to ascer- 
 tain. The result, however, seems to have been that 
 his thoughts were early turned towards the Christian 
 
4 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUBNS. 
 
 ministry: and, indeed, if it had not occurred to him- 
 self, it would have been sure to be suggested to 
 him by others in a country where the pinnacle of 
 ambition, then more even than now, was the pulpit, 
 and where bookish tastes and sober ways point to the 
 manse as their appropriate landing-place. 
 
 The Heriot boys attended their parish church, the 
 New Greyfriars. In those days its minister was the 
 Kev. Daniel Wilkie. A lovelier spirit never animated 
 human form, and to those who came near him there 
 was an irresistible fascination in that sweet and 
 gracious tact which made the shiest instantly at 
 home, and which, as when a poor instrument gives 
 out fine music in the hands of a skilful minstrel, from 
 sheepish youths and inexpressive rustics elicited a 
 sense and goodness surprising to themselves. In his 
 daily walk through the Grassmarket it was pleasant 
 to follow this good shepherd and see the love which 
 everywhere attended him. The lint-headed little 
 ones ran after him, for many of them he could call 
 by their names, and on many of them he had laid 
 his hands and, like the Master, blessed them ; and 
 when he prayed in a sick-room and went his way : 
 the peace and hope which lingered made the sufferer 
 feel as if he had received an angel visit. Of course, 
 the world was not so good as he saw it ; for a radiance 
 went forth from himself and gave a bright side to the 
 darkest things, and his power was mainly personal. 
 In the pulpit as much the man of God as in the 
 family circle or the morning visit — as much and not 
 
 i 
 
EDINBURGH. O 
 
 more — there were the same tender persuasive tones, 
 the same fatherly affectionate aspect, the same ease 
 of highbred self-possession ; but there was no exertion 
 or enhancement of his faculties. His sermons were 
 therefore tame, except to the few who welcomed them 
 as the weekly outcome of the holy man ; no spark- 
 ling thoughts, no happy simile, no rousing appeal, no 
 memorable or original sentiment ; nothing but the 
 most simple truths of Scripture expressed in the most 
 usual way, but with more than usual unction. He 
 himself was quite aware that his sermons were not 
 suited to young men. The writer well remembers 
 the dear man saying to himself, "Your mother and 
 sisters attend the Greyfriars, and I am always glad to 
 see them ; but it is a pity that you and your brother 
 should come. You are students of theology, and here 
 in Edinburgh you have a fine opportunity to attend 
 the best preachers. Go and hear Mr Bruce and Mr 
 Candlish and the other great guns." 
 
 The Herioters, however, could not go after "great 
 guns," and as it was expected in the Sabbath evening 
 class that the older boys should read notes of one of 
 that day's sermons, we can easily understand how 
 some of them found it a task of difficulty. As 
 recorded by Mr Rodger, " I remember well how we 
 used to admire and somewhat envy (for he was facile 
 princeps) the fulness of Burns's notes and the sweet 
 flowing elegance of his style. It has often occurred 
 to me since, that he must have made up a good deal of 
 the matter. I strongly suspect that his notes were 
 
6 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 somewhat like those which Sir Walter Scott, when a 
 boy, used to give to his father, helped a good deal by 
 the invention of his own brain. Truth to speak, my 
 boyish notion in listening to Burns' s productions was 
 that they were a great improvement on the originals 
 from which they professed to be derived." Still, 
 in after years when listening to Mr Burns, we have 
 sometimes thought of Mr Wilkie. The resemblance 
 lay partly in a melodious voice, which, whatsoever 
 might be the theme, was usually touched with ten- 
 derness ; partly in the absence of gesticulations, the 
 awkward and the elegant alike ; and most of all in 
 that beauty of holiness which shines around the 
 preaching and the praying of those who are meek 
 and pure in heart, and who thirst and hunger after 
 righteousness. 
 
 In his sixteenth year, (November 1837,) and already 
 furnished with a fair amount of scholarship, Burns 
 was transferred to college as one of Heriot's bursars. 
 Here he was still diligent and attentive, but at first 
 he exhibited no special ardour, either literary or 
 scientific. Latin and Greek were taught by learned 
 men who had lost, if they ever possessed, the power of 
 kindling enthusiasm, and it was hardly to be expected 
 that a youth of seventeen could appreciate the vast 
 erudition, or follow the masterly discussions of Sir 
 William Hamilton. It was in the class for moral 
 philosophy that the dormant energies of our student 
 were fairly awakened. That class was conducted by 
 John Wilson. In some respects an incongruous 
 
EDINBURGH. 7 
 
 successor to Brown, Stewart, Ferguson, in the pro- 
 digal exuberance of "Christopher North" there was 
 imported into the old university a prodigious acces- 
 sion of vital force. 'No doubt he was a humorist, and 
 there was so little distinctively " moral " in the 
 rollicking wit of Blackwood 's Magazine, that all the 
 learning of the land stood aghast at his appointment; 
 but happy will it be for the new curators if all their 
 nominees do as much to justify their wisdom as 
 Wilson did to redeem the blunder which spirited 
 into the throne of philosophy a magnificent madcap. 
 No " book in breeches," no academical automaton, 
 with parchment face and pedantic tones, grinding forth 
 the same dry formula year by year, he was intensely 
 human; and to young men whose hatred is humdrum, 
 whose delight is truth, courage, mastery, it was a 
 daily rapture when, like a strong man rejoicing to 
 run his race, the splendid luminary rose on their 
 horizon. Rich in fancy, redundant in matter, exult- 
 ing in prowess, he threw himself at once on his theme 
 as a lion springs on the prey ; and in the wonderful 
 improvisation which followed, so profuse was the 
 imagery, so brilliant the diction, so exciting the pas- 
 sion, that dull must have been the clod which did not 
 catch fire, very flat the fish which offered to no fly. 
 Under the inspiration Burns found himself a thinker 
 and a poet. Like many of his companions he re- 
 joiced when the hour of lecture returned, and when 
 under the lead of this Triton they took their daily 
 header into the great ocean of thought. Not that 
 
8 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 every diver brought up a pearl, not that every 
 Leander could cross the Hellespont between the 
 real and transcendental ; but even shells and corals 
 have their beauty, and to the brave swimmer a good 
 reward is the broad chest, the brawny arm, the 
 splendid joy of progress through the sparkling wave. 
 Our friend found this recompense. His faculties 
 were stirred ; he produced essays which his class- 
 fellows admired, and, at the end of the session, his 
 name stood on the prize-list as one of the most dis- 
 tinguished students. 
 
 " It was about this time," writes 3Ir Eodger, "that 
 he and one or two others who were his most intimate 
 friends used to meet on the Saturdays for short ex- 
 cursions into the country. There are few things of 
 which I have a happier or more vivid remembrance 
 than those pleasant wanderings out about Braid, 
 Hermitage, &c., and it is with James Burns that the 
 memory of them is almost entirely associated. He 
 was the soul of our little band. He had a keen eye 
 for the beautiful, and how fond he was of guiding us 
 to quiet out-of-the-way nooks, some peaceful stream- 
 let or sequestered dell, where everything seemed in 
 harmony with his gentle unpretentious nature ! 
 Happy ramblings were those for us all ; he used to 
 be so cheery with us, and we were so happy with 
 him. Intelligent and well read in general literature, 
 with his lively interesting talk, his pleasant, hearty 
 laugh, his mild, unassuming manner, we all loved 
 him and looked up to him. He had a keen sense of 
 
EDINBURGH. 9 
 
 the ludicrous too, very ready to notice any little 
 weakness about any of us, any stupid remark or other 
 indication of a prosaic soul, and would occasionally 
 turn the laugh against these things, but never with 
 one particle of bitterness. Indeed, there was not a 
 particle of bitterness in his nature. At once very 
 loveable and very loving, he was endowed with the 
 most refined and exquisite taste. Exalted above all 
 baseness, nothing mean could live in his presence. 
 The soul of honour, and singularly pure in heart and 
 life, his very look frowned clown all coarseness and 
 vulgarity, so that from such things his companion- 
 ship was itself a sufficient security ; and yet his gentle- 
 ness and unpretentiousness and playfulness made him 
 the favourite with us all." 
 
 Four years of literature and philosophy conducted 
 him, in November 1841, to that Theological Hall of 
 which Welsh and Chalmers were the ornaments. 
 Any one who can recal the ministry of Dr Welsh at 
 Crossmichael or St David's, Glasgow, will remember 
 the fine gleams of fancy which lighted every sermon, 
 and the holy chastened earnestness and elevation 
 which breathed through his preaching and his 
 prayers ; and any one who has read his life of Dr 
 Thomas Brown will know that by conformation he 
 was both a metaphysician and poet. With his power 
 of analysis and his picturesque faculty, it might, 
 therefore, have been expected that in the chair of 
 church history he would have reanimated our dry 
 ecclesiastical annals, and made the Christian story 
 
1 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 pass along in life-like panorama. But his translation 
 from the pulpit to the professorship took place at 
 that period when imagination begins to fade, and the 
 judicial faculties mature. Add to this, his insight 
 into character and motive was naturally keen, and to 
 an idealist nothing can be more disenchanting than 
 the study of church history, consequently his lectures 
 were by no means romantic. Plain, straightforward, 
 simple, with scarcely a figure of speech ; for like the 
 horticultural accuracy which uproots daisies from a 
 modern lawn, his taste, as it grew severe, discarded 
 all ornament; his prelections owed their charm to 
 their large intelligence and lofty tone; the large 
 intelligence which regards a theme in relation to 
 many others ; the lofty tone which on fit occasions 
 flowed with generous sympathy or shot devouring 
 flame ; whilst a philosophic mournfulness brightened 
 by Christian faith, like Eolian notes in a sunny 
 breeze, drew sympathy towards the speaker. 
 
 Chalmers, who had been the political economist in 
 a parochial cure, and the evangelist in a chair of 
 ethics, as professor of theology and trainer of the 
 rising ministry, remained all that he had ever been — 
 sage, prophet, philanthropist, preacher of righteous- 
 ness. Many-sided, and on every side intense — one 
 day delighting to open up a problem and reduce it to 
 the plainest maxims of common sense ; next day 
 seizing hold of a truism and by rapid magic trans- 
 forming it into the triumphal car which bore a capti- 
 vated audience up to the third heavens; often preach- 
 
EDIXBUKGH. 11 
 
 in£ to his students, just as in other davs he had often 
 prelected to his people ; in the most enraptured of 
 his visions retaining his sagacity, and to the tamest 
 details of parochial drudgery bringing the ardour of 
 a devotee ; never losing faith in God and the God- 
 given instincts of humanity, and so emerging from 
 frequent failure still buoyant and sanguine ; never 
 ceasing to be the Christian, and therefore never fear- 
 ing to be the economist, the naturalist, the orator ; in 
 matter-of-fact more than a match for any Dryasdust, 
 in true idealism outsoaring every day-dreamer ; even 
 beyond his splendid expositions of master truths, was 
 the inspiration of his sanctified genius — the trans- 
 fusive power of his large and exhaustless vitality ; 
 and whilst every one owned that he was a man whom 
 no other could repeat, the mere spectacle of such 
 moral and intellectual greatness was an experience 
 which could never be forgotten, nor from under such 
 a spell could any susceptible spirit pass away without 
 an enhancement of its powers. 
 
 Thus the mental activity displayed in the Moral 
 Philosophy Class was continued in the Divinity Hall, 
 and an essay which Burns read on the Kelations between 
 Geology and Religion having drawn from Dr Chalmers 
 expressions of warm admiration, the author thence- 
 forward occupied a prominent position among his 
 classmates, and was the object of a marked regard on 
 the part of the professor. But however much tutors 
 and professors may do in the way of guiding and in- 
 spiring, in a college course a material element is the 
 
12 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 education which students give to one another. Week 
 by week in regular societies, clay by day in little 
 cliques and coteries, they discuss all matters and all 
 men, and prepare that wiser world which is to 
 supersede the present. With his pleasant disposi- 
 tions Burns had many friends, and from time to 
 time he was an active member of various societies. 
 In one of these, sermons were read and criticised ; 
 in another, questions of theology or ecclesiastical 
 policy were discussed. Of each of these Mr Burns 
 was an active member — in the one a fair and generous 
 critic, in the other a skilful but not passionate de- 
 bater. The chief advantage was that he became an 
 excellent speaker. For the highest popularity, broad 
 humour, melting pathos, fervid enthusiasm, or fierce 
 invective is required. None of these were possessed 
 or simulated by the subject of this biography, but 
 at college he acquired and perfected that style which 
 made his addresses at public meetings so delightful — 
 thoughts neither paradoxical nor commonplace con- 
 veyed in graceful language, here and there irradiated 
 by a welcome sparkle of playfulness, and with fre- 
 quent images of exceeding beauty. 
 
 His first two winters in the Hall were the last of 
 the " Ten Years' Conflict/' and the summer of 1843 
 saw the Church of Scotland torn in twain. Mr 
 Burns had not the temperament which makes an 
 eager partizan, but he had the convictions which leave 
 no choice, and casting in his lot with the Free Church, 
 when the month of November sent some of his 
 
EDINBURGH. 13 
 
 class-mates back to the old haunts, he followed to 
 the New College his old professors, now reinforced by 
 Drs Cunningham, Bannerman, and Duncan. By such 
 instructors he profited above many his equals, and 
 he was looking forward to various alternatives for 
 prolonging his ministerial training, when near the 
 close of his fourth and final session an incident oc- 
 curred which ushered him at once on the responsibil- 
 ities and labours of the actual pastorate. 
 
 It was a Saturday morning early in 1845, when 
 Mr Burns and two friends met by appointment at 
 the College, and were just setting forth on an excur- 
 sion which they had arranged, when Dr Chalmers's 
 janitor told Mr Burns that the doctor wanted to see 
 him. Begging his friends to wait, as he would come 
 back directly, he followed the messenger. His com- 
 panions waited till they were thoroughly weary, and 
 when at last he came out it was with a sad and 
 anxious countenance. At that time probationers 
 were scarce, and, despairing of a minister, the Free 
 Church congregation at Dunblane had sent to ask Dr 
 Chalmers if amongst his students he could find suit- 
 able supply.* The doctor at once named Mr Burns, 
 and in this interview told what he had done, and in- 
 
 * Of this deputation, Mr Robertson, now rector of the High 
 School of Inverness, was a member. In a letter to him, Dr 
 Chalmers says, " Give my best regards to the other members of the 
 deputation who accompanied you. Since they left I have ex- 
 amined all that I had recorded in my class-books of Mr Burns, ai d 
 I can assure you and the other gentlemen that he stands in the 
 very highest rank among the most promising of my students." 
 
14 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 sisted on Mr Burns going that day in order to preach 
 on the morrow. Of course, there was an end of the 
 excursion ; but when he returned on the Monday, 
 and the same friends met him, his downcast dispirited 
 look plainly betokened that something was wrong. 
 According to his own account, he had " stuck" in his 
 forenoon discourse — every idea fled from him, and 
 unable to resume, he had dismissed the congregation. 
 He admitted that the afternoon service was more 
 successful, but it could not console him for the break- 
 down of the morning, and, mortified out of measure, 
 he had stolen away early in the morning, so as to 
 avoid meeting any of the people. But possibly his 
 own feelings had exaggerated the failure ; at all 
 events, his hearers were men of a discerning spirit ; 
 for thoroughly persuaded that he was a man rarely 
 gifted, as well as a man of God, they were determined 
 to secure the young and modest preacher as their 
 minister. They sent a large deputation, begging Dr 
 Chalmers to urge their claim and use his influence so 
 as to obtain for Mr Burns an early licence. The up- 
 shot was, that forced to relinquish all projects of 
 further study, without even such slight preparation as 
 is implied in a few months of occasional preaching, Mr 
 Burns passed at a single step from his bench in the 
 Divinity Hall to the Free Church pulpit in Dunblane* 
 
 * One of Mr Burns' early friends, with whom he kept up a cor- 
 dial intimacy, was Mr Carmiehael, of the High School of Edinburgh. 
 A loving tribute to his memory, from Mr Carmichael's peu, appeared 
 at the time of his death. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 DUNBLANE. 
 
 On the banks of the beautiful Allan, sheltered from 
 east winds by the Ochils, and facing towards those 
 mountains which throw their solemn grandeur over 
 the Trosachs, Dunblane is such a village as an 
 invalid might prize for its mild and tranquil atmos- 
 phere, whilst its manifold attractions cannot fail to 
 lay hold of any mind open to nature's loveliness. 
 The spell is enhanced by the old world memories 
 which surround it. At SherifTmuir came off the 
 battle between the Marquis of Argyll and the Earl 
 of Mar, which helped to settle on the throne the 
 House of Hanover. The cathedral carries the 
 thoughts of the antiquary back to a time anterior to 
 the Norman Conquest ; but among all its bishops, 
 from Blaanus downward, the name on which devotion 
 loves best to dwell is Robert Leighton. A dull stone 
 building still retains in sorry order the remnants of 
 his library ; and it was in this very air and amidst 
 this very scenery that he composed those works of 
 which Robert Hall has said, " The reading them is a 
 truce to all human cares and human passions, like 
 
1 6 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 lying down in green pastures and by the side of 
 still waters." 
 
 To such influences Mr Burns was keenly alive, 
 and had he possessed sufficient leisure, life in such a 
 place would have been an exquisite enjoyment. And 
 so it often was : for there could not fail to come quiet 
 intervals in the midst of habitual engagements ; but 
 as a rule his ministry here was unbroken occupation. 
 
 For recollections of that period we are indebted to 
 a friend,* who was very young when he first made 
 Mr Burns' s acquaintance, having for some time en- 
 joyed his instructions as a classical tutor. Reverting 
 to their earliest intercourse, Mr Anderson writes : " I 
 well remember the admiration I soon conceived for 
 his rare gifts and accomplishments, and the boyish 
 enthusiasm with which I regarded one who was so 
 richly endowed, and so much my senior, yet admitted 
 me to the privilege of a confidential friendship. But 
 the most vivid impression which I recal is that pro- 
 duced by his gentle, pure, and withal noble Christian 
 character. For beyond that dignity of a naturally 
 refined and exalted mind, which commanded an 
 unfailing respect ; beyond the gentleness, genial 
 sympathy, and warmth of heart which took so deep a 
 hold of the affections ; beyond the fascination of his 
 conversation, so easy, playful, and graceful, and 
 marked by such originality of thought and extent of 
 information ; beyond all these one ever felt the hidden 
 
 * The Rev. John A. Anderson, minister of the Free Church, 
 
 Collessie. 
 
DUNBLANE. 17 
 
 grace of an earnest, unobtrusive, but deep-flowing 
 piety. I like to recall this early impression, because 
 throughout long years of intimacy no circumstance 
 ever emerged which abated it in the least degree, or 
 jarred with it for a single moment ; one heard no 
 discord in the pleasant music of his life. 
 
 " Having been much with him at the time when 
 he was called to Dunblane,'' adds Mr Anderson, " I 
 think I can say the prevailing feeling in his mind 
 was that the hand of the Lord was upon him. There 
 was no elation on account of an early success. On 
 the other hand, though the feeling of reluctance, 
 from the conviction of his inexperience, and his 
 being but imperfectly furnished for the ministry, 
 which almost made him decline the first request to 
 preach at Dunblane, followed him still, and the 
 thought of the responsibility laid upon him hung over 
 him, as he said, like a shadow, yet there was no 
 hesitation as to the step he ought to take. He 
 humbly took the path which the finger of God had 
 traced for him. He was ordained in the month of 
 August 1845 ; and I shall only add, that from the 
 time of his ordination the cloud seemed to melt 
 away, and his spirit arose buoyant, as with his whole 
 heart he entered into the work. 
 
 11 It was a trying time to a Free Church minister 
 when Mr Burns was settled in Dunblane. The 
 Disruption was but a recent event, and the demands 
 of an extraordinary kind which the Church made on 
 the time and strength of her ministers were very 
 
 B 
 
18 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 frequent. The Presbytery of Dunblane was in a 
 crippled state. The brethren able for work had often 
 a heavy burden to bear. Mr Burns's letters of this 
 period speak of incessant calls from home. Yet his 
 own congregation never suffered ; week-day and 
 Sabbath found him at his post. He never preached 
 without giving evidence of most careful preparation 
 in his sermons, which from the first were marked 
 by that clearness of statement, felicity and beauty of 
 illustration, and the pathos with which they appealed 
 to the feelings, which marked his pulpit ministrations 
 to the end. His exertions in the private walks of 
 pastoral life, especially in visiting the sick, household 
 expositions of Scripture, carried on in winter evenings 
 — a kind of work peculiarly trying to one of his 
 physical constitution — were such as sometimes to call 
 forth the remonstrances of his friends as labours too 
 abundant. His favourite recreation at all times was 
 poetry, but even for this, though a fugitive piece 
 flowed ever and anon from his pen, he reserved but 
 little time at the beginning of his ministry. And he 
 took no rest, not even a clerical furlough of the 
 briefest kind. The only holiday I remember his 
 taking before his health broke down, was in the 
 summer of 1846, when he and I made a pedestrian 
 excursion through apart of the Perthshire Highlands. 
 But even then he was absent but a single Sabbath 
 from the pulpit, and on that Sabbath had full minis- 
 terial duty to do in the little church of Ardeonaig on 
 the banks of Loch Tay. His laborious exertions 
 
DUNBLANE. 19 
 
 seemed never to occasion any mental strain. His 
 mind was ever fresli and elastic ; and as his heart 
 was cheered hy many signs of usefulness, the result, 
 sometimes of his preaching, sometimes of the word of 
 tender counsel spoken at the sick-bed, his ministry 
 was becoming increasingly a source of pleasure to 
 him. But the effect on the bodily frame soon became 
 apparent. I find, in a letter dated December 4, 1846, 
 that already he had begun to have warnings of the 
 attack which was soon again to change the current of 
 his life. He writes : ' I have been led to dwell more 
 habitually on such contemplations for some time past, 
 not only from having been brought more frequently 
 into contact with death, but also from having 
 experienced to some extent a recurrence of former 
 sensations which bring along with them the im- 
 pression that it behoves me very particularly to be 
 "always ready/"" 
 
 The symptoms which awakened his own appre- 
 hensions returned on every exertion, and it became 
 too evident that if his labours were not lightened he 
 would be laid aside altogether. In June 1847 he 
 paid a visit to "Westmoreland, and spent some weeks 
 at Grasmere, in a house which, to him, was interesting, 
 as having been the residence, for seven years, of his 
 favourite poet Wordsworth, and afterwards of De 
 Quincey. He enjoyed the scenery and the associa- 
 tions of the place ; but, as the dulness in his right 
 lung continued, his medical advisers urged him to 
 accept an invitation from the Free Church Colonial 
 
20 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Committee to take charge of its congregation in 
 Madeira during winter. The offer was kind and op- 
 portune, and at last he agreed to go. Both to his 
 people and himself it was a solemn and affecting 
 step. Two years had been quite sufficient to create 
 a strong attachment between a warm-hearted people 
 and their devoted and still youthful minister, and 
 they understood too well what all might be implied in 
 a voyage to Madeira. Still there was room for hope. 
 He fully realised his own position, and nothing 
 could show more strikingly the simplicity of his faith 
 than his calm, his cheerful acquiescence in the will of 
 God. Not only was there no repining ; there was 
 scarcely any perceptible depression of his spirits, not 
 even surprise at the arrest of his projects. " God's 
 work can be as well done by the sickness, or even by 
 the death of his servants, as by their activity/' a 
 sentiment which he expressed to a friend, seemed to 
 keep his mind in perfect peace. Even the pain of 
 parting was mitigated by the hurry of preparation as 
 well as the permissible hope of return. On the 23rd 
 of August he wrote to Mr Anderson : — 
 
 " I have delayed to answer your letter till I find 
 myself on the very eve of departure. I am at 
 present all confusion, bustle, anxiety, and uncer- 
 tainty. The vessel by which I propose to take my 
 passage is advertised to sail on September 1st, from 
 Greenock ; though I am not sure yet but that I may 
 be compelled to sail from the Thames. My prepara- 
 tions are as yet in a very rude and chaotic state. I 
 
DUNBLANE. 21 
 
 leave Dunblane on Wednesday for Glasgow, and 
 though I would like to be in Edinburgh before I go, 
 I know not when or for how long a time it may be. 
 The vessel sails somewhat earlier than I had ex- 
 pected, and this has hurried my departure in a very 
 disagreeable manner. 
 
 " I preached yesterday twice, and was much 
 strengthened, particularly when I attempted to bid 
 my people farewell for a season. I try to think it is 
 only to be for a short time ; but the sense of the uncer- 
 tainty which this step casts over the whole period of 
 my future ministry, solemnises me much ; and the 
 more nearly the time of my embarkation approaches, 
 I feel the more disposed to shrink from taking the 
 decisive step of separating myself from my beloved 
 flock. Their attachment has never affected me so 
 deeply and painfully as within these few weeks. May 
 the Lord grant that all the things that have happened 
 and may happen to me may turn out rather for the 
 furtherance of the gospel ! My health is much as it 
 was, and I feel greatly encouraged and upheld by the 
 thought that, as this matter seems to have been of 
 the Lord's ordaining, He will concern Himself in its 
 future issues, and make it the means, in some way or 
 other, of glorifying Himself ; and if He is glorified, 
 even if it should be at the expense of us poor frail 
 and feeble instruments, who will dare to say that He 
 hath not done all things well ?" 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 
 
 Shortly before Mr Burns's visit to Madeira very in- 
 teresting events had occurred in that island. Through 
 the faithful and long-continued labours of Dr Kalley, 
 followed up by the preaching of Mr Hewitson, and 
 aided by Christian residents from this country, a re- 
 markable religious awakening had commenced among 
 the Portuguese, and spread so wide that the priest- 
 hood, filled with fury, set in motion the whole ma- 
 chinery of persecution. Numbers were thrown into 
 prison. A poor woman, named Maria Joaquina, was 
 condemned to death for denying the doctrine of tran- 
 substantiation, and was only saved from the flames 
 by the intervention of the British Government. Dr 
 Kalley and other Protestants with difficulty escaped 
 from a lawless rabble and the hostile authorities, and 
 left the island ; and eight hundred of the converts, 
 seeking freedom to worship God, became voluntary 
 exiles, and in successive detachments sailed for Trini- 
 dad.* At the time of Mr Burns's arrival it was 
 
 * All the details of this remarkable movement will be familiar to 
 the readers of the Memoir of the Rev. W. H. Hewitson, by the 
 Rev. John Baillie. 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 23 
 
 impossible to resume evangelistic operations among 
 the natives, and some families from this country who 
 would have formed most desirable members of his 
 own congregation, the recent outrages prevented from 
 returning. 
 
 Mr Burns left Greenock on board the DalJiousie, 
 September 7, 1847, and anchored in Funchal Koads, 
 on Tuesday, September 21. Two months afterwards, 
 whilst his impressions still were recent, he thus 
 writes to Mr Anderson ; the date is November 27, 
 
 11 The weather was very warm when I landed, and 
 continued to be so for some weeks. However, the 
 only effect it produced in me was a feeling of extreme 
 relaxation ; and for that matter, the heat has been 
 as great for the last few days as it was then. Soon 
 after my arrival I had myself examined by Dr Miller, 
 an old Kilmarnock friend of mine, under whose 
 hospitable roof I resided till I procured the apart- 
 ments which I now occupy. He is one of the elders of 
 my congregation, and a very pious man. His wife is a 
 sister of Dr Kalley, whose labours here were so much 
 blessed. Dr Miller's opinion of my case was on the 
 whole more favourable than that of the physician I 
 consulted in Glasgow, who seemed to think that my 
 best course was to give up preaching altogether. Dr 
 Miller thought that, under certain prudent restric- 
 tions, I might continue to preach. With this view 
 of the case, you may be sure my own private inclina- 
 tions entirely coincided, and accordingly, since this 
 month commenced, I have ventured to preach regu- 
 
24< THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 larly twice a day, without being sensible of any 
 injurious consequences. 
 
 " As you may well believe, my congregation is com- 
 posed of a mixed multitude — a sort of Evangelical 
 Christendom in miniature. I am on the best possible 
 terms with many members of the Established Church, 
 and I number some of the Plymouth Brethren among 
 my most valued friends. I am not conscious of 
 having been more led to depreciate points of difference 
 since I came here, but I am conscious of having been 
 more led to appreciate points of unity. When I 
 see around me the miserable effects of the despotism 
 and false doctrines of the Koman Catholic Church, 
 by which every clay God is dishonoured and men's 
 souls are destroyed, I am more deeply sensible of the 
 Scriptural weight and value of that article of the 
 Apostles' Creed, ' I believe in the Holy Catholic 
 Church, which is the communion of Saints.' (By 
 way of criticism let me here remark that it is erro- 
 neous to read this as two articles, though it is com- 
 monly printed as two. The Holy Catholic Church 
 is not one thing and the Communion of Saints 
 another, but both are one.) We meet in the forenoon 
 at eleven, and in the afternoon at half-past three. 
 Our place of meeting is an upper room in the Car- 
 reira, the principal street of Funchal. It is commo- 
 dious and airy, an indispensable requisite in this 
 climate ; but it has its inconveniences. You have 
 often read how the Sabbath is observed in Popish 
 countries. Being close upon the street, we come in for 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 25 
 
 our fair share of all the noise and merriment that 
 passes. All the popular Portuguese waltzes of the 
 day are whistled by the boys and sung by the men ; 
 and only last Sunday a few young gentlemen, stationed 
 a few paces off, amused themselves by firing a musket 
 at irregular intervals during the whole of my discourse. 
 I have also a prayer-meeting every Thursday from 
 twelve to one, though it is not much better attended 
 than such meetings generally are. 
 
 " From the members of my congregation without 
 exception I have received all the marks of kindness 
 and regard which a minister has any right to expect, 
 and with some I have as favourable and pleasant 
 opportunities of Christian intercourse as I have ever 
 enjoyed in my life. As I think it was the Lord who 
 placed me here, I feel that I am warranted to pray 
 that He will bless my ministry, and I am not with- 
 out hope that I shall be enabled to be useful to some 
 who are seeking the way to Zion, as well as to a few 
 who have not yet turned their faces thitherward. 
 I have no reason to expect that my ministry will be 
 a long one ; indeed, T have every reason to expect 
 the contrary ; the more reason that I should seek 
 grace to improve present opportunities, and the more 
 thankful I should be, if stationed in this solitary and 
 advanced outpost of Christendom, I have strength 
 given me to display a banner because of truth. Look- 
 ing back upon the events of these few months, I can 
 yet scarcely resist the impression that they have 
 happened to me in a dream. I have not yet recovered 
 
26 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 from my surprise at the suddenness of my translation 
 from Dunblane to Funchal. For the last few years 
 of my life, indeed, I have experienced nothing but a 
 succession of such things. I found myself minister of 
 Dunblane before I was well conscious that I had left 
 the Divinity Hall ; and here I am among a people 
 of a strange speech, a few score leagues from the 
 empire of Morocco, when but a few Sabbaths since I 
 was preaching in Scotland. The lesson that I should 
 have learned from these vicissitudes surely is, that 
 here I have no continuing city ; the rest for which I 
 should have learned to look is surely not on this side 
 the grave. 
 
 " No words of mine can convey any idea of the be- 
 witching beauty of this climate, the softness of the 
 air, the blueness of the sky, the clearness of the 
 atmosphere, or the surpassing brilliancy and splendour 
 of these moonlit nights. But the richness and luxu- 
 riance of the vegetation is, perhaps, the thing that 
 most strikes one. Almost all the productions of 
 tropical climates flourish here. One sees on all 
 sides strange plants and trees, the very names of 
 which bring back the " Arabian Nights" and Indian 
 voyages, which we have read long ago. This year 
 the orange-trees are loaded with fruit, which is now 
 fast ripening, and under the bright sun, which con- 
 tinually shines, the whole face of nature is literally 
 illuminated with the rich lustrous glow of their large 
 golden globes. In one sense, one can hardly help 
 fearing that this must have an injurious effect upon 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 27 
 
 invalids. It makes them more in love with life — 
 more reluctant to leave a world which contains in it 
 scenes so exquisitely lovely. 
 
 " I am not sure whether or not Mrs Anderson is ac- 
 quainted with Mr and Mrs B D . They are 
 
 both here this winter on account of Mrs D 's health. 
 
 I see them very frequently. Mrs D is very deli- 
 cate, and evidently slowly sinking under her disease. 
 There is now no hope of her recovery. Her illness 
 commenced only last April, and has been fearfully 
 rapid. My intercourse with them, particularly with 
 Mrs D , has been very pleasant. She is quite con- 
 scious of her situation, remarkably patient and sub- 
 missive under all her sufferings, and in a state of 
 mind in which, distrusting herself and endeavouring 
 to place all her reliance on the blood of the atone- 
 ment, she seems growing in meetness for her solemn 
 change." 
 
 The ship which brought Mr Burns from Greenock 
 to Madeira was chartered to convey three hundred 
 Protestant emigrants from Funchal to Trinidad. 
 Before she sailed Mr Burns went repeatedly on board 
 to see to the comfort of the passengers, and to drop a 
 few words of friendly cheer and counsel. They were 
 delighted with the liberty of worship enjoyed on the 
 " free soil " of a British merchantman, and on their 
 last morning in the Koads, as early as four o'clock, 
 and whilst it still was dark, their fellow-voyagers 
 overheard the voice of their psalmody. To this and 
 other incidents Mr Burns alludes in a pastoral letter, 
 
28 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 which, on the 28th of October, he addressed to his 
 people at Dunblane : — 
 
 " My dear friends, — It now seems a long time 
 since I parted from you, but not a day passes in 
 which the thought of you is not frequently present to 
 my mind, and in which I do not seek that the Lord 
 may bless all your families, and pour out His spirit 
 abundantly upon you as a congregation. I can now 
 sympathise much more than formerly with those por- 
 tions of the epistles of holy Paul, in which he 
 expresses his earnest and inexpressible longings to 
 hear of the spiritual welfare of Churches which he 
 had been honoured to plant, but from which God had 
 separated him, and though I have no Tychicus whom 
 I can send ' that ye might know our affairs, and that 
 he might comfort your hearts/ and can hope for no 
 Timotheus ' to come from you unto us, and to bring 
 us good tidings of your faith and charity, and to tell 
 us that you have good remembrance of us, always 
 desiring greatly to see us, as we also to see you.' 
 Yet this only increases my desire to know how the 
 Lord has been dealing with you since my departure, 
 and gives greater urgency to my prayers, that the 
 consolations of His blessed Spirit may be made to 
 abound towards you. I think that I can say without 
 presumption, in the words of the apostle to the 
 believers at Philippi, ' God is my record, how greatly 
 I long after you all in the bowels of Jesus Christ. 
 And this I pray, that your love may abound yet 
 more and more in knowledge and in all judgment ; 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 29 
 
 that ye may approve things that are excellent ; that 
 ye may be sincere and without offence till the day of 
 Christ ; being filled with the fruits of righteousness, 
 which are by Jesus Christ, unto the glory and praise 
 of God. 
 
 " It has just occurred to me, (and on turning to my 
 private Kegister I find that I am right in my recol- 
 lection,) that on this very day last year, and exactly at 
 this time in the evening, I was addressing you on the 
 alarming and awakening aspect of God's dealings 
 with our sinful nation. The day had been set apart 
 as a day of solemn humiliation and prayer, on account 
 of the solemn aspect of providences with which we 
 had been visited, and our prayer-meeting in the 
 evening was conducted with special reference to the 
 same memorable events. How little did you think 
 this day twelvemonths — how little, my dear friends, 
 did I think — that in the short compass of a single year 
 we were to be separated so far ! and oh, will we not 
 be blind indeed, yea, criminally and wilfully blind, if 
 we do not see, in the things which have happened in 
 this little interval, the solemn dealing of the Lord 
 with us as a congregation ! If we do not hear in 
 them the Lord's warning and awakening voice to you 
 as people, to me as pastor, to consider how little 
 privileges have been valued, and opportunities im- 
 proved, shall we not be chargeable with shutting our 
 ears and hardening our hearts as in a day of provoca- 
 tion ? I cannot preach to you now with the living 
 voice, but I can remind you of these things and 
 
30 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 beseech you to consider them. I feel them very 
 awakening to my own soul, and if, by the blessing of 
 God's Spirit, the mention of them does lead any of 
 you earnestly to seek after the things of salvation, it 
 will be a more powerful sermon than any that has 
 ever been addressed to you by human lips. But, 
 blessed be God ! though I can no longer preach to you, 
 yet I can pray for you, and my prayer is, that those 
 among you in whom God hath begun a good work 
 may be strengthened with more abundant might by 
 his Spirit in the inner man, that they may be rooted 
 and grounded in the love of a Saviour dwelling in 
 their hearts by faith ; and that those who are resting 
 satisfied with a mere name to live may be effectually 
 convinced of sin, awakened from their security, led to 
 turn to the Gospel stronghold, so that in the day 
 when c He that shall come ' does come, they may be 
 found { not of those who draw back to perdition ; ' but 
 of those who ' believe to the saving of the soul.' 
 
 " I am happy to say, that since my arrival in this 
 genial climate, I think my health decidedly improved. 
 The Lord has dealt very graciously with me in fitting 
 me for necessary duty, and giving me strength 
 according to my clay. The heat is still very great; 
 so much so as to make any exertion in the middle of 
 the day difficult and unsafe. To-day it has been a s warm 
 as any day was last June in Scotland, and were it not 
 for the cool fresh breeze which blows almost constantly 
 from the sea, the heat would be very oppressive. 
 
 " About three weeks ago three hundred natives of 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 31 
 
 the island, chiefly Protestants, left as emigrants for 
 Trinidad by the vessel in which I came out. The 
 day before they sailed I went on board with my friend 
 Dr Miller, one of the elders of our Presbyterian 
 Church, and addressed them in a few words which 
 he interpreted. Their thankfulness for the liberty 
 they enjoyed in the ship of worshipping God, was 
 very affecting. In their own houses they were not 
 allowed to meet for religious conversation or prayer ; 
 the eye of the persecutor was constantly on them ; 
 such meetings required to be held with the greatest 
 possible secresy under cloud of night, and in remote 
 and unsuspected localities. To read the word of God 
 was to commit a crime ; to sing God's praise was to 
 expose themselves to insult and outrage on the part 
 of reckless and desperate men. But now in the vessel 
 and under the British flag they had nothing to fear — 
 they could sing, read, and pray. A pious Scotch- 
 woman who was in the vessel on the way to Trinidad, 
 told me that the first morning after they came on 
 board, she was awakened at four o'clock with the joy- 
 ful noise of their morning hymn. With their voices 
 they were preventing the dawning of the day, and 
 though she did not understand their language, yet. 
 knowing that they were songs of Sion which they 
 sung, she rejoiced, because she felt that they were one 
 in Him in whom there is neither Jew nor Greek, bar- 
 barian, Scythian, bond or free ! How sad to think of 
 the guilt of those by whom these emigrants were forced 
 to flee from the land of their birth. Madeira, like 
 
32 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Jerusalem, has not known the day of her visitation — 
 she has driven Christ from her little gates, and 
 quenched the light which was beginning to burn 
 clearly and to illuminate the darkness of centuries of 
 superstition. Doubtless God has reserved to Himself 
 a remnant, but it must be a very small one. There 
 is still a holy seed from which God may at any time 
 revive His work, as in the case of a ' teil tree and 
 oak whose substance is in them when they cast their 
 leaves,' (Isa. vi. 13;) but it is to be feared that a 
 people who have sinned so wilfully, and joined them- 
 selves so desperately to their idols, will yet be visited 
 with terrible judgment. The time may come soon 
 and suddenly when this fair but guilty island shall 
 awake too late to a sense of infatuation, and under 
 the sore inflictions of God's righteous wrath, bitterly 
 deplore the day when blindly and recklessly she drove 
 the best and holiest of her children from her shores. 
 Popery is again triumphant — she rejoices in thinking 
 that she crushed the heresy and riveted her fetters 
 more firmly round the neck of this degraded people. 
 This is certainly an hour in which she can hardly 
 repress her exultation ; she has usurped Tahiti, and 
 retained Madeira, which she seemed on the point of 
 losing, and she is flushed with the hope of recovering 
 Great Britain. The deadly wound given to the 
 beast at the Eeformation seems now nearly healed, 
 and she hopes, if she does not boast, that by the end 
 of the nineteenth century Europe will be brought 
 back to the position in which it was at the end of the 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. S3 
 
 fifteenth. Be it so — let it be our consolation that 
 ' the Lord reigneth/ that ' He who sitteth in heaven 
 laughs' at such delusive hopes, that the Lord has 
 them in derision; that He is calmly awaiting the 
 appointed time ; that the sword which gave the beast 
 the former wound is still as sharp and glittering, and 
 that, when next it is uplifted to strike, it will wound 
 not the heel only, but also the heart and the head. 
 
 " In thejneantime God has been showing even here 
 by terrible things in righteousness that He will not 
 always keep silence and suffer His cause to be trampled 
 underfoot, but ' that the arms of the wicked shall be 
 broken,' and the faces of persecutors filled with 
 shame. It is a striking fact that many of those who 
 a few years ago made use of their influence and 
 power to persecute the cause of God and oppose the 
 progress of the gospel, are now either dead or in 
 disgrace, and it has been noticed by the Portuguese 
 themselves that some of them had not ' died the 
 common death of all men.' There was something 
 peculiarly affecting, and, to my mind, solemnising, in 
 the circumstances in which a priest who held an office 
 of dignity in the Church died only last week. The 
 man was canon in the Cathedral. He had dis- 
 tinguished himself as a relentless persecutor of the 
 poor Protestants. He was looked upon as the in- 
 stigator of many of the secret assaults and outrages 
 which were committed upon them, and on one 
 memorable occasion he had actually headed a mob 
 of ruffians who, in open day, and that day a Sabbath, 
 
 c 
 
34 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 broke into the house of some pious ladies, who had 
 allowed a few of the converts from Popery to meet 
 under their roof for prayer and reading the Scriptures, 
 and uttered fearful threats against them. It was 
 only in August last year that this man was thus 
 acting in all his insolence and pride, but God was 
 preparing to give him a sudden and memorable over- 
 throw. In the course of last spring, in consequence 
 of certain political charges which were brought 
 against him, as well as for his share in this infamous 
 outrage, he was apprehended and put in prison. His 
 imprisonment soon began to tell upon him, he began 
 to languish and droop, and a visible change came 
 over him. He looked like a man on whom God had 
 set His seal ; and men pointed the finger at him in 
 wonder as they passed him in the street. He was 
 allowed for the sake of his health to go out of the 
 prison occasionally, accompanied by a guard. He was 
 out on Sabbath week, and to appearance not worse 
 than usual, but on the evening of that day he was sud- 
 denly seized with terrible convulsions. Before there 
 was time to administer to him the last sacraments of the 
 Church, he had died in fearful agony, mingling blas- 
 phemies with his shrieks. This man died as he had 
 lived, his life had been one of wickedness and vice, 
 and his immoralities were notorious ; yet having 
 been respectably connected, and thus possessed of in- 
 fluence, he retained his office in the Church. I saw 
 his body borne in state from the Cathedral to the grave. 
 Surpliced priests walked before him muttering use- 
 
MADEIEA. — FIRST WIXTEE. 35 
 
 less prayers, and a long train of white-robed choristers 
 chanted psalms. The crucifix was borne aloft in 
 front, and clouds of incense went up into the air. The 
 body lay upon an open bier, exposed to view, its cheeks 
 painted red to disguise the hollow ghastliness of death, 
 its hand clasped upon and grasping a crucifix, and a 
 magnificent pall thrown over it, while behind the 
 bier his brother canons walked in their stiff, gold- 
 embroidered robes. But he was followed to the grave 
 with popular execrations, which all this pomp and 
 bravery could not quell. While the Church laid the 
 body of her beloved son in consecrated ground, and 
 honoured his ashes with many masses for the repose 
 of his sinful soul, it was whispered among the people 
 that his death was not in the common course of 
 nature ; that, fearing a speedy exposure of his many 
 crimes, he had laid hands upon himself, and thus 
 removed himself, by a last and crowning deed of in- 
 famy, beyond the reach of all earthly tribunals. He 
 was buried not far from the house which had been the 
 scene of his outrage; and that afternoon, as Dr Miller 
 and I rode past the sepulchre and reflected on the 
 stroke which had removed this man so suddenly in 
 the midst of his sins, I could not help exclaiming, 
 ' I have seen the wicked in great power, and spread- 
 ing himself like a green bay-tree, yet he passed away, 
 and lo, he was not : yea, I sought him, but he could 
 not be found. The transgressors shall be destroyed 
 together, and the end of the wicked shall be cut off.' 
 " It is on the Lord's day that I more particularly feel 
 
36 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 that we are now sojourning in Mesech and dwelling 
 in the tents of Kedar. There is indeed little to dis- 
 tinguish the holy Sabbath from any other day. In 
 the morning, from four to eight o'clock, the people 
 flock to mass, and the churches are open ; but no 
 discourse is preached, no instruction communicated by 
 the priests. After they have attended mass they con- 
 sider that they have testified sufficient respect to the 
 Lord of the Sabbath, and spend the rest of the 'day 
 either in worldly business or in sinful pleasures. In 
 the city, among the higher classes, the principal occu- 
 pations of the day are card-playing and music parties. 
 The sound of military music hardly ever ceases on the 
 Sabbath. Last Lord's da}^ the election of members of 
 the town-council was going on in the churches, and 
 then the clay was wantonly and flagrantly desecrated, 
 the priests acting as ]:>olling-clerks. Oh, my dear 
 brethren, you know not how great your privilege is in 
 having been born in a land of light, of Bibles, of 
 Sabbaths, of liberty of conscience, till you have been 
 in a land like this, where Satan's seat is, where ' Our 
 Lady ' is heard incessantly, ' Our Lord ' almost 
 never, where priests have taken away the key of 
 knowledge, and the Bible is a book sealed with seven 
 seals. And yet, will not many of these once-blinded 
 Madeirenses rise up in the judgment against the men 
 of Scotland and condemn them ? 
 
 " But I must draw to a close. I cannot tell how 
 much consolation I derived from the thought that 
 there are some of you who frequently remember your 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 37 
 
 absent minister at a throne of grace. If I am to be 
 restored to you again, as I earnestly trust I soon may, 
 it will be in answer to prayers. There are many 
 difficulties and discouragements connected with this 
 sphere of labour ; for the darkness of a Popish land 
 affects even those who have even a purer profession, 
 and are living in the midst of it ; but pray for me, 
 that when my heart is overwhelmed I may be led unto 
 the Rock that is higher than I, and that the Lord may 
 yet make us glad according to the days wherein He 
 has afflicted us, and the years w herein we have seen 
 evil. May God abundantly bless the labours of His 
 young servant who supplies my place, and watches 
 for your souls. In the result of his labours may that 
 saying be true, 'One soweth, and another reapeth.' 
 Now God himself, and our Father, and our Lord 
 Jesus Christ, direct our way unto you, and the Lord 
 make you to increase and abound in love one towards 
 another, and the Lord of peace Himself give you 
 peace always by all means. — The Lord be with you 
 all. — Your unworthy, but affectionate pastor, 
 
 " James D. Burns." 
 
 As a companion of his solitude Mr Burns had 
 brought out a blank-paper volume, and 329 pages of 
 it are filled with entries which he daily made during 
 that first winter in Madeira. It records the visits 
 which he paid to numerous invalids, some of them 
 not connected with his own congregation, and to 
 many of whom his tender and sympathetic ministra- 
 
38 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 tions were greatly blessed ; and interspersed with 
 descriptions of floods and storms, and far more fre- 
 quently days of enchantment followed by magnificent 
 sunsets and magical moonlight ; it details the work 
 of the winepress, the ways of the fishermen, and all 
 the peculiarities of life in the island. So minute are 
 the accounts of ecclesiastical fetes and processions, 
 with their strange mixture of mirth and mummery, 
 that we cannot help thinking that some ulterior use 
 must have been intended in the way of exposing the 
 extravagances of Mariolatry, with its concomitants 
 in Madeira — an ignorant populace and an immoral 
 priesthood ; but by far the most interesting passages 
 are those which reveal the workings of his own mind 
 amidst circumstances of which he felt the full solem- 
 nity. Not that he was habitually dejected; for not 
 only was there " the well of water springing up unto 
 everlasting life," but there was still good hope of 
 better health, and besides the exhilarating conscious- 
 ness of useful labour, he had some leisure for the 
 literary recreations which Dunblane had interrupted. 
 We venture a few extracts from this volume. They 
 will help to make the reader at home with the lonely 
 sojourner in the Kue do Castanheiro. 
 
 "Monday, November 15, 1847. — Beading Sir James 
 Mackintosh's life this forenoon. It is very interest- 
 ing, full of original observations on men and books, 
 and abounding in masterly delineations of character, 
 and quiet scholarlike reflections of a shrewd philo- 
 sophy. It might seem presumptuous in me to aspire 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 39 
 
 to measure lances with such a Front-de-Bceuf of an 
 antagonist ; but some of his speculations on the im- 
 mortality of the soul (vol. ii. pp. 120-123). I think 
 exceedingly loose and pernicious ; nor would it be 
 difficult to expose the lurking fallacy. I must confess 
 the book does not give me that favourable opinion of 
 Sir James's character which I was quite prepared to 
 receive. I cannot now think him a great man, and 
 it is melancholy to have so many evidences of his 
 being an irreligious man. His life is a record of mag- 
 nificent projects and stupendous indolence. Even the 
 works which he published are only prospectuses, show- 
 ing what he might have done and meant to do. 
 
 " Thursday, November 18. — Affixed to the walls 
 of the Mount Church saw the electoral lists of the 
 parish ; the name of each householder being given. 
 his age, occupation, rental, and literary qualification. 
 There were about forty names. Of these more than 
 thirty were marked on the register as having no 
 literary qualification whatever — ' nadas,' ' none,' — 
 which, I suppose, meant that they were able neither 
 to read nor write. Some five or six were marked as 
 having the first or lowest qualification — ' primieria 
 instrucao,' — which, I suppose, means that they were 
 able to read ; and only at one name did there appear 
 a higher mark — ' sec. instr.,' — and that the name of 
 the ' vigario ' of the parish, who, I suppose, adds 
 writing to his reading. Most of them were men up- 
 wards of forty. What a deplorable view of the 
 ignorance which Popery shakes from her wings like 
 
40 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 a pestilence wherever that bird of evil omen alights ! 
 Dear Scotland, ' stern and wild ' as thou art, I felt 
 my heart beat with a warm thrill of love to thee. 
 That fatal ' nadas ' could not, I believe, be affixed to 
 the name of a single being above the age of twenty 
 in the parish of Dunblane. 
 
 "Monday, December 6. — To-day, in reading a 
 Portuguese literary periodical, called ' Panorama,' 
 I met with an anecdote of David Hume, which I do 
 not remember to have seen before. Hume was cross- 
 ing the marshy ground that then lay between the 
 Old Town of Edinburgh and the New. One of the 
 planks proved treacherous, and he sank into the mud. 
 Seeing a woman some way off, he bawled out lustily 
 for help. She hastened to his assistance, but as soon 
 as she discovered that it was Hume, she turned to 
 leave him, saying it was wrong to show any counte- 
 nance to an atheist. ' I am no atheist, my good 
 woman/ said the sinking philosopher in a lugubrious 
 tone. ' If you are not, give me a proof of it by re- 
 peating the creed this very moment, or I leave you/ 
 Hume looked piteously round, but nobody was near ; 
 looked again to his inquisitor, but saw at a glance 
 that she was inexorable. He had no alternative ; he 
 began the obnoxious symbol, and with some difficulty 
 got through it, and no sooner had he pronounced 
 ' Amen,' than his companion effected his extrication, 
 leaving the philosopher, as he proceeded homeward, 
 to digest the recantation as best he might. I see 
 nothing intrinsically improbable in the anecdote. 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 41 
 
 There was no Mound in those days, and the place is 
 described accurately enough as ' una ponte provisoria 
 sobre am sitio pantanon, que divide a cidade neva 
 da cidade velha em Edinborgo.' * 
 
 " Sabbath, December 12. — This morning was 
 bright, and sparkling with yesterday's rain. This 
 being our communion Sabbath, I preached from Ps. 
 ex. 7, and afterwards dispensed the sacrament to 
 about fifty persons. There was, of course, only one 
 table, and in consequence of the length of the service 
 there was no meeting in the afternoon. All was over 
 by half-past one. I felt it a solemn and refreshing 
 season, and had reason to bless the Lord who stood 
 by me, and strengthened me to speak, that all the 
 people might hear. ' My soul, wait thou only upon 
 God ; for my expectation is from him.' 
 
 "Sabbath, December 19. — Preached forenoon and 
 afternoon from John xiv. 6, ' I am the life/ Able 
 to speak to-clay with some freedom and comfort, and 
 the congregation seemed as usual very attentive, but 
 looking back upon the services of the day, how 
 defective, how unworthy do my endeavours towards 
 
 * This anecdote has some interest as a specimen of the literary- 
 fare presented to the readers of Portuguese periodicals ; but it may 
 be permissible to entertain a different opinion as to its intrinsic 
 probability from that of Mr Burns. Hume did not pass in Edin- 
 burgh society for an atheist, and was courted in certain clerical 
 circles, where, if the religion was lukewarm, propriety itself would 
 have put atheism under a ban. Hume neither called himself an 
 atheist nor believed himself to be such, although his philosophical 
 principles, if they lead to anything, lead to atheism. He was, be- 
 sides, quite unknown to the populace. 
 
42 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 the spiritual benefit of my hearers seem even to 
 myself. This is a reflection that often pursues me 
 into my Sabbath evening retirement, and embitters 
 hours that should be given to peaceful meditation 
 and prayer. I think the longer I am a minister, 
 the more urgent and painful is the sense of inade- 
 quate discharge of duty becoming. Is this a 
 healthy or an evil symptom? I fear it proceeds 
 to a great extent from pride ; from a desire to ac- 
 quit myself well before men ; from an overweening 
 conceit of my own abilities, as if I do not preach so 
 well as I might. At the same time, I think I grow 
 in the sense of ministerial responsibility, and in the 
 feeling of my personal insufficiency for this holy 
 work. If then my services seem so poor, so imper- 
 fect even to me, how must they appear in the eyes 
 of the holy God ! Considering what a solemn 
 message I am intrusted with, whose message that 
 is, and to whom the message is addressed, how in- 
 definitely short of the standard of ordinary minis- 
 terial attainment and devotedness have I fallen ! 
 And now the best part of my blighted life is over : 
 the seeds of mortal disease seem to be ripening ; 
 preaching in Madeira is surely preaching in the very 
 vestibule of the grave, in the ante-chamber of the 
 eternal world. What a call, my soul, to the 
 instant and unreserved consecration of all thy powers 
 during the numbered days of thine earthly existence, 
 to this the noblest of all earthly vocations ! Thou 
 art weak, but He is strong. Thy word is weak, but 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 43 
 
 His word which thou speakest, is a sharp two-edged 
 sword. Thine is an earthen vessel, but the Gospel 
 treasure has been poured into it, that the excellency 
 of the power may be seen to be of God and not of 
 man. This thing have I desired of the Lord : that 
 will I seek after ; that even here I may be permitted 
 to have some seals of my apostleship. 
 
 " Sabbath, December 26.— This the last Sabbath 
 of the year, let me look back upon its course and 
 consider how its Sabbaths have been spent. Up to 
 the end of May, when I was attacked by the illness 
 which brought me to Madeira, the amount of minis- 
 terial duty I undertook on the Sabbath was ex- 
 tremely imprudent ; and yet with how little com- 
 placency can I now review it. At the very utmost 
 all that I can do is to pray that its deficiencies may 
 be pardoned. I feel some pleasure in looking back 
 upon the hours sj^ent in my Sabbath classes, and 
 some hopeful symptoms manifested there ; but with 
 shame and confusion of face must reflect upon the 
 feebleness, indifference, prayerlessness, and the con- 
 sequent inefficiency of my pulpit ministrations. 
 How often have my fancied facility of composition, 
 my fancied fluency of extemporaneous expression, 
 and habits of excursive superficial thought, betrayed 
 me into serving the Lord with that which cost me 
 nothing ! How often have I presumptuously ap- 
 proached His altar, and with untrembling hand laid 
 on it that which was torn, and the lame and the blind ! 
 How have I robbed God of the time which ouo-ht to 
 
44 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 have been consecrated to His service, and appropriated 
 it, if not to the frivolities of the world, to which 
 neither my inclinations nor my circumstances lead 
 me, to the pursuits of literature, my passionate taste 
 for which I fear is incompatible with the fulness and 
 completeness of my devotedness to my sacred calling. 
 People have thought me laborious and diligent ; 
 perhaps I myself fancied that I was so ; but alas ! 
 mere laboriousness is not faithfulness ; it does not 
 imply a high degree of ministerial conscientiousness, 
 nor a high standard of ministerial aim. How often 
 does it proceed from a desire to magnify our office 
 in the eyes of men, rather than from zeal for the 
 glory of God ! How often is it but a splendid glori- 
 fying of one's self — a magnificent monument which 
 we complacently rear to a subtle self-righteousness ! 
 
 " Since my illness my private thoughts have been, 
 as was natural, more habitually turned to the con- 
 templation of things invisible ; but has any portion of 
 their spirit transfused itself into my ministrations ? 
 Do I plead with my people as one with whom the 
 Lord Himself hath pleaded ? Do the powers of the 
 world to come so affect and oppress my mind as to 
 impart more weight and gravity to my expostulations, 
 more urgency and solemnity to my authoritative calls? 
 Do I speak to them as one to whom the Lord has 
 spoken in the cloudy pillar ! I fear not. Alas, how 
 well satisfied I am if I can overtake the mere routine 
 of duty ? Lord, keep me from that spirit of fri- 
 volity which steals upon me at unawares, and which 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 45 
 
 makes me look more to the doing of the duty than 
 to the principle from which it is done. thou 
 Shepherd and Bishop of souls, make me to feel more 
 deeply that ' the office of a bishop ' to which thou 
 hast called me is 'a good work ' and a solemn ; 
 needing much grace, spiritual illumination, know- 
 ledge, and judgment. May the thought of its im- 
 portance and responsibility never be absent from my 
 mind ! May this feeling pursue me into all societies, 
 into all studies, into all recreations ; that everywhere 
 and at all times I may study to approve myself to 
 Thee, to make full proof of my ministry, and to be 
 on the watch for the souls of men ! May thy Spirit 
 give me boldness, faithfulness, discretion, quietness 
 of mind, readiness of speech, that Thy work may 
 never be hindered or hurt through my inadvertence 
 or crime ; but that I, even I, may ere I see death be 
 honoured to do something for Thee, God, for 
 Thee, my Lord and Saviour, even though the world 
 should never know it, even though I should never 
 know it, but secretly, which Thou Thyself shalt know 
 and graciously accept, saying of it and of Thine un- 
 worthy servant at the last, ' He hath done what he 
 could/ Amen. 
 
 " Saturday, January 1, 1848. — Something leads 
 me to think of this day ten years ago. Well do I 
 remember it. It was my first college session ; my 
 earliest academic essays were written during these 
 holidays. Well do I remember them : ' On the 
 Popular Assemblies of Athens/ ' On the Astronomy 
 
46 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 of Cicero's De Naturd Deorum! What an eventful 
 portion of my life has intervened ! How full of 
 change and excitement, of incidents obscure, indeed, 
 but to me most memorable. Looking back upon them 
 I seem to cast my eyes across a river, and to see 
 nothing but an expanse of white, tossing and troubled 
 waves. All my academic career, my connexion with 
 those religious and literary societies which have given 
 me almost all my dearest and most valued friends ; 
 the awakening of my attention to the controversies of 
 the Church ; the deep absorbing interest I felt in 
 them ; the Disruption and its momentous issues ; my 
 licence and ordination ; two years of my ministry ; 
 my illness ; my removal here : all these things are 
 comprised in the interval. And may I not look back 
 upon this period as comprehending the beginning 
 and the progress (alas, so slow and interrupted) of 
 that which is far more important to me than all of 
 these, but which some of them were most manifestly 
 overruled to produce ? Keviewing the course of my 
 short ministry, I see almost nothing in it that I can 
 contemplate with complacency. Its imperfections 
 rise up before me, and stare me in the face. As an 
 ambassador of Christ, I have preached two hundred 
 and fifty times to my fellow-sinners ; but how often 
 have I preached myself, and preached to little profit ! 
 Lord, this day pardon my manifold unworthiness. 
 Wash my person and my services with the blood of 
 sprinkling. Baptize me as one of thy prophets with 
 the Holy Ghost. Anoint me with oil. Touch my 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 47 
 
 lips with spiritual fire. Make my heart grow warm 
 and overflow with spiritual fervour. 
 
 " Friday, January 21. — Commenced this evening 
 a translation into blank verse of the Death of Socrates, 
 from the Phaedon of Plato. I have long thought 
 that that simple and pathetic narrative would make 
 of itself an admirable poem. A poem indeed it is 
 already ; but I mean a poem in the vulgar sense of 
 the word. I am getting sleepy ; which reminds me 
 of a beautiful epigram on sleep which I fell in with 
 in reading to-day. I have seen it before, but I must 
 record it here. 
 
 " ' Somne levis ! quanquam certissima mortis imago, 
 Te socium cupio, te tamen esse tori. 
 Alma quies optata veni ! nam sic sine vita, 
 Yivere quam suave est, sic sine morte rnori.' 
 
 " ' Soft balmy sleep ! though emblem of the dead, 
 Be thou the friend, the partner of my bed. 
 Sweet slumber come ! for ah, how great the joy 
 Thus without life to live, thus without death to die. 
 
 " Could anything be finer in this way than Words- 
 worth's three sonnets to sleep ? They are deliciously 
 Wordsworthian all over. The image of the fly upon 
 the rivulet is inimitable. 
 
 " ' Thou dost love 
 To sit in meekness, like the brooding dove, 
 A captive never wishing to be free. 
 This tiresome night, sleep ! thou art to me 
 A fly, that up and down himself doth shove 
 Upon a fretful rivulet, now above, 
 Now on the water vexed with mockery.' 
 
 Miscellaneous Sonnets, xii. 
 
48 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 " Saturday 22. — Finished this morning my trans- 
 lation of the Death of Socrates. 
 
 " Monday, January 31. — Found an observation in 
 Sir W. Temple,* which I amused myself by versify- 
 ing to-day: — 
 
 " Alphonsus, King of Arragon, 
 Who, in a former age, 
 Was thought in Spain a paragon, 
 And therefore called The Sage, 
 Was wont in moralising mood 
 To say, (and the remark was shrewd,) 
 Of all the pleasures men possessed, 
 And all the things that men pursued, 
 Save and excepting four, 
 
 The rest 
 Were baubles, nothing more. 
 Old wood, to warm one's toes over, 
 Old friends and trusty, 
 Old wine and crusty, 
 And some old books to dose over. 
 
 "Sabbath, February 13. — A beautiful morning, 
 without clouds. Looking at the light spread like a 
 garment of glory upon the broad mountains which I 
 see every morning when first I open my eyes, and 
 remembering it was the Sabbath, I thought. — How 
 pleasant it is after refreshing sleep to be awakened in 
 the morning watch with the risen light of the day- 
 star from on high ! So, with what a joyful surprise 
 
 * " I shall conclude with a saying of Alphonsus, (surnamed The 
 Wise,) King of Arragon, — that among so many things as are by 
 men possessed or pursued in the course of their lives, all the rest 
 are baubles, besides old wood to burn, old wine to drink, old friends 
 to converse with, and old books to read. — Of Ancient and Modern 
 Learning : Temples Works, (8vo.) vol. iii. p. 470. 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 49 
 
 shall the bodies of the redeemed wake up from the 
 sleep of death on the morning of the resurrection ; 
 with the light of glory beaming in their eyes, re- 
 freshed like herbs with the dews of their holy slum- 
 ber in the Lord, and their ears ravished with the 
 bursts of angelic melody, summoning them to share 
 in the triumph of their Saviour. These mountains 
 which I now see before me so radiant and beautiful 
 were but a few days ago wrapped in mists, and 
 darkened with wind and rain. Blessed are those 
 souls on whom, after the storms and tempests of the 
 world have beat on them, and misty doubts haunted 
 and overshadowed them, the clouds returning after the 
 rain, at last the Sun of Kighteousness rises with healing 
 under his wings, as the day of adoption breaks and 
 the shadows flee away. ' This is the day which the 
 Lord hath made : we will rejoice and be glad in it. 
 God is the Lord, who hath showed us light ; bind 
 the sacrifice with cords, even unto the horns of the 
 altar.' 
 
 " Monday, February 14. — If the traces of any 
 peculiar mannerism can be detected in the poetry of 
 Cowper, I think it is that of Phillips, a poet popular 
 in his youth.* The earliest poem that Cowper wrote, 
 his ' Verses at Bath on finding the Heel of a Shoe,' 
 are quite in the style of ' The Splendid Shilling' ; and 
 even ' The Task ' is not free from a considerable infu- 
 sion of the same mock-heroic element. One of the 
 
 * <: In thy number?, Phillips, shines for aye 
 The solitary shilling."— The Task. 
 
50 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 most decided points of his Bath verses is taken almost 
 word for word from Phillips. Speaking of the heel, 
 says Cowper, — 
 
 " ' On this supported oft, he stretched 
 
 With uncouth strides along the furrowed glebe 
 Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time 
 (What will not cruel time ?) on a wry step 
 Severed the strict cohesion.' 
 
 " Now hear Phillips: — 
 
 " ' My galligaskins that had long withstood 
 The winter's fury and encroaching frosts, 
 By time subdued, (what will not time subdue ?) 
 A horrid rent disclose.' 
 
 One of Cowper 's most peculiar and favourite forms of 
 expression, is to interpose a substantive between two 
 adjectives ; like a gentleman supporting two ladies. 
 In the poem already referred to, we have ' perforated 
 hide compact,' and in others, such phrases as ' devi- 
 ous course uncertain/ 'purple spikes pyramidal/ 
 ' prominent wens globose/ &c. 
 
 " Tuesday, February 15. — Rose this morning 
 with a headache — an unusual thing with me. Im- 
 mediately after breakfast, having lain down on the 
 sofa to read, had very unexpectedly a slight attack of 
 hiemoptysis. Sent for Dr Miller, who came, applied 
 a blister, and ordered some other remedies ; kept my 
 bed for the rest of the day. ' My times, Lord, are 
 in thy hand.' 
 
 " Wednesday, February 16. — Still kept bed. 
 Had very composed and refreshing sleep last night ; 
 
MADEIRA. — FIRST WINTER. 51 
 
 for which, and in this illness, let me acknowledge the 
 goodness of my God. 
 
 11 Friday, February 18. — Dies nalalis. 
 
 "SONNET OX MY BEING ARRIVED AT MY 
 TWENTY-FIFTH YEAR. 
 
 ' ' Whilst I dream out my days, Time's busy hands 
 Build slowly up the moments into years, 
 And, artist-like, from these fast-dropping sands, 
 The temple of my earthly life he rears. 
 Alas ! to me too surely it appears 
 To be a crazy structure, which commands 
 No prospect of continuance, and stands 
 On a most tottering base. But Thou those fears, 
 God, canst turn to hope, that when the frail 
 Ark of my spirit crumbles into dust, 
 An undecaying mansion shall be mine, 
 Bought with my Saviour's blood. Then through the vale 
 Of life let me proceed with lowly trust, 
 Contented heart, and will resigned to Thine ! 
 
 " Saturday, February 19. — My recovery ad- 
 vances favourably, blessed be God ! Mr Brown, the 
 new English chaplain, has arrived, and is to officiate 
 to-morrow. 
 
 "Sabbath, February 20.— The first Sabbath I 
 have been silent since I came to Madeira. For this, 
 in the first instance, let me bless God, and further, 
 that He has permitted me to preach up to the very 
 Sabbath that the pulpit in the Episcopal Chapel has 
 been occupied by an evangelical minister. Mr Brown 
 preached twice to-day. His discourses were appro- 
 priate and impressive, and give every prospect of a 
 
52 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 faithful ministry. The larger proportion of our 
 people attended. 
 
 " Saturday, March 4. — After breakfast com- 
 menced a discourse on Hosea ii. 14, 15, ' Therefore, 
 behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the 
 wilderness,' &c. At twelve o'clock Drs Broughton 
 and Miller called, and the former minutely examined 
 my chest with the stethoscope. Both of them agreed 
 in opinion, and decidedly recommended me to reside 
 in this climate for a few years. Such a step would, 
 of course, involve the resignation of my ministerial 
 charge at Dunblane — the very idea of which is un- 
 speakably painful. They think it is not at all pro- 
 bable that I could continue to labour long at home 
 without being permanently disabled. My mind has 
 been a very chaos of conflicting thoughts all day, and 
 I have only found relief in seeking direction and en- 
 lightenment from on high. ' Lord, what wilt thou have 
 me to do ? ' Finished my sermon in the evening. 
 
 " Sabbath, March 5. — Preached from Hosea ii. 14, 
 15. Was mercifully delivered from the influence of 
 those nervous anxieties and apprehensions which make 
 me so miserable in the prospect of duty. To Thee, 
 Lord, is the praise. The congregation was good. 
 Spent the afternoon and evening in quiet, devotional 
 reading. Had a conversation with Dr Miller, who 
 called in the afternoon, on the subject of yesterday's 
 consultation. Felt my mind able to contemplate the 
 prospect of a permanent residence abroad with greater 
 firmness and tranquillity." 
 
MADEIRA — FIRST WINTER. 53 
 
 From this time forward, without further interrup- 
 tion, Mr Burns was enabled to prosecute his Sabbath 
 and week-day ministry, till the return of that warm 
 weather which sends Madeira visitors home or to 
 cooler retreats in the country. On Saturday, the 
 27th of May, 1848, he left in the Comet, and landed 
 at BroadstairSj near Ramsgate, on Saturday the 11th 
 of June. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 RESIGNATION OF HIS MINISTRY AT DUNBLANE, AND 
 RETURN TO MADEIRA. 
 
 Arrived in England, Mr Burns lost no time in 
 reaching Dunblane and resuming his labours among 
 the people who had so filled the thoughts and prayers 
 of the bygone winter, and who, as his own, were still 
 so dear to him. But with the warnings he had re- 
 ceived, he could not help feeling that his ministry 
 among them was coming to a close, and it was with 
 a valedictory feeling that he paid his visits and 
 preached his sermons. In August, the Free Church 
 Colonial Committee having offered him the perma- 
 nent charge of the Presbyterian congregation at 
 Fnnchal, after consulting medical friends and minis- 
 terial brethren, he accepted the appointment ; and 
 although his warm-hearted hearers urged that he 
 should try the effects of another season abroad, it 
 was judged better that the pulpit should be at once 
 declared vacant. Accordimrlv, on the 4th of October, 
 1848, he was formally set free by the presbytery, and 
 on Friday, the 6th of October, after an interrupted 
 sojourn of little more than three years, he went forth 
 
RESIGNATION OF HIS MINISTRY AT DUNBLANE. 55 
 
 from the scene of his earliest and most hopeful 
 ministrations, and started on a new stage of his 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 To the Eev. Alexander Paterson, who a few years 
 afterwards became the Free Church minister at 
 Dunblane, we are indebted for a communication 
 which shows that nearly twenty years have not 
 effaced the memory of that brief pastorate, and 
 that though the labourer rests, his works still follow 
 him. 
 
 " As a preacher, Mr Burns was, I need not say, here 
 as elsewhere much admired. Better still, he was 
 looked up to by some as their spiritual father, by 
 others as one who really fed their souls, who cheered 
 them when fainting, refreshed them when weary, 
 roused them when languid, and ' spake comfortably ' 
 to them when perplexed with doubts, and struggling 
 with spiritual adversaries. His first text as minister 
 here gives us the key to show in what light he viewed 
 himself, and how eager he was to give all the glory 
 to God. That text was 2 Cor. iv. 7. He carried 
 indeed a more than golden treasure, yet he was only a 
 frail, earthen vessel. The power and the excellency 
 thereof belonged to God alone. In this spirit he 
 began, and in this spirit he closed his precious 
 ministry. 
 
 " Amongst those who received their first impres- 
 sions under him, two — the one an apprentice weaver, 
 the other an apprentice gardener — were led to devote 
 themselves to the work of the ministry. "With, the 
 
56 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 former I am acquainted. He is now labouring in a 
 distant mission-field in connexion with the Free 
 Church. 
 
 i: As a pastor, Mr Burns was greatly beloved. 
 Shining in the pulpit, he shone no less in the cham- 
 ber of sickness, and in the house of mourning. On 
 all sides testimony is borne to his assiduous attentions 
 in times of distress and bereavement. No one at 
 such seasons had to complain of neglect at his hands. 
 Fit, in private as in public, to minister to the highest, 
 he was yet ready to minister to the humblest in his 
 flock. Amiable, accessible, in him the poorest found 
 one to whom they could freely unbosom themselves, 
 one from whom they could expect the heartiest sym- 
 pathy ; and much did they, as well as the more in- 
 telligent, prize his visits. 
 
 " Often have I heard how he might be seen, late 
 and early, wending his way to the sick-bed or the 
 death-bed. I received a touching account of his 
 attention to a dying girl, eight years of age. Many 
 and profitable — profitable to her, and may I not add 
 profitable to himself — were his visits to this young 
 saint, for the name belongs to the youngest as well 
 as to the oldest member in the household of faith. 
 Carefully trained, this child knew and loved the 
 Saviour. She knew that death was approaching. 
 But she felt no fear. Being asked ' whether she was 
 afraid ? ' she promptly, and with a smile, replied, 
 ' No. ' ' And why not ? ' ' Jesus was with her, and 
 therefore she was not afraid. ' Long would Mr 
 
RESIGNATION OF HIS MINISTRY AT DUNBLANE. 57 
 
 Burns sit beside this interesting child, comforting 
 and cheering her, yet himself comforted in return, 
 He was present when she died — the first death he 
 ever witnessed. Returning, he met one of his office- 
 bearers, and with tears, not of grief but of joy, in 
 his eyes, and with choking utterance, said to him, 
 ' James, I have just been witnessing what is 
 enough to shame gray hairs. ' 
 
 " Both in and out of the pulpit, Mr Burns seems 
 ever to have breathed an atmosphere of love. A 
 frowning countenance he never wore, and bitter 
 words he never dropped. Meek and humble, he 
 treated no one haughtily. To the fury that some 
 count faithfulness, he was an utter stranger. Like 
 his blessed Master, far from breaking, he sought 
 rather to bind up the bruised reed ; far from quench- 
 ing, he strove rather to gently fan into flame the 
 smoking flax. 
 
 " May a blessing rest on your forthcoming volume t 
 May there fall on many of our rising preachers the 
 mantle of him whose ministry here, though brief and 
 sorely broken, was yet so much prized and so success- 
 ful ! May many be raised up to preach as ably, and 
 write as beautifully, and ' sing ' as sweetly, and toil 
 as heartily in the service of the Lord ! " 
 
 Wednesday, the 1st of November, 1848, again 
 found Mr Burns in Madeira. It was All-Saints' day> 
 and, landing amidst that bell music which he greatly 
 loved, he took up his abode for the night under the 
 roof of his kind and steadfast friend, Dr Miller, In 
 
58 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 a few days lie secured apartments, bought a pony, 
 engaged a boy to take care of it, and with his books 
 around him set up such a home as is permitted to an 
 exile and an invalid. Here, for nearly five years, 
 summer and winter, he tarried. As formerly, his 
 work included two services each Lord's day in winter, 
 and one in summer, besides a prayer-meeting during 
 the week, and visits to British sailors in the hospital. 
 But, perhaps, the most trying part of his ministry, 
 involving much toil, and making large demands on 
 his tender sympathy and Christian faithfulness, was 
 his ministration to the sick and dying, whom every 
 season sent in large numbers to the island. It was 
 his happiness to guide into the way of peace some 
 reluctant or repentant wanderers ; but by none were 
 his conversations and prayers so greatly prized as by 
 those who already possessed a certain amount of 
 spiritual earnestness. All of them well educated, 
 many of them with refined habits, and keenly alive 
 to the beauty which spread around them as well as 
 the affection which they had left behind them, they 
 felt sad at being so early summoned hence, or 
 mourned because they did not sufficiently desire to 
 depart and be with Christ, or were depressed by 
 habitual sinfulness, and by those doubts and fears 
 which, springing from an evil heart of unbelief, rea- 
 son cannot dissipate. To such there could be no 
 truer son of consolation. Nearly all their regrets 
 and anxieties he had himself experienced, and for com- 
 fort was daily constrained to resort to God and the 
 
MADEIRA. 59 
 
 word of His grace ; and as with tender fellow-feeling 
 lie met the varying phases of gloom or apprehension, 
 to many a fevered fitful listener his speech dropped 
 as the dew. In such labours of love no hour was 
 unseasonable, no frequency of repetition was irksome ; 
 and thus in God's kind overruling that servant of 
 His, who could not hope to be a Boanerges, became 
 a Barnabas. With sentence of death in himself, a 
 Mr Greatheart to whom the post had brought his 
 own summons, he was still able to speak words of 
 cheer to Despondency, to Feeble-mind, and other 
 pilgrims passing over the river. 
 
 A somewhat copious journal contains all the inci- 
 dents of that second sojourn in Madeira. The 
 temptation is strong to quote largely from it ; for its 
 perusal could not fail to deepen the reader's interest 
 in the thoughtful, tender-hearted writer. The hidden 
 man of the heart there stands revealed — pastor and 
 poet, the affectionate brother alternating with the 
 sequestered anchoret, the man of letters, the man of 
 feeling, and the man of God. But a very few extracts 
 must suffice — extracts which we trust may illustrate 
 the inner life : — 
 
 " Saturday, October 5, 1850. — Scripture-reading 
 with Manoel, (his servant,) who is rather an apt 
 scholar. Afterwards wrote discourse. Afternoon, 
 rode out to the eastward as far as the chapel of the 
 Keves. Watched the sun sinking behind the hill of 
 S. Martinho from the parapet, the round edge of the 
 hill standing out sharp and black in a golden sky. 
 
60 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 while the bay with its boats was whitening in the 
 cold twilight, and dark winds ruffling over the sea. 
 To-night the wind is rising. It is now ' raving in 
 turret and tree ; ' that wild moaning wind I love to 
 hear. A windy night has had a peculiar charm for 
 me from boyhood. It has always a strange effect 
 upon my spirit, throwing me into a state of pleasure- 
 able excitement, and filling my mind with singular 
 fancies. The wind-music, and the sound of the sea 
 rolling in on a rocky beach, have this effect : They 
 bear away my mind as on wings into that dim border- 
 land of thought between the pleasant and the pensive, 
 in which light and shadow are intermingled, where 
 glimmering forms hover around at distance, and 
 long-silent voices revive with mournful falls, — 
 
 ' Quale per incertum lumen sub luce maligna 
 Est iter in silvis ; ubi coelum condidit umbra 
 Jupiter, et rebus nox abstulit atra colorem.' 
 
 It must be confessed that with the more imaginative 
 aspect of the pleasure there blends a prosaic feeling 
 of personal comfort, something like that described in 
 the well-known lines of Lucretius, {De Rerum Nat., 
 lib. ii. 1-6,)— 
 
 ' Suave, mari magno turbantibus sequora ventis,' &c. 
 
 "Friday, November 1, 1850. — On this day two 
 years ago I landed in Madeira. Many sad recollections 
 rushed upon my mind, as I walked down the street 
 to-night. In one sense I can say that goodness and 
 roercy have followed me. In so far as my highest 
 
MADEIRA. 61 
 
 of earthly duties is concerned — the work of the min- 
 istry — I have been crowned with blessings. But 
 dear connexions formed since that time have been 
 severed ; there have been changes, sorrows, and dis- 
 appointments. A sense of loneliness weighs heavy 
 on my heart, and though. I strive to look beyond time, 
 there is too much of my nature still in it. Oh, that 
 I could accept these solemn monitions in their true 
 weight and significance ; that I could bless God for 
 all the good I have seen in the land of the living, and 
 be preserved from anything approaching to a murmur 
 that He has not bestowed on me that full measure 
 which I would have weighed out for myself. From 
 this time may I go more softly. May my heart be 
 more and more disentangled from the cares and affec- 
 tions of this vain life, which is as a shadow. May 
 my life be more abstracted, more pilgrim-like, more 
 heavenly ; forgetting the things that are behind, let 
 me reach forth unto those things that are before." 
 
 " Tuesday, February 18, 1851. — This day I com- 
 plete my 28th year. It does not seem a large seg- 
 ment of life ; it might be doubled, and yet leave the 
 appointed measure of man's days in distant prospect ; 
 but I am persuaded that with me the line will only 
 lengthen a few years at the farthest before it termi- 
 nates. As I write the number of my days, I am sur- 
 prised at its apparent smallness ; so much older do I 
 feel myself in reality — so familiar with the thoughts 
 and forebodings that dimly shape themselves to the 
 mind through the twilight of its earthly being. Yet 
 
C2 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 how insensibly and insidiously do such graver thoughts 
 take their place among the materials of consciousness, 
 and become so accustomed a portion of it that they 
 lose their power to solemnise and elevate and awaken 
 Had that Hand traced its fiery ciphers every night 
 on the wall of Belshazzar's banquet-hall, it would not 
 have stopped the mad progress of the revelry. What 
 a mystery of iniquity and self-deception is this human 
 heart ! Death at a distance terrifies us as a gloomy 
 apparition ; when he has come nearer, and walked 
 beside us for a time, he does not seem so sepulchral 
 a companion after all. Oh, that my familiarity with 
 this thought and all thoughts that affect my eternal 
 state may be more purified from every earthly element, 
 so that if I have known them after the flesh, I may 
 henceforth thus know them no more ! There is a fear 
 of death which worketh to despondency, from which 
 I would pray to be delivered ; but that fear of it which 
 works to prayerful and unwearied preparation for its 
 coming, I would desire ever to retain. Preserve it 
 God, in all its force and freshness in my mind, tha* 
 now and ever I may apply my heart to wisdom. May 
 the sense of shortening days keep me in more habitual 
 communion with the realities of that life, more con- 
 sciously influenced by the powers of the world to 
 come. This persuasion, once so solemnising, too 
 often appears like a faded and outworn experience. 
 Oh, give it life and power, that it may go out and 
 come in with me, and cast a chastening shadow over 
 my life of thought and action, and speak to me with a 
 
MADEIRA. 03 
 
 spiritual voice, and be a ministering angel, whom I 
 may entertain, and not unawares. Thou hast weak- 
 ened m) T strength in the way ; Thou hast shortened 
 my days. But art Thou not from everlasting, 
 Lord my God, mine Holy One ? We shall not die. 
 The ' power of an endless life ' is Thine, Priest 
 upon the Throne ! Thou art the same yesterday, to- 
 day,, and for ever. Thou art a rock ; may my goings 
 be established thereon ; may I find ' the stone of 
 Israel' firm under my feet in the swellings of 
 Jordan ! 
 
 " Sabbath, May 11, 1851.— Enjoyed the hallowed 
 privileges of a communion Sabbath. Preached from 
 Kev. i. 5, 6, ' Unto Him that loved us, and washed 
 us from our sins in His own blood, and hath made 
 us kings and priests unto God and His Father, to 
 Him be glory and dominion for ever and ever.' 
 Afterwards fenced the table with an address, during 
 which the congregation seemed affected and solem- 
 nised. Since entering the ministry I have always 
 found that the anxiety and care of the outward minis- 
 tration of the ordinance do not permit me to wait 
 upon the Lord without distraction, that my thoughts 
 are too much occupied with what I should say to 
 men, when my heart should be setting itself devoutly 
 to speak alone with God. Let me acknowledge with 
 gratitude that I did not feel this unsettlement of 
 mind so much to-day as I have done, that I could 
 spend some sacred moments in calm and tranquil 
 meditation on that love unspeakable, to which I owe 
 
64 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 all my hopes, and which has given me access by 
 faith into this grace wherein I stand. Oh that I 
 could more heartily rejoice in the sense of thy love to 
 me, my Saviour, and say, ' I will remember thy love 
 more than wine. Thy name is as ointment poured 
 forth/ Oh that the love of Christ would put forth 
 its constraining power upon my heart, that I may no 
 longer look on myself as my own, but the Lord's, 
 who bought me with His blood. I have joined my- 
 self to Him in the bond of an everlasting covenant : 
 ' Lord, truly I am thy servant, and the son of 
 thine handmaid. Thou hast loosed my bonds/ ' I 
 am thine ; save me, for I seek thy precepts.' Take 
 the free-will offering of my heart. Take it and sub- 
 due it to thyself by the mighty working of thy grace. 
 May it be henceforward not I living, but Christ 
 living in me ; not I working, but the grace of God 
 which is with me. Build me up on the foundation 
 of my holy faith. Give me the spirit of prayer in 
 the Holy Ghost. Enable me to keep myself in the 
 love of God, looking for the mercy of the Lord Jesus 
 unto eternal life. May I cultivate the spirit of daily 
 communion with thee, growing in the graces of the 
 divine life, and abounding in the fruits of righteous- 
 ness. Give me tenderness of conscience, God, that 
 will shrink alarmed on the very appearance of evil. 
 Give me spirituality of mind, that will hate the gar- 
 ment spotted by the flesh. Give me lofty principle, 
 that I may be a prevailing and steadfast witness for 
 Christ ; holy decision, that I may have no fellowship 
 
MADEIRA. G5 
 
 with the unfruitful works of darkness. Give me the 
 spirit of meekness and temperance, of long-suffering 
 and zeal, of purity and benevolence, of uprightness 
 and charity. Mould me and fashion me after Thy 
 image, my Saviour. Crucified with Thee, may the 
 body of sin be daily dying. Risen with Thee, may 
 my a flections be set on things above, and my spirit 
 daily growing in meetness for the heavenly inherit- 
 ance. 
 
 "Sabbath, May 25, 1851. — Preached twice as 
 usual. Intimated that in future the afternoon ser- 
 vice would be discontinued. Here let me make 
 thankful acknowledgment of the goodness of God in 
 bringing me through the unaided duties of another 
 winter. I looked forward to them with many fears, 
 but He has strengthened me to overtake them with- 
 out the interruption of a single Sabbath. I have not 
 been without remembrancers of my constitutional in- 
 firmity, but they have not been permitted to interfere 
 with my endeavours to be useful to those over whom 
 He has placed me. Gracious hast Thou been to me, 
 my God, yet how unfaithful, how unprofitable 
 have I been in Thy service. Thou hast made me a 
 keeper of the vineyard, but my own vineyard I have 
 not kept, and therefore I cannot bring Thee a larger 
 return for the fruit thereof. Enable me to watch for 
 souls as one that must give account ; to be more 
 conscientious, more devoted, more self-surrendered 
 into Thy hands. I know where my great strength 
 lieth. All my springs, my Saviour, are in Thee. 
 
 E 
 
66 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 This is Thy work, not mine. It is not I who am 
 able to fulfil it, but Thy grace which is with me. 
 Let it work in me mightily, that my labour may not 
 be in vain. I am weak and helpless, but Thou art 
 the strength of Israel. I would lay hold of Thy 
 strength ; I would trust in Thy all-sufficiency ; I 
 would not limit the Holy One of Israel. Thou 
 canst help my infirmities. Thou canst pjurify my 
 lips to speak aloud of Thy righteousness. Thou 
 canst make me drink into the fulness of Thy living 
 Spirit, so that from the deepest part of my nature 
 rivers of living water may flow for the comfort and 
 refreshment of Thy people. Let the beauty of the 
 Lord my God be upon me, that the work even of my 
 hands may be established. ' Restore unto me the 
 joy of Thy salvation ; uphold me with Thy free 
 Spirit. Then will I teach transgressors Thy way, 
 and sinners shall be converted unto Thee.' The 
 time is short ; the work is for eternity. When the 
 evening shadows fall upon me, may I be found not 
 to have been an idle servant in Thy vineyard — worse, 
 infinitely worse, than to have stood idle in the 
 market-place. 
 
 " Sabbath, June 15, 1851. — How much is said in 
 our day about thorough-going and decision of char- 
 acter! How conspicuous and prevailing are these 
 qualities in almost every department of mental 
 activity and outward life ! Yet how seldom do 
 men dream of making any application of them to 
 the lofty and enduring interests of another ! The 
 
MADEIRA. QJ 
 
 literature of the time may be called the apotheosis 
 of earnestness — of manly, resolute, untiring straight- 
 forwardness in the work which every man finds 
 given for himself to do. It would seem that the 
 idea of ' work' was the mystery hidden from ages 
 and generations, but now published and sent abroad 
 upon the world with the clearness and sacredness of 
 a revelation. When I look into the Scripture, I find 
 every exercise of this practical philosophy, so far as 
 it is true and genuine, anticipated there. I find 
 there an incarnation of the spirit of diligence and 
 devotedness and self-sacrifice — not dividual and frag- 
 mentary, as it must be when contracted within the 
 limits of the present life, but complete, full-sphered, 
 all-pervading, by linking man's life on earth to the 
 great central fact of his immortality. There is a 
 deep-seated rationalism in the tone of thinking to 
 which we have alluded. Not in all cases ; for the 
 error is in the restriction of the principle to this life 
 exclusively, and Arnold is a memorable example, 
 who could grasp it and give it free action through 
 the whole circle of thought and endeavour. But as 
 a protruded and distinctive quality of thought, we 
 fear it is essentially material — looking upon the world 
 as the place in which man is to achieve something 
 for himself, and not as the chosen ground on which, 
 in God's strength, he is to fulfil a work given him 
 for God's glory. 
 
 " Purify my mind and will, God, from every 
 element of earthliness, and set the great realities of 
 
68 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 an immortal being so clearly before me, that there 
 may be stamped on everything that I do, the char- 
 acter of a serene and sacred decision. I have said 
 that I am Thine ; Thee I profess to serve. Take 
 away from me all wavering, all weakness of purpose, 
 all donble-mindedness, all spirit of compromise be- 
 tween Thee and the world. Forbid that I should 
 fall into that Laodicean security which tends to 
 lukewarmness, so offensive in Thy sight that Thou 
 wouldst rather have the coldness which makes no 
 profession, than be mocked with a form of godliness 
 without the power. Enable me to rise clear above 
 the low-thoughted element of a life that measures 
 itself by time ; to break decidedly away from the 
 influences that are at work around me to seduce my 
 heart from Thee. Lift me up to the full height 
 and stature of my spiritual being, as one that presses 
 toward immortality, looking for and hasting unto the 
 coming of the day of God, when I shall fully and 
 for ever apprehend that perfection of holiness for 
 which, in Christ Jesus, Thy grace hath apprehended 
 me." 
 
 When we commune with our own heart, or with God, 
 we are solemn : when we commune with a neighbour 
 there are two faces in the glass, and from the coun- 
 tenance of our friend our own takes an expression 
 dark or radiant, and the outcome is accordingly 
 playful or prosaic, grave or gay. Mr Burns was not 
 without reserve. Like all men of depth or delicacy, 
 he had thoughts and feelings which he confided to 
 
MADEIRA. 69 
 
 very few. At the same time he was social, and in 
 his circle of friendship were men of very different 
 tastes and affinities — devout, polemical, classical, 
 homely. Many of his Madeira letters have come 
 into our hands, and very charming they are with 
 their descriptions of scenery and reminiscences of 
 vanished years — with the humour or the tender- 
 ness, the mournful regret or aspirations which the 
 mood of his own mind prompted, or which the turn 
 of his correspondent elicited. In venturing a few 
 quotations we run the risk of criticism. Worldly 
 men will lament that one so genial should have been 
 so saintly ; austere men will sigh at his pleasantry ; 
 and sturdy divines, as they take their toddy, will say 
 that in his circumstances his thoughts should have 
 been entirely occupied with higher things. There 
 are many men whose mind is a monochorcl. It was 
 not so with our friend. His harp had many strings, 
 and whether the music were plaintive or cheerful, 
 the minstrel was always sincere. 
 
 The first of the following letters is to a college con- 
 temporary, now in business, and who in that capacity 
 managed Mr Burns's financial matters whilst abroad. 
 
 To James Maclean, Esq. 
 
 " Saint Amaro, Madeira. 
 July 9, 1851. 
 
 " Here is the first week of July past, and Sirius in 
 the ascendant, and the pleasant vintage time ap- 
 proaching, and I, instead of sitting comfortably with 
 
70 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 you in a certain back parlour, and discussing a whole 
 encyclopaedia of topics, as some months ago I fondly 
 pictured, am quietly settled in the dreamy solitude 
 of a ' moated grange ' in one of the most enchanted 
 nooks of this sunny Atlantic island. I left the town, 
 which was beginning to be dangerously hot, in the 
 first days of June, and transferred myself and estab- 
 lishment (a bearded serf or villain, of the name of 
 Manoel, who playeth cunningly on the viol) to the 
 aforesaid quintc, which stands embowered in chesnut 
 and fig trees on the airy brow of a vine-covered hill. 
 The house itself — porch, walls, and side-walls — is 
 muffled with vines to the throat. They are now 
 blackening in the mellow July sunshine. The birds 
 which haunt the neighbouring thickets — for ' the air is 
 delicate ' — hitherwards resort to ' fret with the golden 
 dagger of their bills' the purple summer fruit. 
 These ' bills ' by me are duly honoured. I esteem 
 five minutes liquid fluting, when the revel is over, 
 and the wine-fumes are stealing into the brain of the 
 wassailers, a discharge in full. Here is a grove of 
 chesnut-trees now in blossom near the house, which 
 is a favourite resort. When the sun is high and hot, 
 and the air tingling along the edge of tree and moun- 
 tain with the white insufferable glow, I retreat 
 thither, and mount up one of the gnarled trunks into 
 the very heart of one of the laden branches, feel the 
 coolness of the leaves all round me, and read as in 
 the ancient days in Wordsworth's garden at Gras- 
 mere. 
 
MADEIRA. 71 
 
 " I really do not know why I have slid into this 
 strain. I began my letter with the intention of tell- 
 ing you the most serious thoughts which have lately 
 been weighing upon my mind. From the opening 
 you must imagine that I am leading an indolent, 
 luxurious life, ' the world forgetting, by the world 
 forgot,' in some such retreat as that — 
 
 ' Amidst the gardens fair 
 Of Hesperus and his daughters three, 
 That sing about the golden tree.' 
 
 But I assure you, dear Mac, the case is very different. 
 My writing to you always awakens old and genial 
 associations, which never revive but then. It is like 
 raking in the ashes of a smouldering fire, which no 
 one would suspect to live under the dead residuum 
 of its earlier strength. Besides, it is very singular 
 (I have often observed it in myself) that the tongue 
 is most apt to trifle when the heart is sorrowful. 
 The lid of the casket in which we carry a mortal 
 poison about with us is carved with fantastic figures 
 and random fancies. 
 
 " I can hardly understand how it is that, with the 
 symptoms of mortal decay which I daily feel — the 
 long sown seeds which are ripening to certain dis- 
 solution — I find it so difficult to preserve that solemn 
 chastening sense of eternity which I desire to cherish. 
 There are times when, looking to the glorious all-suffi- 
 ciency of the atonement of the gospel, to the willingness 
 of the Saviour to receive all who come to Him, polluted 
 and unworthy though they be — nay, rather because 
 
72 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 they be — I feel I could willingly depart, and be taken 
 away in mid -time of my days. Then I can look to the 
 darkness, which is but a little way before me, with 
 something of the feeling with which the hireling 
 desires the evening shadow. I think I can see the mild 
 gleam of a sinless immortality shining through it — 
 ' at evening time it shall be light ' — the serene 
 promise or presentiment of that eternal rest which 
 remaineth for the people of God. Then again all is 
 doubt and despondency : I seem to walk in darkness, 
 and have no light. I can even preach what brings 
 enlightment and eomfort to others, but seems judi- 
 cially deprived of all spiritual virtue to myself. At 
 such a time what would I do, my dear friend, were it 
 not for the still small voice of hope that sounds like 
 an audible inspiration from every page of the Bible ? 
 After all, what eloquence of refining philosophy, 
 what melodious charm of poetry, can equal these 
 divine, heart-cheering words, ' Come unto me, all 
 ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give 
 you rest ' ? In the pressure of sorrow, amidst the 
 languor of sickness, in the prospect of death, what 
 hope remains to us but this ? What firmer founda- 
 tion to establish our souls upon can we desire ? What 
 a blessed confidence is that, ' I know Him whom I 
 have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to 
 keep that which I have committed unto Him against 
 that day ! ' I think I have given the keeping of my 
 eternal interests into His hand. May God brighten 
 my hope into the sober certainty of spiritual joy ! 
 
MADEIRA. 73 
 
 May He bring all my thoughts and aims and aspira- 
 tions into captivity to the obedience of Christ ; that 
 I may know the blessedness of that coming time for 
 which the Church is longing, begun in me even now, 
 the kingdom of righteousness and peace and joy set 
 up in me, and all the affections and energies and 
 passions of this mysterious nature, which else would 
 rend and consume it, led quietly by the hand of the 
 Little Child of Bethlehem ! 
 
 " I have cause to bless God, indeed I cannot think 
 of it without humiliation, that my ministry in 
 Madeira has been in several cases the means of ac- 
 complishing its highest end in turning the heart to 
 God. . . . For some time past I feel I have been 
 steadily losing ground in point of health. I know 
 you will attribute this to my getting moped and 
 nervous, and it is quite natural you should. But I 
 have substantial grounds for believing it. If I am 
 permitted to return, I fear it will be in no condition 
 to break ground in a new field of labour. After all 
 my wanderings and windings, it will only be to 
 come back like the hunted hare to the spot where I 
 was nourished, and there die/' 
 
 To the Rev. John Anderson. 
 
 " Fcxchal, Madeira. 
 February 19,1852. 
 
 "I am glad to hear you are employed so usefully, 
 and not without some evidence of good. You must 
 be acquiring some valuable experience, a kind of 
 
74 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 knowledge not to be learned from books. I suppose 
 your missionary labours bring you sometimes into 
 contact with the sick and dying. My own impression 
 is that this is perhaps the best preparation for minis- 
 terial work. It appears to me of much greater im- 
 portance now than I used to consider it. It is a 
 wholesome discipline for one's own mind, there being 
 so much to chasten and solemnise, and also to interest 
 in it. Then it throws you back on the essentials of 
 religion, and makes you feel a freshness and power in 
 them, which they are apt to lose (as a fine fruit loses 
 its delicate bloom) in the coarse handling of merely 
 intellectual study. And, what is perhaps the greatest 
 advantage of all, you deal with the mind or heart 
 when it is most susceptible of impression ; when the 
 ear is opened unto discipline, and the powers of the 
 world to come press with a more vivid force and 
 reality upon the spirit. How has the great Healer 
 of the distempered world glorified the obscurest 
 ministration ! 'The Lord God hath given me the 
 tongue of the learned, that I might speak a word in 
 season to him that is weary/ ' I was sick, and ye 
 visited me.' 
 
 " 1 was grieved to hear of the serious illness of 
 your cousins. You must feel it deeply. I am per- 
 haps become too familiar with the outward appear- 
 ances of such decay. I am often surprised it does not 
 affect me more. But there will be very much in this 
 to impress your mind, and I can imagine the distress 
 of their family. I trust they may have that consola- 
 
MADEIEA. 75 
 
 tion, the only one such a trial admits of, which arises 
 from seeing an inward and undying life rooting itself 
 and springing up in the soul amidst the decays of 
 nature. What is death in such a case ? The perish- 
 ing of something that only hangs as a husk upon the 
 life : the laying down of ' that weary load of death 
 called life, which us from life doth sever/ 
 
 " I have heen anxiously thinking of late what my 
 future course is to be. I have a feeling that I am 
 not doing much good here. Perhaps it is not a right 
 expression, but it is something like a conviction that 
 I have exhausted my means of usefulness. I think it 
 would be my duty to return to Scotland if there was 
 any prospect of continued usefulness there. But the 
 state of my health precludes this. I frankly tell you 
 I have a perfect horror of the idea of becoming 
 minister of another congregation, and then bem°; 
 compelled to resign it. That would be Dunblane 
 over again, and the remembrance is too bitter to allow 
 me to place myself in similar circumstances again. I 
 have sometimes thought of a small congregation in 
 the south of England, at other times of the south of 
 Australia, where there is a great want of ministers, 
 and a genial climate. I feel it would be almost as 
 easy to live at the antipodes as here, once all the 
 associations with home are loosened or broken. Into 
 this soil I have struck no deep roots, and could bear 
 transplanting. 
 
 " I have been reading Carlyle's ' Life of Sterling' 
 lately. It had a peculiar interest for me, Sterling 
 
76 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 being a man like myself, in delicate health, compelled 
 to roam about from place to place ; at one time a 
 clergyman, living some time in Madeira, and dying 
 young. It has left a very melancholy impression on 
 my mind. You are aware he became sceptical, and 
 died in darkness and doubt, owing to Carlyle's influence 
 in a great measure. "What a contrast to Hewitson, 
 and the practical enduring influence of his life. I 
 had read Hewitson's life some months before, and 
 could not help drawing the parallel as I read the 
 memoir of poor Sterling. These two men stood at 
 opposite spiritual poles. The lesson of each life is a 
 deep and weighty one : the comparative value of each 
 is brought out as by a vivid gleam from eternity at 
 the close. The last phase of infidelity — the more 
 refined and literary abjuration of Christianity — finds 
 its representative in Sterling. The book is important 
 too, from Carlyle having spoken out at last in it 
 against the common faith ; but the old anvil will 
 wear out the heavy hammer of the rugged northern 
 Thor, as it has done many a one before. 
 
 " This winter I have the society and assistance of 
 a brother minister, Mr Denniston, who was at Malta 
 for a year or two, and previously a missionary to the 
 Jews. He preaches for me once a fortnight, and is 
 most ready and even anxious to embrace opportuni- 
 ties of usefulness. I feel very thankful that he has 
 come here. 
 
 " I see you are an admirer of Tennyson. I have 
 outgrown that youthful enthusiasm, and love the 
 
MADEIRA. 77 
 
 more serene and chastened beauties of W. W. 
 What do you think of h im ? I have no doubt you 
 will come by and by to be of my opinion. Still ' In 
 Memoriani ' is a noble work, and I do not believe 
 the Times, which is offended at its seditious ten- 
 dency. At least, I hope there is nothing of the kind 
 in it. A bad thing to suspect a snake under the 
 laurel leaves ; but Cleopatra's asp, ' the pretty worm 
 of Nilus/ was covered up with fig leaves." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONTINENTAL TOUR. 
 
 After nearly four years captivity in his sea-girt 
 isle, it is not strange that Mr Burns felt a desire for 
 enlargement. But what he could save of his minis- 
 terial income was spent in enabling younger members 
 of his family to secure those educational advantages 
 which conducted one brother to an honourable posi- 
 tion in the Christian ministry, and ushered another 
 on his chosen career as a surgeon. It was not till 
 the summer of 1852 that he was able to gratify his 
 longing for change, and when at last, in the end of 
 June that year he left Madeira, it was not for Scot- 
 land, but for a tour through Portugal, Spain, Sicily, 
 and Italy. It extended over three months , and was 
 the source of great enjoyment. His notes and 
 recollections were afterwards written out, evidently 
 with a view to publication. But it never was any 
 pleasure to Mr Burns to see his own productions in 
 print, and, unmoved by the offer of an eminent 
 publisher in Edinburgh, he would not convert into 
 lucre his labour of love, but left the fair manuscript 
 locked up in his desk. Many of the scenes which he 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUR. 79 
 
 describes are now familiar to thousands of English 
 tourists, and there are few books of travel which do 
 not become antiquated in far less than fifteen years ; 
 but from amongst passages which have interested 
 ourselves, or which give personal glimpses of the 
 writer, we extract a few pages. 
 
 OFF CAPE ST VINCENT. 
 
 A PORTUGUESE SHIP'S COMPANY. 
 
 Four bells had struck on the tenth morning of our voy- 
 age,— from where it matters not, — and our ship, a fast 
 little brig under Portuguese colours, was lurching over the 
 long sleepy swell of the Atlantic under the brown cliffs of 
 Cape St Vincent. There was a swarming movement of 
 light and heat in the air. The sky was necked here and 
 there with shreds of thin silvery cloud. The waves were 
 soft and warm, and heaved upwards, as the vessel rose and 
 fell, with a full soothing gurgle and plash. Over the 
 land there was a fierce yellow glare of African light. It 
 must have been a day of scorching heat in all the vineyards 
 and olive-groves of Portugal from Algarves to the Minho. 
 
 Ships of all flags and all possible arrangements of sails 
 and " spars," from the stately frigate to the skimming 
 swallow-like felucca, were standing up from all points to- 
 ward the Straits, and streaming out from it in all direc- 
 tions over the wide waves. A man-of-war swaggers like a 
 patrician on the highway of nations. Your merchantman, 
 deep in the water with its solid freight, holds on its course 
 like a grave, sober, steady-going burgher. For us, a mere 
 passenger vessel, we were content to steal along at a 
 leisurely pace, like sauntering idlers in a crowd of busi- 
 
80 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 ness men hurrying to the Exchange. The passengers, 
 scattered in groups forward and along the sides, were 
 gazing at the convent that crests the headland, a mass of 
 gray weather-beaten buildings huddled together on the 
 steep and narrow ridge. Of the same time-stained colour 
 as the cliffs, it seems to have grown up out of them like a 
 huge fungus. Its lofty tower, long an eminent sea-mark, 
 now serves as a lighthouse. I wonder if the monks 
 droning in the chapel heard the sound of the British guns 
 on the day of the great sea-fight. Some of the wrecks, 
 torn and shattered by the shot, must have drifted in — a 
 dismal story to tell long after to the novices on winter 
 nights, when the storm howled without, and the brother- 
 hood felt the time, as even monks must occasionally, hang 
 heavy on their hands. 
 
 We were a motley company thrown together during 
 these days by stress of circumstances in this same brig. 
 With some business, with others pleasure, love of adventure 
 and variety, had been the cause of their apprehension and 
 confinement for an indefinite period in their creaking 
 prison with a chance of drowning. A few Brazilians, one 
 of them a conego or canon of the Church ; a Jewish rabbi, 
 who slept in something like a meat-safe on deck, and 
 never undressed, and moved about with his dark raiment 
 studded with woolly tufts and flocks of blanket ; a strange 
 taciturn personage, rumoured to be the captain of a 
 Spanish slaver ; some Portuguese soldiers, who slouched 
 about in dirty cloaks, and had registered a vow against 
 cold water ; and, of course, a few Scotchmen. 
 
 In the fore-part of the vessel was an assassin under sen- 
 tence of death, walking about quite freely, and occasionally 
 called upon by the cabin passengers for the murder, which 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUR. 81 
 
 he cheerfully gave with lively gesticulations and great 
 fluency of speech. The talk of the Brazilians was of 
 Spanish duros, bales of cotton, and yellow fever. But 
 they had not much time for conversation. All day long, 
 and far into the night, were all their faculties absorbed in 
 card-playing, and of all the gamblers the aforesaid pillar 
 and ornament of the Brazilian Church, whose name was 
 Gregorio Nazianzeno, was most indefatigable. No one 
 handled the cards more scientifically, no one shuffled and 
 dealt and staked them with cooler precision and steadier 
 nerve. The first morning of the voyage, — it chanced to 
 be Sunday, — as I lay in my berth, pensive and subdued 
 by some premonitory symptoms, to which I need not 
 farther allude, I could hear the bilious little churchman 
 busy making up a select party for a rubber at whist. 
 The moment breakfast was over, and from that day to 
 the last, his life was one interminable rubber, with trifling 
 interludes of meals and sleep. The pack of cards was his 
 breviary, the vermeil and sable symbols the illuminations 
 of his missal. His compatriots said he had won enough 
 on his voyage from Brazil to pay his travelling expenses 
 to Lisbon, and leave something over for charitable pur- 
 poses or masses for his soul. Three times a day this 
 dignified cleric appeared on deck, and this was when the 
 preparations for the different meals disturbed the rigour of 
 the game, and the white cloth was substituted for the 
 green. It was then his wont to promote his intellectual 
 culture by assiduous study of a Rio Janeiro newspaper, 
 Gorreio Mercantil. He never got beyond the first 
 page, which was filled with advertisements. I used to 
 wonder what mental nourishment or solace he derived 
 from notices of auctions, shipping items, and hues and cries 
 
 F 
 
82 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 after runaway negroes. There lie sat with his clammy, 
 sallow, unwholesome features vacantly scanning the dreary 
 columns. My private opinion is that he was then em- 
 ployed in mental card games, solving self-propounded pro- 
 blems like those chess puzzles which adorn the Illustrated 
 News. One day Avhen he came up flushed with victory, 
 after six hours' hard work below, Gregory of Nazianzum 
 became quite frank and sociable over his favourite print. 
 Somehow, Cardinal Wiseman's name turned up, and he 
 played him off as a trump card in the great game between 
 Popery and Protestantism. His theory of the Reformation 
 was novel and striking. Luther not having risen fast 
 enough in the Church took umbrage at the Pope, and 
 when his Holiness preached up a crusade against the Turks, 
 and wished to raise a loan by giving drafts on another 
 world, where, perhaps, it will turn out he has no effects, 
 the saucy monk thought fit to oppose it, and, these cru- 
 sading times being rough and boisterous, found numbers 
 to back him in a very pretty quarrel. 
 
 My reverend friend was strong in cards, but weak in 
 chronology. To do him justice he admired the English 
 character. There was something in its firmness and 
 integrity which had struck him as peculiar. " I have seen 
 your merchants at Pdo ! " he said. " When one of them 
 gives you his word, he stands to it. When he appoints a 
 certain hour, he comes as the clock strikes." The conego 
 traced this peculiarity to its source. Long practice at 
 cards had whetted his faculties, and given him analytical 
 insight and depth. It was clearly owing to climate acting 
 in some subtle manner both on the physical and moral 
 conformation of the people. Education, he admitted, might 
 have something to do with it, but the mainspring and 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUT,. 83 
 
 governing influence was climate. We are not, I suspect, 
 grateful enough by half to the fogs and rains which have 
 settled into us, and nurtured us into the truthful, upright, 
 straightforward nation that we are. If Englishmen would 
 accept the canon's genial philosophy, they would not hang 
 and drown themselves in the gloomy month of November. 
 A dose of Jesuits' bark would cure them of the morbid 
 propensity. 
 
 So talked and theorised the venerable Churchman in a 
 lucid interval, and thereupon plunged deeper into cards 
 than ever. He had clearly been born when Venus and 
 Mars — Queen of Hearts and Knave of Clubs — stood in 
 benign conjunction on the horoscope. I afterwards met 
 him in the Placa do Commercio at Lisbon. What a 
 change ! He was sauntering under the shady arches in a 
 suit of spotless black, clean linen, and a gold-headed cane. 
 A profusion of jewellery and gold chains of the thickness 
 of bell-ropes adorned his lean, withered person, and the 
 red riband and trinket of some Brazilian order of merit 
 dangled from his button-hole. Once again we met in a 
 crowd in the sunny square of Cintra. He rushed into my 
 embrace, assured me that the scenery was enchanting, the 
 mutton delicious, and that he was undergoing the water- 
 cure in these verdant retreats. I thought it an appropriate 
 penance for his grievous neglect of the element during a 
 fortnight's voyage. 
 
 An amusing instance of the " nil admirari " principle 
 was mentioned one day. A Brazilian visited England 
 in the Great Exhibition year. Some of his friends had 
 thought of following him, but he wrote home dissuad- 
 ing them. He said he had seen nothing which came up 
 to his ideas of progress or refinement. Had the Brazilian 
 
84 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 department got hold of this specimen of their native 
 brass, and set him on a pedestal, or under a glass-case, 
 or in an iron cage, he would have been as much gazed at 
 as Kiss's Amazon or the Koh-i-noor. 
 
 The sunsets which closed some of these sultry days as we 
 crept up the Lusitanian coast were lovely. It was pleasant 
 to watch the westering sun draw up and drape his gorgeous 
 robe of clouds gracefully about him that he might fall with 
 majesty. His brightness shone through the veil upon his 
 face. Through every chink and crevice of the tinted 
 vapour the warm rich light was gushing, and a net of glit- 
 tering meshes, that quivered in each of its golden twisted 
 cords with an electric fire, trailed slowly over the dull blue 
 waves. One evening as it went down broad and bare 
 behind the sea, a distant ship w 7 as thrown out suddenly in 
 clear relief against the deep-red disk. Masts, spars, and 
 cordage were traced sharply in the ring of crimson fire, 
 and it stood motionless awhile, as if held by enchantment — 
 a wild device on a bloody shield. 
 
 And then to watch the moon, that had been so white 
 and wan in that great glory of the west, silently fill with 
 light and cast a silvery brightness through the dewy air, 
 and all round to the wavering edge where the clear heaven 
 rested on the sea. The light lay upon the water, here in 
 broad spaces of radiance, there in flakes and scales, — 
 trembling, fading, and brightening again on the wide swell 
 like some curious arabesque on blue armour or quaint 
 oriental cyphering on a blade of watered steel. Streaks 
 of strange yellow fire were cleaving and writhing through 
 the element with every movement of the ship, like knots 
 of lithe golden snakes. 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUR. 85 
 
 CINTRA. 
 
 The intense heat of the city soon drove me to Cintra. 
 It was so sultry and stifling that when you breathed you 
 seemed to take in mouthfuls of warm wind. The effort to 
 walk drew from you the deepest sighs. You felt your 
 strength oozing out at every pore, and the sight of the 
 glaring mounds of rubbish with the white soil splitting, 
 and the weeds shrivelling in the fiery air, gave one's mind 
 a gloomy determination to the thought of earthquakes. I 
 breathed freely as our omnibus, with its six mules jingling 
 their bells merrily in the fresh morning air, rattled out of the 
 Placa do Pelonrinho, notable for its wonderful twisted pillar. 
 The ghost of earthquake that had walked through my 
 sleeping and waking dreams for a week vanished at the 
 sound. The road is through a tame uninteresting country 
 — fields poorly cultivated rising into low hills, surmounted 
 with windmills in such numbers, that had Don Quixote 
 sallied forth from Lisbon instead of La Mancha in quest 
 of adventures, his journey to Tobosa would have been 
 arrested for an indefinite period. Here and there you see 
 some links of the great Aqueduct of Alcantara spanning 
 the valleys like the chain of broken arches that gives such 
 mournful interest to the Roman Campagna. The convent 
 of the Pena, of which you have a view on entering the 
 Tagus, is seen perched on its naked crags afar off. There 
 is nothing to give you an idea of the enchanting beauty of 
 Cintra till you are close upon it. The steep road makes a 
 sudden bend round a spur of the mountain at the moment 
 you are feeling that it is most dreary, and a magnificent 
 expanse of verdure springs up in the midst of the wilder- 
 ness. You are in the green heart of a woodland region 
 
86 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 high up among the hills. The slopes all around are dark 
 with forests, bold mossy crags jut out in the most pictur- 
 esque positions — gray headlands leaning over seas of 
 greenery — tangled copsewood clothing their weather- 
 stained sides, and quiet gorges opening far below, through 
 which mountain brooks twist and sparkle. And away 
 above the woods, and all round to the very summits, are 
 wild masses of rock broken and dashed about, and piled 
 fantastically over one another in the strangest fashion, as 
 if some giant fortress had once stood there, and a mine 
 sprung beneath it had burst it asunder, and heaped up 
 its splintered fragments — or rather, as I sometimes thought, 
 as if the rude columns and slabs of some Druidic monument 
 — some weird colossal structure like_ Stonehenge, heaved 
 up and poised on the mountain ridge — had been shattered 
 by an earthquake, and its granite spikes left protruding 
 from the wreck, and squat clumsy pillars caught and held 
 slanting as they reeled. It is a ghastly chaos with some 
 grotesque conceptions struggling through it. In many 
 places the rocks seem grouped and balanced so lightly that 
 you might almost think the wind would loosen them, and 
 let slip the crushing avalanche on the deep forests below. 
 I have seldom witnessed anything that looked so unearthly 
 as these storm- wasted turrets and bastions rising out of 
 the mist, like tents topping a low ground-fog — fretting the 
 clear sky with the lines of their Titanic architecture, and 
 casting misshapen shadows far down the wooded slopes. 
 
 PORTUGUESE PEOVERBS. 
 
 With that slight tendency to exaggeration which may 
 sometimes be met with in Portugal, this same bridge (that 
 of St Pedro d'Alcantara) is described as the largest in the 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUR. 37 
 
 world. " Its arches, some of which have a prodigious alti- 
 tude, are the stupefaction and bewilderment of strangers, 
 who never encounter among the works of the Romans any 
 structure so colossal as this." " Pao he pao, e vinho 
 vinho, e nao ha gente conno nbs ! " Bread is bread, and 
 wine wine, and there is no people like ourselves. " 
 Inglez he forte par 'o mar, e Francez para terra, mas o 
 Portuguez he forte par' o mar e terra ! " English is good 
 for the sea, and French for the land, but Portuguese is 
 good for sea and land. 
 
 The Spaniards, rather unmindful of the beam in their 
 own eye, ridicule these gasconades. They are very merry 
 at the expense of their self-trumpeting neighbours, whom 
 they heartily dislike. National likings are generally 
 in an inverse ratio to national affinities. There is not 
 much difference of complexion between the two, but 
 to express the deepest shade of dark in the human 
 face, the Spaniards say, " Tan quemado como uno Portu- 
 gues ! " As sunburnt as a Portuguese. " Three Spanish 
 rascals make a good Portuguese," is another of their 
 sayings. But Spain for the present aside, the Portuguese 
 is always in the superlative mood. " Cada bofarinheiro 
 louva sens alfinetes." Every pedlar praises his own 
 needles, and they would uphold theirs against Sheffield 
 and Birmingham to boot. Their language on the com- 
 monest subjects could only be rendered in English by as 
 copious a use of italics and inverted commas, and points of 
 admiration, as Bishop Law made of parentheses, when the 
 press was stopped on one occasion till a further supply 
 could be procured of these needful curves. It is a hysteri- 
 cal, dash-disrupted, dithyrambic idiom. If they like, they 
 idolise, if they, dislike, they " abhor," if they are annoyed, 
 
88 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 they are " crucified." If they express their aversion to any 
 man's society, they say, " Com elle en nao quero nem ir para 
 O ceo !" With such a fellow I would not wish to go to heaven. 
 
 It is not an agreeable confession, but it cannot be 
 denied, that nowhere are England and the English held in 
 less favour than in the Peninsula. True, we rescued 
 the two countries from the degradation of becoming a 
 satrapy of France, but they cannot bring themselves to 
 acknowledge the obligation. It would be easier for the 
 Portuguese to forgive the French for making the attempt 
 than us for helping them to thwart it. Well do the 
 Spaniards say in proverbs, " El dia de beneficio es la 
 vespera de ingratitud : " The day of a benefit is the eve 
 of ingratitude. In a work published at Lisbon, which is 
 before me, and professes to give minute information on 
 points of interest, the author speaks glibly of the "formid- 
 able lines of Torres Vedras, which baffled Massena with a 
 powerful army of soldiers of Napoleon," but not one 
 allusion is made to the master-mind which planned these 
 defences and saved the capital. For one portrait of the 
 great English Captain you will see three of Napoleon and 
 his filibustering marshals. 
 
 The Portuguese, like the Spanish, is rich in proverbs, 
 that paper-currency of wisdom which circulates so freely 
 among the common people. If a man is always happy in 
 his undertakings, they say, " Ha sujeitos que a mesma 
 fortuna lhes-vai assoprando as palhinhas : " There are men 
 from whose path fortune brushes every little straw. If 
 they want to show the danger of procrastination, " Com 
 agoas passadas nao moe o morirho : " There is no grinding 
 with the waters that have passed the mill. Does a man 
 grossly flatter another, " Chequeha os narizes com o thuri- 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUR. 89 
 
 bulo : " He swings the censer so high that he breaks his 
 nose. We say, " Between the devil and the deep sea," 
 their phrase is, " Entre a cruz e a agoa basta : " Between 
 the cross and the holy water. " Pobre he o diabo que 
 lhe-falta a graca de Deos : " The devil is poor because he 
 wants the grace of God. Medical science is at a low ebb 
 in Portugal, and the Sangrados are roughly handled in the 
 current sayings : " Quando o enfermo diz ai ! o medico diz 
 dai ! " When the sick man cries ah me ! the doctor cries 
 my fee ! Nor are the lawyers a whit better off ; " Mais 
 val ma avenca que ben sentenca : " Better a bad com- 
 promise than a decision in your favour — an adage some- 
 times verified farther north. It is an ungallant speech, but 
 it may be true, " melao e a mulber maos sao de 
 conhecer : " A melon and a woman are hard to be known. 
 The Portuguese are great eaters of garlic, "Em tempo 
 nevado o alho vale hem cavallo : " In foggy weathers garlic 
 is as good as a horse. It would be well enough if reserved 
 for these occasions, but they must find it of singular virtue 
 in all weathers. "Amor e senhoria nao qua companhia : " 
 Love and lordship don't like rivalry. " Quern tern 
 quatro, e gasta cinco, nao ha mister bolsa : " He that has 
 four and spends five has no need of a purse. " Por dar dao, 
 Por dar dao, dizemos suios de Sant' Antao : " 
 
 If you would be getting, be giving alway, 
 So do the pigs of St Anthony say. 
 
 THE CATACOMBS AT PALEEMO. 
 
 Under the guidance of a Capuchin, who wore at his 
 girdle a bunch of heavy keys, I descended into the cata- 
 combs, and with a mind wrought up to a painful excite- 
 ment, traversed those galleries and chambers of the dead. 
 
90 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Skeletons, or rather mummies, everywhere in all sorts of 
 attitude, and with all shades of expression, from hideous 
 laughter to idiotic vacuity, on their sodden features ; 
 skeletons standing, lying, sitting, — here in solitary medi- 
 tation, there gathered in family circles and social groups, 
 with their heads inclining forward in ghastly confidence to 
 each other, as if whispering secrets for which some skeleton 
 spy might denounce them to a skeleton Bomba ; skeletons 
 arrayed in all sorts of costumes, some standing about in 
 loose shrouds with easy negligence, others after an elaborate 
 toilet looking down and wondering out of glass cases 
 ranged on shelves along the wall. Everywhere skeletons, 
 three or four deep in the ranks, fading away into confused 
 bony perspective on either hand, turning round corners 
 into side chambers and corridors where the grisly speci- 
 mens in thick set rows stood staring eternally at each 
 other with lack-lustre eyes. All silent, breathless, and 
 motionless as statues, — but how humiliating to look at in 
 their shrunken and hollow parodies of life. Relics at once 
 of human pride, and human impotence gathered into this 
 Royal Museum of the King of Terrors. One vault is set 
 apart expressly for the Capuchins themselves, so that all 
 the fraternity from a remote period are assembled here in 
 subterranean conclave, — each monk in his habit as he 
 lived, with cowl, cord, and brown serge mantle. One of 
 them had been an eloquent preacher in his day — " Revde 
 Scto. D. Francesco Lobasto " was his name, and the date of 
 his death was given, " Mori a 3 ; de 8brel693. " His 
 dress was old and rusty. The friar who showed me over 
 opened it in front and exposed the skin, which was of the 
 colour of brown parchment. Then he made me observe 
 that the preacher's tongue was unwasted, — and there was 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUR. 91 
 
 certainly something in the mouth as thin and dry as a 
 piece of caoutchouc. He took hold of it, and with a revolt- 
 ing leer made the leathern tongue click and rattle in the 
 grinning jaws. " He was a great preacher in his lifetime, 
 this one, " said the Capuchin ; " on a festa the church was 
 crowded — all Palermo thronged to his Lenten sermons. " 
 These friars were sad wags. This was clearly a standard 
 joke they were in the habit of playing off on the famous 
 preacher, not being gifted probably with talents for oratory 
 themselves. 
 
 Poor D. Fran. Lobasto standing up there so still and 
 patient against the wall, with his brown wrinkled face 
 under the cowl, and the poor shred of withered tongue 
 vibrating at the coarse touch of the monk, was preaching 
 a more impressive homily to all who had ears to hear than 
 he had ever done in his lifetime. 
 
 We passed out of this into the general cemetery or rather 
 bone-preserve, which contains miscellaneous specimens of 
 mortality, and in which the men and the women occupy 
 different crypts. Here are noblemen and knights, priests 
 and citizens, all blackened, stiffened, glazed, the most 
 mournful wreck of humanity that could be seen. One of 
 these mocking phantoms had on the likeness of a kingly 
 crown — or rather the skull, which was all that remained, 
 was thus adorned. This was D. Filippo d' Austria, King 
 of Tunis, who died " a 20 ; 7 bre 1622. " In the great 
 struggle with Death, Don Philip had lost his body, but 
 preserved his diadem, and so with the old Spanish etiquette 
 he takes princely rank in the realm of shadows. 
 
 The women's apartment in this strong and gloomy 
 mansion is by a strange contrast as brilliant as a masquer- 
 ade. On entering and beholding the silks, and velvets, 
 
92 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 .and gloves, and laces, and bracelets, and chains shining 
 and sparkling in the subdued light of the crypt, the shock 
 is painful, and one is tempted to exclaim, " Death, 
 what feast is toward in thine eternal halls ? " Here are 
 the guests gaily attired, jewelled, and perfumed — waiting, 
 it would seem, till the minstrelsy begins to step forward 
 and arrange themselves for the Dance of Death. There is 
 a marchesa daintily arrayed and standing in a languishing 
 attitude. You admire the marabout feather which droops 
 so gracefully over her bonnet. Look closer and see the 
 spectral semblance of a human face, which turns a sicken- 
 ing leer on you from within. O vanity of vanities ! and 
 these are holy sisters who died in consecrated virginity, 
 and who seem scandalised at the boldness of those flaunt- 
 ing showy creatures among whom they find themselves. 
 They also have their ornaments, their useless rosaries, and 
 faded tinsel coronets to show they were the brides of 
 heaven. Near them are maidens blasted in their budding 
 womanhood, and who, doubtless, thought it a very stupid 
 thing to be a nun — but the blooming girls and the ancient 
 virgins are alike withered on their stalk, and must wear 
 this revolting mask of life together till the heavens be no 
 more. Amidst the bravery of the tinkling ornaments, 
 mufflers, and mantles, and wimples, and crisping pins, I 
 noted one touch of nature — a skeleton mother holding the 
 hand of her skeleton child. 
 
 There is a chapel in these catacombs where masses are 
 said on the day of All Souls for the repose of the dead who 
 have been installed, one cannot say interred, here. It is 
 the custom among the relatives of the deceased to show 
 their affectionate regard to their memory by renewing on 
 this solemn anniversary any article of their wearing apparel 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUR. 93 
 
 that may be worn out — bonnets, gloves, scarfs — or dress- 
 ing them up to the mark of the prevailing fashion, and 
 making them fit to be seen. In all this there is a morbid 
 and umvholesome state of feeling — a strange perversion of 
 the relations that should subsist between the living and 
 the dead. 
 
 The Capuchins clearly regard it more in the light of an 
 attractive spectacle — a profitable show — than anything 
 else. My guide in his woollen attire sauntered yawning 
 through the crypts. He had seen it hundreds of times, 
 and was evidently bored with it — only the thought of the 
 gratuity supported him through the weary task. Now 
 and then he stopped before one of the mummies, looked 
 carefully into it as if it was a jar of pickled meats, and 
 asked if it was not well preserved. Some of his com- 
 panions, not having much to do, had followed us in, and 
 were exchanging some commonplace remarks on the motives 
 which brought so many Englishmen to the convent. 
 
 A disgraceful incident occurred some years since in these 
 catacombs. The captain of an English merchant vessel 
 visited them with a party in which there were some ladies. 
 As the group stood before one of the figures that had 
 been specially pointed out to them, it came into the 
 captain's head to pin the skirt of one of the ladies to the 
 shroud of a skeleton. Of course when the party moved 
 away there was a movement and a scream, and a loose 
 rattling of dry bones, as the poor empty kernel of a carcase 
 was dragged down and fell forward on the stones. As may 
 be imagined there was a scandal in the convent and town, 
 and the English character was not in the least elevated in 
 the opinion of the people by an act of thoughtless folly of 
 which a malapert boy might have been ashamed. This is 
 
94 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 one specimen of the practical jokes — the daring inventions 
 of mischief — in which the foolish portion of our coun- 
 trymen indulge in foreign parts, and which have earned 
 for the whole nation the character of dangerous eccen- 
 tricity. 
 
 What a contrast was there in the warm sunlight, and 
 pure air, and sw T eet beauty, and redundant life of nature, 
 when I emerged from the tombs. The ground on which 
 I walked sounded hollow to my footfall, as if I had know- 
 ledge of a mine underneath full charged and ready to be 
 sprung. It was as if one had been permitted to lift the 
 veil from the face of that shadowy presence, and gaze into 
 it for a moment. The transient glimpse was enough to 
 subdue and chasten one's habitual thoughts. What would 
 life be after all but a short and feverish agitation, but for 
 that hope which is full of immortality — that divine assur- 
 ance which has rolled away the stone from the sepulchres 
 of all who sleep in Christ. Yet, I thought, rather let my 
 ashes moulder into dust, and feed the tender grasses and 
 daisies of the spring in some sequestered burial-place of 
 my native land, than be coagulated into the ghastly cari- 
 cature of life, and set upright through generations to be 
 stared at and handled by the coarse hand of strangers, and 
 to be for a sign and a wonder to living men. "Ashes to 
 ashes, dust to dust," is the law of our mortality. These 
 corpses looked as though they would have defrauded the 
 sister-worm. And as if some unhallowed arts had been 
 used to keep them unwasted in the eyes of men, to rescue 
 them from that sad dishonour and humiliation which must 
 pass on all of us in the darkness and silence of the tomb, 
 Death had taken his revenge, and exacted a heavier penalty. 
 He has sealed the unnatural exemption of which they were 
 
CONTINENTAL TOUB. 
 
 ins by transforming them into I Lances 
 
 of himself. He has granted them perpetual tenure of tl 
 forms they sometimes -wore, but with such conditions as 
 make corruption and decay a boon. Far rather let our 
 dead be buried out of o:;; sight :Lan be dragged from the 
 sacred stillness in which they rest under the shad 
 God, and stationed in a more frightful guise than the sear 
 and fleshless skeleton at the feast of life. The "fair young 
 German gentleman.'' of whom Jeremy Taylor speaks in his 
 noble sermon on death, con! ve been more 
 
 i] to look on, when t his test his picture 
 
 r he had been dead four da^ s 3 an I - 
 up among those of his armed ancestors. 
 
 - 
 
 ice appear 
 
 Such is the robe that 
 
 "When death has reft their crown." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HAMPSTEAD. 
 
 Having completed his pleasant but solitary tour, on 
 the 29th of September 1852, Mr Burns once more 
 landed in Madeira. He found the island in mourn- 
 ing. The vintage had failed. A mysterious and 
 unprecedented visitation had swept over the vine- 
 yards, and not only did the grapes of that season fall 
 rotten to the ground, but the trees themselves were 
 so blighted that for years the staple trade of the 
 island was extinguished. At the same time another 
 source of gain was cut off from the inhabitants ; for 
 other climates began to find favour with the physicians 
 of England, and the yearly influx of invalids was 
 greatly diminished. Those who came did their 
 utmost in the way of relieving the distress of the 
 famishing people, and accomplished more for their 
 preservation than the crowds of penitents who per- 
 ambulated the streets, dragging heavy chains, carry- 
 ing crowns of thorns, and calling on the great goddess 
 of the Madeirans to witness the misery of her chil- 
 dren. To Mr Burns there was a special trial in the 
 lessened number of his parishioners, and the smaller 
 
HAMPSTEAD. 97 
 
 company which Sabbath by Sabbath waited on his 
 ministrations ; and as that dreary season drew to a 
 close, his thoughts reverted with new desire to his 
 native country. 
 
 Accordingly, in the summer of 1853, he set forth 
 on a new stage of his pilgrimage. During the 
 autumn he officiated in the Presbyterian Church at 
 Brighton, and in the following year in the Free 
 Church at St Helier's, Jersey. In either place the 
 people would have been happy to secure his per- 
 manent services, but he still shrank from any formal 
 settlement. As he remarked to a friend, the Kev. 
 Dr Chalmers of London, " in preaching he always 
 felt as if a sword hung over his head ; " and when- 
 ever a call was spoken of, the dread of a sudden 
 down-break, necessitating a resignation and renew- 
 ing the sorrowful leave-takings of Dunblane, rose up 
 to his imagination with morbid vividness, and set the 
 proposal instantly aside. 
 
 At this time, however, there was a vacancy in the 
 Presbyterian Church at Hampstead, and there were 
 considerations which made it look a more likely field 
 for an enfeebled labourer than any other which had yet 
 presented itself. Nor was it a small attraction that 
 one of the leading office-bearers was a friend in all 
 things like-minded, and on whose delicate and generous 
 sympathy he could at all times rely. The unanimous 
 invitation of the people was accepted, and although 
 " in weakness, and fear, and much trembling," on 
 the 22d of May 1855, Mr Burns commenced his 
 
98 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 second stated pastorate. Although the bright and 
 hopeful outset at Dunblane could not be repeated, on 
 the whole they were ten happy years which Mr 
 Burns spent at Hampstead. The congregation was 
 not numerous, but it contained a large proportion of 
 earnest and attentive worshippers. Their week-day 
 requirements did not overtask his strength, and in 
 preparing for the Sabbath it was pleasant to antici- 
 pate an audience who could appreciate beautiful 
 thought and varied instruction, and on whom his 
 tender and affectionate exhortations were never thrown 
 away. In many of their abodes, as well as in the 
 houses of ministers and friends outside, he found an 
 agreeable retreat and congenial society ; and whilst a 
 certain amount of seclusion was secured by a suburban 
 residence, London was close at hand: the working 
 London with its inspiring life, the student's London 
 with its well-stored libraries. Of outward anxieties 
 few came on him except such as are involved in the 
 faithful discharge of the Christian ministry ; and of 
 his daily walks a large portion lay along " paths of 
 pleasantness/' Each Monday morning he gave a 
 Bible lesson to the inmates of a large reformatory, and 
 in the success of his instructions he had much to cheer 
 him. The week evening service in his own church was 
 a great enjoyment ; and to his expansive unsectarian 
 spirit, must welcome and refreshing were the united 
 prayer-meetings held in the " iron room ,; of his 
 friend, the Eev. E. Bickersteth of Christ Church. 
 From Missionary Committees and Presbytery meet- 
 
HAMPSTEAD, 99 
 
 ings seldom absent, there was a friendly gathering of 
 his brethren on the second Tuesday of each month, 
 in which he especially delighted The hour was 
 early, and his residence was remote, but he was 
 seldom absent. The first business was breakfast, 
 with that free and familiar talk in which both wit 
 and wisdom welled over, and in which his social dis- 
 position came out as well as a rich appreciation of 
 humour. Still more did he shine in the serious con- 
 versation which followed, when the details of minis- 
 terial duty and other practical questions were dis- 
 cussed after the fashion of that Eclectic Society of 
 which Archdeacon Pratt has preserved the charming 
 memorial. Mr Burns's contribution was always 
 thoughtful and apposite, and marked by rare maturity 
 of mind. It ought to be added, that he seldom or 
 never made his feeble health a reason for declining 
 those labours to which he was called by his brethren. 
 For many years the college enjoyed his services as 
 one of its Board of Examiners. It was an office for 
 which he was admirably qualified. His classical and 
 philosophical acquisitions had never rusted, and 
 instead of posing young men with hard or peculiar 
 questions, it was always his aim to bring out the 
 scholarship which they actually possessed. In the 
 discussions of church courts he seldom took a ['art. 
 but speeches which he delivered in the Synod in 
 connexion with its Foreign Mission are still remem- 
 bered for their pathetic earnestness, as well as his 
 address, on the day of his ordination, to the Rev. W, 
 
100 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 S. Swanson, now labouring in China. Notwith- 
 standing his natural fluency, and a fine command 
 of expressive diction, all such appearances were an 
 effort. 
 
 For the following sketch of Mr Burns, as he was 
 to be seen and heard at Hampstead, we are indebted 
 to one whose fine feeling and beautiful creations are 
 the yearly charm of countless readers, and who, in 
 common with other lovers of the good and true, found 
 delight in his quiet, unobtrusive ministry : — 
 
 " You ask me to set down for you any recollec- 
 tions that may occur to me of my dear friend 
 and minister, Mr Burns. It is little I can do ; for 
 besides having a strong objection to almost all 
 biographies and personal reminiscences, I have few 
 data to go upon. Though I was for some years a 
 member of his congregation at Hampstead — and 
 therefrom arose a very sincere regard between us — 
 still, from his busy life and mine, our opportunities 
 of meeting were so rare that we had no chance of be- 
 coming really intimate. I call him my friend because 
 in truth he was such ; one never to be forgotten. Still, 
 many at Hampstead knew him far better than I did. 
 It is possible, however, that this more distant vision 
 may make me see and describe him more clearly and 
 fairly than if I had been in nearer intercourse with 
 him, which would have made writing about him, or 
 judging him from an extraneous point of view, all 
 but impossible. Even as it is, I find it difficult 
 enough ; there is such a sacrcdness about the person- 
 
HAMPSTEAD. 101 
 
 ality of such a man ; and besides, he was one of 
 those who are never thoroughly known until lost; 
 that is, by the world at large. But his congregation 
 at Hampstead felt, each and all, as if not only their 
 minister, but a son and brother, had gone from them 
 when he died. 
 
 " I had best do what you desire by giving you, 
 very simply, my own relations with him, such as they 
 were. 
 
 " One Sunday morning, being newly settled at 
 Hampstead, and casting about for a place of worship, 
 preferring the Presbyterian form, but not bound to 
 it, since it is the weak point of Presbyterianism that 
 the value of its services depend mainly on the 
 minister, — I went, almost accidentally, into that old 
 building at Well Walk, which has seen so many 
 vicissitudes of occupation, sacred and secular. A bare, 
 chilly, rather gloomy, and yet peaceful-looking place, 
 rather a comfort than not, compared with the fashion- 
 able London churches and indifferent London con- 
 gregations. Here there was no difficulty in getting 
 a seat, and a small number of quiet attentive hearers 
 were scattered thinly among the high, old-fashioned, 
 and much dilapidated pews. 
 
 " In the pulpit I saw a dark-haired, aquiline 
 featured man, neither young nor old, with a modest 
 bearing, and a remarkably touching voice,— a voice 
 such as I never heard in any other clergyman, save 
 one, whom, with much theological difference, in per- 
 sonal character and influence he strongly resembled 
 
102 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 — Frederic Denison Maurice. Both from that and 
 from his countenance you felt at once that he had 
 had that teaching which alone qualifies a man to teach. 
 He understood sorrow, and he was in earnest. Whether 
 or not you believed what he said, you might be quite 
 sure that he believed it, and acted upon it. Also there 
 was in him that rarest thing in all preachers and public 
 speakers — a total absence of self-consciousness. He 
 stood there, simply delivering his Master's message ; 
 thinking not of himself at all, or of the effect he was pro- 
 ducing, but only of his message, and of his Master. 
 
 " I forget what the sermon was about, or whether 
 I agreed with it entirely or not ; but indeed the great 
 comfort of Mr Burns's sermons was that they were 
 not ' doctrinal.' Still the individuality of the 
 preacher made such a strong impression on me that 
 as I went out I asked his name, and if he were the 
 regular minister. Finding he was, I took sittings in 
 his church, I believe, the very next day. 
 
 " From that time I was rarely absent a Sunday, 
 and never without regret ; for the service, so simple 
 and solemn, was after the purest form of Presbyter- 
 ianism, and the sermon was what one so rarely gets 
 in any church, — something to rest on, to carry away 
 with one, to think of at intervals afterwards. It 
 helped to make the Lord's day really the Lord's day, 
 to be looked forward to during the other days of the 
 busy and often barren week. Not that it was at all 
 a showy discourse. Mr Burns wns the very antipode 
 of the ' popular preacher.' His delivery was simple 
 
HAMPSTEAD. 103 
 
 in the extreme, even more so than it afterwards be- 
 came ; for with failing lungs he got a way of straining 
 his voice rather unnaturally. Then, it was an ex- 
 quisite natural voice ; low, but exceedingly distinct ; 
 more like talking than preaching, which deepened 
 tenfold the effect of what he said. 
 
 " Every Sunday I heard him deepened my apprecia- 
 tion of him as a minister ; and when I came gradu- 
 ally to know himself and feel that 'the minister' 
 was only the sure outcome of the man, the instinctive 
 attraction deepened into a rational esteem, and a 
 warmth of regard, which every one of his flock had 
 for him in a remarkable degree. He possessed — as 
 Mr Maurice does — that strong personal influence 
 without which pulpit eloquence is a mere outside 
 show ; and yet he was eloquent, too, in his way. In 
 an intellectual and literary sense, his sermons were 
 always good, often really very fine, clearly thought out, 
 and gracefully and poetically worded ; but the spirit 
 of them made one think secondarily of the form. And 
 his prayers — in many Presbyterian and Nonconformist 
 churches so lamentable an exhibition — not prayer at 
 all, but a mere haranguing of the Almighty, or de- 
 claiming didactically to the congregation — were here 
 the most beautiful and comforting portion of the ser- 
 vice. Brief, simple, reverent ; it was like a child be- 
 seeching a Father for himself and for his brethren ; 
 humble and adoring, yet certain of being heard. 
 
 " As I have said, his sermons were more practical 
 and emotional than doctrinal ; and however sincerely 
 
104 THE LIFE OF J. D. BTJENS. 
 
 he held the dogmas of his Church, he had a wide 
 liberality towards those who differed from him. I 
 remember my first long conversation with him was 
 on the subject of an approaching communion, in 
 which he wished me to join. I told him that before 
 applying for a token I felt it only right and honest to 
 explain that I was not a strict Presbyterian, that I 
 could no more subscribe to the Scotch Confession of 
 Faith than to the English Thirty-nine Articles ; per- 
 haps even less so. If he or any one asked me what I 
 was, I could only answer (I hoped) ' a Christian/ 
 
 " ' Well/ said he ; and I can now vividly recall both 
 his look and his words, as we walked up and down 
 the sunshiny garden, where the infinitely diverse 
 leaves were all budding out together, each after its 
 kind, and the numberless birds were every one sing- 
 ing a different song, though the combined harmony 
 seemed like a universal psalm of spring, — ' Well, what 
 more can you, or I, or any one say, but that we are 
 Christians ? I accept you, and I believe that God 
 will do so too. Come/ So I came. 
 
 " Of all the impressions left by the services in that 
 dear old dilapidated church at Well Walk, the 
 strongest to me at least is that of our tri-monthly 
 communion. It differed a little from communion 
 services in Scotland, in being far shorter and simpler. 
 That lengthy address called 'fencing the tables' 
 Burns entirely omitted,* nor were there any regular 
 
 * In form. In substance he made no deviation from the prac- 
 tice of Evangelical Presbyterians in dispensing the Lord's Supper. 
 
HAMPSTEAD. 105 
 
 'tables' at all. The communicants all remained 
 jn their pews, and aft«?r the sermon was ended, and 
 the ordinary congregation had departed, there was 
 an address and a prayer, always by our minister 
 himself, he never had any extraneous help, as the 
 custom is in Scotland. Then his elders went round 
 with the bread and wine, not to successive tables, 
 but to the whole of the communicants at once. 
 Afterwards, another prayer and a few earnest words, 
 coming from the heart of the minister they loved 
 to the hearts of his people, and the service was 
 ended. 
 
 " Now that all that is over — the very church itself 
 become, I think, a soldiers' drill-yard — and the pastor, 
 whose strong personal influence was an abiding bond 
 of union among the little congregation, gone away 
 to keep an eternal Sabbath, many of us will recollect 
 tenderly those peaceful Sundays, but especially the 
 communion Sundays, when, coming out from the gray 
 building into the soft green shadows of Well Walk, 
 we stopped for many a church-door greeting — many a 
 friendly company of twos or threes, according as our 
 paths led us across the heath, discussing the sermon, 
 not critically, but affectionately and enjoy ingly, and 
 talking over what was to us all a matter of most vital 
 interest, the health and looks and general well-being 
 of ' the minister.' 
 
 " This his feebleness of constitution, and our know- 
 ledge that for years his life had hung on a thread, 
 that even now he was only lent to us as it were, and 
 
106 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 might break down at any time, deepened, if possible, 
 the hold which Mr Burns had upon the hearts of his 
 little flock. His elders, strong hearty men, treated 
 him with the tenderness and consideration that they 
 would have shown to a woman ; and the women, the 
 mothers, watched his looks every Sunday as anxiously 
 as if he had been a son of their own. When he 
 married, and was safely sheltered in that best love of 
 all, there was not one of us who did not rejoice as 
 over one of our own kindred. 
 
 " Of our minister's private relations with his 
 congregation there are many to speak ; for he went 
 continually among them all. He was not of those 
 who think the pulpit duty enough ; he entered as a 
 dear friend into every house, and in none, under any 
 circumstances, was he ever known to show himself, 
 under colour of his cloth, either harsh or dictatorial. 
 It was impossible, for he was the humblest man alive. 
 The poorest of his people gained as much of him as 
 the richest ; and he spoke as gently to any little 
 Reformatory girl in the establishment in Church Eow, 
 as he would have done to the greatest magnate in the 
 land. I do not know — I never heard — whether he 
 was of gentle birth or not, but he was essentially, and 
 to the very core a gentleman. 
 
 " Also, he was a man of very cultivated intellect. 
 Whether his talents amounted to actual genius or 
 not, they were not far below it ; and he had in all 
 things that intense appreciation of the beautiful^ 
 which, had fortune made him a rich man, would 
 
IIAMPSTEAD. 107 
 
 have made him also a man of taste and letters. As it 
 was, he had no time for more than ordinary ministerial 
 work, except the verses which he wrote occasionally. 
 They, as well as his sermons, demonstrate one fact, 
 that whatever he did was done thoroughly. With all 
 his delicacy of health, there was nothing slip-shod 
 or careless in either his prose or poetry. His work 
 was worked out thoroughly and consecutively to the 
 very end. 
 
 "My last interview with him was a visit, made under 
 circumstances not likely either to be detailed or 
 forgotten. Therein he spoke, from various reasons, 
 more of himself than was customary with him, for it 
 was curious and beautiful how little he ever put for- 
 ward his own personality. I remember his saying 
 that to him death had no strangeness, no fear ; he 
 had looked it in the face for so many years, fully 
 aware that every year was so much granted to him, 
 which he had no right to count on or expect. And 
 though in the keen happiness of his present life he 
 enjoyed every day and hour, still it was only by the 
 day and by the hour ; he held everything w T ith so 
 loose a hold, knowung that at any time might come 
 his Masters call. And then he knelt down and 
 prayed, thanking God for the departed, that they had 
 entered into peace, and praying for the living that 
 they might be taught to wait j)atiently until sum- 
 moned to follow them. 
 
 " Few and simple words — as indeed all his prayers 
 were — but they carried with them a wonderful peace 
 
108 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 and calm, as if spoken by a voice out of the unknown 
 country, which to him seemed so well-known and 
 near. That ' sure and certain hope ' of immortality, 
 that faith which seems actually to realise the one great 
 mystery, dark to every eye but faith's alone — 'the 
 resurrection of the body and the life everlasting ' — 
 I never saw so clear and strong in any human being 
 as in him this day. As he went away walking 
 slowly down the garden with his feeble step, and 
 thin stooping figure, turning back at the gate with a 
 bright smile, at once a benediction and a farewell, I 
 said to myself, ' I know I shall never see you again 
 in this world.' I never did. 
 
 " Of his last year of pastoral labour, his final illness 
 and death, I can say nothing, for I was away, and 
 only heard occasional tidings second-hand. When I 
 came back he had long been laid to sleep in Highgate 
 cemetery — at least so much of him as death could 
 keep. But I never revisit Hampstead without think- 
 ing of him as not dead but living, in the cheerful, 
 happy life which he undoubtedly had, in spite of all 
 physical suffering, and especially after his most 
 fortunate and perfect marriage. Above all, I think 
 of him in the life eternal, strong and bright and active, 
 still, I doubt not, in some wondrous celestial way, 
 made to continue his service of the Master whom 
 he loved ; enjoying to the full that kingdom of 
 heaven which for him was assuredly begun on 
 earth — for he had it, as Christ says, ' within ' 
 him. 
 
HAMPSTEAD. 109 
 
 " This is all I can think of to say about my minister 
 Accept it such as it is." 
 
 The " old building in Well Walk " was eventually 
 replaced by the capacious and costly structure, which, 
 of ecclesiastical edifices, is one of the first to meet the 
 stranger approaching Hampstead from London. Of 
 the toil and trouble usually attendant on church 
 building, Mr Burns had small experience. The 
 greater portion of the expense was defrayed by the 
 munificence of individuals, and with a wise diffidence 
 in his architectural skill he left in more practical 
 hands the superintendence of the work when in pro- 
 gress. One thing alone occasioned pain and disap- 
 pointment. The eligible site for the intended erec- 
 tion belonged to the Dean and Chapter of Westminster. 
 Mr Burns was not unknown to Dr Trench, and, 
 besides living peaceably with their Episcopalian 
 neighbours, the leading members of the congregation 
 had many of them been large contributors to Church 
 of England charities. It was therefore with full 
 confidence in the generosity of a sister communion 
 that the congregation sought to lease or purchase from 
 their wealthy neighbour a few roods of ground ; but 
 the repeated request was refused, and a needless ex- 
 penditure of two thousand five hundred pounds was 
 imposed on the members of Trinity Presbyterian 
 Church. 
 
 This new church was opened on Friday, the 21st 
 of November 1862, when sermons were preached by 
 the Kev. Dr Guthrie of Edinburgh, and the Be v. W. 
 
110 THE LIFE OF J. P. BURNS. 
 
 Brock of London. On the following Lord's day Mr 
 Burns delivered the appropriate discourse, which will 
 be found in the latter part of this volume.* 
 
 Amongst the employments of Hampstead must not 
 be forgotten a certain amount of literary labour. 
 With his fine culture and fluent pen it might have 
 been expected that authorship would be his favourite 
 pursuit ; but, if the truth must be told, he never 
 found any pleasure in writing for the press. As far 
 back as the days of Dunblane, on a Sabbath evening 
 when public worship was over, and " the burden of 
 the Lord " no longer pressed on his spirit, like a 
 flower which comes up, or a life which comes forth 
 where a great stone has been rolled away, there would 
 rise up into his mind some beautiful thought or hal- 
 lowed memory, and, shaped into a hymn or sacred 
 sonnet, it would find place in his portfolio beside 
 kindred compositions. But the toil of revision was 
 exceedingly irksome, all the rather that no amount 
 of painstaking could bring his verses up to his own 
 standard of excellence. In 1854, under the title, not 
 very prepossessing, " The Vision of Prophecy, and 
 other Poems," he collected and published a volume. 
 It attracted no great notice from the general public, 
 but it at once secured for the author a high place in 
 the ranks of Christian minstrelsy. Invitations came 
 to him from publishers and editors which, had he 
 accepted them, would have gone far to fill up all his 
 time ; but to authorship he greatly preferred the 
 
 . * P. 318. 
 
HAMPSTEAD. Ill 
 
 stated labours of the ministry, and as it was only by 
 sitting up far into the night that he could prepare 
 "copy" for the printer, he was the more careful to 
 avoid anything of the nature of a literary commit- 
 ment. To the " Encyclopaedia Britannica " he con- 
 tributed a short article on Hymns, and for the 
 :; Family Treasury," edited by his friend the Rev. 
 Andrew Cameron, he wrote, among other things, a 
 series of papers, interesting and suggestive, on " The 
 Cities of the Bible," and a most discriminating and ad- 
 mirable notice, in several parts, of the Life of Edward 
 Irving. Whilst at Hampstead he also published two 
 little volumes of meditations, interspersed with devo- 
 tional poetry, "The Heavenly Jerusalem; or, Glimpses 
 within the Grate/' and " The Evening Hymn/' 
 
 In the poetry of Mr Burns there was nothing to 
 secure a wide or sudden popularity. It had neither 
 that splendour which at first glance takes the eye, nor 
 that strong originality which provokes criticism, and 
 is either fiercely blamed or rapturously applauded, 
 nor that quaintness and mannerism which enlists the 
 support of a coterie. In point of fact, also, there 
 were embraced in this first volume a few pieces hardly 
 likely to live ; pieces distinguished by no special 
 felicity either of thought, feeling, or diction, and re- 
 vealing the touch of the 'prentice-hand rather than 
 that of one who had mastered his poetical implements. 
 The book took its chief designation from " The Vision 
 of Prophecy," a poem which hardly satisfies the ex- 
 pectations awakened by its name, and which deals 
 
112 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 wit ha subject on which well-intentioned feebleness, 
 and loquacious, haL-honest presumption, have had 
 so much to say, that men of sense look upon it with 
 a very mingled feeling. Such as it was, however, 
 "The Vision of Prophecy" could not tail to influence 
 the estimate formed of Mr Burns's volume by hasty 
 readers, — that is to say, by ninety-nine readers in the 
 hundred. Few critics will suspect that an author has 
 done himself injustice in giving prominence to a par- 
 ticular specimen of his workmanship. The majority, 
 if they find this to be defective, are not likely to correct 
 their first impressions of the book by a candid and 
 complete examination of its contents. There is no 
 difficulty, therefore, in accounting for the fact that 
 " The Vision of Prophecy, and other Poems" failed to 
 obtain loud commendation, or to attract general notice. 
 But there were a few who perceived — what the book 
 under all deductions conclusively proved — that the 
 writer was a man of fine genius, and that, if he pos- 
 sessed the physical stamina indispensable to severe 
 and protracted intellectual effort, he might enrich 
 the literature of his country, not only with a few ex- 
 quisite pieces, but with poems of an important size, 
 and of a rare and high order. 
 
 He evidently possessed a true imaginative faculty. 
 From seer-like sternness to pensive tenderness, his 
 mind ranged through all poetic moods. As an illus- 
 tration of the former take these lines: — 
 
 "Pelusium, whose glories in decay 
 Gorged the lean desert with a splendid pre} ." 
 
POETEY. 113 
 
 There is a haggard and terrible grandeur in the 
 conception of the ruin of a magnificent city as a 
 skeleton prey, around which the hungry desert glares. 
 With this contrast what follows — 
 
 The lowly spirit God hath consecrated 
 
 As His abiding rest ; 
 And angels by some patriarch's tent have waited, 
 
 When kings had no such guest. 
 
 The dew that never wets the flinty mountain 
 
 Falls in the valley free ; 
 Bright verdure fringes the small desert fountain, 
 
 But barren sand the sea. 
 
 Only an imagination characterised alike by power and 
 by delicacy could have produced both the first of 
 these passages and the last. 
 
 In the way of easy, finished, concise description, 
 these two verses are masterly : — 
 
 Wooed by the ruffling airs of spring, 
 The stork forsakes her Syrian clime, 
 And, true to her appointed time, 
 
 Cleaves the blue air with nimble wing, 
 
 To' lands where Gothic minsters tear 
 With spears of stone the trailing cloud, 
 And marble statues o'er the crowd 
 
 Look steadfast in the sultry square. 
 
 The second stanza might be mistaken for Tenny- 
 son's. 
 
 Here is a landscape in two lines, and if you look 
 well you will find that both in colour and in drawing 
 it is perfect : — 
 
 From the rich flush of garden and woodland, the eye 
 Koamed up to blue ridges cut sharp in the sky. 
 
 II 
 
1 14* THE LIFE OF J. I). BUKNS. 
 
 In a description of early summer dawn we have 
 this, — 
 
 Afar, a soft blue film, a trembling bloom 
 Of light was on the landscape. 
 
 It would have taken the brush of Turner in his 
 tenderest hour to realise on canvas that "trembling 
 bloom, " but Turner would have liked to try it. 
 Beautiful in feeling, in thought, and in language, are 
 the following stanzas on the Vesper Hour. The 
 scene is evidently Madeira : — 
 
 A rosy light the eastern sky is steeping, — 
 The ripple on the sea has died away 
 To a low murmur, — and the ships are sleeping 
 Each on its glassy shadow on the bay : 
 The young moon's golden shell over the hill 
 Trembles with lustre, and the trees are still. 
 
 The air grows clearer, and her amice blue 
 The gentle Tsvilight hath about her cast, 
 And from her silver urn she sprinkles dew : 
 Silence and Sleep, twin sisters, follow fast 
 Her soundless sandals, and where'er she goes 
 Day-wearied nature settles to repose. 
 
 Hark ! the clear bell from that tall convent-tower 
 Hath sounded, — and, or e'er its echoes die, 
 Another chime hath rung the vesper hour, — 
 A farther and a fainter makes reply ; 
 Till far and near the soft appeal to prayer 
 With music fills the undulating air. 
 
 Ye sweet-voiced bells, ring on ! Though at your call 
 I may not breathe in prayer a creature's name, 
 Yet on my heart more touching memories fall, 
 And ye remind me of a holier claim, — 
 His, whose undrooping eye alone can keep 
 Watch over His beloved as they sleep. 
 
POETRY. 115 
 
 Delicately finished also, and vivid in its word-paint- 
 ing, is the little piece entitled " A Bird's Christmas 
 Carol/' A pensive sweetness, a tender gaiety, a 
 melodious influence as of smiles breaking through 
 tears, breathes in its stanzas. 
 
 When Spring round yonder lime-tree bare 
 Its tent of silken leafage flung, 
 A homeless bird found shelter there, 
 And in the green seclusion sung. 
 
 On dewy dawns and rose-red eves, 
 In sun and shower, the summer long, 
 That little voice, amid the leaves, 
 Sent up its jet of silver song. 
 
 And when the Autumn woodland wore 
 The crimson flush of slow decay, 
 It warbled sweetly as before, 
 Nor faltered all the waning day. 
 
 Two wrinkled leaves upon the lime 
 Now mourn their kindred in the mould, 
 Their summer-guest comes many a time, 
 And cheers them with a song of old. 
 
 Methinks a pensive undertone 
 
 Now trembles through the blither strain, 
 
 A memory of the summer gone, 
 
 A wish for summer back again. 
 
 Of such remembrance Hope is born, 
 And through that music floats a chime 
 Of echoes from the April morn, 
 And whispers of the primrose time. 
 
 It was with the eye and heart of a poet that Mr 
 Burns looked upon nature, and none of his poems are 
 more characteristic of his genius than those in which 
 some beautiful aspect of nature is delineated. The 
 
116 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 tender music of his language seems to give the picture 
 voice. One more example in this kind we cannot 
 help quoting ; it is the description of an evening 
 scene. 
 
 Over the hill-edge ripples the warm light, 
 One level ray along the sprouting vines 
 Gleams like a seraph's spear. The dusky lines 
 Of the far woods grow shapeless on the height, 
 Where the slow mists fold up their fleeces white, 
 Now flecked with purple. O'er that cloud of pines 
 The sky to clearest spirit of air refines, 
 And a star settles trembling on the sight. 
 Cool winds are rustling downwards to the seas, 
 To worn, homefaring men benignly given. 
 From the soft glooms of church-encircling trees, 
 Fast darkening in the shadows of the even, 
 The small bells sprinkle pensive cadences, 
 And Earth is peacefully atoned with Heaven ! 
 
 Dwell upon these verses, word by word, line by 
 line, and you will perceive not only that they are 
 imbued with the very soul of poetry, but that their 
 writer had attained to rare mastery in the art of 
 poetic execution. 
 
 Deep in the nature of Mr Burns lay what some 
 would hardly have expected, a true and exquisite 
 vein of humour. The few who knew him intimately 
 in private are aware that, held in reserve by the 
 earnestness, the tenderness, and the humble piety, 
 which never left him for a moment, a bright wit, 
 instinct with shrewdness and hearty pith, was always 
 ready to flash out. Clear and keen in all his per- 
 ceptions, he had a quick eye for humour of character, 
 and for the lights and shades of laughter which 
 
POETRY. 1 1 7 
 
 flutter about human affairs. The epigrammatic lines 
 into which he translated the genial saying of Alfonso 
 of Arragon, quoted above,* could not be surpassed 
 for arch felicity. With a little more of the acid in 
 them — not a drop too much — these four lines, on 
 Alexander weeping because he had no more worlds 
 to conquer, are nearly as good : — 
 
 What ! no more worlds to conquer? "Weep no more, — 
 Look inward, and thy heart will show thee one : 
 
 Or doubly weep, thy folly to deplore, 
 
 That this first conquest is not yet begun ! 
 
 Characteristic also is the little piece entitled " The 
 Bird and the Bee." A certain aroma of quiet fun and 
 gentlest sarcasm pervades it. It is a protest, rather 
 suggested than expressed, against the genius of 
 starched and formal propriety, and the self-admir- 
 ing virtue of the oppressively good. 
 
 The bird is your true poet. I have seen him, 
 
 AVhen the snow wrapped his seeds, and not a crumb 
 
 "Was in his larder, perch upon a branch, 
 
 And sing from his brave heart a song of trust 
 
 In Providence, who feeds him though he sows not, 
 
 Nor gathers into barns. Whate'er his fears 
 
 Or sorrows be, his spirit bears him up. 
 
 Cares ne'er o'ermaster him, for 'tis his wont 
 
 To stifle them with music. Out of sight 
 
 He buries them in the depth of his sweet song, 
 
 And gives them a melodious sepulture. 
 
 He teaches me philosophy, — yea, more, 
 He leads me up to faith. 
 
 Your busy bee 
 No favourite is of mine. There is no music 
 
 P. 48. 
 
118 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 In that monotonous hum. To me it seems 
 A trumpet, which the little Pharisee 
 Sounds, that the common people of the field 
 May well regard his industry, and mark 
 How he improves the sunshine. Even that song 
 Dies with the flowers; for when the dreary days 
 Of winter come, he folds his wing to lie 
 In his luxurious halls, and there amidst 
 His magazines of daintiest food, and vaults 
 Brimming with luscious amber-coloured wine, 
 The spiritless sluggard dreams away his hours ; 
 Or if he wake, 'tis but to gorge himself 
 In solitude with the rich cloying fare 
 Of an exclusive feast. His hospitality 
 Xo stranger ever shares. Heedless he sees 
 His mates of summer droop and starve before 
 His frozen gates. He revels deep within ; 
 Without they die : yet the small misanthrope 
 Shall guard his treasures with a surly sting ! 
 
 Humour and pathos have almost always gone 
 together in minds of genius. The sad and the 
 ludicrous cross each other in the chequered net- 
 work of life. The elements of playfulness and genial 
 sarcasm which lay in Burns were never developed 
 in their strength, but the mournful circumstances 
 of his personal history kept him ever conscious 
 of the sorrow which mingles in human mirth. A 
 profound pathos, therefore, is one of the prevailing- 
 moods of his poetry. Sometimes it is his own great 
 anguish — irenius and the ardour of a sacred ambi- 
 tion in long, hopeless conflict with disease — that is 
 heard in the melodious wailing of his lyre. More 
 frequently the pathos of his spirit finds expression 
 in tender, tearful commemoration of the agony of 
 
POETRY. 119 
 
 some other heart, mingling with the shows of glad- 
 ness. The following sonnet, recording, in words of 
 stern simplicity and tragic power, his own grief, is 
 but one of many pieces in which the same sad note 
 *8 struck : — 
 
 My grief pursues me through the land of sleep, 
 
 It winds into the secret of my dreams, 
 
 And shapes their shadowy pomp. When fancy seems 
 
 To charm my fever' d spirit into deep 
 
 Forgetfulness, the restless thought will creep 
 
 From its dim ambush, startling that repose, 
 
 And glooms and spectral terrors round me close, 
 
 Like iron walls I may not overleap. 
 
 And then I seem to see thy face again, 
 
 But not, beloved ! as thou wert and art, 
 
 And, with thy sweet voice tingling in my brain, 
 
 From this great agony of fear I start, 
 
 To feel the slow throb of habitual pain, 
 
 And undull'd anguish grasping at my heart. 
 
 The friend here alluded to was a lady, between 
 whom and Mr Burns there existed, during his resi- 
 dence in Madeira, the closest Christian friendship. 
 She has since died. He addressed to her after she 
 had left him a few stanzas, in which "sorrow is 
 ennobled by the hope full of immortality, and the 
 regrets of natural tenderness are sanctified into holy 
 submission/' 
 
 The memory of thy truth to me 
 
 My heart will ne'er resign, 
 Until, beloved ! mine shall be 
 
 As cold a bed as thine. 
 High o'er my path of life it will 
 
 Hang ever as a star, 
 
120 THE LIFE OF J. D. BTJENS. 
 
 To cheer my steps toward the hill 
 Where the immortal are. 
 
 The lesson of thy gentle life, 
 
 Thy trials meekly borne, 
 Will keep me hopeful in the strife 
 
 When fainting and outworn ; 
 Then, for a darker hour remains 
 
 The memory of the faith 
 That triumplrd over mortal pains, 
 
 And calmly fronted death. 
 
 I once had hoped that side by side 
 
 Our journey we might go, 
 And with a perfect love divide 
 
 Our gladness and our woe ; 
 But thou hast reach'd thy Father's home, 
 
 And happier thou art there 
 Than I, left wearily to roam 
 
 Through days of grief and care. 
 
 Though all is chang'd since thou art gone, 
 
 I would not wish thee here, 
 For rather would I weep alone 
 
 Than see thee shed a tear ; 
 The thought of thy great happiness, 
 
 Is now a part of mine ; 
 Xor would I wish my sorrow less 
 
 To see that sorrow thine. 
 
 Of his pathos in its less personal application, the 
 graceful and animated stanzas suggested by a village 
 festival present suitable illustration. 
 
 The bells ring out, — the villagers 
 
 Are keeping feast to-day, 
 Gay groups are winding through the vines 
 
 In pilgrim-like array, — 
 Some singing to the viols shrill 
 
 That tinkle on the way. 
 
POETRY. 12 
 
 The banner on the chapel-tower 
 
 Droops down the flag-staff tall, 
 The shadows of the leafy planes 
 
 Are quivering round the wall, 
 And the spirit of a joyous time 
 
 Is brooding over all. 
 
 But pain and sorrow tread behind 
 
 The dancing steps of joy ; 
 Some shadow hovering dark will oft 
 
 Life's brightest hour alloy : 
 Hard by the careless throng, I see 
 
 A mother with her boy. 
 
 She sits before her cottage door, 
 
 Beneath a shady vine, 
 In vain to her the music sounds, 
 
 In vain the sun doth shine ; 
 She only sees her little child 
 
 In mortal sickness pine. 
 
 He lieth moaning on her knee, 
 
 While she would soothe his pain, 
 There is fever seething in the blood, 
 
 And throbbing in the vein ; 
 Alas ! that little wasted cheek 
 
 Will never bloom again. 
 
 His voice no more at noon and eve 
 
 Will ring beside the hearth, 
 No more his laugh her heavy heart 
 
 Will lighten with its mirth ; 
 His little joys have lain, alas ! 
 
 Within a narrow girth. 
 
 Soon will a sad array be seen 
 
 Slow- winding down the dell, 
 Before the priest the surpliced boy 
 
 Will swing his funeral bell ; 
 And the people at their doors will say, 
 
 " 'Tis little Manuel ! " 
 
122 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Wherefore, with vacant eye she sees 
 
 The folk pass to and fro, 
 She looks, but heeds not who they be, 
 
 Nor how they come and go ; 
 She only feels upon her heart 
 
 The clutch of deadly woe. 
 
 In after days, when of this feast 
 
 She hears the neighbours tell, 
 She will be silent, but the time 
 
 She will remember well ; 
 " That summer,'' she will think, " I lost 
 
 My darling Manuel ! " 
 
 To her this grief will be a date 
 
 Through all the coming years, 
 A pillar on her way, to which 
 
 She will often turn her tears ; 
 How many such a monument 
 
 Along life's path appears ! 
 
 For the traces left by joy are faint, 
 
 His step is light and free ; 
 But the footprints of our suffering, 
 
 So deeply stamped they be, 
 That they never wear out from the sands 
 
 Of wreck-strewn memory. 
 
 Peculiarly interesting, both on account of its high 
 intrinsic merit, and because of the affinity in natural 
 genius between the men, is Mr Burns's poem on 
 Wordsworth. Burns declares Wordsworth to be his 
 "latest and not least- loved guide," and pronounces 
 him " the true and master-poet of our time/' There 
 was a period, he tells us, when the witching colour 
 and impassioned melody of Tennyson captivated his 
 heart ; but the spell was broken ; and as his mind 
 reached maturity, he became confirmed in his allesri- 
 
POETRY. 123 
 
 ance to the bard of Kydal. Meditation and sympathy 
 were in Burns more powerful than passion, and the 
 meditative sympathy of Wordsworth, pervading nature, 
 and tenderly penetrating her mysteries, seemed to 
 him to endow that poet's readers with " a finer sense," 
 revealing constantly a more deep and subtle charm 
 in the forms and aspects of the physical world. The 
 voices of nature seemed to him to haunt Words- 
 worth's song as wind among the forest leaves. 
 
 It was as if, while straying far and lone 
 Through a wide desert, I had suddenly 
 Found a green valley folded in fair hills, 
 And in the midst a fresh and lucid pool, 
 In whose unwrinkled deeps each little spire 
 Of grass, each tuft of rushes, and each rock 
 Moss-stained that overhung it, had most clear 
 Reflection, with the statelier images 
 Of tree and girdling mountain. There I since 
 Have tarried willingly, still finding joy 
 And solace in that unpolluted air. 
 
 In vigorous and beautiful language, and with pre- 
 cise and exhaustive truth, both critical and philo- 
 sophic, he brings out the distinctive merit, charm, 
 and power of Wordsworth as compared with the 
 famous representatives of the satanic and sensual 
 schools of poetry. The passage is long, but it is 
 worth its space ; for there is perhaps no other to be 
 found within the compass of Mr Burns's writings, 
 by which we are enabled to take more exactly the 
 measure of the man in intellect, in culture, in feel- 
 ing, and in moral tone. 
 
J 24 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 Enough we had, more than enough, of wild 
 And gloomy portraitures, — proud spirits driven 
 To frenzy by their passions, foaming out 
 Their shame, — minds whose depravity became 
 An inspiration, breathing through despair, 
 And clothing blasphemy with burning words. 
 There vice made men heroic, — life appeared 
 A masquerade of phantoms, raised above 
 Our mortal stature, who, with devilish wails 
 From under their dark vizors, and anon 
 With devilish laughter, raved across its stage. 
 
 There came the sated sensualist, well-skilled 
 In self -anatomy, on whose thin lips 
 The bitterness of a bad heart frothed up 
 In sneers ; with him, the sceptic, nobly-born, 
 But wretched, through whose strange soliloquies 
 Faltered some guilty secret, that might throw 
 A charm of mystery round his blighted youth. 
 Nor were there wanting outlaws, and self-spurned 
 Apostates, who, in ruin, still retained 
 Some mild redeeming virtue, — who could lead 
 Reckless and stormy lives, and trample shame 
 And honour under foot, and shout for joy 
 Through the dun smoke of battle, yet recall 
 Their fiery spirits, when their hawk-like flight 
 Was in its highest circle, to the lure 
 Of love ; for love was linked with all, and threw 
 Its bland enchantment over scenes of blood. 
 Then the scene shifted to the chime of sweet 
 Voluptuous numbers, — gorgeous visions flushed 
 The odour-steaming air, rich stained lights, 
 And silken draperies, and lutes that breathed 
 A slumberous music to a damsel's tale, — 
 A lovelorn maiden, passing fair, who clung 
 To some strong, desperate nature, with a fond 
 Fidelity, as the green plant twines round 
 A blasted tree. 
 
 And this was human life ! 
 Such was its inward struggle, such its griefs 
 And joys — for such our sympathies were claimed : 
 
POETRY. 125 
 
 For wickedness that dragged its secret shame 
 
 Before the world,— for suffering that raised 
 
 Its selfish wail, unhumbled for the guilt 
 
 That caused it, — for despair which, from its depths, 
 
 At Heaven still hurled defiance, — and for pride 
 
 That bore its curse in sullen self-retreat, 
 
 And unrepenting bared its Cain-like brow. 
 
 Thus to its highest heaven could song exalt 
 All that was false, unnatural, and vile. 
 
 Out of this faint and sickly atmosphere, 
 This strife of hateful passion, thou wert first 
 To lead us into pure and liberal air. 
 Thy skilful hand was first to find the chord 
 To which the heart responded, — from it drew 
 Mysterious harmonies, and struck it till 
 The mild vibration, drowned at first, rose clear, 
 Like some sweet, silvery voice, over the din 
 Of clamorous instruments. It held the time 
 Charmed by its mere simplicity, that made 
 A silence for itself, till all around 
 Its echoes multiplied and filled the land. 
 The freshness of the vernal woods possessed 
 Thy stately numbers, — sounds of summer-hills, — 
 The goings of the wind in the close tops 
 Of trees, — the bubbling of the brook, that seems 
 To the old man's heart a voice from far-off days 
 Of childhood, — and from these its tones of strength 
 And tenderness it drew. So thou stoodst forth 
 The interpreter of Nature to the mind, 
 To teach us all that lay beneath her sounds 
 And silences, her changes and repose, 
 The mystery of her kindredness with man, — 
 The likeness of a human face beneath 
 The veil of Isis, answering smiles and tears ; 
 An aspect shifting to our every mood ; 
 A beating heart that presses up to ours 
 In concord : to explain what we had felt 
 In hours of tranquil thought, but wanted words 
 To utter, and were glad without the will 
 To trace the hidden well-spring of our joy. 
 
126 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 'TVas thine, like some hierophant, to show 
 The fine relations which, unto the mind, 
 Invest the universe with glory and light 
 Unknown to sense ; to make the soul infuse 
 Its own life into nature's lifeless forms, 
 And then, receiving what it gave, to move 
 Among them as its thoughts ; to take them up 
 Into its very substance, and evoke, 
 Where'er it turned, clear shapes and images 
 Of its emotions, flushed with fancy's hues. 
 Thus, interpenetrated by the mind, 
 The simplest scenes and pleasures to thy glance 
 Were beautified ; and not a lonely bird 
 From whose small heritage of song thy soul 
 Was not enriched, and not a woodland flower 
 Over which thou, full-hearted, didst not stoop 
 And give it benediction. The blue smoke 
 Curling from cottage roofs awoke the sense 
 Of sympathy within thee with the life 
 Beneath. It spoke to thee of humble men, 
 Their trials and their sorrows, the hard strife 
 Of poverty, the daily round of toil, 
 The anxieties of sickness, clouded days, 
 Slow darkening to death. The gleams of joy 
 With which the meanest lot is brightened, made 
 Thee glad, and all its genial virtues found 
 With thee their celebration. Thus thy art 
 Stood singular, like some pure instrument 
 Or temple-pipe reserved for lofty themes, 
 To chant, in solemn tones, the nobleness 
 Of love, and trust, and patience ; to expound 
 The law of kindness, the calm power which dwells 
 In virtue and in gentleness ; to show 
 The heroism of a life which walks 
 With meek endurance in its separate path 
 Of suffering, and the loveliness of hope, 
 And home-bred innocence, and simple truth. 
 And hence the freedom, purity, and glow, 
 That gave thy verse its charm. Its voice was stron 
 And musical, as of the sounds that haunt 
 
POETEY. 127 
 
 The hills ; its movement graceful in the joy 
 Of overflowing life, its bloom the healthy flush 
 And freshness ministered by moorland winds 
 And bracing mountain air. Through all its veins 
 Health's glad unconscious pulses rose and fell, — 
 The beating of a manly heart was heard. 
 
 In relation to the sensual and blasphemous poetry 
 which has been so much in vogue in the present cen- 
 tury, this on Wordsworth may be pronounced not only 
 true, but the whole truth. Whether Wordsworth 
 himself was not defective on the side of passionate 
 fervour, and that burning human sympathy which 
 characterises the highest order of poets, is another 
 question. No such suggestion of critical scepticism 
 occurred to Mr Burns, but he takes grave exception 
 to the poetry of Wordsworth on another ground. After 
 the eloquent recognition of his claims just quoted, 
 he proceeds : — 
 
 Such are thy well-earned honours ; high, compared 
 
 With those inherited from powers debased, 
 
 And genius that could stoop to be the slave 
 
 Of sensual passion. It was well to lead 
 
 A wildered age back to the love and truth 
 
 Of uncorrupted nature. Yet renown 
 
 Still higher, which thou mightst have claimed and won, 
 
 Is wanting. There are deeper needs thy hand 
 
 Hath left unsounded, and the loftiest ends, 
 
 Which this mysterious nature lives to serve, 
 
 Thine eye surveyed not. To those heights serene, 
 
 Whence flow the springs of holy thought and deed, 
 
 Whence come the powers that mould immortal man 
 
 To his full strength of being, it is strange 
 
 That in this clearness of the Christian light 
 
 Thy strain has seldom soared. Thy chosen task 
 
128 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Might have been done, yet this, to crown it well, 
 
 Not left undone. For nature, though indued 
 
 With ministries of good, which may avail 
 
 To soothe the spirit, fevered in the strife 
 
 And fret of selfish passions, and assuage, 
 
 As by the virtue of an anodyne, 
 
 That restlessness of heart which earthly cares 
 
 Engender, is most impotent to reach 
 
 That seat of strife secluded in the depths 
 
 Of spirit and of will ; the shadowy world 
 
 Wherein loud conscience and the broken law, 
 
 In dark array, against the trembling heart 
 
 Marshal their terrors, when the trumpet-peal 
 
 That rang on cloudy Horeb sounds again, 
 
 In that great resurrection of the soul, 
 
 When new-born thoughts, like seeds in the spring-mould 
 
 Begin to burst their cells, and germinate 
 
 With restless life, it searches everywhere 
 
 For light, and only finds it when it looks 
 
 Where, high o'er drifting clouds, the signal gleam 
 
 Of hope is set in heaven. Once the long trance 
 
 Is broken, and it feels the deadly weight, 
 
 The mystery of sin, — when struggling hard 
 
 To rend its bonds asunder, it but twines 
 
 The meshes of the net more closely round, — 
 
 That strength and power, through which it may attain 
 
 To freedom, from a higher sphere must come 
 
 Than the low circle of the universe 
 
 Horizon'd by the eye. It faints beneath 
 
 This crushing load, the consciousness of guilt, 
 
 Whereto a haunting terror ever cleaves, 
 
 A shadow dark as death. Beholding now 
 
 The true end of its being, and the claim 
 
 Of an eternal law to all its love 
 
 And loyalty, the sense of its revolt 
 
 From God, and willing vassalage to sin, 
 
 Strikes through it as a pang, and self-condemn'd, 
 
 Self-loath'd, it bows its head without a pica, 
 
 Falls down before the awful light which hides 
 
 Eternal majesty. wondrous depth 
 
POETRY. 129 
 
 Of grace unsearchable ! a trembling hope 
 Is, for the lowly mourner, born from out 
 The travail of his soul, — a still small voice 
 Bids him look up, and see the sacrifice 
 Upon the altar, and the pleading priest 
 Upon the throne of heaven, and, as he looks, 
 Speaks to him of forgiveness, soothes and stills 
 The alarm of conscience, and, with gentle strength, 
 Goes forth through all the regions of the soul, 
 And charms them into holy quietness. 
 
 In a spirit of earnestness and sincerity, far deeper 
 than that which prompts the poet to such telling 
 thoughts and picturesque expressions wherewith to 
 beautify his verse, Mr Burns enlarges upon the Evan- 
 gelical solution of the mystery of the world, and 
 argues its profundity and benignity compared with 
 that afforded by the nature-worship of Wordsworth. 
 Material beauty, he insists, gorgeous as is the woof 
 spun by its mingling colours, " is but the curtain 
 hung before the shrine." In solemn and majestic 
 words he rebukes that devotion which would seduce 
 us from the personal God to worship a mere abstrac- 
 tion of the mind, clothed in the forms of nature. 
 
 Men woke 
 Some fantasy apparelled in cloudy pomp 
 Of words, — the spirit of the universe, 
 Or plastic soul of nature, or the power 
 Of intellectual beauty, — and to this, 
 Their idol, out of dazzling images 
 And glowing thoughts compacted, — as of old 
 The desert Apis from the golden rings 
 And chains of Israel, — they proclaim a feast 
 Of high inauguration, and, with sound 
 Of sweetest minstrelsy, they set it up, 
 
 I 
 
130 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 And call the world to worship. Let them learn 
 
 That nature, though to rarest spirit refined 
 
 In their ideal visions, is not God 
 
 But from God, — that her glories, at their height, 
 
 Can be no avatar of the Divine, 
 
 No incarnation of all-ruling mind. 
 
 Her ministration and her noblest aim 
 
 Are then fulfill'd, when, in her silent signs, 
 
 And in the language of her face, we read 
 
 That He who form'd her sits upon a throne 
 
 Which spurns divided honours. Over all 
 
 His works, let His high attributes of power, 
 
 Of majesty, of wisdom, and of grace, 
 
 Stand eminent, — like glittering spires that rise 
 
 High o'er a city's roofs, and lead the thoughts 
 
 To heaven. 
 
 The poem concludes with a fine eulogiuni on 
 Cowper. 
 
 There was one 
 Whose name stands high upon his country's roll 
 Of poets, who, amidst a faithless age, 
 Stood forward for the honour of his God. 
 Fresh be his memory to the ends of time, 
 The pensive bard of Olney ! From the depths 
 Of an unknown despair he could proclaim 
 The heavenly hope to which the angels tuned 
 Their harps at Bethlehem, and, in the woe 
 Which crush'd his gentle spirit, he could taste 
 An angel's joy to see each wanderer 
 Returning to that Father's house, whose gates 
 He deem'd were closed on him. Within that heart 
 There dwelt a love of nature, deep, and true, 
 And fervent as was thine. To him the sight 
 Of wood, and sky. and mountain ministcr'd 
 Pure and perpetual gladness. Yet, through all 
 Her voices manifold, he only heard 
 The voice of God ; on all her fair domain, 
 In radiant signature and imagery, 
 He saw the golden letters of His name, 
 
POETEY. 131 
 
 The name of love. The common earth to him 
 Waa holy ground, once trodden by the feet 
 Of One who stooped in human flesh to die, 
 A Man for man's redemption. In his song 
 Glow'd inspiration as of altar-fire ; 
 His foot had stood on sacred Olivet, 
 And on his low-bent head the cleansing dews 
 Of Jordan had been sprinkled. voice 
 
 To him was not all gladness ; he had been 
 
 the shrine. His ear had caught the sound 
 Of that mysterious sympathy which breathes 
 Out of creation's heart to mortal woe : 
 The undertone in that undying wail 
 Wherewith the human generations mourn 
 Beneath the weight of evil. He had heard 
 The deepest notes which from the seven-fold pipe 
 Of Pan came to the spiritual 
 The creature groaning, travailing in pain, 
 
 bject unto change, until the day 
 Of its redemption from the curse of sin. 
 
 The blending of pathetic tenderness with the meek 
 faith and love and child-like trust of a most Christian 
 heart lend an inexpressible charm to many of the 
 more strictly religious poems of Mr Burns. The 
 melody and the meaning of the following lines will 
 be the more deeply felt the longer they are meditated. 
 They appear in this volume without any title, being 
 prefaced merely with the scriptural words, :; The 
 footsteps of the nock.'"' 
 
 rd, in pastures greeii 
 The sheep at noon Thou feedest, 
 
 ere in the shade they lie 
 Within Thy watch:ul eye : 
 Not rene 
 
 The white fleeced flock Thou lea 
 
132 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 On rugged ways, with bleeding feet, 
 
 Thev leave their painful traces ; 
 
 Through deserts drear they go, 
 
 Where wounding briers grow, 
 And through dark valleys, where they meet 
 
 No quiet resting-places. 
 
 Not always by the waters still, 
 
 Or lonely wells palm-hidden, 
 
 Do they find happy rest, 
 
 And, in Thy presence blest, 
 Delight themselves, and drink their fill 
 
 Of pleasures unforbidden. 
 
 Their track is worn on sorrow's shore, 
 
 Where windy storms beat ever, 
 
 Their troubled course they keep, 
 
 Where deep calls unto deep ; 
 So going till they hear the roar 
 
 Of the dark-flowing river. 
 
 But wheresoe'er their steps may be, 
 
 So Thou their path be guiding, 
 
 Oh be their portion mine ! 
 
 Show me the secret sign, 
 That I may trace their way to Thee, 
 
 In Thee find rest abiding. 
 
 Slowly they gather to the fold 
 
 Upon Thy holy mountain, 
 
 There, resting round Thy feet, 
 
 They dread no storm nor heat. 
 And slake their thirst where Thou hast rolled 
 
 The stone from life's full fountain. 
 
 As a companion piece to this may be taken the 
 imaginative and highly-finished Christian lyric en- 
 titled " Humility." Two of the stanzas have been 
 already quoted, but no apology is deemed necessary 
 for giving them in their context. 
 
POETRY. 133 
 
 ! learn that it is only by the lowly 
 
 The paths of peace are trod ; 
 If thou wouldst keep the garments white and holy, 
 
 Walk humbly with thy God. 
 
 The man with earthly wisdom high uplifted 
 
 Is in God's sight a fool ; 
 But he in heavenly truth most deeply gifted 
 
 Sits lowest in Christ's school. 
 
 The lowly spirit God hath consecrated 
 
 As His abiding rest ; 
 And angels by some patriarch's tent have waited, 
 
 When kings had no such guest. 
 
 The dew that never wets the flinty mountain 
 
 Falls in the valley free ; 
 Bright verdure fringes the small desert fountain, 
 
 But barren sand the sea. 
 
 Not in the stately oak the fragrance dwelleth 
 
 Which charms the general wood, 
 But in the violet low, whose sweetness telleth 
 
 Its unseen neighbourhood. 
 
 The censer swung by the proud hand of merit 
 
 Fumes with a fire abhorred ; 
 But faith's two mites, dropped covertly, inherit 
 
 A blessing from the Lord. 
 
 Round lowliness a gentle radiance hovers, 
 
 A sweet, unconscious grace ; 
 Which, even in shrinking, evermore discovers 
 
 The brightness on its face. 
 
 Where God abides, contentment is and honour, 
 
 Such guerdon meekness knows ; 
 His peace within her, and His smile upon her, 
 
 Her saintly way she goes. 
 
134 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Through the straight gate of life she passes stooping. 
 
 With sandals on her feet ; 
 And pure-eyed graces, hand in hand come trooping, 
 
 Their sister fair to greet. ( 
 
 The angels bend their eyes upon her goings. 
 
 And guard her from annoy; 
 Heaven fills her heart with silent overflowings 
 
 Of its perennial joy. 
 
 The Saviour loves her, for she wears the vesture 
 
 "With which He walked on earth ; 
 And through her child-like glance, and step, and gesture. 
 
 He knows her heavenly birth. 
 
 He now beholds this seal of glory graven 
 
 On all whom He redeems, 
 And in his own bright city, crystal-pa ven, 
 
 On every brow it gleams. 
 
 The white-robed saints, the throne-steps singing under, 
 
 Their state all meekly wear ; 
 Their praise wells up from hidden springs of wonder 
 
 That grace has brought them there. 
 
 A large portion of Burns' s life was a protracted 
 dying, and in verses like these following, very much 
 more authentically than at the death-bed of Addison, 
 it may be seen how a Christian can die : — 
 
 O Thou, whose tender feet have trod 
 
 The thorny path of woe, 
 Forbid that I should slight the rod, 
 
 Or faint beneath the blow. 
 
 My spirit to its chastening stroke 
 
 I meekly would resign, 
 Nor murmur at the heaviest yoke 
 
 That tells me I am Thine. 
 
POETRY. 135 
 
 Give me the spirit of Thy trust, 
 
 To suffer as a son, 
 To say, though lying in the dust, 
 
 My Father's will be clone ! 
 
 I know that trial works for ends 
 
 Too high for sense to trace, 
 That oft in dark attire He sends 
 
 Some embassy cf grace. 
 
 May none depart till I have gain'd 
 
 The blessing which it bears, 
 And learn, though late, I entertain' d 
 
 An angel unawares. 
 
 So shall I bless the hour that sent 
 
 The mercy of the rod, 
 And build an altar by the tent 
 Where I have met with God. 
 
 It will not be out of place to quote here the last 
 verses he ever wrote. They were composed within a 
 few weeks of his death, and when he knew that the 
 end had come. 
 
 He hath done all things well ! 
 
 Here rest thou weary heart, 
 When prone to murmur or rebel. 
 
 Weak, weary, as thou art. 
 
 He hath done all things well ! 
 
 The bitter and the sweet, 
 The light that cheer'd, the shades that fell, 
 
 Are temper'd as is meet. 
 
 He hath done all things well ! 
 
 Things that seem strange and dim 
 Are working ends thou can'st not tell 
 
 In clearest light to Him. 
 
136 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Though in all senses an able man, and in intel- 
 lectual culture thoroughly abreast of the times, Mr 
 Burns had no sympathy with that speculative bold- 
 ness in which it has of late been so much the fashion 
 for men of originality to indulge. He accepted with 
 serene, unwavering confidence the whole round of 
 the Christian Revelation, and was a staunch defender 
 of Protestant theology as promulgated by the fathers 
 of the Reformation. But he was familiar with the 
 noblest thoughts of modern literature, and had made 
 them his own by earnest meditation. The idea em- 
 bodied in the following passage, for example, was 
 not new even when Coleridge said, in reference to 
 the bright and the melancholy aspects of nature, that 
 " ours is the wedding garment, ours the shroud ; " 
 but Burns works it out with beauty and effectiveness. 
 The passage occurs in a poem entitled " The Peasant 
 and the Poet/' 
 
 This visible world is the transparent woof 
 
 Whereon the spirit figures to itself 
 
 Its fleeting images. The forming mind 
 
 Creates and blends the colours, pencils out 
 
 The whole device of that mysterious web, 
 
 Whose rich entangled cipher represents 
 
 All spiritual light and shadow. Hence to some 
 
 The curtain of the universe is dyed 
 
 With black and purple hues ; its sombre folds 
 
 Hang close and heavy, loading all with gloom, 
 
 Or to some viewless influence move and shake 
 
 Like vapours warping on a breeze remote. 
 
 In other eyes it quivers as a blue 
 
 And lucid veil, investing forms of sense 
 
 With softer loveliness, and with a blush 
 
POETRY. 1 37 
 
 Of tints more beautiful than those of dawn. 
 
 But 'tis the mind itself that radiates 
 
 This light, or spreads this darkness round the world. 
 
 The flakes of crimson cloud that drift at even 
 
 Through a clear sky, that undulates with waves 
 
 Of amber light, — the shadowy up-coming 
 
 Of evening through the element, — the slow 
 
 Arising of the moon behind a grove, — 
 
 The golden-mailed legions of the sky, 
 
 Led on by that white star that shines so pure 
 
 And brilliant in its singleness, — the haze 
 
 Of sunlight on the sea, where water blends 
 
 With fluent air, — the glooms of summer woods, 
 
 The misty blueness of the distant hills. 
 
 Are beautiful ; their fascination charms 
 
 The sense ; but theirs is beauty of the mind 
 
 Not less than of the eye. To him who loves 
 
 The thought of the beloved one, who lights 
 
 Both hemispheres of memory and hope, 
 
 Where hope makes day, and memory moonlit night, 
 
 Is blended with them all, yea, beautifies 
 
 All nature with a lustre of its own. 
 
 And to the glance of him who lives by faith, 
 
 Whose hopes have overspir'd the cloud of sense, 
 
 Whose heart still points to heaven, this glorious world 
 
 Is as a sacred page illuminate, 
 
 And character'd in stainless hues of light 
 
 With holy mysteries. Each form of life 
 
 Or growth, — each calm, unconscious mood of things, 
 
 Fix'd in eternal sameness, deep and still, — 
 
 Each changing aspect of creation's face, 
 
 Give nourishment to thoughts that live in things 
 
 Unseen. Each voice or sound that meets his ear 
 
 From hedge or woodland, vale or open field, 
 
 Touches some spring of feeling, or reveals 
 
 Some parable of truth. Again, perchance, 
 
 That Galilean scene of old will live 
 
 Upon the eye, when He whose mind could sound 
 
 The abvsmal clearness of the thoughts of God, 
 
138 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Expounded His divine philosophy 
 
 By tvpes familiar to the surface-glance 
 
 Of common men. Thus all that he beholds 
 
 Becomes the sign of things whose archetypes 
 
 Are shrined for ever in the holy mount ! 
 
 Occasionally, though rarely, Burns reveals in his 
 poetry that knowledge of human nature for which he 
 was in private remarkable, as well as a shrewd, 
 practical philosophy, very unpretentious, but very 
 useful and very deep. Both are present in this de- 
 scription of a selfish grumbler against the dispositions 
 of Providence. 
 
 It was. his wont to watch 
 And wear out the slow passage of the months 
 With sighing, and, untutor'd by the past, 
 To chide the sunshine for one ray too bright, 
 And count suspiciously the drops of rain. 
 Such minds, case-harden'd in their selfishness, 
 Can take no view of mighty laws at work 
 Beyond the narrow limits of one grange 
 Or shire. They never balance private loss 
 Against the general gain, nor apprehend 
 The genial mystery of life, and growth, 
 And fruitfulness, in even passage round 
 The world. They fret that highest Providence 
 Stands never at their middle point, ne'er marks 
 The several seasons off, nor intersects 
 The elements by lines as clear and sharp 
 As the degrees upon a weather-glass. 
 
 The source of half the false and extravagant 
 notions current in our loose social philosophy is this 
 neglect of natures averages, and the putting of the 
 individual case in place of an induction from a 
 sufficient number of cases. How seldom do we 
 
POETRY. 139 
 
 meet the man who, when the east wind shrivels his 
 own patch of corn, can reflect that the same wind, if 
 he followed it to the tropic of Capricorn, would be 
 found to be an angel of God, tempering the fierce 
 glare of the direct solar beam, and diffusing the 
 softened and salubrious radiance through the atmos- 
 phere of the world ! Is it not essentially this same 
 error which leads so many philosophers, when their 
 own eyes happen to be bloodshot, to declare that the 
 whole world is robed in hues of earthquake and 
 eclipse ? 
 
 We add another example of his more thoughtful 
 and elevated style. The subject is " Eeason and 
 Faith." Of the line which we put into italics, we 
 venture to say that there are few finer in the lan- 
 guage. In respect of depth and richness of meaning. 
 it might serve as text for a treatise, and the poetic 
 image of which it consists is intensely expressive, and 
 superlatively beautiful. 
 
 How many are the mysteries that lie 
 Along life's winding ways, and vex the mind 
 "With restless speculation, vague and blind : 
 In vain doth Reason hold her torch on high, 
 To trace the round of calm Infinity, 
 In all its sapphire clearness ; in the gloom 
 She gropes, until she stumbles o'er a tomb ; 
 Earth's roof of cloud to her is all the shy. 
 But Faith, while in the temple-court she keeps 
 Her midnight watch, sees up the azure deeps 
 God's name in starry cipher written fair, — 
 The vision of His wisdom, power, and love, 
 ■Serenely throned these drifting mists above, 
 Revealed unto the upward gaze of prayer. 
 
140 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Such was Mr Burns's first published volume of 
 poetry. The fact that it attained no great popularity 
 has been already accounted for ; yet, after all has 
 been said on that head, the fact will remain a dis- 
 credit to the religious world, especially to that sec- 
 tion of the religious world with whose views those of 
 Burns particularly harmonised. The Evangelical 
 party, specially so called, had possessed few poets of 
 equal promise since the death of Cowper. As usual, 
 the " audience fit though few" was found. Hugh 
 Miller perceived at once that Mr Burns was a man of 
 genius. " We are greatly mistaken," he wrote in the 
 Witness, " if Mr Burns be not a genuine poet, skilled, 
 as becomes a scholar and student of classic lore, in 
 giving to his verse the true artistic form, but not the 
 less born to inherit the vision and the faculty which 
 cannot be acquired." He added this fine critical 
 touch, which our examination of Mr Burns's volume 
 has prepared us to appreciate : '' In almost every line 
 in some of the pieces we find a distinct bit of picture 
 steeped in poetic feeling." From the day when these 
 poems appeared, Mr Burns obtained that fame which 
 was all he cared for, the grateful recognition, by lovers 
 of sacred minstrelsy, of his right to an honoured 
 place among those sweet singers whose voices have 
 filled the Christian temple. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 
 
 In the autumn of 1859 Mr Burns married Margaret, 
 daughter of Major-General John Macdonald of the 
 Bengal army, and widow of Lieutenant A. Procter of 
 the same service. Mrs Burns was truly a helpmeet 
 for him, congenial in tastes, able to appreciate the 
 peculiarity of his genius and the rare excellence of 
 his character, indefatigably tender in ministering to 
 his wants in time of weakness and suffering, and pro- 
 foundly sympathising with his whole-hearted devotion 
 to the cause of the Lord. A period of enjoyment — 
 mild and brief, but serene — was now allotted him. 
 The last years of his life were, to use his own fond 
 words, " his happiest and best." From all those 
 pleasures which depend upon excitement, or involve 
 ceremony and ostentation, he sensitively shrunk, but 
 in the quiet happiness of home his soul delighted. 
 " Few," writes Mrs Burns, in words which signify 
 much, " even of his most intimate friends knew what 
 he really was at home." Children were born to him, 
 and he was one who could feel to the utmost the 
 tender brightness of that joy which the presence of 
 
142 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 children diffuses through a Christian home. His 
 little ones, of whom there were three, were earnestly 
 welcomed with prayers of gratitude and dedication ; 
 their first smiles, their first steps, their first words, 
 were watched with interest and pleasure ; and he 
 looked forward with loving expectation to the time 
 when he might teach them, and when he might take 
 them by the hand to lead them to the house of God. 
 Though his friendships were few, he had some friends 
 in whom his confidence was complete, and for whom 
 his affection was ardent, and w T ith these he had 
 sweet converse during his married life at Hampstead. 
 When perfectly at his ease with those who under- 
 stood and loved him, his gift of sociality shone out, 
 and his conversation was charming. A vein of 
 humour, rich, racy, and not without a trace of 
 tartness and satire, would come ever and anon to 
 the surface, and with rare felicity would the shaft 
 of his wit pierce the lion-skin of pretence or pom- 
 posity. " His sense of the ludicrous," says Mrs 
 Burns, " was very keen — distressingly so sometimes 
 — for things would sometimes present themselves 
 from this point of view, when it would have been 
 more for comfort and expediency otherwise/' No 
 one who considers the ironical analysis of character, 
 and the power of humorous description, exhibited 
 in the extracts previously given from his Continental 
 tour, will have difficulty in believing this, or in 
 realising what it means. Held strictly in control, 
 and revealed rarely except when among his chosen 
 
MARRIED LIEE — MEXTOXE— THE END. 14,°) 
 
 friends, the humour which was a deep characteristic 
 of his genius lent a peculiar and fascinating charm 
 to his conversation. 
 
 He was an eager and extensive reader, glancing 
 with rapid eye along the page and seizing the valuable 
 matter. Pencil was ever in hand and note-book at 
 elbow. Books of Eastern travel were special favourites, 
 and it was an often-expressed desire of his heart to 
 visit Palestine, and to stand on the very ground 
 where Jesus trod. Love for the beautiful, amply 
 attested in his poetry, was with him a passion lying 
 at the very roots of his being. It was a memorable 
 sight to observe him, in the awakening of the year, as 
 he gazed with kindling eye and insatiable delight 
 upon the opening leaves and flowers. He liked to 
 have in the room with him some " thing of beauty," 
 which he could watch as it grew, and for the mature 
 loveliness of which he could tenderly wait. It is 
 interesting, as illustrative of the poetic idiosyncrasy, 
 to know that he was intensely affected by the fading 
 away of a beautiful flower. So real was this sorrow 
 to him, that when the bloom began to wane, he would 
 order flowers to be taken away. He could not bear to 
 see them withered. " Just because they were so beau- 
 tiful," he would say, " I like to think of them as they 
 icere ; don't leave them there fading." He loved 
 mountains, however, and the sea as well as flowers. 
 No aspect of nature, beautiful, grand, or awful, was 
 indifferent to him. In the autumn of 1860, he spent 
 with Mrs Burns four weeks at Hastings. Hour after 
 
144 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 hour he would loiter in a quiet little bay beyond the 
 old town, watching the ever- changing waves as they 
 flashed and rolled beneath the high cliffs. The visions 
 and impressions of such hours may be traced in the 
 following sonnet, which will compare with all but the 
 very best sonnets of Wordsworth. 
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 
 Run in, glad waves, scoop'd in transparent shells, 
 Which catch soft lights of emerald ere they break ; 
 Let the small ripple fret the sand, and make 
 The faintest chime of music, such as dwells 
 Far down within the sea-conch's murmuring cells, 
 While, hovering o'er the spray, the white birds wet 
 Their wings, and shouting fishers draw the net 
 To land, and far sails glitter on the swells. 
 'Tis bliss to rest, the while these soft blue skies 
 Breathe over earth their benison of peace, 
 To feel these lowly forms enchant the eyes, 
 And grow into the mind by slow degrees, 
 Till, breathless as a woodland pool, it lies 
 And sleeps above its sleeping images. 
 
 Partly by natural constitution, and partly from the 
 effects of illness, he was of an anxious, nervous, and 
 sensitive temperament. Preaching or any other pub- 
 lic appearance was painfully felt by him. Though 
 his hearers, observing his quiet manner and the easy 
 flow of his words, might have no perception of the 
 fact, he never entered the pulpit without agitation. 
 The Saturday night was almost sleepless, and the 
 Sabbath, until his work was done, almost a day of 
 fasting. He said that he could himself hardly under- 
 stand how it was that " he felt going into the pulpit 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE EXD. 145 
 
 each Sabbath well-nigh as if it were the first time." 
 To go to a public meeting, or even to a congrega- 
 tional meeting, was a severely felt ordeal. The 
 most joyful hours of his life were on Sabbath evenings 
 when the work of the clay was done. He preferred 
 pastoral work to that of the pulpit, and missed much 
 at Hampstead that house to house ministry to the 
 poor and the sick which he had diligently exercised 
 at Dunblane. Visits to the sick and sorrowing con- 
 stituted his most congenial employment, and with 
 deep and felicitous sympathy he could speak to the 
 mournful and the weary. 
 
 Diffident of his own powers, sternly exacting in 
 finish, and aiming at the highest standard of excel- 
 lence, he was a laborious and anxious composer. He 
 wrote his poetry and his prose articles during the 
 night, from ten in the evening to four in the morning. 
 When this is said, however, it is not implied that in 
 the actual writing he was slow. He meditated long ; 
 he procrastinated to the last moment ; but when 
 composing, his thoughts were put upon paper as fast 
 as his pen could trace them. The delicacy of his 
 sensibilities was such that any negotiation of a busi- 
 ness kind with publishers was torture to him. In 
 pulpit preparation, he was conscientiously regular, 
 devoting, as far as possible, the Friday and the 
 Saturday to the preparation of his sermons. His 
 Greek Testament was his daily companion. Com- 
 munion Sabbaths were days of special comfort and 
 holy enjoyment, and at such times he exerted him- 
 
 K 
 
146 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 self resolutely to throw off the load of nervous ap- 
 prehension by which he was commonly depressed. 
 He would sometimes express the wish that he could 
 escape from the consciousness of ministerial responsi- 
 bility, and sit down at the table as a worshipper and 
 a hearer. None who saw him at communion seasons 
 will forget the sacred elevation and chastened joy 
 which characterised him ; there seemed to be a saint- 
 liness and spirituality in his look. His voice, as he 
 officiated at the table, was more tender and solemn 
 than usual, every word coming in simple earnestness 
 and love from the depths of his heart. 
 
 In June 1862, he exchanged pulpits for a fort- 
 night with the Kev. J. Macfarlan of Greenock, and 
 before returning from Scotland, took ten days holiday. 
 He visited old friends, made an excursion to Oban, 
 enjoyed the little trip exceedingly, and returned home 
 refreshed in body and spirit. In November of the 
 same year his new Church was opened by Dr Guthrie. 
 Peculiarly susceptible as his poetical temperament 
 made him to influences of place and atmosphere, he 
 experienced great comfort and satisfaction in the new 
 and spacious sanctuary. The love of sunlight was a 
 passion with him ; it was to him, he said, what 
 it was to poor drooping flowers, and he had suffered 
 much from the comparative gloom and cheerless- 
 ness of his former place of worship. Early in 1863, 
 to crown all these happy circumstances, a friend who, 
 during his abode in Hampstead and on to the end, 
 was to him more than a brother, provided him with a 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MEN" TONE — THE END. 147 
 
 delightful residence. Settled with his wife and 
 children in " the Manse," a name dear to every Scot- 
 tish minister, with his books around him, his church 
 near, his friends to look in with a word and a smile, 
 he was tranquilly but deeply glad, and it might have 
 been thought that his long years of pilgrimage were 
 to give place to enduring repose. One day, soon after 
 being installed in the new dwelling, he remarked to 
 Mrs Burns, " My work never had a more encouraging 
 aspect — the church built, and this manse ; it seems 
 almost like making a fresh start here." So, in mercy, 
 he was permitted to hope ; but so it was not to be ; 
 one last melancholy pilgrimage to a foreign land 
 awaited him, and his work was now nearly done. 
 
 In April 1863 he attended the meeting of the 
 English Presbyterian Synod at Manchester. He en- 
 joyed the session exceedingly, and returned home so 
 well and bright that it seemed to have done him 
 good both in body and in mind. Shortly after, he 
 proceeded to Edinburgh as a member of the deputa- 
 tion from the English Presbyterian Church to the 
 Free Church. For a considerable number of years 
 his reputation had been making way, and it was now 
 generally felt throughout Scotland that he was an ex- 
 traordinary man. His address to the Free Assembly 
 was listened to with close attention, and elicited much 
 applause. A brief report of it will still be read with 
 interest by many. In order that one of its allusions 
 may be intelligible to English readers, it is necessary 
 to state that Mr Macleod, Moderator of the Free 
 
148 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Church Assembly in 1863, was minister of Snizort 
 in the Hebrides. 
 
 Mr Burns, after stating that he appeared before this 
 venerable Assembly as one of the representatives of the 
 Presbyterian Church in England, said : " For myself I 
 can testify — and I know that I speak the sentiments of 
 many of my brethren — that our connexion with a Church 
 which claims to be a distinct and independent member of 
 the great Presbyterian commonwealth has in no respect 
 weakened our attachment to the Church which we regard 
 as our spiritual mother, as it certainly has not affected our 
 loyal allegiance to those great principles which the Free 
 Church has been specially called to assert and maintain. 
 Our Church in England owes to the ten years' conflict the 
 awakening of its religious life. The Disruption marks an 
 epoch, and forms a starting-point in its history, as in your 
 own. Since then it has entered on a career of evangelistic 
 effort which, if beset by peculiar difficulties, and often 
 hampered by straitened resources, has been one of cheer- 
 ing progress, and of most hopeful augury for the future. 
 I think that sometimes sufficient allowance is not made 
 for the difficulties which Presbyterianism in England has 
 to contend with. In Scotland the great mass of the 
 people is leavened with its principles, and breathes its 
 atmosphere, from childhood. It is associated with the 
 heroic struggles of the Covenanters, and hallowed by the 
 blood of martyrs. In England we have to make way 
 against the current, to bear up against the prejudices of 
 some minds, and the ignorance and apathy of many more. 
 Your efforts at self-extension are like constructing a line 
 of railway through a level country, where little more is 
 needed than an accurate survey. Ours is like carrying a 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 149 
 
 line through a hilly district, where rocks are to be pierced 
 and valleys filled up or bridged over, where there are 
 deep gradients and trying curves. Yet, as I have said, our 
 progress has been encouraging. In the Presbytery of which 
 I am a member we now number twenty-six congregations, 
 no less than seventeen of which have been formed since 
 the Disruption, and of these, twelve within the last ten 
 years. We want, of course, the local compactness which 
 belongs to a Scottish Presbytery, stretching, as our limits 
 do, on the one hand to Brighton, on the other to Exeter, 
 and even to Alderney and Guernsey, deep in the Channel 
 — though speaking of compactness, I may observe, that 
 from the farthest verge of our ecclesiastical territories in 
 the Channel Islands there may be dimly descried a con- 
 gregation, 
 
 1 Placed far amid the melancholy main,' 
 
 which for some mysterious reason claims to be connected 
 with the Presbytery of Edinburgh. There has been for 
 some years past a growing desire with us that the sub- 
 stantial agreement and cordial understanding that exists 
 between the two Churches should assume a more practical 
 form — that it should be exhibited, not in words only, but in 
 deeds — by some actual co-operation in the great work to 
 which our Lord and Master has called us. One of the 
 most gratifying incidents at the recent meeting of our 
 Synod in Manchester was the announcement, in the report 
 of our Home Mission, of the formation of a Presbyterian 
 congregation at Swansea, with every prospect of stability 
 and growth, and that mainly owes its success to the 
 labours of ministers of the Free Church. I may be 
 excused for specially mentioning the name of Dr Julius 
 
1 50 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Wood of Dumfries, who was led in the providence of God 
 to give the infant charge the benefit of his faithful minis- 
 trations and fostering care, and who has thereby placed 
 our Church under deep obligations. Now, this case of 
 Swansea very clearly points out the way in which, as a 
 Church, you could render us most valuable assistance in 
 the work in which our Home Mission is engaged. In 
 almost all the large towns of England, centres of commer- 
 cial activity and influence, there are numbers of Presby- 
 terians who have not forgotten the Church of their fathers, 
 though it is scarcely wonderful they should think it has 
 forgotten them. What has been done at Swansea might 
 easily be done in twenty other places not less important. 
 Our true policy of Church extension is to plant ourselves 
 in such localities, and make them a basis of operation for 
 the surrounding districts. We are unable, from the small- 
 ness of our numbers, to avail ourselves of these openings, 
 and we look for help to you. It is not money we come 
 to ask — though I have no right to say it would be refused 
 — and, indeed, the General Assembly of the Irish Church 
 made a very handsome collection for us last year — an 
 example worthy of imitation — but men. Sure I am, that 
 if, during the coming year, your Home Mission Committee 
 would place at the service of ours ten or twelve men, such 
 as one could easily mention — men who have had experience 
 in such work in Scotland, and whose names would com- 
 mand respect to their message, good incalculable would be 
 the result. Your countrymen in England have a claim, 
 and our Church has a special claim. While I hold it a 
 right thing to present Presbyterianism to the English 
 people as indigenous, and not exotic — to make it strike a 
 vigorous and independent root in English soil, such as it 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 151 
 
 had 200 years ago — there is no doubt that the name of 
 the Free Church has a weight and a significance which 
 does not as yet belong to the name of English Presby- 
 terianism." After referring to English ecclesiastical con- 
 troversies, and Canon Stanley's letter advocating the abro- 
 gation of clerical subscription, Mr Burns concluded : " This 
 is enough to show that great changes are imminent. 
 These are the sounds of preparation and foreshadowing of a 
 conflict, the immediate results of which it is impossible to 
 forecast. But believing as I do that our own simple form 
 of worship and government is most in accordance with the 
 Word of God, that under it we have the best securities for 
 purity of doctrine, and effectiveness of grave and temperate 
 discipline — that in it lie the elements of the solution of 
 many difficulties that appear at present to men of thought 
 ful and pious minds in the Church of England and out of 
 it — I feel persuaded that in the coming conflict we Pres- 
 byterians in England have a solemn and critical part to 
 take, and that, in faithfully avowing and fearlessly carrying 
 out our principles, we shall occupy a position of signal 
 advantage, and may expect them to tell more powerfully 
 on the English mind than they have ever yet done. It is 
 my firm faith that God has been holding us in reserve, 
 and that the special work appointed to us in England 
 begins now to open out more distinctly. In that work 
 you can be, and will be, a valuable auxiliary. It is not 
 ours — it is not yours — it is God's ; and with you we are 
 bound to have regard to it by the best interests of our 
 fellow-men, the cause of evangelical Christianity, and the 
 welfare of our beloved land. You can send us men to tell 
 the great things that God has done in your own borders ; 
 and, by assisting us with our evangelistic work, quicken 
 
152 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 and animate our exertions, enable us at once to extend and 
 concentrate our efforts, and practically exhibit the union 
 of heart and mind, of belief and confession, which links us 
 together by a sacred and enduring bond. Out of your 
 abundance, and the riches of your liberality, there might 
 easily be made a contribution to our poverty. If, sir, 
 your native isle furnished in little more than a single 
 generation no fewer than 10,000 gallant Highlanders, the 
 full strength of two imperial legions, to fight the battles 
 of their country, I cannot doubt that this Church, renowned 
 in Christendom for its chivalrous zeal and deeds of heroic 
 daring and self-sacrifice, will supply a company of volun- 
 teers — a contingent to reinforce the small, struggling, hard- 
 pressed battalion, and inspire us with one heart and mind 
 in fighting the battles of the Lord. We can rejoice in 
 your prosperity as our own — we know that you will 
 rejoice in ours as yours. For the brethren and com- 
 panions' sake, we can say, Peace be within you ; and I 
 feel that you will not withhold from our brotherly greeting 
 the response and the promise, ' Because of the peace of 
 the Lord our God, I will seek thy good alway.' ; ' 
 
 He was much pressed to preach in Dr Candlish's 
 pulpit on this occasion, but his strength had been 
 already overtasked, and he was compelled to decline. 
 He returned from Edinburgh with a severe cold, 
 and, says Mrs Burns, "his hoarse voice sent a chill 
 through me the first word he uttered on reaching 
 home." " This cold," she adds, "he never thoroughly 
 shook off." 
 
 Not many months had passed after the opening of 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MEXTOXE — THE END. 153 
 
 the new church, when a notable subsidence of 
 strength alarmed his friends. He could not go up 
 the High Street of Hampstead without frequent pauses 
 to recover strength ; and although in the absence of 
 pain he did not feel alarm, when he consulted his kind 
 physicians, Dr Brown and Dr A. P. Stewart, they at 
 once detected the revival of active disease in the chest, 
 and as the best means of arresting it ordered their 
 patient to proceed at once to Mentone. 
 
 The following letter to Mr Bell shows how little 
 anxiety he himself felt, and how hopefully he started 
 on his journey. 
 
 "The Manse, Hampstead, 
 December 31, 1863. 
 
 " My dear frieis t d, — I daresay the tidings of our in- 
 tended departure in a few days for a milder climate 
 took you somewhat by surprise, It came upon myself, 
 as a right and fitting step to be taken, rather unex- 
 pectedly ; for though I have not been feeling very 
 vigorous these few months past, I have been preaching 
 regularly, and going on with my work much as usual. 
 However, it has been deemed advisable that I should 
 not risk the next few months in our keen Hampstead 
 air, and in the beginning of the week we shall set our 
 faces southward to sunny Italian skies. It is in 
 many ways a painful trial, this forced retreat just 
 now from active labour, with our new church so 
 recently opened, and so many things to press on one's 
 mind ; to leave, too, the manse which had just become 
 one's pleasant home. As before, I feel that God is 
 
154 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 leading me by a way I would not have chosen for 
 myself, and I go forth trusting that His presence will 
 go with me and make me to feel that it has been the 
 right way in the end. 
 
 " We hope to leave London on Tuesday next, and 
 mean to travel by easy stages on account of the 
 children. Our route will be by Boulogne, Paris, 
 Lyons, and Marseilles ; thence to Xice, from which 
 Mentone, our destination, is twenty-five miles distant 
 on the road to Genoa. We have glowing accounts 
 of the mildness of the climate, and the beauty of the 
 place, which nestles in orange and lemon groves, in 
 a bright blue bay of the Mediterranean. There are 
 a good many English visitors there this winter, some 
 of them of course invalids, and I hope there may be 
 opportunities of usefulness, though my Sabbaths will 
 be silent for a time. My sister has been with us this 
 last week, and we have been often speaking of you all. " 
 
 This time, however, Mentone did not fulfil its 
 promises. At his arrival in January 1864, instead of 
 a mild climate, Mr Burns found weather as severe as 
 he had left in England, and though the " orange and 
 lemon groves " were there, they were bending under 
 such a snow-fall as had not been known for many 
 years. Instead of being beneficial, the first effect of 
 the change was decidedly injurious, and the spring 
 was considerably advanced before he regained the 
 ground which he had lost at his first arrival. " All 
 His saints are in His hand, " and the seasons and the 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 155 
 
 elements are under the same control ; and although 
 at first that bitter weather seemed a strange answer 
 to the prayers of many friends, it was after all the 
 gracious messenger in a grim disguise, and brought 
 one of God's dear children the sooner home. He did 
 not mourn nor murmur, and in playful mood he 
 threw off the following lines on " The Snowflake and 
 the Citron " for the amusement of a little friend at 
 Heathlands, whose printing-press soon supplied a 
 copy to most of his London acquaintances : 
 
 A snowflake came fluttering down through the air 
 
 Where a citron grew in a garden fair, 
 
 " I am weary of flying," it said to the tree, 
 
 " I should like to rest for a while on thee ! " 
 
 Said the citron-tree, " It is many a year, 
 That I have been growing and flourishing here, 
 But I have ne'er seen a creature like thee ; 
 Now tell me first what thy name may be ! 
 
 " The little bird comes to my topmost spray, 
 And sings its song all the sweet spring day ; 
 The bee and the butterfly well I know, 
 Lightly they come and lightly they go. 
 
 " They nestle about in my fragrant flowers, 
 And they fly away to their woodland bowers, 
 They never hurt me in blossom or stem — 
 Art thou an innocent creature like them ?" 
 
 " Oh never fear ! " said the little snowflake ; 
 " The smallest bird that sings in the brake, 
 The gauze-wing'd bee or the butterfly, 
 Is not such a gentle creature as I ! 
 " I am but a rain-drop out at play 
 In my soft white mantle this winter day, 
 It is crystal-clasp'd — it is light and warm — 
 How could a rain-drop do thee harm ?" 
 
156 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS, 
 
 "Well then ! " said the citron-tree with a smile, 
 " You are welcome to stay and rest awhile ! " 
 And the little snowflake chose out on the tree 
 For his perch the greenest leaf he could see. 
 
 Then another came, and another came, 
 And their request was always the same, 
 Till the citron branches one and all 
 Were white with the snowflakes' noiseless fall. 
 
 And soon there struck to its heart a chill 
 Never felt before, — a foreboding of ill, — 
 And soon with the weight of the falling flakes, 
 Its loveliest branch bends down and breaks. 
 
 And its deep roots shiver'd under the ground, 
 And its golden fruits dropped off all round, 
 And so the snowflake, so small to see, 
 Was the death of the beautiful citron-tree. 
 
 There are lines here which recall Shelley's " Sensi- 
 tive Plant/' universally recognised as one of the 
 master-pieces of that great poet. The melancholy 
 conclusion — the death in which beauty and friend- 
 ship and love all end — has a deep pathos in con- 
 nexion with the circumstances under which the 
 poem was written. 
 
 On the 22d of February, dating from 7 Rue 
 Saint Michael, Mentone, he writes to Mr Bell : — 
 
 " The first three weeks after our arrival, whether 
 from the effects of a severe cold caught on the jour- 
 ney, or the collapse ensuing from absolute cessation 
 of work, I was in a state of greal prostration, much 
 weaker than when I left. This is passing off, but 
 slowly ; and as the weather gets milder and more 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 157 
 
 settled, I hope the improvement will be more de- 
 cided. 
 
 " You may have heard of the proposal of my con- 
 gregation to give me a colleague. The arrangement 
 is based on terms most considerate and liberal to 
 myself; and very much from the feeling that has been 
 impressed on me since coming here, that I cannot 
 look for a very speedy return to active labour, I have 
 seen it my duty to acquiesce. A cordial and unani- 
 mous call will be given to Mr Matheson of Forgue, 
 and I hope he will accept it. He has the qualities in 
 which 1 am deficient, and will find a sufficient sphere 
 of usefulness at Hampstead."* 
 
 No arrangement could be wiser or kinder. To a 
 new and not very numerous congregation it was a 
 considerable effort to sustain two ministers ; but 
 with a noble liberality and cheerfulness that effort 
 was made, and whilst Mr Burns was enabled to pro- 
 long his continental sojourn without anxiety, not 
 only did the Kev. John Matheson find an ample and 
 
 * It was by a providence not a little remarkable that Mr Mathe- 
 son, who had never met Mr Burns, was summoned to the south of 
 France this very spring', to receive at Marseilles a widowed sister- 
 in-law from China, and to see her settled at Cannes. Mr Mathe- 
 son very kindly took advantage of the opportunity of being so 
 comparatively near to make a brief visit to Mentone, that he might 
 bring back tidings of the dear invalid Pastor. It was a source of 
 deep satisfaction to Mr Burns that he had been allowed the plea- 
 sure of making the personal acquaintance of him on whom the 
 mind of the congregation became afterwards fixed as his colleague 
 and successor at Hampstead, and the interview Avas greatly enjoyed 
 by both 
 
158 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 extending sphere of usefulness at Hampstead, but in 
 his accession the Presbytery of London obtained a 
 fellow-labourer, unwearying and most successful in 
 the work of Church extension in London and around 
 it. 
 
 In the end of May, Mr Burns and his family 
 exchanged Mentone for Switzerland. From Clarens. 
 on the 22d of June, he addressed a pastoral letter to 
 his Hampstead flock. It is full of the most tender 
 solicitude for their spiritual welfare, and is pervaded 
 with the fervent piety of one living near God, and 
 much in prayer. " It has been a great joy to me," 
 he says, "to hear from time to time that the attend- 
 ance at the weekly prayer meeting has been so well 
 kept up. There can be no surer index of spiritual 
 life and prosperity, no better sign that God has a 
 blessing in reserve. Often at the seasons when I 
 knew you were thus assembled, have I felt myself 
 inwardly cheered and strengthened by the thought 
 that I was not forgotten in your prayers, and one 
 could not but rejoice in so sensibly realising the fel- 
 lowship of believing and loving hearts, the com- 
 munion of saints. And let me say very seriously, as 
 a truth that has been deeply borne in upon my soul, 
 that never does a minister need thus to be remem- 
 bered more, than when the hand of God has been 
 laid on him to arrest him in his course of service, and 
 to seal his lips before his time. Such a visitation 
 shows him many things from another point of view. 
 Affliction, like death, casts over the soul the shadow 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 159 
 
 of the coming eternity, and reveals so many sins and 
 imperfections, such iniquity in holy things, that one 
 can only abase one's-self before the Searcher of hearts, 
 and cry, God be merciful to me a sinner. Sometimes 
 I think that if ever permitted again to preach the 
 word of grace and truth amongst you, it would be 
 with a heavier sense of responsibility, and of the 
 sacred and awful trust of dealing with immortal 
 souls. Meanwhile, I desire to submit myself in this 
 and all other events of life to the Master's will, desir- 
 ing that Christ may be magnified in me, whether by 
 service or suffering, whether by working or waiting, 
 whether by life or death." 
 
 He then refers in hopeful terms to the symptoms 
 of improvement which at that time revealed them- 
 selves in his health. " Here." he proceeds, " amid 
 the scenes of grandeur and loveliness that surround 
 me. girt round by the munitions of Alpine rocks, and 
 gazing on the broad blue lake, — which, mirroring 
 the eternal hills in its glassy sheet, reminds one of 
 Gennesaret, the Saviour's lake, — with time given to 
 commune with one's own heart and with God, it would 
 be my desire to cultivate more of the habit of fellow- 
 ship with Him whose power and majesty are so 
 wondrously stamped on all that I behold, — Him who 
 in His word has still more wondrously revealed Him- 
 self, as the Father of mercies and the God of all 
 grace, making these earthly things types of unseen 
 realities, things eternal in the heavens. How blessed 
 to know Him in Christ, reconciled and reconciling. 
 
1G0 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 and to say, ' Thy righteousness is like the great 
 mountains, thy judgments are a mighty deep, How 
 excellent is thy loving-kindness, God ! ' To be 
 able to say, ' The mountains shall depart and the 
 hills be removed ; but His kindness shall not depart 
 from me, neither shall the covenant of His peace be 
 removed.' 
 
 " The Lord grant to us all grace so to follow on to 
 know Him, giving diligence to make our calling and 
 election sure, that we may daily grow in grace and in 
 the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, 
 May the joy of the Lord be our strength now, and 
 His glory hereafter our portion and exceeding great 
 reward ! " 
 
 In a letter dated Clarens, Vaud, July 4, 1864. he 
 writes to Mrs Bell : — 
 
 " I am thankful to say that, since coming to Swit- 
 zerland, my health has decidedly improved. The 
 style of living, and the fresh mountain air, have 
 begun to tell favourably on the system, though as yet 
 I am far from having any superfluous vigour. This 
 winter has given me a ruder shock than I ever had 
 before, and often, in looking back on the first dreary 
 weeks at Mentone, I feel that if I had been alone, I 
 could scarcely have dragged through, and bless God 
 for having given me the gentle nurse and comforter 
 who is beside me. 
 
 " We were only three days at Geneva, and came 
 on first to Montreux, a place about a mile from this ; 
 but we found a want of shade about it, and it was 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE EXD. 161 
 
 so steep and hilly that, after a week's trial, we removed 
 to Clarens, where we have abundance of trees and 
 level walks, and the most beautiful views you can 
 imagine. Greatly does the sight of Nature's magni- 
 ficence soothe and elevate my spirit ; one never tires 
 of gazing on these spotless snows and crystal waters. 
 We are two miles from Chillon, a view of which I 
 enclose. The snowy ridge you see in the distance is 
 the Dent du Midi, which we have constantly in sight. 
 We live in one of the pensions, or boarding-houses, 
 that abound in these parts, and are very comfortable. 
 We have more than forty people in the house, most 
 of them English, and a society agreeable enough on 
 the whole. The children are delighted with the 
 attention paid to them, and will think domestic life 
 very slow after all this excitement. To avoid the 
 summer heat we must go higher up than this, and in 
 the end of the week we ascend to Les Avants, a place 
 in the mountains above Clarens, where we shall 
 remain for a month at least, possibly two, if it suits us." 
 The last letter which his faithful correspondents in 
 Glasgow received from him was written from Vevay, 
 October 8, 1864. 
 
 " My dear Friend,—! wrote to Mrs Bell from 
 Clarens in the first week of July. The next two 
 months we spent at a mountain cMlet, ' Les Avants,' 
 in the Vaudois Alps. A primitive kind of life it was, 
 and we greatly enjoyed it. In the beginning of Sep- 
 tember we came down to Vevay, a place as you know 
 
 L 
 
162 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 between Lausanne and Chillon, beautifully situated 
 on the lake, and embosomed in vineyards. Our stay 
 here, however, has been overshadowed by the sickness 
 of our children. They have been suffering all the 
 time from hooping-cough, and this week I have had 
 an attack of a peculiar malady, St Anthony's fire, 
 not a dangerous, but a very painful visitation. We 
 leave (D. V.) on Monday for Geneva and Lyons, and 
 hope to reach Mentone by the end of the week. I 
 have been on the whole benefited by our residence in 
 Switzerland, and I hope to return southwards under 
 more favourable circumstances than before. 
 
 " One great drawback at Mentone is the want of 
 books, literary journals, &c. Would you go shares 
 in the Athenaeum with me for six months, or do 
 you know any one that would ? I mean I would 
 gladly pay half the subscription and the postage. I 
 would not mind its being a week old, if it readied me 
 regularly. Also, I wish I could get a second-hand 
 copy of the London Examiner, a paper I used to see 
 on the same terms. 
 
 " For the last three months I have been able to hold 
 a religious meeting every Sabbath. It has been a 
 very quiet, simple affair ; but I cannot tell you what 
 a privilege and pleasure I have felt it not to be utterly 
 useless, or cast aside as a vessel wherein is no pleasure." 
 
 Thus he wrote from Vevay on the eighth of October ; 
 — " shares with me in the Athenceum for six months." 
 So far, he thought, he could still look with some 
 
MARRIED LIFE— MEXTONE — THE END. 163 
 
 confidence into the future. But he was mistaken. 
 The " shadow feared of man," which he had so long 
 seen waiting for him by the wayside, was nearer than 
 he thought. In less than two months after the day 
 when he wrote to Mr Bell, he had gone to render his 
 account to that Master whom, to use his own simple 
 and artless words, he had felt it ' ; a privilege and 
 pleasure " to serve. 
 
 The journey from Vevay to Mentone was accom- 
 plished with encouraging ease. His spirits rose, and 
 he became hopeful and cheerful. Relieved from the 
 bustle and confusion of the pension in which he had 
 lived at Vevay, with his family restored to health 
 around him, and in a house which he could feel to be 
 a home, he was once more happy. But these appear- 
 ances proved deceitful. The faint glow of strength 
 and animation which he experienced was but that 
 fleeting effect of change and mild excitement by 
 which the insidious disease that had now pushed its 
 approaches almost to the citadel of his life so often 
 simulates the return of health. The reaction came, 
 his energies ebbed rapidly away, and as the last 
 leaves fell from the branch at the touch of the Nov- 
 ember wind, it became evident that he was dying. 
 
 He went up-stairs for the last time on Friday 
 night, November 18, and was terribly exhausted by 
 the effort. All that day he had been feeling very 
 weak and depressed, and friends who called to see 
 him in the afternoon were much struck by the weary 
 expression of his countenance. He asked Mr 
 
164 THE LIFE OF J. D. BTJEXS. 
 
 Morgan, the English clergyman, to pray with him. 
 After, with much difficulty, getting him into bed, he 
 folded his hands like a little child, and bowing his 
 head he said, " I must pray as my Master prayed, 
 three times using the same words, Father, not my will 
 but Thine be done," repeating the words twice again. 
 A few days later, when he had risen about two 
 o'clock, it was remarked that he seemed rather 
 stronger. He replied, ' ; Well, I do think I am not so 
 tired to-day. What a delightful thing a glorified 
 body will be ! — this vile body of death, I have never 
 cared much for it." That same night severe attacks 
 of breathlessness came on, and next morning the 
 doctor could not but tell him that all the symptoms 
 were unfavourable, and his case becoming very 
 critical. All that was said was received with a cheer- 
 ful quietness that showed he was not unprepared to 
 hear the worst. Mrs Burns says, " On first going up 
 after the doctor had gone, I could not help my tears. 
 I asked him if it distressed him too much; ' Oh, not 
 now,' he said so tenderly. After a little we were able 
 to talk quietly of the glorious change that now 
 seemed so near for him. He was very bright, and 
 talked a great deal of different things. He asked me 
 to say ' some of the hymns you used to say to me 
 long ago.' I repeated, ' Lord, it belongs not to my 
 care,' the one he asked for first, and which was 
 always a great favourite. Then, ' Jesus, thy blood 
 and righteousness ; ' ' There is a fountain filled with 
 blood;' 'Beloved, it is well.' In most of them he 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE— THE EXD. 16o 
 
 joined, and then asked for 'How sweet the name of 
 Jesus sounds/ adding, ' I have been so drawn to that 
 hymn this summer, and you remember it was the 
 last we sang at our meetings, and I raised the tune 
 myself. You will think of me sometimes when you 
 hear that hymn.' He could not speak of leaving us 
 without tears then. It pained him to think of his 
 little ones growing up without ' knowing their papa, 
 who loved them so fondly.' He spoke of their going 
 home and entering his study, and recognising all the 
 old things, ' and 1 11 not be there.' He thought of 
 the garden of which he had been so fond, ' and the 
 dear little tree under which we all sat.' And then 
 we spoke again of the brightness and the glory of 
 that land above. 
 
 " Dreading unconsciousness very much, he asked me 
 to pray that his mind might be clear to the last, and 
 that he might be spared pain and a long conflict. He 
 shrank from pain and death. ' I can never expect to 
 have what is called a triumphant death-bed. I am 
 not of a hopeful nature, and my religious experience 
 has never been what one would call joyous. I shall 
 be thankful just to creep into heaven, into the lowest 
 corner, and look upon His blessed face ! Oh what a 
 Saviour He is, I wonder how I can love Him so 
 little/ 
 
 " ' When lying here, I feel, what I have often felt 
 when visiting those as low as I am now, that one 
 must just come back to the simple truth : " Christ 
 Jesus came into the world to save sinners." And oh, 
 
166 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 He will not cast me out. I come to him as a poor 
 sinner with nothing of my own.' 
 - I said— 
 
 Fhy blood and righteou- 
 sly beauty are. my glorious d:\ 
 
 :- • Yes/ he said. ' that 's all my hnpe. Death ought 
 not to be a strange thought to me. I have been so long 
 ill : but it is a little painful still to think of leaving 
 you. Maggie, and our sweet wee bairnies. and my 
 people, and my work, and some friends who might 
 have expected me to see them home first : but it is 
 God's will, and it is all well. I am perfectly satisfied 
 that everything lias been done that could have been 
 done,, and far more than I ever could have expected ; 
 but it has not been the Lord's will to restore me. 
 He has done with me for work now. 
 
 •' • Till a week ago, I always hoped to go back to 
 Hampstead to see all the dear faces again. I should 
 like to have had a few weeks among them, just to 
 have said farewell. 
 
 •• • I fe si I have n< i made use of the talents God has 
 
 given me as I might have done. ; . '..: to have 
 
 of my friends .... may think it has 
 
 been from mere indolence. But yon know it has not 
 
 that. I never can satisfy myself in writing. 
 
 This at first Bight looks like humility ; but it is pride, 
 
 setting myself apart from every one else. But 
 
 will accept my unworthy services, and forgive my 
 
 rtcomings 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTOXE — THE END. 167 
 
 A consultation of physicians having been held, 
 some hope was held out that he might yet be restored 
 to his invalid state, and go on for some time. He 
 said to them very quietly and cheerfully, " It is right 
 to use all means, and leave the result in higher hands. 
 I hope I have tried to live knowing that this hour 
 must come. All is done for me, I feel, that can be, 
 and a Christian man can desire nothing more but to 
 leave the result quietly with God." 
 
 A telegram had been despatched to London that 
 morning. All day he had had occasional attacks of 
 breathlessness, which were very distressing. One of 
 these came on at half-past seven in the evening, and 
 seemed suddenly to pass off. He was reminded that 
 they would be just engaging in prayer at Hampstead 
 at the weekly prayer-meeting, where they would have 
 heard of the telegram. He looked up and said ear- 
 nestly, " And God has answered their prayer; while 
 they were yet speaking He has heard/' 
 
 Next day, Thursday, November 24, he asked for 
 his Greek Testament as usual, and read it for the last 
 time. He spoke little, feeling weaker, but was full 
 of peace and calm, and so like himself in every word 
 and look. A letter from Hampstead having come, 
 was read to him, and he was greatly pleased to hear 
 of the special prayer-meeting of the office-bearers on 
 his behalf. His wife said, " And their prayer is an- 
 swered. You are able to roll every burden on the 
 Lord. 5 ' " Oh yes/' he said. " And you have perfect 
 peace." " No," he said slowly ; " you must not say 
 
168 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 "perfect peace ; I have a great shrinking from suffering 
 and death." " But it is not death," she said, " but just 
 passing into glory, and you don't go alone : ' When I 
 pass through the valley and shadow of death I will 
 fear no evil ; for Thou art with me : Thy rod and Thy 
 staff they comfort me/" " Yes," he said ; " but there 
 is something very mysterious in the departure of the 
 spirit from the body, and we don't know exactly in 
 what state the spirit is, whether it has any sympathy 
 with the body until they are reunited. But we must 
 not speculate on these things, on which we have so 
 little to guide us. Sufficient to know that ' Absent 
 from the body is present with the Lord.' What am 
 I that I should be taken up yonder ? What an as- 
 semblage ! most of the patriarchs, prophets, apostles, 
 martyrs, saints, and little children. Paul is there. 
 I shall see Paul. How often I have preached about 
 him ! now I shall see him. How he loved Jesus ! And 
 Peter is there. And I shall see Jesus, blessed Jesus." 
 He added with great energy, " We are the majority 
 up yonder. You are the poor ones who have to go 
 back and struggle on in the world." 
 
 He spoke this day with much affection of some of 
 his chief friends at Hampstead. " Dear Heathlands, 
 a happy home." "Dear Kenwood, where I used to 
 write my sermons, and we used to walk." He ex- 
 pressed deep sympathy with Mr and Mrs Groom on 
 the death of their little girl. When she was ill he 
 used to say, " Polly and I are going home together." 
 Now he said, " Dear, sweet Polly, there is no Polly 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONB — THE END. 169 
 
 here now ; she has outrun rue, and reached the 
 sepulchre first, and seen the risen Saviour." 
 
 Next day, Friday, Xovember 25, he was much 
 weaker : the expectoration had sensibly decreased, and 
 he appeared to sink so rapidly, that it was feared he 
 could not survive till the friend expected from London 
 should arrive. In the course of the forenoon he 
 was asked, "May I tell them it is perfect peace now ? " 
 " Oh yes, perfect peace," he said slowly, and with 
 emphasis. " All fear is taken away. I feel God has 
 weaned me now. You know how I have loved you, 
 and my children, and my people, and my work, but 
 I am willing to leave you all now and go to Jesus. 
 I should just like to shut my eyes and fall asleep on 
 Jesus' bosom : blessed Jesus ! blessed Jesus ! " " My 
 Lord is so good to me ;" " Mercy abounds, I have all 
 I want," were frequent expressions. " Christ hath 
 abolished death and brought life and immortality to 
 light through the Gospel," was a text often repeated. 
 " I wish my dear colleague and kinsman, John Math- 
 eson, to preach my funeral sermon from these words, 
 ' I am the resurrection, and the life : he that believeth 
 in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live : and 
 whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. 
 Belie vest thou this ? ' Tell him I feel that for a- long 
 time the Lord has been gradually weaning me from 
 the world, and I hope I may say I die as a Christian 
 man, a poor sinner resting on Jesus, on the precious 
 truth that Christ Jesus came into the world to save 
 sinners. I have felt often how unworthv I was ever 
 
1 70 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 to be put into the ministry, to serve at the altar of 
 God, and how unworthy have been my services. It 
 has always been my desire to comfort. I liked to 
 try and comfort. People may have thought me too 
 smooth, not rousing enough, but I have liked so to 
 comfort, having so often felt the need of comfort 
 myself. I thank God that He has given me some 
 pleasant associations with my work as a minister, 
 in having permitted me to comfort some when 
 they were weary. I want to add my humble tes- 
 timony from the bottom of my heart that He is a 
 faithful Master, and will not forsake His own in the 
 dying hour. I have been dying for twenty years, 
 now I am going to live. Christ hath abolished death 
 and brought life and immortality to light through the 
 Gospel." 
 
 He took tender leave of the children this clay, one 
 by one, and did not see them again. He also took 
 leave of their faithful nurse Emma, very affectionately. 
 He asked her for all her family, told her how much 
 he felt the faithful service she had rendered them, and 
 expressed the wish that she would remain with them. 
 He commended her to God, and prayed for His bless- 
 ing on her. 
 
 On the night of Friday the 25th November he was 
 cheered by the kindness of the Rev. A. Burn Murdoch 
 of the Free Church at Nice, who came over to see 
 him, and sat with him till the evening of the next 
 day. Mr Burn Murdoch does not think he ever saw 
 so sweet a death-bed, and he recorded some of his 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MEXTO'E — THE Ey:>, 1 i 1 
 
 impressions at the time in a letter which was pub- 
 lished in the Free Church Missionary Record 
 
 "Itwas tog of Friday, t". 25tl Nov- 
 
 ember," writes Mr Murdoch, " that I h 
 
 _. and I was able I i with 
 him about midnight. He Bat sup] 1 by pill 
 lovingly tended by his sorrowing y Mrs 
 
 M rgan, the kind wife of I lan, a 
 
 urer of many. whom, along with Madame Dela- 
 pierre. the wife of the French | stoi I cannot deny 
 ire of mentioning as ever ready to 
 
 •' Quite unable I 
 have his 1 from time to time : an 
 
 scribable weariness rather in being that 
 
 which oppress-. d him. 
 
 " • I am a poor creature.'" he said ' I shrink fi 
 physical Buffering and I have h Lli He, very 111 
 
 '■ " He knoweth our frame/ I said ' H_ 
 ith that we are dust. 3 
 
 " 'He h nth me.' 
 
 '• I told him that Ih ay pro- 
 
 mising y m in Scotland w ing on 
 
 theological study, and said. ' That the Lord w 
 supply our pi 
 
 " He said. " It will go on. These last few years 
 I have loved my wife, I have loved my children.. I 
 have loved my friends, I have loved my work, as 
 much as any man ; but I am enable:! to leave them 
 all, and have no wish but to be at rest in the arms 
 
172 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 of my Lord. I am weary, weary. Perhaps the 
 weakness of the body gives me this desire for 
 rest/ 
 
 " At another time he said, ' Pray for me, my brother. 
 I should like you to ask for me a gentle dismissal, 
 and a clear mind to enter eternity with, that I may 
 testify to the last to the Lord's faithfulness. Or if, 
 through weakness of the body, this be not possible, 
 that I may never let go hold of Christ. And I 
 desire now to testify beforehand to the Lord's won- 
 derful goodness to me at all times. He has been 
 ever faithful; and especially during the last few 
 days His mercies have been more than I should have 
 imagined beforehand/ 
 
 " Again he said, ' When it comes to this, there 's 
 nothing for it but that word, " Christ Jesus came 
 into the world to save sinners." Men may sit in 
 their studies and write against the Bible, and point 
 their pens against this and that in the Bible : but I 
 feel now what I have often thought in speaking to 
 others as low as I myself am now, that this is the 
 only rock, " Christ Jesus came into the world to 
 save sinners." ' 
 
 " The sky was wild and gray, the sea restless ; and 
 with a dull monotonous wash the surf broke upon 
 the shingle just below the windows of the room 
 where the poor sufferer, unable to sleep or to be still, 
 was wearing out the night. The poetic fire gleamed 
 forth to the last. He drew my attention to the noise 
 of the sea, and said, ' A weary sound — it cannot rest. 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 173 
 
 There is a point of sympathy between me and it just 
 now.' 
 
 " I said, ' There shall be no more sea. There 
 remaineth a rest/ 
 
 " ' Sabbatismos ! ' he replied, pronouncing the 
 word very slowly and with great feeling. 
 
 " His bodily distress was very great, and it was in 
 a scarcely audible voice, and with self-denying effort 
 that from time to time he gave utterance to such 
 sentiments as those I have here noted down. Serenity 
 was the characterising feature of his dying hours. 
 But when, on Saturday afternoon I prayed, and kissed 
 him, and said, ' Adieu ! — To God ! ' his parting look 
 was radiant with joy." 
 
 A few hours later, the arrival from London of 
 one of the elders of Mr Burns's congregation at 
 Hampstead, Mr Hugh M. Matheson, was a great 
 joy to the dying man, and a most seasonable solace 
 to the weary watchers by his side. He survived Mr 
 Matheson's arrival just four and twenty hours, and 
 although unable during any part of that time to lay 
 down his head, but needing to be propped up in the 
 bed with pillows, and to be constantly aided for the 
 relief of his sufferings, his countenance was lighted up 
 with a radiance it had not known for years, and he 
 never uttered an impatient word, or wearied of testi- 
 fying to the faithfulness of the Lord whom he loved. 
 At eleven o'clock on the night of Sabbath the 27th 
 November 1864, he gently breathed his last. 
 
 His remains were brought to England, and were 
 
174 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 deposited in the cemetery at Highgate, a large con- 
 course of mourners attending the service, which was 
 held in Trinity Presbyterian Church, Hampstead, and 
 following the bier to its final resting-place. 
 
 Mr H. M. Matheson, addressing the Presbytery of 
 London, at its first subsequent meeting, said : — "I 
 have thought that in connexion with the affecting 
 announcement now made, you may justly expect 
 from me some little notice of the last hours of my 
 beloved pastor and friend. Not that I feel able in 
 any sense to do justice to the theme, but because in 
 the good providence of God, I was permitted to min- 
 ister at his dying bed, and to hear from his lips the 
 most precious testimony to the faithfulness of the 
 Lord whom he loved. I feel sensible indeed of a 
 deep regret that the privilege I enjoyed was not 
 given to some one of you who could have turned 
 it to so much better account, and given to mourning 
 friends a more vivid description of a scene which can 
 never pass from my memory, and which, the more I 
 think of it, grows upon me as one of remarkable 
 sweetness, serenity, and trust. There was nothing 
 like ecstasy, but a chastened gravity, which you will 
 probably think with me more in harmony with the 
 circumstances. And yet the countenance was lighted 
 up as it had never been since the trying day of his 
 separation from the people and the work he had 
 loved so well. 
 
 11 On the day of my expected arrival, it had been 
 feared he could not survive till evening, but I found 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTOXE — THE END. 175 
 
 him slightly stronger, supported all round by pillows, 
 and his devoted wife, most kindly assisted by Mrs 
 Morgan, wife of the Church of England clergyman 
 of the place, who as well as her husband were truly 
 friends in need, and thought nothing of spending 
 themselves in this work of true charity. Much kind- 
 ness and sympathy was also shown by M. Dela- 
 pierre, of the French Evangelical Church, and by 
 his wife, the daughter of Napoleon Koussel. 
 
 " I cannot describe to you the joy which beamed 
 from his face as I entered the room. He grasped 
 my hand, and when able to speak he said, ' I have 
 been greatly weaned the last few days from all kinds 
 of longings, but if there was any one on earth whom 
 I much wished to see once more it was you, and now 
 God has enabled me to shake you by the hand/ 
 After some words of grateful affection, he said, ' I 
 am kept in great peace, far beyond what I expected. 
 I used to fear there would be sufferings, but I have 
 really very little pain.' He then testified to the 
 comfort his wife had ever been to him, the support 
 he had derived from knowing he had been so con- 
 stantly remembered by his people, and the unspeak- 
 able satisfaction it gave him to feel that Mr Matheson 
 occupied his place and had charge of his people. Re- 
 turning to his bedside at four in the morning, I never 
 again left him till the weary struggle was over, and 
 the ransomed spirit returned unto God who gave it 
 and who had sanctified it. He continued in great 
 weakness during the whole of that day, Sunday, the 
 
176 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 27th November, weakness which, towards the last, 
 became very, very painful ; but all through was so 
 sweetly patient ; and gave frequent expression in 
 brief words of Scripture to the leading thoughts of 
 his heart, responding also with quick intelligence 
 to the last, to any such that were brought by others 
 to his mind. 
 
 " ' I feel,' he said, ' I am greatly weaned from look- 
 ing at second causes. It has not been His will to 
 give success to the means rightly used. Everything 
 has been done for me that could have been done. It 
 is the Lord, He hath both spoken unto me and Him- 
 self hath done it. I have been graciously dealt with, 
 indeed my cup runneth over. I have been an unpro- 
 fitable servant, and though my ministry has been in 
 some measure graciously approved, I rely entirely 
 and simply, not on anything I have done for Him, 
 but on what He has done for me. Oh Lord, my 
 flesh and my heart faileth, but thou art the strength 
 of my heart and my portion for ever. What a 
 blessed word that for ever is, as compared with this 
 wee bit of time.' He asked me to read to him the 
 71st Psalm, with ' Cast me not off in the time of old 
 age; forsake me not when my strength faileth,' and re- 
 peated some of the words with emphasis. I after- 
 wards read the 20th Psalm, and when it was over, he 
 said, ' How nice it is to hear these grand old words 
 — nothing like that Rock.' 
 
 " He asked me to sing to him, and I was able to get 
 through two verses of ' Rest for the Weary,' and the 
 
MAEEIED LIFE — MBNT0N1 — THE END. 17/ 
 
 whole of ' Kock of Ages,' and his wife repeated ' How 
 sweet the name of Jesus sounds,' a hymn of which 
 he was very fond. ' We used to sing them/ he said, 
 when in Switzerland/ 
 
 " He spoke of his people with much tenderness ; 
 had never known how deep was the attachment till 
 he was called to leave them. Till a week before his 
 death he had cherished the hope of returning to 
 Hampstead, ' that he might see all the dear faces 
 again/ He had sought to make his ministry a means 
 of comfort. He had felt so much need of comfort 
 himself, that he loved best those subjects which could 
 lead him to comfort his people. His wife says that 
 in Switzerland his addresses on Sunday afternoons, 
 which were a great delight to himself, and much 
 appreciated, were almost entirely of this character, 
 the sympathy of Jesus being dwelt upon with special 
 tenderness. 
 
 " It now only remains for me to say that he sent 
 messages of loving farewell to his Session, his people, 
 his Sabbath-school, the Reformatory girls, and those 
 who conduct that most excellent institution, in which 
 he took so warm an interest, and that among those 
 whom he remembered with his latest breath were 
 the dear members of this Presbytery. ' Give my 
 most affectionate farewell to the brethren of the 
 Presbytery, every one of them, but especially James 
 Hamilton.' " 
 
 Sensitive, retiring, modest almost to a fault, Mr 
 Burns would probably without hesitation have classed 
 
 M 
 
ITS THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 himself among those whose names are " writ in 
 water ; " not only, however, will the memory of his 
 Christian walk, and the serene depth and fervour of 
 his piety, be a priceless treasure to all who knew him 
 well, but it may be confidently predicted that the 
 melodious words in which he gave expression to the 
 sentiments and the experience of the Christian life 
 will be cherished in the Church for centuries. 
 That his powers never had full sweep and scope, — 
 that, in particular, they were never dev eloped in 
 their whole energy on the intellectual side, — will not 
 be questioned. There are glimpses in his poetry, — 
 there are glimpses perhaps still more striking and 
 suggestive in the extracts given from his prose tour, 
 — of high intellectual capacity. We are always 
 sensible, as we read what he has written, of a reserve 
 of force. His taste, naturally exquisite, was ren- 
 dered still more delicately sensitive by illness, and in 
 its almost morbid refinement exercised a controlling, 
 one might venture to say a chilling, influence upon 
 his genius. To have risen into a strain of eloquent 
 sublimity would have required, on his part, not the 
 application to his mind of the spur, but the mere 
 loosing of the rein. In his dread of glare, he shrank 
 from colour. How easy it was for him to soar into 
 the altitudes of eloquence and poetry — the mere ex- 
 pansion of his breast, and opening of his wings bear- 
 ing him, like the lark, aloft into the blue heavens, — 
 is evident from such occasional passages as this on 
 the manifestation of the love of God, which occurs in 
 
MARPJED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 179 
 
 a sermon published by him in the Family Treasury 
 in 1862. "In this," he wrote, "is manifested the 
 love of God, that in His care for everything He has 
 made, there is nothing so high as to be above it, so 
 lowly as to be beneath it. He who keeps alive the 
 unquenchable light of a star visible to a hemisphere, 
 kindles the small taper of the glow-worm that gleams 
 in the twilight on the mossy bank. He who piles 
 up and loosens the Alpine avalanche shapes the 
 crystals of each falling snowflake. He who guides 
 and bridles the storm wave that breaks in thunder 
 upon the reef, preserves each invisible coral insect 
 that builds its lime cell beneath the booming surf. 
 He who sees from His glorious high throne the 
 seraph veiling his face with his wings, takes note of 
 the sparrow falling to the ground. He has blazoned 
 His name on the sun's shield of golden fire in heaven. 
 He has stamped His image and superscription on the 
 fossils of the mountain rock and the ocean cliff; those 
 medals hidden away in the close cabinets and dark- 
 some crypts of creation. We cannot overstep, or 
 descend beneath, the limits of His omnipresence. 
 We live and breathe in the all-pervading and all- 
 sustaining atmosphere of His goodness ; all creatures, 
 all worlds, are encircled with the girdle of His love, 
 and were we each to look into the story of his indi- 
 vidual life, and scan the lessons it records — to mark 
 the manner in which He hath upheld us, and the way in 
 which He hath led us through all its windings, from 
 the first moments of our being until now — guarding 
 
180 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 us from evil , watching over us for good, "blessing us with 
 our daily bread, and crowning us with hourly mercies 
 — would not every day a new page in this large and 
 growing chronicle be inscribed with the words, 'In 
 this was manifested the love of God to me ? ' ; 
 
 But it was seldom that Burns gave his imagina- 
 tion wing, or permitted his intellect to exert all its 
 power. A quaint, reflective sweetness was what he 
 more constantly affected. He loved to bring out, with 
 quiet but original force, some thought which would 
 not occur to the common mind. An illustration is 
 found in the comparison instituted in his little work, 
 "The Heavenly Jerusalem," between the rainbow which 
 emblems God's covenant with man, and the rainbow 
 which, in the eternal heaven of God, is " round about 
 the throne, in sight like unto an emerald." The 
 rainbow of earth, he says, opens " its seven stripes of 
 colour out of the storm, like some beautiful flower of 
 light. You see in it the holy emblem of God's cove- 
 nant with man, — Love's device blazoned on heaven's 
 everlasting shield, — the signal-ring of hope and peace 
 flying high in the tempest. All the secret lines of 
 light are there, braided and woven, to vivify the type 
 to the eye and heart of man. But in the ' rainbow 
 round the throne,' all colours seem to mingle and 
 flow into one, and that the softest and most refresh- 
 ing to the eye. It is earth's chosen colour, the 
 household dress of our common mother, the emerald 
 tint of spring, on which we love to look, and can look 
 longest." The rainbow of earth, in its heavenly col- 
 
MARKIED LIFE — MEXTOXE — THE EXD. 181 
 
 ours, is a presage of celestial glory ; the rainbow of 
 heaven, in its tender green, is a reminiscence of earth 
 with its visitings of grace and its first experiences of 
 redeeming love. You might expand this thought 
 into a sermon, a poem, a volume; that would be 
 easy, and above all would it have been easy for 
 Burns ; but he contents himself with the brief and 
 simple statement of his beautiful, suggestive, original 
 idea, and passes on. 
 
 After all, however, the most important character- 
 istic to be noted in Mr Burns was his pervasive and 
 fervent piety. In his heart's core there burned an 
 unquenchable flame of love for Christ. Deeper than 
 any words lay this feeling within him. Walking for 
 nearly half his life-time in the shadow of death, he 
 yet found the love of Christ able to make it light 
 around him. ' ; In Christ" he wrote, laying sweet 
 emphasis on the words, " there is even now an Eden 
 on earth, where we may walk with God/' There is 
 sublimity in the utterance when we view it as the 
 testimony of one who knew so well what sore afflic- 
 tion is. " God," he says again, " has many ways 
 of bringing His children home, but they all reach 
 home at last." He did not repine at the way by 
 which he was led. Bather he rejoiced in it, and 
 took it for a sign of love. " It is not all,"— these 
 are his words,—" who are privileged to suffer afflic- 
 tion. It is the sign and seal with which God marks 
 His own chosen people. ' Whom the Lord loveth, 
 Hechasteneth.'" 
 
182 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 The friend, allied to Burns in genius, and bound 
 to him with ties of warmest affection, who planned 
 this memoir, and well-nigh completed its execution, 
 did not live to finish it. Dr Hamilton could have 
 summed up the character of Mr Burns as no other 
 man will ever succeed in doing. Happily, however, 
 we have a brief estimate of him from the pen of 
 Hamilton, published soon after Burns's death in 
 the British and Foreign Evangelical Review. With 
 it we close. " Now that he is gone," he wrote, 
 shortly after the grave had closed upon his beloved 
 friend and brother, " it is our grief that we did not 
 see more of him while living, and another grief that 
 now, to the most of people, he must continue un- 
 known. For he was quite uncommon. A lofty ideal- 
 ism, which cheerfully accepted homely realities, and 
 a consummate scholarship, which never disdained the 
 joys and sorrows of the poorest ; a determination to 
 know nothing amongst men save Christ crucified, 
 along with a necessity to admire the wonders of crea- 
 tion and the glories of art ; a width of sympathy and 
 a range of acquirement which would have gladly 
 made acquaintance with all the true and all the 
 beautiful, but which with growing relish returned 
 evermore to the simplicities of Scripture; a faith at 
 home in the Westminster formulas ; a fancy free of 
 the universe ; a taste which revelled in the dream-like 
 descriptions of Camcens and the mystic intuitions 
 of Wordsworth, but which could lay down the favourite 
 volume in order to visit a reformatory, or plead with 
 
MARRIED LIFE — MENTONE — THE END. 183 
 
 anxious eagerness the cause of some Christian mission ; 
 surely it was no common union, and even amongst 
 ministers the man is rare in whom such attributes 
 combine. In Mr Burns they met, and not only did 
 their meeting occasion no conflict, but in his true and 
 harmonious nature they so thoroughly coalesced, that 
 it would have been hard to say which was the most 
 genuine or characteristic outcome of the inner man, 
 except in so far as of all affinities the most powerful 
 are the mutual attractions of piety ; and the delight 
 which he found in l the saints, the excellent of the 
 earth,' as well as their delectation in him, showed 
 plainly that the man of taste and the man of letters 
 was still more entire! v the man of God." 
 

 HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
 
 LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 Through fragrant groves and under cloudless skies 
 The stranger from a northern clime may roam, 
 
 The loveliness around may charm his eyes, 
 But in his heart he feels, It is not home ! 
 
 And thus the Christian, wheresoe'er on earth 
 His lot may be, however bright and blest, 
 
 Looks upward to the country of his birth, 
 And longs for heaven, the home of endless rest. 
 Mentone, May 1864. 
 
 "I MEDITATE IN THE NIGHT WATCHES. 
 
 I muse, my Saviour, on the days, 
 
 Days ne'er forgot by Thee, 
 When walking on these earthly ways, 
 
 Thou didst remember me. 
 
 I call to mind Thy prayers upon 
 
 The hills of Galilee, 
 When, kneeling in the night alone, 
 
 Thou didst remember me. 
 
188 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 I see Thee by Thy foes beset 
 
 In dark Gethsemane, 
 Where, swooning in Thy bloody sweat, 
 
 Thou didst remember me. 
 
 Upon the cross I hear Thee cry 
 
 "'Tis finished," and I see, 
 In the great woe of Calvary, 
 
 Thou didst remember me. 
 
 And though Thou now from earth art gone, 
 
 By faith I come to Thee, 
 And know that, seated on Thy throne, 
 
 Thou dost remember me. 
 
 Thy love my heart will ever guard, 
 
 Dear will its memory be ; 
 This night, and every night, Lord, 
 
 I will remember Thee. 
 
 "FAINT YET PURSUING." 
 
 Faint yet pursuing ! on they press'd, 
 That chosen band, nor thought of rest, 
 Till their appointed work was done, 
 And Israel's crowning victory won. 
 
 Faint yet pursuing ! let the sign, 
 soldier of the Cross! be thine ; 
 Grave the good legend on thy shield, 
 And bear it thro' the battle-field. 
 
 Faint yet pursuing ! on thy breast 
 Be this unfading seal impress'd, 
 Repeat it to thy latest breath, 
 And thus be faithful unto death. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 189 
 
 Faint thou may'st be, thy foes are strong-, 
 Thy strength is small, thy warfare long-, 
 Yet in thy faintness fearless be, 
 For Christ hath won the fight for thee. 
 
 He bids thee follow where He leads, 
 He gives thee strength for holy deeds, — 
 Then fight, His hand directs the blow, 
 Pursue, His presence daunts the foe. 
 
 On in thy sacred warfare press, 
 Though faint, droop not for weariness, 
 Fight in the strength that He supplies, 
 Pursue, still looking to the prize. 
 
 Soon shall thy warfare here be o'er, 
 Thy foes be crush'd to rise no more, 
 Soon thou shalt see thy Captain come 
 To lead His faithful soldiers home. 
 
 Soon for the sword, He'll give the palm, 
 For battle-shout, the victor's psalm, 
 For faintness. Heaven's refreshing wine, 
 For weary warfare, rest divine. 
 
 THE HEAVENLY SHEPHERD. 
 
 Isa. xl. 11. 
 
 We like sheep had gone astray, 
 In the desert lost our way : 
 "Weary, bleeding, bruised, and torn, 
 There we must have died forlorn, 
 Had not Jesus from above 
 Come to seek us in His love. 
 
 He a Shepherd is so good, 
 For the sheep He shed His blood 
 
190 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUBNS. 
 
 He so gentle is and mild, 
 That a very little child 
 May look up into His face, 
 Seeing there a smile of grace. 
 
 Only trust Him, you will find 
 
 Xoiie more faithful, none more kind; 
 
 He will lead you night and day, 
 
 Walk before you all the way, 
 
 Through green meadows guide your feet, 
 
 And by waters clear and sweet. 
 
 Heavenly Shepherd, let me be 
 One of those who follow Thee ; 
 Let me know Thy pleasant voice, 
 Ever in Thy love rejoice ; 
 And when weary let me rest 
 Folded lamblike on Thy breast. 
 
 Shepherd of the flock of God ! 
 Guide and keep me with Thy rod 
 From the snares that round me lie, 
 From the foes that hover nigh ; 
 Guard me with Thy sleepless love 
 Till 1 reach Thy fold above. 
 
 THE DOVE AXD THE ARK. 
 
 Swift is thy pinion, 
 Far hast thou flown : 
 
 Wide thy dominion, 
 Earth is thine own. 
 
 Long hast thou hover'd 
 O'er the bleak tide, 
 
 Nowhere discover"d 
 A place to abide. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 19 1 
 
 All is so dreary- 
 Above and below, 
 
 Now thou art weary, 
 Where wilt thou go ? 
 
 Wild the waves welter, 
 
 Night will be dark, 
 Haste thee for shelter, — 
 
 Flee to the Ark ! 
 
 Sinner despising 
 
 God and His grace, 
 See the storm rising, 
 
 Night conies apace. 
 
 To Christ still a stranger, 
 
 Wilful and blind, 
 Where, in thy danger, 
 
 Hope canst thou find ? 
 
 Why shouldst thou wander ! 
 
 Dost thou not see 
 Christ the Ark yonder, 
 
 Waiting for thee ? 
 
 Thither but venture, 
 
 Haste thee from doom, 
 Free thou mayst enter, 
 
 Still there is room ! 
 
 1861. 
 
 " I will bring thee by a way that thou knowest not."— Isa. xlii. 16. 
 
 'Tis not the way that lay so bright before me, 
 
 When youth stood flush'd on Hope's enchanted ground, 
 
 No cloud in the blue sky then bending o'er me, 
 No desert spot in all the landscape round. 
 
192 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Fair visions, glimmering through the distance, beckon'd 
 My buoyant steps along the sunny way, 
 
 Sweet voices thrill'd me, till I fondly reckon'd 
 That life would be one long, glad summer day. 
 
 This was the path my feet had gladly taken, 
 And, blindly lured by that deceitful gleam, 
 
 I would have wander' d on by God forsaken, 
 Till death awoke me from the fatal dream. 
 
 Alas ! in youth by Eden's gate we linger, 
 
 In its green bowers we fain would make abode, 
 
 Till the stern angel-warder, with calm finger, 
 Points the feet outward to the desert road. 
 
 My pleasant path in sudden darkness ended, 
 My footsteps slipp'd, my hopes were well-nigh gone, 
 
 I could but pray, and as my prayer ascended, 
 Thy face, Father, through the darkness shone. 
 
 And by that light 1 saw the cross of trial, 
 The landmark of the way my Saviour went, 
 
 The upward path of pain and self-denial, 
 And thou didst point me to the steep ascent. 
 
 A way I knew not ! winding, rough, and thorny, 
 So dark at times that I no path might see, 
 
 But Thou hast been my guide through all the journey. 
 Its steepness has but made me lean on Thee. 
 
 And onward still I go in calm assurance 
 
 That Thou wilt needful help and guidance lend, 
 That strength will come for every day's endurance, 
 Grace all the way and glory at the end. 
 1859. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 193 
 
 MOURNER IN THE DUST LOW-LYING. 
 
 Mourner in the dust low-lying, 
 
 Longing till the night be o'er, 
 Hark! a voice to thine replying, 
 
 Bids thee rise and weep no more. 
 Hour by hour, as one forsaken, 
 
 Thou hast shed thy silent tears ; 
 Now thy God bids hope awaken, 
 
 Thy Redeemer chides thy fears. 
 
 Long thy weary heart hath number'd 
 
 All the watches of the night ; 
 Long hast thou, while others slumber'd, 
 
 Trimm'd thy lamp and kept it bright. 
 Now the morning star appearing, 
 
 Leads the day-spring up the skies ; 
 Heavenly hopes thy heart are cheering, 
 
 Endless glory glads thine eyes. 
 
 Lo ! thy Lord so long departed, 
 
 Turns thy darkness into day, 
 Comes to heal the broken-hearted, 
 
 And to wipe thy tears away. 
 Ceased are now thy grief and sighing, 
 
 Now thine anxious watch is o'er ; 
 God's own voice to thine replying, 
 
 Bids thee rise and weep no more. 
 
 The clouds are driven across the skies, 
 But high above them, in the blue, 
 
 I see the silent stars like eyes 
 Of holy watchers shining through. 
 
 The cloud has come — the cloud has gone- 
 And gone the shadows cold and gray; 
 
 But the calm stars are shining on, 
 And keep their everlasting way. 
 
194 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 So to the pilgrim's eye ye shine, 
 Ye bright realities of heaven ; 
 
 So gleams your clear and radiant sign, 
 Thro' clouds across our pathway driven. 
 
 Dreary and dark the way Avould be, 
 And sad the hearts that o'er it roam 
 
 If m your light we could not see, 
 It is the way that leads us home. 
 
 Wilt thou not from this time cry unto me, My Father, Thou art the guide of 
 my youth ? " — Jer. iii. 4. 
 
 Aloxg a weary way we go, 
 
 A way we fear to tread, 
 For round it watches many a foe, 
 
 And many a snare is spread. 
 Unless Thou, Lord, our Leader be, 
 
 Our feet must wander wide; 
 From this time will we cry to Thee, 
 
 Father, be our Guide. 
 
 Thou Shepherd of the blood-bought sheep, 
 
 Our fainting steps uphold; 
 Thy tender lambs in safety keep, 
 
 And bear us to Thy fold. 
 From every danger we are free 
 
 While following at Thy side ; 
 From this time will we cry to Thee, 
 
 Saviour be our guide. 
 
 Each day we see, our souls anew 
 
 "We cast upon Thy care, 
 Each step we take life's journey thro' 
 
 We ask Thy presence there; 
 Till we the better country see 
 
 Where all Thy saints abide, 
 Each day we live we'll cry to Thee, 
 
 Jesus, be our guide. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 10- 
 
 LAMENT OF DAVID OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN. 
 (Written at the age of 18.) 
 
 The beauty of Israel lies low on her mountains, 
 And her mighty have fallen no more to arise, 
 
 The sun of her glory, which late from her fountains 
 Shower'd down his rich brilliance, hath set in her skies. 
 
 In the temples of Gath tell ye not the sad story, 
 In the wide street of Askelon speak not of Saul : 
 
 For the daughter of Edom o'er Israel Avould glory, 
 And the uncircumcised exult in her fall. 
 
 On thee, Gilboa ! let no rain, freely falling, 
 Refresh thee by day, and no thick dews by night ; 
 
 For thee may no worshipper come to heaven calling, 
 Nor let the rich incense-cloud curl from thy height. 
 
 For on thy bloody plains, on that dark day of sorrow, 
 "Were the shields of a nation cast basely away ; 
 
 And on that fatal field, ere had dawn'd the bright morrow, 
 Our host's gallant leader all silently lay. 
 
 Yes ! lay still in death, he, the Lord's own anointed, 
 And near him lay resting the son of his pride ; 
 
 Few fled far, 'gainst whom his sharp arrows were pointed, 
 And arm'd squadrons grew pale when his sword left his side. 
 
 Untrembling they stood while the war-shout was swelling, 
 Like the far-flashing vulture they rushed to the prey, 
 
 And though all the while their own death-dirge was knelling. 
 They stay'd not their steps till they fell in the fray. 
 
 When these two princely chieftains our proud armies guided. 
 
 They were lovely and pleasant all Israel can tell, 
 And that day in their deaths they were still not divided ; 
 
 Together they fought, and together they fell. 
 
 Like the eagle from far to his quarry swift sweeping, 
 They sped to the onset, nor stay'd in their path ; 
 
196 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Like the lion aroused, from his lair lightly leaping, 
 They smote each foeman Avhom they met in their wrath. 
 
 Weep, then, for the fallen, all Judah's fair daughters ! 
 
 He cloth'd you with scarlet he won from the foe ; 
 Oh ! weep on our woodlands, and weep by the waters ! 
 
 He who deck'd you with gold and with jewels lies low. 
 
 Lift ye the loud wailing, for deep on our mountains 
 The warrior is slumbering to waken no more ; 
 
 Oh ! let the hot tear, welling forth from its fountains, 
 Flow freely for him whose short life-dream is o'er. 
 
 For him who was bravest be wildest in wailing, 
 For Jonathan, death for his country who sought ; 
 
 Though his eye, dimm'd with death, saw the foeman prevailing, 
 He sheathed not his sword till he fell where he fought. 
 
 Very pleasant hast thou been to me, my brother ! 
 
 Not one know'th how sorely I 've wept over thee ; 
 I loved thee, my best, as I ne'er loved another, 
 
 And stronger than woman's love thine was to me. 
 
 On the soft-speaking harp roll forth the sad numbers ; 
 
 Long shall Judah remember that foul, fatal day ; 
 The mighty are sleeping, and deep are their slumbers ; 
 
 Our best and our bravest all fell in the fray ! 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 (On the blank leaf of a volume of Scott's Poems, at the same age as 
 the preceding.) 
 
 Ah ! who shall soothly tell thy worth, 
 Sweet wizard-minstrel of the north? 
 What muse shall sing, what tongue proclaim, 
 The praises of thy deathless name ? 
 Bright is the wreath of glory bound 
 Thy old and honour'd head around 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 19 7 
 
 Nor shall its lustre ere be less, 
 As days, and months, and years progress ; 
 But each, as silent time flows past, 
 Shall see it brighter than the last. 
 Thy harp is silent now, and mute 
 The whispers of thy breathing lute ; 
 For ever hush'd the honey'd tongue, 
 Which, while it moved, so sweetly sung 
 Of noble dame and gallant knight, 
 Of merry dance and hardy fight, 
 Of trumpet-blast and din of arms, 
 And lovely Avoman's winning charms; 
 Of holy shrine and Gothic hall, 
 And warder on the castle wall, 
 And all the names of high degree 
 Wreath'd in the roll of chivalrie. 
 Though hush'd is now that silver tongue, 
 That music ceased, that harp unstrung ; 
 Though o'er that high and haughty brow 
 The thick grave-damps are gathering now; 
 And though the rustling wild flowers wave 
 In fragrance, weeping o'er thy grave, 
 Thy spirit lives among us yet, 
 Thy memory we shall ne'er forget. 
 The voice which cried to thee, Depart ! 
 Thrill'd deeply through a nation's heart ; 
 Their groans fell on thy closing ear, 
 Their tears dropp'd thickly on thy bier. 
 Thou seem'st to linger sadly still 
 Beside each silver-voiced rill, 
 To hover o'er each heathery mountain, 
 And haunt each glen and fairy fountain ; 
 The beauties which thy master-hand 
 Strew'd thickly o'er thy father-land, 
 Have made thy dear, thy deathless fame, 
 Extend as far as Scotland's name. 
 Though distant may be many a shore 
 To which her sons have wander'd o'er, 
 
198 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 The land which smiles 'neath northern skies 
 Seems fairer far in all their eyes, 
 Because she gave thy genius birth, 
 Than the most favour'd spot of earth. 
 Their children's children they shall tell 
 To love the land thou lovedst so well, 
 And in their days of weal or woe, 
 On Afric's sand or Lapland's snow, 
 Their hearts shall kindle at the thought 
 That Scotland was the land of Scott! 
 
 THE JEW'S LAMENT. 
 (Written in Youth.) 
 
 Xo more on Judah's hills the song is heard, 
 Xo more does prophet wake the living lyre. 
 
 For ever silenced is each holy bard, 
 
 And gone for ever is their heavenly fire. 
 
 Xo more the valiant hero conquering leads 
 Judah's proud sons against their ruthless foes ; 
 
 Xo more the warrior for his country bleeds, 
 And dies to free her from her many woes. 
 
 Once did our noble temple proudly rear 
 Its head, beloved by every true-born Jew, 
 
 Xow gilded mosque and minaret appear, 
 
 Where turban" d Paynims chant their ,; Allah Hu ." 
 
 Thine ancient race, Lord, once so highly blest, 
 Has now become the Gentile nation's scorn ; 
 
 And 'midst the taunting heathen sore distressed, 
 "We sadly wander, wretched and forlorn. 
 
 Jehovah, hear us from Thy holy place, 
 
 Xo longer may we thus be trodden down ; 
 
 From us no longer hide Thy gracious face, 
 Withdraw from Israel's seed Thy angry frown. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 199 
 
 TO A FRIEND LEAVING ON A YOYAGE. 
 When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee." 
 
 Go forth upon the lonely sea, 
 
 No evil can betide, 
 When He who walked on Galilee 
 
 Goes with thee as thy Guide. 
 Within the hollow of His hand 
 
 The weltering waters lie ; 
 And on the sea, as on the land, 
 
 He keeps thee in His eye. 
 
 The friends who love thee for thy weal 
 
 Will often breathe their prayers ; 
 But trust in Him and thou shalt feel 
 
 A better love than theirs. 
 When they shall watch across the wave 
 
 Thy gleaming sail grow dim, 
 The thought will cheer them that they gave 
 
 Thy keeping unto Him. 
 
 In weakness He will be thy stay, 
 
 In darkness be thy light ; 
 His presence cheer the lonely day, 
 
 And soothe the sleepless night. 
 Thro' all thy pilgrimage His grace 
 
 To guide thee will be given ; 
 If here thou hast no resting-place, 
 
 The better home is heaven ! 
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 The dead leaves danced about the tree 
 That shiver'd as the wind blew chill, 
 
 " Come back, my children, come back to me;" 
 But the minstrel wind piped wild and shrill, 
 
 And the leaves whistled round in frantic glee, 
 
 And sang in their dance, " We are free, we are free 
 
200 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 " Come back, my children, the boughs are bare, 
 AVhere you whisper'd and play'd the summer long, 
 
 "With each wandering wind high up in the air, 
 And wove green bowers for the birds of song ! " 
 
 But the dead leaves whirl'd around the tree, 
 
 And sang as they danced, " We are free, we are free !" 
 
 In a lull of the wind came a plaintive sigh, 
 
 " In the days that are past ye were bound in one 
 
 To the same deep root. But now ye lie 
 Fallen and faded and loosely blown, 
 
 By the wind that sports with you for a day, 
 
 And will tire of you soon and fling you away ! 
 
 " Ye are free no more— ye are shiver d and sere ; 
 
 Soak'd with the rain and gnaw'd by the cold, 
 Ye shall wither away ere spring be here, 
 
 And be trodden down and raked in the mould ; 
 But young green leaves shall come back to the tree, 
 And sing in the wind, ' We are free, we are free ! ' " 
 
 December 1862. 
 
 LINES ON ELIZA COOTER, A BLIND AND DEAF MUTE. 
 
 It seemed to me a mournful sight 
 
 That little room at first reveal'd, 
 A child whose eyes were closed in night, 
 
 Her lips in hopeless silence seal'd. 
 Chain'd down by weakness to her bed, 
 
 Her tender frame by suffering wrung, — 
 " A bitter lot is thine," I said, 
 
 "A heavy cross for one so young ! " 
 
 But, oh ! far otherwise I mused, 
 
 When once I saw with glad surprise, 
 How this meek lamb, so sorely bruised, 
 
 To the Good Shepherd raised her eyes, 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 201 
 
 How patient on His breast she lay, 
 
 And kiss'd the hand of chastening love, 
 
 And bless'd the dark and rugged way 
 That led her to His fold above ! 
 
 Sweet child, so greatly tried and blest, 
 
 Thou soon wilt lay thy burden down ; 
 The rougher road, the happier rest, 
 
 The heavier cross, the brighter crown. 
 For days of darkness yet to thee 
 
 Shall everlasting light be given; 
 And the first face that thou shalt see 
 
 Will be thy Saviour's face in heaven. 
 
 That fetter'd tongue, here mute so long, 
 
 Shall burst its bonds in sudden praise ; 
 Its first glad words will be the song 
 
 Which round the throne the ransom'd raise. 
 From sufferings freed and free from sin, 
 
 And in unclouded light to shine, — 
 If faith can such a triumph win, 
 
 Sweet child, a blessed lot is thine ! 
 Family Treasury, 1859. 
 
 THE CHARGE OF THE SEVEN HUNDRED. 
 
 They flung their hearts forward 
 
 At the bugle's stern breath, 
 Seven hundred cavaliers 
 
 Riding proudly to death ; 
 In the strength of dear honour 
 
 Their sabres they drew, 
 And went on with no armour 
 
 But good hearts and true. 
 
 They saw the red match 
 
 By each black-throated gun, 
 
 They knew that the foemen 
 Were a hundred to one, 
 
202 THE LIFE OF J. D. BtJENS. 
 
 But in grand consecration, 
 And breathing calm breath, 
 
 Our seven hundred cavaliers 
 Rode proudly to death. 
 
 The battle coil'd round them 
 
 The drift of its smoke, 
 Like a red streak of flame 
 
 Through the whirlwind they broke. 
 They felt their blood tingle 
 
 "With immortal desire, 
 And grasp' d wildly at glory 
 
 Through the tempest of fire. 
 
 Ye earn'd it, brave hearts, 
 
 Each man as 'ye fell 
 Clenching fast the good weapon 
 
 That won it so well. 
 Alas ! that our best blood 
 
 Should pour forth like rain, 
 To cleanse the bright honour 
 
 Which never knew stain. 
 
 Sleep, last-born of glory, 
 
 Sleep well with your fame, 
 On the pillar of story 
 
 Ye have carved a deep name, — 
 Half sadness — half gladness — 
 
 Song's life-giving breath 
 Hails the seven hundred cavaliers 
 
 "Who rode proudly to death. 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JEPHTHAH TO HER FATHER. 
 
 My father ! tears are in thine eye, 
 
 Thy manly bosom heaves with sadness, 
 
 why should household agony 
 
 Profane the day of Israel's gladness ? 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 203 
 
 Let not one thought of me alloy 
 
 The festive time with fruitless sorrow ; 
 Be this a day of sacred joy, 
 
 And think of me, and weep to-morrow ! 
 
 I came to meet thee with my peers, 
 
 Our timbrels rang to choral dances, 
 I saw afar the gleam of spears, 
 
 And sought thee out with anxious glances. 
 And soon I found thee, but thy brow 
 
 Grew dark to thy beloved's greeting. 
 I knew not then, as now I know, 
 
 What made it such a mournful meeting. 
 
 Alas ! I then had little thought 
 
 That meeting was our life-long parting — 
 That nature's love, which in me wrought 
 
 That impulse, passionately starting, 
 Had stung my father's heart with pain, 
 
 Had made him curse his bitter error, — 
 Yet were it all to do again, 
 
 My love would overcome my terror. 
 
 Now time is fading from my view — 
 
 Slow opens death its gloomy portal ; 
 I mourn not that my days are few, — 
 
 For on me breaks a light immortal, — 
 I grieve that thou art left alone, 
 
 That through these darkening years another 
 Must do for thee what I had done, 
 
 And she no daughter of my mother. 
 
 lay me where — beside the palm 
 
 In yonder vale — my mother sleepeth, 
 Where, blowing from the groves of balm, 
 
 The evening wind so softly creepeth. 
 And thou wilt sometimes, with a sigh, 
 
 Remember her who loved thee dearly ; 
 What quench'd the brightness of her eye, 
 
 And made her sun go down so early. 
 
!04 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 I go, a virgin sacrifice, 
 
 To stand before Death's purple altar : 
 And bind no fillet round mine eyes, 
 
 Though thou must strike, I will not falter 
 The blood that fills my veins is thine, 
 
 And I were not my father's daughter 
 Did I not make his honour mine, 
 
 And pour it on the earth like water ! 
 
 TYRE. 
 
 Thy waters, Tyre, once hail'd thee queen, 
 
 A crown was on thy brow, 
 On every sea thy ships were seen — 
 
 Where is thy glory now ? 
 
 Where once thou wast in splendour set, 
 Thy place is known no more, 
 
 And the poor fisher spreads his net 
 Upon thy silent shore. 
 
 Yet in thy silence we may hear 
 
 A warning sent abroad, 
 And on thy shatter'd rocks see clear 
 
 The finger-marks of God. 
 
 On us has dawn'd a glorious light. 
 
 Which never shone on thee; 
 May we to those who dwell in night 
 
 Its willing heralds be. 
 
 May our swift ships of Tarshish bear 
 
 The gospel o'er the wave, 
 Till every land and people hear 
 
 That Jesus died to save. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 205 
 
 NINEVEH. 
 
 Rise up, long buried city ! rise, 
 
 The wondrous tale unfold, 
 Bring up again before our eyes 
 
 The pride and pomp of old. 
 
 Throw off the mask that hid thy face, 
 Throw back the funeral pall ; 
 
 That by thy grave we may retrace 
 Thy glory and tby fall. 
 
 That in the desert we may hear 
 
 Another voice, anew 
 Proclaim to every careless ear 
 
 The Word of God is true ! 
 
 Like Jonah preach, and from the tomb 
 Thy voice of warning send ; 
 
 Tell men that sin is mark'd for doom, 
 And must in ruin end. 
 
 And tell each fearful heart, the Lord 
 
 Is true and faithful still, 
 And will each promise of His word 
 
 As righteously fulfil ! 
 
 THE CHERRY TREE. 
 
 (From the German. 1860.) 
 
 To His servant Spring, the good God said, 
 " For the poor little worm a table spread ! " 
 Straight on the cherry-tree there were seen 
 Thousands of leaflets fresh and green. 
 
 The poor little worm woke up, and crept 
 From the cell where all winter long it had slept. 
 It rubb'd its eyes in a dreamy mood, 
 And open'd its little mouth for food. 
 
206 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 And with slow, silent tooth it gnaw'd away 
 The little green leaflets on many a spray, 
 And it said to itself, " This is very good, — 
 'Tis quite a feast on such delicate food ! " 
 
 To His servant Summer, the good God said, 
 " For the poor little bee a table spread ! " 
 Straight the tree all over was bright 
 "With thousands of blossoms fresh and white. 
 
 Soon as the morning redden'd the east, 
 The little bee flew from his hive to the feast, 
 And humm'd to himself, " This is pleasant juice, — 
 Can such nice little china cups be for my use ? 
 
 " So clean and so white the cups are, let me dip 
 My tongue into each, and the sweet juice sip ! " 
 So from cup to cup he flutters and drinks. 
 " This year there is no want of sugar," he thinks. 
 
 Then to Summer the good God said, 
 " For the poor little bird a table spread ! " 
 Straight for each blossom came fruit instead, 
 Thousands of cherries so fresh and red. 
 
 The wren and the sparrow then flew to the tree. 
 Each chirrup'd and said, " Is this meant for me 
 Here let us feast the whole summer long, 
 And our throats will be clear and sweet for song ! *' 
 
 Then to Autumn the good God said, 
 
 " Clear the table — the children have fed ! " 
 
 Quickly a cold wind blew from the hill, 
 
 And its breath was hoar-frost, dank, and chill. 
 
 And the leaves turn'd yellow, and red, and brown. 
 At each breath of the breeze they came rustling down 
 "What had come from earth return'd to earth, 
 And died on the bosom that gave it birth. 
 
HYMNS AXD MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 20 \ 
 
 Last to Winter the good God said, 
 " Over all that is left a mantle spread ! " 
 Quickly the snow-flakes began to fall, 
 Wrapping them up in a close, white pall. 
 
 BETHLEHEM. 
 
 happy place that heard the voice 
 Of angels singing sweet ; 
 
 That saw the star which sages led 
 To the Eedeemer's feet; 
 
 That held the lowly dwelling where 
 The heavenly Child was born, 
 
 And saw the shepherds worship there 
 Upon that wondrous morn ! 
 
 Oh may my heart, Lord, through Thy g 
 
 A little Bethlehem be ! 
 Though it should know no other guest, 
 
 May there be room for Thee ! 
 
 Its door would open to Thy knock,— 
 Come in, Thou blessed One ! 
 
 Abide with me, and dwell in me, 
 And make me Thine alone. 
 
 1 have no gold, nor frankincense, 
 !N~ or fragrant myrrh to bring ; 
 
 My love is all I have to give, 
 Accept the offering ! 
 
 A REMIXISCEXCE. 
 
 (Suggested by a scene passed on his journey to Edinburgh in May 1862 
 Written at Mentone, 1864.) 
 
 It was a singular fancy 
 
 That flash'd on my mind to-day, 
 
20S THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 As through the fair shifting landscape 
 I was whirled on the iron way. 
 
 Fringed with green rushes and lilies, 
 With no ripple to fret its flow, 
 
 A river sail'd on through broad meadows, 
 All bright with a vernal glow. 
 
 The meadows sloped gently downwards 
 To the river's clear brimming tide, 
 
 Overwaved with sweet May blossom 
 A hedgerow skirted its side, 
 
 And knee-deep in the rich pasture 
 The white kine wander' d at will, 
 
 Or couch'd beneath an old elm-tree, 
 Where the shadows Avere cool and still. 
 
 A picture so bright and so peaceful, 
 So touch'd with a pastoral grace, 
 
 The spirit of some old Greek idyl 
 Seemed to breathe in the silent place. 
 
 Far over the sunny meadows 
 
 A gloomy oak-forest cast 
 A broad black belt of shadow 
 
 From an immemorial past. 
 
 And dimly seen over its umbrage 
 Rose a castle moulder'd and gray, 
 
 Its walls and its turrets embattled 
 Still standing the siege of decay ; 
 
 The hold of some grim old baron, 
 In the stormy feudal years, 
 
 Who oft through its portals had sallied 
 With a clash and glitter of spears. 
 
 And sudden there came the impression, 
 As I gazed on this tranquil scene, 
 
 That here, at some time dim-remembcr'd, 
 Like a former life, I had been. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 209 
 
 Metkought that before my glances 
 
 A familiar vision did pass, 
 The reflection of some old picture 
 
 Still mirror'd in memory's glass. 
 
 A mood of strange contradiction, 
 
 When the mind sees things in a trance, 
 
 And dreams of a former existence 
 Float vaguely before its glance. 
 
 Now, thus as my mind was divided, 
 
 I saw two men on the way, 
 The open highway unshadow'd, 
 
 Which white in the sunshine lay. 
 
 They came to a stile in the hedgerow 
 
 Which into the meadows went, 
 And, weary and hot with travel, 
 
 On its moss-grown bar they leant. 
 
 They gazed on the soft deep herbage, 
 
 With a gaze that was long and fond, 
 On the broad, cool, slumb'rous shadow 
 
 Of the green forest-chase beyond. 
 
 They felt its subtle attraction, 
 
 They thought of the dust and heat, 
 And over the stile they clamber'd, 
 
 And the grass to their tread was sweet. 
 
 I saw them go slowly onwards 
 
 To the ancient and solemn wood, 
 I saw the gray walls and turrets 
 
 That in mystical stillness stood. 
 
 And I thought, these twain are pilgrims, 
 
 Who to the far city fare, 
 They have stray'd from the path, and yonder 
 
 Is the hold of Giant Despair. 
 
 O 
 
210 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS 
 
 Then I knew that oft in my boyhood, 
 On a calm bright Sabbath tide, 
 
 In these fair meadows I wander'd 
 With Bunyan as my guide. 
 
 THE FIRST HYACINTH. 
 
 No sign was in the hard dry root 
 Of treasures at its heart conceal' d, 
 
 Xo promise gave the slender shoot 
 Of the rich blossom it would yield. 
 
 And, as we watch'd from day to day 
 The stalk unfold in winter glooms, 
 
 We little thought it would display 
 This coronal of clustering blooms. 
 
 By slow degrees, sweet flower, thou hast 
 Unto thy perfect beauty come ; 
 
 We gave thee shelter from the blast, 
 Thou bringest summer to our home. 
 
 So meek and white in virgin grace, 
 So sweetly scenting all the air, 
 
 Surely the first of all thy race 
 In Eden did not blow more fair. 
 
 Yet on thy loveliness full blown, 
 We gaze with something like a sigh, 
 
 To think the bloom one day has shown, 
 Must in another droop and die. 
 
 Is not the bud that hopes to bloom, 
 Though slowly opening in the shade. 
 
 More happy than the flower whose doom 
 Is in the sun to stand and fade? 
 
 Is it not better to aspire 
 And rise still higher than before, 
 
1S62. 
 
 HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 211 
 
 Than to be all that we desire, 
 And feel that we can be no more ? 
 
 No ! lovely flower, thou art content 
 
 Thy law of being to fulfil, 
 For the brief season thou wert sent, 
 
 Meekly to do thy Maker's will. 
 
 Thou hast thy soul of fragrance breathed, 
 Thy stainless bloom hath cheer' d the eye, 
 
 And with such memories bequeathed, 
 Methinks that thou mayst gladly die. 
 
 The flowerless season of the year 
 
 Sweeter and brighter was for thee, 
 And when my life's green leaves are sear, 
 
 May some one say as much for me ! 
 
 A THOUGHT ON THE SEA. 
 
 In that far heaving sea I trace 
 
 The varied aspect of the sky, 
 It lies reflecting in its face 
 
 The changeful glance of Heaven's own ey 
 
 To-day beneath that genial glance 
 Its waves in azure beauty sleep, 
 
 Above, below, one calm expanse, 
 Deep calling in a dream to deep. 
 
 But let the cloudless skies assume 
 A vaporous veil or stormy pall, 
 
 How soon the shadow and the gloom 
 "Would o'er the restless waters fall. 
 
 So heaven beholds as in a glass 
 
 Its image stamp'd in light or shade, 
 
 From smiles to frowns the waters pass 
 True to the signs on high display'd. 
 
212 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Oh that my heart thus open lay 
 To influence from the higher sphere, 
 
 That it would keep from day to day 
 Eternal truths reflected clear. 
 
 Oh that the sanctities of heaven 
 Would stamp on it their image fair, 
 
 And visions by the Spirit given, 
 Abide in mild reflection there. 
 
 That it would only joy when light 
 
 Dawn'd on it from God's glance benign, 
 
 And only mourn when from its sight 
 Some cloud had veil'd the sacred sign. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 It is a false and treacherous light 
 
 That shines around us here ; 
 The things that glitter in our sight 
 
 Are not what they appear ! 
 Honour is but a wandering breath, 
 
 And fame is but a gleam ; 
 And all remembrance after death 
 
 A shadow and a dream. 
 
 The happy life for which we task 
 
 Our minds from youth to age, 
 Is nothing but a painted mask 
 
 L'pon a hollow stage. 
 And men will urge perpetual strife 
 
 With Being's highest laws, 
 And spurn the o'erhanging Crown of Life, 
 
 To rake some paltry straws. 
 
 How long will men shut out the light 
 That comes too late in death ? 
 
 How long so madly walk by sight, 
 And scorn the voice of Faith ? 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 213 
 
 The shapes that hover'd round our way 
 Whilst wandering dimly here, 
 
 At cockcrow of the eternal day 
 Shall melt and disappear. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 I have loved and woo'd thee long, 
 
 Gentle Song ! 
 I have felt thy wondrous art 
 Stir rny blood and thrill my heart, 
 All my being as a Bense 
 Quickening with a life intense; 
 Faintly heard thy silver tone, 
 
 Seen afar thy starry glances, 
 And my deepest joy has grown 
 
 From thy whispers and thy fancies. 
 
 Circling Seasons, Day and Xight 
 
 Bring delight 
 To thy votarist, while he 
 Over nature ranges free. 
 Skies and waters, light and air, 
 All reflect one image fair. 
 But. alas .' he shrinks from Life, 
 
 Walks among the crowd in sadness ; 
 Feels his gift, amidst the strife, 
 
 Oftener link'd with tears than gladnet 
 
 At evening time it shall be light, 
 
 Though clouds at dawn may swathe the heaven: 
 Though winds and rain, and mist and blight, 
 
 Across the lowering day be driven. 
 Stand thou unshaken in thy place, 
 
 And fix thy glance upon the sky, 
 At last a gleam will reach thy face. 
 
 A heavenly gleam that will not die. 
 
214 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 (Written in early life.) 
 
 There is love which springs up in a moment of gladness, 
 
 That can bloom a short summer, and wither as fast; 
 But the love that has slowly grown strong amidst sadness 
 Is rooted far deeper, and longer will last. 
 
 In the depth of our spirit that passion we cherish, 
 
 There it smiles a sweet vision through sunshine and shade- 
 
 A clear lasting star, its light never shall perish 
 Till the heart that it gladden'd itself has decay'd. 
 
 Though sad death from the sight the beloved may sever, 
 The heart to its hope is still faithful and true ; 
 
 And the memory of joy that has vanish'd for ever ] 
 Is dearer than all that allures in the view. 
 
 That chord in the heart is still mournfully ringing, 
 
 Though the voice that once thrill'd it for ever is gone, — 
 
 As the branch that the nightingale perch'd on while singing 
 Will quiver though from it the sweet bird has flown. 
 
 THE AVE OF SAO JORGE. 
 
 The mountains like eternal ramparts keep 
 
 Watch round it, in their shadow sunk it lies 
 
 A little Eden, azure-domed by skies 
 Whose fluent sunlight falls on it like sleep. 
 Birds haunt its delicate air, meadow and steep 
 
 Are muffled thick with vines ; through rents in the green 
 
 Of chestnut forests, cottages are seen, 
 And upwards thin blue smoke-wreaths slowly creep. 
 
 Ocean's calm fulfilling waters bound 
 
 The vale, and chaunt their everlasting psalm, 
 Response eliciting from the entranced shore. 
 
 Beauty walks here with constant step and calm ; 
 
 Alas ! that while its bloom may still be found, 
 The innocence of Eden lives no more ! 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 21. 
 
 JAAL AND SI SERA. 
 
 " Turn in," she said, and gently press'd 
 
 The fainting chief to go ; 
 " The heaviest heart forgets in rest 
 
 Its weariness and woe. 
 For water I will bring thee milk, 
 
 And soft th}' couch will be; 
 The cruel foe shall never know 
 
 That thou art safe with me ! " 
 
 He turn'd him to the tent and drank, 
 
 She cast her mantle round 
 His weary limbs, and fast he sank 
 
 In slumbers on the ground. 
 And then with murder's muffled tread 
 
 Upon his sleep she stole, 
 Those fingers frail drove deep the nail, 
 
 And death woke up the soul. 
 
 So pilgrim ! still along thy way 
 
 The tents of Kedar lie, 
 Beware — they court but to betray, 
 
 Thou enterest but to die ! 
 Though faint and weary do not thou 
 
 Into their secret come — 
 Seek no repose amidst the foes, 
 
 And distant from thy home. 
 
 The angry threat thou mayst despise, 
 
 But dread the secret wile ; 
 For malice masks in flattery's guise, 
 
 And death can wear a smile. 
 "With patient foot and trustful heart, 
 
 Hold on thy way till even— 
 Sweet is the rest that waits the blest, 
 
 Upon the hills of heaven ! 
 
216 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Hark ! to the sudden rushes of that flood 
 Of sound that deluges the midnight wood ! 
 Hark ! to the ravishing falls, the lute-like trills 
 With which the sobbing bird the silence fills ! 
 From the sweet tumult of those revelling notes, 
 A wind of wandering music creeps and floats, 
 Far down the dim and starlight-drench'd air, 
 "What time the slumbrous heavens are blue and bare ! 
 And now it languishes, and now it swells, 
 And now it sinks to deep and sad farewells. 
 Again, with passionate art he doth prolong 
 The rich thick gurgles of his tearful song ; 
 Then pours it forth by slowly-trickling drops, 
 Till in a swoon of melody he stops ! 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 No more on earth wilt thou behold the face 
 Which love once lighted with a tender glow ; 
 
 No more be folded in the fond embrace, 
 The fondest and the purest earth can know. 
 
 'Twas but a few short years thy childhood knew — 
 What life can know but once — a mother's care, 
 
 To train for heaven thy nature as it grew, 
 And shield it from the world's ungenial air. 
 
 Ah ! many an anxious thought was hers for thee, 
 Many a strong prayer went up to mercy's throne, 
 
 In hallow'd moments when she bent the knee, 
 And her meek spirit spoke to God alone. 
 
 Those lips are silent now, those prayers are o'er, 
 Cold lies the loving heart beneath the sod ; 
 
 But her bright memory lives for evermore 
 To light the path that leads her child to God. 
 
HYMNS AXD MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 217 
 
 True to the dear example she bequeath'd 
 To Him thy young affections upward send ; 
 
 Be this the first fond wish thy spirit breathes, 
 To make her God thy guide, her soul thy friend. 
 
 Christ's dying eye upon His mother fell, 
 
 He from His cross to Mary gave a home ; 
 Thy mother now doth with the Saviour dwell, 
 
 And from the throne He bids thee also come. 
 
 Once for her sake an earthly home was dear, 
 Oh, think that in a fairer home than this 
 
 Her spirit waits, after brief parting here, 
 To welcome thee to never-ending bliss. 
 
 SONNET— MENTONE. 
 
 Ix dreams of some long-faded loveliness — 
 Half garden and half woodland — have I seen 
 A haunt like this, shut in with closed screen 
 Of foliage,— where the silvery mistiness 
 Of olives fills the wild and sweet recess 
 "With tenderest sunlight, — and in air serene 
 The citron glitters, and from thickest green 
 A lone bird's warble breaks the silentness. 
 Guided by thee, my life's own gentle guide, 
 "When first within this fragrant shade I stood 
 There seem'd into my inmost soul to glide 
 A blessed peace and health, like cool hand laid 
 On fever'd brow, a thrill of gratitude 
 And joy in this fair world which God hath made. 
 
 Feb. bth, 1864. 
 
218 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Dim were the gray-hair'd minstrel's eyes, 
 
 His harp was sobbing to the chime 
 Of sadly mingling memories, 
 
 A tale of ancient time. 
 The rosebud on its stalk may die, 
 
 Though not unwater'd by the dew, 
 All that on earth delights the eye 
 
 May fade as quickly too. 
 
 The bells rang for the bridal night 
 
 From all the towers of Konigstein, 
 The lattice lamps were lit and bright, 
 
 They twinkled on the Rhine. 
 Guests fill'd the old baronial hall, 
 
 And loud the shouts of wassail rung, 
 The minstrels all the festival 
 
 Unto their citterns sung. 
 
 The old king, with a heart elate, 
 
 Call'd for a cup to pledge the bride, 
 And glanced with fondness where she sate, 
 
 With Siegmund by her side. 
 Up sprung the guests through all the hall, 
 
 And loud the shouts of wassail rung, 
 And clear above the festival 
 
 The minstrels play'd and sung. 
 
 She rose, and to the bridal room 
 
 She pass'd amidst her maiden3 four ; 
 She enter'd in her maiden bloom, 
 
 But forth came never more ! 
 The rosebud on its stalk hath died, 
 
 Though not unwater'd by the dew, — 
 And she, the prince and people's pride, 
 
 Hath faded where she grew ! 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 219 
 
 TO FLORA. 
 
 Ah ! fondly loved, while thou wert here, 
 
 Still fondly loved, lamented sore ; 
 Thy memory to the heart is dear — 
 
 Dear till the heart can beat no more, 
 Still we behold thy gentle face, 
 
 Thy soft blue eyes, thy golden hair, 
 Thine image, in immortal grace, 
 
 For ever shining bright and fair. 
 
 The place where thy dear ashes sleep 
 
 Is far away beyond the wave ; 
 No friend is near, no kindred keep 
 
 Their watch above thy lonely grave. 
 The sun may shine, the rain may fall, 
 
 The winds around thee make their moan, 
 But thou, the best beloved of all, 
 
 Art sleeping thy last sleep alone. 
 
 Yet why should tears bedim our eyes ? 
 
 Why should the heart with grief be riven ? 
 'Tis but thy dust in dust that lies, 
 
 Thy spirit lives with Christ in heaven. 
 There thou, in spotless innocence, 
 
 Dost ever on His bosom lie, 
 A lily, early gather'd hence 
 
 To bloom in climes beyond the sky. 
 
 Thou wert the sunshine of the home 
 
 "Which is so dark without thee now ; 
 But thou to God's own light art come, 
 
 And angel-lips have kiss'd thy brow. 
 Thy joyous voice once thrilFd the heart, 
 
 Like music's softest, sweetest tone, 
 Now hush'd on earth, it bears a part 
 
 In the high anthem round the throne. 
 
220 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 From all the ills and griefs of time 
 Thou art for ever well away ; 
 
 Thy home is in the cloudless clime, 
 "While we in darkness wait for day. 
 
 And why should sorrow haunt us thus, 
 For one from sorrow ever free ? 
 
 Sweet child, thou wouldst not come to us 
 
 Oh, be it ours to go to thee ! 
 1859. 
 
 'WRITTEN AT HASTINGS, 1860. 
 
 Along the shell fringe of the bay 
 I hear the rippling water's flow, 
 
 O'er the green waves, in restless play, 
 The lights and shadows come and go. 
 
 Swift as the ruffling breezes range 
 O'er ocean's wide and clear expanse, 
 
 Its tints, in wavering interchange, 
 Like gleams of opal flash and glance. 
 
 But for the clouds that float on high 
 No shifting lights would sparkle there ; 
 
 O'ervaulted by an azure sky 
 
 The waters were not half so fair. 
 
 But for the breeze that o'er the deep 
 Goes forth careering wild and free, 
 
 It would but lie in idle sleep, 
 A glittering, blank monotony. 
 
 And so, beloved, 'twere not wise 
 To wish this serious life of ours 
 
 Could know but calm and sunny skies, 
 And count but bright and smiling hours. 
 
 So might it run to selfish waste, 
 
 Worthless, though brilliant it might seem, 
 Its trembling hopes and pleasures based 
 
 On the duration of a dream. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 221 
 
 'Tis change and trial that have power 
 
 To throw on life a light divine, 
 And make it in its darkest hour 
 
 With Faith's celestial radiance shine. 
 
 Let windy storm and tempest blow, 
 Let clouds their frowning shadows cast, 
 
 If Patience, Love, and Wisdom grow, 
 And Hope gleam brightly to the last. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Short at the longest, 
 Frail at the strongest, 
 Flame of a taper, 
 Foam of a river, 
 Ocean's weak spray, — 
 Frost-work so brittle, 
 It shrinks from a ray ; 
 Breath of a vapour, 
 Seen for a little, 
 Then fading away. 
 
 Yet, as thou fliest, 
 Bringing from heaven 
 The best and the highest 
 Hopes ever given; 
 Precious thy moments, 
 Rick thy bestowments, 
 Let my hand grasp them, 
 Let my heart clasp them,- 
 And on Time's brink 
 The glory foreseeing, 
 
 I know life is mine, 
 Immortal, divine, 
 
222 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 By a gold link 
 
 That death cannot sever, 
 
 God to His Being 
 
 Hath bound mine for ever. 
 i860. 
 
 "AAROX'S ROD." 
 
 On the green parent-tree the dew stood clear 
 
 In some far moonlit dell ; 
 Upon the rod of Aaron, peel'd and sear, 
 
 That night no dewdrop fell. 
 
 Once in the sheaf of symbol wands 'twas laid 
 
 At eve before the ark, 
 Where the pale fire of the Shekinah ray'd 
 
 A glory through the dark. 
 
 A sudden thrill of spring-time through it shot, 
 
 Quick juices swell its core, — 
 'Tis green as the wet sprig of olive brought 
 
 To Xoah's prison door. 
 
 Thy hand, God, around the stem a wreath 
 
 Of snowy blossom weaves, 
 And clustering almonds in their silken sheath 
 
 Hang ripe among the leaves. 
 
 Leafless and dead the rival wands were found 
 
 When the gray dawning came ; 
 That rod alone had bloom'd on holy ground 
 
 Which bore Thy Aaron's name. 
 
 So, Lord, I come into Thy holy place, 
 
 Before Thine ark I lie, 
 A wither'd branch that bears no flower of grace, 
 
 Xo fruit to please Thine eye. 
 
HYMNS AXD MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 223 
 
 Hour after hour drags on the weary night, 
 
 I wait Thy blessed will, 
 That some reviving ray of Thine own light 
 
 May through my being thrill. 
 
 Oh, in the night-watch may Thy Spirit's breath 
 
 My inmost soul pervade ! 
 Blow, heavenly wind ! dissolve this frost of death 
 
 In which I am decay'd ! 
 
 Thou, who to the small hyssop gav'st of old 
 
 Its purifying power, 
 Canst change the poorest weed of earthly mould 
 
 To a celestial flower. 
 
 Each germ of evil from my heart root out ; 
 
 Sow there that holy seed 
 "Whence the sweet flowers of Christian virtue sprout, 
 
 And fruits of Christian deed. 
 
 Thus let me find in Thy pure temple air 
 
 My time of spring, God, 
 And in life's darkest night still flourish fair, 
 
 Like this unwithering rod. 
 
 Thy sunshine falls on many a fruitless tree ; 
 
 But in affliction's gloom 
 Thy garden plants, Lord, exhale to Thee 
 
 Their sweetest scent and bloom. 
 
 HYMN FOR A NEW YEAE. 
 
 Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee." 
 Deut. viii. 2. 
 
 As on a hill-top gained at last, 
 
 By many a step, we stand to-day, 
 To look behind us on the past, 
 
 Before us on o'er our future way. 
 
224 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 A year of Sabbaths come and gone, 
 
 Months bright with mercies meet our gaze ; 
 
 Thy hand, God, hath led us on, 
 Thy goodness claims our song of praise. 
 
 Within Thy house can we forget 
 Our Father's love, so rich and free ? 
 
 Can we forget the mighty debt, 
 Our Saviour, that we owe to Thee ? 
 
 Oh may the year that now begins, 
 
 Behold us choose the heavenward way, 
 
 Redeem the time, forsake our sins, 
 And follow Thee, Lord, day by day. 
 
 To-day to each the choice is given, 
 How long it may be, who can tell, — 
 
 On this side lies the bliss of heaven, 
 On that the awful gloom of hell. 
 
 Jesus, Thy pleading look we see, 
 
 Thy wounded hands, Thy thorn-wreathed brow- 
 Help us to yield our hearts to Thee, — 
 
 To yield them all, and yield them now. 
 
 NEW YEAR'S HYMN. 
 
 Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness."— rs. lxv. 11. 
 
 At Thy feet, our God and Father, 
 
 Who hast bless'd us all our days, 
 We with grateful hearts would gather, 
 
 To begin the year with praise. 
 
 Fraise for light so brightly shining 
 
 On our steps from heaven above, 
 Praise for mercies daily twining 
 
 Round us golden cords of love. 
 
HYMNS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 225 
 
 Jesus ! for Thy love most tender, 
 
 On the cross for sinners shown, 
 We would praise Thee and surrender 
 
 All our hearts to be Thine own. 
 
 With so bless'd a Friend provided, 
 
 We upon our way would go, 
 Sure of being safely guided, 
 
 Guarded well from every foe. 
 
 Every day will be the brighter 
 
 When Thy gracious face we see, 
 Every burden will be lighter 
 When we know it comes from Thee. 
 
 Spread Thy love's broad banner o'er us, 
 
 Give us strength to serve and wait, 
 Till the glory breaks before us 
 
 Through the City's open gate. 
 
TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS. 
 
 " LITTLE FLOCK, BE NOT AFRAID ! " 
 
 (From the German of Gustavus Adolphus.— His Battle Song at Liitzen.) 
 
 little flock, be not afraid, 
 
 Though foes around thee stand array'd, 
 
 To scatter and destroy thee. 
 What though their malice and their plots 
 Have caused thee many anxious thoughts, 
 
 They shall not long annoy thee. 
 
 Thy cause is God's— then cease to grieve ; 
 "With Him who claims it vengeance leave, 
 
 Look up to Him as reigning ; 
 He, through His Gideon, whom He knows, 
 "Will succour thee and smite thy foes, 
 
 Thee and His word maintaining. 
 
 As God is God, His truth must stand ; 
 The devil and the world may band, 
 
 But woe to their alliance. 
 They shall beneath our feet be trod, 
 God is with us, and we with God : 
 
 "We bid them all defiance. 
 
TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS. 227 
 
 LORD, I COME, THY GRACE ADORING." 
 
 Lord, I come, Thy grace adoring-, 
 Which on me is ever pouring, 
 
 Through Thy Spirit's blessed light ; 
 Which, to thousand hearts is showing, 
 By its thousand mercies flowing, 
 
 Its unbounded depth and height. 
 
 Should I not myself surrender 
 Unto Thee, whose love so tender 
 
 Watches ever on my ways .' 
 Turning even the great afflictions 
 Of my heart to benedictions, 
 
 Which can lighten darkest days. 
 
 Lord, this heart T would devote it 
 To Thy service, who hast sought it 
 
 Thine own glory to fulfil ; 
 Unto Thee it would be cleaving, 
 Former sins and follies leaving, 
 
 With a pure and upright will. 
 
 Through Thy power, may I, despising 
 Earth, to heaven be upward rising ; 
 
 Draw, oh draw me, unto Thee, 
 That I may renew'd, converted, 
 Through Thy Spirit's grace anointed, 
 
 Daily feel Thee dwell in me. 
 
 Make my heart a garden, nourish 
 Holy graces, which may flourish 
 
 With their sweet maturity. 
 Open Thou Life's well, which ever, 
 Like a clear and limpid river, 
 
 Flows into eternity. 
 
 All life's aims and heart's affection 
 I resign to Thy direction, 
 
 Jesus, help and strengthen me. 
 
228 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURXS. 
 
 One with Thee, and in Thee dwelling, 
 May my soul, Thy praises telling, 
 Yield eternal love to Thee ! 
 
 AXGELUS SlLESIUS. 
 
 "ALL THE SAIXTS WILL MEET OX HIGH. 
 
 All the saints will meet on high, 
 Where their heart and treasure lie, 
 Where their life already is, 
 Where their Saviour reigns in bliss. 
 
 One by one the good remove 
 To their better home above ; 
 Nor are we, who loved them dear, 
 Ask'd if we would keep them here. 
 
 Yet God's darkest ways are wise ; 
 And when He severely tries, 
 He would have us to be still, 
 Resting quiet in His will. 
 
 Many a heart that beats no more, 
 Thrills the spirit to its core ; 
 Yet, Jesus ! Thine we be, 
 We have all while we have Thee. 
 
 Zixzexdorf. 
 
 "FROM THEE, FAITHFUL GOD." 
 
 From Thee, faithful God, 
 Must come all peace and union ; 
 Thy grace Thy people calls 
 To brotherly communion. 
 Concord is Thy delight, 
 Thy favour its reward, 
 Thou teachest us to love 
 And follow it, Lord. 
 
TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS. 229 
 
 "Wherefore to Thee we pray 
 
 For Thy good Spirit's blessing, 
 
 That all of us may be 
 
 Our heart in peace possessing. 
 
 Oh may we all our mind 
 
 In truth and goodness keep, 
 
 That so united we 
 
 The fruits of peace may reap. 
 
 May each to all become 
 A balsam sweet and healing, 
 That each afflicted heart 
 In trouble may be feeling 
 What comfort and support 
 From sympathy may flow, 
 And that no brother's heart 
 Can slight a brother's woe. 
 
 Oh let us always dwell 
 In unity together ; 
 May Thy forbearing grace 
 Still comfort us, Father ! 
 Among Thy waiting saints 
 May concord still increase, 
 Till out of strife we reach 
 Heaven's everlasting peace ! 
 
 HEAVEN, AND EARTH, AND SEA, AND AIR. 
 
 Heaven - , and earth, and sea, and air 
 Still their Maker's praise deelare, 
 Thou, my soul, as loudly sing, 
 To thy God thy praises bring. 
 
 See the sun His power awakes 
 As through clouds his glory breaks ; 
 See the moon and stars of light 
 Praising God in stillest night. 
 
230 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 See how God this rolling globe 
 Swathes with beauty like a robe ; 
 Forests, fields, and living things 
 Each its Maker's glory sings. 
 
 Through the air Thy praises meet, 
 Birds are singing clear and sweet — 
 Fire, and storm, and wind, Thy will 
 As Thy ministers fulfil. 
 
 The ocean waves Thy glory tell, 
 At Thy touch they sink and swell ; 
 From the well-spring to the sea, 
 Pavers murmur, Lord, of Thee. 
 
 Ah, my God, what wonders lie 
 Hid in Thy infinity ! 
 Stamp upon my inmost heart 
 What I am, and what Thou art. 
 
 J. Xeaxdeb. 
 
 " WONDERFUL AND BLESS'D. 
 
 Wonderful and bless'd 
 Ruler of all living, 
 Oh accept of our thanksgiving ! 
 To us streams of mercy 
 Daily Thou art sending, 
 Though we daily are offending. 
 
 Grant us still 
 
 Power and will, 
 That our heart may bless Thee, 
 And our mouth confess Thee ! 
 
 Shout your Maker's glory, 
 ye heavens vaulted, 
 Sound afar His name exalted ! 
 Sun whose light illumines 
 
TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS. 231 
 
 Earth, still onward rolling 1 , 
 
 Be His wondrous power extolling ! 
 
 Praise His might 
 
 Stars of light, 
 All His works adore Him, 
 Brightly ranged before Him ! 
 
 Thou, my soul, sing gladly, 
 Mingling in the praises 
 Every living creature raises ; 
 Sing perpetual anthems, 
 Laud and adoration 
 To the God of thy salvation ! 
 
 Bless and own 
 
 Him alone, 
 Of all good the giver, 
 To be praised for ever ! 
 
 Sing loud halleluiah. 
 
 All His saints together, 
 
 All in Christ who call Him Father ! 
 
 Praise Him and believe, 
 
 "Who with spirit fervent 
 
 Is the Saviour's loving servant ! 
 
 Well mayst thou 
 
 Praise Him now, 
 Till in heaven before Him 
 Sinless thou adore Him ! 
 
 GOD TS LOYE, SIXG LOUD BEFORE HDL" 
 
 God is love, sing loud before Him, 
 Love which lasts for evermore ; 
 
 Through the Spirit's grace adore Him, 
 Ye whose hearts have felt its power. 
 
232 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Were His holy zeal outflaming, 
 It would burn as deep as hell ; 
 
 Now His name of love proclaiming, 
 All the heavens His glory tell. 
 
 Love, which He reveals and teaches 
 
 "When we in the Son believe; 
 Love, which in its farthest reaches 
 
 Mind of man can ne'er conceive. 
 Love, how wide, o'er all extending, 
 
 Long ! its length all years exceeds, 
 Deep ! to sinners lost descending, 
 
 High ! as high as heaven it leads. 
 
 Love, my heart may safe repose in, 
 
 Though to thought a boundless deep, 
 Let not him who hates God's chosen, 
 
 Thy sweet comfort from me keep. 
 Love ! oh, be it my endeavour 
 
 Still to know thee as thou art, 
 Love ! teach me to sing for ever 
 
 To thy Giver with the heart ! 
 
 Hiller. 
 
 "HELP ME TO PRAY, LORD." 
 
 Help me to pray, Lord ! and make supplication 
 Through me and in me in all time of need ; 
 
 With my own fire if I make my oblation, 
 Vainly for mercy and blessing I plead. 
 
 Only the prayers of Thy priesthood unfailing 
 
 Into the Holiest enter prevailing ! 
 
 Help me to pray, Lord ! oh, plead with my pleading 
 I have no power, no wisdom to pray; 
 
 If Thou, Mediator, art not interceding, 
 Prayer is labour thrown idly away. 
 
 Thou must inspire it, if grace ever reach me, 
 
 " Abba !" the password, Thy Spirit must teach me. 
 
TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN HYMNS. 2, 
 
 Help me to pray, Lord, and gladden Thy servant ! 
 
 Cast out all fear with Thy love-giving breath ; 
 Make me more cheerful, confiding, and fervent, 
 
 Touch and keep moving the springs of my faith. 
 Let all my incense rise sweet from Thy censer, 
 Each prayer, Advocate, echo and answer. 
 
 Help me to pray, Lord, and reach to the blessing ! 
 
 Breathe the right thought, and impart the right word, 
 In trouble and death may prayer ever pressing, 
 
 Weighty and childlike, be granted me, Lord. 
 Prayer from all sorrow can save us — it frees us 
 Even from death. Yes ; Thou helpest us, Jesus ! 
 
 Ph. Heine. Weissexsee. 
 
 " "WE MEET, LORD, WITH VOICE AND HEART." 
 
 We meet, Lord, with voice and heart 
 
 Thy holy name confessing, 
 Thou, Son of man, the Sower art, 
 
 Who sows the seeds of blessing. 
 The field extends the world around, 
 Oh plant now in the barren ground 
 The children of Thy kingdom ! 
 
 Yes, First-born, Sovereign Lord of all, 
 
 Who sit in kingly stations, 
 Thou yet wilt see before Thee fall, 
 
 Adoring, all the nations. 
 This we believe, and summon'd now 
 To this great work, we hope that Thou 
 Wilt bless the seed we scatter. 
 
 Already sprouts some tender seed, 
 
 The blade the ear preceding ; 
 We praise Thee, Lord, and praise would lead 
 
 To still more fervent pleading. 
 
234 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 How small as yet Thy garden's bound, 
 How wide the wilderness around, 
 Grant, Lord, a richer blessing. 
 
 Grant us Thy Spirit in each heart, 
 That fervent love reviving, 
 
 Which concord, courage, zeal, imparts, 
 That each may still be striving 
 
 To make the great salvation known, 
 
 And haste Thy blessed kingdom on 
 Both in himself and others. 
 
 Oh joy, when once the reapers home 
 Their golden sheaves are bringing, 
 
 And all now waiting till Thou come 
 Are in Thy presence singing. 
 
 We wait for Thee, oh let Thy will 
 
 Triumph in us, Thy members, till 
 We into rest shall enter. 
 
 BEHOLD, THE BRIDEGROOM COMETH." 
 
 " Up, awake ! " his summons hurried, 
 The watcher shouts high on the turret, 
 " Thy Lord, Zion, comes to thee ! " 
 Through the midnight shadows falling, 
 Hark! clear and loud the voice is calling, 
 
 " Ye prudent virgins, where are ye ! 
 Rejoice, the Bridegroom 's near ! 
 L T p, let your lamps shine clear. 
 
 Halleluiah ! 
 
 Make no delay, 
 
 In fair array 
 Go forth to meet Him on the way ! " 
 
TRANSLATIONS FKOM THE GERMAN. 235 
 
 Zion hears the watchers singing, 
 And up her heart for joy is springing, 
 
 She stands and looks with wistful eyes. 
 Lo ! He comes from heaven glorious ! 
 In mercy strong', in truth victorious, 
 
 The morning star breaks through the skies. 
 " Xow come our joy and crown, 
 Lord Jesus, to Thine own I " 
 
 Hosanna ! 
 
 We enter all 
 
 The joyous hall, 
 And hold with Him the festival I 
 
 Glory be to Thee ascending, 
 From tongues of men and angels blending 1 
 With cymbals and the harp's clear tone ! 
 The city's pearly gates before us 
 Stand open, and we join the chorus 
 
 Of angels high before Thy throne, 
 No eye hath seen the throng, 
 No ear hath heard the song ! 
 
 Oh the glory ! 
 
 There we shall be, 
 
 And sing to Thee 
 
 XlCOLAJ, 
 
 NOW OX THE HOLY GHOST WE CALL,' 
 
 Now on the Holy Ghost we call, 
 
 To give us the right faith first of all, 
 
 That it may sustain us 
 When faintness oppresses, 
 And we go home out of life's distresses, 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Our soul, sweet Light, do Thou shine upon 
 Teach us to know Jesus Christ alone, 
 That we may cleave to Him, 
 
236 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 And by His good hand 
 May be led safe to the heavenly land — 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Thy grace, sweet Love, on our souls bestow, 
 That they may feel Thy quickening glow, 
 
 That we may love truly 
 Each Christian brother, 
 And dwell in unity one with another — 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Thou who comfortest trembling faith, 
 Help us to fear not shame or death, 
 
 That we may despair not. 
 Be grace infusing, 
 
 When Satan stands our sins accusing — 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 "SO WILL I ABIDE FOR EVER." 
 
 So will I abide for ever 
 
 In the Lord, and Thee obey ; 
 Nothing me from Thee shall sever, 
 
 I will walk in Thy good way. 
 Life in life Thy grace infuses, 
 
 To my soul gives power and spring, 
 Like the vine its vital juices 
 
 To the branches ministering. 
 
 Could I anywhere fare better, 
 
 Than with Him who knows my case, 
 'Who for me, a hopeless debtor, 
 
 Has ten thousand gifts of grace ? 
 "Where to me can hope be given, 
 
 If it come not, Lord, from Thee * 
 L'nto whom, in earth and heaven, 
 
 Power belongs eternallv. 
 
 Luther. 
 
TEAXSLATIOXS FROM THE GEE-MAX. 237 
 
 "Where can I find friend so tender, 
 
 Who would do what Christ hath done ? 
 Who His precious blood did render 
 
 For my trespass to atone. 
 Should I not yield Him obedience 
 
 Who for me life freely gave, 
 And to Him swear true allegiance, 
 
 True allegiance to the grave ? 
 
 Yes in Thee, Lord, thus abiding, 
 
 I, come weal or woe, will be 
 Still abiding, still confiding, 
 
 Xow and ever bound to Thee. 
 All my life on Thee relying, 
 
 I will wait Thy homeward call, 
 Since he best prepares for dying 
 
 Who in living makes Thee all. 
 
 Still abide with me when weary, 
 As my day draws near its end, 
 And when evening shades fall dreary, 
 
 And the glooms of night descend, 
 Then, Lord, lay Thy hands of blessing 
 
 On my drooping head, and say, 
 " Child, thou goest, faith is pressing 
 On through death to life for aye ! " 
 
 Then abide with me when verging 
 
 On the grave, a sudden dread 
 Chills me like the blast so searching 
 
 That precedes the dawning red. 
 When a mist steals o'er my vision, 
 
 Let Thy light more inward come — 
 So be mine a glad transition 
 
 Like a pilgrim's going home. 
 
 Spitta. 
 
238 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 TO GOD ALOXE OX HIGH BE PRAISE. 
 
 To God alone on high be praise 
 
 And blessing for His favour ; 
 Xo trouble that our foes can raise 
 
 Can harm a man for ever. 
 God shows us His goodwill, and peace 
 He brings to us, which ne'er shall cease, 
 
 The enmity is ended. 
 
 Thee, God the Father, we adore, 
 Thy boundless mercy proving ; 
 
 Thine is the glory, Thine the power, 
 Thy throne remains unmoving : 
 
 Thy might all measure doth transcend, 
 
 Thy will must reach its certain end : 
 Well may we praise and bless Thee ! 
 
 Christ ! the first-begotten Son, 
 "Who, full of grace and blessing, 
 
 For our lost life did'st give Thine own, 
 Our bitter woes redressing. 
 
 Lamb of God, to Thee we fly, 
 
 In time of trembling hear our cry — 
 Good Lord, have mercy on us. 
 
 Holy Ghost ! who giv'st all good 
 
 And wholesome consolation, 
 May we, redeem'd by precious blood, 
 
 Be shielded from temptation. 
 For us He hung upon the tree, 
 Do Thou from evil keep us free, 
 
 Upon Thy grace relying. 
 
 Decius. 
 
 ALL THAT GOD DOES IS RIGHTLY DOXE. 
 
 All that God does is rightly done ; 
 He will remain unerring ; 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 239 
 
 Him will I trust, and Him alone, 
 Whate'er He is preparing. 
 
 This God is mine, 
 
 He grace divine 
 Will send in needful measure : 
 I rest in His good pleasure. 
 
 All that God does is rightly done, 
 
 He never can deceive me ; 
 In the right path He leads me on, 
 So to His grace I leave me. 
 My spirit will 
 Be meek and still : 
 From ills that may me visit 
 His hand can good elicit. 
 
 All that God does is rightly done ; 
 His grace knows no repenting ; 
 His saving help in trouble shown, 
 The cup of health presenting. 
 He well can cure, 
 His word is sure, 
 On Him my hopes are founded, 
 I trust His love unbounded. 
 
 All that God does is rightly done, 
 
 And light and life receiving 
 From Him, the ever changeless One, 
 To Him I will be cleaving, 
 Come weal or woe, 
 For well I know 
 That time the trust will warrant, 
 And make His truth apparent. 
 
 All that God does is rightly done ; 
 
 The cup, if He infuse it, 
 Though sharp as gall the lips upon, 
 Shall I not freely choose it ? 
 Why should I shrink 
 That cup to drink, 
 
>40 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Since comfort in it lieth, 
 And in it sorrow dieth. 
 
 All that God does is rightly done ; 
 
 On this my heart reposes : 
 Though rough the path I yet may tread 
 Ere life's sad warfare closes, 
 My Father will 
 Uphold me still, 
 "With grace in needful measure — 
 I rest in His good pleasure. 
 
 RODIGAST. 
 
 OUR REFUGE AND STRENGTH. 
 
 He who the rule to God hath yielded, 
 
 And evermore on Him relies, 
 "Will be in wondrous manner shielded 
 In straits and all adversities ; 
 "Who in the Highest makes his stand, 
 Builds not his hope upon the sand. 
 
 What are our heavy cares availing ? 
 
 Why should we sigh our years away • 
 "What profit is there in bewailing 
 Our lot with each returning day • 
 Such sorrow lends a sting to care, 
 And gives a heavier cross to bear. 
 
 Rest thou in God, amid all changes 
 
 Be pleased with all He may ordain ; 
 Wait patient till what He arranges 
 For thy best welfare shall be plain. 
 God, who has chosen us as His, 
 Knows best what our true welfare is. 
 
TEAXSLATIOXS FROM THE GERMAX. 241 
 
 He knows, if need be, how to measure 
 
 Our hours of sunshine as of shade ; 
 And when we wait on His good pleasure, 
 With heart sincere and spirit stay'd, 
 He comes more quickly than we know, 
 And makes our cup to overflow. 
 
 Think not, when sorrow sharply trieth, 
 
 That God hath left thee desolate : 
 That some one in His bosom lieth 
 "Who may be prosperous and great. 
 The days to come bring changes on, 
 And that which seems is quickly goue. 
 
 To Him whose arm sways wide creation, 
 
 It is a light thing at His will 
 To bring the great to lowly station, 
 And make the lowly greater still. 
 'Tis He whose wondrous ways we know, 
 "Who lifteth up and bringeth low. 
 
 Sing, pray, and onward still be pressing, 
 
 To thine appointed work be true ; 
 Trust Him, and tarry for His blessing, 
 And it shall every day be new. 
 Whoe'er on God his hope hath cast 
 Will find Him faithful to the last. 
 
 Xeumark. 
 
 "JESUS, LEAD THE WAY.' 
 
 Jesus, lead the way, 
 
 So we shall not stray 
 From the path while here abiding, 
 But shall follow Thy safe-guiding. 
 
 Lead us by the hand 
 
 To the fatherland. 
 
242 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Should we fare but hard, 
 Stand we fast on guard ; 
 Though the days be very dreary, 
 Never of our burden weary, 
 For through trouble's sea 
 Lies our road with Thee. 
 
 Should some secret smart 
 Tex and wound the heart, 
 Or another's woe and weakness, 
 Grant us patience, grant us meekness. 
 Lift Thou up our mind 
 To the end design'd. 
 
 Lord, Thy guidance lend 
 Through life to the end ; 
 Though the way be rough and trying, 
 Be Thou needful help supplying; 
 And when all is o'er, 
 Open, Lord, Thy door ! 
 
 ZlNZEXDORF. 
 
 BEARING THE CROSS. 
 
 The heavier the cross, the nearer heaven, 
 
 No cross without, no God within ; 
 Death, judgment, from the heart are driven. 
 Amidst the world's false glare and din. 
 Oh happy he, with all his loss, 
 Whom God hath set beneath the cross ! 
 
 The heavier cross, the better Christian, 
 
 This is the touchstone God applies ; 
 How many a garden would lie wasting, 
 Unwet by showers from weeping eyes ! 
 The gold by fire is purified ; 
 The Christian is by trouble tried. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 243 
 
 The heavier cross, the stronger faith ; 
 
 The loaded palm strikes deeper root ; 
 The vine juice sweetly issueth 
 
 When men have press'd the cluster'd fruit. 
 And courage grows where dangers come, 
 Like pearls beneath the salt sea foam. 
 
 The heavier cross, the heartier prayer ; 
 The bruised herbs most fragrant are. 
 If wind and sky were always fair, 
 
 The sailor would not watch the star; 
 
 And David's psalms had ne'er been sung, 
 If grief his heart had never wrung. 
 
 The heavier cross, the more aspiring ; 
 
 From vales we climb to mountain crest ; 
 The pilgrim of the desert tiring, 
 Longs for the Canaan of his rest; 
 The dove has here no rest in sight, 
 And to the Ark she wings her flight. 
 
 The heavier cross, the easier dying, 
 Death is a friendlier face to see ; 
 To life's decay one bids defying — 
 From life's distress one then is free. 
 The cross sublimely lifts our faith 
 To Him who triumpli'd over death. 
 
 Thou crucified ! the cross I carry, 
 
 The longer may it dearer be ; 
 And, lest I faint while here I tarry, 
 Implant Thou such a heart in me, 
 
 That faith, hope, love, may flourish there 
 Till for my cross the crown I wear ! 
 
 Schmolk. 
 
244: THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 "NOW THE CRUCIBLE IS BREAKING." 
 
 Now the crucible is breaking, 
 Faith its perfect seal is taking, 
 
 Like the gold in furnace tried ; 
 Through the test of sharp distresses, 
 Those whom Heaven most richly blesses, 
 
 For its joys are purified. 
 
 Trial when it weighs severely, 
 Stamps the Saviour's image clearly 
 
 On the heart of all His friends : 
 In the frame His hands have moulded, 
 Is a future life unfolded, 
 
 Through the suffering which He sends. 
 
 Suffering curbs our wayward passions, 
 Childlike tempers in us fashions, 
 
 And our will to His subdues : 
 And His hand so soft and healing 
 Each disorder'd power and feeling 
 
 By a blessed change renews. 
 
 Suffering keeps the thoughts compacted, 
 That the soul be not distracted 
 
 By the world's beguiling art. 
 'Tis like some angelic warder, 
 Ever keeping sacred order 
 
 In the chambers of the heart. 
 
 Suffering times the heart's emotion 
 To eternity's devotion, 
 
 And awakes a fond desire 
 For the land where psalms are ringing, 
 And with psalms the martyr's singing 
 
 Sweetly to the harper's choir. 
 
 Suffering gives our faith assurance, 
 Gives us patience in endurance, 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 245 
 
 Suffering", who is worth thy pains ? 
 Here they call thee only torment, 
 There they call thee a preferment, 
 
 Which not every one attains. 
 
 Brethren ! grace which thus assuages 
 Suffering, is through diverse stages 
 
 Reach'd hy true disciples here ; 
 While they 're pierced by sharpest anguish, 
 While in many a death they languish, 
 
 Watch through many a night of fear. 
 
 Though in health with powers unwasted, 
 And with willing hearts we hasted 
 
 To take up our Saviour's cross ; 
 If through trial our God Master, 
 Should refine these powers the faster, 
 
 What good Christian counts it loss ? 
 
 In the depth of its distresses, 
 Each true heart the closer presses 
 
 To his heart with ardent love ; 
 Ever longing, ever crying, 
 Oh conform me to Thy dying, 
 
 That I live with Thee above ! 
 
 Sighs and tears at last are over, 
 Breaking through its fleshly cover, 
 
 Soars the soul to light away. 
 Who, while here below, can measure 
 That deep sea of heavenly pleasure, 
 
 Spreading there so bright for aye ? 
 
 Day by day, Jesus, nearer 
 Show that bliss to me, and clearer, 
 
 Till my latest hour I see. 
 Then, my weary striving ended, 
 May my spirit be attended 
 
 By bright angels home to Thee ! 
 
 Hartmann. 
 
246 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURKS. 
 
 WORLD! SEE THY LIFE LANGUISH." 
 
 world ! see thy Life languish 
 Upon the tree in anguish ! 
 Thy Saviour droops and dies ! 
 
 The Prince of Power with meekness 
 Submits in mortal weakness 
 To blows, and scorn, and flouting cries. 
 
 Draw near and see His bruises : 
 The sweat of death suffuses 
 The body of thy Lord. 
 
 That noble heart is broken, 
 And out of grief unspoken, 
 Sigh after sigh is ceaseless pour'd. 
 
 Who this despite hath wrought Thee ? 
 
 My Saviour ! who hath brought Thee 
 
 Into such evil case ? 
 
 Thee sin hath never tainted, 
 
 Nor is Thy soul acquainted 
 
 With ill, like us of fallen race. 
 
 / caused Thy grief and trembling, 
 My sins in sum resembling 
 The sand-grains by the sea ; 
 
 Thy soul with sorrow cumber'd, ■ 
 And raised those woes unnumber'd, 
 Which press in dark array on Thee. 
 
 The pangs that rend Thy Spirit, 
 I, for my deep demerit, 
 Should suffer in Thy stead ; 
 The fetters and the scourging, 
 The tide of sorrow surging 
 Round Thee, should break upon my head. 
 
 Man's surety, Thou did'st offer 
 Thyself, and freely suflcr 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 247 
 
 The bitter cross for me : 
 The crown of thorns Thou wearest, 
 The shame and scorn Thou bearest, 
 
 For guilt of mine thus patiently. 
 
 Each hour of life is showing 
 How all my good is owing 
 To this great love of Thine. 
 Each hour I would endeavour, 
 My soul and body ever 
 To Thy sweet service to resign. 
 
 A life so poor yields little 
 For such a high requital; 
 But one thing will I do — 
 Till death my soul releases, 
 Thy dying, Thy distresses, 
 My heart will cherish deep and true. 
 
 Thy cross will stand before me, 
 Its saered power be o'er me, 
 Wherever I may be : 
 A mirror whose reflection 
 Shows me all pure perfection — 
 A seal of love and constancy. 
 
 Fix'd on that cross of trial, 
 En constant self-denial 
 I unto sin will die. 
 
 If aught has Thee offended, 
 Though all the world eommend it, 
 I from that evil thing would fly. 
 
 Thy sighing and Thy groaning, 
 The tears and blood atoning, 
 Which Thou hast freely pour'd, 
 
 Through all life will comfort lend me, 
 And after death attend me 
 Into thine endless rest, Lord ! 
 
 Gerhard. 
 
248 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 BE CLOTHED WITH HUMILITY."— 1 Pet. v. 5. 
 
 Still downward goes Christ's way ; 
 
 Wilt thou with fond endeavour, 
 To scale heaven's lofty towers, 
 
 Be vainly toiling ever ? 
 Why haughtily aspire ? 
 
 Thy Saviour stoopeth low ; 
 He who with Him would rise, 
 
 With Him must downward go. 
 
 Down, therefore, my mind ! 
 
 Unlearn thy lofty thinking ; 
 The light chaff mounts aloft 
 
 While solid grain is sinking. 
 Into the small deep spring 
 
 The waters freely flow, 
 Till it breaks forth a stream : 
 
 So then, my mind, lie low. 
 
 Down, therefore, O mine eye ; 
 
 God from His throne is looking 
 With favour on the low, 
 
 And lofty ones rebuking. 
 The higher here the look, 
 
 The nearer is the fall ; 
 Therefore, mine eye, look down, 
 
 And mark the end of all. 
 
 Down, therefore, mine hand ! 
 
 Thy poor believing neighbour 
 Is dear to Christ ; reach down 
 
 And help him by thy labour. 
 Grasp not into the air 
 
 For glory and for fame ; 
 Christ's hand the poorest helped 
 
 Down, mine, and do the same. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM" THE GERMAN. 249 
 
 Down, therefore, mine heart ! 
 
 Meek heart is dwelling- lowly, 
 To Him who golden crowns 
 
 Hath promised to the holy. 
 In the vale of lowliness 
 
 The Spirit's blessing lies ; 
 Thither go down, my heart, 
 
 And seek it lowly-wise. 
 
 Thou, too, my body, down ! 
 
 Dust in the dust be lying, 
 Till from thy low estate 
 
 Thou rise to life undying. 
 For glory — for the grave — 
 
 Thus, Lord, prepare me now ; 
 I long to rise as high, 
 
 I long to lie as low ! 
 
 Ingolstetteb. 
 
 OX THE DEATH OF HIS SOX. 
 
 Yes, thou art mine, still mine, my son, 
 
 Whoe'er may think thee lost for ever ; 
 But now thou art not mine alone, 
 
 Since He, of life the Lord and giver, 
 Who hath a stronger right than mine, 
 Hath called thee hence, and I resign 
 
 To Him my own, my darling boy, 
 
 The fulness of my earthly joy. 
 
 Ah, were the choice but given to me, 
 Xo earthly good, no earthly pleasure, 
 
 But willingly would I for thee 
 
 Give up, my heart's most cherish'd treasure. 
 
 " Yes," I would say, " still near me stay, 
 
 Be thou my dwelling's light ahvay ; 
 And while love warms this heart of mine, 
 That love, my darling, will be thine." 
 
250 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 So speaks my heart, and means it well, 
 But God, the I ...ans it better ; 
 
 My love is more than tongue can tell, 
 But in His heart is love still greater. 
 
 I am a father, that alone, 
 
 He of all fathers, Head and Crown, 
 Fountain of Being whence have sprung 
 AD Loves that link both old and young. 
 
 I long full sorely for my son — 
 
 God but a while the gift was le:. 
 And now He wills that near His throne 
 
 He should abide in bliss unending. 
 " Alas ! my light is quench'd,'" 1 
 He saith, "Beloved! come away, 
 
 For ever here with me to dwell, 
 
 And taste of joys unspeak.. 
 
 O gracious word, — sweet decree, — 
 Holy beyond our dim foreseeing ; 
 
 In God's abode no ill can be, 
 N 3orrow ef this mortal I 
 
 There come no sickness, want, or care, 
 - not once its shadow there, 
 And all God loves and watches o'er 
 Are safe from evil evermore. 
 
 We parents are full oft 0] 
 
 With cares about a child's upbringing ; 
 We work and plan, and take no 
 
 To one bright hope for ever clinging, 
 To see them, through our pains and 
 - tied in life with prospect fair; 
 
 Yet seldom things fall out as we 
 
 In our fond dreams had hoped to see. 
 
 How many a youth that promised well, 
 
 By the world's breath is blighted wholly, 
 And, yielding to the tern; I . - - 
 
 a tarns aside to paths of folly. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 251 
 
 And o'er him darkly gathers then 
 The frown of God, the scorn of men, 
 
 The father weeping tears of shame 
 
 For the lost child who blots his name. 
 
 Such evil chance can ne'er be his, 
 
 Safe in the dwelling of the Father, 
 He walks in that fair Paradise 
 
 Where Christ His happy saints doth gather. 
 There his is pleasure unexprest, 
 From every heartache he hath rest ; 
 
 He sees the shining angel-band 
 
 "Who here unseen around us stand. 
 
 He hears the song the angels sing, 
 
 And with the strain his voice is blending ; 
 He drinks of wisdom from the spring, 
 
 He speaks of things all thought transcending — 
 Things none of us can see or know 
 While in this region dim and low, 
 
 Which strive how hard soe'er the mind 
 
 With all its searching cannot find. 
 
 Ah, if afar I could but stand, 
 
 And, for a moment, catch but faintly 
 Thy voice, my son, amid the band 
 
 Of worshippers white-robed and saintly — 
 Thy voice the Holy God adore, 
 Who makes thee holy evermore — 
 
 Methinks it would my heart so thrill, 
 
 That tears of joy mine eyes would fill. 
 
 I could but say, " There blest abide, 
 
 And I will cease this weak repining ; " 
 My son, oh wert thou by my side ! 
 
 Nay, hush, my heart ! and come thou shining 
 Swift chariot of the prophet, come 
 And bear me upwards to the home 
 
 Where he and all the blessed dwell, 
 
 And speak of things too high to tell. 
 
252 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURN?. 
 
 So let it be — God's will is best — 
 I bow my head in meek submission ; 
 
 Thou livest, and art truly blest, 
 In glory's clear and open vision. 
 
 In the glad sunshine of His smile 
 
 Abide for ever — I the while 
 
 Will, with our brethren, onwards fare, 
 And, in God's time, rejoin thee there. 
 
 Paul Gerhardt. 
 
 " NOW ALL GIVE THAXKS TO GOD. 
 Now all give thanks to God, 
 
 Heart, hand, and voice combining, 
 For everywhere His grace 
 
 In wondrous deeds is shining. 
 He from our mother's womb 
 
 Our feeble steps hath led, 
 And countless mercies shower'd 
 
 Till now upon our head. 
 
 Through all our life the Lord, 
 
 Who is so rich in blessing, 
 Will make us glad of heart, 
 
 His perfect peace possessing. 
 And keep us in His grace, 
 
 Whatever trials come ; 
 And out of all distress 
 
 Will bring us safely home. 
 
 Praise, honour, glory, be 
 
 To Father, Son, and Spirit, 
 The everlasting Three, 
 
 Who equal power inherit. 
 One only blessed God, 
 
 One glorious Trinity, 
 As from the first it was, 
 
 Is, and shall ever be. 
 
 KlXCEART. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 253 
 
 FRIENDS IN HEAYEX. 
 
 Love over the departed 
 
 May freely shed the tear, 
 He need not be cold-hearted 
 
 Who is a Christian here. 
 
 Yet faith, cheerd by the promise, 
 
 To heaven uplifts its eyes, 
 For those -whom death takes from us 
 
 In glory shall arise. 
 
 So grace each trial blesses, 
 
 And gives the heart relief ; 
 We prosper through distresses, 
 
 And can rejoice in grief. 
 
 How soothing, hope immortal ! 
 
 How blessed Christ to have ! 
 To see heaven's open portal 
 
 Beyond the open grave ! 
 
 Lord Jesus, our Salvation ! 
 
 In tears we praises give 
 For all the consolation 
 
 By which our spirits live. 
 
 The seed we sow to perish 
 
 Shall at Thy word spring up 
 In glory, so we cherish 
 
 A calm and joyous hope. 
 
 Lord, from this earthly ruin 
 
 A glorious frame restore, 
 Which will in heaven be viewing 
 
 Thy face for evermore ! 
 
 HlLLEE. 
 
254 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 WATERFLOODS WILL I SEND RUSHIXG." 
 
 " Wateefloods will I send rushing," 
 
 Saith the Lord, " through parched lands ; 
 " Cooling Avells shall yet be gushing 
 
 " In the hot and desert sands ; 
 " Where now thirsty wanderers roam 
 " God's fair garden yet shall bloom ! " 
 
 Ah ! the drought is long abiding, 
 And the land is cursed with blight ; 
 
 Israel is still backsliding, 
 
 And his strength is wither'd quite : 
 
 Far the longing eye may seek, 
 
 Scanty is the growth and weak. 
 
 Yet the faithful word once utter'd 
 
 Will be gloriously fulfill'd ; 
 Those whose seed in tears is scatter'd, 
 
 Will be yet with gladness thrill'd. 
 When from God the streams of grace 
 Flood the near and distant place. 
 
 Courage, brethren, faint ye never, 
 
 Out into the desert go, 
 And reclaim by kind endeavour 
 
 Those who lie in sin and woe. 
 From the vale and mountains round 
 Let the joyful summons sound ! 
 
 Though it seem a fruitless journey- - 
 
 Labour seem to end in loss-- 
 Every way is rough and thorny 
 
 In the kingdom of the cross. 
 And for all who serve the King 
 Fadeless wreaths are flourishing. 
 
 Listen to us, Lord, oh send us 
 Thy good Spirit in His power, 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. I 
 
 Courage in the strife to lend us, 
 
 Perfect peace in trouble's hour. 
 Yes, on Thee our hope relies, 
 Zion's walls shall yet arise ! 
 
 Sophie Herwig, 
 
 "FRIEND OF SOULS, AND OUR SALVATION." 
 
 Friend of souls, and our Salvation. 
 
 Jesus, Sun of Righteousness, 
 "Walking where the congregation 
 
 Of the saints Thy name confess, 
 Come to us on Thee attending, 
 Let the Spirit's fire descending, 
 Pour the light and life of grace 
 Over this Thy holy place ! 
 
 Come, and give our souls revival, 
 Thou, the Church's living Head, 
 
 In our hearts, without a rival, 
 Reign, and blessing freely shed : 
 
 Come, to our hearts clearly showing 
 
 God's own heart with love o'erflowing, 
 
 Let us feel the promise true, 
 
 " I am in the midst of you !" 
 
 Be each mind to Thee aspiring, 
 
 Brightness of Eternity ! 
 Only loving and desiring 
 
 What Thy mercy offers free. 
 Let Thy light and life possess us, 
 "With abundant goodness bless us, 
 And in gracious covenant bind 
 Fast to Thee each heart and mind 
 
 Lord, may all Thy message bearing 
 
 Look for light to Thee alone ; 
 And may all, that message hearing, 
 
 Feel Thy presence now made known. 
 
256 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 Manifest to all Thy favour; 
 If our service do not savour, 
 Lord, of Thee, it is in vain, 
 Though it please the eyes of men. 
 
 Come, Lord, bring to each a blessing, 
 
 Let each heart Thy dwelling be ; 
 Be not one hereafter missing 
 
 From Thy blessed family. 
 Richly may we all inherit 
 Gifts and graces of Thy Spirit ; 
 Richly to Thy members shed 
 Holy influence from their Head. 
 
 May all good Thy love bestoweth, 
 Life and spirit, Lord, become ; 
 May all joy the spirit knoweth 
 Fit it for its heavenly home ! 
 Come, Lord, Thy grace revealing, 
 On each heart Thy favour sealing, 
 So in love and truth shall we 
 Evermore be knit to Thee. 
 
 Habzx. 
 
 JERUSALEM! FAIR DWELLING." 
 
 Jerusalem ! fair dwelling, 
 
 Where God's praise is sounding high, 
 
 And unnumber'd voices swelling, 
 Holy, holy, holy ! cry. 
 
 When shall 1 to the bright throng 
 
 Of thy citizens belong ? 
 
 Here, amidst the tents of strangers, 
 
 Must I strive and struggle still; 
 Where these saints once pass'd through dangers 
 
 My appointed course fulfil ; 
 
TRANSLATIONS FE03J 1HB GERMAN. 
 
 W---- -- - •-' >--■■- •-'■ -----a 
 
 He./ . F: 
 Li Thy Salem, shining yond 
 
 WLere G; L' ; - :es;:.;r :: :iie 
 
 C:-r. '.'ir-z. '.'iryig'z. -.'-is .'.-> -::: irrir;--. 
 
 Lf.i : :.iv. ■"-.->. ' v :"_i i_.ir:i : 
 Bring Thy pilgrim, worn and weary, 
 
 Home to his lov'd native land ; 
 Where the living fountain springs 
 7i..: -r.irr.:.'. -:'...: ":.:._- 
 
 B"v-:: '.:■.:: i Zij s..yi:::,s ir.r.fri:. 
 
 Full of beauty, full of bliss 
 Would that I had wings .* my spirit 
 
 Soon would leave a elime like this : 
 To that bright-walPd city soar, 
 Which, as Sun, God shineth o'er. 
 
 But if I must longer tarry 
 
 On time's dark and angry sea, 
 Where the waves my vessel carry 
 
 0-j. :/.::■.:_". "-.::.; ;s: '.:v\:._- ::::. 
 C: ".:: i::r e u.y ..:..'. :r • r; v; — 
 Moving not when all things move ! 
 
 Bark ;: His : .. ~. v 
 
 Emir.. 
 B 
 
258 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 "IX THE ABYSS OF GLOOM AXD MISERY." 
 
 In the abyss of gloom and misery, 
 
 "When far from Thee my dying spirit lay, 
 Thy grace, God of my fathers, stoop'd to me, 
 
 And through the darkness sent a cheering ray. 
 
 Thy voice in that dread silence struck my ear, 
 
 And to my eyes, as if a mist had pass'd, 
 The secrets of eternity were clear, — 
 
 I had been dead, but now I lived at last. 
 
 Yet still my life, so languishing and low, 
 Needs fresher, fuller quickening from above ; 
 
 My faith, a flower that takes long time to blow, 
 Hath at its heart more self-reproach than love. 
 
 The memories of the past cling to me yet, 
 The phantoms haunt me of my wasted days, 
 
 And while my glance turns inwards, I forget 
 The God whose wondrous love I ought to praise. 
 
 Lord, if Thy greatness fills the soul with fear, 
 Our love is what Thy loving heart desires : 
 
 In hearts that love Thee is Thy kingdom here — 
 Thy glory is the love Thy grace inspires. 
 
 Higher than swiftest thought can soar, Thy hand 
 
 Hath arch'd the heavens and starr'd their spaces blue ; 
 
 And were their lights extinguish'd, Thy command 
 Could crowd the empty vaults with worlds anew. 
 
 Yet, void of power to know and love Thy sway. 
 
 These heavens, and all the worlds that through them roll. 
 Tried in the balance of Thy glory weigh 
 
 Less than one sigh of love from one poor soul. 
 
 Spirit of Life, with this pure love inspire 
 My longing spirit, as it upward turns : 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 259 
 
 Kindle and nurse to strength the heavenly fire 
 Which in my penitence so feebly burns. 
 
 Let love the law to all my being give, 
 
 Love its continual aspiration be ; 
 To love, to love ! this is indeed to live ; 
 
 Thou God of love, oh breathe this life in me ! 
 
 Unloving, man is unbelieving still, 
 
 With rebel foot he tramples on the laws 
 Of that Celestial City where Thy will 
 
 All loving souls to glad obedience draws. 
 
 VlNKT. 
 
 ABIDE IN HIM. 
 
 abide in Him, who for us 
 
 In His love to earth came down ; 
 Who, to ease us of our sorrow, 
 
 Countless sorrows made His own. 
 Cleave to Him ! when all things tremble, 
 
 He abides a rock of trust ; 
 He, though all in dust should crumble, 
 
 Stands victorious o'er the dust. 
 
 All things vanish! hearts are breaking 
 
 Which you clung to fast before ; 
 And the lips that once were speaking 
 
 Words of comfort, speak no more. 
 And the arm that gave protection 
 
 Is no more your strength and shield ; 
 And the eye that look'd affection 
 
 Is in death for ever seal'd. 
 
 All things perish ! earth is hasting 
 In the earth to find its grave ; 
 
 And all worldly joys are wasting ; 
 Also wastes the heart, their slave. 
 
260 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Earthly form to dust must moulder, 
 Earthly flames be queneh'd in gloom, 
 
 Earthly chains their links unsolder, 
 Earthly flowers must lose their bloom 
 
 Yet above the wreck of nature 
 
 Stands the Lord, and calmly saith, 
 " Lean on Me, thou trembling creature ; 
 
 Cling to hope, and love, and faith ! " 
 There abide in Him, the abiding — 
 
 Him who gives abiding bliss, 
 "Who writes all that trust His guiding 
 
 In the Book of Life as His ! 
 
 Spitta. 
 
 OX GOD AXD OX XO EARTHLY TRUST. 
 
 Ox God and on no earthly trust 
 
 Will I place my reliance ; 
 He who has form'd me from the dust 
 Deserves my heart's affiance. 
 He by whose hand 
 The world doth stand, 
 "Will still, whate'er betide me, 
 As God and Father guide me. 
 
 Of things which yield true happiness 
 God grants us all good measure — 
 Health, riches, honour, and success, 
 Are not the Spirit's treasure. 
 Those who God's will 
 Strive to fulfil, 
 From a good conscience borrow 
 An antidote to sorrow. 
 
 What is life's glory ? fast, how fast 
 
 Its lustre death effaces. 
 What is life's suffering i quickly past, 
 
 As little leaving traces. 
 
TRANSLATIONS KBQM THE GERMAN. 261 
 
 Hope in I 
 He'll help aft 
 
 Rejoiee though foes assail you, 
 
 His help will nerer fail you I 
 
 Gelleet. 
 
 HE WHO TO DEATH AIAIXTAIXETH.'' 
 
 He who to death maintaineth 
 
 His warfare will be bl 
 But till the end he gaineth 
 
 He will he sorely pre as' A 
 For foes will still assail him, 
 
 And troubles round him rise, 
 And - him 
 
 Until he grasp the prize. 
 
 To go some lit: 
 
 And then to lose all 
 Di-: tnee, 
 
 Is but a coward's part. 
 Shame surely will reward him; 
 
 But he who struggles on, 
 Has One to help 1 him 
 
 Until the end is won. 
 
 Strive, brethren, whate'er happens 
 
 Stand fast like soldiers good, 
 Never .y down your weapons 
 
 But ito blood. 
 
 If nothing us dishearten, 
 
 But fas: for Christ we stand, 
 The victor's crown is certain, 
 
 Though death relax the hand. 
 
 To strive I am una' 
 
 To Thee, Lord, I look up, 
 My promise is unstable, 
 
 Thine only gives me hope. 
 
262 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 Hold up my head down falling, 
 Confirm the feeble knee, 
 
 At last my soul recalling, 
 Say, " Glory waits for thee." 
 
 Hiller. 
 
 JESUS SHALL THE WATCHWORD BE." 
 
 Jesus shall the watchword be 
 
 For the year that is before us, 
 Jesus' name the world shall see 
 
 As the banner waving o'er us — 
 Over all who Him obey, 
 And are walking in His way. 
 
 Jesus' name and Jesus' grace, 
 
 We in Zion are confessing, 
 And whene'er we seek the place 
 
 Where that name commands the blessing, 
 There we shall His glory see, 
 There the heart His temple be. 
 
 With that name upon our lips, 
 
 We will go where'er He guide us ; 
 With that star before our steps 
 
 Nothing evil can betide us. 
 Bright will be each hour and place 
 With the sunshine of His grace. 
 
 Through that name our fiery pain3 
 
 Grow a purifying ordeal, 
 And our bitterest cup contains, 
 
 Through its power a wholesome cordial. 
 Jesus' name is sun and shield, 
 And will endless solace yield ! 
 
 Scumolk. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 263 
 
 FROM PLACE TO PLACE THE CHRISTIAN GOES." 
 
 From place to place the Christian goes 
 
 By many a tempest driven, 
 At last the haven of repose 
 He safely finds in heaven. 
 God, after life's alarms, 
 Receives him in His arms. 
 He dies, as in the mould the grain, 
 To yield its golden fruit again. 
 
 And sure your parting has been bless'd 
 
 (Bless'd be your life's example !) 
 Thou spirit, calmly gone to rest, 
 And thou, its mouldering temple. 
 soul, thy Saviour 's near ! 
 The morning star shines clear ; 
 And you, ye members, softly sleep 
 Beneath love's shadow still and deep. 
 
 We wait with glad and patient hope 
 
 The glorious revelation, 
 While He this pilgrim dress folds up 
 In holy preservation. 
 Oh happy souls who rest 
 In Jesus' arms and breast. 
 Love leads us all our path aright, 
 Through such a depth to such a height. 
 
 ZlNZENDORF. 
 
 THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 The world shall yet be cited, 
 By fires of judgment lighted, 
 Before the great white throne ; 
 
264 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Then a clear line shall sever 
 The good and bad for ever, 
 
 For Christ shall search and prove each one. 
 
 The shame in darkness lurking, 
 The sting in conscience working, 
 
 Ked murder's secret hand ; 
 The eye that roll'd in lewdness, 
 The mouth that mock'd at goodness, 
 
 The wicked heart in light shall stand. 
 
 The cries of souls sin-broken, 
 The good man's deeds unspoken, 
 
 Meek charity's kind hand ; 
 Eyes wherein pure tears glisten, 
 Lips whereto pure minds listen, — 
 
 The Christian heart in light shall stand. 
 
 "Where will men seek for cover, 
 What veil their guilt draw over, — 
 
 Who then a mask may wear ? 
 W T ho trust in falsehood shameless ? 
 Who boast of virtue blameless ? 
 
 When, as they are, all stand forth there ? 
 
 Lord, let this solemn vision 
 Be ever for monition 
 
 Before my spirit clear ; 
 That, through life's every winding, 
 I may be chiefly minding 
 
 How I in Thy pure sight appear. 
 
 Hiller. 
 
 WAITING FOR CHRIST. 
 
 We wait for Thee, all glorious One I 
 We look for Thine appearing, 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 265 
 
 We bear Thy name, and on the throne 
 We see Thy presence cheering. 
 
 Faith, even now, 
 
 Uplifts its brow 
 And sees the Lord descending, 
 And with Him bliss unending. 
 
 We wait for Thee, through days forlorn, 
 
 In patient self-denial, 
 We know that Thou our guilt hast borne 
 Upon Thy cross of trial, 
 And well may we 
 Submit with Thee, 
 To bear the cross and love it, 
 Until Thy hand remove it. 
 
 We wait for Thee, already Thou 
 
 Hast all our heart's submission, 
 And though the spirit sees Thee now, 
 We long for open vision ; 
 When ours shall be 
 Sweet rest with Thee, 
 And pure, unfading pleasure, 
 And life in endless measure. 
 
 We wait for Thee with certain hope, — 
 
 The time will soon be over ; 
 With child-like longing Ave look up 
 The glory to discover. 
 Oh bliss to share 
 Thy triumph there, 
 When home, with joy and singing, 
 The Lord His saints is bringing. 
 
 Hiller. 
 
2GG THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 " SLEEPING IN JESUS." 
 
 The Shepherd by His passion 
 Made peace and wrought salvation ; 
 To all in His good keeping 
 Now dying is but sleeping. 
 
 They go, not souls affrighted, 
 To judgment sternly cited ; 
 They go from hardships dreary, 
 To rest like soldiers weary. 
 
 No fears the heart molesting, 
 From all life's trouble resting, 
 They wait the glad revival, 
 And wait till its arrival. 
 
 They lay their toil-worn members 
 In death's cool quiet chambers, 
 And, free from care and cumber, 
 Like children sink to slumber. 
 
 Safe in God's love that found them, 
 With Christ's strong arm around them, 
 And seal'd by His good Spirit, 
 To die — why need they fear it ? 
 
 Thy grace, Lord, doth teach me 
 No harm through death can reach me ; 
 So let mine eyes when closing 
 Be on Thy cross reposing; 
 
 This heart to Thee be cleaving, 
 To its last beat believing ; 
 Then, till the resurrection, 
 Give my poor dust protection. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 267 
 
 Glad then be mine awaking, 
 My lips in praises breaking, 
 My body clad with brightness 
 Like the spring lily's whiteness. 
 
 HlLLER. 
 
 WHO ARE THOSE BEFORE GOD'S THRONE?' 
 
 Who are those before God's throne, 
 
 What the countless gathering there ? 
 Every forehead wears a crown, 
 All like stars are shining fair ; 
 Halleluiah ! thus they sing, 
 With loud voices worshipping. 
 
 Who are those who palms so green 
 
 Wave like warriors marching home 
 From the field where they have seen 
 Foes for ever overcome ? 
 
 What the warfare, what the pain, 
 That so proud a triumph gain ? 
 
 Who are those in linen white — 
 
 Type of innocence — array'd, 
 Raiment pure and dazzling bright, 
 Robes which never more shall fade, 
 Never more shall know a stain, — 
 Whence hath come the glorious train ? 
 
 These are they who have fought well 
 
 For the honour of their God,— 
 Foil'd the world, and death, and hell, 
 Kept the rough and narrow road ; 
 
 And have thus through heavenly might, 
 Been victorious in the fight. 
 
 These are branches of the stem 
 
 Which salvation's fruit hath borne, — 
 These are followers of the Lamb 
 
2G8 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Who have pass'd through grief and scorn 
 Now the cross no more they bear 
 Now the festive dress they wear. 
 
 These are they who ever paid 
 
 Priestly service to the Lord, 
 Who upon the altar laid 
 
 Soul and body at His word ; 
 
 Now they stand the throne around 
 Princes in His presence crown'd. 
 
 As the hart for waters cool 
 
 Pants at noontide in the chase, 
 So they thirsted for the full, 
 Ever-flowing springs of grace ; 
 
 Now from thirst for ever free, 
 For with Jesus Christ they be. 
 
 Thither I, too, lift mine eyes, 
 
 Lord, my care on Thee I cast, 
 Unto Thee my spirit cries 
 
 While these days of warfare last ; 
 Help me, make me at the close 
 More than conqueror o'er my foes. 
 
 May my calling and my lot 
 
 Be with those who serve Thee here ; 
 That at length, my labours wrought, 
 At Thy throne I may appear 
 
 As Thy faithful servant, Lord, 
 To receive Thy great reward. 
 
 Oh, what rapture shall be mine, 
 
 When, with saints that sinless are, 
 I in Thy pure light shall shine 
 With the brightness of a star, 
 
 Praise and glory, Lord, to Thee 
 Singing through eternity ! 
 
 SCHENK. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 269 
 
 EVENING HYMK 
 The moon up heaven is going, 
 The golden stars are glowing 
 
 In skies serene and bright ; 
 The still woods lie in shadow, 
 And, dream-like, from the meadow 
 
 The mist is creeping dim and white. 
 
 How hush'd is earth all over, 
 Beneath this dusk}* cover, 
 
 How home-like in its peace ; 
 'Tis like some quiet chamber, 
 Where we lie down to slumber, 
 
 And from our cares have sweet release. 
 The fair moon, yonder gliding, 
 Half of her orb is hiding, 
 
 Yet she is round and bright ; 
 So in our earthly history 
 There is full many a mystery, 
 
 Because we see not things aright. 
 
 We men, whom pride so raises, 
 Are men whom sin debases ; 
 
 How little do we know ! 
 Our cobweb fancies spinning, 
 Our endless schemes beginning, 
 
 The wider from the mark we go ! 
 Lord, show us Thy salvation, 
 That time's strange fascination 
 
 Draw not our hearts from Thee ; 
 More guileless in endeavour, 
 Father ! may we ever, 
 
 Like children, glad and trustful be ! 
 
 At last, life's sorrow ceasing, 
 To us be soft releasing, 
 
 A gentle death be given : 
 And then a blest translation 
 To Thine own habitation 
 
 Be ours, Lord our God, in heaven ! 
 
270 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 So in God's holy keeping, 
 Be all our brothers sleeping : 
 
 Cool blows the evening breeze. 
 No evil thing distress us, 
 But quiet slumber bless us, 
 
 And bring to sufferers healing ease ! 
 
 Claudius. 
 
 SUN, IF FROM THY LIGHT A RAY." 
 
 sun, if from thy light a ray 
 Breaks through this prison-house of clay, 
 How quickly doth all grief depart ! 
 How gladly soars to heaven my heart ! 
 
 The tear of joy falls from mine eye, 
 My look is lifted to the sky ; 
 It seeketh Thee, it findeth Thee, 
 And comfort in Thy face can see. 
 
 Jesus, sweetest name and word ! 
 
 Thou beloved and loving Lord ! 
 
 1 nothing have but only Thee, 
 And nothing wish but Thine to be. 
 
 Friend, for whom my heart doth yearn ! 
 
 star, to which mine eye doth turn ! 
 Shine forth, sweet light, serenely shine. 
 And cheer this darksome soul of mine. 
 
 Ah ! that so long I careless proved, 
 Ah ! that so late Thy ways I loved ; 
 
 1 little knew how good Thou art — 
 How true and tender is Thy heart. 
 
 well of grace ! spring up for me ; 
 Jesus, draw me close to Thee ; 
 In trial show me love conceal'd, 
 That richer blessing it may yield ! 
 
 Hexsel. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 271 
 
 WILL NOT MY MEMORY TREASURE?" 
 
 "Will not my memory treasure 
 
 Him who remembers me 1 
 Can I that love e'er measure 
 
 Which set my spirit free ? 
 I lay, no comfort knowing ; 
 
 He gave me life anew : 
 And love is ever flowing 
 
 Out of that heart so true. 
 
 Should I not love Him dearly, 
 
 Who, pitying my distress, 
 Through death reveals so clearly 
 
 Immortal blessedness ? 
 Who, when my strength is failing, 
 
 With outreach'd hand will come, 
 And on through foes assailing 
 
 Will lead me safely home. 
 
 A holy seal He gives me — 
 
 His body and His blood ; 
 He raises and revives me 
 
 With heavenly fortitude ; 
 His light of grace unveiling, 
 
 My heart He makes His throne 
 Let me, His presence hailing, 
 
 Rejoice in Him alone ! 
 
 In days of grief and gladness 
 
 That Face is light to me, 
 That once in patient sadness 
 
 Was pale upon the tree. 
 My love, my life's endeavour, 
 
 And hopes, I yield to Thee ; 
 Oh open, Lord, for ever 
 
 Thy home, Thy heart, to me 
 
PSALMS 
 
 PSALM I. 
 
 blest is he who never walks 
 In counsels where the ungodly meet, 
 Nor in the way of sinners stands, 
 Nor sitteth in the scorner's seat. 
 
 The man who in Jehovah's law 
 Hath learn'd to place his whole delight, 
 And on His word of wisdom loves 
 To meditate both day and night, 
 
 He shall be like a tree that stands 
 Beside a stream of water clear ; 
 And in its season yields its fruit, 
 And keeps its foliage all the year. 
 
 All things shall prosper in his hand : 
 The ungodly have no root, no stay ; 
 Like chaff which from the threshing-floor 
 Before the wind is whirl'd away. 
 
 They shall not in the judgment stand, 
 No place among the blest is theirs : 
 The Lord, who loves the good man's way, 
 For him a joyful home prepares. 
 
PSALMS. 273 
 
 PSALM XIX. 
 
 The heavens Thy glory, Lord, proclaim — 
 
 Thy handiwork the vault of light ; 
 Day tells to day its Maker's name, 
 
 And night repeats it unto night ! 
 Xo distant clime, no savage speech, 
 
 But hears these mystic voices sound ; 
 Their line through all the earth doth reach, 
 
 Their witness to its farthest bound. 
 There hath the sun his cloudy tent, 
 
 "Whence, bridegroom-like, he shows his face, 
 And glories in his strength unspent, 
 
 Like some swift runner in the race. 
 From heaven's bright limit he ascends, 
 
 And circling round the clear expanse, 
 On its blue verge his travel ends, 
 
 And nought eludes his fiery glance. 
 Thy law is perfect, and constrains 
 
 The spirit by its gracious sway ; 
 Thy testimony firm remains, 
 
 And guides the simple on the way. 
 Thy statutes, Lord, are right — a spring 
 
 Of holy joy within them lies; 
 Clear are Thy precepts, gladdening 
 
 With light Divine long-darken'd eyes. 
 
 Thy fear, God, is pure, and through 
 
 Eternal ages knows no change ; 
 The judgments of Thy mouth are true — 
 
 All righteous in their sovereign range. 
 
 More excellent than gold they are — 
 
 Gold in the furnace tested well — 
 To fainting spirits sweeter far 
 
 Than honey from the virgin cell. 
 
 In them Thy servant ever finds 
 
 Life's safest s;uide and surest sruard, 
 
274 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 And evermore, to simple minds, 
 In keeping them is great reward. 
 
 The mystery of the heart within 
 Who knows ? its wanderings who can rein ? 
 
 Cleanse me from secret thoughts of sin, 
 From bold ungodliness restrain. 
 
 Lord, let no sin my heart enthral, 
 No rival there dispute Thy claim, 
 
 Then conscience shall be clear, and all 
 Unbreathed upon by blame. 
 
 Each word my lips have said to Thee, 
 
 Each thought that from my heart hath flow'd, 
 
 In Thy pure sight accepted be, 
 My Eock and my Eedeemer, God ! 
 
 PSALM XX. 
 
 In the day when trouble's nigh, 
 May Jehovah hear thy cry ; 
 Be the name of Jacob's God 
 Thy defence and buckler broad ; 
 Out of Zion send thee grace,! 
 Succour from His holy place. 
 
 Let Him look with gracious eyes 
 On thy burning sacrifice, 
 Vows remember meekly made, 
 Gifts upon His altar laid, 
 Grant thee all thy heart's desire, 
 And thy secret thoughts inspire. 
 
 "Very joyful, Lord, shall we 
 In Thy great salvation be ; 
 In the name of God, our stay, 
 We our banners will display. 
 Let Jehovah, ever nigh, 
 Listen to His servant's cry. 
 
PSALM?. 
 
 Xow I know the Lord doth bring 
 Help to His anointed King, 
 Hears His cry in all distress, 
 From His heaven of holiness, 
 With His hand in danger's hour, 
 Quick to show its saving power. 
 
 Some may trust in arm of war, 
 Battle steed, or brazen car ; 
 Ours is in the Lord's right hand : 
 "When they stumble, we can stand. 
 Rise erect when others fall, 
 Save, Lord, hear us when we call ! 
 
 PSALM CXXVI. 
 
 When God arose, the nation 
 
 From bondage to redeem, 
 The joy of our salvation 
 
 Came to us like a dream. 
 Our hearts with triumph bounded, 
 
 Our lips ran o'er with praise, 
 The heathen stood confounded 
 
 At God's mysterious ways. 
 
 They said the Lord hath wonders 
 
 Wrought for His captives sad; 
 The Lord hath done great wonders, 
 
 And therefore we are glad. 
 Lord, all the remnant weary 
 
 Bring back to Zion still, 
 As brooks in south lands dreary 
 
 Their thirsty channels fill. 
 
 Full many cast in sadness 
 Their seed on parching soil, 
 
 Who yet shall reap in gladness 
 The harvest of their toil. 
 
276 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 He who in tears departed 
 With precious seed at morn, 
 
 Shall homeward fare light-hearted 
 With sheaves of golden corn. 
 
 PSALM CXXX. 
 
 Out of the depths I sent a cry 
 For help to Thee, Lord, on high ; 
 Listen, thou Holy One, and hear 
 My pleadings with a gracious ear. 
 
 Wert thou our sins to set in light, 
 Lord, who should stand before Thy sight ? 
 But in Thy face shines mercy clear 
 To fill the heart with holy fear. 
 
 I wait, I wait upon the Lord, 
 My hope is settled on His word, 
 To Him my longing eyes are drawn, 
 More than the watcher's for the dawn. 
 
 Israel, hope in God above, 
 Rest, anxious heart, upon His love, 
 With Him are mercies rich and free, 
 From Him redemption flows to thee. 
 
 PSALM CXLTI. 
 
 Praise the Lord all creatures, 
 
 Praise Him, oh my heart, 
 In the glorious concert 
 
 Take thy lowly part. 
 Till my breath shall falter 
 
 Life's last pulses beat, 
 I will praise my Maker, 
 
 Praise Him as is meet. 
 
PSALMS. ^77 
 
 Put no trust in princes, 
 
 Lean not on a reed, 
 Seek not man for helper 
 
 In the hour of need. 
 Lo ! his breath departeth, 
 
 He returns to clay, 
 All his thoughts have perish'd. 
 
 In one fleeting day. 
 
 Happy he whose helper 
 
 Is the mighty Lord, 
 He whose hope reposes 
 
 On Jehovah's word; 
 Him who made the heavens, 
 
 Earth, and waters broad, 
 Who keeps truth for ever, 
 
 Jaeob's covenant God. 
 
 He doth righteous judgment, 
 
 Pleads for the oppr^st, 
 Breaks the captive's fetters, 
 
 Succours the distrest ; 
 He lifts up the fainting, 
 
 Gives the blind their sight. 
 Loves with love unchanging, 
 
 All who love the right. 
 
 He befriends the friendless. 
 
 Feels the orphan's woe, 
 Cheers the lonely widow, 
 
 Lays the wicked low. 
 He shall reign for ever, 
 
 Ever be adored, 
 Praise thy God, Zion, 
 
 Praise thv King and Lord 
 
SELECTED BY HIS DESIRE 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE EVENING HYMN," 
 
 WHEN IN SWITZERLAND. 1864. 
 
 " OUT OF THE DEPTHS." 
 
 Thou who didst on Calvary bleed, 
 Thou who dost for sinners plead, 
 Help me in my time of need, — 
 Jesus, hear my cry. 
 
 In my darkness and my grief, 
 With my heart of unbelief, 
 I who am of sinners chief, 
 
 Lift to Thee mine eye. 
 
 Foes without and fears within, 
 "With no plea Thy grace to win, 
 But that Thou canst save from sin, 
 To Thy cross I fly. 
 
 Others, long in fetters bound, 
 There deliverance sought and found, 
 Heard the voice of mercy sound, 
 Surely so may I. 
 
SELECTIONS FROM " THE EVENING HYMN." 2/0 
 
 There on Thee I cast my care, 
 There to Thee I raise my prayer ; 
 Jesus, save me from despair, 
 Save me, or I die. 
 
 "When the storms of trial lower, 
 When I feel temptation's power, 
 In the last and darkest hour, 
 
 Jesus, be Thou ni°:h. 
 
 ISRAEL'S KEEPER. 
 
 Thou who watch o'er Israel keepest, 
 Shield us by Thy mighty power ; 
 
 Thou who slumberest not nor sleepest, 
 Watch us in the silent hour : 
 
 Xow and ever 
 Be to us a rock and tower. 
 
 Praise to Thee, Lord, we render. 
 For Thy love in Jesus shown ; 
 
 May that love, so strong and tender, 
 Bind us fast to Him alone : 
 
 Now and ever 
 Gather us among Thine own. 
 
 By Thy Spirit's power renewing 
 
 May our hearts be purified, 
 And our wills to Thine subduing, 
 
 May His grace control and guide. 
 Now and ever 
 
 In our hearts may He abide. 
 
 Visit us with Thy salvation, 
 Guard us by Thy power Divine, 
 
 Make our house Thy habitation, 
 
 Make each heart Thy peaceful shrine 
 
 Xow and ever 
 Make us, Lord, and keep us Thine. 
 
280 THE LIFE OF J. D. BTJBNS. 
 
 THE NIGHT IN GALILEE. 
 
 The storm was loud, the ship was toss'd 
 
 On dark Gennesareth, 
 Their faith the twelve apostles lost, 
 
 Then face to face with death. 
 
 But safe they were in their alarm, 
 
 Upon that raging sea ; 
 No angry wind nor wave could harm 
 
 Those who were dear to Thee. 
 
 And ever in the darkest night, 
 
 And in the wildest hour, 
 Thy love, Lord, can bring me light, 
 
 Thy voice put forth its power. 
 
 Light, which in shining will impart 
 
 A holy joy and peace ; 
 Power, which can still the restless heart, 
 
 And bid the tempest cease. 
 
 Why should this fluttering heart have fear, 
 
 In darkness or in death — 
 "While Thou, my Saviour, still art near 
 
 To help its trembling faith ? 
 
 Why doubt, as if Thou couldst deceive 
 
 Why droop in hopeless grief 
 While I can cry, " Lord, I believe : 
 
 Oh help my unbelief V 7 
 
 THE CHILD SAMUEL. 
 Hush'd was the evening hymn, 
 The temple courts were dark, 
 The lamp was burning dim 
 Before the sacred ark, 
 When suddenly a voice Divine 
 Rang through the silence of the shrine. 
 
SELECTIONS. FROM " THE EVENING HYMN." 281 
 
 The old man, meek and mild — 
 
 The priest of Israel — slept ; 
 His watch the temple child — 
 The little Levite — kept ; 
 And what from Eli's sense was seal'd 
 The Lord to Hannah's son reveal'd. 
 
 Oh give me Samuel's ear ! 
 
 The open ear, Lord, 
 Alive and quick to hear 
 Each whisper of Thy word, 
 Like him to answer at Thy call, 
 And to obey Thee first of all. 
 
 Oh give me Samuel's heart ! 
 
 A lowly heart that waits 
 Where in Thy house Thou art, 
 Or watches at Thy gates 
 By day and night — a heart that still 
 Moves at the breathing of Thy will. 
 
 Oh give me Samuel's mind ! 
 
 A sweet unmurmuring faith, 
 Obedient and resign' d 
 To Thee in life and death; 
 That I may read with child-like eyes 
 Truths that are hidden from the wise. 
 
 "NO NIGHT THERE." 
 
 Day and night, with solemn greeting, 
 
 Unto me are still repeating : 
 
 " Life is wasting, time is fleeting, 
 
 For the end prepare ! 
 Look beyond thy low condition, 
 Upward to the great transition, 
 To the land of open vision, 
 
 Night comes never there ! " 
 
282 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUBNS. 
 
 May each night, while slowly falling, 
 
 Be to me mine end recalling, 
 
 Lift my mind from Time's enthralling 
 
 And my spirit bear 
 Thither where no sin distresses, 
 Where no fear nor gloom oppresses, 
 Where the soul God's glory blesses, 
 
 For no night is there ! 
 
 Lord ! my light and my salvation, 
 Grant that in Thy habitation 
 With Thy saints may be my station, 
 
 In this bliss to share. 
 Onward still my steps be tending, 
 Upwards still my thoughts ascending, 
 Till I reach Thy rest unending, 
 
 Night comes never there ! 
 
 THE STAR OF JACOB. 
 
 Over woods and meadows, 
 
 Hamlets near and far, 
 Through the falling shadows 
 
 Shines the evening star. 
 First of all that cluster 
 
 In the twilight blue, 
 Trembling in its lustre 
 
 Like a drop of dew. 
 
 Many glories mingle 
 
 In that azure air, 
 But to me still single 
 
 Shines that planet there. 
 For in its pure whiteness 
 
 'Tis a type of Him, 
 In whose holy brightness 
 
 Sun and stars are dim. 
 
SELECTIONS FEOM " THE EVENING HYMN." 283 
 
 So my mind it raises 
 
 To my Lord above, 
 Him whom heaven praises, 
 
 Him whose name I love. 
 Thou art first and fairest, 
 
 Jesus, to Thine own ; 
 Worthily Thou wearest 
 
 Heaven's golden crown. 
 
 Thou art high and holy, 
 
 Angels worship Thee ; 
 Thou art meek and lowly, 
 
 For Thou lovest me. 
 Thou with light enlivening, 
 
 Shining from afar, 
 Art at once my evening 
 
 And my morning star. 
 
 "STILL WITH THEE." 
 
 Still with Thee, my God, 
 
 I would desire to be, 
 By day, by night ; at home, abroad, 
 
 I would be still with Thee. 
 
 With Thee when dawn comes in 
 
 And calls me back to care, 
 Each day returning, to begin 
 
 With Thee, my God, in prayer. 
 
 With Thee amid the crowd 
 That throngs the busy mart, 
 
 To hear Thy voice, where Time's is loud, 
 Speak softly to my heart. 
 
 With Thee when day is done, 
 And evening calms the mind, 
 
 The setting as the rising sun 
 With Thee my heart would find. 
 
284 THE LIFE OF J. I). BUENS. 
 
 With Thee when darkness brings 
 The signal of repose, 
 
 Calm in the shadow of Thy wings 
 Mine eyelids I would close. 
 
 With Thee, in Thee, by faith 
 Abiding I would be ; 
 
 By day, by night ; in life, in death, 
 I would be still with Thee. 
 
 SPIRITUAL WORSHIP. 
 
 Harp and voice Thy praises telling, 
 
 Rise, Lord, Thy throne around, 
 Yet Thou lovest every dwelling 
 
 Where on earth Thy praises sound. 
 He in whom heaven's glory centres, 
 
 He from whom its gladness springs, 
 Every tent of Jacob enters, 
 
 And a blessing with Him brings. 
 
 In Thy praise our voices falter, 
 
 Weak the prayers our hearts uplift, 
 But we lay them on the altar 
 
 That can hallow every gift. 
 Fragrant from the golden censer 
 
 May our praise and prayer ascend ; 
 Prayer — to find a gracious answer, 
 
 Praise — with angels' songs to blend. 
 
 Give us, Lord, in our devotion, 
 Lips that burn with altar-fire ; 
 
 Hearts that glow with that emotion 
 Which Thy Spirit doth inspire ; 
 
 Souls that are in words outpouring 
 
 • Longings which Thy grace hath given 
 
 Hope rejoicing, faith adoring, 
 Love aspiring unto heaven. 
 
SELECTIONS FKOM " THE EVENING HYMN." 285 
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 Toss'd on temptation's angry tide, 
 
 From my desired haven afar, 
 Teach me, Lord, my course to guide — 
 
 Thy word my compass, Christ my star. 
 On floods of many waters driven, 
 
 By shores where shines no saving light, 
 Teach me to keep my eye on heaven — 
 
 Be Thou the landmark still in sight. 
 
 And as when day forsakes the sky, 
 
 And earthly lights through vapours loom, 
 Star after star shines out on high, 
 
 The watch-lamps of the hours of gloom ; 
 So still, as darker grows the hour, 
 
 The brighter shines Thy Holy Word, 
 And stars of promise, hid before, 
 
 Their blessed light to me afford. 
 
 Still, as through darksome ways I go, 
 
 My Father, be this guidance mine : 
 Thy Word, the lamp my path to show, 
 
 And Christ the light that makes it shine. 
 Still bright before my lifted eye 
 
 This fiery pillar onward move, 
 Till Jordan flows behind, and I 
 
 Shall reach the heavenly rest above. 
 
 IN THE NIGHT HIS SONG SHALL BE WITH ME. 
 
 In the night of my solitude kneeling alone, 
 
 When friends may forsake me and comforts have flown, 
 
 May I say, not alone, while I think upon Thee, 
 
 My Father, in secret, Thy song be with me. 
 
286 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 In the night of my sorrow, when troubles and fears 
 Gather round, and I water my couch with my tears, 
 May I say, not despairing, while resting on Thee, 
 My Father, in trial, Thy song be with me. 
 
 In the night of temptation, when perils assail, 
 And my strength in the struggle seems ready to fail, 
 May I say, not afraid, while I look unto Thee, 
 My Father, in danger, Thy song be with me. 
 
 In the night of my sickness, when sleepless I lie, 
 And restless and faint for the dawning I cry, 
 May I say, not cast down, while clinging to Thee, 
 My Father, in suffering, Thy song be with me. 
 
 In the night of desertion, when Thou seemest far — 
 In the waste not a well, in the sky not a star — 
 May I say, not forsaken, while waiting on Thee, 
 My Father, in darkness, Thy song be with me. 
 
 In the last night of life, when my journey shall end, 
 And in the dark valley the shadows descend, 
 May I say, not dismay 'd, while I lean upon Thee, 
 My Father, in death, may Thy song be with me ! 
 
SERMONS. 
 
SERMONS 
 
 i. 
 
 " Tke Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want," &c. — Psalm xxiii. 
 
 We can imagine David, now upon the throne of Israel, look- 
 ing back in this Psalm to the distant and peaceful days 
 when he kept his father's flocks in the valleys of Bethlehem. 
 He would remember howlittle it then came into his thoughts, 
 that he, who tended his few sheep in the wilderness, had 
 such an eventful life and lofty destiny before him. He 
 retraces, step by step, all the way by which he has been 
 led, and sees the presence of that good and guiding hand 
 in each, which took him from the sheepfolds, and from 
 following the ewes, and brought him through a discipline 
 of fiery trial, to feed Jacob, His people, and Israel, His 
 inheritance. He looks forward into the dark and hidden 
 future, and knowing Him in whom he has believed, is 
 persuaded that He, who has been his God and Guardian 
 through life, will be his " guide even unto death ; " that 
 His mercy and faithfulness shall not fail him nor forsake 
 him till all his wanderings are ended, and till he, with all 
 the sheep for whom the heavenly Shepherd died, is safely 
 
 T 
 
200 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 folded on the banks of that crystal "river, the streams 
 whereof make glad the city of God." 
 
 The Psalm may be arranged into three several portions, 
 the relation which God sustains to His redeemed people 
 being the key to the sentiments expressed in each of them. 
 There are — 
 
 I. The Psalmist's confidence, founded on God's faithful- 
 ness as the Shepherd. 
 
 II. His undoubting trust, founded on God's constant 
 presence as the Shepherd. 
 
 III. His joyful hope, founded on His past grace and 
 tenderness as the Shepherd. 
 
 Before entering upon these we must look to that from 
 which all his expressions of confidence spring, the relation 
 in which God is represented as standing to His people. 
 
 " The Lord is my Shepherd." Mark the fulness, the 
 expansiveness of this idea. On the one side " the Lord," 
 the infinite, unchangeable, and everlasting God, all that is 
 glorious, and holy, and wise, and self-sufficient, and much 
 to be admired ; on the other, " the Shepherd," all that is 
 tender, compassionate, and self-sacrificing, and much to be 
 loved. These two characters — the one, all that is lofty in 
 its magnificence ; the other, all that is lowly in its con- 
 descension ; the one, all glorious ; the other, all gracious — 
 are united. They are included and concentrated in the 
 same large and loving heart, whose every pulsation sends 
 the tide of life through the veins of His vast universe, but 
 at the same time does not disdain to throb with strong 
 and unwearied regardfulness for me. 
 
 It is not as a Shepherd that David looks upon God, as if 
 He sustained to him only the same necessary and general re- 
 lation as that in which He stands to all the creatures He has 
 
SEBMOXS. 291 
 
 made. His mercies doubtless are " over all His works ; " 
 but there are, not the less, rich and special mercies " toward 
 them that fear Him." The one, His general mercy, spans 
 the world like the arch of the firmament, which encom- 
 passes without resting on it ; the other, His covenant 
 blessings, are direct and pointed, like the rays of light 
 which reach and fall upon it at every part of its surface. 
 " The Lord is my Shepherd " is the language, not of nature 
 but of grace ; and it is not until by faith we have recog- 
 nised Him, not in creation, not in providence, but in re- 
 demption, and that a redemption which was wrought out 
 for, and which has taken decisive effect on us, that we can 
 look up with a glance of childlike confidence to God, and 
 say, " My Maker is my Father, my God is my Shepherd ; 
 He who sitteth in the circle of the heavens has made for 
 Himself an habitation in my heart, and the upholder of all 
 the worlds is my best and nearest Friend." 
 
 It was in anticipation of the time when His Son was 
 to take our likeness upon Him, and die for us men, and 
 for our salvation, that God revealed Himself to the Old 
 Testament saints as " the Shepherd of Israel, leading Joseph 
 like a flock." They rejoiced in the light that stretched 
 toward them from the far-off day of Christ's appearing. 
 Of Him they read the sure words of prophecy, " He shall 
 feed His flock like a shepherd ; He shall gather the lambs 
 with His arm, and carry them in His bosom, and shall 
 gently lead those that are with young." We know how 
 He, in one of the most touching of all His parables, applied 
 this emblem to Himself, and this gave it its true signifi- 
 cance and beauty. " I am the good Shepherd, and know 
 My sheep, and am known of mine." " I am the good 
 Shepherd; the good Shepherd giveth His life for the 
 
202 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 sheep." Tims it is not till, by an appropriating faith, I, 
 from a sense of my guilty, and miserable, and forlorn con- 
 dition, as a sheep that has gone astray, have beheld the 
 Saviour, who came after me into the wilderness, and God 
 in Him, reconciling me to Himself, and opening the gates 
 of His fold to me, that I can say with David's heart, " The 
 Lord is my shepherd," and adopt as mine the language of 
 this serene and happy confidence. 
 
 Having thus found the key to the sentiments he ex- 
 presses, let us briefly pass them in review. 
 
 I. The Psalmist's confidence, grounded on God's faith- 
 fulness as the shepherd. " I shall not want," as if he had 
 said, " He is faithful to the name and character He bears to 
 me, and therefore He will not suffer me to want. I am a 
 wretched and sinful creature, made up of wants and weak- 
 nesses, but He has brought me into His fold, He has taken 
 on Himself all the charges of my salvation. He has that 
 fulness of grace in Himself which makes Him able to 
 supply all my need, and that fulness of loving-kindness 
 towards me, which makes every needful blessing it com- 
 prises mine." If we would wish to say with David, " I 
 shall not want," we must seek like Him to cherish the 
 sense of our wants, whether these arise from our corrup- 
 tion as sinners, our helplessness as men, or our lamentable 
 deficiencies as followers of Christ, and before whom this 
 lofty and radiant mark is set, — perfection as God is 
 perfect, purity as Christ is pure. We may be assured of 
 this, that as we acquire a more perfect sense of our need, 
 so shall w T e, with equal steps, attain to a more perfect un- 
 derstanding of God's great mystery of grace. For every 
 deep and bottomless want in us that opens to the spiritual 
 
SEEMONS. 293 
 
 eve, there opens at the same time over against it, a cham- 
 ber in the treasure-house of God's all-sufficiency, which 
 contains, in divine profusion, all that can satisfy and fill it 
 up. In proportion as we see inwards we see outwards, and 
 he who has sounded most profoundly the depths of his 
 spiritual necessities, is he who has been farthest, and 
 prospered most in finding out that exhaustless perfection of 
 the Godhead, from whose replenishment all that is holy, 
 and excellent, and God-like in man must be supplied. 
 But, that our thoughts may flow in a narrower channel, let 
 us follow the direct course of the Psalmist's meditations. 
 
 AVh at is it for which the sheep chiefly depend upon the 
 shepherd ? These four things, — sustenance, refreshment, 
 restoration, and guidance. 
 
 1. I shall not want sustenance, for "He maketh me to 
 lie down in green pastures." Here David draws from the 
 remembrance of his pastoral life, when from some tufted 
 knoll in the wilderness, his eye had ranged the valleys 
 that be among the hills, or along the winding course of 
 some murmuring rivulet, for some green and flourishing 
 spot to which he might guide the flocks of Jesse. So God 
 has made rich and plentiful provision, in His word and 
 ordinances, for the nourishment of the sheep of His pasture. 
 There they can " lie down,'"' not pass through in haste as if 
 they had only the hope of some scanty and precarious 
 sustenance, but resting in the calm and assured confidence, 
 that there He has abundantly blessed the provision of Zion, 
 and will satisfy her poor with bread. There Israel may 
 " dwell in safety alone ; the fountain of Jacob is upon a 
 land of corn and wine." This is the liberty wherewith 
 Christ hath made us free. "lam the door, by me if any 
 man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out 
 
294 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 and And pasture." There is the freedom in the prospect 
 of an ample range, and peace in the persuasion that there 
 is no want to them that fear Him. " I will feed them in 
 a good pasture, and upon the high mountains of Israel 
 shall their fold be : there shall they lie in a good fold, and 
 in a fat pasture shall they feed upon the mountains of Israel. 
 2. I shall not want refreshment, for, " He leadeth me 
 beside the still waters." There is thus not only needful 
 sustenance, but refreshing consolation provided for all who 
 are under the good Shepherd's care. We know how often 
 in Scripture the emblem of water, as a purifying and re- 
 freshing element, is employed to represent the gracious 
 operations of the Holy Spirit. " If any man thirst, let him 
 come unto me and drink .... this spake He of the 
 Spirit/' This is the " pure river of the water of life, 
 clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and 
 of the Lamb." When the Spirit receives of the things of 
 Christ and shows them to the believer, longing to behold 
 His power, His glory, and His beauty, or discovers to him his 
 interest in the hopes and promises of His Word, witnessing 
 with his spirit that he is a child of God, he is strengthened 
 and revived as by a draught from " that well of water which 
 springeth up unto everlasting life." To be " led beside the 
 still waters," is to be "walking in the comfort of the Holy 
 Ghost," to be enjoying holy and tranquil communion with 
 Him, to have clear and enlarged and soul-satisfying dis- 
 coveries of Christ and His work, to have the love of God 
 shed abroad in our hearts, so that even amid outward 
 tribulation we have inward peace. It is He w T ho opens up 
 " the wells of salvation" out of which the believer draws 
 water with joy. Though often " in a dry and thirsty land 
 where no water is," let him follow the leadings of his 
 
SERMONS. 295 
 
 Shepherd, and the promise will be fulfilled, " When the 
 poor and the needy seek water, and there is none, and 
 their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, 
 I the God of Jacob will not forsake them. I will open 
 rivers in high places, and fountains in the midst of the 
 valleys. I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and 
 the dry lands springs of water." " This is the rest where- 
 with He has caused the weary to rest, and this is the re- 
 freshing " which comes down on the fainting soul " as the 
 dew of Hermon, and as the dew that descended on the 
 mountains of Zion." 
 
 3. I shallnot want restoration, for "He restoreth my soul." 
 It is necessary that the Shepherd should be so interested in 
 the sheep, that when one wanders from the fold, and is in 
 danger of perishing in the wilderness, He should leave all, 
 and go after it, and never rest until He find it. So says 
 the Psalmist, " He restoreth my soul." For there is even 
 in those who have passed under the rod of the good Shep- 
 herd a native tendency to backsliding. There is the vexing 
 remnant of an evil heart of unbelief, which by a subtle 
 influence brings about a departure from the living God. 
 It is distressing that such should be the case, but so it is, 
 and here is the remedy provided. He will not cast off the 
 wanderer who has strayed from the fold. He who went 
 after him at the first, will go forth upon his devious track 
 again, true to His character as the " Shepherd and Bishop 
 of souls." He will make His entreating voice be heard in 
 the silence of the wilderness, where they " wander in a 
 solitary way." " Return unto me, ye backsliding children, 
 and I will heal your backslidings." And hearing it they 
 are filled with shame and sorrow, yet have heart to say, 
 " Unto whom shall we go but unto Thee ? " " Turn Thou 
 
296 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUBNS^ 
 
 us, and we shall be turned, for Thou art the Lord our 
 God." " For thus saith the Lord God, Behold I, even I, 
 will both search my sheep and seek them out. As a 
 shepherd seeketh out his flock in the day that he is among 
 his sheep that are scattered ; so will I seek out my sheep, 
 and will deliver them out of all places where they have 
 been scattered in the cloudy and dark day. I will seek 
 that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven 
 away, and will bind up that which was broken, and will 
 strengthen that which was sick. I will feed them with 
 judgment." 
 
 The promise of restoration implies correction when it is 
 needed. They will be restored in the spirit of meekness, 
 but at the same time their sin will be purged away in the 
 spirit of judgment. u If his children forsake my law, 
 and walk not in my judgments ; if they break my 
 statutes and keep not my commandments ; then will I 
 visit their transgression with the rod. and their iniquity 
 with stripes. Nevertheless my loving-kindness will I not 
 utterly take from him. nor sutler my faithfulness to fail." 
 
 4. I shall not want guidance, for " He leadeth me in the 
 paths of righteousness for His name's sake/' This, indeed, 
 is the end of all God's dealings with His people as their 
 shepherd. — not that they should be led in the paths of 
 pleasure or ease, but "in the paths of righteousness ; " in 
 those ways which mark, by the degree of their advancement 
 in them, the measure of their progress in conformity to 
 His image, and which end in the perfect manifestation of 
 that image in their souls. The paths of righteousness are 
 often rough and rugged paths. The footsteps of the flock 
 are often, perhaps oftenest, on the painful ways of trial and 
 sorrow, but the good " Shepherd goes before them, and the 
 
SB3 1 
 
 sheep follow Hun, for they 1 7 
 
 and blessa a m convert the hardest path of humiliation 
 a fenced and genial way of quiett 
 s it is our a; sire to be led in the paths of righteous- 
 ^re cannot lie down in green pr oeside the 
 
 still waters, where He maketh the flock to rest at noon. 
 The rough re those where the richest pastures and 
 
 the il hing wat k of righteous- 
 
 hall be peace ; and the effect of righ: juiefc- 
 
 nd assurance for Et 
 
 : rightec that all her w: 
 
 pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. Those who make 
 pleasure their chief end often fail in finding it : those who 
 make righteousness their chief end find pleasure by th 
 Men sever them, God uni: There is a present 
 
 "ness in resigning ourselves to His direction, ready 
 to follow wherever He m struct thee and 
 
 teach thee in the way which thou shalt go ; I will guide 
 thee with mine eve. Thi3 He has engaged to dofc: 
 name - His glory is c oncerned in the safe guidance 
 
 of His people: all the perfections of His charac: 
 pledged that He will guide them wi:!. I"> nnsel, and 
 afterward • _ lory. " Though the Lord 
 
 :u the bread of adv nd the water of affliction, 
 
 yet shall not thy teachers be removed into a cortr 
 more, but thinv shall see thy teachers, and thine ears 
 
 shall hear a word behind thee, sayin_. This is tfa 
 walk in i ye torn t the right hand, and when 
 
 ye turn to the Left 
 
 II. There is ?.n expression of the Psalmist's undoubting 
 * ist . founded on God's constant presence with him 
 
298 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 " Shepherd." "Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
 the shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for Thou art with 
 me ; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." This is 
 generally and very properly understood, as referring to the 
 close of the believer's pilgrimage, and his passage through 
 the darkness of that mysterious journey which is terrible to 
 nature, because it is unknown. But we see no reason why 
 it should be limited to this, why it should not be con- 
 sidered applicable to seasons in his experience, when, 
 losing the sense of God's presence with him, with guilt 
 upon his conscience, and apparently abandoned to the 
 assaults of his spiritual enemies, it may be said that " the 
 sorrows of death compass him, and the pains of hell get 
 hold upon him." It is worthy of remark that the author 
 of that immortal allegory, the Pilgrim's Progress, whose 
 knowledge of Scripture and of experimental Christianity 
 was equally profound, represents the Christian as passing 
 through the valley long before he died, — " A land of 
 darkness as darkness itself ; and of the shadow of death, 
 and without any order, and where the light is as darkness." 
 There are times when, involved in spiritual gloom and 
 perplexity, the only language that can express the desolation 
 of his heart is that of the afflicted patriarch : " that 
 I knew where I might find Him ! that I might come even 
 to His seat ! " " that I were as in months past, as in 
 the days when God preserved me ; when His candle shined 
 upon my head, and when by His light I walked through 
 darkness." Yet even then, as if he were hoping against 
 hope, he is to endeavour to say, " Though He slay me, 
 yet will I trust in Him." " Rejoice not against me, O 
 mine enemy, when I fall I shall arise ; when I sit in dark- 
 ness the Lord shall be a light unto me. I will bear the 
 
SERMONS. 299 
 
 indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned against 
 Him, until He plead my cause and execute judgment for 
 me ; He will bring me forth to the light, and I shall behold 
 His righteousness." 
 
 But there is no doubt that the Psalmist's words admit 
 of a special application to the closing scene of the believer's 
 life on earth, that period into which so many trials are 
 crowded, which he not unfrequently anticipates with 
 painful anxiety, and through fear of which some are all 
 their lifetime subject to bondage. One thought that often 
 haunts and disquiets them in the prospect of death presents 
 itself, in plausible shape, as follows : — We have often 
 fainted under the pressure of less formidable trials, how 
 shall we preserve our confidence in the hour when heart and 
 flesh faileth ? " If we have run with the footmen and 
 they have wearied us, then how can we contend with 
 horses; and if, in the land of peace, wherein we trusted, 
 they wearied us, then how shall we do in the swellings of 
 Jordan ? " In answer to such vexing thoughts as these, 
 we have simply to look to the source of David's confidence 
 in anticipation of the same trying hour : "I will fear 
 no evil, for Thou art with me." He does not say, 
 Thou shalt be with me ; it is the thought that God is ever 
 with him, the same faithful, tender, unchanging God and 
 Saviour, that makes him rejoice in the assurance that he 
 will have the same arm to lean on, and the same voice to 
 cheer him then, as through the wilderness of life. The real- 
 ising sense of God's presence dissipates the mists that hang 
 or float over the gloomy valley, and discovers to the trustful 
 believer the apparition of an angel of light beneath the mask 
 that is upon the face of the king of terrors. Has not God 
 said, the Rock of Israel spoken to him, " As thy day, so 
 
300 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 shall thy strength be." He will fear no evil. What evil 
 has he to fear in the place where he encounters nothing 
 but " the shadow of death 1 " His Redeemer has taken 
 away the substance of his power, and the sharpness of his 
 sting. He sees Death sitting on a shadowy and unreal 
 throne, wielding a pointless weapon, and wearing only 
 "the likeness of a kingly crown." He can look upon his 
 face without trembling, saying, " I know that my 
 Redeemer liveth." " O death, where is thy sting I " He 
 can walk through his cloudy realm in the length of it, and 
 in the breadth of it, without fear ; for the Almighty Shep- 
 herd goes before him on the way, with a " rod " to defend 
 him against all his enemies, the rod of His strength and 
 protection, and with a "staff" to support his sinking 
 steps, the staff of His word and promise. The weakest 
 believer has greater encouragement than David had, to stay 
 himself upon the promise of the divine presence in that 
 hour of darkness. His Saviour in his nature has encoun- 
 tered all its terrors. He has searched the dark valley 
 through and through ; He knows all its secrets and all its 
 windings. He likewise knows the frame and frailty of all 
 who pass through it, and remembers that they are " dust,'' 
 though He is bringing them to glory. " Precious in the 
 sight of the Lord is the death of His saints." " Death " 
 has no power to separate one of them from the love of 
 God, which is in Christ Jesus their Lord. Where God 
 is, where their Saviour is, no evil can befall them ; and if 
 they but cast themselves on His care, He will bear them 
 up, His presence shall go with them, and He will give 
 them rest. When we lose the sense of God's .presence, 
 the slightest discouragement may appal and overwhelm us : 
 when we go on in the strength of it, the most terrible of 
 
SEEMONS. 301 
 
 trials lias no power to daunt or disquiet us. David, in a 
 moment of despondency, once said, " I shall one day 
 perish by the hand of Saul." But let him look to God, 
 and he can gaze without fear on the uplifted arm of the king 
 of terrors. When the three young men were thrown bound 
 into the burning fiery furnace, the king saw them walking 
 loose with a companion in the midst of the flames. " The 
 form of the fourth is like the Son of God," and because 
 " He was with them" the tire had no power upon their 
 bodies, neither had the smell of fire passed on them. Is not 
 the promise of His presence made expressly to all His 
 people, " Thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, 
 and He that formed thee, Israel, Fear not : for I have 
 redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art 
 mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be 
 with thee ; and through the floods, they shall not overflow 
 thee : when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be 
 burned ; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For 
 I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy 
 Saviour." 
 
 III. We are now to consider the Psalmist's hope, 
 founded on God's past grace and tenderness as the Shep- 
 herd, (ver. 5, 6.) " Thou preparest a table before me 
 in the presence of mine enemies." He had often been 
 reduced to the greatest straits, and his adversaries had 
 made his confidence in God the subject of their taunts, but 
 that trust had never been misplaced. Heavenly provision 
 had been prepared for him by an invisible hand. He 
 seemed to sit at a sumptuous table, in a royal banqueting- 
 house, while those who hated him looked on and were 
 ashamed. 
 
302 LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 All who have been led in " the paths of righteousness," 
 if they would consider God's dealings with their souls, 
 would discern abundant cause to make the same acknow- 
 ledgment. Have there not been seasons in which, when they 
 most dreaded being left to the power of their enemies, their 
 strength in waiting upon the Lord has been suddenly 
 restored 1 As if they had eaten of angels' food, their 
 sinking hearts have been revived. They have been 
 enabled to withstand in the evil day, and to advance with 
 hopefulness and joy on their way to Zion. "By this I 
 know," they have said, " that Thou favourest me, because 
 mine enemy doth not triumph over me." 
 
 All the refreshments of His Spirit, the comfort of His 
 presence, the promises of His word, are the rich and 
 varied provision spread for the satisfying of their spiritual 
 wants. " Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, 
 with pleasant fruits ; camphire, with spikenard, spikenard 
 and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of 
 frankincense ; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices : 
 a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams 
 from Lebanon." It is often in the wilderness of trial into 
 which God has led the believer, that vineyards are given 
 him, and " the valley of Achor for a door of hope." There 
 are palm-trees as in Elim under which he may sit, and 
 fountains as in Marah, which may at first be bitter to the 
 taste, but by the healing leaves of the tree which God 
 points out, afford refreshment, and spring up into ever- 
 lasting life. To grasp at comfort by seeking to have af- 
 fliction removed, may be to lose it all altogether, to pluck 
 up by the roots the tree whereon cluster the peaceable 
 fruits of righteousness. To seek that it may not be 
 
SERMONS. 303 
 
 removed till it is fully sanctified, is to find comfort and 
 peace in its continuance. 
 
 Satan's table is spread with fruits that are blooming to 
 the eye, " but turn to ashes on the lips ; " God's with 
 many that seem rough and prickly, but contain the sweet- 
 est and most nourishing kernels. 
 
 But not only does God afford His people all that is 
 needful, He blesses them with much that is liberal and ex- 
 hilarating. " Thou anointest my head with oil ; my cup 
 runneth over." This is an allusion to an eastern custom, 
 the common expression of festive gladness and enjoyment, 
 the pouring of fragrant oil, or sprinkling of rich perfumes, 
 by the master of the feast, upon his guests. In Scripture 
 this is employed as an emblem of the gracious influences of 
 the Holy Spirit. " Ye have an unction from the Holy 
 One." " The anointing which ye have received from Him 
 abideth in you." It is not only that there is the hope of 
 & future salvation possessed by the believer, but the joy of 
 a present salvation begun even now, — not only the " ear- 
 nest of the Spirit," as the evidence that the inheritance is 
 purchased, but the purifying presence of the Spirit consci- 
 ously preparing him for its sacred delights and occupa- 
 tions. Christ is said to have been " anointed with the oil 
 of gladness above His fellows," but all His fellows, every 
 man in His own order, are partakers of it. " By one Spirit 
 they are all baptized into one body, and have been all made 
 to drink into one Spirit." 
 
 There is even now, through the reviving virtue of the 
 " oil of gladness " a joy in believing " with which the 
 stranger may not intermeddle," a peace which passeth all 
 understanding, and which can make the face to shine by 
 
3(U THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 reflecting the inward serenity and brightness of the heart 
 in the mild, and gracious, and attractive light upon the 
 countenance. li He which hath anointed us is God,'' and 
 as the Spirit is the chiefest of the gifts the Saviour has 
 received for men, let us ask of Him, and He will shed it 
 forth on us abundantly. David adds, "My cup runneth 
 over.'' to express the affluence and profusion with which 
 blessings had been showered upon him. It was not only 
 a full but overflowing cup that was put into his hands, no 
 measured and stinted supply of blessing, but abundant and, 
 so to speak, superfluous. Everything in God's house is on 
 a princely scale of magnificence. There is bread enough, 
 and to spare, there is wine poured forth and running over. 
 The invitation is, "Eat, friends, and drink, yea drink 
 abundantly, beloved." It is with a royal generosity 
 and large-heartedness that He bestows His gifts. All 
 these " as a King He giveth." " Blessed be the God and 
 Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with 
 all spiritual Uessings in Christ.'' "We are not straitened 
 in Him. " Have I been a wilderness to Israel i " The 
 Father giveth not the Spirit by measure to the Son : and 
 only according to the measure of our desires does the Son 
 give Him to us. The only reason that we have to complain, 
 not only that our cup does not run over, but that it is not 
 filled, is that we dishonour God by our doubts of His 
 liberality, by our cold, unworthy, suspicious prayers. Is 
 it not written that " in Christ all things are ours ] " and 
 what should hinder us but an evil heart of unbelief from 
 saying, "My God shall supply all my need according to 
 His riches in dory by Christ Jesus ? " 
 
 The experience of God's past grace and faithfulness leads 
 the Psalmist to look forward confidently to the future. 
 
SERMONS. 305 
 
 " Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days 
 of my life." He speaks as if it would be sinful to doubt 
 it. After praising Him for all that is past, what can he 
 do but simply trust Him for all that is to come ] This, 
 then, is the blessed certainty he contemplates through the 
 vista of his remaining years. It is this which casts a 
 brightness over the prospect, not that greatness, and 
 honour, and wealth will be his, but that goodness and 
 mercy will surely follow him, goodness to bless all his trials, 
 mercy to pardon all his sins. 
 
 These are often following the believer when he does not 
 see them. They are behind him on ways of trial where he 
 seems to walk alone in darkness. But ever and anon, like 
 ministering angels, they come up and greet him, and even 
 though he should not discern their presence on every path, 
 he may be assured that he will at length see the prints of 
 their footsteps beside his own, over all the way by which 
 he has journeyed to the city of habitation. He is now to 
 trust God where he cannot trace Him. He is to be " con- 
 fident of this very thing that He who hath begun a good 
 work in him will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ," 
 that " the Lord shall deliver him from every evil work, 
 and preserve him unto His heavenly kingdom." 
 
 But the range of David's spiritual vision is not bounded 
 by the life that now is. Earthly prospects are terminated 
 by the grave, but his pierces through its darkness, and 
 aspires beyond its power. " Thou wilt guide me by Thy 
 counsel, and afterward receive me to glory." What a 
 radiant '-afterward" expands before his eye! "I will 
 dwell in the house of the Lord for ever." "We know 
 how he loved and longed for the earthly sanctuary. 
 " One thing have I desired, that will I seek after, that 
 
306 THE LIFE OF J. P. BURNS. 
 
 I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of 
 iny life." " One day in Thy courts is better than a thou- 
 sand.'' But now he longs for more open vision, for more 
 uninterrupted communion with God, and in the language 
 of triumphant assurance he expresses his confidence that 
 his eternal dwelling-place will be the heavenly sanctuary. 
 This is the advantage to the believer of frequently review- 
 ins; the dealings of God with his soul. From the recollec- 
 tion of past mercy, he rises, step by step, to the joyful anti- 
 cipation of future blessedness. If he has ever felt that the 
 Lord is his Shepherd, that God in Christ is his reconciled 
 God, that Jesus is to him the chiefest among ten thousand, 
 and altogether lovely : that his wants have been supplied, 
 and his trials blessed, his soul restored in backsliding, his 
 feet guided in the paths of righteousness, and his spirit 
 refreshed and strengthened by communion with the Saviour 
 whom he loves — he is warranted to take encouragement 
 from this, and to rejoice in the hope that an abundant 
 entrance will be ministered to him into the kingdom and 
 the glory of his Lord. Whom He hath loved He loveth to 
 the end. " They shall never perish, neither shall any pluck 
 them out of His hand."' They will at last see Him, whom 
 having not seen they love, and there will be no cloud to 
 darken, no fear to disquiet, no temptation to annoy, no sin 
 to defile and separate between them and their God. " Their 
 dwelling shall be on high ; their place of defence the muni- 
 tions of rocks ; bread shall be given them, their water 
 shall be sure." " Thine eyes shall see the King in His 
 beauty : they shall behold the land that is very far off."' 
 They " shall go no more out," " there shall be no night 
 there," for " the Lord shall be their everlasting light, and 
 the days of their mourning shall be ended." " They shall 
 
SERMONS. 307 
 
 hunger no more, neither thirst any more : neither shall the 
 sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb, which is 
 in the midst of the throne, .shall feed them, and 
 them to living fountains of waters ; and God shall wij e 
 away all tears from their eyes.'' 
 " This honour have all His saints." 
 
II. 
 
 " And it came to pass the day after, that he went into a city called 
 Nain ; and many of his disciples went with him, and much 
 people. Now, when he came nigh to the gate of the city, 
 behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of 
 his mother, and she was a widow : and much people of the city 
 was with her. And when the Lord saw her, he had com- 
 passion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. And he came 
 and touched the bier : and they that bare him stood still. And 
 he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise. And he that was 
 dead sat up, and began to speak. And he delivered him to his 
 mother. And there came a fear on all : and they glorified God, 
 saying, That a great prophet is risen up among us ; and, That 
 God hath visited his people. And this rumour of him went 
 forth throughout all Judea, and throughout all the region 
 round about." — Luke vii. 11-17. 
 
 The time at which our Lord performed this miracle has 
 been particularly remarked by the Evangelist, " the day 
 after," the next day after the cure He had wrought on the 
 centurion's servant. He did not linger in that city, for 
 He had not come to receive honour from men. He 
 hastened from it before the tidings could have had time 
 to circulate, before the people could gather round Him with 
 their praises. He had His eye ever upon the cross, and 
 it cast everything earthly into shadow. The thought that 
 men would try to make that a path of glory which He had 
 chosen to be a path of thorns seems to have been most 
 
SERMONS. 309 
 
 painful to His holy soul. Thus He went silently out of 
 the astonished city, as when He heard that the multitude 
 ■were coming to Him with the crown of Israel He departed 
 into a mountain Himself alone. This town of Nain, of 
 which all we know is that this mighty work was done 
 there, lay about twelve miles from Capernaum, near the 
 southern extremity of the Sea of Galilee, and not far from 
 Endor, so memorable in the record of the closing days of 
 Saul. It was doubtless this work of mercy that now 
 attracted the steps of our Saviour towards this obscure 
 Galilean town. He knew what had happened there, what 
 heavy affliction had saddened one of its lowliest dwellings. 
 There was that within Him which told Him, when "beyond 
 Jordan," the very moment that Lazarus died; and the flight 
 of this solitary soul into eternity, which every hour is 
 gathering into itself so many immortal spirits, had not 
 passed unnoticed by Him who had determined in its case 
 to make Death quit its hold upon its prey. To visit the 
 widow in her affliction, to restore comfort to a sorrowful 
 mother in Israel, that was enough for Him. " He must 
 needs go to Xain." " He must needs go through Samaria," 
 in a higher sense than the necessities of an earthly journey, 
 when He knows that one poor woman will be found by 
 Him at Jacob's well, whom He will bring back to the fold. 
 Who that can fathom the depths of that love that filled and 
 ever kept full the human heart of Christ with compassion 
 for the poor and the perishing? — those streams of mercy 
 and blessing that went forth in health and salvation where- 
 ever He walked on this earth, even as the overflow of a 
 fountain that is ever gushing forth and ever replenishing 
 itself from springs that lie deep out of sight of man ? He 
 went about suffering evil and doing good. 
 
310 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 On this occasion " many of His disciples went with Him, 
 and much people." He would not court the multitude to 
 follow Him, neither would He affect to repel them. He 
 would not crush one of the instincts of the nature He had 
 formed, and one of the strongest led the people to follow 
 this great Prophet, who marked His course with miracles, 
 and left living monuments on which He graved His name 
 with awe and solemnity on their minds. Besides He is 
 about to perforin one of His mightiest works ; let wit- 
 nesses be multiplied, not to sound His praises, but, if they 
 can, to detect the imposture, if they cannot, to silence those 
 who would call it such. These things were not done in a 
 corner, they were done in the face of heaven, under as 
 quick-sighted and jealous eyes as the unbelief of the 
 nineteenth century could supply. So when He is to 
 rise from the dead, let the mouth of the sepulchre 
 be blocked up, let the stone be sealed, let a guard be 
 posted, let every one do everything to expose the fraud, 
 if there is any, and cover it with shame ; but if there is 
 none, serve to do everything to reflect greater lustre upon 
 the miracle achieved in spite of you. Let all follow Me 
 who choose, let all Galilee which lieth around turn its 
 eyes, let the Sadducees stand on this side, and the Pharisees 
 on that, set the double watch of unbelief and bigotry upon 
 this dead man's bier : I know what I can do. Power 
 works as strongly in My hand as pity in My heart, and 
 before all Judea shall I send him back a living man from 
 the throat of the sepulchre. So our Lord went on along 
 towards Nain. " Now when lie came nigh unto the gate 
 of the city, behold, there was a dead man carried out, the 
 only son of his mother, and she was a widow, and much 
 people of the city was with her." "What a volume of 
 
SERMON?. 311 
 
 human life and sorrow is brought out in these simple 
 words ! What an ever fulfilling record of mortality is 
 this ! Out from the city, perished in his prime, with the 
 traces of his youthful manhood not yet faded from him, 
 they are bearing a man. A few days ago he walked among 
 them, but here he is stretched out upon his bier, all the 
 stir and tumult of life hushed for him, his work in the 
 world done, all its ties broken and its hopes dissi- 
 pated, for the last time in the midst of those who loved 
 him, but only to be buried out of their sight. It was the 
 first spectacle that met our Lord's eye as He came towards 
 the gate, the first sign that life was in it, a company of the 
 living coming from it, and Death in the midst of them. 
 What a commentary on life is this ! For this was no strange 
 thing that was passing ; it had been done the day before, 
 and it would be done the day after, and it had been going 
 on for centuries then, and so it has been for centuries since 
 in the whole circuit of the world. And would you this 
 day take your stand near the gate of any of its cities, the 
 same spectacle would strike your eye, the living would be 
 seen coming forth from it with the dead man going to his 
 long home, and the mourners going about the streets. 
 Such are the desolations which sin hath made in the earth, 
 such the widespread memorials of the reign of death. 
 Go where you will in the world, you will not cross the 
 boundary of that dominion, that ghastly ensign will meet 
 you in the sheltered and crowded haunts of life. Over all 
 earth's lands and through all life's seasons you will see 
 that portentous shadow hovering. Where the ranks of life 
 are thickest you will see Him piling up His highest 
 trophies, and the only explanation of all this is given in 
 those mournful words : " By one man sin entered into the 
 
312 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 world, and death by sin, and so death passed upon all men, 
 for that all have sinned." Wherever life extends, there 
 death extends, unfolding his gloomy banner like the scroll 
 of the prophet, in which there was written, lamentation, and 
 mourning, and woe. 
 
 In this particular instance there was much to aggravate 
 the bitterness of a parting, always painful, come how it may. 
 And we know nothing more touching in its graceful sim- 
 plicity, no picture of sorrow more delicately yet more truly 
 handled, with a few artless strokes, than that which the 
 evangelist has portrayed in these few words : " A dead 
 man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was 
 a widow.'"' She, according to the custom of the Jews, is 
 following the body of her son to the grave, and amidst the 
 throng of mourners the Saviour's eye rested on that 
 afflicted and forsaken one, — less obtrusive in the agony of 
 her grief. She had already endured one of the heaviest 
 calamities of life in the stroke which had deprived her of 
 him who should have cherished and protected her. the 
 husband of her youth, who she hoped would have been the 
 companion of her pilgrimage to its latest stages, and per- 
 haps survived to lay her gray hairs in the dust. The 
 severity of this trial would not have been felt by her so 
 keenly as long as one was left to perpetuate the name of 
 him who had departed. This thought had been a source 
 of consolation to her in her darkest hour of sorrow. She 
 had seen him grow up to manhood ; she had begun to 
 rejoice in him as the stay and solace of her declining years. 
 The thought of death loses half its bitterness when she 
 thinks that his hand will close her dying eyes, and that in 
 him her memorial will not perish, when suddenly her heart 
 is pierced with a keener anguish than before, for Death 
 
SEEMONS. 313 
 
 has once more entered her dwelling, and bears away from 
 her bosom the last remaining alleviation of home. And 
 now she is following him, who should have followed her to 
 the grave, with that bitterness of the heart which it only 
 knoweth. That grief is working in her soul which the 
 Scripture represents as the strongest we can feel. When 
 it would shadow forth the anguish of spiritual mourning, 
 it is said, " They shall mourn for him, as one mourneth for 
 his only son, and shall be in bitterness for him as one that 
 is in bitterness for his first-born." (i Much people of the 
 city was with her," for at such a time the hardest heart 
 would be melted into sympathy with such grief as hers. 
 It was well that they were there. There were some among 
 them who had seen the dead man sicken, who had watched 
 his deathbed, who had seen him die, and had composed the 
 lifeless limbs, who had laid out the body on the bier, — 
 they will be the most faithful witnesses to that power that 
 is about to call him back to life. 
 
 "When the Lord saw her he had compassion on her, 
 and said unto her, Weep not. And He came and touched 
 the bier." He had time to grieve with her, before He 
 would make her widow's heart to sing for joy. The ample 
 recompense for all her tears that He is preparing will not 
 make His sympathy with the heavy-laden mourner less 
 tender or less keen. He will now say to her, " Weep not," 
 though they must have fallen like cold unmeaning words 
 upon her ear. What a blessed assurance for all that mourn 
 in Zion : "We have not an High Priest which cannot be 
 touched with a feeling of our infirmities ; but was in all 
 points tempted like as we are, yet without sin." 
 
 The body lay loosely on an open bier, such as are in 
 common use here among the poorer class of people, from 
 
314 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 this ready to be removed -without covering, except its 
 shroud, into a vault in the rock, that had been hewn out 
 for a sepulchre. Our Lord advanced and touched the bier, 
 and with a majesty in His action that showed the stirrings 
 of divinity within Him. Then came a silence over the 
 wail of the loud mourners, a momentary murmur passes 
 through the crowd, and they that bear him stand still. 
 It was a loud alarm at the gate of Satan's kingdom, that 
 the spell by which he had bound the world was dissolved. 
 It was a handwriting on the wall of Satan's palace. It 
 was a meeting at which the universe might have stood still, 
 creation groaning and travailing in pain might have ceased 
 its wail, — He the living man by that dead man's bier, — at 
 that action silence might have come over heaven and hell. 
 It is a challenge of mutual defiance boldly struck upon 
 the shield of Satan, and Death will be met and de- 
 stroyed in his own battlefield. That animating touch 
 had a virtue and voice in it for all generations. It marked 
 a limit to the onward march of death, " Hitherto shalt 
 thou come." It reached to the end of time. " O death, 
 I will be thy plague ! O grave I will be thy destruction ! 
 Hitherto thou hast been unchallenged in thy stronghold, 
 but know, there is One now walking in the thickest of the 
 dying, who is the Eesurrection and the Life." 
 
 There was pollution, according to the Jewish law, in any 
 contact with the dead. The touch of anything that had 
 come in contact with the dead was defiling, but in a less 
 degree, and the Saviour doing honour to that law which 
 His death was to abolish, did not touch the body but the 
 bier. The multitude thus awed around Him, the voice of 
 Jesus broke the silence, " Young man, I say unto thee, 
 Arise." Where the spirit that had once quickened this 
 
SERMONS. 31o 
 
 body passed the interval we know not, but that voice 
 wakened and recalled it across that shadowy border 
 from which so few have returned. The thrill of life re- 
 turned with it, and the pulses began to beat in that form, 
 shrouded and perfumed for the grave. Then a strange 
 consciousness came over him, as, stretched upon his bier, 
 a crowd of confused remembrances surged upon his mind, 
 and he that was dead sat up and began to speak, to utter 
 the name in memory uppermost, that as she met his eye 
 had been last upon his lips as he closed his eyes in death. 
 " And Jesus delivered him to his mother : Woman, behold 
 thy son." That power which had just quickened the dead, 
 and called the things which be not as though they w 7 ere, 
 was only to be rivalled by that gentleness which reserved 
 to itself the pleasure of giving back to his mother the 
 child so miraculously restored. Then came a fear on all, 
 and they glorified God. May we not hope that some more 
 lasting impression was produced on some than mere wonder 
 and awe ? That that memorable day at JSTain became in a 
 spiritual sense, the beginning of days to many, the day from 
 which they could date the awakening that had issued in 
 the gift of life eternal to their souls % 
 
 Dear brethren, such miracles as these have ceased, nor 
 is there now the glory of those days on earth when the 
 shadows of apostles and saints had a healing virtue wher- 
 ever they passed. But all these were but types and symbols 
 of a higher miracle, wmich there is still power coming from 
 on high to do, for which there is a mightier necessity in 
 the case of each of us, and in which a greater blessing lies — 
 the communication of spiritual life to our souls dead in 
 trespasses, the deliverance of the soul from the curse and 
 power of pollution of sin, the great change which Scripture 
 
316 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 calls regeneration, a second birth of the soul, without which 
 no man shall enter the kingdom of God. " Through sin, 
 death has acquired a fearful ascendency, not only over the 
 body, but the soul. We see it reigning all round us ; it is 
 another thing to feel the reality of its reign within us. 
 It is this life, this revival of our fallen nature, this re- 
 moulding of them in that holy image which faded at the 
 touch of sin that Christ only can impart. This He came 
 into the world to proclaim. This He died upon the 
 to accomplish. This He is exalted to bestow. This is the 
 glad tidings of the gospel : Christ hath abolished death, 
 and hath brought life and immortality to light through the 
 gospel. This is the gospel record, ' ; that God hath given 
 to us eternal life, and this life is in His Son." " I am the 
 resurrection and the life, he that believeth in me, though 
 he were dead, yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth and 
 believeth in me shall never die." Shall the guilt lie on 
 any of us of despising the great salvation and turning 
 away from the voice of Him that speaketh ? " Awake thou 
 that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give 
 thee light.'' 
 
 Is there not encouragement to all who desire this orift of 
 life from the hands of the Son of God ? He who pitied 
 the poor widow weeping for her son, will He not be touched 
 with tender compassion for a poor sinner weeping for his 
 soul ? To show His willingness as well as His ability to 
 perform this greatest miracle, three cases are recorded in 
 Scripture, — the daughter of Jairus, this young man, and 
 Lazarus in his grave four days. What He did for the body 
 at all stages of death natural. He can do and He will do for 
 the soul at all stages of death spiritual ; to Him the issues 
 of death belong. You who have received it, want to come, 
 
: ■ 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 n — 
 i 
 
 — — 
 
 ! 
 
III. 
 
 [Preached at the Opening of the New Presbyterian Church, 
 Hampstead. Nov. 1862.] 
 
 " To whom coming, as unto a living stone, disallowed indeed of 
 men, but chosen of God, and precious, ye also, as lively stones, 
 are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up 
 spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ." — 
 1 Peter ii. 4, 5. 
 
 Earth has witnessed few scenes more sublime, none in 
 which all the elements of outward magnificence were more 
 strikingly blended with those of deep religious reverence 
 and awe, than that which was presented by the Temple 
 of Solomon on the day of its dedication. The holy and 
 beautiful house crowning, with its fresh undimmed splen- 
 dour, the terraced steep of Moriah — the vast congrega- 
 tion of worshippers that filled its courts and colonnades — 
 the rich and solemn swell of choral melody, when minstrels 
 and singers joined in the exulting halleluiah — the great 
 altar in the open court with the brazen platform in 
 front of it, on which the youthful prince kneeled down 
 upon his knees in sight of that breathless multitude 
 and spread forth his hands to heaven — the fire descend- 
 ing in answer to his prayer, and consuming the sacrifice, 
 and the cloud of glory filling the house, so that the 
 priests could not stand to minister ; — nothing is wanting to 
 complete the solemn impressiveness of the spectacle. Many 
 
SEEM OK S. 319 
 
 centuries had gone by, and the temple still stood, after many 
 vicissitudes, in something like its earliest grandeur, and on 
 its ancient site, when Jerusalem, the Holy City, witnessed 
 another and a different scene. 
 
 In some humble dwelling, in one of its obscurer streets, 
 a little company of worshippers is gathered together in an 
 upper room. There is no outward splendour here to attract 
 the eye, no imposing rites, no stately ceremonial, no altar, 
 no priest, no ringing burst of melody. A few devoted 
 men and women joining in fervent supplication, nothing 
 more, " when suddenly there came a sound from heaven 
 like a rushing mighty wind," and cloven tongues of flame 
 are seen hovering over each of them, and in this baptism 
 of fire every heart is kindled with holy love and zeal, 
 every voice bursts forth in accents of adoring wonder and 
 praise. In this outpouring of the Spirit on the day of 
 Pentecost, in fulfilment of the Saviour's promise, and in 
 token of His divine and almighty power, we see the dedi- 
 cation of that spiritual temple which He founded on this 
 earth, we behold the beginning of that Church which 
 is not for one nation, but for all people, which is not in its 
 essential features outward and visible, but inward, set up 
 in all believing, loving, and obedient hearts, which is not 
 to continue for a season and pass away, but to endure for 
 ever, as a kingdom of righteousness, and peace, and joy. 
 The first temple might be externally more glorious in all 
 its attributes of earthly pomp and splendour, but this, in 
 its simplicity, in its spirituality, has a glory that excelleth. 
 From the day of its Pentecostal consecration, it has grown 
 and spread, and still, with the silent resistless energy of 
 that Divine life that is in it, it is extending its limits from 
 land to land. And while the temple that so long crowned 
 
320 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 the brow of Zion lias passed away, not one stone left upon 
 another, and the faith, of which it was the home and the 
 shrine, has been petrified into a lifeless form, and seems, 
 as we see it now, to be likened only to one of those antique 
 colossal forms reared amidst the level wastes of Egyptian 
 sands, with its stony gaze fixed immovably on the mighty 
 past, the faith of Christ is still strong and ardent, still 
 pressing onwards with unwasted force, renewing before 
 our eyes its signs and wonders of saving power, everywhere 
 gathering its trophies of redeeming grace. It is still mighty 
 as ever to subdue the minds of men, and to link believing 
 and rejoicing hearts together in its blessed communion of 
 faith and love ; and, while moving about in constant minis- 
 trations of mercy by the abodes of men, and speaking its 
 blessed message to the sinful and weary heart, it can 
 look out with radiant glance into a future brighter than the 
 past. For, according to His promise, it looks for the time 
 when all nations shall stand and worship within the pre- 
 cincts of the Christian Temple, all kingdoms shall lay their 
 crowns at Christ's feet, all languages shall speak His name, 
 and the whole world shall be lightened with His glory. 
 
 It is under the emblem of a building that the apostle 
 speaks of the Church of Christ in this world, or rather of 
 the form in which Christian life must manifest itself, and 
 come to the full measure of its perfection. He shows 
 what are the essential and distinctive marks of all living 
 religion, of true, deep, vital, renewing faith in Christ. 
 
 I. The building rests on & foundation. — This foundation 
 is Jesus Christ. He is the living stone, to whom coming, 
 He says of these Christian men, that they were built up a 
 spiritual house. Apart from this connexion with Him, He 
 
SERMONS. 321 
 
 as the living stone, and they as lively stones resting on Him, 
 they could in no sense form a constituted part of the living 
 temple of which He speaks. And here it is important to 
 remember whose these words are. They are the words of 
 that apostle, to whom the Master and Lord of the temple 
 Himself has said, as if singling him out for pre-eminence 
 above his brethren, " Thou art Peter, and on this rock will 
 I build my church." It is clear that he did not under- 
 stand this statement in the sense to which it has been 
 perverted by a later age, that he had no thought of apply- 
 ing it to himself in any individual or official acceptation, 
 as if supremacy had been given to him above the rest. 
 Christ Himself is the living stone, the sure foundation, he 
 only a stone in the building that rests on Him. And if He 
 was the first to preach the truth in the streets of Jerusalem, 
 that through that Jesus who was crucified, whom God had 
 raised from the dead, and exalted to the fellowship of glory, 
 salvation alone could come to sinful man, this did not make 
 him the Rock, but only a witness of the Rock to others. 
 The truth he preached was the suffering and glorified Re- 
 deemer, the only Rock ; and in this sense it is said, not of 
 him exclusively, but of all who had borne a similar testimony, 
 and witnessed the like good confession, that the " Church 
 was built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, 
 Jesus Christ Himself being the chief corner stone." Other 
 foundation can no man lay than that which God laid — Christ 
 in His eternal Sonship — Christ in His suffering manhood — 
 Christ in His exalted mediatorship — Christ the Revealer of 
 the Father, the Fulfiller of all righteousness, the one Sacrifice 
 for sin, Redeemer from the curse, Head of the Spiritual 
 Creation, the Author and Finisher of faith. Prophet, Priest, 
 and King, He centres in Himself all the scattered rays of 
 
 X 
 
322 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 glory, wears on His brow every crown of lustre, anointed 
 by a name that is above every name. To Him I, helpless, 
 guilty, perishing, can look in my extremity. To His cross 
 I can cling; in His righteousness I can trust; through His 
 merits and mediation I have free access and perfect ac- 
 ceptance with God. This, and none other, is the " living 
 stone," the Rock of Ages, firm and enduring ground of my 
 eternal hopes. I believe and am persuaded, I know this 
 standeth sure, this foundation can never fail. " I know 
 that my Redeemer liveth. This Friend can never change. 
 Jesus Christ the same j^esterday, to-day, and for ever." 
 
 II. The materials of the building. — They are described 
 as lively stones. It might seem to be a straining, this 
 expansion of the symbol the apostle employs, but we must 
 keep in mind the truth that it is on union with Christ that 
 all life depends ; that God has His true dwelling in living 
 souls ; that the only reasonable service He can accept is 
 the living sacrifice of love offered by renewed and spiritually- 
 minded men. The foundation gives strength and stability 
 to all the parts of the building that are rested upon it, and 
 the life that is in Christ is transfused into each soul, the 
 moment it begins to rest its hope in Him. He is life in 
 Himself, He is the source of life to all who believe in Him, 
 as naturally as from the root life flows into all the branches, 
 or from the exhaustless, invisible spring of water, life rlows 
 in ceaseless circulation wherever it finds a channel to run 
 in, or an empty vessel to fill. It is the same truth that 
 lies at the core of the apostle's words, for that spiritual 
 temple which God is now raising for His own glory in the 
 world, the life that is in Him who is the foundation, is con- 
 veyed into every stone that adds to the symmetry and com- 
 
SEEMONS. 326 
 
 pleteness of the perfect building. It is in coming to Him that 
 this life is first implanted in us, in coming to realise our 
 own personal need of a Saviour, and His all-sufficiency as 
 a Saviour, that all spiritual life begins, and it is by faith 
 in Him that this life is manifested and developed. And 
 in becoming more deeply rooted and grounded in His love, 
 in being more visibly animated by His Spirit, and trans- 
 formed into His image, in a more steadfast and harmonious 
 progress in Christian graces and virtues, our spiritual life 
 grows and unfolds to its full and ripe maturity. 
 
 The glory of this spiritual house is, that there is life in 
 every part of it. No stone adjusted into its place that has 
 not been selected by Divine care, and bears not on it the 
 mark of the Divine hand. 
 
 A few days before our Saviour's death, we are told, that 
 as He sat on the Mount of Olives over against the temple, 
 where the whole range of its courts and cloisters, terraces 
 and colonnades of marble, uplighted in snow-white lustre 
 and purity in the bright blue air, was open to His eye, 
 and one of His disciples thought to draw forth some ex- 
 pression of admiration, " Master, see what manner of stones 
 and what buildings are here," He could only answer with 
 a tear of sadness, " Seest thou these great buildings ? there 
 shall not be left one stone upon another that shall not be 
 thrown down." How much more wonderful and noble is 
 the meanest creature that has life in it, the least of God's 
 creatures in whom the pulse of life is beating, than the fairest 
 and proudest creations of human art and skill that have 
 no breath in them ! Nor can we wonder that the ardent 
 historian, after describing the magnificence of the great 
 cathedral which a Christian emperor reared in rivalry of 
 Solomon, should make the reflection, "Yet how dull is 
 
324 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 the artificial, how insignificant the labourer, if it be com- 
 pared with the formation of the vilest insect that crawls 
 upon the surface of the temple." Might there not be in 
 Peter's mind some remembrance of his Master's words, as 
 thinking of the priceless value of one immortal soul, one 
 ransomed from guilt, redeemed by the blood of Christ, and 
 quickened by Him with life imperishable and divine, he 
 speaks of the sublimity and excellency of the spiritual 
 temple, as consisting in this, that the poorest and the low- 
 liest of men, who lives a life of faith in Christ, and walks 
 after Him in the way of holiness, is a living stone, built on 
 Christ, the living foundation, and an essential part of that 
 glorious edifice which shall stand eternal in the heavens. 
 
 We see here the great aim of the gospel ministry and all 
 Christian ordinances. It is to bring men to Christ through 
 bringing home to them their sinfulness and their helpless- 
 ness, through convincing them that so long as they are 
 under the bondage of corruption they are in a state of 
 spiritual death, to persuade them to come to Christ, that 
 they may have life. To come to the knowledge, to trust 
 the love of Christ, is to pass from death unto life, to feel 
 the power of a spiritual resurrection through which we 
 begin to live not unto ourselves, but unto Him who died 
 for us and rose again. And its further end is to build 
 them up in Him in a life of Christian love and devoted 
 obedience. Where there is life there must be growth, 
 where there is any genuine faith there must be constant 
 aspiration to active and healthy progress in the way of 
 holiness, and all that is needful for this is secured in the 
 inexhaustible fulness that is in Christ. So that daily to 
 know Him better in more intimate communion, and ever 
 enlarging experience, the more perfect is our reliance, the 
 
SERMONS. 325 
 
 richer do we become in all divine resources, the more fruit- 
 ful iu all holy attainments, the happier in all gracious 
 affections, the more loving, the more gentle, the more pure, 
 the more devoted, the more as He was in this world. 
 
 III. And this brings us to notice the view the apostle 
 gives of the finished edifice. The living stones are built 
 up a spiritual house, and all together forming one building, 
 which is silently and gradually rising to its completeness, 
 and shall at last, when the mystery of His Providence is 
 finished, be seen in its perfect symmetry and beauty. But 
 there is another truth inseparable from this, which cannot 
 be too deeply or too constantly impressed on the Christian 
 mind. It is, that each believer is himself a temple of the 
 living God, honoured by His own indwelling, purified for 
 His service ; all His powers and affections consecrated to 
 it, as the vessels of the ancient sanctuary to His -peculiar 
 use. " Know ye not that your body is the temple of the 
 Holy Ghost, which is in you, which ye have of God." 
 And "ye are not your own," " the temple of God is holy, 
 which temple ye are." The design for which Christ came 
 into the world was, that God might have a habitation in 
 the heart of man again, to cast out from it that evil one 
 whose presence had so long defiled it, whose power had so 
 long enslaved it, to claim it from that long desecration, or 
 to make it His chosen habitation, His sacred and illumined 
 shrine. And in every heart that has been quickened to 
 spiritual life, there is abiding the Spirit of the living God. 
 How earnestly is this pressed as a motive for cultivating 
 growing spirituality of mind, heavenliness of affection, 
 purity of heart and life ! " What fellowship hath righteous- 
 ness with unrighteousness ? what communion hath light with 
 
326 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 darkness 1 what concord hath Christ with Belial ? what 
 agreement hath the temple of God with idols ? for ye are 
 the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will 
 dwell in them, and walk in them ; and I will be their God, 
 and they shall be my people." 
 
 "Ye are the temple of the living God, ye as lively stones 
 are built up a spiritual house." Hence under the gospel all 
 consecration of places or forms, as making one spot of 
 earth where man can worship God holier than another, lias 
 passed away. There was such a consecration of the 
 ancient temple, marked by a visible descent and abiding 
 of glory ; but in no earthly shrine is the radiant presence 
 now beheld by the natural eye. The hour has come, when 
 neither, in this mountain at Jerusalem, nor in that of Samaria, 
 do men worship the Father, but wherever the heart wor- 
 ships in spirit and truth, there is His gracious presence, 
 there hovers a spiritual glory, there is holy ground. It is 
 His own ordinance, that we should unite in His worship, 
 and hold communion one with another. He has permitted 
 us to dedicate this house to His service, but this imparts 
 to it no mystic virtue, no material consecration. It is only 
 if His presence in these ordinances is devoutly sought — if 
 He here receives the worship of contrite and lowly hearts — 
 if here the gospel is faithfully proclaimed, which is the 
 power of God unto salvation to every one that belicveth — 
 if through the gracious energy of the Holy Spirit, that 
 word is made effectual in converting the soul, making wise 
 the simple, enlightening the eyes, gladdening the heart, 
 filling it with peace and joy in believing — if here the wan- 
 derer is guided into the path of life, the Christian pilgrim 
 restored in the way of holiness, — this place will be indeed 
 the house of God, hallowed by His presence, brightened 
 
SERMOXS. 327 
 
 with His glory. This is the only end for which this 
 building has been reared, for which in faith and prayer it 
 has been dedicated to the worship of the Father, Son, and 
 Holy Ghost, God over all, blessed for ever. That work is 
 now to begin, and let me remind you, that in doing it, each 
 has to bear a part. All whose faith is something more 
 than a form, a name, all whose hearts have ever felt a thrill 
 of gratitude to God who called them by His grace, ever 
 been kindled into a glow of love to the Saviour who 
 redeemed them, are associated in the brotherhood of Chris- 
 tian service, are gathered into the ranks of that holy priest- 
 hood to offer up spiritual sacrifices. We know no exclusive 
 order of priesthood, no sacerdotal caste. There is here no 
 altar- screen, no mystic enclosure only to be entered by 
 consecrated feet. All are called to offer themselves up 
 living sacrifices, to labour to bring others into the fellow- 
 ship of the same hope and joy. This sanctuary is but the 
 earthly and the transient scaffolding for the erection of the 
 spiritual temple. It will well fulfil its purpose as here 
 living stones are brought, and hewn out and built upon 
 the living foundation, and all fitly framed together grow up 
 into an habitation for the living God. Let it be our 
 prayer that of this place it may be said, " This and that man 
 were born in her." And let us be always abounding in 
 the work of the Lord, forasmuch as we know that our 
 labour is not in vain in the Lord. Each day brings us some 
 remembrance that the time is short, that the night is 
 coming in which no man can work. The voice from 
 heaven is always calling, " Be ye also ready, for at such an 
 hour, when ye think not, the Son of man cometh." 
 
 One who joined with us in our worship last Lord's day 
 in the sanctuary we have left — one who had long looked 
 
328 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 forward to the day that finds us for our first Sabbath 
 service assembled here — one to whose heart the welfare of 
 our church from its first planting in this place was very- 
 dear, and in whose prayerful remembrance and active 
 sympathy its peace and its prosperity were ever tenderly 
 borne — has been suddenly removed from earth, and has 
 gone, I trust, to be a worshipper in the courts of the temple 
 above. Standing here I cannot but feel as if a shadow of 
 eternity were cast more visibly over these opening services 
 by the impressive event that has occurred in the midst of 
 us, to chasten our gladness into holy fear. To us might 
 the summons come as suddenly, at midnight. Are we 
 prepared to meet it 1 Are our loins girt, our lamps burning, 
 like good and faithful servants who wait for their Lord 1 
 If there is any doubt, let us feel that indifference is criminal, 
 that delay may be death. Here and now resolve and pray 
 in our hearts to God that this day may be the beginning of 
 days to us, and this place, hallowed and endeared for ever, 
 as the scene of the willing and earnest consecration of a life, 
 yielded to the service of the Eedeemer, that shall make 
 it even now radiant with a blessed hope that eternity shall 
 fulfil and crown in His presence and His joy for ever. 
 
IV. 
 
 " Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in 
 his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of 
 sins that are past, through the forbearance of God." — Rom. 
 hi. 25. 
 
 One often sees among other things issuing from the press, 
 a book that has been written about one of our distant 
 colonies, and that contains valuable information for those 
 who intend to settle there. This " Emigrant's Guide " may- 
 fall into the hands of two men equally intelligent and fond 
 of information, but it may be read with different feelings 
 by either. The one reads it with a general kind of interest, 
 as he would read any other book of the day ; the other 
 reads it and re-reads it, makes memoranda as he goes along 
 weighs its statements, treasures up its hints, makes it in 
 fact the man of his counsel. You will have divined the 
 secret cause of the difference between these two readers. 
 The one has no special interest in that remote region of the 
 world, the other has serious thoughts of proceeding to it, 
 and making it his home. The one reads it for mere read- 
 ing's sake, the other reads it that he may act on the infor- 
 mation. Precisely the same difference exists between the 
 way in which two men read the Bible, and especially the 
 Epistle to the Romans. The river of the water of life is 
 
330 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 clear as crystal whether evangelist or apostle holds to our 
 lips the cup he has filled from it, but we may look upon 
 the kind of interest with which this epistle is read as a test 
 of religious character. To many it is dry and wearisome, 
 and seldom do they turn to it. But once let a man be 
 thoroughly roused to spiritual concern, intently occupied 
 with the great problem, " What must I do to be saved?" 
 and he will hang over it with absorbing interest, and the 
 light of truth which shines from it into his heart will be as 
 bright and gladdening as that which streams from any of 
 the Gospels. We may narrow the observation we have 
 made, and say, that this epistle will be read with very 
 different feelings by the same man at different times. 
 Christian biography tells us of one labouring under deep 
 spiritual distress who once opened it almost mechanically. 
 His eye fell on the words before us. He had read them a 
 hundred times before, but they had never spoken to his 
 heart. Now he reads, and in a sudden and marvellous 
 light he sees the mystery of atonement, the cross of Christ 
 rises before him, and all that was done thereon for him is 
 understood, the darkness has past and the true light now 
 shineth. Thenceforth his holiest associations clustered 
 round these words, and long after, when the gloom of a 
 strange disease settled down on his mind, William Cowper, 
 for of him we speak, could w r rite those words — looking 
 back upon that time of blessedness, as Adam in his old age 
 would remember his first walk in Paradise — 
 
 " Where is the blessedness I knew 
 When first I saw the Lord ? 
 Where is the soul-refreshing view 
 Of Jesus and His word ? 
 
SERMONS. 331 
 
 " What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd, 
 How sweet their memory still, 
 But they have left an aching void 
 The world can never fill." 
 
 The character in which Christ is set before us as a 
 Propitation. 
 
 I. By this may be generally understood, the setting 
 forth of Christ's death as that atoning sacrifice by means 
 of which the justice of God was satisfied for the dishonour 
 done to His holy law, and reconciliation made between the 
 two parties lying at variance, God on the ona side, and 
 man on the other. An opinion widely prevalent in our 
 day, and the distinguishing tenet of a popular school in 
 theology, is, that it was not God who needed to be recon- 
 ciled to man, but man to God. God is all goodness, all 
 pity, all love ; it is man who is all distrust, all coldness 
 and needless dread ; the only barrier is on man's side, there 
 never was any on God's ; it needed no atoning oblation, no 
 shedding of pure and holy blood to remove it. But this 
 can only be held when one ignores the fact of sin, and the 
 fact of holiness that abhors sin, and righteousness that 
 must punish it, the fact of the law and the Law-giver, 
 who, because He is all justice and all purit3 r , must at 
 all hazards be upheld. Till sin was punished, till God's 
 righteousness was displayed, till His law had been magni- 
 fied and made honourable in the face of the universe, God 
 could not be reconciled to man. He was estranged from 
 man, as well as man from Him ; the sinner shut out from 
 God by the barrier of unpardoned guilt, and God shut out 
 from the sinner by the barrier of insulted holiness. "We 
 cannot hold the radical truth of the text unless we bear 
 
332 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 this in mind. This is the full meaning of the Son being 
 set forth as a propitiation, as by His obedience and blood- 
 shedding removing the double barrier, and standing in the 
 middle space between them, God and man advancing can 
 meet together on that open ground, and with their hands 
 clasped in His, be set at one in Him. 
 
 II. But there is a special meaning in the word employed, 
 to which we must call attention to understand it in all its 
 force and beauty. There is an allusion in it to one of 
 the most impressive symbols of the Jewish tabernacle ; it 
 literally means " a propitiatory." What w r as this propiti- 
 atory 1 It was the lid or covering of the Ark of the 
 Covenant in the Holy of Holies, made of fine gold, and 
 overshadowed on either side by the two cherubims with 
 outspread wings, over which the Shekinah, the fiery 
 cloud of the Divine Presence, rested. The name given to 
 this was the " mercy-seat? the resting-place of God's 
 glory, the throne of grace ; the mercy-seat and the pro- 
 pitiatory are one and the same thing. You will remem- 
 ber that God himself said, " There I will meet with thee, 
 and I will commune with thee from above the mercy- 
 seat, from between the two cherubims." If you turn 
 to Lev. xvi. 12-15, you will see how it was that God on 
 this propitiatory was to be approached, how alone He 
 would meet and commune with sinful man from this throne 
 of grace. On the day of atonement the high priest 
 entered the Holy of Holies with a censer filled with 
 burning coals from the altar, and his hands full of incense. 
 The incense was cast on the coals, and a fragrant cloud 
 arose and covered with its smoke the mercy-seat ; this was 
 prayer rising to God, without which He cannot be ap- 
 
SERMONS. 333 
 
 proached by man. But mark what followed ; while this 
 blue incense smoke was floating over the mercy-seat, the 
 priest was to take of the blood of the victim previously 
 slain, and sprinkle it upon the mercy-seat, and before it 
 seven times. And this falling of blood-drops on the pure 
 golden covering of the ark was the making of atonement, 
 and then and there did it become a propitiatory, where 
 God accepted the sacrifice, frankly forgave the sin of His 
 people, and graciously communed with man. This will 
 help us to understand what the apostle means when he 
 says here that Christ is the propitiatory. Christ is the 
 blood-sprinkled mercy-seat. In Him God draws near 
 to man. On the pure gold of His essential {divinity) 
 holiness lies the traces of the blood His suffering manhood 
 shed. 
 
 The Father sees it and says, That blood was shed to 
 honour my law, and looks forth on the sinner well pleased. 
 The sinner sees it and says, That blood was shed to atone 
 for my guilt, and looks up to meet the Father's smile of 
 forgiveness and peace. God and man meeting here are 
 reconciled. " He is our peace," making both one by the 
 blood of atonement, or at-one-ment. 
 
 1. The mercy-seat or propitiatory covered the law. The 
 two stone tables which condemned the sinner lay beneath 
 it. Between them and God was the covering propitiatory 
 with sprinkled blood, else sin could not have been forgiven, 
 and God could not have been gracious. And thus only can 
 you be freed from condemnation. Till you have come to 
 the blood of sprinkling, even to Jesus the Mediator, till 
 you have met with God in Christ, till Christ stands between 
 you and the law, covering it with His pierced hand, there 
 is nothing to shelter you from its righteous penalties. 
 
334 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 " The handwriting of ordinances is not blotted out, that 
 sentence is not cancelled, its voice of accusation is not 
 stilled, it appeals at any moment against you." " The soul 
 that sinneth, it shall die." "He that believeth not is 
 condemned already." He that would presume to draw 
 near to God and lay his hand on that law without that 
 covering over it, without that blood between, would meet 
 with the fate of the men of Bethshemesh when they looked 
 into the ark. But there is "no condemnation to them 
 which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, 
 but after the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in 
 Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and 
 death. For what the law could not do, in that it was 
 weak through the flesh, God, sending His own Son in the 
 likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the 
 flesh : that the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled 
 in us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit," 
 2. The propitiatory was the meeting-place of God and 
 man. Here, He said, " I will meet with thee and com. 
 mune with thee." Men sometimes drew near to God 
 presumptuously, and God met with them in His glory, 
 but that meeting was terrible, never to be forgotten. On 
 one day two men, anointed priests they were and sons of 
 Aaron, went into the holy place with their censers in their 
 hand. They burned incense before the altar, but not ac- 
 cording to the appointed rites, not with pure and holy 
 hearts, it was strange fire. And suddenly a blinding 
 glory flashed forth from the inner shrine and consumed 
 them. They died before the Lord. An awful memorial 
 of the fate of all whom God meets out of Christ . Here 
 will I meet with thee, not elsewhere \ or if thou wilt have 
 it elsewhere, not as a God of mercy, but of holiness, 
 
SERMONS. 335 
 
 terrible in its bright unsiifferable glory, terrible as a con- 
 suming fire. But here will I meet with him who will 
 meet with me. Thou who art still far from God, seeking 
 peace but finding none, weary with thy load of sin, here 
 God is waiting to meet with thee if thou wilt meet with 
 Him. He is waiting to be gracious, waiting to speak 
 forgiveness and hold forth the hand of reconciliation to 
 give peace to thy conscience, hope to thy heart, holiness 
 to thy soul. Here He will commune with thee, not turn- 
 ing away, but drawing near; seeking thy confidence, 
 winning thee to a full and penitent confession, that He 
 may open up His own warm heart of love and discover 
 all the riches of His mercy. And as He is there in Christ 
 reconciling sinners to Himself, so it is in Christ that He 
 meets and communes with His believing people. In Him 
 and through Him God makes known all His will to man ; 
 Christ is the living utterance of the Father's thoughts, the 
 visible revelation of the Father's glory : " He that hath 
 seen me, hath seen the Father." To grow in the know- 
 ledge of Christ is to increase in the knowledge of God. 
 As you walk with Him, God walks beside you. As you 
 lean on Him and look on His face, you read there all the 
 Father's heart. What a cheering thought to the believer, 
 that He who leads him step by step along earthly ways of 
 suffering, can guide him step by step up bright ascents of 
 holiness into the innermost sanctuary of glory. His home 
 from everlasting ; there our elder Brother, our kinsman 
 Redeemer, is over the house of God, all the keys hanging 
 at His girdle that can open each door of its many mansions 
 and unlock all its treasures of grace. 
 
 3. The propitiatory was the place of prayer and offer- 
 ing. No believing Israelite would have hope that his 
 
336 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 prayers would be heard, or his sacrifice accepted, except 
 through realising the scene within the veil. God present 
 there on the blood-sprinkled mercy-seat. As he stood 
 before the altar in the outer court, the eye of faith rested 
 on the propitiatory within. It is thus that we must draw 
 near to God in prayer, in penitence, in praise, in self-con- 
 secration ; in every office of devotion, in every act of duty. 
 We cannot enter into the holiest but by the blood of 
 Jesus, but through faith in that blood the lowliest heart 
 has boldness to enter there. At the sound of that pass- 
 word uttered by faith, the veil is drawn aside and God 
 is seen on His throne of grace. Wherever and whenever 
 that cry goes up to heaven — Faith's hand on the head of 
 the sacrifice — in whatever desert spot of the earth it may 
 be, God's presence is there making it holy ground, there 
 the foot of the heavenly ladder rests, the angels of God 
 ascend and descend upon the Son of man. Our most 
 fervent prayers, our best and holiest duties, would have no 
 acceptance but in Him ; the poison spot of sin, the canker- 
 ing rust of earthliness is in them all till that blood touches 
 and purifies them. Not as the ashes of the heifer purified 
 the Israelite from his uncleanness, the blood of Him who 
 through the eternal Spirit offered Himself without spot 
 to God must purge the conscience before the soul can 
 offer a living sacrifice. There must be a constant appli- 
 cation. To the very last, the holiest saint that ever lived 
 has no standing except in Christ ; not his sincerity, not 
 his innocence, not the works of righteousness which he 
 has done, not the peace nor joy in believing He has ex- 
 perienced, none of these things, but the righteousness his 
 Surety wrought, the blood his Saviour shed, the death that 
 Jesus died, and the life He lives in heaven. 
 
SEBMONS. 337 
 
 A few points of practical instruction. 
 
 1. The abounding grace of God. He sets Him forth as 
 the propitiatory. It was He who designed and presided 
 over the consecration of the mercy-seat of Israel, saying, 
 
 " There will I meet with thee." We believe the minute- 
 ness with which everything relating to the mercy-seat was 
 arranged, was meant to prefigure the completeness of the 
 plan of salvation in the Father's mind from the beginning. 
 His hand made and fashioned the true mercy-seat, when 
 the Mediator said on coming into the world, "A body hast 
 thou prepared me." And it is He who devised the whole 
 method of salvation, who shows Himself in Christ recon- 
 ciling a guilty world unto Himself. What greater proof 
 of His love than that He, whose law the sinner had broken, 
 should provide the Lamb for the sin-offering, should raise 
 the altar and bind the victim, and stretch forth His hand 
 and strike the blow, and then proclaim, " Behold the Lamb 
 of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." " Look 
 unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth, for I 
 am God and there is none else." A just God and yet a 
 Saviour. " Truly where sin abounded, grace did much 
 more abound." 
 
 2. The all- sufficiency and suitableness of this propitia- 
 tion. It is often spoken of as an exhibition of God's mercy, 
 and so it is ; but this is not all, and if we think it is, we 
 have but an imperfect and mistaken view of it. What 
 makes it truly divine is that here God displays His right- 
 eousness in the remission of sins. It is not only a gracious 
 Father, but it is a just, holy, sin-punishing Judge who here 
 pardons the sinner and stretches forth the golden sceptre 
 from the throne of grace. It is the thought of that justice 
 and holiness, those glorious perfections which must be at 
 
ooti THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 eternal and irreconcilable variance with sin, that fill the 
 soul with dread when first awakened, when it sees itself, a 
 guilty creature standing in the flaming brightness of God's 
 law. The gloom that is around and within it is only 
 broken by those awful flashes of light. The way is dark 
 as when it goes crying, u What must I do to be saved." 
 On some happy moment it sees the cross before it, and 
 God's, not Pilate's, superscription over it, and lighting up 
 all its meaning. What does it read there ? That God 
 hates sin, that He has punished sin, and yet that He 
 forgives me my sin because my Surety has borne it in His 
 own body on that tree. It reaches to the deepest hurt of 
 conscience, that breathes a healing peace to the very core 
 of my sin-troubled soul. I see that God is not only mer- 
 ciful, but just in His mercifulness, yea, never more just, 
 more holy, more true to His holy nature and His holy law 
 than when He justifieth the ungodly. It is the seeing 
 God's righteousness as well as His mercy in the death of 
 Christ that fills the soul with the light of realised salvation. 
 3. It is by faith we become interested in the propitiation. 
 With my burden of sin I come God-led to the cross, and 
 look up and see the atoning sacrifice, and light shines into 
 my heart, I understand it, I believe it, I accept it with all 
 my soul as made for me. This is faith — my burden falls 
 off, my guilt is pardoned. "Be not afraid, only believe.'' 
 Wretched, almost despairing, the iron frame wasted by 
 inward trouble, Luther lies on his pallet in the Augus- 
 tinian convent at Erfurt. An old monk who attends on 
 him one day repeats the words, " I believe in the remission 
 of sins." The words take hold. The great Physician 
 through them lays His cool hand on that stricken soul. 
 The crisis of the fever is past, health of body came with 
 
SERMONS. 339 
 
 peace of mind. And in the might of this, the solitary 
 monk goes forth to shake Christendom, and accomplish 
 the Reformation. But oh ! how many cast a cold, heart- 
 less, unbelieving look on that sight of redeeming sorrow 
 and love, that cross. They may see Him, but not now ; 
 behold Him, but not nigh. They may understand, but they 
 do not believe ; they may believe, but they do not want to 
 accept it. They regard it as a sight which does not concern 
 them, because as yet they have never felt the reality of 
 sin and God's wrath against it. Nothing proclaims the 
 sinfulness of man like that very cross of Christ, nothing 
 aggravates his guilt so much as living in sin within sight 
 of it. Every time the gospel is preached that cross is 
 lifted up, and the Saviour evidently set before you. The 
 same proclamation is made to you which wounded to the 
 quick the sinners in the streets of Jerusalem, some of 
 them men whose hands were stained with the blood of the 
 Lord of glory. " Repent and be baptized every one ot 
 you." Believe and ye shall receive it. But be sure that 
 you believe, that you come to the Saviour for yourselves, 
 and receive from His hand the gift of salvation for yourself. 
 You are in danger ; you must feel that. You need 
 deliverance ; you must feel that. Deliverance is provided ; 
 you must feel that, and avail yourself of it. This is faith. 
 Your life is at stake, you must haste to the refuge; the 
 door is open, you must enter in. This is faith. Escape 
 for your life, tarry not in the plain. Flee for refuge to lay 
 hold on the hope set before you in the gospel — Jesus 
 Christ, whom God is now setting forth as the propitiation. 
 
V. 
 
 t* And David saw that Saul had come out to seek his life : and 
 David was in the wilderness of Ziph in a wood. And Jonathan, 
 Saul's son, arose, and went to David into the wood, and streng- 
 thened his hand in God. And he said unto him, Fear not : 
 for the hand of Saul my father shall not find thee : and thou 
 shalt be king over Israel, and I shall be next unto thee ; and 
 that also Saul my father knoweth. And they two made a 
 covenant before the Lord : and David abode in the wood, and 
 Jonathan went to his house." — 1 Sam. xxiii. 15-18. 
 
 It is an old story, that of the friendship between these two 
 young men ; but how fresh is it still, how full of life and 
 nature, how warmly it appeals to the noblest sympathies 
 of our common humanity ! In the roll of near thirty 
 centuries no dust has gathered on it, time has not dimmed 
 the brightness of that pure, generous, unselfish, manly 
 affection. Those hands once clasped so fast together in 
 evil days have long been sundered, and the lips stilled for 
 ever that swore that brotherly covenant. In their death 
 they were divided, — Jonathan, in the flower of youth, 
 sleeping the warrior's sleep under the tree of Jabesh, and 
 David, old and gray-headed, laid amid a nation's tears in 
 the royal mausoleum on Zion. Yet there is that in the 
 loves and friendships of this mysterious nature that defies 
 time and the grave ; the names and memories of these 
 two are linked indissolubly together ; side by side they 
 
SERMONS. 341 
 
 stand, in the nobleness of their faith, in the beauty of 
 their self-devotion, and look forth upon us, an example of 
 all that is true, and just, and pure, and loving, out of the 
 mist of years. How touchingly is their first meeting told, 
 the beginnings of that friendship that was ever after be- 
 tween them so constant, so unchangeable. It was on the 
 evening of the battle when the giant fell. " It came to 
 pass when David had made an end of speaking unto Saul, 
 that the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, 
 and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." Then Jonathan 
 and David made a covenant. All was bright and peaceful 
 then. Hope could paint the future in its richest hues ; 
 they were to go side by side ; they thought not of the 
 sorrows and dangers that were to come, — to come soon and 
 suddenly, and to expose their affection to so severe a strain. 
 In such circumstances many a compact would have been 
 broken in sunder, but theirs stood the test. Nor is it 
 difficult to divine wherein its great strength lay. They 
 were men of the true old Hebrew stamp and mould — grave, 
 earnest, God-fearing men ; their vows were made in God's 
 name, hallowed by a common hope, sealed and consecrated 
 by prayer. Again and again this comes out. To mention 
 only one instance. When, to avoid the jealous watch of 
 Saul, they took leave of each other and met in secret, we 
 are told that " they wept one with another, until David 
 exceeded. And Jonathan said, Go in peace, forasmuch as 
 we have sworn both of us in the name of the Lord, saying, 
 The Lord be between me and thee, and between my seed 
 and thy seed for ever." There we see the covenant be- 
 tween them was not one of sentiment but of sacredness. 
 This is still more remarkably brought out in the passage 
 before us. 
 
342 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 I. The situation of David at this time. To outward 
 view nothing could have been more dark and disheartening. 
 It was one of extremity, enough to have cast down a mind 
 that had only its own nerve and elasticity, strength and 
 courage and hopefulness to depend upon, into despondency. 
 Keenly must he have felt the strange reverses that had 
 befallen him. Not long since he had been the champion 
 and idol of Israel, the favourite of the king — now a broken 
 and banished man, driven from court and city, hunted like 
 a partridge upon the mountains. Unwittingly he has brought 
 misfortune on his kindred ; the quiet home at Bethlehem is 
 broken up, his father and mother in their old age forced 
 to seek an asylum in the land of Moab, from which his 
 ancestress Kuth had come long ago. He and his men 
 have been wandering from place to place " whithersoever 
 they could go." And now he is shut up in some rocky 
 fastness or cavern, a stronghold buried in the forests that 
 covered the mountains in that outpost of Judah. 
 
 To this period in his chequered life may be referred that 
 psalm, " I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there 
 was no man that would know me : refuge failed me ; no 
 man cared for my soul ; I cried unto Thee, O Lord ; I 
 said, Thou art my refuge and portion in the land of the 
 living. Attend unto my cry, for I am brought very low ; 
 deliver me from my persecutors, for they are stronger than 
 I." How different was it with David in this solitude of 
 wood and mountain from the time when, with a free, un- 
 anxious heart, he had led his flocks in the green pastures 
 and by the still waters of Bethlehem, and sung of the 
 shepherd care of God. God had strange wa} T s of training 
 His servants for their work. Would you have thought 
 that this man, so persecuted, this outlaw under ban, was 
 
SEEMONS. 343 
 
 the man of Heaven's election, the chosen and anointed 
 king of Israel ? Yet so it was. All these troubles that 
 have come upon him are distinctly traceable to this, — 
 Heaven's calling and consecration was upon him, marking 
 him out from amongst men. 
 
 The training of Israel in the wilderness is acted over 
 again in this man — for his future work, this hard appren- 
 ticeship — for his high vocation, this stern and protracted 
 discipline. 
 
 So has it been acted over and over again in the experience 
 of the servant of God. In the deserts of the world the 
 best and holiest have left unfading footprints ; Abraham, 
 Moses, Elijah, the Baptist, and a greater than all, have 
 been there. So may each expect who is striving to walk 
 in the steps of Christ, to be forced from the crowd, led 
 into the wilderness to be tried and tempted, to feel the 
 solitariness that comes over the spirit when, in the battle 
 with invisible foes, it feels stripped of all native strength, 
 bereft of all self-acquired resources, and must cast itself in 
 its extremity on God. From the day that seal is set 
 upon it, that oil of the spiritual consecration to be a "king 
 and priest unto God," poured upon its head, it must be as 
 " Christ was in this world," it must " fill up that which is 
 behind in the sufferings of Christ," it must share His 
 tribulation, it must take up the cross. Yet always differ- 
 ent from Him, the loved and first begotten Son of God, the 
 greatest sufferer, the " Man of sorrows," He who has 
 sounded the mystery of every trial, and " in all points was 
 tempted," the only One who knew the reality of " for- 
 saken," what it was to be utterly alone, seeing no friend 
 between earth and heaven when He cried, " My God, my 
 God, why hast Thou forsaken me." 
 
344 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 II. Unlooked-for consolation. It was natural in David, 
 in that life of hair-breadth escapes and ceaseless perils, 
 with but a step between him and death, to say, " No man 
 careth for my soul." Had it been literally true, he would 
 have kept faster hold of the faithfulness of God. " I am 
 poor and needy, yet the Lord thinketh upon me." Yet 
 God will send him a message of hope, and by the hand 
 which of all others in the world was the one to make it 
 welcome. Not even an angel's visit could have put such 
 courage and gladness into him ; his human heart yearned 
 for the sound of a human voice, for the grasp of a human 
 hand. And how must his drooping spirit have been re- 
 vived, when that little group, whom the watcher on the 
 cliff had at first discerned by the gleam of their armour, as 
 they pressed forward up the broken mountain path and 
 through the tangled thicket, proved to be friends, and 
 Jonathan at their head. Very memorable that secret in- 
 terview, that last and tenderest farewell. "What more 
 cheering words could have been spoken, what truer service 
 could he have rendered than this, " he strengthened his 
 hand in God." He reminded him of God's power, God's 
 promise, God's presence. 
 
 1. God's poiver. David's enemy was the king of Israel 
 at the head of its bravest warriors ; but what after all 
 could he do against a life dear to God 1 — invisible defenders, 
 the shining ones of Mahanaim, lest any should hurt it, 
 watched round it night and day. That hand which had 
 turned aside the javelin hurled at his breast, were he lying 
 prostrate and defenceless at Saul's feet, and the sword up- 
 lifted to strike, that hand could avert the blow. Omni- 
 potence realised by faith, to what a vantage-ground does 
 it lift the servant of the Highest, how out of weakness 
 
SERMONS. 345 
 
 does it make him strong. What a poor thing is this 
 human power after all : it could not force Jonathan apart 
 from David, it could not break the links of that friendship, 
 it could not weaken, far less crush, that love which God had 
 given as the solace of His life. And what a vain thing 
 is all the power of the host of evil, all the might of dark- 
 ness, when it tries to destroy the faith which is the life of 
 God in the soul of man, to separate one believer from the 
 love of Christ. " The)' shall never perish ; neither shall 
 any one pluck them out of my hand." " This is the 
 victory that overcometh the world, even our faith." 
 
 2. God"s promise. Circumstances had greatly changed 
 with David since the days of their friendship. They had 
 courted and flattered him then, who were now seeking his 
 life. The old times of his obscurity, the peaceful and 
 happy days of his village life, were they not better than 
 the evil days on which he had fallen now ? God's promise 
 had not changed. God had said that he would one day 
 be king over Israel, and king he must be. He is now 
 lurking in the gloomy recesses of the forests, but if God 
 so wills it, it may be but a step from the wilderness to 
 the throne. Nothing could alter the word that had gone 
 forth from His lips. Saul knew it, though he set himself 
 to falsify it. Jonathan knew it, and could dismiss all 
 fear. David knew it, and could possess himself in 
 patience. All that God hath said shall be, must be. " He 
 speaks and it is done." His yea is yea ; His nay, nay. 
 " Thus saith the Lord ; " take your stand upon this, and 
 you will find it sure and steadfast. Eest your hopes upon 
 it, and you will find a firm foundation when all else reels 
 and crumbles into dust. There may be doubts and per- 
 plexities round you, but he who has hold of a word of 
 
346 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 God lias a clue to guide through the gloomiest labyrinth, 
 " a lamp for his feet, and a light for his path." Trials — 
 but this is strong consolation — " call upon me in the day of 
 trouble ; I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me." 
 Temptations — but on this shield of faith, "it is written," 
 the fiery arrow of the tempter strikes and is quenched. 
 Blessed is the repose of that doubting mind, sweet the rest 
 and refreshing of that weary heart which has once learned 
 to pillow itself on the promises of Jesus Christ. "If it 
 were not so, I would have told you." " Thou wilt keep 
 him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because 
 he trusteth in Thee." 
 
 3. His prese nee. The sight of Jonathan in that strange 
 and lonesome region was a sign that God had thought of 
 him, that not one of His servant's troubles and anxieties 
 was unknown or unregarded. But if no human friend 
 had come, God would have still been with him. David 
 had learned this in some measure ; he was to learn it in 
 darker days to come, when he would long for a sight 
 of that face in vain. "Lover and friend put far from him, 
 and his companions into darkness." " Thou art my hiding 
 place," he was to say, not the forest's darkest covert, not 
 the mountain cave, not the desert solitude, not the muni- 
 tions of rocks, but " Thou art my rock and my fortress, 
 and my tower of strength. From the ends of the earth 
 will I cry unto Thee; when my heart is overwhelmed, lead 
 me to the Rock that is higher than I." This was the 
 secret of his trust ; this he had learned by the strangest 
 and hardest discipline. This we are to learn, — how real 
 an attainment it may be to " dwell in the secret place of 
 the Most High, to abide under the shadow of the 
 Almighty," — to have always the sense of His presence, in 
 
SERMONS. 347 
 
 the closet and in tlie crowd, in the stormy day and in the 
 sleepless night, passing through the waters, standing in the 
 furnace. No place so secret that He is not there — so 
 solitary that we have not His society. Xo effort of enemies 
 can exclude that Presence, no wall can be built high enough 
 from earth to shut out the light of heaven. Xo gates and 
 bars massive enough to keep out the Angel of Deliver- 
 ance where in trouble and peril a saint is praying on his 
 knees. 
 
 A few words of practical inference. 
 
 1. The best service Christian friends can render to 
 friends, — " to strengthen each other's hands in God, to ex- 
 hort one another daily, to consider one another to provoke 
 unto love and good works." Surely those who are on the 
 same road of pilgrimage should encourage each other by 
 the way, speak of their difficulties, impart the result of 
 their experience, recount their blessings, tell of the good- 
 ness and the mercy that have followed them, and animate 
 each other by the blessed hopes, the vision of the King in 
 His beauty, the prospect of the land that is far off. And 
 what higher service can a Christian render to any with 
 whom he is connected by ties of blood or neighbourhood, 
 or familiar acquaintance, or even occasional intercourse, 
 whom he may see thoughtless, living under the full in- 
 fluence of the world, than to bring them to the knowledge 
 of Christ, to share with them the secret of his own happi- 
 ness, to welcome them to a participation in his own hope. 
 Are you doing this, my friends? If so readily the natural 
 affections of your hearts gush forth in sympathy when you 
 see those near and dear to you in sickness or in danger, 
 should it not be doubly so with the affections of the re- 
 newed heart, prompting by kind and anxious efforts to 
 
348 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURN?. 
 
 deliver them from the danger of a life without God, and a 
 death without hope ? 
 
 2. Your encouragement. Jonathan was a true friend 
 because he strengthened David's hand in God, in God's 
 word. Keep to this, and all is well ; the simplicity conveys 
 a saving impression : the bow drawn at a venture may 
 send the arrow home. When we are drawn off this 
 ground, our strength departs, we are weak as other men. 
 The proof of it is before us. There was one thing Jona- 
 than said that would have given a false encouragement, a 
 precarious and deceitful hope, had David relied upon it. 
 It was so natural that Jonathan, telling him of brighter 
 days that were to come, should cheer his friend by saying 
 that he would share his honours and his prosperity : "I 
 shall be next to thee." A noble and princely soul was his ! 
 No envy of David, no jealousy that he had come in and 
 taken his birthright ; his fondest earthly hope was to live 
 to see David king, and he tells David he will live to see it. 
 Alas ! for Jonathan. Alas ! for earthly hopes. He 
 could not look into the dark future ; he knew not these 
 were his last words to David ; he thought not that ere that 
 day should come he w T ould be lying pierced by the Philis- 
 tine arrow on the bleak height of Gilboa, — of the passion- 
 ate lament, " I am distressed for tliee, my brother Jona- 
 than ; very pleasant hast thou been to me : thy love was 
 wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the 
 mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished ! " 
 
 That life must seem a failure, its hopes thus blighted, 
 its course closed so soon. But now there was this success 
 in it, that he had strengthened David's hand in God, that 
 he had helped to maintain that confidence which finds 
 sublime expression in the Psalms. That was a great and 
 
SERMONS. 6V3 
 
 worthy thing to have done. And these are the things 
 which to have done will be to make your lives truly 
 useful, your memories truly blessed. Not to have 
 achieved some splendid success, not to have gained a 
 great name, or left a great fortune, but to have streng- 
 thened some weak hand, and comforted some weary 
 heart, to have taken by the hand brother or child, friend 
 or neighbour, and brought them to Christ, or to have bent 
 over some poor stranger by the way-side and poured oil 
 and wine into his wounds, to have filled for some parched 
 and thirsty lip a cup of water from the well of salvation. 
 
 3. It was a human friend that brought comfort to 
 David. It is a human friend that comes in our spiritual 
 extremity to us. No angel, no spirit, but the man Christ 
 Jesus, speaking to us with the sound of our kindly speech 
 laying upon us the kind touch of a warm human hand. 
 " In all things it behoved Him to be made like unto us." 
 Why 1 that He might be a merciful and faithful High 
 Priest, " taken from among men that He might have com- 
 passion on the ignorant, and on those that are out of the 
 way." Lost in the wilderness, the good Shepherd has 
 come after you to seek and save you, and bring you to the 
 fold. Once you hear His voice and follow Him, you have 
 a friend tried and constant, a friend watchful, almighty, 
 and unchanging, a friend born for sorrow, the same yes- 
 terday, to-day, and for ever. " Come unto me, all ye 
 that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you 
 rest." You may tremble as you stand on the Rock, but 
 the TCock cannot tremble under you. 
 
VI. 
 
 For if the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer 
 sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh ; 
 how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eter- 
 nal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your 
 conscience from dead w T orks to serve the living God ? " — Heb. ix. 
 13, 14. 
 
 The variety of the rites of the Jewish law, and the minute- 
 ness with which they are described, at first sight may 
 appear strange to many minds. In reading those parts of 
 Holy Scripture where the ceremonies of the tabernacle or 
 temple worship are enjoined, the offerings and cleansings, 
 the solemn festivals of penitence and joy, they seem to be 
 lost in a maze of ancient forms and worn-out symbols, — 
 rites which once had a sacred import, and spake with 
 thrilling voices to the inmost heart of Israel, but which 
 have lost all their meaning to the actual world, and look as 
 mysterious as those strange lines of hieroglyphics which 
 you see on the walls of Egyptian and Assyrian temples. 
 Even those inscriptions can tell us something when we find 
 a clue to them. And there is one key that unlocks every 
 secret, and opens every symbol rite of the Jewish law ; one 
 grand reality that lights up with infinite significance those 
 dim shadows of the temple. The name of Christ is written 
 on the " door-posts and lintels," it meets us everywhere 
 
SERMONS. 351 
 
 within its walls, and the blood that streamed from every 
 altar, the water that sparkled in every laver, were but 
 ways of keeping before the eye and the heart of the wor- 
 shipper the great fact of His sacrifice for sin. 
 
 The ordinance of the red heifer provided for one defiled 
 with contact with the dead, and the minuteness with which 
 every part of it was regulated, shows the importance 
 attached to it. The words before us are the interpretation 
 of this symbolic rite. 
 
 I. The manner in which prepared. The animal was to 
 be of a reddish colour, free from blemish, and one whose 
 neck had never been touched by the yoke. The fact of its 
 being a sin-offering, slain to cleanse the Israelite from 
 pollution, would seem to account for the selection of this 
 colour. It was the deep crimson dye of guilt which, through 
 a better sacrifice, was to be purged away. Unspotted, un- 
 touched by the yoke, it was the type of the pure and sin- 
 less Surety, who had never passed under the bondage of 
 sin, who, in His own divinity one with the Father, was 
 under no yoke of law. Of His own free-will, not by 
 necessity of nature, He stooped His neck to the yoke, " and 
 though He was a Son, yet learned" obedience to the 
 Father's will "by the things which He suffered." 
 
 Thus chosen, the victim was led without the camp by 
 Eleazer, the priest next in rank to Aaron, and slain — in 
 this, of course, a vivid symbol of Him who, that He might 
 redeem us by His own blood, suffered without the gate of 
 the Holy City. At this point the peculiar character of the 
 rite begins. On the spot where it was slaughtered the 
 heifer was to be wholly consumed, and as the smoke and 
 flame ascended, the priest was to take cedar wood, a tuft 
 
352 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 of scarlet wool and hyssop, and cast them into the fire to 
 be mingled with the ashes of the victim. The hyssop was 
 a plant that possessed purifying virtue, and as such was 
 employed in the service of the temple. The cedar wood, 
 giving out its fragrance in the fire, might denote the worth 
 and efficacy of the sacrifice in the sight of God, and the 
 shred of scarlet might be meant to bring the great fact of 
 guilt more clearly before the mind, to set that sin before 
 his eyes which was the cause of the sacrifice being offered. 
 The ashes were to be carefully collected, and preserved in 
 a clean place without the camp, with a view to their future 
 use. There was nothing in this heap of dust to attract the 
 eyes of men ; they might seem only fit to be trodden under 
 foot, or to be scattered to the winds ; but they were precious 
 in the sight of God — they were the ashes of sacrifice. That 
 body which hung pierced and bleeding on the cross of 
 Calvary was of little account in the eye of the mocking 
 crowd who gathered round it ; but oh, of what infinite 
 value was that death of shame and suffering in the eye of 
 God! He looked on it, and saw His law honoured, His 
 justice satisfied. It showed the glory of His holiness, the 
 riches of His mercy, sin condemned and the sinner saved. 
 That lifeless form might be taken down and hidden in the 
 sepulchre, and in the eyes of men its burial was but like 
 any other, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ; but, behold those 
 heavenly watchers at the door, that light within, that living 
 Saviour coming forth as the resurrection and the life ! And 
 oh ! how precious ought this sacrifice of God's own Son to 
 be in our esteem. It was the ransom price of man's re- 
 demption, and yet to how many does it seem of no account. 
 If we are rejecting it because willing to live in sin, if we 
 despise the blessings for which that blood was freely given, 
 
SERMONS. 353 
 
 we must be held as saying that the death of Christ is 
 nothing more to us than the common death of man. We 
 are " treading under foot the Son of God, and counting 
 the blood of the covenant an unholy thing," scattering the 
 ashes instead of gathering them. 
 
 II. The manner in which applied. In order to teach the 
 people that death was the fruit of sin, all who in any way 
 came in contact with it were held to be defiled. Where- 
 ever one had died, as in a tent, the place and all within it 
 was polluted, every open vessel, and every person that 
 entered it. In this case the Israelite was separated from 
 his kith and kin as if a taint were upon him ; he could not 
 take part in the worship of the tabernacle, he was com- 
 pelled to live by himself without the camp, till he was 
 freed from his defilement. 
 
 This was done by a solemn act of purifying. A portion 
 of these holy ashes was mixed with pure spring water, and 
 a bunch of hyssop dipped in the water. With this the 
 person was sprinkled twice on the third day, and on the 
 seventh day after his separation, and then he could return 
 into the camp and mingle with his brethren. " These 
 things are an allegory." The presence of death in any 
 form was polluting. That body that lies in yonder tent 
 may be that of some aged saint, just gone to Abraham's 
 bosom, come to his grave in a full age, like a shock of corn 
 fully ripe, or that of some sweet gentle child who had just 
 sighed out its last innocent breath on its mother's breast ; 
 but whether it was the ripe or the green that was gathered, 
 that death, though a blessing to the departed, casts 
 a blight and shadow on those that remain. Death is the 
 image of sin. Every tear of sorrow, every cry of suffering, 
 
 Z 
 
354 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 every groan of anguish brings it before us ; but oh how 
 bitterly do we feel what an evil thing it must be when the 
 light is darkened in the dwelling, some pleasant voice is 
 hushed, some warm heart is stilled for ever, and all that is 
 left of that which was as part of our very being, is but a 
 shell of earth, a mouldering heap of dust. 
 
 Sin itself is death, spiritual death, a separation from God, 
 the source of life. Wherever it is it leaves the stain, and 
 breathes the taint of pollution in the eyes of a holy God. 
 The bleeding body of Abel was not so hideous a sight as the 
 face of Cain. Our human nature, because thus defiled, is the 
 body of sin, and death, the evil thing, creeps and winds into 
 our secret heart, and clings to our inward thoughts ; and those 
 actions which may seem to ourselves and others pure are 
 dead works, the poison-taint is on them. How is this 
 deep, this cleaving, this engrained defilement to be radically 
 cleansed % The only means of cleansing was typified to 
 Israel. The holy ashes mingled in the running water 
 shadowed forth the atoning death of Christ, applied by the 
 living Spirit of grace to our polluted souls, (a small 
 quantity would suffice the abiding efficacy of the atone- 
 ment.) And if these ashes sprinkling the unclean, sancti- 
 fied to the purifying of the flesh, how much more shall the 
 blood of Christ, the blood of sprinkling, purge our con- 
 science from dead works. Thus only can guilt be washed 
 out from the conscience ; not only sin forgiven, but the 
 heart inwardly purified from its stain. It is easy to go 
 through some form of outward purifying, like the pharisaic 
 whitewashing of the sepulchre, easy to appear fair and 
 spotless in the eyes of men, but how often does conscience 
 utter its condemning voice in the recesses of the soul ! It 
 cannot be hushed into silence, its alarm cannot be stilled, 
 
SERMONS. 355 
 
 till the drops of this sprinkled blood have fallen on it, and 
 one finds peace with God in receiving the atonement. 
 The merits of this death must be applied, and to each 
 personally. The Israelite might know all the forms 
 to be observed ; he might have seen others purified, 
 he might even stand by the holy laver and dip 
 his finger into the mystic water, but till the priest 
 took the bunch of hyssop twigs and sprinkled it, he 
 was not clean. It is not a knowledge of the means that 
 saves, but an actual and personal application of the merits 
 of the Saviour's death to us. How wonderful that the 
 Holy One of God should have entered under the roof of 
 this earthly tent where man lay dead in sin : should have 
 touched this polluted soil, and breathed this poisoned air; 
 should have laid His hand on the leprous and unclean, 
 and crowned His love by pouring out His life-blood to 
 atone and to purify. All this we may know, but if that 
 blood has not been sprinkled on us, we are still in our 
 misery and vileness, joined to the congregation of the 
 dead, not written among the living in Jerusalem, and 
 having no place among the ransomed, purified, white- 
 robed worshippers who, with loving hearts, and willing 
 hands, and joyful voices serve the living God. If we are, 
 let us bless God for the provision made for our perfect 
 cleansing, and avail ourselves of it by constant application. 
 Even if redeemed by the blood of Christ, how often are 
 we sinning against grace so rich, and love so unspeakable. 
 We need daily cleansing ; let us come to the fountain 
 which is opened — the laver of the sanctuary. "Wash me 
 every whit, not my head only, nor my feet, but my mind 
 and heart. "Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, 
 and cleanse me from my sin." This might be set forth 
 
356 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKXS. 
 
 by the sprinkling being twice repeated, the second time 
 being the seventh day, or the Sabbath, as if to show that 
 the sanctification of the Christian will not be perfected till 
 the week of this earthly toilsome life is over, and the ever- 
 lasting Sabbath begins. Till then we need daily purifying 
 from daily defilement, and he is holiest who lives nearest 
 to Jesus, who comes oftenest to the blood of sprinkling, 
 which speaketh better things than that of Abel. 
 
 To those not brought nigh by this blood — mark the 
 results of despising this ancient rite, outward and carnal 
 though it was. He on whom this guilt lay was cut off 
 from the congregation of the Lord, severed from all the 
 blessings, hopes, and heritage of Israel, a doomed and 
 branded man. 
 
 There was wilful and deliberate guilt in neglecting the 
 means which the God of Israel had appointed. He might 
 employ others, but all was unavailing if he did not use 
 these. And, brethren, it matters not by what means men 
 seek to save themselves if they despise the great salvation. 
 In proportion to its greatness is the greatness of their guilt 
 and the greatness of their ruin. It is a solemn thing to 
 hear these words, "Come now, and let us reason together, 
 saith the Lord : though your sins be as scarlet, they 
 shall be as white as snow; though they be red like 
 crimson, they shall be as wool." This is Heaven's message 
 of peace. To despise this is to tear up God's handwriting 
 of grace, and throw its fragments into the face of the 
 Majesty of heaven. To devise some expedient of your 
 own, to trust to some surface purifying, is like Xaaman, 
 who preferred Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, to 
 all the waters of Israel. You are in sight of the sacred 
 stream, you hear the souud of its waters that flow through 
 
SERMONS. 357 
 
 from the upper springs in the sanctuary, go not to other 
 streams that flow from earthly fountains, but wash in this 
 and be clean. Ask God to show you the foulness and 
 deadness of this plague of sin, the evil of the heart, the 
 defilement of the life, that this may be the cry of your 
 stricken spirit, " Create in me a clean heart, God, and 
 renew a right spirit within me. Purge me with hyssop, 
 and I shall be clean ; wash me, and I shall be whiter than 
 snow." 
 
VII. 
 
 " By faith Abraham, when he was tried, offered up Isaac : and he 
 that had received the promises, offered up his only begotten 
 son. Of whom it was said, That in Isaac shall thy seed be 
 called : accounting that God was able to raise him up, even 
 from the dead, from whence also he received him in a figure." 
 — Heb. xi. 17-19. 
 
 In the life of Abraham there stand out prominently three 
 great periods, in which his true character was clearly re- 
 vealed, and the strength of the religious principle that sus- 
 tained him fully tested. 
 
 The first was being summoned to forsake his native 
 country and his father's house, to break the strongest 
 earthly ties and follow out into the wide unknown 
 world the leadings of a hand unseen. What his manner of 
 life had been amid those tents of the Chaldean shepherds, 
 where he had grown to manhood, we know not. It is 
 enough to know that the call was abrupt and unlooked-for. 
 It must have deranged and unsettled all his plans of life, 
 it must have been a sudden and violent wrench from much 
 that had become through habit a part of his living self, 
 yet without a moment's hesitation he obeyed, " and went 
 out, not knowing whither he went." This was faith's 
 obedience. 
 
 The second was the announcement of the birth of a child, 
 who was to be the heir of the covenant, through whom its 
 
SERMONS. 009 
 
 blessings and its promises were to be transmitted to a 
 remote posterity ; his believing, contrary to all likelihoods 
 and all appearances, that because God has said it, it shall 
 be ; fully persuaded that what He had promised He was 
 able to perform, and his waiting with unshaken confidence 
 year after year for its fulfilment. This was faith's patience. 
 
 The third, in one sense the most strongly marked of all, 
 was the command to take this child of promise, who had 
 now grown to maturity, and offer him in sacrifice. A 
 command so startling, so peremptory, so seemingly op- 
 posed, not only to his own expectations, but to all the 
 solemn assurances of God, that it would have seemed but 
 natural to have asked some explanation before yielding 
 compliance. Yet as promptly as he had taken up his 
 pilgrim's staff long years before, and left his childhood's 
 home behind him, he now goes forth on his mournful 
 journey, steadfastly sets his face to the place where his 
 beloved and innocent Isaac is to die. This was faith's 
 submission. 
 
 And we have the apostle's comment on this crowning 
 illustration of the patriarch's crowning grace in the words 
 before us. He unveils and interprets the hidden working 
 of his soul, shows us the secret spring that moved his life 
 and made its outward acts point so true and answer so 
 promptly to the regulating will of God, as the brazen 
 index shows by its sharp and faithful shadow the exact 
 position of the sun in the heaven. 
 
 The apostle at the outset has given a definition of faith 
 — it " is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of 
 things not seen ; " but one example like this is better than 
 many definitions. Here we have the abstract idea clothed 
 in flesh and blood ; it is no longer faith, but a believing 
 
3 GO THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 man of like passions with ourselves, acting, thinking, wait- 
 ing, suffering, obeying. The same godly, patient, self- 
 denying, and in the end victorious and blessed life, he 
 lived in his time long ago, we are to live in our time. 
 However much the outward complexion of things may 
 have changed, the spirit is to be the same. u The fashion 
 of this world passeth away, but he that doeth the will of 
 God abideth for ever." The actings of Abraham in this 
 supreme crisis of his life are designed to have a continual 
 and immediate bearing on our own. 
 
 I. The fact of his trial. " He was tried." His had been 
 a life of trial, bravely borne, and, as it might have seemed, 
 happily surmounted. He had never looked for a settled 
 rest or heritage here ; his whole course of life, sojourning 
 in the land of promise as in a strange country, a dweller 
 in tents, removing to and fro, confessed that he felt 
 himself a stranger and pilgrim on the earth. Yet now 
 he might have looked for some period of repose after all 
 he had come through. We might have expected to 
 see the old man suffered to walk with quiet and unhin- 
 dered steps down the slow and gentle slope to the grave. 
 There is something impressive in the simplicity of the 
 word, "it came to pass that after these things, God 
 did tempt Abraham." Probably it came at a time when 
 he looked not for it, though, like one who had ever 
 ruled his thoughts in the fear of God, it did not find 
 him unprepared. And life never brings to any the privi- 
 lege of exemption or immunity from trial. We do not 
 speak now in the general sense of "man being born to 
 trouble as the sparks fly upward ; " we know that so it is. 
 And without any morbid presentiments that would mar 
 
SERMONS. 361 
 
 our thankful enjoyments of present blessings, it is well, 
 it is part of life's best wisdom, to chasten and sober the 
 thoughts into the remembrance that it is so, for the dark- 
 est cloud has an inward glorifying brightness when the 
 presence of the Lord is seen in it. 
 
 But even in the case of those who have been most ex- 
 posed in the earlier stages of their course to the discipline 
 of trial, and in whom we see its gracious and refining work, 
 the children of the household trained by hard experience 
 to meek and loving subjection to their Father's will, there 
 is no such promise of security so long as the time of their 
 earthly sojourning endures. The evidence of trials past, 
 does not insure them against trials that may come. There 
 is no stage at which they receive a safe-conduct or pass as 
 the pledge of a free, quiet, untroubled journey to the end. 
 It is enough that the king of the heavenly country has put 
 into the hand of all true pilgrims a roll with these words 
 inscribed, " When thou passest through the waters I will 
 be with thee." " As thy day is so shall thy strength be." 
 Until they have put off this tabernacle they must stoop 
 oftentimes under the pressure of a burden of sin and death. 
 God may sometimes give to his children a calm and peace- 
 ful evening of life, but not always. In one sense " the 
 faith of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more 
 and more unto the perfect day,' 1 but the brightness per- 
 tains to the spirit, and not to the outward look and aspect 
 of life. That may be dark and stern enough. Tribulation 
 may have worked patience, and patience experience, and 
 experience hope, but to the last the strength and holding 
 power of this hope, which is the anchor of the soul, may be 
 tried in rough tempestuous seas, and it may be in stormy 
 weather that the vessel comes at last to the desired haven. 
 
362 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 II. But more remarkable is the lesson taught when we 
 look at the peculiar form of the trial. I have no doubt 
 that the patriarch, with all the wisdom gained from the ex- 
 perience of a lengthened life, was quite prepared for trials 
 befalling him such as are common to man. A personal 
 affliction, sickness or reverses, loss of friends, reproach and 
 injury from men, none of those things would have sur- 
 prised him ; but for one kind of trial we may be sure he 
 was not prepared. That anything could happen to threaten 
 the safety or the life of Isaac could not have entered into 
 his thoughts, could not have seemed to him within the 
 limit of possibilities. His trust in God must have raised 
 a barrier against the intrusion of such fear or vexing 
 thought as this. There was one part of his life — how 
 great a part we can conceive who know how his heart was 
 knit to that child, and all his hopes wrapped up in him — 
 which was secure from accident or change, one room in his 
 house which the shadow of death, in his life-time at any- 
 rate, could never darken. Had he not God's own assur- 
 ance that his child had succeeded to the promise, that in 
 him all the families of the earth should be blessed, that 
 other inheritors of the covenant should spring from him, 
 and if he had allowed himself to fear that the thread of 
 this precious life could be severed, might he not as well 
 have thought that the promise of God would be made of 
 none effect. Yet this is the strange and inconceivable form 
 in which the trial came to him. Abraham is told to offer 
 up his Isaac, he that had received the promises to slay on 
 the altar his only-begotten son. It is precisely the kind 
 of trial for which nothing could have forewarned him that 
 God selects as a crucial test to try the temper of his ser- 
 vant's faith. There is one inference we gather from this 
 
SERMONS. S63 
 
 which is very obvious, it lies on the surface, that it is often 
 in the tenderest point that our heavenly Father sees it 
 needful to wound His children. He may call them to 
 resign some hopes which they might have innocently 
 cherished, or to surrender some beloved object which 
 seemed to be one and incorporate with their living selves, 
 one, it may be, so full of health, hope, and promise, that 
 the thought of sickness, wasting, and death, in connexion 
 with a life so bright and joyous, had never crossed the mind, 
 and the idea of separation was ever far away. It is very 
 often that from which we might have reckoned ourselves 
 most secure that strikes us in the moment of security. The 
 very guise in which we could never have dreamt that he 
 would come, in that the angel of sorrow stands on the 
 threshold. It is often that which we would never, through 
 the very strength and sacredness of the ties that God him- 
 self has knit, have chosen for ourselves that He chooses 
 for us, to draw closer the bonds of that higher and holier 
 union which binds the spirit to Him. But the deepest 
 lesson of this incident lies here, that God's children are 
 sometimes exposed to trials which seem to strike at and 
 assail the grounds of their faith in Himself; the very 
 foundations of their hope in the Saviour and their trust in 
 the promise of God may be shaken. I think those are 
 the sorest and heaviest of all. " The spirit of a man may 
 sustain his infirmity," it may be a strong and effectual 
 prop in the day of adversity, " but a wounded spirit, who 
 can bear ? " when the prop itself is loosened and trembles, 
 all seems re'ady to fall into confusion and ruin. And 
 there may be, there has been, such a seeming contradiction 
 between the facts of our own experience and the affirma- 
 tions of God's own Word. One at times may seem to have 
 
364; THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 prayed so long without any answer, or waited so wearily 
 without any light, or borne so much without any sensible 
 relief or lightening of the burden, that religion may seem a 
 delusion, faith in the unseen a dream, truth to have no 
 substance or reality, and the Divine promise a bond that 
 may look valid in the region of mystical feeling, but is not 
 convertible into the currency of the common world in which 
 we are travelling between life and death. It may seem 
 that the Bible has failed in the very point in which we 
 have put it to the test, that religion has not done for us 
 that which we expected it to do, or kept from us the evil 
 from which we most wished to be exempted. In some 
 such state of mind, distempered and perplexed, when 
 through the mists of lowering trouble all things looked 
 spectral and distorted, David said, " I shall one day perish 
 by the hand of Saul," as if all the hopes he had trusted 
 to the promise of God were foundering in that frail vessel. 
 And even the lion-hearted Elijah, after the day of Carmel, 
 gave way to craven fears, and prayed God that he might 
 die. We are so apt to append to God's truth some com- 
 mentary of our own, and to interpret the text by the help 
 of our own traditions. It is not God's truth that is 
 shaken at such a crisis, but some conclusion of your own 
 that you have drawn from it. It is not this promise, but 
 some human addition you have made in your own mind to 
 the promise. For the pure simplicities of His Word lodged 
 in our mind so often get overlaid with earthly incrustations, 
 and by trial heated to a furnace heat, — God will cleanse 
 them from the earthly precipitate, and show us the truth 
 and His integrity in its native lustre and clearness. 
 
 III. A trial which Abraham endured. " By faith he 
 
SERMONS. 3 Go 
 
 offered up Isaac." He tasted the very bitterness of 
 death. He was not spared one pang that could give 
 sharpness to his sufferings. At the moment that his hand 
 was stayed he had suffered all that he could have suffered, 
 had the knife fallen and Isaac been stretched bleeding and 
 lifeless before him. There have been cases in which the 
 whole dread ceremonial previous to the actual infliction 
 of the sentence on some wretched criminal has been gone 
 through, and at the last moment a reprieve has come, the 
 sentence has not been executed. But the boon has come 
 too late; in the hours of silent, forward-looking agony, 
 nature has borne all it could bear, and now breaks under 
 the strain without a violent blow. 
 
 That three days' journey to the mount was a slow walk 
 through " the valley of the shadow of death," winding ever 
 deeper into the horror and gloom of it. After Abraham 
 heard that question from Isaac's lips as they went up the 
 mount together, " My father, behold the fire and the wood, 
 but where is the lamb for the burnt-offering ? " he had 
 nothing worse to bear, the striking of the deadly blow 
 could not be more terrible to him. 
 
 Now had Abraham, when he first heard the command, 
 at variance with the spirit and letter of the promise as it 
 seemed, fallen into utter despondency, or in his haste said, 
 that all his hopes were betrayed, that his trust in God was 
 a delusion, he would have done what many do. But how 
 did he reason. God had promised that in Isaac shall my 
 seed be called ; if he is to die, the promise, as far as I can 
 see, cannot be fulfilled. Yet God commands me to slay 
 my son. Let me obey His command. Let me believe 
 that He sees more than I can see. Let me trust Him 
 with the verifying of His own words. Accounting that 
 
366 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 He is able to raise him up even from the dead, he judges 
 of the promise on the one hand, and the command on the 
 other ; not from appearances, not from the point of view 
 which looks only at the present, but from that which 
 stretches into the future, because he trusts in Him whose 
 clear far- glancing vision sees the end from the beginning, 
 and the end in the beginning through all the links of all 
 the moments which intervene and unite them ; Him 
 whose wisdom and love can reconcile all seeming contra- 
 dictions, and bring out of all the discords of earth and 
 time the perfect harmonies of eternity. 
 
 This, then, was the trial and triumph of Abraham's 
 faith ; it proves what faith can bear, and what faith can 
 do. Have we faith like this ? I do not mean faith that 
 could bear us triumphantly through such a fiery trial, but 
 that will believe anything rather than this, that God is 
 not the righteous, holy God that He is — the wise and 
 loving Father that He is — that His word is not the sure 
 and faithful word that it is, " settled in heaven, and fixed 
 from everlasting." Abraham's faith had a deep and hidden 
 root in the unseen, and so must ours if we are to be 
 blessed with faithful Abraham. The only true life is one 
 that does its daily work under the power of the world to 
 come, one that fronts its daily trials as ' ; seeing Him who 
 is invisible." " He that cometh to God must believe that 
 He is." " The life which I now live in the flesh, I live by 
 the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave Him- 
 self for me." 
 
 In the course of God's providence there is much that 
 must seem strange ; the sin and misery that we see around 
 us, the long triumph of evil, the slow progress of right- 
 eousness and truth to the ascendency. And within the 
 
SERMONS. 367 
 
 narrower limit of our private life and history, there is at 
 times much that is dark and bewildering. Cares, and 
 sorrows, and disappointments may come, and all things 
 may seem to be against us. Have you the trust in a 
 living God and Saviour who doeth all things well, which 
 will enable you to say, I believe that " all things work 
 together for good to them that love Him 1 ?" "Though he 
 slay me, yet will I trust in Him." A blessed attainment 
 this ; in Christ to know that God is our Father, that it is 
 He who chooses our lot, and marks out our path — to have 
 His word so richly dwelling in us, that there at the heart 
 it sends its strengthening, and cheering, and purifying 
 virtue through the life. 
 
 A faith like this can only grow and thrive through our 
 growing in the knowledge and love of Christ. It is not 
 the result of human teaching, but the effect of a personal 
 trust, " No man knoweth the Father but the Son, and he 
 to whom the Son shall reveal Him." It is the faith which 
 springs from such a revelation as this which " works by 
 love, and purifies the heart, and overcomes the world." 
 The faith which stands in the wisdom of men has but a 
 tottering support ; if our faith would endure to the end 
 it must stand in the power of God, it must be rooted and 
 grounded in the love of Christ. 
 
 Let us beware of setting limits to the Divine power to 
 fulfil, in cases the most hopeless, and amid circumstances 
 the most unpromising, either the promises or invitations 
 of the word. "We are called to speak the word of life to 
 those dead in trespasses and sins, to stand at the door of 
 the sepulchre and cry to the slumberer within, "Awake, 
 thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ 
 shall give thee light." Let us act as if w T e believed that 
 
368 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 nothing is too hard for the Lord. Let us be strong in 
 faith, giving glory to God, accounting that He is able by 
 the Divine energy of His Spirit and the word to quicken 
 the dead, and call the things that be not as though they 
 were. 
 
 He could have raised Isaac from the dead, and out of 
 those cold ashes on the altar made His promise spring 
 fresh and green again. He has raised Jesus from the dead, 
 and that is the pledge of every other gift. 
 
 Through His resurrection, spirit and life are breathed 
 into the whole body of His word. " All the promises of 
 God in Him are Yea, and in Him, Amen." Because He 
 lives every word of His mouth is sure, every soul that 
 clings to that word is safe. " He that believeth in Him, 
 though he were dead, yet shall he live ; and he that liveth 
 and believeth in Him shall never die." 
 
VIII. 
 
 " Ye are complete in him." — Col. ii. 10. 
 
 This is one of those wonderful sentences •which so fre- 
 quently occur in the life of Paul, into which, in the com- 
 pass of a few simple words, is condensed a world of mean- 
 ing ■ such a saying as that of the " unsearchable riches of 
 Christ ; " or that other, which closely resembles this, being 
 " filled with all the fulness of God." Speaking of Christ, 
 the apostle had said immediately before, " In Him dwelleth 
 all the fulness of the Godhead bodily," and he adds, " Ye 
 are complete in Him," filled up to the full measure of your 
 need and capacity out of this fulness of Jesus. Just as a 
 river that runs in a full clear current through the heart of 
 a city yields an unfailing supply of water to each of its 
 dwellings, and fills a vessel which a child may dip into its 
 stream, because it gushes from its rocky cleft high up near 
 the mountain peak where the rain-clouds gather and drip, 
 or the perpetual snows distil their ice-cold dews into its 
 basin. In like manner the grace that is in Christ, the 
 fulness of the Godhead, flows into and fills up all the 
 emptiness of the human soul. Man till he has come to 
 God is an infinite want — Christ is an infinite resource and 
 fulfilment for that want. Man is fallen — Christ lifts him 
 up ; he is fettered — Christ sets him free ; he is guilty — 
 
 2a 
 
370 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 Christ is righteousness ; be is ignorant — Christ is wisdom ; 
 lie is powerless — Christ is strength. And after he has come 
 to God, his earthly life is full of yearning and striving, of 
 lofty reach and heavenward endeavour, the powers of an 
 immortal nature unfolding within him and seeking their 
 true sphere of exercise, its affections climbing upwards and 
 seeking their true centre of rest. For all upward longings 
 and pure aspirations there is satisfaction in Christ. In 
 Him all noble powers find full employment, all holy 
 affections complete repose. Man's weak, imperfect, sinful 
 nature, conscious of its fall and seeking to rise to God 
 again, finds in Christ all needful resources for raising it up 
 and guiding it onwards to holiness and glory. In the 
 second Adam the whole family of the redeemed stand 
 faultless before God, perfect and entire, wanting nothing. 
 They are " complete in Him." 
 
 This is a subject so vast that we can only cast a few 
 glances over the surface of it. It spreads far away beyond 
 the ken of vision, and widens out beyond the grasp of 
 thought, and we see as little of it as a child standing on 
 the shore can see of the grand immensity of ocean. 
 
 It may prevent the strain of our remark from being too 
 vague and general, if we avail ourselves of an illustration 
 suggested by one of our Lord's parables. We refer to that 
 one in which one in extremest misery and need, wounded 
 and dying by the wayside, found a benefactor who promptly 
 relieved him, and charged himself with the supply of all 
 his wants. If we suppose the perishing outcast to have 
 been a wretched slave, that this generous heart had taken 
 him to his dwelling, ransomed him from his master, trained 
 him for honourable service, adopted him to be a son, never 
 ceased to care for him and plan his welfare, till from the 
 
SERMONS. 371 
 
 lowest abasement it had raised him to the highest honour 
 and happiness, we see some of the practical aspects in 
 which the text may be considered. 
 
 We may say that every Christian is " complete" in 
 Christ as regards the ground of his calling, his ability for 
 service, the thoroughness of his training, the security of 
 his hope, and the certainty of his final sanctification and 
 blessedness. 
 
 I. Ye are " complete in Him," in regard to the ground 
 of your calling. We refer to the new relation into which 
 every fallen child of Adam is brought to God when he 
 looks in his guiltiness and estrangement to Jesus, and re- 
 ceives salvation at His hands, the altogether new character 
 in which he stands before God when the guilt of his sin is 
 taken away by that cleansing blood of His, and the Father 
 beholds him in his nakedness and defilement clothed with 
 the spotless righteousness of His Son. There was a fearful 
 reality in the spirit's former state of misery, and darkness, 
 and condemnation, in its bondage to sin, in its proud self- 
 will, and enmity, and distrust, in its dislike of Him and 
 His law, which is at eternal variance with sin. It might 
 be long unconscious of this, but in a better hour it came to 
 see it. There was the breathing of a new life into the 
 spirit, the dawning of a new light into the mind, in which 
 the obscuring mist of evil passed away and it saw things 
 clearly. Then it looked for the first time upon the face of 
 Christ, and saw in Him the Redeemer, and from darkness 
 entered into light, from bondage into freedom, from death 
 into life. 
 
 It would be a great change for some poor friendless 
 slave to find himself rescued from the grasp of the op- 
 
372 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 pressor, and by being ransomed set for ever beyond Lis 
 reach, a complete and decisive change, a revolution in his 
 whole life and character. And it is a change as spiritually 
 decisive and complete, a revolution reaching to the depth 
 of the nature, and therefore far more marvellous, when one 
 is lifted up in Christ to a firm and stable hope, when one 
 stands no longer on the ground of what he deserves, but 
 of what Christ has done, so that believing I can say, 
 " Surely in the Lord I have righteousness and strength." 
 The suffering He endured was for me, the obedience He 
 rendered was for me, in His death I died, in His resurrec- 
 tion I rose, in His life I live. Once afar off, I am brought 
 nigh by the blood of Christ. Once an alien and a stranger 
 I am a fellow-citizen with the saints and of the household 
 of God. Accepted in the Beloved, the Father calls me son, 
 and the Spirit of Adoption draws from my spirit the filial 
 cry, Abba, Father. All things are mine, for Christ is 
 mine. In Him I am " complete " as regards the measure 
 of my privileges and the reality of my calling. The title- 
 deed and charter of my sonship is held in the hand and 
 ratified by the blood of Christ, signed with the Father's 
 name, and sealed with the Spirit's seal. 
 
 II. Ye are " complete in Him," as regards ahility for 
 service. We are to bear carefully in mind the end of the 
 Christian calling — not as if it consisted simply in our 
 being set free from condemnation and placed in a state of 
 safety, but as setting before us a clear and definite work to 
 which our life is to be devoted. In the case of the ran- 
 somed slave the least that could be expected of him would 
 be that he should devote himself to the service of his bene- 
 factor. And if it is a higher honour to which every re- 
 
SERMONS. 373 
 
 deemed man is raised by Christ, is it not a higher service 
 to which he must hold himself called ? " Ye are a chosen 
 generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a pecu- 
 liar people ; that ye should show forth the praises of Him 
 who hath called you out of darkness into His marvellous 
 light." It will be the first inquiry that starts to the lips 
 of every one whose heart thrills with the gratitude of sal- 
 vation, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" The 
 duty is pointed out, the yoke we must take upon us, the 
 cross we must bear, the place to be occupied, the work to 
 be done. The Master assigns to each of His servants his 
 special post, his special work in the household. And that 
 which may be allotted to us is that we might naturally 
 shrink from. "We would fain choose another place and 
 another kind of service ; the spirit may be willing, but the 
 flesh weak. But here shines out for our encouragement 
 the blessed truth, " Ye are complete in Him." The com- 
 mand to serve holds the promise that you will be 
 thoroughly furnished to render good service, the summons 
 to fight that you will be fully supplied with arms of celes- 
 tial temper to war a good warfare. Ye are " complete in 
 Him " for guidance in perplexity and light in dark- 
 ness, and help in trouble, for godly wisdom to discern the 
 path of duty, for godly decision to walk in it, for the trust 
 and patience and constancy of spirit that will enable you 
 to persevere till your course is finished, your warfare 
 fought, your work done. " Complete in Him " for every 
 call He may make on your obedience, — from the smallest 
 offering of love a child may lay upon His altar, to the 
 sublimest deed of self-devotion that ever apostle achieved — 
 from the quiet midnight watch to the open witness-bearing 
 in the broad daylight glare of the world — from the help you 
 
374 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 need for life's hourly cares and trials, to the calm heroic 
 strength that bears unshrinking the agonies of a fiery mar- 
 tyrdom. 
 
 III. Ye are " complete in Him " as regards thorough- 
 ness of training. In the case of an ordinary household a 
 wise father, looking forward to the place in the world his 
 children have to fill, will study the bent of character in 
 each and watch his growing capacities, and adapt his train- 
 ing accordingly. 
 
 Suppose that his children are born to a princely name 
 and station, we would expect that their education would 
 be more careful, more wisely discriminating, in proportion 
 to the influence they are one day to wield. This is the 
 theory ; but how seldom does the practice in actual life 
 come up to it ! Of how few can it be said even in an 
 earthly sense that they have had a complete training for 
 the business of everyday life ! The state of the Christian 
 here, while one of active service, is one of preparation for 
 a higher service hereafter. He is while on earth like a 
 royal ward trained in seclusion in a bleak and distant pro- 
 vince of his father's empire, learning by hardships and low- 
 liness the stern well-wearing virtues that shall fit him at 
 the proper time to adorn his station, and to be the bright- 
 est example in the highest place. He is too precious in 
 the sight of God, his destinies are too splendid and illus- 
 trious, to be left without a careful discipline, without 
 wholesome nurture, without a thorough education of the 
 spirit. This throws light on the whole mystery of trial in 
 its complex action and infinite diversities. It is to have 
 its " perfect work," it is to be contemplated in the light of 
 its salutary bearings on their future life. They will be 
 
SERMONS. 375 
 
 thoroughly and completely trained by Him who " though 
 He were a Son yet learned obedience by the things which 
 He suffered." There are many evil dispositions and ten- 
 dencies which only sharp affliction can prune and extirpate, 
 many strong and needful graces which only the bracing air 
 of adversity can foster and mature. The character must 
 be formed and moulded on all sides to its complete sym- 
 metry and beauty, the precious are kept in the glowing 
 furnace till all its dross is purged away. Every trial is 
 but refining the spiritual nature that it may more brightly 
 reflect the Saviour's image. As every movement of the 
 hand that cuts a diamond is perfecting one of those many 
 facets which shiver the rays of light into sparkling tints and 
 gleams, each as it comes, and while it lasts, is appointed 
 in its form, regulated in its measure, exactly tempered and 
 adjusted with a view to the ultimate result. Thus " now 
 for a season if need be, they are in heaviness through 
 manifold temptations ; that the trial of their faith, being 
 much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though 
 it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and 
 honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ." 
 
 IV. Ye are " complete in Him," as regards the security 
 of your hope. Amid the difficulties of his service, and 
 the hardships of his training, this is eminently needed 
 by the Christian, something that will lift him above the 
 depressing influence of the present, and keep his spirit 
 erect, buoyant and bright within, when the prospect with- 
 out may be dark and lowering. In all earthly work or 
 suffering, hope is needed to sustain and cheer the spirit, 
 otherwise the work becomes a heartless and hateful 
 drudgery, and the suffering settles down into the gloomi- 
 
376 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 ness and horror of despair. If " hope deferred maketh the 
 heart sick," hope crushed or extinguished breaks the heart, 
 pierces it with a deadly wound. 
 
 But what earthly hope can breathe such a spirit into 
 one for patient labour or hard endurance, as that which 
 animates and upholds the Christian as he goes on the 
 rugged path of duty, following meekly in the steps of 
 Christ, like Him bearing his cross without help or sym- 
 pathy from men, one whom the world knoweth not, even 
 as it knew not his suffering Lord before him ? What hope 
 can bring the distant so near and make the future so 
 bright as this, that all unworthy though he be, he has a 
 place in the Father's family and the Saviour's heart, that 
 even now he is the son of God, and an heir of the king- 
 dom, an anointed king and priest of eternity, wearing for 
 a time a strange disguise, yet with the blessed assurance 
 in his heart, that, " though it doth not yet appear what he 
 shall be, when He, who is his life, shall appear, he shall be 
 like Him," and appear with Him in glory. What strength 
 in weakness, what consolation in sorrow, what inward peace 
 and rest in the midst of changefulness and trouble is not 
 such a hope fitted to impart ? Other hopes may end in dis- 
 appointment and humiliation, but this hope "maketh not 
 ashamed," for it springs out of the love of God shed abroad 
 in the heart by the Spirit of life and truth. And surely the 
 heart that enshrines this heavenly treasure may rejoice and 
 be very glad ; once illumined by this light within it may 
 be happy even in tribulation, for it never shines more 
 brightly than in dark and cloudy days, as the fire on the 
 hearth never seems to send forth such a kind and genial 
 glow as when you sit by it listening to the shriek of the 
 winter wind, or the rush of the heavy rain. 
 
SEBMONS. 377 
 
 And more than this, the hope of the believer has a 
 direct and essential bearing on his spiritual progress, 
 " Every man that hath this hope in him, purifieth himself 
 even as He is pure." The very hope of being with the 
 Saviour hereafter is the very strongest of all motives, the 
 noblest of all incentives to the heart that truly loves Him, 
 to press after a closer resemblance to Him here, to be 
 becoming more and more what He would have it to be in 
 following after that holiness without which no man shall 
 see the Lord. 
 
 V. Ye are "complete in Him" as regards the certainty 
 of your final sanctificalion and blessedness. The end of 
 faith is the salvation of the soul in its complete deliverance 
 from the taint and blight of sin, and as the seed contains in 
 embryo the full-grown and perfect tree, the germ of faith 
 contains the perfect beauty of holiness. From the first 
 step to the last the progress of the believer onwards to the 
 consummation of his spiritual being is guarded and settled 
 by every security that God's promise can give, and His 
 power redeem. " "Whom He did predestinate, them He 
 also called ; and whom He called, them He also justified ; 
 and whom He justified, them He also glorified." Once His 
 saving hand is laid on our fallen nature, it will never let 
 it go till it has raised it to the height of sinless perfection, 
 the full stature of its spiritual manhood, in a thorough 
 transformation into His image. This is the end of their 
 calling, it is a " calling unto holiness ; " the end of their 
 service, "it is one of holy conversation and godliness;" 
 of their training, it is that they may be "partakers of His 
 holiness;'' of their hope, it is "to purify them as He is 
 pure." To this end, amid conflicts and temptations, perils 
 
378 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 and hindrances, fightings without and fears within, they 
 are slowly advancing. Through His help they can per- 
 severe, in His strength they can resist and overcome. 
 Crucified with Christ, they die to sin; partakers of His 
 resurrection-life, they live unto righteousness ; members 
 of His body, they are visibly changing into the likeness 
 of. their Head ; through His indwelling Spirit they are 
 becoming more spiritual in heart, and mind, and will, and 
 so more meet for the inheritance of the saints in that light 
 into which at last they shall enter and behold Him face to 
 face. Then finally and for ever they are " complete in 
 Him," partakers of His peace, His joy, His glory ; and 
 His joy and glory are complete in them, when He sees of 
 the travail of His soul and is satisfied \ when He listens 
 to the burst of praise that -wells up from the great congre- 
 gation of the saved, the royal priesthood set in their 
 shining ranks round the throne, beginning that high chant 
 of adoration which thenceforward shall unceasingly resound 
 through the temple that is eternal in the heavens. " Light 
 is sown for the righteous," even now the heavenly seed 
 is hidden beneath the mould, but will spring up and wave 
 in golden luxuriance at the harvest season of glory in 
 the "manifestation of the sons of God." Then His image 
 shall gleam forth in each in undimmed clearness and un- 
 sullied beauty, and the "righteous shall shine with the 
 brightness of the sun in the kingdom of the Father." It 
 is to this blessed consummation that grace now lifts up 
 and bears onwards each of the suffering, striving sons of 
 God. Already in the certainty of its fulfilment each is 
 "complete in Him." 
 
 What then, if these things be so, should the life of 
 every Christian be, but a constant endeavour to realise this 
 
SERMONS. 379 
 
 truth, to act upon it, to live up to the full measure of the 
 hope and strength it is designed to inspire] "To me to 
 to live is Christ." In Him is all the fulness that can 
 meet my necessities ; let me look into myself to know how 
 infinite they are, out of myself to know how inexhaustible 
 is the supply. In Him are all the treasures of wisdom 
 and knowledge, of strength and patience, of holiness, of 
 comfort and joy. These are in Him that we may receive 
 out of that fulness — have we learned to avail ourselves of 
 this resource, to apply to Him in our hourly need 1 When 
 there was no bread in the land, the people crowded to the 
 granaries of Pharaoh — Joseph was there. How willing 
 was he to bestow out of that store on all ! — how much more 
 on his own brethren ! — how much more on Benjamin his 
 own mother's son ! It is your Elder Brother who is over 
 the house of God. He has the keys to open all its 
 treasures. He has the heart to give, He never turned 
 one suppliant away, nor spoke roughly to one. The 
 famine is always sore in this weary land of our 
 pilgrimage, but in the "Father's house there is bread 
 enough and to spare," in the Saviour's heart there is love 
 and sympathy fur all the woes and wants of a sinful 
 world. 
 
 Ye are " complete in Him" for each day and each duty. 
 "What service may you not willingly undertake when He 
 says, " Be strong in the grace that is in Me 1 " What trial 
 may you not patiently endure when He says, "Fear not, 
 for I am with thee ? " Leaning on Him who is meek and 
 lowly enough to let the feeblest lean on Him, every yoke is 
 easy, and each burden is light. 
 
 If ye are " complete in Him," surely He deserves a com- 
 plete trust, a complete love, a complete obedience, a firm 
 
380 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURL'S. 
 
 cleaving to Him, a continual abiding in Him so as to draw 
 forth into your hearts that vital influence through which 
 the spirit lives and grows. 
 
 What a poor and stunted thing is life till it has come to 
 find its grand aim and living hope in Him ! cleaving to the 
 dust instead of growing up to its full ripeness and maturity 
 in bringing forth fruit to God. What a wretched thing is 
 life without an aim even in regard to the concerns of time ! 
 how blank, wasted, unprofitable, so that men pity and 
 despise one who is ever planning but never doing. Yet 
 how common is this in regard to the concerns of eternity ! 
 How many a life we see full of endeavours broken off, 
 resolutions never carried out, peopled with airy visions, 
 with wishes that never settle into clear and healthy 
 realities ! 
 
 Is not this the life that some here may have been lead- 
 ing till now ? 
 
 A good man's life is a garden fenced and tilled, set with 
 plants of vigorous nature and useful kind, fruitful in every 
 good work ; but many a life is a burial-ground, where dead 
 and mouldering plans are hidden out of sight, and tomb- 
 stones stand carved with mournful epitaphs, and the grasses 
 of past autumns grow rank on the grave of early promise 
 and departed hope. 
 
 Begin to live now, and live to God. It is high time to 
 awake out of sleep, to be done with dreams and intentions, 
 and to throw the whole energy and earnestness of that 
 soul into which God has breathed an immortal life into the 
 only work worthy of it — the working out of your salvation. 
 Light has come into the world, light enough to show you 
 the work to be done, and the strength in which you are to 
 
SERMONS. 381 
 
 do it. Let it not be your condemnation that you turn 
 away from that light, lest for you it should cease to shine, 
 and the shadow of an endless night settle down upon you ; 
 outcasts in the universe, rejecters of the Saviour, strangers 
 to God. 
 
IX. 
 
 " Commit thy way unto the Lord ; trust also in him, and he shall 
 
 bring it to pass Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently 
 
 for him." — Ps. xxxvii. 5-7. 
 
 There is often a difficulty in determining the precise 
 period of David's life at which some special psalm might 
 be written. A man's life is frequently told in his writings, 
 and the wish to connect each of these sacred hymns with 
 some passage in his chequered life, some aspect of his varied 
 experience, is natural and innocent. But where this is im- 
 possible, we may be sure that had anything important 
 depended on it, the information w 7 ould not have been 
 withheld. 
 
 There is no such difficulty in regard to the psalm before 
 us. We have his own testimony to the fact that it was 
 composed towards the close of his life, and this stamps its 
 solemn words, its wuse and weighty counsels, with a special 
 value. " Days should speak, and the multitude of years 
 should teach wisdom." When the almond-tree is in blos- 
 som, when wo see the honoured head of one who has long 
 walked in the ways of righteousness silvered over by time, 
 we come to it hoping to gather the rich and mellow fruit 
 of experience. We are always prepared to listen with re- 
 spect to the counsels and warnings of hoary hairs. They 
 
SERMONS. 383 
 
 have had long acquaintance with the world — they have 
 made full proof of it — they have seen it on all its sides — 
 they are soon to leave it — they can speak with authority — 
 they will speak then, if ever they have spoken, with truth. 
 And so we must all feel that there is a peculiar impressive- 
 ness in the testimony which the psalmist leaves on record 
 as he reviews the eventful career which is drawing to a 
 close, when he tells us he had seen many things in his 
 time, but one thing he had not seen, " I have been young, 
 and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous for- 
 saken, nor his seed begging bread." And again, as the 
 thought comes over his mind of the dangers that encom- 
 passed his youth and early manhood, when the cause of 
 truth and vital godliness in Israel seemed to hang on the 
 brittle thread of his own persecuted life, and his bitter enemy 
 was Israel's anointed king, or in later times when he was 
 a fugitive from his capital and his own son was the tool of 
 false and cruel men leagued against his father's crown and 
 life, is there not a strangely emphatic force when he tells 
 us of one thing he had seen, — " I have seen the wicked in 
 great power, and spreading himself like a green bay-tree ; 
 yet he passed away, and lo, he was not, yea, I sought him, 
 but he could not be found." Saul, Ahithophel, Nabal, 
 Absalom, where are they now 1 " Mark the perfect man, 
 and behold the upright ; for the end of that man is 
 peace." 
 
 In this light, then, let us set the admonitions of the 
 text, the Proverbs of David, we may call them, pithy 
 maxims which Solomon must have often heard from his 
 aged father's lips, for we find in his Proverbs distinct 
 echoes and repetitions of the words. They are to be re- 
 garded as containing the essence of a rich experience, the 
 
384 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 ripe results of spiritual wisdom drawn from a devout study 
 of the ways of God and shrewd observations of the ways 
 of man. 
 
 In concentrating our thoughts for a little on these 
 words, looking up to Him who is the Giver and Teacher of 
 all true wisdom to man, it will clear our way to a better 
 understanding of their import if we notice at the outset, — ■ 
 
 I. Who those are to whom the words are specially ad- 
 dressed. The Bible contains many kind and gracious 
 words even for those who are far from God, and not yet 
 members of His holy family, — words of warm and loving 
 invitation, of cordial welcome, of tenderest pity and hope. 
 But I do not think that the words before us are addressed 
 to such. I do not feel that it would be right to say to one 
 manifestly living under the power of ungodliness, " Delight 
 thyself in the Lord : rest in the Lord : and wait patiently 
 for Him." At least, this would not be the first thing one 
 would say. You would feel it necessary to begin further 
 down, nearer the rudiments of saving faith, — to pitch the 
 strain of appeal in a lower key, for surely some deep spiri- 
 tual trouble must precede this spiritual joy, some bitter 
 searchings and strivings of heart must come before His 
 quiet and patient rest. At the inmost heart of all delight, 
 dependence and repose in God, is faith — the knowledge of 
 God in a new relation to us through the great redemption, 
 the drawing near to him as sinners pierced and stricken 
 with the sense of guilt, yet casting themselves on His 
 pardoning mercy in Christ, and realising His frank for- 
 giveness, His perfect reconcilement, His welcoming and 
 embracing Fatherhood. These graces of filial trust and 
 confidence which we are encouraged to cherish, have their 
 
SERMONS. 385 
 
 roots deep down in the soul, and in a great change which 
 it must have undergone. Where the germ of vital faith 
 is not, we cannot expect these peaceable fruits of righteous- 
 ness to be. How can one whose whole endeavour is to 
 keep the thought of God out of his heart, and who is 
 happy so long as he succeeds in doing so, understand what 
 is meant by delighting in God ? You speak to him in an 
 unknown tongue, in the new language which can only 
 be interpreted by the new mind, and is only intelli- 
 gible to the new heart — that language whose alphabet 
 the new creature learns when the Spirit of adoption draws 
 from its lips the first cry of the blessed life, Abba, 
 Father. 
 
 In the first interview which Jesus had with Andrew and 
 his friend when they overtook Him one afternoon on the 
 way, and said, "Where dwellest thou?" and He said, 
 " Come and see," inviting them to His own poor dwelling, 
 where they " abode with Him that day, for it was about 
 the tenth hour" — it is not likely that He spoke to them as 
 He did afterwards in His discourse the night before His 
 death, when they knew Him better, and could more fully 
 enter into the mysteries of grace ; and to those who have 
 not yet learned the secret of this spiritual trust and glad- 
 ness, we would not say, " Rest in the Lord, and delight 
 thyself in Him/' — but, Come and see, make trial of that 
 faithfulness in which you can rest, that love in which you 
 can delight, and out of the sense of His redeeming mercy, 
 there will grow these high and rare attainments of the 
 Christian life — a perfect trust in the Father's unerring 
 wisdom, a perfect gladness in His unclouded favour. " Oh 
 taste and see that the Lord is good." Set yourselves 
 honestly to seek, and uprightly to serve, and " the work 
 
 2b 
 
386 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUBNS. 
 
 of righteousness will be peace, and the effect of righteous- 
 ness, quietness and assurance for ever." 
 
 We may now be in a better position to consider — 
 
 II. The special duty of God's children in times of diffi- 
 culty, trial, and carefulness. They are 1st, To "commit 
 their way unto Him;" and 2d, " To rest quietly in Him." 
 These two things are closely connected, linked together by 
 a clasp of gold. 
 
 "Commit thy way unto the Lord? By the way is meant 
 the whole of one's case at any time of special need, the 
 whole burden of anxious and vexing thoughts which may 
 weigh down the spirit. To " commit the way unto God " is 
 to carry our case to Him, and by a prayerful appeal to 
 give over into His hands the entire disposal of our lot. 
 The Hebrew word is very forcible, " roll " thy way upon 
 the Lord, as one weary with carrying a heavy load would 
 gladly transfer it to the shoulders of a friend willing 
 and better able to bear it, — as a child tasked beyond 
 his little strength in bearing a burden, should he meet 
 his father in the way, would very readily resign it to 
 him. 
 
 We must be very careful, however, not to limit the 
 application of this duty to special trials or great occasions 
 of life. It is to be not an occasional act, but an all-pervading 
 habit, a condition of the mind ; not a painful effort, but a 
 spontaneous movement, as free and natural as our constant 
 respiration. It is meant to be for all times, for all circum- 
 stances, for all employments, for plain and homely and 
 every-day life, with its little vexations and its commonest 
 duties. God may now and then make a sudden and abrupt 
 demand on our strength to bear, our patience to wait, and 
 
SERMONS. 387 
 
 then we must commit our way unto Him. But we need 
 not look out for special occasions — occasions enough will 
 come to us as often as the day comes with its duties, and 
 the blessed lesson is not learned fully until we look up to 
 Him at every moment, and carry the thought of Him into 
 every scene and every occupation. 
 
 It seems easy to admit, but oh how hard is it to act 
 habitually in the belief, that God is to His people all, in- 
 finitely more than all, that friend can be to friend, that 
 father can be to child ! He often does lay burdens on 
 them which seem to be above their strength, some yoke of 
 service, some cross of suffering, some weight of perplexity, 
 some discipline of daily trial from which they could wish 
 to be exempted. If it were not so, if it were not felt to 
 be heavy, wearisome, oppressive, it would not be a burden ; 
 just as affliction before it could come exactly as we would 
 choose it, were the choice given us, would lose all the 
 grievousness and smart which make it affliction. Well, 
 God sees it right to lay this upon you ; you must bear it ; 
 you feel that it is too heavy for you to bear ; you begin to 
 think that yours is a harder than the common lot ; that 
 you are singled out as a mark for those arrows that are 
 ever flying into the crowded ranks of men ; that there is 
 no use in struggling and striving any longer ; that all things 
 are against you, that you may as well lie down and die. 
 But be hushed, thou doubting, fainting spirit, there is a 
 hand to help you and a voice to cheer. At this moment 
 the angel of patience stands beside you, and whispers, 
 " Commit thy way unto the Lord ! " Do not think and 
 speak as if He had imposed this burden and retired into a 
 secret place where you cannot follow Him, where He is 
 looking unconcerned on you and your woe. He is near to 
 
388 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 all wlio call upon Him, a refuge in danger, a strength in 
 weakness, a very present help in trouble. 
 
 When Jesus was well-nigh fainting under the burden of 
 His cross, Simon of Cyrene, coming out of the country, 
 passed by, and the soldiers transferred it to him. Never 
 have any of His disciples passed along the Dolorous Way 
 bearing their cross, but Jesus coming out of the better 
 country has been there. For once that His cross was borne 
 by a disciple for Him, times without number has He borne 
 the crosses of His suffering people, yes, as often as a cross 
 has been heavy and a Christian feeble. 
 
 It may be asked, How is it that we are to roll our bur- 
 den on the Lord 1 By an act of prayer. " Be careful for 
 nothing : but in everything by prayer and supplication with 
 thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God." 
 There is a beautiful connexion between the nothing and the 
 everything. We need be over-careful for nothing so long as 
 in everything we have the resource of prayer. We have a 
 memorable example in the history of the good King 
 Hezekiah in what he called his " day of trouble and rebuke 
 and blasphemy." He received the insulting letter from 
 the envoy of a haughty heathen conqueror. He read it, 
 and then he went up into the house of the Lord, and spread 
 it before the Lord and prayed. And having done so, his 
 heart was lightened, he had rolled his burden on the ever- 
 lasting arms, and in due time God " brought forth His 
 righteousness as the light, and His judgment as the noon- 
 day." Only let us see to it that it is a righteous desire we 
 have when we go with our burden to God. Not our pres- 
 ent ease and comfort ; not the wish to be rid of it at any 
 cost ; not the wish to be rid of it at all, should God see it 
 needful to continue it. The committing our way to Him 
 
SEBMONS. 389 
 
 is not only the prayer to be brought out of trouble, nor 
 even this chiefly, but first and chief est to be kept nearer to 
 Himself in bearing it, to be helped to bear it as long as it 
 is His will it should last, to be content and even glad to 
 bear it until it has yielded by His blessing its full measure 
 of spiritual good. The wish that has most power in the 
 Christian's mind, and that rises soonest to his lips in prayer, 
 must be that the will of God even in his sanctification may 
 be fulfilled, and that trial may have its perfect work in him 
 to this highest and most blessed end. 
 
 2. With this is closely linked the admonition to " rest 
 in the Lord and wait patiently for Him." Take the case 
 of one who with a load above his strength has been toiling 
 some steep and broken path, when suddenly he finds it 
 lifted off and transferred to another whose strength he 
 knows to be more than equal to the task, and in whose 
 sympathy he can securely trust. What would his feeling 
 be but one of perfect rest, and calm reliance, and joyous 
 freedom as they went on their way together % And such is 
 the blessedness of rolling our care upon the Lord, — in weak- 
 ness we are resting on superior strength, in perplexity and 
 doubt we are resting on superior wisdom, in all times of 
 trial and hard service we can stay ourselves on the assurance 
 of His perfect sympathy. The literal meaning of the word 
 " rest " is " he silent " towards the Lord. With the eye 
 fixed on Him let all unbelieving thoughts be stilled, such 
 thoughts as rise and rankle in the querulous spirit when it 
 sees only its troubles, and not God, in them, when the 
 mists of earth hide from its sight the eternal stars of 
 heaven. Then like Jacob it may say morosely, " All these 
 things are against me ; " or like Elijah despondingly, " It is 
 enough, now, Lord, take away my life \ " or like Jonah 
 
390 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 fretfully, "I do well to be angry." In regard to all such 
 dark and unbelieving suggestions, the heart is to keep 
 silence, to be still and know that He is God ; silent as to 
 murmuring, but not silent as to prayer, for in that holy 
 meditative stillness, the heart turns to commune with Him. 
 What is "resting in God" but the instinctive movement 
 and upward glance of the spirit to Him ; the confiding all 
 one's griefs and fears to Him, and feeling strengthened, 
 patient, hopeful in the act of doing so. 
 
 It implies a willingness that He should choose for as, a 
 conviction that the ordering of all that concerns us is safer 
 in His hands than in our own. It seems easy to say this, 
 but how difficult it is to act up to it ! Could we have had 
 the disposal of our own lot, how far would we have been 
 from choosing what God has chosen for us ! and yet what 
 Christian mind would admit the thought that His choice 
 has not been the wisest and the best 1 How often would 
 evil have come out of the good we longed for ! How 
 often has good come out of the evil we shrank from ! as 
 in the Eastern story of the leaden and golden caskets, 
 where the golden casket that was grasped so eagerly, was 
 found when opened to be filled with ashes, and the other 
 that looked so worthless proved to be full of the richest 
 jewels. 
 
 Had we been left to trace out our own path through life, 
 how straight and easy would we have made it ! no wind- 
 ings, no dark places, no cross-roads, no arduous ascents. 
 It would have run clear and fair along a pleasant and 
 sunny level ; but where would have been the discipline of 
 trust and lowliness, the careful watch and the guarded 
 walk, the pilgrim weariness and the pilgrim rest, the 
 bracing air and the wide prospect, the looking down into 
 
SERMONS. 391 
 
 valleys dim with mist out of which we have climbed, the 
 looking up to calm bright summits flushed with ethereal 
 hues and illumined with the light of heaven 1 Thankful 
 may we be that a wise hand has traced it for us, making 
 it steep that it might lead upwards, and rough that we 
 might seek a helping hand. And so it is that in strug- 
 gling on the Christian wayfarer is ever rising higher, and 
 now and then reaches some happy landing-place, whence a 
 wider prospect opens, some mount of vision, whence he 
 has a nearer glimpse of the bright foundations of the 
 Heavenly City, to whose shining gates, to the level of 
 whose golden streets, all these upward difficult ascents of 
 time are leading the pilgrim children of eternity. 
 
 We close with a few practical remarks : — 
 1. Our " resting patiently" in the Lord, applies only to 
 the trials which He sends, not to the troubles which even 
 Christians often make for themselves. By our carelessness 
 or rashness, our cowardice or inconsistency, our grasping 
 at some present good or shrinking from some dreaded 
 trial, at the sacrifice of principle, we often bring ourselves 
 into difficulty or danger. We may be induced to make 
 some sinful compromise for a worldly advantage, we may 
 rashly venture into the temptations of worldly society, or 
 when some unwelcome duty or painful trial is set before 
 us, our concern may be how to escape from it rather than 
 go onwards in the strength of God to meet it, and thus 
 conscience is ensnared, and the Spirit is grieved, and we 
 pierce ourselves through with many sorrows. 
 
 There is a difference between the burdens that come in 
 the way of duty, and those that come through our wander- 
 ing into other ways. We can roll the one upon the Lord, 
 
392 THR LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 but with the other our punishment may be to be left to 
 bear them long, and to be bruised in bearing them. As 
 we have bound them on with our own hands, we may be 
 left to carry them many a dark day in our own strength. 
 And great searchings of heart, bitter tears, and sharp 
 pangs of repentance must be ours before we feel them 
 lifted off, before we can return to our quiet rest. 
 
 2. The duty here enjoined is to be carried through all 
 our life. We all admit that patient waiting is needed for 
 the great trials of life, but may not acknowledge so readily 
 that it is needed as much for little, daily, commonplace 
 vexations. But these are as much a test of Christian prin- 
 ciple as the other. 
 
 The oft-recurring cares and annoyances of a domestic, 
 social, and business kind, that spring up in one's daily 
 path, are perhaps the hardest trials of patience. How 
 much of the unhappiness of life springs out of this, the 
 irritability caused by our wincing under petty troubles. The 
 constant buzzing and stinging of a swarm of insects would 
 throw a man into fever, and be harder to bear than a 
 sudden sharp pain like a sword-cut. And religion, if it is 
 genuine, will teach us to bear these with a quiet, gentle, 
 forbearing, even, and cheerful mind — it will soothe the 
 feet and heal the fester and smart of the minor ills of life. 
 It is not to be kept in reserve for grand occasions — it is 
 to be the vital spirit of life, circulating with genial warmth 
 through all its parts and to all its extremities, as the blood 
 in the body, as the sap that rises to the topmost branch of 
 the tree. Christian living is not for the church or prayer- 
 meeting only, but for the household, the market-place, the 
 counting-house, the workshop. Our Christian faith is to 
 be with us in our sitting in the house, and our walking by 
 
SERMONS. 393 
 
 the way. The commonest occasions of life may be made 
 grand by the spirit you put into them. 
 
 " We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, 
 Our neighbour and our work farewell, 
 Nor strive to wind ourselves too high 
 For sinful man beneath the sky. 
 
 " The trivial round, the cotnmon task, 
 Would furnish all we ought to ask, — 
 Room to deny ourselves, a road 
 To bring us daily nearer God." 
 
 And let us seek daily to bring Him nearer into contact 
 with our whole life, looking upward for hourly strength in 
 doing our hourly work, ever holding up the vessel of the 
 heart open, that grace may trickle into it, drop by drop, 
 from the upper springs, and keep it full. 
 
 3. This resting in God is a criterion of a man's spiri- 
 tual state. It needs a special faculty of discernment — a 
 new sense to be opened in the soul — before our fallen 
 nature can understand or desire it. It is no more to be 
 apprehended by the natural mind, than shades of colour 
 by one blind from his birth. Have you any knowledge of 
 it 1 any desire for it 1 It may be you honestly answer, 
 none. You have been hitherto seeking rest, but sure we 
 are that you have found none — none that can fully 
 satisfy, none that can steadfastly endure. You have been 
 saying with the multitude, "Who will show us any good ?" 
 but it is as far off as ever, you have only grasped a shadow. 
 Come and seek it here, where God stands holding it in His 
 hands, and Christ is waiting to reach it forth to you. No 
 true rest, no abiding good other than this can be possessed 
 by man. He must ever seek, but can never find, till he 
 
394 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 finds what he seeks in God. For He has framed us for 
 Himself, and the spirit He has breathed into us is doomed 
 to be restless till it comes to its centre of repose in Him. 
 There is no day of rest in the service of sin. Satan has 
 no sabbath, and gives none to his slaves. His yoke 
 becomes even more heavy, and his bondage more hard. 
 How different from Him whose service is freedom, whose 
 
 law is love, whose yoke is easy, and whose burden is light ! 
 Come to Him to be set free from that sin which is the 
 cause of all misery and unrest. Believe in Him, and being 
 justified by faith you will have peace with God. The 
 true peace is peace of conscience ■ and never can man's con- 
 science be at peace in itself till its guilt is forgiven, till its 
 fears are hushed and stilled through the peace-speaking 
 blood of Atonement 
 
" Verily, verily, I say unto you, That ye shall weep and lament, 
 but the world shall rejoice ; and ye shall be sorrowful, but your 
 sorrow shall be turned into joy." — John xvi. 20. 
 
 It is touching to mark how frequently our Lord, in His 
 farewell discourse, turns aside for a while from the great work 
 of unfolding the mysteries of His kingdom, to speak some 
 words of comfort to His sorrowing disciples. In that 
 sorrow there mingled many elements of earthiiness, it was 
 far from being purely spiritual. There was in it the vague 
 dread of impending evil, the bitterness of disappointed 
 hopes, a painful doubt and wonder and disquietude, as if 
 the foundations of life had been suddenly loosened beneath 
 them by an earthquake shock, for which there was no 
 cause. It was trouble and perplexity that mainly sprung 
 from their unbelief, their slowness of heart to take in the 
 true spiritual sense of the words in which He had often 
 spoken to them of His death, and tenderly prepared them 
 for the coming separation. The time is short, He has 
 much to say to them, and these last precious moments are 
 gliding swiftly by ; and yet, because He sees there is 
 lying on their hearts, chill and heavy, the shadow of the 
 coming trial, all the more terrible to them for its dimness 
 and uncertainty, He suspends once and again the subiime 
 movement of His thoughts heavenward, to drop some 
 
396 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 blessed word of hope and consolation to them. " Let not 
 your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." He 
 gently rebukes their fears, assuring them of His unchang- 
 ing love and sympathy, of the continual comfort and help 
 and guidance of His spiritual presence ; in a word, seeks to 
 point their eye above the clouds and mist that are gather- 
 ing round the cross, to the rest, the joy, the blessedness of 
 the eternal life beyond ; to elevate their hearts above the 
 suffering and the sorrow of the present time, to the glory 
 that is to follow. i: Because I said these things unto you, 
 sorrow hath filled your heart ; nevertheless, I tell you the 
 truth, It is expedient for you that I go away. Ye now 
 have sorrow, but I shall see you again, and your heart 
 shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you." In 
 the words we have read, our Lord speaks in a similar 
 strain of consolation, His words being all the more impres- 
 sive by the contrast indicated between their feelings in 
 the prospect of His departure, and those of the ungodly 
 and unbelieving world around them ; theirs is sorrow that 
 would be changed into gladness, the world's is gladness 
 that would be turned into bitterness and lamentation. 
 
 I. Let us notice the simple fact of the contrast — how 
 strange, yet how real and true it is, for it is abiding and 
 perpetual, as clearly marked and discernible in our days 
 as in those in which He, the Prince of Life and the Lord 
 of Glory, was in this evil world judged and crucified. 
 There are points in which the followers of Jesus and the 
 men of this world can sympathise, there are joys and 
 sorrows which, by virtue of their kindred humanity, they 
 have in common. The "Father of lights" makes His 
 sun to shine, and His rain to fall on the evil, and on the 
 
SERMON?. 397 
 
 good, and in the continuance of such outward gifts and 
 blessings they can alike rejoice, as in the withdrawal or 
 suspension of them they would alike mourn. But there is 
 a point at which their sympathies diverge, where their 
 thoughts, and feelings, and desires part to run in two 
 separate and opposite channels, so that those between 
 whom there may exist outward affinities, can no longer 
 walk together as if they were agreed, but must draw off 
 each to his own company. The friendship of the world 
 is enmity to God, no man can serve two masters, no sub- 
 ject can be loyal to two rival princes, there is no room in 
 the heart for two'opposite and conflicting loves. " If any 
 man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him." 
 Wherever the love of the Father is, there are joys and 
 sorrows with which the world cannot sympathise. 
 
 The circumstances in which these words are spoken 
 bring out this contrast with singular clearness and force. 
 The distress of His disciples was caused by the thought of 
 the parting ; the words, " Yet a little while, and ye shall 
 not see me," were enough to strike anguish through their 
 hearts, and darken them with a sense of loss inexpressible. 
 They sorrow more than they ought to have done, still at 
 the heart of their sorrow there was deep and devoted love 
 to their Lord ; and at the very moment they were 
 lamenting, the world was exulting — that very parting 
 which they bewailed as a calamity, the world hailed as a 
 triumph. It was the hour and the power of darkness, evil 
 spirits and wicked men had leagued together against that 
 Incarnate Holiness and Purity and Love that condemned 
 them. That Light which shone in the darkness, and 
 which those fallen souls, who loved the darkness, hated and 
 shrank from, would soon be quenched in blood, and 
 
398 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 trouble them no more. This seeming triumph of the 
 world was the bitterest aggravation of the sorrow of those 
 who loved Him. " He saved others, Himself He cannot 
 save ; let Christ the King of Israel descend now from the 
 cross, that we may see and believe." These were taunts 
 that must have stung their loving hearts to the quick. 
 And when, instead of coming down, He was taken down 
 in the darkening eventide, and wrapt in a hasty shroud, 
 and left in the lowness and lonesomeness of the grave, 
 buried like a " dead man out of mind," all their hopes 
 seemed to be buried with Him there. The weight of that 
 sepulchral stone lay on their hearts, crushing the very 
 springs of life, and their anguish broke out in that lament- 
 able cry, " We trusted that this had been He who should 
 have redeemed Israel." Yet we know that this was but for 
 a little while ; after that darkness there quickly came a 
 glorious light, the morning of the Resurrection dawned 
 and all the darkness fled away. "Again a little while," 
 and their sorrow was turned into joy. " Then were the 
 disciples glad when they saw the Lord." 
 
 The triumph of the world had been but for a moment. 
 That death in w T hich they exulted was His victory over 
 death. " Delivered for our offences, raised again for our 
 justification." From the grave w y hich they had closed, and 
 sealed, and guarded, He came forth, leaving the grave- 
 clothes folded, in glory and in majesty, as a king comes 
 forth from the ivory palaces, all His garments smelling 
 of myrrh, aloes, and cassia — in the w T hite raiment of His 
 eternal priesthood, and with the sceptre of royal power, 
 henceforth to reign till He had put all enemies under His 
 feet. But a " little while," and those who denied the 
 Holy One and the Just, and killed the Prince of Life, were 
 
SERMON?. 399 
 
 to hear on the streets of their city a voice they could not 
 silence, " Let all the house of Israel know assuredly that 
 God hath made this same Jesus whom ye have crucified, 
 whom He hath raised from the dead, both Lord and 
 Christ." 
 
 II. But while we see in the resurrection the immediate 
 fulfilment of the Saviours words, we pass on to remark, 
 secondly, that they have a continuous never-ceasing fulfil- 
 ment in the spiritual life. The disciples were to learn that 
 the significance of this blessed promise was by no means to 
 be exhausted by their seeing the risen Lord again on earth. 
 It was but a brief sojourn He made before He ascended 
 to the Father, and when the forty days were over, He 
 vanished from their sight, He passed within the veil. Then 
 "a little while/' and Pentecost came, with that blessed gift 
 of the Holy Ghost the Comforter, through which they 
 realised the fulness of the resurrection glory, and could 
 rejoice in the spiritual presence and power of the unseen 
 Lord. And then when they went out their several ways 
 into the world with the message of salvation, preaching 
 Christ and suffering for Him, when their life became a 
 witness-bearing, and a warfare, when it had, as we know 
 it had, its seasons of weariness, and trouble, and care, how 
 could they have borne up under the stress of trial but for 
 the thought, "Yet a little while and we shall see Him 
 again, and then our sorrow shall be turned into joy ; " for 
 has He not said, " I go to prepare a place for you, and I 
 will come again and receive you to myself. In the world 
 ye shall have tribulation ; but be of good cheer, I have 
 overcome the world," and in me ye have peace. Ah ! well 
 may those bear the strife, the hardship, the storm, and the 
 
400 THE LIFE OF J. D. BTJENS. 
 
 sadness of the present time, who have such an inspiring 
 hope, even the glorious appearing of their God and Saviour 
 — the " little while" of watching, and of longing, to be 
 followed by the brightness of that glorious coming, the 
 gladness of that promised meeting, the long bright spaces 
 of eternity when they shall be for ever with the Lord, 
 stretching away beyond the bounds of this " little while " 
 of time. 
 
 But to come more closely home to the actual daily ex- 
 perience of the Christian. There is much sorrow in it, 
 there cannot but be to those who have felt the reality of 
 sin, its guilt, its malignity and power, even though they 
 know they have through grace been led to the source of 
 pardon and cleansing. The sense of the mystery of evil 
 that is in the heart, the indwelling corruption that has 
 struck its roots so deep, their weakness if left to themselves, 
 their continual shortcomings and swervings of heart from 
 God, the earthliness of nature that clogs the spirit in its 
 upward soarings, and drags it downward to the dust ; — all 
 these cannot but sadden and depress them. So long as 
 they are in this tabernacle, they groan, being burdened. 
 " Oh, wretched man that I am," they must often be forced 
 to cry, " who shall deliver me from the body of this death ? " 
 And in their daily fighting against sin, in their wrestling 
 with temptation, in their watching and their striving against 
 those deadly influences with which the very atmosphere they 
 breathe is laden, they cannot but feel that the path is 
 rugged, the service difficult, and the conflict hard. They 
 have often cause to weep and lament when the thoughtless 
 world around them goes on its course rejoicing, or slumbers 
 in its pleasant dream of false security. 
 
 If it were not so, He would have told us, but He has 
 
SERMONS. 101 
 
 put a grave and stern aspect on the Christian lite, He has 
 said that the gate is strait, and the way is narrow, that 
 if any would truly follow Him he must deny himself, and 
 take up the cross, and ,bear it with patience to the end. 
 But in the very midst of such conflicts and troubles, are 
 there not hidden sources of hope and comfort opened up 1 
 Is there not the certain promise of grace perfected in weak- 
 ness, support in trial, and help in the hour of temptation ] 
 Is it not true, that if there are sorrows which the heart 
 only knoweth, there are joys with which the stranger can- 
 not intermeddle 1 that those very sorrows, the heart- 
 searchings of the profounder Christian experience, the 
 trials and the chastenings that wound us in the tenderest 
 part, are turned to results of joy? Out of the humbling 
 consciousness of the power of sin, the Christian gains a 
 stronger conviction and hold of the Saviour's power, a 
 clearer view of the beauty of holiness, and a deeper trust 
 in the completeness of His work, and His all-sufficiency to 
 save. Out of a growing perception of His weakness there 
 comes a simpler reliance on God's promised strength, a 
 firmer grasp of that Almighty Hand. After the weeping 
 for a night, when the soul has mourned an absent Lord, 
 joy cometh in the morning, and the morning light is all 
 the brighter for the darkness that went before. The cup 
 of trial which was so bitter to the lips is found to have 
 mingled and infused in it ingredients of sweet and gracious 
 consolation. There is no desert, waste and dreary, into 
 which God leads His children which has not its palms of 
 shade and its well-springs of refreshing. Thus we see 
 that our spiritual life has its graver and its brighter aspect, 
 but that through the darker we come to discern the brighter 
 — to learn that just as far as the pillar of cloud casts its 
 
 2c 
 
402 THE LIFE OF J. D. BTJENS. 
 
 shadow, it sends forth light from its inner fire. Thus 
 " tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, 
 and experience hope." So that without tribulation hope 
 would droop and languish, like a plant that has not soil 
 enough to give it rooting, nor air enough to quicken it 
 into vigorous growth. Hence the apostle takes in both 
 aspects at a single glance. "As dying, yet behold we live ; 
 as chastened, and not killed ; as sorrowful, yet alway rejoic- 
 ing ; as poor, yet making many rich ; as having nothing, yet 
 possessing all things.'. 
 
 But we cannot doubt that the complete fulfilment of the 
 Saviour's farewell words is reserved for His final coming. 
 Compared with that great manifestation of His glory, for 
 which the Church looks and longs, this is the season of 
 her mourning and loneliness, as on all this present time 
 there lies the shadow of His absence. Then will come the 
 gladness of the marriage feast, — then the unclouded vision 
 of the King in His beauty, — she will rise out of the dust 
 and put on her beautiful garments, with gladness and re- 
 joicing she shall enter in. At one sight of that face all 
 past trials and sorrows will be forgotten, all the waves of 
 affliction that have swept over us be remembered as waters 
 that pass away. 
 
 That is the day to which He points the gaze of every 
 disciple. " Ye now have sorrow because I go away; but 
 ye shall see me again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your 
 joy no man taketh from you. And in that day ye shall 
 ask me nothing." No more need to ask, — peace perfected, 
 joy fulfilled, glory in the quiet possession of the heirs of 
 life eternal. How ought a blessed hope like this to lift 
 the believer up above both the beguiling and the besetting 
 influences that constantly beset him, — to take all the de- 
 
SEEMONS. 403 
 
 ceitful lustre out of temptations, and to lighten the strain 
 and pressure of present trial. What mere earthly pleasure 
 and gain could bear that light being let in on it ? What 
 sufferings of this present time are worthy to be compared with 
 the glory that shall be revealed in us ? What an incentive 
 to watchfulness, to faithful service, to growth in holiness ! 
 For if we believe that we are the " sons of God," if there 
 is any gladness to us in the thought that when " He shall 
 appear, then we shall be like Him," then, having this hope 
 in us, we shall be ever preparing for His coming, " purify- 
 ing ourselves as He is pure." 
 
 How touchingly are these truths illustrated and set forth 
 in that simple rite that commemorates His death ! It 
 speaks to us of His sorrow, it reminds us how soon that 
 sorrow was turned into joy. And pointing us to Him 
 whom our sins have pierced, it bids us sorrow, but not as 
 those who have no hope, for it presents Him as the " Lamb 
 of God which taketh away the sin of the world." It shows 
 us the fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness," and 
 invites us to lay in lowly confession and penitence our 
 sins where that blood of sprinkling may fall upon them 
 and take them away. We show forth at once His death 
 and His life, and we do it as those in whom the mystery 
 of that death and life are to have some reflection. " Bear- 
 ing about with us the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life 
 also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body." " It 
 is a faithful saying ; for if we be dead with Him, we shall 
 also live with Him." Thus we are to show forth the 
 Lord's death, until He come ; for He lives, and because He 
 lives we shall live also. So these memorials of His suffer- 
 ing are the symbols of His glory. From that tree of doom 
 blossomed the hope of the world, the redemption of fallen 
 
404 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 man. On that " place of a skull " we see Him with His 
 foot on the head of death, bruising the enemy under our 
 feet also. And looking back to that night much to be 
 remembered, let us look forward to that day much to be 
 thought of, much to be longed for — that solemn but blessed 
 day when every eye shall see His sign in the firmament, 
 and He shall be revealed from heaven with His mighty 
 angels in flaming fire, taking vengeance on those that 
 know not God and obey not the gospel, (their joy turned 
 into endless wailing,) and to be glorified in His saints, their 
 sorrow turned into endless joy. 
 
XL 
 
 ' And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, 
 while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to 
 us the Scriptures ? '' — Luke xxiv. 32. 
 
 It is difficult for us to transport ourselves into the situa- 
 tion of our Lord's disciples, and to understand the all but 
 overwhelming sorrow and despondency that settled down 
 on them when they were first brought face to face with 
 the reality of their Master's death. The anguish and the 
 shamefulness of tliat death, as we look back upon it, are 
 softened and diminished by the glory of the resurrection. 
 We cannot look at His cross of suffering without seeing 
 beside it the open and empty sepulchre that tells us " He 
 is not here, but is risen " in the power of an endless life. 
 Very different was it with them when they saw the shrouded 
 form of Him they loved laid in its dark and silent rest- 
 ing place, and the stone fixed and sealed to bar the en- 
 trance. All that remained to them of their Lord left there, 
 as it seemed, to lie in long unbroken slumber and moulder 
 into the common dust. It may seem strange to us that 
 no remembrance of the words in which He had so often 
 spoken of His sufferings, and told them how His death 
 would be followed by His resurrection, should have come 
 into their minds, and brightened their gloomy hours with 
 a gleam of hope. But so it was, and it shows us how 
 
406 THE LIFE OF J. F. BURNS. 
 
 " _ liscemed d _ ■' joum 
 
 ith :hern the more spiritual aspects of His character and 
 
 t] lersl It] I oatoj f His 
 
 m. Tims His ieath upon them 
 
 lik which they 
 
 -:::.' - :.ding all their 
 
 plans, - _ " .dations of th 
 
 God. So perplexed and crashed were 
 that they did : b His i sorrc 
 
 ml for the sudd and 3ch ^ethat 
 
 thes ressed ads » men into ardent and fc 
 
 - - : . ' hrist, bat the irresistible evidence that the 
 5 risen, and th new and gl ri as light of truth 
 that Hi- death and - ] upon their ] 
 
 a the! ,:ion and that of their fell - 
 
 .. 
 
 Am ogst the larger nnmbei : :". 3, not the 
 
 , two sing rest in 
 
 their stal m s *ht to the 
 
 tvicti : ; _ tion in a manner 
 
 .' ... a th j way in 1 
 must I k : : th< m the Sa 1 :'s pre- 
 
 \ revelation of the truth 
 b oi sinner, 01 in 
 
 the spiril ship and oommnnion His disciples may 
 
 bl ajoy in His word and 
 
 I. The state of mind in which He found them. It might 
 
 _ to s mbelief, but it 
 
 • 3 . one in wl knew 
 
 whom, 
 whan they had Been at die. the most precious 
 
SEBMome - 
 
 hope of their life was taken : "We trusted Una : 
 been He who should have redeemed Israel Yet in these 
 
 "-:".- :'-;:-: \ :-. "-.:_■:-- :kr ir^.r-: I v T -. : . • irviti.z : :kfi: 
 Master ; there is a sacred and undying bond unites them to 
 Him who lies in that grave. Their hearts are full of that 
 hallowed memory, and it is their greatest relief and solace 
 to speak of Him as they journey together on the way, 
 ev-rv =:r- ::-.u::__ :lrii :.::._:: ;. -■-■-;,- :: n zl~ ::tt ~2iZi 
 He died. Besides there had come to them, ere they left 
 the city, some strange report of the sepulchre having been 
 found deserted at early morn, of a vision of angels sitting 
 where His body was laid, who said He was alive. Their 
 nir. :*s "tIt :". ■.--::..:._ -.> n ".'....". si. : -.■ . — - . i :iur. 
 we might say, between hope and fear — waiting in anxious 
 suspense for some stronger evidence, groping in the dark for 
 clearer lighIL And it was while they thus communed to- 
 gether and reasoned out of those meagre materials and _ im- 
 mering remembrances of words of His spoken long before, 
 seeking : : s::iur = : :.. . ?t :.rk :: i ' - . :i.i: \ - - iiius :1: - , 
 fellow-traveller who had overtaken them on the way, drew 
 r.r.\r :.:: :: —-:.: ~ ::'. .■.'_-.■:... Aui in : is :if:r UtS :. i-. — ::: 
 of most useful application. One of guidance and encourage- 
 ment to those who, feeling they have not yet attained the 
 firm hope and assurance and joy in believing which others 
 have, are truly and earnestly seeking it Where any spiritual 
 inquiry is really awakened in the heart, whether through 
 
 ::■:::■:. : sin vrki;i ":. ru ._« :L, s :.\ : : :u= z. s: uimf : 
 feel the necessity of a Saviour, or through the love : 
 Ciris: :.'.:- Lj :-.-'.: ~Li.L -- : lii mn :"_ :: : s :;. :i ii~::ii 
 obedience, a more entire consecration of itself to Him or 
 
 . 2 : - - '" . _ . :s :■:" :::..'. .:..'. :-.-_. ::,-.: 
 =■: - :: ... : . '. ■.-.. i us :■. seek :. L 
 
408 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUBNS. 
 
 surely anchored within the veil — where there is any deep 
 and living desire springing up in the soul out of the sense 
 of need and reaching up to Christ for its fulfilment — there 
 is the assurance grounded on the faithfulness of the Divine 
 promise, and confirmed by a never varying experience, that 
 it will be met and satisfied. Wherever His presence is 
 sought He comes manifesting; Himself. The natural heart 
 is the seat of many restless cravings ; hopes that prove 
 abortive, longings that remain ungratified, a hunger that 
 seeks to satiate itself on that which is not bread, and a 
 thirst that returns with greater vehemence after every effort 
 to quench it at earth's broken cisterns and bitter springs. 
 But every spiritual desire carries in it the promise and 
 pledge of its own accomplishment. " Blessed are they 
 that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be 
 filled." " Then shall we know if we follow on to know the 
 Lord." It w T as she who came first to the sepulchre and 
 waited longest, weeping as she stooped down and searched 
 its gloom with eager eyes, who first saw the risen Lord. 
 And now, while these disciples speak of Him with sorrow 
 as one whom they have lost, yet with love unquenchable 
 as one who gave their life all its brightness and joy, He in 
 a moment is at their side, their companion on the way. 
 
 II. The manner in which He brought conviction to their 
 minds. 
 
 By a single word He might have revealed Himself, as 
 when to that early watcher at the sepulchre He said 
 " Mary," and she cast herself at His feet ; or, as He 
 came at evening into the midst of the disciples, saying 
 " Peace be unto you," and showing them His hands and 
 His side. 
 
SERMONS. 409 
 
 But He chose to deal -with them in a different and pecu- 
 liar way, giving them at first no means of personal recog- 
 nition, but leading them to a gradual discovery of His true 
 spiritual glory through enlightening in the truth, not show- 
 ing them so much what was, but what they would have 
 known must have been, if they had understood the Scrip- 
 tures which they professed to believe. He who spoke to 
 them seemed a chance-met stranger, their eyes were holden 
 that they should not know Him ; but as word after word 
 of ancient inspiration came glowing from His lips, and 
 prophet after prophet passed before them, a long proces- 
 sion of witnesses to that kingly glory of the Christ that 
 w T as to be reached through sufferings, that but through suf- 
 ferings never could be reached, it was as if a mist had 
 passed from their eyes — all things were beheld in a new 
 light, and through the veil of His earthly lowliness as they 
 remembered it, could they discern not only the light of the 
 indwelling glory, but in the very crisis of His self-abase- 
 ment, and sorrow, and weakness, as He hung, desolate and 
 forsaken, on the cross, as He cried, It is finished, and gave 
 up the ghost, as He was borne in the touching helplessness 
 of death to the grave and left there — in all this they could 
 see that which was essential to the consummation of His 
 redeeming work. That lowest, darkest step of all was the 
 necessary initial step to His manifest exaltation. 
 
 The crown of thorns was the mediatorial diadem, the 
 cross was the kingly throne, the death was His victory 
 over death, His bruising of the serpent's head and making 
 an end of sin. But for this, they saw, and wondered that 
 they had not seen before, He could not have been Saviour 
 and King. They felt that, which they had deplored as the 
 destruction of all their hopes, was in reality their crowning 
 
410 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 evidence and fulfilment, and instead of saying, as men who 
 had clung to a fond and delusive dream, "we trusted this had 
 been He who should have redeemed Israel," they could 
 say, We know and believe that this is He who by His 
 death has redeemed Israel, made atonement for iniquity, 
 brought in an everlasting righteousness, and reconciled 
 sinners to God. This they felt and knew before they dis- 
 covered that He who was speaking to them was the Lord 
 himself. They discerned the saving truth of His atoning 
 sacrifice, before they discerned the fact of His actual pre- 
 sence and personal identity. The one was a higher know- 
 ledge, a more blessed and gladdening discovery than the 
 other. It was attained by the same means, and in precisely 
 the same way in which it is to be attained still. " He 
 opened to them the Scriptures." It was not in the light 
 of a new revelation that they saw the Lord, but in a new 
 light illuminating the old revelation. He did not say, 
 Look upon my pierced hands and side, and know that I 
 am He who was dead and am alive. That evidence would 
 have been convincing enough, the evidence of sense. But 
 He said, Look at what the Scriptures testify of Christ — see 
 how they have spoken of His humiliation as a man. as 
 much as of His honour as a king, how they have pointed 
 to the cross not less clearly than to the crown, and shown, 
 that through the one the way to the other lay : how ever} 7 
 prophet in the long line of witnesses, as officers of state in 
 some coronation march, has held aloft some emblem of His 
 passion, all testifying that He was to come to earth to die, 
 that His death was a sacrifice for sin, and that because He 
 so humbled Himself, God was highly to exalt Him, and give 
 Him a name above every name. And this was even 
 higher evidence, for it rested, not on the warrant of sense, 
 
SEEMONS. 411 
 
 but on the authority of God. It was a clearer perception, 
 because it was a spiritual discernment of His glory as a 
 Saviour, not a mere identification of His human person- 
 ality. As He himself said to His doubting apostle, 
 : - Thomas, because thou hast seen, thou hast believed ; 
 blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." 
 Once they thus knew Him, it mattered little whether or 
 not He chose to manifest His bodily form and presence to 
 their eyes. 
 
 Now, just as through the Scriptures He revealed His 
 spiritual self to them before they discerned His material 
 self, it is in the same way that He manifests Himself to 
 His people now. It is the work of the Spirit to testify 
 of Christ. He is the Spirit of wisdom and revelation in 
 the knowledge of Christ, the Spirit of truth to guide us 
 into all truth. He removes a double veil : that veil which 
 lies on the natural mind and heart, so that the light of 
 truth cannot penetrate its thick close folds, and that veil 
 which lies on the page of inspiration, so that its true 
 spiritual sense is profoundly hidden from the natural eye. 
 In that light the spirit's eye meets the eye of Christ \ the 
 heart, acutely sensitive at the sight of its own sinfulness, 
 thrills to the healing and loving words of the Saviour. 
 That which was a dead letter becomes the truth as it is in 
 Jesus ; guided and irradiated by the grace and love of a 
 living person, it asks no evidence of sense, for it has the 
 certainty of a blissful experience, the faculty of a spiritual 
 vision, and through it, " seeing Him not, yet believing, it 
 can rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory." 
 
 What a change from the manner in which they had 
 known the surface truth of the Scriptures before to that in 
 which they pierced to the very core and essence of this 
 
412 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUBNS. 
 
 truth now, when He had opened their understanding to 
 understand the Scriptures. Suppose a man whose eyes 
 are bandaged led into a room in which there hangs some 
 beautiful picture with a curtain drawn over it ■ in order 
 that he may see it, it is not enough that you remove the 
 bandage, for the curtain that screens it is there, nor is it 
 enough that you draw aside the curtain if the bandage still 
 remains on his eyes. Both must be removed, the veil from 
 the vision, and the veil from the canvas, ere the loveliness 
 of the painting can flash into his soul. Even so is it with 
 the word — the revelation of Christ — to the heart. That 
 secret influence which blinds the mind to the word must 
 be overcome — that deep obscurity which darkens the word 
 to the mind must be cleared away before there shines into 
 the heart "the light of the knowledge of the glory of God 
 in the face of Christ Jesus." Thus with open eyes we 
 "behold wondrous things out of His law;" then with open 
 and unveiled face beholding the glory of the Lord, we are 
 penetrated by its influence and changed into the same 
 image. 
 
 III. The effects of the Saviour's discourse. — " It made 
 their hearts burn within them." This was the first utter- 
 ance that broke from their lips in the excitement of the 
 actual discovery. They had been so riveted by His 
 words, that they could not think of parting with Him 
 when they reached their destination. "He made as 
 though He would have gone further," but they constrained 
 Him to remain. And then, while joining with them in 
 their simple meal, as He took bread, and blessed it, and 
 brake, and gave to them — whether the action recalled what 
 they must have heard, the scene in the upper-chamber 
 
SERMONS. 413 
 
 before His death, or they saw the print of the nails — their 
 eyes were opened, and they knew Him, and He vanished. 
 A gladdening discovery, but it was not this that made their 
 hearts to burn within them ; it was the spiritual discovery 
 of Himself to the soul before they knew Him thus. With 
 the glow and fervour of sacred emotion that His words had 
 kindled in their hearts, there was doubtless wonder and 
 sorrow that they should have been so slow of heart to 
 believe, so ready to yield to despair; gratitude and joy 
 that out of that very death there should have come results 
 of unspeakable blessedness, glory to the Saviour, salvation 
 to men, love all the deeper and more ardent at the thought 
 that they had so little understood His love, a love stronger 
 than death, which many waters could not quench nor floods 
 drown. 
 
 Can we say, brethren, as with these first disciples, that 
 Christ is He whom our souls desire and love, that we 
 have found Him precious, that He is the Saviour all our 
 hopes cling to, the Master we wish to serve, the Friend on 
 whose bosom we would lean. What hinders that we 
 should not oftener go in the light and comfort of His pre- 
 sence ? Why is it that our fellowship with Him should be 
 so brief and interrupted, that instead of continually walk- 
 ing with Him, we should lose the sense of His companion- 
 ship % these times when our eyes be holden that they 
 should not know Him, and His voice touches no respon- 
 sive chord within us 1 Is it not that we are so ready to 
 withdraw from Him — our proneness to declension and 
 backsliding — our want of watchfulness and prayer 1 so that 
 we are not sufficiently on our guard against temptation, 
 not habitually realising our need of dependence upon Him, 
 and allowing our " hearts to be hardened through the de- 
 
414 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 ceitfulness of sin 1 " When such is the case, the flame of 
 the Spirit must burn very low, and love wax cold, as a 
 taper of light flickers and dies in a tainted atmosphere. 
 Would we desire such a manifestation of His love as would 
 make " our hearts burn within us ? " Let us " draw near 
 and see this great sight." Look at the cross on which He 
 died. See the grave in which He lay. Let us think of 
 Him, speak of Him. pray as they would have prayed if 
 they had known then all that we know of His resurrection 
 life and His ascension glory, " Abide with us ; for it is 
 toward evening, and the day is far spent." Let us bless 
 Him that He has made such provision for the hallowed 
 communion of His people with Himself, promising to 
 manifest Himself to all who seek Him, and make Himself 
 known in the breaking of bread. Unworthy though we 
 are, He invites all who come in humility and faith to sit at 
 His table. He brings them into the banqueting house, 
 His banner over them is love. For all who renounce all 
 other righteousness and trust, His own righteousness is pro- 
 vided as the garment in which they may enter. And He 
 has promised by those simple emblems, which are memor- 
 ials of His death, to seal the assurance of their forgiveness 
 and peace — " For if, when enemies, we were reconciled to 
 God by the death of His Son, much more, being recon- 
 ciled, we shall be saved by His life." 
 
XII. 
 
 " Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led 
 thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and 
 to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou 
 wouldst keep his commandments, or no."- — Deut. viii. 2. 
 
 These words occur in that last solemn charge which Moses 
 delivered to the chosen people just before his death. After 
 their long sojourn in the wilderness, they were now ap- 
 proaching the borders of the promised land. The Jordan 
 alone separated them from their goodly and pleasant 
 heritage. Behind them stretched the wide and dreary 
 desert through which they had wandered ; before them 
 they could see at last the green hills and plains of Canaan ; 
 and many of them at such a time would seek to banish the 
 recollections of the wilderness from their mind, and w r ould 
 fill the future with visions of peace and happiness never 
 to be realised. Therefore it was at the moment when their 
 foot was on the threshold of their new abode, that Moses 
 was directed to pass in review the whole course of God's 
 providential dealings with them from the time of their 
 deliverance from Egypt. He was to warn them that they 
 had ill-learned the ends of the holy discipline under which 
 God had kept them, if they thought that, with their settle- 
 ment in Canaan, the experience of the wilderness was to 
 pass away and be forgotten. On the contrary, that ex- 
 
4 I 6 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 pericnce, earned so painfully, was to abide with them and 
 their children for ever. The remembrance of the wilder- 
 ness was to cast a solemn shadow over their entrance into 
 the land of promise. It was to be regarded as the school 
 in which God had trained and moulded the mind of his 
 people. It would have been well with them and their 
 children if they had laid seriously to heart the divine 
 admonition, "Thou shalt remember all the way which 
 the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the 
 wilderness." 
 
 I. We remark, first, that there are seasons in human 
 life when the lesson of the text speaks to our mind with 
 peculiar force. We see the propriety of Israel being called 
 to the consideration of what they had learned in the wil- 
 derness while its remembrance was fresh and vivid. 
 
 They stood on a narrow isthmus between two great 
 periods of their history, and the experience they had gained 
 in the one was meant to be helpful to them in entering 
 upon the other. And so there are certain seasons in which 
 the necessity and advantage of such a remembrance are 
 powerfully suggested. There are loftier points of time 
 which we are ever reaching, from which large tracts of our 
 life open more clearly into view. The close of another 
 year finds us standing on such a point. W 7 e look back on 
 the way by which we have been led, and see many such 
 points standing above the level of life — some of us can 
 reckon more, some fewer. We can remember what we 
 were as we came to each successively, what we hoped to 
 be as we cast our eye forward from each into the future. 
 And surely there can be no more fitting train of thought 
 for the last Sabbath of another year than the text enforces. 
 
SERMONS. 41 7 
 
 During the year now closing, the character of each of us 
 must have taken more decided form and growth ; our 
 whole mind must have declared itself more strongly either 
 for God or against God ; our nature must be more holy 
 and spiritual than it was, or more sinful and earthly. And 
 the likelihood is greater now than ever it was before, that 
 if we still remain unsaved, we shall pass unsaved into 
 eternity. 
 
 It may be that some of you can look back on the former 
 times as better than these. You may have had impres- 
 sions in other years which made you resolve to live to God, 
 and for a time you seemed to have cast in your lot de- 
 cidedly with His people, and to be striving after some sure 
 and saving hope in Christ. Then, amid all your anxieties 
 and struggles, it was in every sense better with you than 
 now. Now ! when your religious earnestness is gone and 
 faded, and when, if you listened, you would hear the voice 
 of God, "0 Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee ? Judah, 
 what shall I do unto thee 1 for your goodness is as a morn- 
 ing cloud ; and as the early dew it goeth away." Yet though 
 the danger of remaining what you are has fearfully in- 
 creased, the voice of a forgiving God beseeches you to return 
 to Him. While He waits to be gracious, and wdrile the 
 close of the year finds you in the sanctuary, and within 
 hearing of the gospel, He assures you that He is not will- 
 ing you should perish, and pleads with you to despise no 
 longer the birthright of your immortal souls. 
 
 II. Let us notice the spirit in which we are to make 
 this review of life. — "Thou shalt remember all the way 
 which the Lord thy God hath led thee." They were to 
 bring down the thought of God into " all their life " in the 
 
 2d 
 
418 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 wilderness. They were to think of His presence with 
 them all these forty years as being as real as was the 
 pillar of cloud and fire that glided visibly before them. 
 
 They were to trace His hand in every event that 
 befell them there. And truly God had been " good to 
 Israel," — feeding them with angels' food, and bringing 
 water to them from the flinty rock, — suffering not their 
 raiment to wax old, — daily guiding and guarding their way, 
 and nightly illuminating the desert for them like a grand 
 and solemn temple. Thus, in a sense altogether peculiar, 
 it might be said that God dealt with Israel as He has not 
 with any other people. 
 
 But we are mistaken if we seek to persuade ourselves 
 that He has not, in as real, though not as miraculous a 
 way, compassed our path and our lying down, and ordered 
 all the events of our life from the first moment of our 
 being to the present hour. Men may try to keep God out 
 of their thoughts, but they cannot keep Him out of their 
 lives. The door of their heart may be closed and barred 
 against Him, but He searcheth and knoweth it, and 
 " besets them behind and before." And if they will not 
 acknowledge that He has been ever at their side, and 
 bringing all the events and changes that have befallen 
 them to bear upon their minds for one great and blessed 
 end, at least He has been there, and the mark of His 
 hand is upon every page of their history. Have you not 
 often been startled by a sudden impression of His presence, 
 as if you had met Him at some turning of your way I 
 Have you not found Him, in seasons of darkness and 
 trouble, face to face with you ? And if you have striven 
 to banish the impression, and fallen back into false 
 security, or rushed into temptation, have you not done so 
 
SERMONS. 419 
 
 like the prophet, defying in his madness the drawn sword 
 of the angel in the way who might have smitten him to 
 the earth? 
 
 How often by affliction does our heavenly Father lead us 
 from the way we might have marked out for ourselves, and 
 constrain us to feel that the way by which He would lead 
 us lies through the wilderness ! 
 
 If such is the case with any of us, is there not a loud 
 and earnest call to them to consider that affliction cometh 
 to them not out of the dust, but visits them as a messen- 
 ger from God ? Thus has He been leading them away from 
 the loud noise and the " vain show " of the world, where 
 there is so much to draw the mind from Him, and bring- 
 ing them into a " wilderness," where in the solitude and 
 silence they may hear His voice speaking more distinctly 
 to their souls. 
 
 Has this been the effect of His dealings with us ? In 
 looking back on the way He has led us, can we see that He 
 has thus opened our ear to His teaching, and thus spoken 
 with power to our hearts 1 Has the wilderness been to us 
 a school of heavenly discipline and wisdom ? Has the " soli- 
 tary place " been a Bethel where we have had the vision 
 and heard the voice of God ? Have we learned there that, 
 till we live to God, we have not begun to live at all 
 And has He made it our chief desire to redeem the rest of our 
 time, that we may no longer live to the will of the flesh, 
 but to the praise of His redeeming grace? With what 
 thankfulness should we review the past, and bless Him for 
 the trials that brought us to His feet, — for the fears and 
 convictions that made us flee to Christ, "the hope set 
 before us." 
 
 Surely all who are journeying to Zion will often 
 
420 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 call to mind how first they were led to turn their faces 
 thitherward. Remembering the former days before they 
 were " illuminated," when they ' ; walked according to the 
 course of this world/' will they find occasion in tracing the 
 manner in which they were first awakened and turned to 
 God, to praise Him for the " tender mercy " which 
 visited them in their darkness, and guided their feet into 
 the way of peace. Well may they meditate on these 
 words, so full of spiritual meaning, — " the tender mercy of 
 our God." They will reflect how they owe to it all their 
 hopes as sinners, — how it first blessed them with the sense 
 of forgiveness, — how it has often filled the soul with light 
 and peace and joy in believing, — how it has brightened 
 many a dark hour in their experience, and strengthened 
 them in many a trial of faith, — how it has watched over 
 them, and sustained them, and kept their feet from falling. 
 And while humbled by reflecting how often, if left to them- 
 selves, they would have forgotten that " tender mercy," 
 and wandered in ways of their own, they will take encour- 
 agement from the past to trust God's faithfulness and love, 
 to believe that He will never leave them till He has led 
 them through the wilderness by a right way to the " city 
 of habitation." 
 
 Seek to be more deeply rooted and grounded in the love 
 of Christ, to grow in the knowledge of all that makes Him 
 the very Saviour you need, that yours may be a life of 
 faith, of constant and prayerful dependence on the Son of 
 God. Seek to be strengthened with all might by the Spirit, 
 who is the earnest of the promised inheritance, and by 
 whom all who are Christ's are sealed unto the day of re- 
 demption. Thus will you be led onward from strength to 
 strength, and even in times of darkness and perplexity you 
 
SEBMONS, 421 
 
 will "hear a voice behind you, saying, This is the way, 
 walk ye in it." " I will bring the blind by a way that they 
 knew not \ I will lead them in paths that they have not 
 known ; I will make darkness light before them, and 
 crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, 
 and not forsake them." 
 
 III. Let us notice, thirdly, the light which the text casts 
 on the providence of God in its great ends and designs. 
 
 Israel is not exhorted simply to remember the fact that 
 God had so led them, but to consider the end, the wise 
 and gracious purpose for which He had led them all these 
 forty years in the wilderness. It was that He might 
 humble them, and prove them, and know what was in their 
 heart. 
 
 1. Israel needed to be humbled. There was much in 
 their situation to fill them with spiritual pride. They had 
 seen the greatest miracles wrought on their behalf, they 
 had been led out of Egypt by a mighty hand, they had 
 been made to feel that they were a chosen and peculiar 
 people. And God might have led them at once from 
 Egypt into Canaan, — He might have brought them by a 
 single step from the house of bondage to a habitation of 
 freedom and rest. But from Egypt He led them into the 
 dreary desert, and kept them there forty years. He dealt 
 with them as a father with his child, not emancipating 
 them at once from all restraint, and giving them liberty 
 before they knew how to use it. He drew the bonds of 
 His discipline all the more closely round them, and taught 
 them to depend on Him and not on themselves. His own 
 words were, " As a man chasteneth his son, so the Lord 
 thy God chasteneth thee." 
 
422 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 The same great spiritual end is kept in view in all His 
 dealings with His people still. And therefore it is called 
 a discipline, a forming and training process, — a series of 
 methods and agencies working together for a certain and 
 special result. By this discipline he seeks to "humble" 
 them, to break down the pride and presumption of their 
 wayward wills, to teach their nature, which is so self-centred 
 and so self-satisfied, to know its weakness and to look for 
 strength to Him. He sees how ready we are to make our- 
 selves the great end of our life, and thus He teaches us 
 that the end is to be Himself. Humility is the great 
 lesson taught in the school of Christ, — the lesson that 
 "when we are weak, then we are strong," because "through 
 Christ strengthening us we can do all things." Each 
 believer will learn this lesson by a course of dealings suited 
 to his case. For God varies His methods of discipline as 
 the husbandman employs different processes in preparing 
 his grain for use. The harder and coarser kinds he bruises 
 with the iron wheel, the lighter and softer he separates 
 with the rod, (Isa. xxviii. 27.) And God who has given 
 him this " discretion " will deal not less wisely or less 
 tenderly with His children, correcting them with a lighter 
 or heavier hand, and weighing out every drop of bitterness 
 which is mingled in their cup. He has a gracious end in 
 view, and He will make all things work together for that 
 end, His glory and their good. 
 
 2. Israel needed to be proved and to see the evil of their 
 hearts. Not that God needed to know what was in their 
 heart, but to make its secret sinfulness clear and visible to 
 themselves. And so in that long and monotonous wilderness 
 life of theirs they were searched and tried, and placed in cir- 
 cumstances which called forth the hidden tendencies of 
 
SEKMONS. 423 
 
 their nature. How little could they at first have been pre- 
 pared for the fearful revelation ! That morning, after they 
 had crossed the Red Sea, had a mirror been held up to 
 them in which they could see the image of their future 
 history, their murmuring and rebelliousness, their unbelief 
 and backsliding, with what horror and indignation would 
 they have recoiled from the sight ! How soon and how 
 fearfully was that mystery of iniquity made manifest ! 
 The secret corruption of their nature soon reared its crest 
 like a serpent and hissed defiance ; their heart was seen to 
 be viler and more hateful than the poisonous reptile that 
 crawled in the sands of the desert. 
 
 Thus is God still dealing with His people to show 
 them the plague of their heart. And His discipline is 
 blessed when it leads them to pray, with the Psalmist, 
 " Search me, God, and know my heart ; try me, and 
 know my thoughts ; ''' give me deeper discoveries of my 
 sinfulness, that seeing how dark and hidden the root of 
 evil is within me, I may look to Thy Divine power to 
 extirpate it, and not trust to efforts or resolves of my own. 
 11 Who can understand his errors? Cleanse Thou me from 
 secret faults." 
 
 If we have ever felt His discipline painful and hard to 
 bear, let us consider this gracious end of it. How much 
 better thus to know ourselves, and to know His mercy, 
 than to be left to deceive ourselves, and build our hopes on 
 some false foundation. Have we been made willing to 
 submit our will to His, to be in subjection to the Father 
 of Spirits and live ? Our Saviour, though He was a Son, 
 learned obedience by the things that He suffered, and this 
 is the design of all suffering in His spiritual kingdom, to 
 teach us faith, and meekness, and patience, and submission, 
 
424 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 to make the ways of sin bitter and those of obedience 
 pleasant, to show us that we can only walk holily before 
 the world when we walk humbly with our God. 
 
 The Christian character must grow gradually and har- 
 moniously to its perfection, and the same character at 
 different times requires a difference of discipline. The 
 potter keeps his foot on the revolving wheel, and moulds 
 the vessel as he turns it, and our Father in heaven moulds 
 His children by the pressure of His hand that each may 
 be a vessel unto honour, an ornament for the great house 
 which He is preparing in the heavens. 
 
 If any of you have reason to fear that this great end 
 has not begun to be accomplished in you, how earnestly 
 are you called to remember and consider while yet there is 
 time ! How often have you given serious, deliberate 
 thought to the concerns of time, to the interests that bind 
 you to a fleeting world ! Yet what comparison can the 
 bear with the concerns of eternity which jou have deliber- 
 ately neglected 1 " What will it profit a man if he gain 
 the whole world, and lose his own soul 1 " You would 
 tremble at the thought of a worldly loss that would reduce 
 you to wretchedness and want ; but what is this compared 
 to the loss of the soul through ages that shall never end '? 
 You may hope to begin to live at some future time to God, 
 and to give heed to the things that concern your peace, 
 but what can the future bring which the past has not 
 brought, and how do you know that another year or 
 another Sabbath of that future will be yours ? If this 
 year closes on you still without God, it may stamp its 
 impress on all your future life. Yet God has not ceased 
 to remind you that there is still time for repentance, that 
 the door of salvation is still wide open. Listen, I beseech 
 
SERMONS. 425 
 
 you, to the voice that speaketli from heaven. Turn at the 
 call of wisdom and no more despise her counsel, and close 
 your ears to her invitation. The Father reasons with 
 you, the Son pleads with you, the Spirit strives with you. 
 " We pray you in Christ's stead to be reconciled to God." 
 Seek the Lord while He may be found ; flee to Christ 
 while it is yet the accepted time ; believe on Him, and 
 you will find Him a willing Saviour, and find in Him a 
 hope and peace which the world cannot give. So will you 
 know the happiness of those to whom the world is a 
 wilderness, because here they have no continuing city, and 
 who with every departing year can feel that they are 
 nearer their heritage and home in heaven, the rest which 
 remaineth for the people of God. " O that they were 
 wise, that they would understand this, and consider their 
 latter end ! " 
 
XIII. 
 
 A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not 
 quench." — Matt. xii. 20. 
 
 Not long before, His voice had been heard, saying, " Take 
 my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and 
 lowly in heart." How wonderful that it was this which 
 pre-eminently distinguished the Holy One of God while 
 He tabernacled on earth, that He was marked out from 
 other men by being a meeker and lowlier man than they. 
 And here, as we see, it was the distinctive feature of His 
 ministry, so that, looking at the saintly band of prophets 
 and witnesses who had come before Him, men on whose 
 head the oil of consecration had been poured, and whose 
 lips had been touched with a live coal from off the altar, 
 we can see that the public teaching of Him to whom they 
 all pointed, and of whom they all testified, was marked out 
 from theirs by being more warmly sympathising, more 
 sweetly persuasive, " He did not strive nor cry ; neither 
 did any man hear His voice in the streets." The step of 
 the Master was more noiseless in His own house, His 
 voice more gentle, than that of any of His servants. He 
 moved about with all that power folded up in Him, yet 
 ready to start forth at the touch of need or the cry of 
 suffering; with all that wisdom like a "fountain sealed," 
 
SEEMONS. 42 / 
 
 yet ready to gush forth in words of kindness to little 
 children, or of hope and guidance to "the ignorant and 
 those that were out of the way." As He had said by the 
 prophet, " The Lord God hath given me the tongue of the 
 learned, that I should know how to speak a word in season 
 to him that is weary/' 
 
 In the passage before us, which may be said to have on 
 it a double seal of sacredness, written by a prophet, and 
 countersigned by an evangelist, it is important to notice that 
 it is in this aspect of His ministry, the Father contemplates 
 His elect one with special pleasure, and holds Him forth 
 to our regard. " Behold my servant whom I have chosen ; 
 my beloved in whom my soul is well pleased ; I will put 
 my Spirit upon Him, and He shall show judgment to the 
 Gentiles. A bruised reed shall He not break, and smoking 
 flax shall He not quench, till He send forth judgment unto 
 victory." These are the words of God in sending the first- 
 begotten into the world. 
 
 The imagery employed in the text represents, by two 
 vivid emblems, two conditions of experience, or states of 
 mind, and exhibits the character of Jesus in His dealing 
 with each. Generally speaking, Ave may say that the one, 
 " the bruised reed" stands for faintness of heart ; and the 
 other, "the smoking ji ax" for feebleness of faith. 
 
 I. Faintness of heart, and this including — 
 
 1. The sorrow of a broken spirit ; and, 
 
 2. The sorrow of a wounded conscience. 
 
 These are cases which specially need the skill and tender- 
 ness of the Divine Physician, and in regard to His treat- 
 ment of them it is said, "A bruised reed shall He not 
 break." 
 
428 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 Very different in its nature from the tree whose branches 
 droop over it, and whose roots strike far down into the 
 mould, is the reed on the river bank or in the woodland 
 thicket, which is shaken by every wind, which quivers and 
 rustles in the faintest breeze. So loose is its hold that a 
 child's hand may uproot it, so fragile is its make that a 
 child's foot may bruise it, A passing step has bent it to 
 the earth, it lies there bruised and powerless, the next 
 that passes may crush and break it in sunder. But the 
 bruised reeds of the worJd lie in the way of Christ. 
 
 1. It is no light affliction that is pictured here, not 
 those every-day griefs that stir the surface of the heart 
 into ripples, and disturb its calmness for a moment, and 
 then pass by. It is rather those great sorrows which 
 shake the soul to its depths ; which search and rouse it 
 with a mighty power • which from the moment they come 
 begin to reveal it to itself ; which change its view of all 
 things, so that it no longer sees them as they seemed to be 
 in the dream of a careless life, but as they are in the pnre 
 keen light of eternity. Of the one it may be said, " The 
 spirit of a man may sustain his infirmity," may help him 
 to bear up against the common trials of life. Of the other 
 it is said, " A wounded spirit, who can bear 1 " When the 
 heart itself is overwhelmed, when the spring of our very 
 nature loses its elasticity, it feels as if all strength and 
 hopefulness were utterly gone out of it, as if it lay crushed 
 and powerless beneath a burden too heavy for it to bear. 
 The reed is sorely bruised, a little more will break it ; but, 
 blessed assurance, from the chastening hand of God that 
 little more will never come. We know that there are such 
 sorrows as in their pressure and continuance seem almost 
 too much for nature to endure, and which in common 
 
SEEMONS. 429 
 
 language we speak of as " crushing/' but we know of 
 none that are hopeless, that are hidden from the eye, and 
 are beyond the help of the Great Healer, the Lord of 
 Grace, the Prince of Life. Let the weight of some sudden 
 and terrible calamity have darkened and depressed the 
 soul, making every other hand powerless to help, every 
 other voice idle to comfort, it is but that there may be 
 room for His hand, and a hearing for His voice. In the 
 extremity of nature is His opportunity of grace, and it 
 needs but an appeal to Him to bring Him near as "a 
 present help in trouble," ay, to change the whole aspect 
 of that trouble as a blessed agency for lifting the soul out 
 of its depths of misery nearer to Him. He lays no greater 
 burden on us than He can help us to bear. He tempers His 
 fatherly discipline to our need, and gives strength accord- 
 ing to our day, so that the rough wind and the east wind 
 have not leave to blow together, but the one is stayed 
 before the other begins to blow. 
 
 2. But there is another trouble which goes deeper and 
 seems heavier still, and that is the anguish of a wounded 
 conscience, when the soul is thoroughly roused from its 
 slumbers by the sense of sin, of guilt, of condemnation, of 
 the righteous anger of a holy God. You have heard or 
 read of men bearing this load of wretchedness, pierced 
 with this deep and rankling wound for years, and looking 
 round about them on God's fair earth, and up to God's 
 blue heaven, as lost spirits might gaze on them out of 
 abysses of despair. Such for years was the experience of him 
 whose dream of the Pilgrim's Progress was to himself, in 
 every stage of it, a sober waking reality ; many a weary day, 
 over rough roads and through Sloughs of Despond, did he 
 bear his burden before he found the " Evangelist " who 
 
430 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUKNS. 
 
 pointed to the wicket, with its bright inscription, leading 
 the wanderer into the narrow way of life. Such, too, was 
 his case who could only compare himself, in what he thought 
 his hopeless doom, to the sailor who has fallen overboard, 
 and is floating away from all human aid to perish alone in 
 the wild waters.* 
 
 We would not be understood to say that all must pass 
 through this dark and troubled experience into the enjoy- 
 ment of peace with God, that all must go through these 
 iron gates into the free air and open prospects of the 
 Christian life. God forbid ! We shrink from saying, nor 
 have we any warrant from Scripture to say, what amount 
 of conviction must precede or accompany the process of 
 a genuine conversion, of a real and saving change of heart. 
 
 But we do believe that in all but a few exceptional 
 cases, as theirs to whom grace has come in infancy or early 
 childhood, so that they seem to be " sanctified from the 
 womb," there must be that sense of personal guilt, that ap- 
 prehension of deserved wrath, which fills the soul with 
 inward fear and trouble, which dispels its former peace, 
 and forces itself into utterance in that exceeding loud and 
 bitter cry, " What must I do to be saved ? " If I speak 
 to any such, I speak not my own words, but the words of 
 the Master, Christ, — " Come unto me, all ye that labour 
 and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "The 
 Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He hath sent me to 
 heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the cap- 
 tives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty 
 them that are bruised." Straitly shut up, heavily fettered, 
 
 * Cowper, in his poem on " The Castaway," the most mournful 
 lines, perhaps, that were ever written by a human pen. He has now 
 " escaped safe to land." 
 
SERMONS. 431 
 
 doomed to death as you may seem to be, despair not, 
 drooping captive, the Angel of Deliverance is at hand ! 
 He makes His way in the dark night through close walls 
 and guarded gates, and if you but arise at His voice, He 
 will lead you out of this dim and stifling prison-house to 
 stand in the open street and watch the dawning in the 
 heavens of the day of your salvation. The extremity of 
 need is His opportunity of help. He has added to no 
 load, but lightened many a one. He has riveted no chain, 
 but loosened many. He has never broken the bruised reed, 
 but tenderly stooped over it, and raised it from the dust, and 
 shielded it from wind and storm, and by the virtue of His 
 touch given it the power to grow up and nourish for ever as 
 a green olive-tree in the house of God — a lasting memorial 
 of His grace. For every hurt of conscience, a fresh leaf 
 grows on the Tree of Life, and there is a hand to reach it 
 down. 
 
 II. Another condition of experience or state of mind 
 seems to be shadowed forth in the other emblem of our 
 text : "The smoking flax will He not quench." We may 
 regard this as figuring both the feeble beginnings of grace 
 in the heart of the awakened and returning sinner, and its 
 lingering vestiges in the declining or backsliding Christian. 
 There is here no clear or steady flame, only smoke ascend- 
 ing from the flax to show that a spark has fallen into it, 
 or that one remains yet alive, though so faint that it 
 trembles on the verge of extinction, and is only apparent 
 by some thin blue thread of vapour rising from it into the 
 air. A careless foot might extinguish it, a few drops of 
 rain might quench it, a gust of wind might scatter it into 
 ashes. 
 
432 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 1. Such is the beginning of grace in the heart of man. 
 There is no outward sign to mark the precise moment when 
 the Spirit of life from God first enters into it. He coineth 
 " not with observation/' Of course there must be some 
 inward evidence of His presence, but this at first so faint 
 and dim that the soul itself cannot accept it as sufficient 
 to prove the blessed reality of its hope. It may feel that 
 there is a change from what it was, but nothing like the 
 change into which it would wish to be, so far short of this 
 that it can take no comfort, — may write bitter things 
 against itself, and sorrow as if there were no hope. Its 
 faith seems so weak, its repentance so shallow, its love so 
 cold, its better thoughts and longings so transient and 
 wavering, its whole frame of mind so loose and precarious, 
 that it cannot venture to believe that the life of grace is 
 indeed begun. As yet there is no fire, only smoke ; but 
 where there is smoke there is fire. 
 
 A spark smouldering in the embers sends forth no genial 
 warmth, no cheerful light, fills not the room with its ruddy 
 mellow fireside glow, brightening ' the faces that gather 
 round ; yet, out of that spark, if it is only nursed and 
 tended, the fire may kindle up on the hearth, and gladden 
 all the house, and streaming through the cottage pane may 
 shine as a lamp and signal of hope and welcome to guide 
 some belated wanderer through the darkness and storm. 
 There is an infinite difference between that little spark and 
 a cold dead heap of ashes, for the seed of fire is there. 
 Even so it is in the first turning of the soul to God. In 
 the very conviction of its sinfulness, in the very sense of 
 its shortcomings, in the pressure of its unbelief, in the 
 sorrow for its want of grace, in its striving and praying for 
 something higher and better, there is a spark of vital heat. 
 
SERMONS. 433 
 
 This is the pulse of spiritual life beginning its feeble beat, 
 and there is an infinite difference between this and its 
 bygone trance of death. All that is needed is that He 
 who has infused it should guard and cherish it, and this 
 He has promised to do : " The smoking flax shall He not 
 quench." He does not despise "the day of small things/' 
 He will " not forsake the work of His own hands," and 
 that little spark once lighted, is as safe from extinction as 
 the star in heaven which burns on unquenched from age 
 to age, as sacred in His sight as the fire of love wilich glows 
 in the heart of the seraphim. 
 
 What capabilities of good may be folded up in that 
 little living spark ! Thus there may lie in embryo in the 
 bosom of a child now trained in one of our Christian 
 homes or taught in the Sunday-school, all the vast and 
 wholesome influence of the future devoted minister or mis- 
 sionary of the cross. Out of it may be kindled that 
 holy flame which shall gladden and illumine all within 
 its range, shine as a great light to the people who sit in 
 darkness, and guide many a wanderer into the way of 
 peace. 
 
 It is not the strength of faith which makes it ■ real, but 
 the principle ; a grain of gold is still gold ; a spark of fire 
 is still fire. And the Lord Jesus deals very tenderly with 
 the feeble of the flock, the children of the house. His 
 voice is kind, His look is pleasant, to the trembling inquirer, 
 the lowly penitent, the new-born convert, the young dis- 
 ciple — not overdriving, not overburdening them — watch- 
 ing over the first movements of the new life, winning their 
 trust and love, guiding His flock like a shepherd who 
 " gathers the lambs with His arm and carries them in His 
 bosom." Better are they in His hands than in ours; He 
 
 2 E 
 
434 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 knows that they are tender, and " leads them on softly as 
 they are able to endure." 
 
 2. Again this exercise of gentleness may be regarded as 
 applying to His restoring grace, to His preserving from 
 extinction the spiritual life when it has declined and 
 languished. We know that love may lose its first fervour, 
 and devotion its first heartiness and zeal, that the con- 
 science may lose its sensitiveness, and the mind its spiritual 
 tone, — that the whole life may subside and settle down at 
 a point far below that standard of holiness, that high ideal 
 at which it aimed in its first consecration to God. 
 
 How far this sad reaction, this backsliding and decline 
 can go, it is not for us to say. But we know it may go 
 so far that all that is left of life may be like the spark in 
 smoking flax, or the weak and fitful flame of a lamp when 
 the oil is well-nigh spent, a light that flickers but does not 
 shine. The " things that remain are ready to die," would 
 die in the cold and faithless heart if His hand did not stir 
 these embers, if His breath did not blow upon the expiring 
 flame. Then the graciousness of Christ is seen in the warn- 
 ing-cry that awakens the slumbering virgins, in the sharp 
 chastisement that brings the soul to itself. " I have some- 
 what against thee, because thou has left thy first love. 
 Remember, therefore, from whence thou art fallen, and 
 repent and do the first works ; or else I will come unto 
 thee quickly, and remove thy candlestick out of his place, 
 except thou repent." Then, in the first bitterness of self- 
 reproach, when the spirit of repentance is poured out, and 
 it is ashamed and confounded at the thought of its departure 
 from God, He is near to inspire and strengthen the wish to 
 return, near to draw it closer to Himself by the cord of 
 love. " I will not contend for ever, neither will I be 
 
SERMONS. 435 
 
 always wroth ; for the spirit should fail before me, and 
 the souls which I have made. I have seen his ways 
 and will heal him ; I will lead him also, and will restore 
 comforts unto him and to his mourners/' 
 
 In the light of these words, what touching impressiveness 
 do we not perceive in the apostle's pleading with men "by 
 the meekness and gentleness of Christ ! " It must be a 
 cold heart that does not feel it, and surely no common 
 guilt must lie on the soul that remains hardened against 
 it. For to know His graciousness we must think of His 
 power. He could " break the bruised reed " as he smote 
 the barren fig-tree ; He could " quench the smoking flax " 
 as He quenched the sunlight of Egypt. But He will not. 
 The voice which called the world into being loves to say, 
 " Come unto me." The hand which moulded the w T orld 
 reaches down to heal the broken in heart, to wipe away 
 the mourner's tear. That voice speaks to every sinner. 
 That hand holds out all the gifts of salvation to all who 
 will not turn away from them and perish in their sins. 
 And it is a solemn thing to set in contrast with these 
 words of gentleness and mercy, other words which fell 
 from the lips of Christ, " Except ye repent, ye shall all 
 likewise perish." " Except ye be converted and become as 
 little children, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven." 
 " Strive to enter in at the strait gate : for many will 
 seek to enter in, but shall not be able." " Many are 
 called, but few are chosen." " Except a man be born 
 again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." " If any man 
 will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his 
 cross and follow Me." 
 
 Oh that those still dead in trespasses would hear the 
 voice of the Son of God, and come to Him that they might 
 
430 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 have life ! Beware of thinking that there is life because 
 there is a name to live. Many a flaine of profession is 
 lighted from earthly sources, and lacks the living oil of 
 grace. And if this is all, it must be quenched, it must go 
 out at midnight when you have most need of it, and leave 
 you to go alone through the dark valley into the starless, 
 hopeless, endless darkness beyond ! 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 i. 
 
 " His mercies are new every morning." We do not think 
 so ; we think they are old, but they are not. They come 
 to us each morning fresh minted from God's treasury, and 
 stamped with the seal of His love — each one is a thought 
 of God toward us. 
 
 Those who give themselves up to the service of sin, enter 
 the palace of pleasure by wide portals of marble, which 
 conceal the low wicket behind which leads into the fields, 
 where they are in a short time sent to feed swine. 
 
 God's gifts are all God-like, they are bestowed with 
 royal bounty and largeness. He not only gives the gift of 
 eternal life, but adds to it "the recompense of reward." 
 
 What we call Providence may be explained as the con- 
 tinual outflowing of that creative power that called us into 
 being, now extended for our preservation and happiness. 
 And when we consider how slight an accident would 
 derange this wonderful and exquisite mechanism of the 
 frame, it is marvellous how it is so lovingly and watchfully 
 preserved. 
 
 God will " hear speedily," but His speedily is not our 
 speedily — we measure time by the duration of " three- 
 score years and ten." God measures time by the duration 
 of His own eternity — He knows w 7 hen it is the best time 
 to <nve the answer — the ris:ht time. He has both the 
 
438 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 love that delights to bestow the request, and the wisdom 
 to know when it should be withheld. He does hear and 
 speedily, and the answer comes when the right moment to 
 grant it has come. 
 
 Wherever we are we may pray — the voice of prayer can 
 reach Him wherever it is raised in this world of His. The 
 same blue sky bends over it, the same sun lightens it from 
 side to side. It is all God's house, and from every corner 
 of it the voice of prayer may ascend. In the closet as in 
 the temple cloister you can pray — in the silent solitude as 
 in the busy haunts of men — in calm retirement as amid 
 the whirl and bustle of active life. On a journey Abra- 
 ham's servant prayed. In the field Isaac prayed. In the 
 midst of the perplexities and cares of public life the good 
 king of Israel, Asa, prayed. On the housetop, Peter 
 prayed. In the prison, Paul and Silas prayed. On the 
 Mount of Olives and in Gethsemane, Jesus prayed. 
 
 When we pray, " Thy will be done on earth," we too 
 often seem to think that it is something that is to be done 
 in the outside world, and not in the hidden daily life of 
 each individual. It is by each one in his own sphere, be 
 it great or small, doing the will of God — by one heart after 
 another being influenced by the love of God — by one mind 
 after another being enlightened, that the glorious end is to 
 be reached — God's will being " done on earth as it is in 
 heaven." There is often a very striking sight to be wit- 
 nessed at night in the neighbourhood of a great city. 
 When all the sky is dark and starless, you see it brightly 
 illuminated just over the city, you would fancy it was 
 caused by some great conflagration ; but no, it is the re- 
 flection from the many twinkling lamps scattered up and 
 down the leagues of streets, and so every lamp in the 
 
FRAGMENTS. 439 
 
 darkest and closest alley, and every rushlight that burns 
 in the poorest chamber, add their mite towards this bright 
 illumination of the heavens above. 
 
 There is something grandly sublime in what may be 
 called the death silence of Jesus. From Gethsemane to 
 Calvary no voice was heard from Him • but though He 
 was thus silent, more than two or three witnesses were 
 raised up to confess Him. Judas casting down the price 
 of his treachery in the temple, saying he had " betrayed 
 innocent blood." There was Pilate's wife pleading for 
 " that just person." There were Herod and Pilate declar- 
 ing they found " no fault in Him." There was the 
 dying thief rebuking his railing companion, confessing, 
 " This Man hath done nothing amiss." There was the 
 Roman centurion exclaiming, " Truly this was the Son of 
 God." — A strange group of witnesses. The darkest 
 clouds of the Saviour's humility were pierced by the bright 
 light of His Divinity, from the day when a new star was 
 lighted in heaven, and stood over the humblest cabin in 
 Bethlehem, till the day of Calvary, when nature put on 
 mourning at its Maker's funeral. 
 
 It is as vain to try and seal God's truth, as it was to 
 seal the sepulchre. Many a time princes and priests have 
 plotted against it ; it has been killed and buried ; they have 
 sealed the stone and set the watch ; but the morning of 
 the resurrection has always come, and the dreadful light 
 has flashed in the eyes of its enemies and they have fallen 
 to the ground. 
 
 Much harm is done unconsciously by fettering the Holy 
 Spirit's movements and cramping His operations within 
 straight and rigid lines of theory. 
 
 Every morning has some new miracle of sunrise. It is 
 
440 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 the same sun, the same atmosphere, the same earth, yet 
 what everlasting freshness and changefulness in each day's 
 birth and revival. The dawn is always new, — no two sun- 
 sets are the same. And God divides the light from the 
 darkness in human spirits in divers ways. 
 
 " And Enoch walked with God, and he was not, for God 
 took him," is the brief record we have of the life of Enoch, 
 and in it we have all that is valuable in it. "We have here 
 the spirit of his life — a life of faith, a life of righteousness. 
 " He pleased God," and the great lesson of his life to the 
 men of his own day, and to us now, is this, That it is of 
 far more value and importance to have this testimony 
 " that he pleased God," than to win the praise of man. 
 
 There is an enduring influence in a life's example, whether 
 the sphere of the life be a cottage or a palace, whether it 
 tell upon a private circle or a great community, — a kind 
 of immortality in the words spoken or acts done from day 
 to day which go to make up the sum of life. We would 
 do well to remember this, " That no man liveth to him- 
 self;" for good or evil your life is daily speaking as it is 
 in progress. "No man dieth to himself;" for good or 
 evil the memory of it will speak to survivors from the grave. 
 
 It often happens, and we see the mark of a good Provi- 
 dence in it, that in the calculations of the wicked there is 
 generally one mistake in the reckoning which comes out 
 wrong in the sum. The parts of some unholy scheme may 
 be closely fitted together ; but some wheel or spring is 
 overlooked, it either goes false or does not go at all, and 
 deranges the whole. And so from the murderer who, with 
 the guilt of murder upon his conscience, lays a plot to 
 fasten the guilt of it upon an innocent man, and finds that 
 he has sprung a mine beneath his own feet, down to the 
 
FRAGMENTS. 441 
 
 youth who commits a theft, or the child who tells a lie, 
 there is generally something clone or something not done 
 which becomes a clue, something that throw's a flash of 
 revelation on the guilty face. A little more thought or 
 sense would have guarded against it ; but it is just this 
 that we think should be noticed — the little more is not 
 there. It seems to be a law of God's moral government, 
 that wickedness and wisdom do not go hand in hand, that 
 wickedness is not only guilt in the sight of God, but 
 foolishness in the sight of man, so that we have a right to 
 say to every man who imagines mischief in his heart, " Be 
 sure your sin will find you out." 
 
 One of the most beautiful attitudes of faith is adoring 
 yet confiding — covering the face before God's glory, un- 
 covering the heart before God's goodness. 
 
 The Christian life cannot be a hidden life. Its roots are 
 hidden, for they are deep down in the heart ; but its fruits 
 must be visible, for they are to be seen in the daily life. 
 
 The " I will " of God has a force and reality which the 
 " I wills" of man can never have. All Christians cannot 
 have so majestic a sphere of influence to move in as Paul 
 the apostle had ; but it is laid upon each individually to do 
 all he can for others by his influence over them. The 
 small fountain that trickles down drop by drop may yet 
 assuage the thirst of some wayfarer, the little light in the 
 cottage window may guide some wanderer on his way. 
 And so each Christian should at least try to help others, 
 and bring some to Christ. It is not so much his actions 
 as his life that will influence. Many a one who cannot or 
 will not read a written epistle, is forced to read a " living 
 epistle " when he sees the name of Jesus graven on some 
 life with which he comes in daily contact. 
 
442 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 "Signs and wonders" may burst open the door of the 
 understanding, but it is only the finger of God which holds 
 the key and can open the door of the heart. 
 
 The most simple and persuasive preaching is that in 
 which Christ is most evidently set forth — where the 
 servant stands back that his master may be the better 
 seen. And so that life is the most useful where self is 
 most forgotten — is as the pedestal to the statue which it 
 holds up to public view, or as the glass of a lamp which 
 from its transparency and clearness lets the light shine 
 through in such purity as to be itself invisible. A life 
 sanctified and guided by the Spirit that was in Christ. 
 
 Good desires are like slight breezes that touch but the 
 surface of the waters ; but when the mind is really under 
 the influence of the Spirit of God, it is like a mighty rush- 
 ing wind that gathers up all the forces of the mind and 
 carries them onward in one direction. 
 
 " Go in this thy might." In what might? Of God's 
 promise, " I will be with thee." But it means further — go 
 in the feeling of thy weakness and unworthiness — go in 
 this mind, that God alone can help thee — go in the might 
 of thy weakness, and thou shalt save Israel. Yes, that is 
 might — the might of every Christian — this the mind to 
 which God would bring all His children, the end of His 
 dealings with them. They must be quite emptied, and 
 then they can be filled with His strength. It is the first 
 chapter in the history of Gideon, the preparation for his 
 work, and the performance of that work in his might of 
 weakness. All God's children are called to this. Cherish 
 this feeling, temper, spirit, and look to His all strength 
 and grace alone — " Go in this thy might, and all will be 
 well." 
 
FRAGMENTS. 443 
 
 A man's estimate of life is measured by what he thinks 
 of a day. God gives us opportunities by days, not by 
 years. Many have a vague notion of a day ; they think 
 nothing of it, and therefore never live at all ; they deal 
 too much in generalities — God has no servants who are 
 faithful in years and not in days. 
 
 Jesus came into the world as a saving light, as if judg- 
 ment was an after-necessity forced on Him by our un- 
 willingness to believe. It is not my work — not I the 
 Saviour, but mercy abused that judges you. "It is not 
 I that judge," the last audible proof from the Saviour's 
 lips that judgment is His "strange work." He came not 
 to judge — the unbelief of man has forced Him to lay 
 aside the white robe of mercy and put on the black attire 
 of doom. 
 
 No common man must " Micaiah the son of Imlah " 
 have been to have been honoured with the hatred of such 
 a man as Ahab king of Israel. What my God commands, 
 that will I speak — where my God leads, there will I follow, 
 was the spirit of his life. I am not my own — I have no 
 right to please myself and follow my own will, was the 
 utterance of his daily life. 
 
 God often speaks of Himself as a God of might and 
 majesty before He makes a promise, as if to make us look 
 at this, and then show us the heart of a father, as if to 
 teach us that the hand that formed the world and raised 
 the heavens is the same that stoops to earth to uphold and 
 steady our steps. 
 
 There is no such word as impossible in the vocabulary of 
 faith. 
 
 Whenever a sinner falls down — borne down by the 
 burden of sin, he cannot bat fall on a step of God's throne 
 
444 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUPvNS. 
 
 of mercy. Whenever the cry for help ascends, it cannot 
 but be where the hand of God can reach the penitent. 
 
 God's promises are the italics of the Bible. 
 
 The bright sunshine puts out every other light — 
 heavenly light puts out the earthly ; so in the shining of 
 God's face the fires of our corrupt and evil nature go out. 
 How wonderful that He who could in a moment crush the 
 gates of the soul, and send the soul itself to perdition, 
 should yet stand and ask us to let Him come in. 
 
 When weakest then are we strongest, for then we 
 are withdrawn from all creature strength to look to God 
 alone. 
 
 The nearer we live to the light of God, the darker will 
 appear the shadow of sin. 
 
 Whatever is moved by God's hand has in it all the power 
 of the hand that set it in motion, however insignificant it 
 may be in itself. 
 
 God often leads His people by a way that they know 
 not, but never by a way that He does not know. 
 
 So many of this world's harvests fail, because the seed 
 has not been sown in prayer. 
 
 Many say, Let me first go and bid the world farewell, 
 and then " I will follow thee ; " let me first go and do 
 this or that, it is a very important matter. But nothing 
 is so important that it cannot wait for this — nothing that 
 has to be done in this world, but will be better done if we 
 do it with Jesus ; and anything that we cannot do with 
 Jesus had better not be done at all. 
 
 Light is a beautiful thing in itself, but it is most beauti- 
 ful when viewed in its effects ; holiness is beautiful in 
 itself, but most so when exemplified in the life. The 
 Gospel is beautiful in itself, but never so beautiful as when 
 
FBAGMENTS, 445 
 
 read with a living commentary, when we can point to 
 some life and say, There is the Gospel. 
 
 Many Christians are like lighthouses in the day — they 
 hold out no light, they are all darkness, their Christianity 
 is written in dead letters, no one can read them, they are 
 of no use. 
 
 Every Christian is to shine, but all are not set as stars 
 in the firmament ; some are only like the little taper shin- 
 ing in the lowly cottage. But in this life the little taper 
 is often more useful than the bright star set in yonder blue 
 heaven. 
 
 No work that is faithfully done is done in vain. Though 
 the seed we cast on the waters may seem to be lost, yet it 
 will spring, it may be, many days hence ; our words may 
 seem to be spoken in vain, because we do not hear an echo 
 responding to them, — we may not hear the response to-day, 
 but we shall hear, perhaps long years hence, when the words 
 have died away; or the echo may not be heard till we 
 have passed away from the reach of all earthly sounds. 
 
 Many try to make God their refuge, but never think of 
 Him as their home, the centre to which their hearts con- 
 tinually turn. 
 
 There is nothing inconsistent between the deepest rever- 
 ence and the most simple trust. They that fear God most 
 trust Him most. In this I see faith in her most beauti- 
 ful attitude — adoring, yet confiding — veiling the face before 
 God's majesty, baring the heart before God's goodness. 
 
 To be able to subdue the angry thought, and still the 
 angry spirit, shows more courage than to be bravest and 
 foremost in the heat of battle. 
 
 " Faint, yet pursuing" let us look at this as a great rule 
 and great spirit of Christian work. 
 
446 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 It is said that in the profound depth of ocean there is 
 a perpetual undisturbed calm that no storms can reach, 
 even though the surface of the waters be lashed into fury 
 by the hurricane. Even so is the peace in a believer's 
 soul — the troubles from without cannot reach to disturb 
 the calm that reigns in the depths of his soul. 
 
 That selfish, self-anatomising Christian is a morbid and 
 sickly growth. There is nothing like some zealous, active 
 work for Christ, for removing many doubts and fears. 
 The life will soon run itself clear. 
 
 If the story of Christ's life ended with the mourners 
 standing round the cross, and the women carrying the 
 spices to the grave, it would be the most touching story 
 that ever was told, but it would be no gospel story to the 
 sinner. But it does not end there and thus ; we see the 
 folded grave-clothes, and the stone with its broken seal ; we 
 see the print of returning footsteps on the threshold of the 
 sepulchre, and angels pointing to the place where the Lord 
 lay; we see Jesus ascending in glory; we see Him sitting 
 down on His Esther's throne, the great High Priest and Inter- 
 cessor, the "Captain of salvation," made perfect through suf- 
 fering, that He might bring many sons and daughters to glory. 
 
 What a precious alchymy is that by which all earth's 
 disappointments are changed to heaven's appointments — the 
 wise, gracious, loving, needed discipline of a Father's hand. 
 
 " We are not atheists — we believe that God is," but 
 there is a shutting up of this truth in the intellect, instead 
 of letting it go from the intellect to the heart, and pass 
 from the heart into the life. It is not always to acknow- 
 ledge that " God is," that makes the difference between 
 the atheist and the Christian ; but to believe it in the 
 earth makes the difference between the converted and the 
 
FRAGMENTS. 447 
 
 unconverted, the carnal and the regenerate man. Wher- 
 ever there is a sense of forgiveness there must have gone 
 before it a sense of sin. 
 
 As long as a man tries to heal himself, and keeps away 
 from the cross, he only aggravates his wound and makes 
 his burden greater. 
 
 Unless we know all our sin, have a deep sense of sin, 
 we cannot know all God's mercy, or all Christ's love in 
 forgiving sin. 
 
 Whenever David confessed his sin, pardon is pronounced. 
 As if God had been waiting to hear the first word, to catch 
 the first upturned look of penitence. 
 
 On earth even the mind is carnal, dragged down at best 
 by the body of sin. In heaven the very body will be 
 BpirituaL 
 
 Unsanctified knowledge of the truth is only like a clear 
 cold light — as moonlight, which gives colour to no flower, 
 nor ripeness to any fruit. But the knowledge of which 
 Paul speaks, (Col. i. 9,) a personal knowledge of Christ, 
 is like the warm and cheering light of the sun — the oil 
 that supplies the lamp of Christian watchfulness and keeps 
 it burning — the fuel that feeds the altar fire of Christian love. 
 
 " Patience worketh experience, and experience hope." 
 We think of patience as creeping slowly along the ground ; 
 hope as soaring with eager flight towards heaven ; but 
 experience comes in between, like the wing that is to lift 
 patience into hope. 
 
 Omnipotence realised by faith is the secret of the 
 Christian's strength. On what a vantage-ground it plants 
 even the weakest and most lonely believer. What a poor 
 thing human power is after all ; it can destroy the body, 
 but it cannot touch the soul : "I give unto them eternal 
 
448 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEN3. 
 
 life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any man 
 pluck them out of my hand. My Father which gave them 
 me is greater than all, and no man is able to pluck them 
 out of my Father's hand." These two hands clasped as it 
 were round that life, no power can touch it. 
 
 Whatever God has said shall be, must be. Take your 
 stand on this rock, " The Lord hath said." 
 
 You may stand trembling on the rock, but the rock never 
 trembles under you. 
 
 The tears of godly sorrow are oftentimes the seeds of 
 spiritual joys. 
 
 Men are not saved by faith in generalities any more 
 than they are saved in crowds. Each man must be saved 
 individually ; he must in his own person come before God 
 to seek for pardon, and he must believe in Jesus Christ as 
 a Saviour from sin — as his Saviour, to save him from his sin. 
 
 Every day, every hour each of us is casting seed into 
 the ground. Every thought, every word of ours will 
 have a lasting influence, must bring forth fruit to all 
 eternity. 
 
 In whatever is right and true there is an element of 
 indestructible life and strength, and on the other hand there 
 is an element of weakness and retribution in all that is 
 wrong ; even though it may seem expedient, it must fail 
 in the end. 
 
 Those men must dig very deep indeed, who would spring 
 their mines under the Rock of Ages. 
 
 It is a man's thoughts that show the true spirit of his 
 life, not his words, for they are often used to conceal his 
 thoughts. Not his actions, for they are often at variance 
 with his thoughts. But there can be no hypocrisy in the 
 thoughts : " Like as a man thinketh, so is he." 
 
FRAGMENTS. 449 
 
 II. 
 
 To believe in God is to find peace ; but to have little 
 faith is to have little peace. A stronger faith brings us 
 greater peace ; to have the heart stayed on God is to have 
 perfect peace. 
 
 It is said that often in the very heart of a hurricane 
 there is a profound calm, and a vessel anchored within this 
 charmed circle may see the tempest careering all round it, 
 and not a ripple disturb the surface of its own waters. 
 Such is the peace of God when it enters into the heart 
 of man. The stormy sea of life all round, troubles closing 
 him on every side ; but within there is a perfect calm, a 
 firm and sure reliance on his God. A peace reigns within 
 that passeth understanding. 
 
 There can be no real life without breath, movement, 
 growth, and perfection. The breath of the resurrection 
 life is prayer; the movement of the resurrection life is 
 Christian activity j its growth is increase in holiness ; and 
 the perfection of the resurrection life is the being made 
 like unto Him when He shall appear the second time with 
 power and great glory. 
 
 We are too apt to get into the way of using phrases 
 without thinking of what they mean. So many say, " I 
 believe in the Holy Ghost," and never seem to realise the 
 personality of the Spirit of God. And God seems at this 
 
 2f 
 
450 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUEXS. 
 
 time to be showing us, forcing upon our minds the real 
 living presence of the Holy Ghost in this great work of 
 revival. We talk of the influences of the Spirit as if we 
 thought there would be influences without an agent. The 
 Holy Spirit is as real, and living, and present a Person as 
 the Son or the Father, and if we realised this great truth 
 more, and dwelt more upon it, it would surely have a more 
 visible influence upon our life. 
 
 Spiritual-mindedness seems to me to convey the most 
 perfect idea of communion with the Spirit, to have the 
 mind of the Spirit dwelling in us, our feelings and desires 
 and actions under its control and guidance, (John xvi. 7.) 
 How little we feel the power of this. If we really entered 
 into it, the Spirit would be more a living Spirit to us, His 
 work, to bring us to Christ and show us the things of 
 Christ. 
 
 Assurance is a reasonable hope, a trust built on true and 
 firm foundations, not a presumjjtion. 
 
 Assurance is a desirable thing for every Christian to 
 attain to ; it is not indispensable to salvation ; faith is the 
 only thing without which we cannot be saved. It is within 
 the power of all to attain to it ; we should not be so often 
 urged to it in the Bible if it were impossible to attain it. 
 It adds much to the Christian's joy and strength and 
 usefulness. 
 
 " Look on us," and " he gave heed unto them, expecting 
 to receive somewhat of them." Now this is what man 
 will not do to God, he will not believe God's word. We 
 trust more to our fellow-creature's word, expect more from 
 the natural kindness of the human heart, than from God. 
 In writing a letter, or going up to a door, or making an 
 audible appeal, men seem to feel they are doing something, 
 
FRAGMENTS. 451 
 
 and look for the result. But offering up a prayer to God 
 they look upon — I know not how — as if they were shooting 
 an arrow into the clouds, with this difference, that the arrow 
 returns to earth, but the prayer vanishes into air. They 
 may not say so, but they virtually disbelieve God's word, 
 and the reality and power of prayer. Jesus stands here 
 to-day. He says to each one of you. k " Look on me." expect- 
 ing to receive something from me. and that •'something" 
 the very thing you need. Will you give heed to His word ! 
 Will you look to Him and expect to receive, or will you 
 turn away as if they were idle word- I 
 
 " He will abundantly pardon." The showers of rain are 
 needed to fertilise the earth, and make the seed spring up 
 in the ground. We have not only needful showers, but 
 look around on the overflowing rivers and the broad ocean, 
 this is God's abundance. The heat and light of the sun is 
 needful to bring the fruits of the earth to maturity ; but 
 look at the flood of light that is poured on this earth, pene- 
 trating into every corner, gladdening the meanest and most 
 insignificant thing that lives or moves, this is God's abun- 
 dance, this the measure by which He deals out His gifts 
 to man. And when He pardons He not only receives the 
 sinner into His family but makes him a son, He puts slices 
 on his feet and a chain of gold about his neck, He puts 
 on his finger the ring of adoption and clothes him with 
 the pure robe of righteousness. "He will abundantly 
 pardon." 
 
 It is not the stature of the man among his fellows that 
 is his real measure ; unassuming greatness passes for little- 
 ness amongst men. The world knows little of its noblest 
 men, for "man looks on the outward appearance, but God 
 looks on the heart." Pharaoh has a pyramid to point out 
 
452 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 his resting-place, but Moses rests in a sepulchre which no 
 man knows to this day. 
 
 Just as there is nothing so difficult on earth as to live a 
 consistent, earnest Christian life, so nothing is easier or 
 more common than to live the counterfeit. The " tinkling 
 cymbal " often makes the greatest noise in the sendees of 
 the temple. 
 
 Grace must go as deep down as sin has gone. 
 
 God looks on the heart. He does not expect to find 
 any one heart pure and sinless. But He sees what is its 
 desire and direction — what is its governing motive — what 
 its mastering impulse — what its desire. There are many 
 cross currents in the human heart, but what is the set of its 
 current 1 — to God or the world 1 to holiness or sin 1 
 
 The prayerful desire will strengthen into earnest obedi- 
 ence. 
 
 Men look at the footprints, and seeing they are in 
 the way to the sanctuary, conclude the heart must be on 
 the way to heaven. God looks at footprints also, but they 
 are the prints of the thoughts, and they often point in an 
 opposite direction from the eyes. Man looks to the gift 
 on the altar — God looks on the motive that has laid it 
 there. 
 
 If there is any desire towards Him, God knows it, for 
 He has put it into your heart — He will not despise even 
 the life that is in the bruised reed and smoking flax. It 
 is a life of His own planting, and He will nourish it ; 
 He sees the faint pulse beating, and He will strengthen 
 it. 
 
 Christians should strive so to live that they may show 
 those things that are lovely in the Christian character, not 
 only to those who see the root from which they grow, and 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 thus jn Igc C the Emit, ' those wh< 
 
 will only judge the the fruit that they see. 
 
 2 uo thinking without acta a in 
 (dan life, i ught 
 
 . . ' 
 humble : as soon as he 5] 
 enters into his heart. 
 
 T.j be serving Christ is the real -. . 
 
 the name of Q — it is not j 
 
 name. real going lay, a si 
 
 rve C h >:. I n at inl I 
 heard and read. ... Si: at Jesus' l this 
 
 ntentment, in th - " "We 
 
 Jl things thi agh Chi 
 The frail ark 
 
 - in ::. The Hi 
 God is in t 
 
 It is ruths of G 
 
 d ::i. that man's time of n< 
 
 Man's time of es oity. At 
 
 irkest hour of sj ss the dawn _. .is at 
 
 hand. When men get to the end 
 God is only at the beg g of His v. 
 
 All true sense of need must Lead to prayer, an aj 
 from our v. L's strength. 
 
 It would only I ; at the request of the great and mighty 
 of the earth that England's Majesty would display her trea- 
 sures ; to none less than princes would - 
 and riches, throw open her arse int to her I 
 
 display the wealth of her cities and treasuries. But it is 
 
454 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 the prayer of the destitute that has power with God ; not 
 all the powers of earth or hell could move the gates of the 
 kingdom of heaven, but at the trembling knock of prayer 
 these gates open of their own accord. The cry of the 
 needy, the tear of the penitent, the lisping prayer of the 
 little child — these have power to move His mighty hand — 
 these draw out the riches of the glory of His grace. 
 
 Men are ready to set up agencies, but forget the great 
 Agent ; they set up machinery, but seem to forget the 
 great motive power that must set all in harmonious working. 
 
 Many seem to think that the gates of heaven are to be 
 entered by some right of birth or name ; like the gates of a 
 palace, they are open only to the nobility, and coming from 
 a godly stock, and belonging to a Christian community, they 
 think they carry about with them the warranted certificate 
 and are ready to produce it at any moment. It is well 
 godliness cannot be bequeathed, or else ungodliness would 
 be inherited also. Though we see a Cain in the first-born 
 of Adam, we see also that Jeroboam the son of Xebat 
 " could not prevent there being in his child some good 
 thing towards the Lord God of Israel." Though we see 
 an Absalom walking out of the house of David, we see 
 coming forth untainted from the corrupt court of Ahaz the 
 good King Hezekiah. 
 
 The actions of life are the fruit of the life tree. 
 
 Repentance, or change of heart, is a radical or root change, 
 a new life infused into the life, that flows into all the 
 branches. 
 
 Fruits meet for repentance may briefly be said to be 
 those that are directly opposed to besetting sins. (Where 
 there has been pride, there will be humility ; where covet- 
 ousness, liberality; where dishonesty, justice and truth.) 
 
FRAGMENTS; 455 
 
 These fruits (of repentance) are not so much religious 
 duties or acts of a special nature, but the common average 
 produce of daily life. They are to be seen in the common 
 intercourse and common duties and callings of every-day 
 life. They are not exotics grown in seclusion, under the 
 the shelter of the hot-house ; not the blanched and sickly 
 virtues of the cloister, but the hardy and healthy plants of 
 every-day open-air life, often found most beautiful and 
 attractive under the chilling storm or drenching rain 
 shining brightest in the life of suffering and patient 
 endurance, tried in stern conflicts, purified in the furnace 
 of great affliction. 
 
 The tie that binds the disciple to his Lord is not to be 
 weakened by time, not to be rent by accident, not to be 
 sundered by death, because He has made him a partaker of 
 His life. 
 
 It is remarked how prominently life is brought before 
 us in the Saviour's ministry, as if He had ever before Him 
 that He was standing in the midst of death. 
 
 "We are not to be satisfied with what we first know of 
 Christ, that is only the beginning of a life of knowing. 
 There is to be a growing knowledge and a growing trust. 
 It is the blessedness, privilege, glory of believers thus to 
 know Christ. 
 
 The life of faith is hidden in its sources, but it cannot 
 be so in its products or effects. There can be no living 
 branch on the true vine that remains unfruitful. The fruit 
 is the highest proof, the greatest consummation of the life 
 and the fruit always has the seed at its heart. 
 
 A Christian is to be an ornament to the faith, not merely 
 a partaker, but glorifying God by the beauty of his life 
 To bring forth fruit is to be living to the glory and honour 
 
456 THE LIFE OF J. D. BURNS. 
 
 of God. There is no right desire, no good thing in the 
 believer's heart but what is the work of God, and it is to 
 His glory that it should be manifested in the life. He is 
 not merely to show that there is life, but life that brings 
 forth fruit to perfection, (such graces most resemble the 
 mind that was in Christ.) " God that giveth," or the 
 giving One. He is not only the promising God, but the 
 giving God. 
 
 Many men think more of Christianity than of Christ. 
 
 One often comes to cross roads in life, where the foot 
 seems arrested, and we halt, uncertain which way to follow ; 
 but it is just here Christ comes to meet us and to guide 
 us on. 
 
 Patience is faith suffering — love is faith acting — hope, 
 faith expectant. 
 
 There is a great difference in the way men walk through 
 the world. " Some go through God's house with their 
 eyes open, and see pictures on every wall, and others go on 
 with closed eyes, every chamber is blank to them." 
 
 Faith must conquer even when weakest, because it is a 
 divine thing. An eternal life is in it, because it clings to 
 the promise of Him. and lives in the life of Him who has 
 overcome. 
 
 The footsteps of God's people are not always beside still 
 waters, and in green pastures, but in the rugged mountain 
 path, and along the hot dreary desert way. Abraham was 
 there — David was there — Elijah was there — and a greater 
 than Elijah was there, the " Man of sorrows." Each 
 child of God must walk in that rough way. Whenever 
 the seal of God is set on his brow, and the oil of conse- 
 cration poured on his head, he must be as Christ was — he 
 must be conformed to His likeness in this also — must fill 
 
FRAGMENTS. 457 
 
 up his " measure of the afflictions of Christ for His body's 
 sake, which is the Church." But -with this ever before 
 him to strengthen him — the " Man Christ Jesus," the 
 " Man of sorrows," who goes before him, who Las sounded 
 the depth of every sorrow. We may talk of being forsaken, 
 but there is only One who was ever forsaken, who could 
 realise what it is to be utterly forsaken, to see no friend 
 between earth and heaven ; He who once cried, " My God, 
 my God, why hast thou forsaken me ] " 
 
 The Christian is often in darkness and perplexity, but 
 let him have firm hold of one word of God, and he has 
 what will guide him through. Trials come, but let him 
 have one promise to rest on, and he has a strong consola- 
 tion. Temptations come, let him catch them on the shield 
 of faith, and the fiery darts fall harmless at his feet. In 
 all times, with God's word to lay hold of, the Christian can 
 possess his soul in patience. 
 
 All our strength lies in our weakest point. 
 
 You may have been struck, while standing beside a 
 fountain, with the freeness and spontaneousness with which 
 the waters were given forth — gushing out so fresh and 
 clear, without effort, like a pulse beating on ceaselessly, 
 noiselessly. And if the basin overflows, it is kept full to 
 overflow, and this goes on day by day, year by year. Such 
 is the fountain of love in God, ever flowing forth fresh and 
 constant to man, ceaselessly, noiselessly, without effort. 
 How silently the sun rises day by day to gladden and 
 revive all nature. How silently the refreshing dews come 
 down. And so with spiritual gifts — the greatest gift of 
 all — God sends no loud proclamation before Him. His 
 love is ever flowing forth in a ceaseless, silent stream. 
 
 The least grace is of more value than the richest gift — 
 
458 THE LIFE OF J. D. BUENS. 
 
 the least saint in the kingdom of heaven is greater as a 
 saint, than the greatest prophet as a prophet, 
 
 A mere excitement of religious feeling is as different 
 from genuine religion, as the mountain torrent, that dries 
 up faster than it rose, is to the constant stream with its 
 calm perennial flow, fed from hidden sources in the ever- 
 lasting hills. 
 
 "Without the grace of God religious knowlege is but a 
 cumbersome burden ; without the hidden springs of faith 
 to sustain it, religious feeling is a .mere effervescence ; 
 without love to God in the heart, religious activity is only 
 a decorous dissipation. 
 
 Though I cannot read my name and surname in the 
 book of life in heaven, I can read my name in God's book 
 of grace on earth — in that " whosoever" I am included — I 
 cannot put myself out of the circle God has marked out with 
 His own hand. 
 
 If your name is written in the Book of Life in heaven, 
 it will be manifest by a holy, humble, crucified life on 
 earth. This is the sign and seal that may be seen and 
 read of all men, — "Let him that nameth the name of 
 Christ, depart from all iniquity." 
 
In Foolscap Svo. Price Six Shillings, 
 
 THE 
 
 VISION OF PROPHECY 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES D. BURNS. M.A. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JAMES XISBET & CO., 21 BERXERS STREET, W. 
 
BY THE LATE REV. J. D. BURNS, 
 
 HAMPSTEAD, LONDON. 
 
 THE EVENING HYMN. 
 A BOOK OF rRAYERS AND HYMNS FOR FAMILY USE. 
 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Nightly Communing. 
 
 
 XVII. 
 
 II. 
 
 Safe Keeping. 
 
 
 xvnr. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Blessed Rest. 
 
 
 XIX. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Mercy-Seat. 
 
 
 XX. 
 
 V. 
 
 Drawing nigh to God. 
 
 
 XXI. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Night in Galilee. 
 
 
 XXII. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Emmaus. 
 
 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "The Shadow of 
 
 Thy 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 
 Wings." 
 
 
 XXIV 
 
 IX. 
 
 Childlike Trust. 
 
 
 XXV. 
 
 X. 
 
 Care cast on God. 
 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XI. 
 
 "I meditate in the Night- 
 
 XXVII 
 
 
 Watches." 
 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " My Heart waketh." 
 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Evening Sacrifice 
 
 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Holy Longing. 
 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Star of Jacob. 
 
 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "Out of the Depths." 
 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Daily Mercies. 
 
 Light in Darkness. 
 
 [srael's Keeper. 
 
 "Thou, God, seest me." 
 
 Jacob's Dream. V 
 
 "In the night his Song 
 
 shall be with me." 
 "Still with Thee." 
 Spiritual Worship. 
 Life a Night. 
 The Child SamueL 
 "Looking unto Jesus." 
 Sabbath Evening. 
 " Love which passeth 
 
 Knowledge." 
 " At Evening-time it shall 
 
 be Light." 
 "No Night there." 
 
 By the $amo $uthott. 
 
 THE HEAVENLY JERUSALEM; 
 OR, GLIMPSES WITHIN THE GATES. 
 
 No Sorrow there. 
 No Night there. 
 No more Curse. 
 No more Death. 
 No Temple there. 
 The Open Gates. 
 The Holy Service. 
 The Unceasing Song. 
 The Beatific Vision. 
 The Shining Mark. 
 The Great Multitude. 
 The White Robes. 
 The Palms of Victory. 
 The City's Glory. 
 The City's Light. 
 The Twelve Foundations. 
 
 The Crystal Sea. 
 
 The Emerald Rainbow. 
 
 The Seven Lamps. 
 
 The Tabernacle over them. 
 
 The Royal Banquet. 
 
 The River of Life. 
 
 The Tree of Life. 
 
 The Crown of Life. 
 
 The Hidden Manna. 
 
 The White Stone and the New Name. 
 
 The Morning Star. 
 
 The Pillar in the Temple. 
 
 The Inscriptions on the Pillar. 
 
 The Seat on the Throne. 
 
 Conclusion. 
 
 " Behold the Bridegroom cometh." 
 
 T. NELSON & SONS : LONDON AND EDINBURGH. 
 
WORKS BY THE LATE JAMES HAMILTON, D.D, 
 
 THE PEARL OF PARABLES. 
 
 NOTES ON THE PAEABLE OF THE PRODIGAL SON. 
 
 "With Twelve Illustrations by Selous. 
 
 Handsomely bound, small 4to, 8s. 6d. cloth. Also, a Cheap Edition, 
 
 without plates 16mo, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 " A book like this is a very rick enjoyment for both mind and heart. A 
 more fitting gift-book for young men could hardly be conceived.'' — British 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
 "The pearl of parables has never been more usefully or beautifully illus- 
 trated, than in the volume before us." — Eclectic Review. 
 
 LESSONS FROM THE GREAT BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 EARLY INCIDENTS. 
 
 1. Pre-Existence. 
 
 2. Appearances before the Advent. 
 
 3. The Advent. 
 
 4. Bethlehem : The First Visit to 
 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 5. The Wilderness. 
 
 MIRACLES. 
 
 1. Cana : The Wedding Feast. 
 
 2. Bethesda : A Remarkable Re- 
 
 covery. 
 
 3. Nain: The Interrupted Funeral. 
 
 4. Gadara : The Demons Expelled. 
 
 5. The Desert near^Bethsaida : The 
 
 Multitude Fed. 
 
 6. The Sea of Galilee : The Tempest 
 
 Stilled. 
 
 7. The Fame of Jesus : Successful 
 Intercession. 
 
 DISCOURSES. 
 
 1. Messiah's Manifesto. — The King- 
 
 dom. 
 
 2. A Saviour's Farewell. — The 
 
 Father's House. 
 
 INTERVIEWS. 
 
 1. A Nocturnal Visitor. 
 
 2. The Banquet Hall. 
 
 3. A Young Man who left all and fol- 
 
 lowed Jesus. 
 
 FINAL GLIMPSES. 
 
 The Risen Redeemer. 
 
 THE ROYAL PREACHER: 
 
 LECTURES ON ECCLESIASTES. 
 Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 1. The Preacher. 
 
 12. 
 
 Borrowed Light for a Da 
 
 2. The Sermon. 
 
 
 Landing. 
 
 3. A Greater than Solomon. 
 
 13. 
 
 Precious Perfume. 
 
 4. The Vestibule of Vanity. 
 
 14. 
 
 Dead Flies. 
 
 5. The Museum. 
 
 15. 
 
 Blunt Axes. 
 
 6. The Playhouse and the Palace. 
 
 16. 
 
 Bread on the Waters. 
 
 7. The Monument. 
 
 17. 
 
 P right Moments on the Wing. 
 
 8. The Clock of Destiny. 
 
 18. 
 
 Almond Blossoms. 
 
 9. The Dungeon. 
 
 19. 
 
 Tbe Wicket-Gate. 
 
 10. The Sanctuarv. 
 
 20. 
 
 Green Pastures. 
 
 11. The Exchange. 
 
 
 
IV. 
 
 LIFE IN EARNEST. 
 SIX LECTURES ON CHRISTIAN ACTIVITY AND ARDOUR. 
 
 16mo, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 v. 
 
 THE MOUNT OF OLIVES, 
 
 AND OTHER LECTURES ON PRAYER. 
 
 16mo, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A MORNING BESIDE THE LAKE OF GALILEE. 
 
 16mo, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE MOUNT OF OLIVES AND THE LAKE OF 
 GALILEE. 
 
 In One Volume, 16mo, 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE HAPPY HOME. 
 
 16mo, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 IX. 
 
 EMBLEMS FROM EDEN. 
 
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 x. 
 
 THE LIGHT TO THE PATH ; 
 
 Or, The Lamp and the Lantern. What the Bible has been to 
 
 others and what it can do for ourselves. 
 
 16mo, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 XI. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF LADY COLQUHOUN OF LUSS. 
 
 8vo, 7s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A MEMOIR OF RICHARD WILLIAMS, 
 
 SuilGEON, CATECHIST IN THE MISSION TO PATAGONIA. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 3s. (3d. cloth. 
 
In Four Volumes, cro o, 16s. 
 
 OUR CHRISTIAN CLASSICS: 
 READINGS FROM THE BEST DIVINES. 
 By James Hamilton, D.D. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE LORD BISHOP OF LONDON". 
 
 Extending from the Reformation to the close of the eighteenth 
 century, it is the object of this series to give the reader a compre- 
 hensive view of that very various and noble Christian literature by 
 which our country has been signalised above all others, with bio- 
 graphical and critical notices of the more distinguished authors. 
 
 In Six Volumes, crown 8vo, price £1, 4s. in cloth, 
 
 EXCELSIOR : 
 
 HELPS TO PROGRESS IN RELIGION, SCIENCE, AND 
 •LITERATURE. 
 
 Edited by James Hamilton, D.D., F.L.S. 
 
 As— besides continuous papers on such subjects as Zoology, 
 Meteorology, British Mining, the Fine Arts, the Human Frame, 
 Church History, English Letter-Writers, &c. — these volumes con- 
 tain numerous contributions in the departments of Biography, 
 Adventures and Incidents of Travel, the Useful Arts, Tales, Poetry, 
 Literary Criticism, Scriptural Evidences, and Christian Ethics, it is 
 believed that they will be found a welcome acquisition amongst 
 those who, in their search for amusement, do not lose sight of in- 
 struction. More especially is it respectfully submitted that, com- 
 bining so much sound information with the liveliness of a miscellany, 
 they would find an appropriate place in the Bookcase of the School- 
 room and in the Village Library, as well as on the shelf beside the 
 Parlour Fire. 
 
Messrs JAMES NISBET & Co. have in course of publication 
 a UNIFORM EDITION of the WORKS of the late Rev 
 JAMES HAMILTON, D.D., F.L.S., to be completed in six volumes, 
 crown 8vo. Each volume will contain upwards of 500 pages, printed 
 in clear type, on good paper, and bound in cloth. 
 
 CONTENTS OF THE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 Life in Earnest. 
 Mount of Olives. 
 
 A Morning beside the Lake of Galilee. 
 Happy Home. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 Light for the Path. 
 
 Emblems from Eden. 
 
 The Parable of the Prodigal Son. 
 
 The Church in the House. 
 
 Dew of Hermon ; and Thankfulness. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 The Royal Preacher. 
 Lessons from the Great Biography. 
 Notes on Job and Proverbs. 
 
 VOL. IV. Reviews, Essays, and Fugitive Pieces. 
 
 VOLS. V. and VI. Selections from Unpublished Sermon 
 and MSS. 
 
 The Price of each Volume, separately, will he 7 s. 6d. 
 
 It must be superfluous to enlarge upon the high estimation in 
 which Dr Hamilton's "Works are deservedly held, as well for their 
 literary merit as for their souud religious instruction. Not only 
 among the wide circle of personal friends, but among the public in 
 general, will be found many who will gladly welcome this oppor- 
 tunity of adding, at a moderate cost, a collection of valuable theo- 
 logical literature to their library, and at the same time of securing 
 an interesting and permanent memorial of this beloved and gifted 
 man.