lamilg THE AGED BELIEVER. I’m kneeling at the threshold* weary, faint and sore; "Waiting for the dawning, for the opening of the door; "Waiting till the Master shall bid me rise and come To the glory of His presence, to the gladness of His home. A weary path I’ve travelled, ’mid darkness, storm and strife; Bearing many a harden, struggling for my life; But now the morn is breaking, my toil will soon be o’er, • I’m kneeling at the threshold, my hand is on the door. Mcthinks I hear the'voices of the :blessed ,as .they stand, ; ; . ;" Singing in the sunshine of the sinless land; 0! would that ! were with theta; amid" their shining throng, ' Mingling in their worship, joining in. their song. The friends that started with me have entered long ago; One by one they left me struggling with the foe; Their pilgrimage was shorter, their triumph sooner How -loVingly.they’U liail mo:when.my ; toil js^d°ne. With them the blessed angels, that know not grief nor sin, I see them by the portals, prepared to let me in, , ; 0 Lord, I wait Thy.pleasure; Thy time, and way are best; -' ■ 1 - But I am, wasted, worn and weary, 0 Father, hid me rest . •-! A 'ArSmsfy Ittfgaaine. OYERCOJHNCb TEMPT^TIQjK. f J-’"> r • '■ A 01-., I BY MBS. M- I*. EAYWE. Mr. Winter, a prosperous merchant in "Water street, advertised for a boy to tend store, and on the morning after his notice appeared in the evening papers, found a smart-looking boy standing on the steps of the store, waiting for him. ' “Good morning,” said the grocer plea santly, “You mean to be in time, I see. Live in the city ?” “ No, sir,; five miles out of town. My un cle bought a paper last night with your ad vertisement in it, and I walked in this morn ing in hopes of getting the place.” - A “ Well, I like that,” said the merchant. “ And now can' you do a little of every thing?”, , “ I can try, sir,” said the hoy. “ Very good. What is your name ?” “ John Horton.” v “ Well, John, you may take down the shutters,- and clean up the store, and if I find you prompt and honest,l’ll engage,you after a week’s trial.” , “Thank you, sir; I’ll do my best.” So John Horton went tk work with a Will, and soon had the store ready for the morn ing custom. Mr. Winter, though apparently engaged in reading his paper, had his eye on him. jHdlikefldto see him finish, one thing before he commenced another, and he liked stead of looking all about him, to see what others were doing. “If I was sure of his principles,” thought the merchant, “ I would be glad” . He did not think to ask him if he was a Sunday School scholar, for Mr. Winter, with all his years, and wealth, and education, was lamentably deficient in Christian lave, and any child could have taught Mm Bible truths. He wanted honesty, and upright- ness, but he never reflected that the basis of a perfect character must be Christian prin ciple oi" there is continued danger of ship- wreck. , .. . . John worked faithfully all day, and in the evening Mr. Winter left him alone, telling him he would send his.son down before he shut up. About nine a yoUng boy, of his own age came in, and entered into conver sation. John was much surprised to hear him talb:aod,>aet:like a full grown man. “Cpnie, let’s shut up,” he said,,“and go and hav& something hot.”' ' s '* “Something hot,” said John, vaguely^ “ thank ypu. rye jhad “ Oh my ! ain’t you jolly green,” said tho other boy, whose name was Fred. “ Why, I mean something to drink, ,of course!” “ I don|t drink," said John coldly, “ except when I’m thirsty.” i “ And then" it’s milk and water, may be,” said the other sheeringly. .i f ’ “ It’s not poison, at any rate,” answered John. ! -v \ “ Oh, very w.e11,” said the others‘‘ Pm not' particular. You seem like a gotSfiStJow, so we’U • have" a quiet little game- o£ iftards here after we shut dp.”-»1 _ .>■: ..iiji “I don't'play cards,” said John, “nor countenance them in anyway’; but I’ll play chess, or chequers, or backgammon, or any scientific game that is not used to lead peo ple astray. But I . promised my m%ther I would n ever touch ’cards; ndr exrror*- Bfflliard room, and I never will.” *■ ’ tell you .wha,tf ' .said Bred,.*! you would 1 just suif anrie-; febe’s^'tittle thing; hut so awful good,we don’t expect to raise her.” “ Is she a ’Sunday School: scholar ?” asked John interestedly. “Two of them, I guess. llpw I think Sunday the awfullest long' day 'to get through, and never feel like myself, unless I can slip off with some of the fellows 5 but, Mamie says she wishes,there were two Sum days in every week." “ She is right,” said John. “ I think Sum day th ! e best day thereis. It is full of-'rest and peace, and —and. —satisfying. I always feel sorry f wh,en Sunday night comes, and we hear ..the cars whistle, ahd know the whole world is going to work again. Bo you go to church ?” *< Yes, opce a day, for mother won’t let me off; ft’s tiresome though-, when * a£ fellow hasn’t any interest “ Only the soul's welfare,” said John sol emnly.;, “An interest for eternity.”-,. -Oh,.ponse,nse! I’ve, ieard yo„u fSHows ta& thaf' way befofe! 1 fiut '%6Wei- Fathey 1 told me you were to sleep in the office, and THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1867. I’ll show you how to make yourself com fortable.” The next day a little fair-haired girl came into the store, bought some trifling thing, and left a small, silver portmonnaie, filled with change, lying on the counter. John did not see it until she was gone ; then he laid it np on the shelf, intending to speak of it to Mr. Winter, but he forgot all about it that night. . Mr. Winter, in his home, was comfortable and luxurious; he had but the. two children son who waS wild, and the little Mamie, a cherished darling, whose health, always delicate, had been lately failing. Mr. Win ter was watching his wife sew, and listening to his little daughter’s pleasant talk. “ And you saw him take it up ?” he asked. “ Yes, papa 1 he picked it up, and then I ran off, I felt ashamed, it seemed so mean to tempt him that way.” “ Well, it seems he could not withstand the temptation. larti sorry, for I quite liked.the boy, and he Btood his ground so nobly against Frod that I really hoped to find him correct, especially as he As a. Sun day School scholar.” - - : Mamie flushed y That 1 did not makehhh sin, papa, but it W)lAkejp> him to repent. _ I 'ftm not afraid!f fie is a good memherofa Sunday School, He will not keep the money, I know.P ‘ And Mamie-was right .The next day he handed the forgotten p6rtinonaiet6 Mr. Win ter, without’a.suspicion If hadbeen.leftto test hijn. .. ** * . •... “Why did you not keep, ih?.’’* asked: his employer. ' "/ - """" A : The boy looked at him a nfoment in. sus pense, “Why,” said he, “it was not mine.” Mr? Winter was satisfied,, and. John Hor ton soon became necessary to his interests ; he did for him what every boy should do for his master—tbewery best; and Mr. Win ter, in return, did for him what every mas ter should do for his clerk, gave him a niche in his family, where he could spend an even ing in proper social enjoyment. Little Mamie became very fond Of the: boy, who was nev'er rough or ill-temperCd, nor used a profane word, and often shfe Went with him to hi's country home, to see. the widowed mother who had helped him tobe come what he was. But there came a,day ; when the store was closed, and in' on e of the ■ upper chambers of the merchant’s elegant home a strange, sad presence brooded, the dreary shadow of death. Little Mamie, was passing away to that world where Sabbaths have no end. “ Pray for me, papa,” she pleaded ; but ' the strong, proud" man, bent .and sobbing, shook his head, But Some one prayed, only a simple,: child-like prayer, but the dying child smiled sweetly as it ended, and folded her hands in serene satis faction, and went ’ up higher With the last echo of the petition. What Was money, or influence, or worldly honor at that mo ment? Utterly powerless ! .Only the blood of Christ availed to make life desirable. What Mamie’s life might'never have done her .. death accomplished, f Mr. Winter jbe -canio'lru-n»Llo—au. a..little child, while John read the precious Bible to hti» r .and when he found here andJhere. some meaning ed clearer.by the mark ofa'ehjldisli pencil, he felt/ds \hlugh angel hands;' 'VJotwi’ Horton ana'F«Klf muter are nccWiparttfers in business; lneirvsnoafe well yespelgfed. Yof'h ! dw'3e‘«? ! know of^h ! e> in fluence one.life has had on ip’any, haWbeen wrought'b.y the example oftfgood conscientious boy. ... It is to him that overeometh, all things are, promised. - - THE. OLD OEGANIST. Christian character is oneof 'the s best safe guards against poverty, and always helps to mak§ even poverty rdspectabje and com fortable. Dr. Gr.uthriegiyes aT-sfeking illus tration of this in sketch of his pastoral .yisits.,, - He. says: . COTa<> » ; “I have metlittle else’than sights of dirt, In ohe large building swarmedwith inhabi tants, I hardly foun d> a familiy who enjoyed the ordinary comforts of life, or made any lt was depressing, I may say, heart-breaking work. Saddened andw^jßfildpdndlsygafieaiboeatises^ddened, I,at length ,oppned,,a, { do^, T to..be, as. innch astonished as the traveller when 'fie lights on an oasis amidst the desert sands. '' ■ The door opened on an%partment lighted by windows whole and cleShy neither patch-' ed. with papor, no,r: nor crusted with idirt like, of old wine; W floor white with;,wftshinAsandvspriiikled with yellow sand; Btretbhed\tp thedfre-place i where the flames, 'shining 'brasses danced merrily <6vw a well-swept hearth-stone. , Toasting on, a ." .screen hung a pair Of English; blankets in' amplff folds, the ffurnitnre polished like a «i mirror, gleamed in the light of a cheerful I fire, and', around: the White-washed walls hung a variety of n eatly framed, prints and,, pictures'. The rbgm had an aspect of tidi ness and comfort anywherepleasant to see, t but there surprising. And I remember, as" ! if it were; yesterday, of saying to myself ! before -I bad crossed the threshold or asked | the one ques,tidpV : «thi8 r 'i's the ' houpe'Vpf a» J church-going family! So it proved to be. It was a Bethel;* God was in that. ‘ place; ! and though, like the patriarch'; I was in.a sort of wilderness, this pleasant sight was a reality—no visiOn, liko" the 'ladder and the 1 angels of his dream-.'» ■ ■ ! Those who knew Edinburg some five and twenty years ago, may'recollect an old man 'with, a face flyfin'all pok, and his gray head swathed in yards of flab-, nel, who sat the live-long'feyat'fhetpp of the; mound, grinding music, of a kind; from a barrel-organ. He-' and his wife, a decent cdujple, belonged to my church; pleased was I to find ’that this’bright; comi- Fortfobleroom 1 was the= ,home, : Blind among heighbora wihEoa-hibored under, -no 1 such disadvantage’and-Tdeprivations, Kis was the only house there where dirt might be excused, and the signs of poverty ex pected. It was remarkable by their absence; and the key to this material difference lay in the moral difference between him and his neighbors. They never went to church, he did. They had no respect for the Sabbath ; he kept it holy unto the Lord They had no religion; he was a man of devout habits. They in dulged their vices; he practised the virtues of Christianity.—So, even in this world, his religion was of more advantage to him than their eyes were to them. It made him care ful, and frugal/' and temperate. Thus, though his only means of maintenance was the charity of- such,. Samaritans as did not .pass by on the other .side, hie lived, amid comfort to a good old age, and left behind him at his death* inotioniy the memory of an honest and upright life, but moneys in the bank not very much''shprt of twO hundred pounds sterling. “ ‘Godliness is profitable unto, all things, .having,the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.” AH EDITOR AT VIiNITY, N. Y. The editor of the Cincinnati Christian Herald, New School Presbyterian, On his re cent trip east -made a visit to the famous Trinity Church one Sunday afternoon, and gives the following account Of his impres sions: - Being in NewlYork the".last Sabbath in July, we attended, vespers*. at s 4, o.’elopk, in Tijiiity,.Church!;:;"3SF®’-fVo(«JteiW place of worship was open at that hour, and wo thought there .would bo no harm in looking in once, upon this attempt to revive the dark ages in the noon of the 19th century. The bells began to ehihiie at 3J; p:m., and for half an< hour they feept it . up, ringing tunes (among which We recognized “Old Hun dred ’’) and portions of tunes until the 'Ser vices began. The church, with its long aisles, lofty arches, : and 'small windows, was filled, with a “ dim'religious light.” But within, the phancel, twe,nty-four wax tapers were .burning. (Wax light is far more re ligious and devotional than God’s sunlight, it seems.) ; ' • ) At 4 o’clock, as the last n ote of tho chim ing bells faded On the air, chanting was heard through the,doors (still closed) bet ween the chancel and*’the'vestry. It sounded weird .and ghostlike. Soon -the floor was opened, and out came the procession of white robed priests, deacons, and boys, perhaps thirty in All, still chanting. They marched into the chancel and filed off to the right and left still chanting. When the chant was finished, they entered upon the evening service as, laid down in the Prayer-Book. Many things Were added, ana nothing was read except a part of the Scripture lessons. The psalms,‘’thh' prayers, add the litany were all intoned; that is, they were uttered in . a measured,sing-song way, very much as children sing a doggerel, The effect would have been ludicrous, if we could have forgot ten that tte intonersi were supposed to be engaged in..the worship:.of, God.. The responses Were gen era Tty-cm-- ff Jwthe chotr; secompahled by the organ, and aTTtEe “amens” were instrumental. While the audience were looking and listening, as if the whole affair Was got up for their amuse ment, the massive .organ seemed to be very solemn and pious. It rolled out in deepest bass its loud amens until the walls trembled. Much of the intoning and the chanting mingled with' it Aas unintelligible without the bookand it was often difficult, even with the book before us, to find out what the and -the singers singing. To most persons present the whole service was evidently a mere jargon. They heard many strange and some sweet sounds. They saw wh'te robed men ana boys in the distant chancel, now standing, now kneel ing, now facing this way, now that way; but they did not feel that there was any thing inAhd performande solemn, earnest, adapted to 1 reach and melt the heart.,, They were spectators, .and not worshippers. Apri r tfrftnyn and boys in the chancel did not seem to feel or care for what they ut tered. jWeicould detect in their cpuptenanees no AThby'evraently felt that they were actors. They were par ticular abpqt, tbeir papt^;,.they chanted and intoned with gi-dat acchrabyf'fthd often with a richness of voice, or a harmonious blend ing,oSjVoices;sijhat*thialled? tha hearer. >« But it was all artistic,= They thought only of the manner, -and not of .the imatter, : At least such was the impression made upon- us. ,- ■ There are two reading desks in the chan cel. Atef hei-ndfliern fdb§k thergtayers were intonea, and at the southern the Scripture After an hour, devotqd, to this liturgical performance, camera sermon, or “.lecture,” as ’jbhh^eM-^'^tfst-'fifteen minhitbiAong. Just think of it, four fifths intoning and chanting; andoniyoriefifthpreachifeg. This shows;how? <riitua\ist& regard that iwhich the apostle called “the wisdom of Qod untb salvation.” 1 ■’ • "'' This fifteen minutes’ sermon was remarka ble for other things besides its brevity. It Was preached in a little,-round, tub-like pul pit, fastened to one Of the pillars of the church, outside of the chancel. There stood the preacher, about fifteen feet above the heads of his hearers, in a‘ box just large enough to hold him and his little sermon. No man could preach in such a ,cage, Why, ho looked as if he had-to stand as still and talk as quietly as possible, lest he should tear the tiny box: 'from- off the pillar, and tumble it and himself-'down upon the au dience And even this sbort fifteen.miuutea ‘of the lecture c'ould not be'given to the Gos pels. ■ No, alasf-'the venerable-looking, white haired pries Ji' spent that/final fifth of the vesper service in proving “ baptismal re generation"”—in-proving'it, not from the Bible, butfrom the the, erbwnifig;ClPud that daf-kened over the t sc.ene,.apd jbMd§r,,SSjat jv® bad, [.-gone- back into the’ glooupbififi me.rJßi&lle | ages. We were glad the little sermon was no longer; and when we went out into the blessed sunlight of that Sabbath afternoon we thanked God that it was the 19th cen tury still, and not the 15th, in spite of the efforts of Trinity Churchmen to roll the ages backward. After the sermon the priests and boys formed into procession again, and went out chanting, just as they had come in The audience present did not fill a quar teF-of the church. Many of them were evi dently strangers, like ourselves, who had heard of these strange doings, and were curious to witness them; others had strolled in from the street to hear the music.. Mot a quarter of the 200 to 300 present seemed to be stated worshippers there, or to regard the performance as worship. Scores went out as soon as the preacher entered thepul- P !t - “ „V MILTON AND. OWEN. • John Milton and John Owen were both Christians—both 1 devouf, both uncercmoni'al, both advocating a wide llb'ertyof conscience, both averse to prelacy, and to all Presbyte rian dominion, both entertaining in general the same views of government, political and ecclesiastical, yet how unlike in many other respects! the One exhibiting in his religion th 6 genius of a poet, the other the genius of a systematic, theologian ; the one soaring with outstretched wing into the loftiest re gions of -Pivine contemplation* ,tbe«other measuring every opinion by theistandard of a remorseless logic, based upon Scripture; th'e ohe inspired with ‘Clai&ic taste’, chiselling the products of his intellect' into forms of beauty, comparable to this of Phidias in the , ar.t of sculpture, the other* careless respect ing artistic style, and flinging out the trea sures of his affluent mind after a fashion which is most excruciating to the sesthetical of this' generation, thetit'hGra man of rea son; the one I 'a Homer, tH.e Other an Aris totle amongst Puritans.: . And as. they dif fered in their manner of thinking, so also they differed in their modes of feeling and in -their habits of 'life; the religious : senti ments of Milton being calm and pure, With 'something in their ’tone 1 almost approaching to angelic elevation, bearing scarcely any marks of such struggles as beset most other Christians,, and suggesting the idea that his chief conflicts of soul must have been with “ spiritual wickedness in high places ;” Owen, on the other hand, dwellingmuch upon “ the mortification of sin in believers,” “ the doc trine of justification,” “ the work of the Holy Spirit in prayer,” and “ the glory of Chrisi,” and ever indicating the strongest faith and the intens.est feeling upon .those evangelical points respecting which Some defect may be traced in the 'religion of Milton; and whilst Milton was solitary in his devotion, at least during the latter part of bis life, and ib this respect, as in others, was “ like a star, and dwelt apart,” Owen delighted in social wor ship.—liev. J: Stoughton’s History of England. H.W.BEEHHER. The following Jufttr ; arid“drecriminating cri ticism upon the published sermons and lec tures of the preacher of Plymouth church, we find in the correspondence-of the last Watchman and Reflector. There is reason to fear that too much of the topical and sensa tional preaching of the times is character ized by “the absence of those truths uftiich lead sinners in the way of life, and nourish God’s people in spiritual stature and strength;” ; , n There is one preacher in our country whom I never saw in the pulpit, .but many of whose sermons and‘Lecture Room Talk,’ as : published in newspapers, I have carefully read, as I have the reported discourses of Mr, Spurgeon, that I might discover, not only the secret of his popularity, but his real, though 1 often questioned views, both theological and ethical. All attempts to an alyze his utterance have been failures, and I have been unable to conceive of any princi ple'or plan upon which his discourses are constructed; None that I have examined aie'textual Sr"e'xpository'; none'have-con-' tained a development, of any portion of Scripture' 1 truth ; ‘ none • havC presented, in classified form, any of the’related elements of Christian doctrine or Christian morals. Like the sermons of the late Theodore Par ker, they were all topical,.’having a Bible text suggestive by a word or : a statement of the main idea, and-used merely “as a per cussion cap to ignite a smart oration.” But, while there was “ a main idea,” there was not a very close adherence ,to it, or an ap parent regard to tile logical order and me thod of thought. Seldom have' I been able to disc’over what the preacher intended to prove, or- what one important point he aim-, ed-to impress on the mind of-the hearer. ; “Manifestly there had boon little' -premedi tatibn, and much reliance on genius as equal' to the demand of the hour.. Citations from the: Word of God were very'infrequent, and the, few that, appeared were. etnplo.yecL.sel dom as authoritative proof-texts, generally . for- some /pungency,of expression’, ’or some convenient illustration. That in every ser r mon the speaker aimed to do good, was evi-_ dent, but, in ho "instance could T p'ercoivo that.his aim, beyond present entertainment,: had-reference to results having connection with eternity. The production could hardly be called a in any sense, as that word is. ordinarily understood. It was a succession of extemporized pictures rapidly struck- off by a master hand few of them common-place, many of them original and graphic. More or less truth -was enuficiated, but 1 ; looked in vain for any distinct exhibi tion ‘as the truth is in Jeßus.’ With my lim- ’ i fed-' knowledge, I Cquldtnpl;' hiany better, qualified to judge have deliberately said, that the orator 'of Plymouth' church, ‘does not preach the Gospel;' but,-as one I musk , say, that the dozens of !!his.discourses which . I have seen were all grievously lacking'-in that staple of apostolic preaching, ‘Cnriht crucified.’ I have constantly been grieved by the absence of those truths which l ea( ] sinners into the way of life, and nourish God’s peoplein spiritual stature and strength I found abundance of pulpit pyrotechnics’ brilliant and sparkling, but not adapted to convince men of their sins, or to build up believers in Christ.” CHRISTIAN COURTESY. Every man has his faults, his failings, his peculiarities. Every one of us finds himself crossed by such ladings of others from hour to hour; and if he were to resent them all or even notice all, life Would be intolerable. •If. for every outburst of hasty temper, and for every rudeness that wounds us in our dhily path, we were to.demand an apology, require, an explanation, or resent it by reta liation, daily intercourse would be impossi ble. The very .science of life consists in that gliding tact which avoids contact With the sharp angularities of character, •which does noX argue about such things, which does not seek to, adjust or cure them all, but covers them as If it did not see. So a Christian spirit throws a .cloak of love over these things.; It knows when it is wise not to see:. That, microscopic distinctness in which all faults appear to captious men who arefbrever blaming, dissenting, complaining, disappears''ih the large calm gaze of love. 'A,nd oh ! ft is this’ Spirit whidh our Christian society, lacks, ahd which We shall never get till each one begins with his own heart. the chameleon and poroupine-a ' FABLE. '. ’ > A chameleon lOjiee met a, porcupine, and that, he had taken great pains to make friends: with everybody, bat, strange to say, he had entirely failed, and could not noW be sufo that he had a friend in the world. ' . i , . J‘And by wlmt iinean^’^saijd^lhieporcupine, “have you sought .to make friends? ” “By flattery,” said the Chameleon. “I have adapted l myself*'tb:all' I met; humored the folliesvamhibibteaiofcevsmy one. In or der to make people bfelieveithat.llike them, I have imitated' ,their manners, as if I con sidered them models of perfection. So far have T £one in thiß that, jt has become a habit with me, and now my very skin takes the hue and complexibn of the thing that happens to be nearest. Yet all this has been in vain, Tor everybody calls me a turn-coat, attdT am gbtferaily considered selfish, hypo critical, and base.” < .’“And.no doubt yon deserve all this,” said the poreupino. “I have taken a different course, but I must confess that I have as few friends.as you. i adopted the rule to resent every insult, nay, every encroachment upon my dignity. ■ I would allow no ! dne even to touch me Without sticking into him one or more of my sharp quills. I determined to take care of number one; and the result has been* that while X haye vindicated my rights, 1 have created a universal dislike. lam called old Touch-me-not, and if I am not as much despised, I am even more disliked than ydu, Sir Chameleon.” ' SAVED BY FAITH. Arminian advice to awakened persons is now so common that intelligent Christians need to press more earnestly than ever the absolute dependence .qf the sinner on the Holy Spirit for ; .right feelings or true pro gress.- It is quite too common to hear from young converts such language as this: I thought it time for me to be a Christian, and resolved to become ime. I attended meetings, rose for prayers, and found peace.” Such an experience rarely endures strong temptation. The following is much more scriptural: “ When I Hid resolve to become a Chris tian,” said an intelligent,person once to her pastor, “I found that iny hfeart would not yields. I discovered that* I was such a sin ner that I could not convert myself. I gave that up, and cried to God for mercy and help. A while after that I began to be at peace. I did nothing for myself; but it seems as if, when I gave all up and cried to God for help, He did every thing for me.” s , This was the first Chapter in the history of auseful religious life,... This person opened the door to Jesus, and His omnipotent grace did ! the work of discovering her sin to her self ind of renewing her heart from sin to godliness. . ,V; - NEED OF' EETIBEIfENT. Christians now-a-days live too much in public. They neglect the closet for social religious duties,’ and i lose in depth and strength, of Christian character, liev. J■ G Eyle gives, ‘a needed admonition: Occasional retirement, selfinquiry, medi tation and secret communion with God arc absolutely essential to spiritual health. The maii who neglects them iB in great danger of a fall. To be always preaching, teaching) speaking, and working public works is un questionably a sign, of zpal; but it is not always a sign of zeal according to know ledge. It often leads to untoward conse quences. We must feke time . . . for sit ting down and' haliniy looking within, and examining how matters stand between our own souls and Christ. 1 The Omission of this practice is the truo aceount.of many a back sliding which shocks the church and gives occasion to the, world to blaspheme. Many could bay, in tie! words of the Canticles, ‘‘Theyr made me,a keeper of fee vineyards, but my o,wn vineyard have I kept.” Bread hath one: quality, water another, raiment anotfapj^ptiysip but none hath all in itself as Christ, .hath: die is bread t© the • hungry,, water/to. the thirsty, a g a ’"‘ 'merit to'thre risked, healing to the wounded, ahd'wbathbever k ffdul 1 cSn desire is found m him
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