seen what that means. We can know, and teach, and preach about Christ without ever having Christ; we may very nearly believe in Him, but not quite; we may intend to yield our hearts to Him, but keep putting it off; we may only just not accept Him, and, near as we may be to life, we shall be far enough to be without it. "Almost"-but lost! Why Weepest Thou?" o said Christ to Mary in the garden. Yet was there ever man or woman to whom the question would not be applicable, not at one, but at many, many points of the earthly pilgrimage? The new-born babe weeps as it lies in the loving arms that have waited to receive it. The child weeps when the toy is broken whose rattle pleased his simple ear. The maiden weeps over blighted affections. The youth weeps (metaphorically) when his enthusiast schemes are frustrated. The parent weeps by the tomb of the early dead; the strong man over his vaulting ambitions never to be realized; while the old weep for very satiety and weariness of spirit. Now, the fact of this universal weeping has ever one and the same solution. It is the result of the troubles and disappointments which track humanity from the cradle to the grave. None are exempt. As the poet Gray tells us, the tender heart sorrows for another's pains, the unfeeling for his own!" Alas! I fear the only fitting answer to the question must be looked for in these words: "I weep because I live-because the doom of mortality is upon me, and I cannot gainsay the Almighty fiat." "No," we might reply to the despondent one; "you cannot alter the relations of cause and effect expressed in that solemn sentence-'The soul that sinneth, it shall die!" We may not escape the consequence of man's first dis obedience that brought all our woe into the world; otherwise this life would not be the state of probation that is intended, and the entire economy of the universe would be changed. But, although weeping is a necessity of existence, it is by no means an unmitigated evil. For do we not read of a sorrow that is blessed? And might not the needful burden press less heavily upon us if we only set our hopes and affections on higher objects? Would not the tear and wear of the daily toil be sensibly diminished if worthier aspirations moved us, and the love of things seen and temporal were eclipsed by the unseen and eternal ? The Saviour knew this well; and so we find that to His first query to the disconsolate woman He added another, very solemn and significant: "Whom seekest thou?" Herein lies the key to much of the fret and worry of ordinary experience. Upon what do our hearts chiefly rest? What are we seeking? The command, as given in the Word of Truth, is clear and succinct: "Seek ye first the kingdom of God." Let other aims be in due subservience, so that if these fail (as inevitably they must) we may have something better to fall back upon-a sure foundation which can never be shaken, a city of refuge, a strong tower—even Him who is the Rock of Ages. "Whom seekest thou?" then, is a leading question all along the journey of life. Wherever we go, whatever be our calling, what is the end after which we are mainly striving? A great preacher of our time has eloquently expressed the manifest duty and happiness of bringing religion to bear upon the common business of the world, and so blending the sacred and the secular as that the little leaven may leaven the whole lump. Yet, sooth to say, even in our special devotional exercises, the eye is not always so single as it ought to be. A little anecdote which came under my personal knowledge may serve still further to illustrate my meaning. A pious lady with whom I was privileged to be acquainted, and who, after a protracted illness, was translated (as I doubt not) to that rest which remaineth for the people of God, once told me the following incident. Though narrated as characteristic merely of her own feelings, there is reason to suppose it may be found of pretty general application. As far as I can recollect, I will give it in her own words. It may be well to mention, in explanation, that my friend was a member of the Scottish Presbyterian Church. We had been talking of the overweening attachment of some persons for the ministers of their choice, when she said, "This conversation reminds me of something which lately happened to myself. "You know my great esteem and veneration for my own clergyman, Dr. G-, and how I prize his pulpit addresses above those of all other preachers. I have sometimes feared, however, lest these feelings might exert an undue influence over me, and mar the good effects which I ought to derive from the gospel ministrations of others. That this fear was not wholly groundless, I had not long ago a very strong and a very humbling proof. On the Sabbath of the recent Communion season in a church, I rose somewhat earlier than usual, resolved to forward my morning arrangements so as to reach the house of God in such time as would insure me a place at the first sacramental service.1 My reason for this, as you will suppose, was, that I thus expected to enjoy more immediately the full benefit of Dr. G's exhortation. I arrived too late, however, to effect my object, and, grieved and mortified, was forced to betake myself to my own pew, instead of that seat at the wishedfor table upon which I had set my heart. Agitated and annoyed by this circumstance, I remained absorbed for a few minutes in what I must ever consider a very sinful dissatisfaction, when I was roused by the entrance of the pastor and the commencement of the solemn duties of the day. It is the custom in Scotland for the clergyman of each church himself to address the first table, as it is called; to be followed (as the table is again and again vacated) by stranger pastors, till all the congregation have in succession partaken of the sacred ordinance. It "Shall I confess it to you? I may; for I have already confessed and repented of it before God. My mind was yet brooding over the morning's foolish disappointment, taking occasion to revert to it even during the intervals of prayer, when Dr. G— opened the Bible and announced the ground of his exposition. It was contained in the language of our risen Lord to Mary at the sepulchre: Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?' were vain to attempt describing the emphasis with which these words fell upon my ear-so peculiar as they seemed to me at that moment, and so strangely applicable to my own feelings. Instantly my attention was arrested; I was awed into serenity; for it seemed as if my heart was literally touched by a live coal from off the altar of God. A thousand ideas rushed in my mind. I was awakened; I was saddened; I was humbled; my sin had found me out. "Woman, why weepest thou?' In that one simple sentence was compressed a whole volume of inquiry the most searching; and in the other, 'Whom seekest thou?' I perceived the instantaneous condemnation of my whole train of emotions. I was overpowered. It was as if the Saviour Himself had addressed me in terms of righteous reproof, yet mingled with compassionate encouragement: 'Why trust ye so blindly in man's wisdom? Seek My face. Incline your ear unto Me, and your soul shall live. Cling no longer with slavish dependence to the ministrations of an earthly teacher. My grace is sufficient for thee, and My Spirit is He alone that can guide thee into all truth.' "Never," Mrs. B added, "shall I forget the impression of that hour, nor do I desire ever to lose sight of the lesson then inculcated." J. C. S. |