ing, I find that men are ever less and less seeking that solitude which might protect them from the influence of this distraction. A sort of disquiet is creeping over all, even the disciples of Jesus, disqualifying them for imbibing in any rich measure the influences of the light from on high; for it is only on the bright and smooth mirror of the water that the sun can reflect its face. Men now live in the fleeting present, and have no longer time to think either of the past or of the future. The consequence is, that even in the present they do not live as they ought.

O God, how sacred to me were the hours which I spent in solitude with Thee! My soul emerged from them as if from a bath. During its daily avocations, life with its multitudinous sounds rushes past like a roaring waterfall deafening our ears, so that we cannot understand ourselves, nor even God when He speaks to us. How differently do all things appear, how different we appear to ourselves, when, after the bustle of the day, sacred and silent night has crept on! Then do voices within and around us, which before found no articulate words, begin to speak. Often, however, these voices are painful to the hearer, and therefore it is that he flies from hours of solitude. But shut not thine ears, dear reader: among them there is many a voice that calls thee home, and such a voice is always sad. But wilt thou, for no better reason than merely to spare thyself a touch of home-sickness, try to forget, in this far country, that thou hast a home elsewhere? That is not wise, for so a time will come when even at home thou wilt appear a stranger. Seek to be alone with thyself. Every season of solitude is as a silent night, in which, when the din of this world dies away, boding voices from another begin to sound.

Art thou then so much afraid to have no companion but thyself? Ah! I know full well what thou fearest still more. It is lest another join the company whom thou art averse to see, and he is thy conscience. But remember that the companion whom thus thou shunnest is God; and can it be that thou art reconciled to Him if thou art afraid of His company? As

yet, when thou dost not see Him, thou only hearest His voice, and that affrights thee. What will happen when He shall be revealed to thy sight, and when His eye shall meet thine? What good would it do thee to be admitted with Him into heaven? In the place where the blessed exult thou wouldst quake.

In a house in which the mortar was dropping from the walls, and the rafters were beginning to break, there lived a man who was so deeply absorbed in his business, that to one of his friends who sought to speak with him alone in order to warn him of his danger, he answered, "I have no time." Thou laughest at his folly, but thou art thyself the fool. Believe me, dear reader, unconscious of it although thou art, thy business is more important to thee than thyself; for otherwise how couldst thou decline when the voice of thy heavenly Friend bids thee retire with Him, that He may inform thee about thyself and thine earthly tabernacle? Thou hast a certain feeling, though thou wilt not own it to thyself, that thou art not well, and yet thou shunnest so much as even an interview with thy Physician. Can that help thee? No; it helps thee nothing. Poor blinded man! from the loud tumult of life thou wilt be hurried unexpectedly away, and then thou wilt be brought into a solitude where the voices from which thou didst here endeavour to escape must of necessity be heard. Here they were the voices of a friend; there they will be the voice of thy Judge.

To thy soul's inmost shrine repair,

And there with God converse and dwell;
To Him that knows that palace fair
The world will seem a prison cell.

Consider, O my soul, how great an honour thou contemnest in order to pursue a paltry enjoyment. Thou hastenest in all directions to visit men; and thy God is waiting for thee within, and thou permittest Him to wait. Thou wouldst shun this most honourable of interviews far less, hadst thou but experienced the kindness and condescension with which, on such

occasions, He communes with the soul. No doubt He has many things with which to upbraid it, but He upbraids with such gentleness and patience that all one can do is silently to weep tears of shame. On the other hand, He has likewise so many blessed things to tell the soul about its native land and home, and the thoughts of peace which He cherishes on our behalf, and intends in the future to carry into effect, that it is good to be with Him. Thou imaginest that He comes only to judge and punish, and knowest not that He also comes to pardon and to save, and that at every such absolution a festival is celebrated in the inmost recess of the soul, on which even the angels of heaven look down with delight.

A feast of joy that never ends

Is theirs whom Jesus deigns to own,

Gives them His peace, and calls His friends,
And to them all His grace makes known.

Then melts for Him the sinner's heart,
And sweet and bitter tears are shed;
They think how well a Saviour's part
He did, and for them wept and bled.

In His dear presence there is bliss,
The heart no keener joy can know;
And henceforth all its prayer is this,
O Lord, let it be ever so !

It is this which He has promised when He says, "If any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me."

You who know it not from experience, cannot figure to yourselves the feelings of the man whose soul has thus enjoyed His presence, and who then goes forth again into the world. Like the brightness which lingered upon the face of Moses when he came from his interviews with Jehovah, he who has in solitude celebrated the supper with his Lord takes on a certain radiance from His countenance. Reconciled in heart on returning to the world, he surveys it in the light of reconciliation. To every erring brother he stretches out his hand, and

upon his enemy's head collects burning coals of love. All duties appear as if they were expressions of joy and affection, and from every stormy cloud of tribulation he sees the hand of a Father stretched out to save His child from falling. Then is God no longer the Being whose dwelling-place is far away above the moon and stars: He is the omnipresent One who covers the heaven and the earth with the shadow of His robe. E'er since I knew the Lord aright,

I sup with Him from morn till night.

35.

The Spirit maketh Entercession for us.

My son, what marvel if there be

Deep in thy breast so vast a sea,
That day and night thy inward ear

The rippling of the waves should hear?

Ps. xxiii. 2. 'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside the still waters."

REV. viii. 3, 4. "Another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer, and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer it1 with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar, which was before the throne and the smoke of the incense which came with the prayers of the saints ascended up before God out of the angel's hand."

I THESS. V. 17. "Pray without ceasing.”

ROM. viii. 26, 27. "Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our

1 The prayers of the saints are of great worth in the sight of God, and therefore He causes some grains of His heavenly incense to be dropped upon them, in order that they may ascend to Him with a sweet odour.

infirmities, for we know not what we should pray for as we ought; but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And He that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because He maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God."

OW graciously, O God, hast Thou set open for me a door to all the joys of eternity, in giving me the liberty of prayer to Thee! Yes, doubtless, I too may say with Jacob, "This is the gate of heaven." A time will come when we shall be free from the cares of this life, and from all thought about perishing things: and so even now, while we pray, the earth, with its troubles, lies far beneath us. A time will come, when, in the mansions above, we shall see but one bright path, and that the path which led us to heaven; and so even now, while we pray, all that we have left behind in life appears irradiated with the light of glory. How solemn the calm which reigns in the heart that prays! It is the stillness of eternity, of which our God even here, in time, vouchsafes to us a foretaste. To the soul that prays, how clearly are all its own ways and devices, and God Himself, made manifest! It is quite as if we had passed out of the shade into a bright light. Yes, of a truth, this is the gate of heaven, the antepast of eternity.

Oh, were it possible always so to pray, then, doubtless, would men oftener have recourse to so precious a means of grace, and yearn after it from their inmost heart. Prayer, however, is twofold. Partly it is a birth of nature, and partly, too, a product of art. It is a birth of nature, for to what does nature prompt us more urgently than to pray? Or is prayer really anything else than the breathing of the soul? O Thou Fountain of my life, in my very infancy, and long before I knew either who Thou art or what is Thy name, my soul began to incline towards Thee, as the flower in a dark chamber tends towards the light of the sun; and I felt that I could not choose