of his own doom. Are we not, all of us who are without Christ, fattening for the slaughter? Are we not more foolish than the bullock, for doth not the wicked man follow his executioner, and walk after his own destroyer into the very chambers of hell? When we see a drunkard pursuing his drunkenness, or an unchaste man running in the way of licentiousness, is he not as an ox going to the slaughter, until a dart smite him through the liver? Hath not God sharpened his knife and made ready his axe that the fatlings of this earth may be killed, when he shall say to the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field, "Behold, I have made a feast of vengeance for you, and ye shall feast upon the blood of the slain, and make yourselves drunken with the streams thereof ?" Ay, butcher, there is a lecture for you in your trade; and your business may reproach you.

And ye whose craft is to sit still all day, making shoes for our feet, the lapstone in your lap may reproach you, for your heart, perhaps, is as hard as that. Have you not been smitten as often as your lapstone, and yet your heart has never been broken or melted? And what shall the Lord say to you at last, when your stony heart being still within you, he shall condemn you and cast you away because you would have none of his rebukes and would not turn at the voice of his exhortation?

Let the brewer remember that as he brews he must drink. Let the potter tremble lest he be like a vessel marred upon the wheel. Let the printer take heed, that his life be set in heavenly type, and not in the black letter of sin. Painter, beware! for paint will not suffice, we must have unvarnished realities.

Others of you are engaged in business where you are continually using scales and measures. Might you not often put yourselves into those scales? Might you not fancy you saw the great Judge standing by with his Gospel in one scale and you in the other, and solemnly looking down upon you, saying, “ Mene, mene, tekel, -thou art weighed in the balances and found wanting." Some of you use the measure, and when you have measured out, you cut off the portion that your customer requires. Think of your life too, it is to be of a certain length, and every year brings the measure a little farther, and at last there come the scissors that shall, clip off your life, and it is done. How knowest thou when thou art come to the last inch? What is that disease thou hast about thee, but the first snip of the scissors? What that trembling in thy bones, that failing in thy eyesight, that fleeing of thy memory, that departure of thy youthful vigour, but the first rent? How soon shalt thou be rent in twain, the remnant of thy days past away, and thy years all numbered and gone, misspent and wasted for ever!

But you say you are engaged as a servant and your occupations are diverse. Then diverse are the lectures God preaches to you. "A servant waits for his wages and the hireling fulfilleth his day." There is a similitude for thee, when thou hast fulfilled thy day on earth, and shalt take thy wages at last. Who then is thy master? Art thou serving Satan and the lusts of the flesh, and wilt thou take out thy wages at last in the hot metal of destruction? or art thou serving the fair prince Emmanuel, and shalt thy wages be the golden crowns of heaven? Oh! happy art thou if thou servest a good master, for according to thy master shall be thy reward; as is thy labour such shall the end be.

Or thou art one that guideth the pen, and from hour to hour wearily thou writest. Ah! man, know that thy life is a writing. When thy hand is not on the pen, thou art a writer still; thou art always writing upon the pages of eternity; thy sins thou art writing or else thy holy confidence in him that loved thee. Happy shali it be for thee, O writer, if thy name is written in the Lamb's book of life, and if that black writing of thine, in the history of thy pilgrimage below, shall have been blotted out with the red blood of Christ, and thou shalt have written upon thee, the fair name of Jehovah, to stand legible for ever.

Or perhaps thou art a physician or a chemist; thou prescribest or preparest medicines for man's body. God stands there by the side of thy pestle and thy mortar, and by the table where thou writest thy prescriptions, and he says to thee, Man, thou art sick; I can prescribe for thee. The blood and righteousness of Christ, laid hold of by faith, and applied by the Spirit, can cure thy soul. I can compound a medicine for thee that shall rid thee of thy ills and bring thee to the place where the inhabitants shall no more say 'I am sick."" Wilt thou take my medicine or wilt thou reject it? Is it bitter to thee, and dost thou turn away from it? Come, drink my child, drink, for thy life lieth here; and how shalt thou escape if thou neglect so great salvation?" Do you cast iron, or melt lead, or fuse

the hard metals of the mines? then pray that the Lord may melt thine heart and cast thee in the mould of the gospel? Do you make garments for men? oh, be careful that you find a garment for yourself for ever.

Are you busy in building all day long, laying the stone upon its fellow and the mortar in its crevice? Then remember thou art building for eternity too. Oh that thou mayest thyself be built upon a good foundation! Oh that thou mayest build thereon, not wood, hay, or stubble, but gold, and silver, and precious stones, and things that will abide the fire! Take care man lest thou shouldest be God's scaffold, lest thou shouldest be used on earth to be a scaffolding for building his church, and when his church is built thou shouldest be cast down and burned up with fire unquenchable. Take heed that thou art built upon a rock, and not upon the sand, and that the vermillion cement of the Saviour's precious blood unites thee to the foundation of the building, and to every stone thereof.

Art thou a jeweller, and dost thou cut thy gem and polish the diamond from day to day? Would to God thou wouldest take warning from the contrast which thou presentest to the stone on which thou dost exercise thy craft. Thou cuttest it, and it glitters the more thou dost cut it; but though thou hast been cut and ground, though thou hast had cholera and fever, and hast been at death's door many a day, thou art none the brighter, but the duller, for alas! thou art no diamond. Thou art but the pebble-stone of the brook, and in the day when God makes up his jewels he shall not enclose thee in the casket of his treasures; for thou art not one of the precious sons of Zion, comparable unto fine gold. But be thy situation what it may, be thy calling what it may, there is a continual sermon preached to thy conscience. I would that thou wouldest now from this time forth open both eye and ear, and see and hear the things that God would teach thee.

And now, dropping the similitude while the clock shall tick but a few times more, let us put the matter thus-Sinner, thou art as yet without God and without Christ; thou art liable to death every hour. Thou canst not tell but that thou mayst be in the flames of hell before the clock shall strike ONE to-day. Thou art to-day "condemned already," because thou believest not in the Son of God. And Jesus Christ saith to thee this day, "Oh, that thou wouldest consider, thy latter end!" He cries to thee this morning, "How often would I have gathered thee as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, but ye would not." I entreat you, consider your ways. If it be worth while to make your bed in hell, do it. If the pleasures of this world are worth being damned to all eternity for enjoying them, if heaven be a cheat and hell a delusion, go on in your sins. But, if there be hell for sinners and heaven for repenting ones, and if thou must dwell a whole eternity in one place or the other, without similitude, I put a plain question to thee-Art thou wise in living as thou dost, without thought,-careless, and godless? Wouldest thou ask now the way of salvation? It is simply this-"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved." He died; he rose again; thou art to believe him to be thine. Thou art to believe that he is able to save unto the uttermost them that come unto God by him. But, more than that, believing that to be a fact, thou art to cast thy soul upon that fact and trust to him, sink or swim. Spirit of God! help us each to do this; and by similitude, or by providence, or by thy prophets, bring us each to thyself and save us eternally, and unto thee shall be the glory.

JUST PUBLISHED, a BUST of the Rev. C. H. SPURGEON; by T. D. CRITTENDEN. Life-size, price £3 38.; Half-size, £1 1s. May be seen and obtained of Messrs. Alabaster and Passmore, Office of the "New Park Street Pulpit," 34, Wilson Street, Finsbury, E.C.

FAITH.

A Sermon

PREACHED ON SUNDAY MORNING, JULY 4, 1858,

BY THE REV. J. F. S. GORDON, D.D.

IN ST. ANDREW'S CHURCH, GLASGOW.

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."-Hebrews xi. 1. We suffer, and are exposed to suffering, only because of sin. To no small extent we can see, and are forced by circumstances to feel, that our various annoyances and troubles are caused by our particular sins: and when we cannot trace the direct connexion, we are reminded still of the sins which deserve correction so severe. And how the iron-conscience, and the stony heart soften and melt in the furnace of affliction, that amidst returning mercy, an obedient Faith may come forth purified as gold! These tendencies of the discipline in the school of life, however, are only fairly manifest, in the cases where the opportunity of repentance and an obedient Faith is earnestly welcomed. But the opportunity for such a kind of Faith is all along the path of our earthly necessities. This world, our school of discipline, is constructed and arranged not to prevent anxiety to us the pupils, but to deepen and awaken it-to train us to listen to Him, our Teacher, our Guide, our Beloved Father. For this, the seasons are ordered, now cutting off the whole, now bringing in abundance. Even the season of increase is beset with constant hazards, as if purposely to make the mind (unstable as water,) to be tossed like the ocean. Over the early promise of the spring, the frosts keep hovering, threatening again and again to blight the blossom and the blade; which still are preserved to us, and cherished by the vernal sun and rain. Then succeed droughts, curling the leaf, parching the soil, and withering even the hidden roots and fibres of the plant,-bringing the expectation of the year to the utmost point of ruin: yet followed by rains so timely as to turn the whole earth into a scene of joyful hope. Then, when the harvests are waving in their glory, or the barns are filled with plenty-hail or tempest give their tokens in the sky, and spread devastation over the yellow fields-scattering the treasures of a year to the four winds: still, the threatening passes by, leaving the earth covered with a more placid smile, and promising more abundant rewards. So, manufactures and commerce have their seasons of jaggs all plans and efforts meet their emergencies of difficulty, which put to nought the power and the wisdom of puny man; and so again, their contrary turns of relief tempt our erring minds to a fool's exaltation. All the

ways of men are beset with dangers amid prevailing blessings, as if purposely designed to awaken and deepen our anxiety-to make us ever look through the telescope of Faith beyond this earthly scene, this tempestuous sea of opposite and contending passions. So the occasions of this fleeting life, which expose us to despair or to presumption, which concentrate the mind upon present annoyances and enjoyments, are not a hindrance but an auxiliary to the Faith of the joys now unseen. The anxious hopes and fears of this mortal life are all to draw and force the mind beyond themselves. For what else is the design of the constant recurrence of our wants-food and fuel, raiment and home-why, as long as we live, are we continually exposed to new sufferings and calamities, each greater than the last? Why do we suffer pain? Why are our fears perpetually kept awake and even made intense by the mishaps of acquaintances and dear friends? Why are we shocked so often, on hearing or reading the sudden-would I mention unprepared— death of one we knew long and intimately? Why do we see our very own pine on beds of sickness, until all their beauty is consumed, and, to use the Psalmist's words, they "become like a bottle in the smoke?" i.e. resembling a leathern bottle, or one made of skin, hung up in the smoky tent to dry; so is one wasted with illness thus compared. Why sinks the heart at all this? Why? unless to awaken forethought and afterthought-to pull down the plumes of pride-to lay up a treasure in that chosen Spot of space where no train of earth can follow. But the opportunity for our Faith in the unseen things beyond the grave, depends not altogether upon the renewal of calamities, anxieties, fears, pain, and sickness. Is there not a similar effect produced by the most unbroken prosperity-the most unshaken hopes? It were strange to tell, if we did not of ourselves know it: desires gratified, deliverance attained, prosperity and hope, leave us still unsatisfied. No mere blessing of our present state completes our bliss. The fullest and most complete abundance leaves us still a lack of enjoyment, which nothing can supply but the hope of immortal glory. Why sinks the heart and frame under the load of "low spirits," even when all earthly supplies are full! Why { but to make us look forward, and pray that we may not have our portion in this world?

The condition of man, as we have now considered it, has still greater influence than we have yet claimed,—in connection with that peculiar power upon the conscience, which awakens self-condemnation and repentance. Amid health and prosperity, it may be easy to throw blame off ourselves, and even to say 'we have not sinned-there is no fear of us at the last. But who has not felt such vapour-arguments give way, and horror come instead! Where reasonings and expostulations may have failed,—the acute sufferings of but a single hour, a sickness of peril, a sudden alarm, a flash of lightning, a sinking vessel, have awakened the soul to "a fearful looking for of judgment."

It is said that even David Hume, the talented infidel, was, on one occasion, bereft of his sophistry, and stood in awe of the terrors of the Lord. In a

terrible storm of thunder and lightning-while riding in a lonely way, he put spurs to his horse, and galloped on repeating that beautiful hymn of infancy, familiar to us all :

"This night when I lie down to sleep,

I give my soul to Christ to keep;

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take."

Such are the influences of our earthly condition-such the species of opportunities of obtaining the end of our Faith. Search your own histories, my brethren. It is impossible for you to have lived long, without blessings and necessities, without hopes and fears, even if your lot may not have known the fiercest changes of humanity. So adapted is each of our conditions to prepare us for our eternal well-being, to anchor our hope within the veil, to hedge us to the Faith, to lift up our hearts to God.

But the most affecting, the most overcoming proof that the occasions of earth are designed as the opportunity for Faith, is furnished by the earthly history of our Lord; who became fitted for His office, by fellowship in the sufferings of our frail and feeble humanity. He, the sinless and spotless Lamb of God, calls us to follow His steps when He trod the path of life in our native weakness, to follow the life of His voluntary humiliation. Our exalted High Priest is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, because Himself hath suffered, being tempted. He considers as His own, the hunger, and the thirst, and the loneliness, and the nakedness, and the sickness of every soul of man that trusteth in Him. So tenderly, so personally, that when He shall sum up the history of earth, He shall be able to say to the instruments of relief-"I was hungry, and ye gave Me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave Me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took Me in; I was naked, and ye clothed Me; I was sick and in prison, and ye visited Me!” Can we, then, trifle with such a kindness, thus covering all our path, hearkening to every groan, bottling every tear! O, blind we not our eyes to the mercy which overhangs all our paths, and, with the pity of a brother, offer to us the succour by which His own weakness was sustained through a path of suffering bitterer than ours. However small or great the necessity; be it the fatigues and cares of the passing day—or the roaring and rolling over you of the great "water spouts" of trouble-the breasting alone the fiercest waves of unkindness and heartlessness: when your heart is sad and discouraged-O, then, let your eye of Faith discern how near is "the Throne of Heavenly Grace," the blood of sprinkling, the powerful intercession of our Great High Priest, "touched with a feeling of your infirmities”— drawing you on to be like unto Himself, learning obedience by the things which He suffered. Thus, we see how, (as in our natural body,) mutual assistance is necessary to the growth and vitality of the members of Christ's Mystical Body. The more the muscles of the natural body are brought into play, provided we do not overstrain them, the greater elasticity, and soundness, and