joy, the gladness, the rapturous songs, which will be realised and heard in that day, when Jesus presents the purchase of his blood; which he has rescued from sin, Satan, and the world; whom he has received at his cross, and the throne of his grace; whom he has restrained by his mercy, providence, and power; whom he has restored from all the paths of folly and ways of sin; when he presents them all in spotless splendour and perfect purity unto his Father, saying, "Here I am, Father, and the children which thou hast given me." Reader, will you be one of them? Shall we be there? Shall we share in the glorious triumphs of that day? Yes, if we realise the efficacy of his blood now, if we are redeemed from among men, rescued from sin and Satan, received into the arms of his mercy, restrained from making shipwreck of faith, and restored from all our waywardness and wanderings. Cheltenham. FAULTS IN PRAYER. BY THE REV. H. W. BRECHER. Private prayer ought to be regarded as a pleasure and privilege, not as a duty. But public prayer may be fitly spoken of as a duty, since it is seldom that one would of choice pray publicly for his own devotion, but only because it is his duty to the brotherhood. No service needs more, and none is susceptible of so little improvement by means of instruction. This is an exercise in which men cannot be drilled. It is ungracious even to criticize what purports to be an address to God. Yet there are some suggestions which we shall venture to make. We think it very important that the pastor, or some leading officer, should be faithful with the younger members of the church in pointing out blemishes and faults, which may easily be corrected at first, but which, if suffered to go on, will become ineradicable. One man falls into a whining tone, another prays in an inaudible whisper, another exalts his voice far beyond the natural conversational pitch, and others lose the natural tones entirely, and pray in a kind of sacred falsetto. Some talk in tenor, but pray in bass; some converse in upper-bass notes, but pray in tenor tones. If a brother first speaks and then prays, a stranger listening from the outside would think two different men had been speaking. This habit becomes very marked in the ministrations of clergymen, many of whom come, at length, to have a conversation voice, a praying voice, a hymn voice, a reading voice, and a preaching voice. Men are seldom entirely true to themselves and natural in their prayers. There is a certain round of topics supposed to be necessary to a symmetrical prayer. These they punctiliously introduce, whether their heart craves such utterance or not. Of all forms of prayer, extemporaneous forms are the worst. They have all the evils of written prayers without their propriety. If, when a christian brother were in full tide of prayer along the regular succession of topics, Christ should really appear before him, how extremely impertinent would most of the petitions seem, addressed to a living and visible Saviour. Thus a man's real feeling is not expressed, and matters quite good in themselves, but almost wholly indifferent to him, constitute the bulk of petition. Reverential tones and well-connected sentences, expressing very proper ideas, do not constitute prayer. The very essence of praying is, that it conveys the real desires or thoughts of the suppliant. When a man really reveres God, how simple is the language of Veneration! But if his heart is breaking with sorrow, or depressed by care, or fretted by ill-adjusted affairs, why should he leave the real strain of feeling, and strike into a false key? It is remarkable how skilfully men will contrive to avoid all real interests, and express almost wholly those which are not real to them. A man prays for the glory of God, for the advance of his kingdom, for the evangelization of the world, but in that very time he will not allude to the very things in which his very life may stand, nor to the wants which, every day, are working their impress upon his character. The cares, the petty annoyances, the impatience of temper, pride, selfindulgence, selfishness, conscious and unconscious; or, on the other hand, the gladnesses of daily life, the blessings of home, the felicities of friendship, the joys and success of life,-in short, all the things which one would talk of to a venerable mother, in an hour of confidence, are excluded from prayer among the brotherhood. Without a doubt, there is to be a reserve and delicacy exercised in the disclosure of one's secret and private experiences. But this is not to be carried so far as to strip prayer of all its leaves and blossoms, and leave it like a formal bush or tree in winter, with barren branches standing in cold outline against a cold sky. We must enter a solemn protest against the desecration of the name of God, so very common in prayer. There would seem to be no necessity, in a prayer of ordinary length, of more than one or two repetitions of the Divine name. Instead of this, it is often repeated from twenty to forty times. Every sentence begins "O Lord!" Often the middle of a sentence is pivoted upon the Divine name. It is made to be a word on which, long drawn out, men collect their thoughts or gather breath. It is a word used simply to begin a sentence or to close it up. In short, the name of God degenerates into a mere rhetorical embellishment, and is the waste-word of the prayer. For our own part, prayers interlarded in this manner are extremely repulsive and even shocking. Nor can we consent any more to be moved by the interjections and epithets of prayer. Many prayers are rolling full of Os, and the voice runs through half a semicircular scale of gracious intonation with every other sentence. It is O do this, and O do that, O send, O give, O bless, O help, O teach, O look, O smile, O come, O forgive, O spare, O hear, O let, O snatch, O watch, -0! 0! 0! O! through the whole petition, with every variation of inflection. Some Os are deep and sad, some are shrill and short, some are blunt and decisive, but more are long, very long, affectingly long! Some men are always "opening the windows of heaven," "raining a rain of mercy, "laying down the weapons of rebellion." "Stoney hearts," ""unclean hands," "blind eyes,' ," "deaf ears," at length transfer the thoughts to the outward symbol, and quite hide the inward and specific spiritual state. Some men never say humble, or humility, except by such expressions as "on the bended knee of the soul," and "going down into the valley of humiliation." Many men have apparently forgotten the name of Christ. They always use the word "Cross" instead. They pray to be reconciled to the Cross, they exhort men to come to the Cross, to look up at the Cross, to lay down their sins at the foot of the Cross. We heard an ordination sermon of great ability upon salvation by Christ, in which that name was not once mentioned, the Cross being the synonym. Had a heathen stranger been present, he would have supposed the name of the God whom he worshipped to be "Cross." This is the more unfortunate, because it not only sinks the power of a living personality, but presents in its stead a symbol which, however precious and historically affecting, may by too great familiarity lose entirely the Saviour, and leave only the Wood, a relic worse than any which Romish superstition has presented. Tales and Sketches. BREAD UPON THE WATERS. "Ah, Jacob, now you see how all your hopes are gone. Here we are, worn out with age, all our children removed from us by the hand of death, and ere long we must be the inmates of the poor-house. Where, now, is all the bread you have cast upon the waters?" The old, white-haired man looked up at his wife. He was, indeed, bent down with years, and age sat trembling upon him. Jacob Manfred had been a comparatively wealthy man, and while fortune had smiled upon him he had ever been among the first to lend a listening ear and a helping hand to the call of distress; but now misfortune was his. Of his four boys, not one was left. Sickness and failing strength found him with but little, and they left him penniless. Various misfortunes came in painful succession. Jacob and his wife were alone, and gaunt poverty looked them coldly in the face. "Don't repine, Susan," said the old man. "True, we are poor, but we are not yet forsaken." "Not forsaken, Jacob? Who is there to help us now?" Jacob Manfred raised his trembling finger towards heaven. "Ah, Jacob! I know God is our Friend; but we should have friends here. Look back, and see how many you have befriended in days long past. You cast your bread upon the waters with a free hand, but it has not yet returned to you." Hush, Susan, you forget what you say. To be sure, I may have hoped that some kind hand of earth would lift me from the cold depths of utter want; but I do not expect it as a reward for anything I may have done. If I have helped the unfortunate in days gone by, I have had my full reward in knowing that I have done my duty to my fellows. Oh, of all the kind deeds 1 have done for my suffering fellows, I would not for gold have one of them blotted from my memory! Ah, my fond wife, it is the memory of the good done in life that makes old age happy! Even now, I can hear again the warm thanks of those whom I have befriended, and again I see their smiles!" "Yes, Jacob," returned the wife, in a lower tone, "I know you have been good, and in your memory you can be happy; but, alas, there is a present upon which we must look, there is a reality upon which we must dwell! We must beg for food, or starve!" The old man started, and a deep mark of pain was drawn across his features. "Beg!" he replied, with a quick shudder. "No, Susan-we are—” He hesitated, and a big tear rolled down his furrowed cheek. "We are what, Jacob?" "We are going to the poor-house!" "Oh, God, I thought so !" fell from the poor wife's lips, as she covered her face with her hands. "I have thought so, and I have tried to school myself to the thought; but my poor heart will not bear it!" "Do not give up, Susan," softly urged the old man, laying his hand upon her arm. "It makes but little difference to us now. We have not long to remain on earth, and let us not wear out our last days in useless repinings. Come, come." "But when-when shall we go?" "Then God have mercy upon us!" The old couple sat for awhile in silence. When they were aroused from their painful thoughts, it was by the stopping of a light cart in front of the door. A man entered the room where they sat. He was the porter of the poor-house. "Come, Mr. Manfred," he said, "the guardians have managed to crowd you into the poor-house. The cart is at the door and you can get ready as soon as possible."" Jacob Manfred had not calculated the strength he should need for this ordeal. There was a coldness in the very tone and manner of the man who had come for him that went like an ice-bolt to his heart, and with a deep groan he sank back in his seat. "Come,-be in a hurry," impatiently urged the porter. At that moment a carriage drove up to the door. "Is this the house of Jacob Manfred ?" This question was asked by a man who entered from the carriage. He was a kindlooking man, about forty years of age. "That is my name," said Jacob. "Then they told me truly," uttered the new comer. "Are you from the workkouse?" he continued, turning towards the porter. "Yes." "And are you after these people ?" "Yes." "Then you may return. Jacob Manfred goes to no poor-house while I live." The porter gazed inquisitively into the features of the man who addressed him, and then left the house. "Don't you remember me?" exclaimed the stranger, grasping the old man by the hand. "I cannot call you to my memory now.' "Do you remember Lucius Williams?" "Williams!" repeated Jacob, starting up from his chair, and gazing earnestly into the face of the man before him. "Yes, Jacob Manfred, Lucius Williams. That little boy whom, thirty years ago, you saved from the house of correction; that poor boy whom you kindly took from the bonds of the law, and placed on board one of your own vessels." "And are you-" "Yes, yes, I am the man you made. You found me a rough stone from the hands of poverty and bad example. It was you who brushed off the evil, and who first led me to the sweet waters of moral life and happiness. I have profited by the lessons you gave me in my early youth, and the warm spark which your kindness lighted up in my bosom has grown brighter and brighter ever since. With an affluence for life I have settled down to enjoy the remainder of my days in peace and quietness, with such good work as my hands may find to do. I heard of your losses and bereavements. I know that the children of your own flesh are all gone, but I am a child of your bounty,-a child of your kindness, and now you shall be still my parent. Come, I have a home and a heart, and your presence will make them both warmer, brighter, and happier. Come, my more than father, and you, my mother, come. You made my youth all bright, and I will not see your old age doomed to darkness." "Forgive me Jacob." "No, no, Susan. It is not I who must forgive,-God holds us in His hands." "Ah !" murmured the wife, as she raised her streaming eyes to Heaven, "I will never doubt Him again." A SHORT SERMON TO SEXTONS. WHICH MAY BE OVERHEARD BY ALL CHURCH OFFICERS. Dear Brethren,-You occupy an important office in the church of Christ, which is the kingdom of God on earth. Ап ancient saint, with a crown on his head, said he would rather be one among you than dwell in the tents of wickedness. Very honourable then is your office. This is the firstly of our sermon. Let us now pass to Secondly. Very useful may your post be also. No man in the congregation can more effectually stupify the preacher; no one can more effectually put to sleep the hearers. Know you, brethren, the importance of good air? It is next important in the worshipping assembly to the good Spirit on high, of which Holy Scripture maketh it the emblem. As the Lord hath the gift of the latter, so the sexton hath of the former. If he giveth it not, the thoughts of the preacher flag, and the heads of the hearers bow in worship to the false god Morpheus. Keep idolatry out of the church, brother sexton. There was a band of old saints once who were called Iconoclasts, because they tore down idols and cast them out of the temples. The temples of our land are degraded by the worshippers of Morpheus; sextons are the champions to make a crusade against the abomnation. They could purge the land of it if they would. Up, then, brethren, expel this heathenism. Do you ask how it shall be done? (1.) Up with the windows at seasonable times. (2.) Especially keep open, a little, those nearest the pulpit, during the whole service. The preacher will repay you by better sermons. (3) Manage this matter with skill; blunder not as some in your honourable office do, by having the windows either too much open, so as to chill the hearers, or not open at all, so as to stupify them. Distribute the ventilation in small drafts all along the casements. Again, never freeze the congregation by neglecting the fires; begin them early, to make sure the comfort of the temple; it is better to begin too soon than too late, for when there is too much heat it can be relieved by ventilation; when there is not enough, ventilation has to be lost without remedying the deficiency. How many in your honourable functions, brethren, have thus robbed the Lord of the worship of an entire assembly? Remember, that with your peculiar honour is connected peculiar responsibility, and we must all give ac count. Again, men in honourable posts should always have courtesy up to their honour. A sexton should be a model of politeness; he should move with alacrity, accommodating everybody, and when he cannot accommodate them, showing that he feels the privation more than they do. Next in importance to a good preacher in the pulpit, is a good sexton at the portal; his smile lighteneth up the face of the multitude; his whispers of courtesy openeth the ears of the people for the trumpet of the truth. A rude sexton is out of his place; he is beneath its gracious honour, as much as a bear would be guarding the palace-gate of a king. Application and now, brethren, let him that hath ears to hear, hear this message. Harden not your hearts against it. He that hath sinned in these respects, let him sin no more, but make haste and repent. Let all our temples on the coming Sabbath show that the word has been fitly spoken, and the seed has fallen into good and honest hearts. The Lord add his blessing. Amen. ASA AND IRA. Asa and Ira were two brothers, whose farms lay side by side in a fertile intervale. When the corn, the oats, and the barley were springing up, the weeds took advantage of the rich soil and came up with them. Do you see," said Asa, "what hold the weeds are taking? There is danger of their choking our crops entirely." "Well, well, we must be resigned," replied Ira; "weeds as well as grain were a part of the Creator's plan, and there is no And he use in murmuring about them." laid down for his usual afternoon doze. "I can only be resigned to what I can't help," said Asa. So he went to work and plowed and hoed until his fields were clear of weeds. "The army-worms are in the neighbourhood," said Asa to Ira, one day. "They have eaten through the adjoining meadows, and are moving towards us." "Ah," exclaimed Ira, "they will surely destroy what the weeds have not choked out. I will immediately retire to pray that their course may be stopped or turned aside." But Asa replied, "I pray hetimes every morning, for strength to do the work of the day." And he hastened to dig a trench round his land, which the army-worms could not pass, while Ira returned only in season to save a small portion of his crops from their ravages. "Do you see, Ira," said Asa, another morning, "the river is rising very fast? There is but a slender chance of preventing our farms from being over-flowed." "Alas, it is a judgment upon us for our sins, and what can we do?" cried Ira, throwing himself in despair upon the ground. "There are no judgments so severe as those which our own sloth brings upon us," replied Asa. And he went quickly and hired workmen with whose help he raised an embankment which withstood the flood, while Ira witnessed with blank looks and folded hands the destruction of his harvest. "There is one consolation," said he, "my children, at least, are left me." But while Asa's sons grew up strong, and virtuous men, among Ira's there was a drunkard, a gambler, and a suicide. "The ways of the Lord are not equal," complained Ira to his brother. "Why are you always prospered, while I am afflicted, and my old age disgraced ?" "I only know this," replied Asa, "that heaven has always helped me to treat the faults of my children as I did the weeds, the caterpillars, and the flood; and that I have never presumed to send a petition upward, without making Toil, my right hand servant, the messenger of my prayer." |