ing his uttered word, his simple declaration, at the same value with his manifested realities and acts.

It is here, then, that we find the secret reason, that God sees fit to leave to interior desolations and sorrows those, who are truly his sanctified people. Hence it is, that he not only shows us the vanities of the world, and the desolations of the church, the present and prospective wretchedness of impenitent sinners, a burden without any thing else to enhance it which is heavy to be borne; but he also withdraws at times the light of present manifestations; he withholds the comfort of inward sensible joys; he leaves the understanding, and even at times the affections in a painful state of comparative inertness and aridity; he permits Satan, in addition to these fearful evils, to assail us with his fiery darts, injecting into the intellect a multitude of unholy thoughts, and besieging us continually with sharp and varied temptations. But there still remains the blessed privilege of believing. We can still say, our expectation is from the Lord. We still have the privilege of declaring, even in the deep dejection and brokenness of our hearts, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him."

Happy are they, who endure these grievous trials without shrinking. Thrice happy, who like soldiers in a severe contest that have lost all but honor, can still assert, the enemy has not taken the standard with which they went into battle; and that in the loss of all things else, they still retain their confidence in God. Such souls are not

only redeemed, but purified. They have passed the decisive test, the object of which is to ascertain whether they love God for himself or for his favors, and have not been found wanting. If there were dross upon them before, it has been burnt off in this fiery trial. In the purification and strengthening of our faith, (that glorious principle which unites us to God, and which opens in the heart the full fountains of submission, gratitude, and love,) we are recompensed, and more than recompensed, for the temporary loss of all outward goods and all interior consolations. Henceforth there is union between the soul and its Beloved. It has no more occasion to say, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" He returns with assurances, that wipe away present tears, and give the presage of future victories. God, in his condescension, permits himself to be conquered. Infinite love is led captive.

[In connection with the remarks of this chapter, we take the liberty to introduce to the reader some stanzas of Madame Guyon, translated into English by the poet Cowper, which seem in a happy manner to express the state of a soul, which is temporarily left to interior desolations.]

The trial of Christian Faith.

'T was my purpose, on a day
To embark and sail away:
As I climbed the vessel's side,

LOVE was sporting in the tide.

"Come," he said,—“ascend—make haste,

Launch into the boundless waste."

Many mariners were there,
Having each his separate care;
They that rowed us, held their eyes
Fixed upon the starry skies;
Others steer'd, or turn'd the sails
To receive the shifting gales.

LOVE, with power divine supplied,
Suddenly my courage tried;
In a moment it was night;
Ship and skies were out of sight;
On the briny wave I lay,
Floating rushes all my stay.

Did I with resentment burn
At this unexpected turn?
Did I wish myself on shore,
Never to forsake it more?
No-"My soul"-I cried, "be still;

If I must be lost, I will."

Next he hasten'd to convey
Both my frail supports away;
Seized my rushes; bade the waves
Yawn into a thousand graves;
Down I went and sunk as lead,
Ocean closing o'er my head.

Still, however, life was safe;
And I saw him turn and laugh;
"Friend," he cried, "adieu! lie low,
While the wint'ry storms shall blow;
When the spring has calm'd the main,
You shall rise and float again."

Soon I saw him, with dismay,
Spread his wings and soar away;
Now I mark his rapid flight;
Now he leaves my aching sight;
He is gone, whom I adore;
'T is in vain to seek him more.

How I trembled, then, and fear'd,
When my LOVE had disappear'd!
"Wilt thou leave me thus," I cried,
""Whelm'd beneath the rolling tide ?''
Vain attempt to reach his ear!
LOVE was gone, and would not hear.

Ah! return and love me still;
See me subject to thy will;

Frown with wrath, or smile with grace,

Only let me see thy face!

Evil I have none to fear;

All is good, if thou art near.

Yet he leaves me-cruel fate!
Leaves me in my lost estate-
Have I sinn'd? O, say wherein;
Tell me, and forgive my sin!
King, and Lord, whom I adore,
Shall I see thy face no more?

Be not angry; I resign,

Henceforth, all my will to thine;
I consent that thou depart,

Though thine absence break my heart;

Go, then, and for ever too;

All is right, that thou wilt do.

This was just what LOVE intended;

He was now no more offended;
Soon as I became a child,

Love return'd to me and smiled;

Never strife shall more betide,

'Twixt the Bridegroom and his Bride.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRD.

On the necessity of possessing the Gifts and Graces of God in purity of spirit.

It is difficult to express and even to conceive of the subtleties and insinuations of selfishness. It enters every path. It lurks in every secret place. And wherever it finds its way, it pollutes, poisons, and destroys. It sometimes attaches itself, by a process almost imperceptible, to God's most valuable gifts and graces; those which are spiritual, as well as those which are natural. An individual, for instance, is possessed of great natural ability. This ability is a gift of God. But how often it is, that the possessor, thinking but little of the great Author of the gift, regards it as something peculiarly his own, and instead of seeing God in it, sees only himself. Almost unconsciously to himself, and greatly to his spiritual injury, he is experiencing a secret elevation of spirit, and is taking a hidden complacency in an intellectual posssession, which, when properly considered, should have increasingly detached him from self, and led him nearer to his Maker.

But what is surprising and almost inexplicable,