The greatness and majesty of the Most High God are utterly inconceivable. The most masterly minds, when in the most spiritual state, have felt it impossible for the utmost stretch of their imagination to reach to the grandeur of God. Our loftiest conceptions of the universe probably fall very far short of what it really is; although the researches of astronomy have revealed facts surpassing all the powers of the human mind, in the attempt to grasp them. Thought, reason, understanding, and even imagination, are bewildered in the vast and illimitable fields of space, amidst the marvels of God’s handiwork. Yet all the wonders which the human eye has seen, or mortal spirit guessed at, are but parts of his ways. We have heard no more than one stanza of creation’s never-ending psalm. We have viewed but one stone in the vast mosaic of the Maker’s works. An infusorial atom of life in a drop of water may know as much of the great sea, as we do of the universe as a whole. An emmet creeping over a sand-heap by the seaside, must not boast of having counted the grains which bound the ocean: nor must the most learned mortal dream that he has a full idea of the vast creation of God. Above all this, however, is the fact that all these wondrous works bear no more proportion to the unseen, all-powerful God, than one line written by the pen of Milton would bear to his masterly mind. When God hath made all that he ordains to create, and when we have seen all that he hath made, yet there remaineth in himself infinite possibilities of creation. The potter is far greater than the vessel which he fashioneth, and the Lord is infinitely greater than all his works. He filleth all things, but all things cannot fill him. He containeth immensity; he graspeth eternity; but, neither immensity nor eternity can compass him.

“Great God, how infinite art thou!

What worthless worms are we!”

Very fittingly does the psalmist sing of him as God humbling himself to behold the things which are in heaven. Those majestic beings, cherubim and seraphim, who flash with wings of fire to obey the behests of the Eternal, are not to be observed of him unless, speaking after the manner of men, in condescension he stoops himself to view them. We sing of the heaven, even the heaven of heavens, as the Lord’s, and speak of those glorious places as being his peculiar abode, and so they are; and yet the heaven of heavens cannot contain him, and celestial spirits are as nothing when compared with him. Consider, then, the condescension of the Lord in visiting the sons of men! What a stoop is here, my brethren! From the throne of the Infinite, to the clay tenements of man! Surely in a moment you will perceive that all gradations of rank among our race of worms, must be less than nothing, and even contemptible with him. He does not consort with kings when he descends to earth, for what is their mimic pomp to him? He does not seek out for himself regal society, as being more worthy of his dignity than association with poverty, for what is the child’s play of courtly grandeur to him? A king! what is he but a crowned worm! A king! what is he but dust and ashes raised a very little on the ash-heap than the rest of the dust? The Lord, therefore, makes but small account of the honour which cometh from man whose breath is in his nostrils.

“With scorn divine, he turns his eyes

From towers of haughty kings.”

When his awful chariot rolls downward from the skies, he makes men mark the fact of his condescension by visiting men of low estate. He would have to stoop to a palace; it is no more if he stoops to a dunghill. When he is engaged on mercy’s errands, having bowed so low as to enter a cabinet-council chamber, it is scarce a step further to the haunt of poverty and the den of vice. Courage, ye humblest of the sons of men; he who reigns in glory despises none.

“He raiseth up the poor from the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the dunghill.” This has frequently occurred in providence. God in his arrangements singularly alters the position of men. History is not without many instances in which the uppermost have become lowest, and the lowest have been highest. Verily, “There are first that shall be last, and there are last that shall be first.” Solomon said, “I have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking in the dust;” and the same thing has been seen even in these modern times, when kings have fled their thrones, and men who were prowling about in poverty, have mounted to imperial power. God in providence often laughs at pedigree and ancestry, and stains the honour and dignity of everything in which human nature boasts itself. From the kennel to the palace, is an easy ascent when heaven favours.

It is not upon providence that I intend to dilate, this morning. My text has a special bearing upon God’s acts of grace. Here it is above all others that we see the condescending sovereignty of his dealings. He takes the base things of the world, and the things that are not, to bring to nought the things that are. He selects for himself those whom men would have repudiated with scorn-he covers his tabernacle of witness with badgers’ skins, chooses unhewn stones to be the materials for his altar, a bush for a place of blazing manifestation, and a shepherd-boy to be the man after his own heart. Those persons and things which are despised among men, are often highly esteemed in the sight of God.

In considering the text this morning, let us notice the objects of God’s choice. First, where some of them are; secondly, how he takes them from their degraded state; thirdly, how he lifts them up; and fourthly, where he puts them.

It will be the history of a child of God, from the dunghill to the throne. Novelists are plastering our walls with sensational titles; there is one which might even satisfy them in their ambition to delight the morbid cravings of this age. “From the dunghill to the throne,” is a subject which ought to win your attention, and if it does not, the fault must surely lie with me; in it there will ever be a blessed novelty of interest; and yet we thank God that it is a correct description of the upward experience of all the Lord’s people. He finds tens of thousands in the dunghill-state, and bears them up by the arms of his mercy till he makes them to sit among the princes of his people.

We will begin where God began with us. Where God’s chosen ones are when he meets with them.

The expression used in the text implies, in the first place, that many of them are in the lowest scale socially. Sovereign grace has a people everywhere, in all ranks and conditions of men. Were we taken up to heaven, and did the heavenly spirits wear any token of their rank on earth, we should on returning, say, “Here and there I saw a king; I marked a few princes of the blood, and a handful of peers of the realm; I observed a little company of the prudent, and a slender band of the rich and famous; but I saw a great company of the poor and the unknown, who were rich in faith and known unto the Lord.” The Lord excludes no man from his election on account of his rank or condition. We shall not err if we say,

“While grace is given to the prinœ,

The poor receive their share;

No mortal has a just pretence

To perish in despair.”

Yet how true it is that many of those whom God has chosen are found not simply among the workers, but among the poorest ranks of the sons of toil! There are some whose daily toil can scarcely find them bread enough to keep body and soul together, and yet they have fed daintily upon the bread of heaven. Many are clad in garments of the meanest kind, patched and mended everywhere, and yet they are as gloriously arrayed in the sight of God and the holy angels, as the brightest of the saints; “Yet, I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” Some of the sweetest biographies of Christians have been the lives of the lowly culled from the annals of the poor. Who has not read “The Young Cottager” and “The Dairyman’s Daughter”? Who has not found the greatest pleasure in visiting those bed-ridden ones who lie in the alms’ room, those saints of God who owe to charity their daily food, because sickness has deprived them of the means of earning their bread? My poor hearer, you may this morning, while sitting in that pew, feel as if you were scarcely respectable enough to be in a place of worship, but I pray you let not your poverty hinder your receiving the gospel, whose peculiar glory it is that it is preached to the poor. You may have nothing at all in this world, not a foot of ground which you can call your own; you may have been fighting against adversity, a deadly struggle, year after year, and yet you may be still as poor as poverty itself; I will neither commend nor upbraid your poverty, for there is nothing necessarily good or bad morally in any state of life, but I beg that you will not let your circumstances discourage you in the matter of your spiritual interest before God. Come as a beggar, if you be a beggar. Come in rags, if you have no other covering. “He that hath no money, come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price!”

The expression in the text does not refer merely to social gradations; I have no doubt it has a more spiritual meaning. The dunghill is a place where men throw their worthless things. When you have quite done with an article, and cannot put it to any further use, you throw it away. It has been turned to two or three accounts since it was first employed for its original intention, and now it is in the way, and cannot longer be harboured; it is of no use to be sold even as old metal, and therefore you throw it on the dunghill that it may be taken away with the rubbish. How often have God’s own chosen people felt themselves to be mere offscourings and sweepings, good for nothing but to be cast away! You, dear friends, are in a like case, for you have discovered your own utter worthlessness. Looking upon yourself in the light which you have received from heaven, your fancied value has all departed. You were very important once in your own esteem, but you now perceive that your loss, so far from affecting heaven and earth, would be of no more consequence to the world at large, than the throwing of a rotten fruit upon the dunghill, or the falling of a sere leaf from one forest tree amidst a myriad. In your own estimation there is in you a want of adaptation for any useful purpose; you are of no more use than salt which has lost its savour. You cannot glorify God as you could wish; you do not wish as much as you should. You can neither pray with the earnestness you desire, nor praise with the gratitude you wish to feel. Looking back upon your past life, you are heartily ashamed. In a corner you mourn out, “Lord, what a worthless piece of lumber I have been in this world! What a cumberer of the ground! What an unprofitable servant!” You have been useful to your family, or to your country, and once you thought this enough; but now you measure yourself as in the light of God; and inasmuch as you have never glorified him who made you, and have brought no honour to him who is your kind and gracious Preserver, you feel yourself to be so worthless, that if the Lord should throw you on the dunghill, and say, “Put him away! he is as worthless as dross and dung!” he would only treat you as you richly deserve. My dear friend, this estimate of yourself, though it brings you much unhappiness, is a very healthy sign. When we think little of ourselves, God thinks much of us. “God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.” He will not break thee, O thou bruised reed! He will not quench thee, O thou smoking flax! but though thou art only fit to be cast on the dunghill, his mercy will tenderly consider thee, and exalt thee among the princes of his people.

Again, the dunghill is a place of contempt. Contempt sometimes sneeringly says of its victim, “He is such a person, that I would not pick him up if I saw him on a dunghill.” The sneer of the world condemns some persons thus: “Oh! they are good for nothing. A dunghill is too good for them.” Possibly, my hearer, you may be placed in a family where you are much despised. You may not have the ability and sharpness of others of the household, and therefore you are much looked down upon, and are regarded as a poor simpleton, not worth noticing. You have not succeeded in life as others have done, and consequently you are viewed with much contempt by those who have prospered much and speedily. Nay, you feel this morning as if you merited the contempt poured upon you. You have been saying, “Ah! you despise me, but if you knew me as I know myself, you would despise me more. You think nothing of me, and I am less than nothing. You call me an ill name, but could you see the deceitfulness of my base heart, you would understand that the name might be worn in truth though given in jest.” Well, despised one, let me remind you that the Lord has often looked upon those whom man has despised; and though your own parents may have taken no pleasure in you, and society may sneer at you, and you may yourself now feel as if the sneer were well deserved, yet take confidence and be of good heart, for God visits dunghills when he does not visit palaces, and he will lift up the humble and meek from the dust wherein they pine and languish.

The next remark may, perhaps, afford more comfort: the dunghill is the place for filthy and offensive things. We say of a foul and unsavoury thing, “It is too bad to be borne in the house, let it be swept away; put it away with the filth; cover it up.” When a matter becomes noisome, putrid, offensive, we want it to be removed at once. Ah! sad that we should have to say this of any of our fellow creatures, but we must say it. There are some whose sins are terribly foul; their iniquities are so vile that they are an offence in the eyes and ears of all decent men: while the Holy God looks upon their actions with wrath and detestation. Some sinners have become so infamous in character that they are an injury to all associated with them; they cannot enter into any company without spreading the contagion of their sin; their example is so bad that it is enough to poison the parish where they live. They are only fit to be put as so much rottenness, foulness, and putridity, on the dunghill where immorality rots out its hour of abomination. But, oh! the love of my Master; he has often stooped to rescue the abandoned from the dunghill In heaven I see those who had washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb, who once were harlots like Rahab, adulterers like David, and idolaters like Manasseh. Before the throne of God there stand to-day, among the peers of God, those who, in their days of unregeneracy, were thieves, and drunkards, and blasphemers. Heaven’s courts are trodden by many who once were the chief of sinners, but who now are brightest among the saints. I pray yon, beloved, never think that the gospel of Christ saved great offenders in years gone by, but that now it is only for the unfallen and moral. The moral are freely invited to Christ, which we never forget to testify, but the immoral are bidden too. The Lord came to our earth as a Physician; and he came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance; he came not to heal those who are already sound in health, but the sick. O my hearer, if thou be so sick with sin that thy whole head is sick and thy whole heart taint, and from the crown of thy head to the sole of thy foot there is no soundness in thee, but nothing but wounds, and bruises, and putrifying sores, yet still the love of my Master will stoop to you! If you have added lust to theft, and even murder to lust, if you are red-handed with infamous iniquity, yet the sacred crimson bath, which was filled from the heart of Jesus, can wash away “all manner of sin and blasphemy.” Whosoever believeth in him is justified from all things from which he could not be justified by the law of Moses. Refined minds thought just now that I was using a very ugly expression when I spoke of rescuing rottenness from the dunghill, but the expression is all too clean when compared with sin; for all the filth and loathsomeness that ever offended eye and nostril is sweetness itself compared with sin. The foulest and most detestable thing in the whole universe is sin. It is this which keeps the fire of hell burning as God’s great sanitary necessity. There cannot but be a constant Tophet where there is such constant sin. We read that in certain French towns they kindled great public fires because of the cholera. The cholera! what is it compared with sin? Well may God cause the fiery flames of eternal torment to go up for ever and ever, for it is only by such terrific punishment that the plague of sin can be at all restrained within bounds. Sin is a horrible evil, a deadly poison; and yet, sinner, though thou be as full of it as an egg is full of meat, and as reeking with it as the foulest piece of noxious matter can be reeking with foul smell, yet the infinite mercy of God in Christ Jesus can lift thee from this utmost degradation, and make thee to shine as a star in his kingdom at the last.

Once more, the dunghill may be spiritually considered as the place of condemnation. You look at a certain article of food for instance, and the economical housewife does not wish to waste anything. Well, if it may not serve for food, may it not be useful for something else? At last, when she sees that it is of no service, the sentence of condemnation is “Let it be cast on the dunghill.” Nebuchadnezzar, in his memorable proclamation concerning the Lord Jehovah, said that whosoever should speak a word against him should be cut in pieces, and his house should be made a dunghill. There is a connection, then, between the dunghill and condemnation. Now there may be in this audience, this morning, a man who feels himself to be under sentence of condemnation. You have so often had prickings of conscience; so frequently have been taught better, and yet you have sinned against light and knowledge, that now you consider yourself to have sinned beyond the reach of mercy. My voice, this morning, very likely grates on your ear; though it is meant to convey to you the most gladsome tidings that ever silver trumpet rung out to bankrupt sinner on the day of Jubilee, yet it sounds to you like the voice which proclaims your doom. Well, poor sinner, if thou be in thyself condemned, and a hoarse voice has said, “To the dunghill with him! To the flames of hell with him!” yet I come to thee in Jehovah’s name, and bid thee hear this word, this morning: “He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the dunghill; that he may set him with princes.” What sayest thou to this? What if God should forgive thee, this morning? What if he should make thee his child? What if he should give thee a crown of life that fadeth not away? “Oh!” say you “if he would, I would love and bless him.” Sinner, he will do it if thou canst now believe in the Lord Jesus, whose blood cleanseth us from all sin. By the death of Jesus I beseech thee trust in the atoning sacrifice of Calvary, and thou shalt live to praise his redeeming love.

I must not, however, leave out a thought which just flashes on one’s mind. A thing which lies upon the dunghill is in contact with disgusting associates; and, therefore, the text may represent those who have hitherto lived in the midst of evil associations. When these doors are opened, there often come in here, out of curiosity, persons who are not regular attendants at places of worship-I must say the most hopeful class that I ever address-for some of you who have heard my voice and the voices of other ministers so long, are almost hopeless; we might well give you up, for we have pleaded with you so frequently, and put the truth before you so constantly, that surely if it ever was to have been blessed to you it would have been blessed already. But those to whom the gospel is a new thing occasionally drop in, and some of these come from the very worst society, fresh from the theatre, the gin palace, and worse places still-the name of Jesus scarcely known except as it may be used in blasphemy, and the person of God Most High never thought of except as he is invoked in a curse. Friend, we are glad that thou art here; thou hast been on the dunghill, thou art on the dunghill now; thou hast been living with publicans and harlots; thou hast kept sad company; thou has not been nurtured among the choice and the élite of mankind, on the contrary, thou hast lien among the pots, and dwelt in the hedges. Now it is such as thou art that Jesus Christ bids us gather in. “Go out quickly into the lanes and into the hedges, and as many as ye find bid to the supper;” and they brought in the blind, and the halt, and the lame, and they took their seats and feasted where others who were first invited refused to come. I call to you, then, if such there be within my hearing, to you who do not often darken the doors of God’s sanctuary, to you who live among the profane and the debauched, turn to Jesus Christ, I pray you! May the eternal spirit turn you this day, and may you be found among the chosen of God! Alas! and woe is me that I should have to say it, some of you, my hearers, who have been moral and excellent, and have listened to the Word these years, will. I solemnly fear, perish in your sins; for verily, verily, I say unto you, publicans and harlots will enter into the kingdom of heaven before some of you who hear the Word but do it not, and listen to it but feel not its power, and know the joyful sound but do not receive it in your hearts.

Thus much, then, as to where some of God’s people are found. Let me say, that in a certain sense, this is where they all are-all on the dunghill of Adam’s fall, all on the dunghill of self-conceit, self-righteousness, and depravity, and sin, and corruption; but sovereign mercy comes to them just as they lie there rotting in heaps of ruin, and rescues them by effectual grace.

In the second place, we desire to describe how the Lord raises them from it.

He lifteth the needy out of the dunghill. It is a dead lift, and none but an eternal arm could do it. It is a feat of omnipotence to lift a sinner out of his natural degradation; it is all done by the power of the Holy Spirit through the Word, filled with the energy of God. The operation is somewhat on this wise. When the Lord begins to deal with the needy sinner, the first lift he gives him raises his desires. The man is not satisfied to be where he was, and what he was. That dunghill he had not perceived to be so foul as it really is; and the first sign of spiritual life is horror at his lost condition, and an anxious desire to escape from it. Dear hearer, have you advanced so far as this? Do you feel that all is wrong with you? And do you desire to be saved from your present state? So long as you can say, “It is well with me,” and boast that you are no worse than others, I have no hope of you. God does not lift those up who are lifted up already; but when you begin to feel that your present state is one of degradation and ruin, and that you fain would escape from it, then the Lord has put the lever under you, he has begun to raise you up. The next sign generally is that to such a man sin loses all sweetness. When the Lord begins to work with you. even before you find Christ to the joy of your soul, you will find the joy of sin to have departed. A quickened soul that feels the weight of sin, cannot find pleasure in it. Although without faith in Jesus, the evil of sin cannot clearly and evangelically be perceived, yet the conscience of an awakened sinner, perceiving the terribly defiling character of some sins, compels him to give them up. The alehouse is abandoned; the soorner’s seat is given up; the lusts of the flesh are forsaken: and though this does not lift the sinner from the dunghill, yet it is a sign that the Lord has begun his work of grace. When sin grows bitter, mercy grows sweet. O my friend, may the Lord wean thee from the world’s sweet poisons, and bring thee to the true pleasures which are hidden in Christ Jesus. It is another blessed sign that the man is being lifted from the dunghill, when he begins to feel that his own self-righteousness is no assistance to him; when, having prayed, he looks upon his prayers with repentance, and having gone to God’s house, rests not in the outward form. It is well when a man is cut off entirely from all confidence in himself. He may be on the dunghill still, but I am sure he will not be there long, for when thou and thyself have quarrelled, God and thyself begin to be at peace; when thou canst see through that cobweb righteousness of thine, which once seemed to be such a fair silken garment; when thou canst hate that counterfeit coin which once seemed to glitter and to chink like the true gold; when thou art plunged in the ditch, and thine own clothes abhor thee, it is not long before thou shalt be saved with an everlasting salvation. Now comes the true lift from off the dunghill. That poor, guilty, lost, worthless one, hears of Jesus Christ that he came into the world to save sinners: that poor soul looks to him with a look which means, “Lord, thou art my last resort! If thou dost not save me, I must perish; and thou must save me altogether, for I cannot help thee. I cannot give a thread with which to finish thy perfect righteousness. If it be unfinished, I cannot contribute one farthing to make up my own ransom: if thou hast not completely ransomed me, then thy redemption is of no service to me. Lord, I am a drowning, sinking man, I grasp thee as I sink; O save me for thy mercy’s sake!”

“All my help on thee is stayed;

All my trust from thee I bring:

Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of thy wing.”

When a soul gets there, then it is off the dunghill; for the moment a sinner thus trusts Jesus Christ, his sins cease to be; God has drawn his pen through them all; they are gone. He is not guilty in the sight of God any longer: he stands acquitted through the atonement, and justified through the righteousness of Jesus Christ. He is a saved man. He may rise from his sackcloth and ashes, and walking at large, may sing of the blood-bought mercy which has set him completely tree. Thus by the gift of the only-begotten Son, brought personally to the heart, the Lord raises his elect ones from their ruined state; he makes them see it to be a dunghill; makes them feel that they cannot get off of themselves; points them to Christ; leads them to trust his precious blood, and so they are delivered.

It is a blessed thing to be saved from degradation, but praise be to Jehovah, he does not stop there. The Lord does nothing by halves. Oh! the lengths and breadths of love! When he has come right down to where we are it is only half his journey: it remains for him to bear us right up to where he is. Oh! it is a blessed thing to be taken off the dunghill, even if our lot were that of hired servants in our Father’s house; but this does not satisfy the infinite heart of Jehovah: he will lift his people up above all common-place joys, he will take them right up, up, up as on eagles’ wings till he sets them in the place of princes, and makes them to reign with him. Now let us have a few minutes’ consideration of how our blessed Lord lifts his people up from the common level of humanity to make them rank with princes.

In the first place, they are lifted up by complete justification. Every Christian here this morning, whatever may have been his past life, is at this instant perfect in the sight of God through Jesus Christ. The spotless righteousness of Christ is imputed to that sinner believing in him, so that he stands, this morning, “accepted in the beloved.” Now, beloved, weigh this, turn it over, and meditate upon it. Poor, needy, but believing sinner, you are as accepted before God at this present time through Christ Jesus as if you never had sinned, as if you had done and performed every work of his most righteous law without the slightest failure. Is not this sitting among princes? Complete justification furnishes the believer with a throne as safe as it is lofty; as happy as it is glorious. Ah! ye scions of imperial houses, some of you know nothing of this. This is a note which many an emperor could never sing, “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth?” Speak of sitting in pavilions of pleasure, or on divans of state, with nobles, princes, kings, Cæsars-why the figure flags, it falls short of the mark, for the state of the soul completely justified outshines all this as the sun outshines you glimmering candle.

Take the next step. The children of God who have been taken from the dunghill, many of them enjoy full assurance of faith. They are certain that they are saved; they can say with Job, “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” As to whether they are children of God or not, they have no question; the infallible witness of the Holy Spirit bears witness with their spirit that they are born of God. Christ is their elder Brother, God is their Father, and they breathe the filial spirit by which they cry, “Abba, Father!” they know their own security; they are convinced that neither “things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate them from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus their Lord.” I ask every one of understanding heart, whether this is not sitting among princes? Beloved, I would not give a farthing for a prince’s throne, but I would give all I had a thousand times told, if I might always enjoy full assurance of faith; for the full assurance of faith is a better joy than Shushan’s palace of lilies, or Solomon’s house of the forest of Lebanon, could ever yield. A sense of divine loving kindness is better than life itself: it is a young heaven maturing below, to be fully developed above. To know that my Beloved is mine, and that I am his, and that he loved me and gave himself for me, this is far better than to be heir-apparent to a score of empires.

We go further, the children of God, favoured by divine grace, are permitted to have interviews with Jesus Christ. Like Enoch, we walk with God. Just as a child walks with his father, putting his hand into his father’s hand, looking up with loving eye, so the chosen people walk with their Father God most lovingly, confidingly, familiarly; talking to him, telling him their griefs, and hearing from his gracious mouth the secrets of his love. They are a happy people, for they have communion with Jesus of a more intimate and tender sort than even angels know. We are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones; we are married unto him; he has betrothed us unto himself in faithfulness and in righteousness; we are dearer to himself than his own flesh and blood-that he gave to die-and none of us shall ever perish, neither shall any take us out of his hand. Now is not this sitting among princes? Princes! princes! we look down upon your pomp from the eminence on which grace has placed us! Wear your crowns! put on your purple! deck yourselves in all your regal pomp! but when our souls can sit with Jesus, and reign as kings and priests with him, your splendours are not worth a thought. Communion with Jesus is a richer gem than ever glittered in imperial diadem. Union with the Lord is a coronet of beauty outshining all the crowns of earth.

Nor is this all: the elect of God, in addition to receiving complete justification, full assurance, and communion with Christ, are favoured with the Holy Spirit’s sanctification. God the Holy Spirit dwells in every Christian; however humble he may be, he is a walking temple in which resides deity. God the Holy Spirit dwelleth in us, and we in him; and that Spirit sanctifieth the daily actions of the Christian, so that he does everything as unto God; if he lives it is to Christ, and if he dies it is gain. O beloved, it is indeed to sit among princes when you feel the sanctifying influences of the Holy Spirit. O my God, if I might always feel thy Spirit, overcoming my corruption and constraining my soul to holiness, I would not so much as think of a prince in comparison with my own joy. O my dear brethren and sisters in Jesus Christ, I am sure you can bear witness that when you fall into sin at any time, it brings you very low; you smell that vile dunghill once again, and are ready to die under its fearful noisomeness; but when the Holy Spirit enables you to overcome sin and to live as Christ lived, you do feel that you have a royal standing, and a more than imperial privilege in being sanctified in Christ Jesus.

Moreover, many saints receive, in addition to sanctification, the blessing of usefulness; and, mark the word, every useful man is of princely rank. I am not exaggerating now, but speaking the sober truth; he is the true prince among men who blesses his fellows. To be able to drop pearls from your lips might make you a prince in a fairy tale, but when those lips bless the souls of men by leading them to Jesus, this is to be a prince in very deed. To feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to reclaim the fallen, to teach the ignorant, to cheer the desponding, to inspire the wavering, and to conduct saints up to God’s right hand, my brethren, this is to wear a lustre which stars and ribbons, orders and distinctions, never could confer. This is the privilege of each one of you, according as the Spirit of God has given you the measure of faith. You, who once did mischief, now subserve the interest of virtue; you, who rendered up your members servants unto unrighteousness, now make those same members servants of righteousness to the praise and glory of God. No courts of sovereigns can bestow such true honours as dwell in holiness, charity, and zeal.

And once more, God lifts his people up in another sense: while he gives them sanctification and usefulness, he also anoints them with joy. Oh! the joy of being a Christian! I know the world’s idea is, that we are a miserable people. If you read the pages of history, the writers speak of the gay cavaliers as being men of high spirit and overflowing joy; but the poor Puritans, what a wretched set they were, blaspheming Christmas-day, abhorring games and sports, and going about the world, looking so terribly miserable, that it were a pity they should go to hell, for they had enough of torment here! Now this talk is all untrue, or at best is a gross caricature. Hypocrites, then as now, did wear a long face and a rueful countenance, but there were to be found among the Puritans hosts of men whose holy mirth and joy were not to be equalled, nay, not to be dreamed of, or understood by those poor grinning fools who fluttered round the heartless rake whose hypocrisies had lifted him to the English throne. The cavaliers’ mirth was the crackling of thorns under a pot, but a deep and unquenchable joy dwelt in the breasts of those men

“Who trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong,

Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God.”

Oh! far above the laughter of the gallants of the court, was the mighty and deep joy of those who rode from the victorious field singing unto the Lord who had made them triumph gloriously. They called them “Ironsides,” and such they were, but they had hearts of steel, which while they flinched not in the day of danger, forgot not to flash with joy even as steel glitters in the shining of the sun. Believe me, however, whatever they were, that we who trust in Jesus are the happiest of people-not constitutionally, for some of us have great depression of spirits, not always circumstantially, for some of us are much tried and are brought to the utter depths of poverty, but inwardly, truly, really, our heart’s joy, believe us, is not to be excelled. I would not stand here to lie for twice the Indies, but I will speak the truth: if I had to die like a dog to-morrow I would not change places with any man beneath the courts of heaven for joy and peace of mind; for to be a Christian and know it, to drink deep of that cup. to know your election, to understand your calling, I do assure you yields more peace and bliss in one ten minutes than will be found in one hundred years in all the courts of sin, though wantonness should run riot, and pleasure should know no license.

“Solid joy and lasting pleasure

None but Zion’s children know.”

So when I read the text that he sets us among princes, I think little of the figure, it halts, it limps, for the Lord puts us far above all earthly princes; and were it not for the next sentence I would even that the figure broke down altogether, but that clause makes it right, “even the princes of his people”-this puts soul and force-these are princes of another blood, these are peers of another realm, and among such God sets his people.

To conclude, we have to notice in the last place, where it is that our Lord sets his people.

“Among princes,” we are told. We have already dwelt upon the same thought, but we will examine another side of it. “Among princes,” is the place of select society. They do not admit everybody into that charmed circle. Among an aristocracy, the poor plebeian must not venture. The blue blood runs in rather a narrow channel, and it cannot be expected that the common crimson should be allowed to invigorate the languid current. The true Christian lives in very select society. Listen! “Truly our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ.” Speak of select society, there is none like this! We are a chosen generation, a peculiar people, a royal priesthood. “We are not come unto Mount Sinai, but we are come unto the blood of sprinkling and unto the general assembly and Church of the first-born, whose names are written in heaven.” This is select society. Next they have courtly audience: the prince may be expected to have admittance to royalty when common people like ourselves must stand afar off. Now the child of God has free access to the royalty of heaven. Our courtly privileges are of the highest order. Listen! “For through Him we both have access by one spirit unto the Father.” “Let us come boldly,” says the apostle, “to the throne of the heavenly grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” We have courtly audience and peculiarly select society. Next, to this it is supposed that among princes there is abundant wealth, but what is the wealth of princes compared with the riches of believers? for “all things are yours, and ye are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s.” “He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?” Among princes, again, there dwells peculiar power. A prince has influence; he wields a sceptre in his own domain: and “He hath made us kings and priests unto God, and we shall reign for ever and ever.” We are not kings of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and yet we have a triple dominion; we reign over spirit, soul, and body. We reign over the united kingdom of time and eternity; we reign in this world, and we shall reign in the world that is yet to come: for we shall reign for ever and ever. Princes, again, have special honour. Everyone in the crowd desires to gaze upon a prince, and would be delighted to do him service. Let him have the first position in the empire; he is a prince of the blood, and is to be had in esteem and respect. Beloved, hear ye his word: “He hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus,” so that we share the honour of Christ as we share his cross. Paul was taken from the dunghill of persecution, but he is not second to any in glory; and you, though you may have been the chief of sinners, shall fare none the worse when he cometh in his kingdom; but as he owned you on earth, and redeemed you with his precious blood, so will he own you in the future state, and make you sit with him and reign among princes, world without end. May the Lord bless these words for Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-1 Samuel 2:1-10; and Psalm 113.

SIMEON

A Sermon

by

C. H. SPURGEON,

“And, behold, there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon; and the same man was just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel: and the Holy Ghost was upon him.”-Luke 2:25.

What a biography of a man! How short, and yet how complete! We have seen biographies so prolix, that full one half is nonsense, and much of the other half too vapid to be worth reading. We have seen large volumes spun out of men’s letters. Writing desks have been broken open, and private diaries exposed to the world. Now-a-days, if a man is a little celebrated, his signature, the house in which he was born, the place where he dines, and everything else, is thought worthy of public notice. So soon as he is departed this life, he is embalmed in huge folios, the profit of which rests mainly, I believe, with the publishers, and not with the readers. Short biographies are the best, which give a concise and exact account of the whole man. What do we care about what Simeon did-where he was born, where he was married, what street he used to walk through, or what coloured coat he wore? We have a very concise account of his history, and that is enough. His “name was Simeon;” he lived “in Jerusalem;” “the same man was just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel: and the Holy Ghost was upon him.”

Beloved, that is enough of a biography for any one of us. If, when we die, so much as this can be said of us-our name-our business, “waiting for the consolation of Israel”-our character, “just and devout”-our companionship, having the Holy Ghost upon us-that will be sufficient to hand us down not to time, but to eternity, memorable amongst the just, and estimable amongst all them that are sanctified.

Pause awhile, I beseech you, and contemplate Simeon’s character. The Holy Ghost thought it worthy of notice, since he has put a “behold” in the sentence. “Behold, there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon.” He doth not say, “Behold, there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was king Herod;” he doth not say, “Behold, there was a man in Jerusalem, who was high priest;” but, “Behold!”-turn aside here, for the sight is so rare, you may never see such a thing again so long as you live; here is a perfect marvel; “Behold,” there was one man in Jerusalem who was “just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel; and the Holy Ghost was upon him.” His character is summed up in two words-“just and devout.” “Just”-that is his character before men. “Devout”-that is his character before God. He was “just.” Was he a father? He did not provoke his children to anger, lest they should be discouraged. Was he a master? He gave unto his servants that which was just and equal, knowing that he also had his Master in heaven. Was he a citizen? He rendered obedience unto the powers that then were, submitting himself to the ordinances of man for the Lord’s sake. Was he a merchant? He overreached in no transaction, but providing things honest in the sight of all men, he honoured God in his common business habits. Was he a servant? Then he did not render eye-service, as a man-pleaser, but in singleness of heart he served the Lord. If, as is very probable, he was one of the teachers of the Jews, then he was faithful; he spoke what he knew to be the Word of God, although it might not be for his gain, and would not, like the other shepherds, turn aside to speak error, for the sake of filthy lucre. Before men he was just. But that is only half a good man’s character. There are many who say, “I am just and upright; I never robbed a man in my life; I pay twenty shillings in the pound; and if anybody can find fault with my character, let him speak. Am I not just? But as for your religion,” such a one will say, “I do not care about it; I think it cant.” Sir, you have only one feature of a good man, and that the smallest. You do good towards man, but not towards God; you do not rob your fellow, but you rob your Maker. “Will a man rob God?” Yes, and think far less of it than he would if he robbed man. He who robs man is called a villain; he who robs God is often called a gentleman. Simeon had both features of a Christian. He was a “just man,” and he was also “devout.” Mark, it does not say he was a just man and religious. A man may be very religious, and yet he may not be devout. Religion, you know, as the term is used, consists very much in outward observances; godliness and devotion consist in the inward life and action arising from the inner spring of true consecration. It does not say here that Simeon was a religious man, for that he might have been, and yet have been a Pharisee, a hypocrite, a mere professor. But no; he was a “devout” man. He valued the “outward and visible sign,” but he possessed the “inward and spiritual grace.” Therefore he is called “a just man and devout.” “Behold!” says the Holy Ghost. “Behold!” for it is a rarity! Come ye here, ye Christians of the present day! Many of you are just, but ye are not devout; and some of you pretend to be devout, but ye are not just. The just and the devout together make up the perfection of the godly man. Simeon was “a just man and devout.”

But now, leaving the character of Simeon as a man, we shall endeavour to expound his blessed hope as a believer. To this end we ask your attention, first, to the expectation-he was “waiting for the consolation of Israel;” secondly, the fulfilment; that which he waited for, he saw; and when he found Jesus, he said, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace;” and thirdly, the explanation of that fulfilment, or how it is that the Lord Jesus is the consolation of Israel.

First, then, Simeon’s expectation. He was “waiting for the consolation of Israel.” This was the position of all the saints of God, from the first promise, even to the time of Simeon. Poor old Simeon had now become grey-headed; it is very possible that he had passed the usual period allotted to man’s life; but he did not wish to die; he wished for “the consolation of Israel.” He did not wish that the tabernacle of his body might be dissolved, but he did hope that, through the chinks of that old battered tabernacle of his, he might be able to see the Lord. Like the hoary-headed Christian of our times, he did not desire to die, but he did desire to “be with Christ, which was far better.” All the saints have waited for Jesus. Our mother Eve waited for the coming of Christ; when her first son was born, she said, “I have gotten a man from the Lord.” True she was mistaken in what she said: it was Cain, and not Jesus. But by her mistake we see that she cherished the blessed hope. That Hebrew patriarch, who took his son, his only son, to offer him for a burnt offering, expected the Messiah, and well did he express his faith when he said, “My son, God will provide himself a lamb.” He who once had a stone for his pillow, the trees for his curtains, the heaven for his canopy, and the cold ground for his bed, expected the coming of Jesus, for he said on his death-bed-“Until Shiloh come.” The law-giver of Israel, who was “king in Jeshurun,” spake of him, for Moses said, “A prophet shall the Lord your God raise up unto you, of your brethren, like unto me: him shall ye hear.” David celebrated him in many a prophetic song-the Anointed of God, the King of Israel; him to whom all kings shall bow, and all nations call him blessed. How frequently does he in his Psalms sing about “my Lord”! “The LORD said unto my Lord, Sit thou at my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool.” But need we stop to tell you of Isaiah, who spake of his passion, and “saw his glory”? of Jeremiah, of Ezekiel, of Daniel, of Micah, of Malachi, and of all the rest of the prophets, who stood with their eyes strained, looking through the dim mists of futurity, until the weeks of prophecy should be fulfilled-until the sacred day should arrive, when Jesus Christ should come in the flesh? They were all waiting for the consolation of Israel. And, now, good old Simeon, standing on the verge of the period when Christ would come, with expectant eyes looked out for him. Every morning he went up to the temple, saying to himself, “Perhaps he will come to-day.” Each night when he went home he bent his knee, and said, “O Lord, come quickly; even so, come quickly.” And yet, per-adventure, that morning he went to the temple, little thinking, perhaps, the hour was at hand when he should see his Lord there; but there he was, brought in the arms of his mother, a little babe; and Simeon knew him. “Lord,” said he, “now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.” “Oh,” cries one, “but we cannot wait for the Saviour now!” No, beloved, in one sense we cannot, for he is come already. The poor Jews are waiting for him. They will wait in vain now for his first coming, that having passed already. Waiting for the Messiah was a virtue in Simeon’s day: it is the infidelity of the Jews now, since the Messiah is come. Still there is a high sense in which the Christian ought to be every day waiting for the consolation of Israel. I am very pleased to see that the doctrine of the second advent of Christ is gaining ground everywhere. I find that the most spiritual men in every place are “looking for,” as well as “hastening unto,” the coming of our Lord and Saviour. I marvel that the belief is not universal, for it is so perfectly scriptural. We are, we trust, some of us, in the same posture as Simeon. We have climbed the staircase of the Christian virtues, from whence we look for that blessed hope, the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Besides, if we do not believe in the second coming, every Christian waits for the consolation of Israel, at times when he misses the sweet consoling experience. I speak to some of you, perhaps, who are feeling that you have lost the light of the Lord’s face lately. You have not seen his blessed countenance; you have not heard his love-speaking voice; you have not listened to the tender accents of his lips; and you are longing for him. You are like Simeon, waiting for the consolation of Israel. He will come; though he tarries, he will come. Christ does not leave his people entirely. What, though he hide his face? He will come again. The child saith the swallows are dead, because they skim the purple sea. Wait thou, O child, and the swallows shall come back again! The foolish one thinketh that the sun has died out, because he is hidden behind the clouds. Stop for a little season, and the sun shall come again, and thou shalt know that he was brewing behind dark clouds the April shower, mother to the sweet May flowers. Jesus is gone for a little while; but he will come again. Christian! be thou waiting for the consolation of Israel!

I hope, too, I have in this place some poor seeking sinner who is waiting for the like consolation. Sinner! you will not have to wait for ever. It is very seldom Christ Jesus keeps poor sinners waiting long. Sometimes he does. He answers them not a word; but then it is to try their faith. Though he keeps them waiting, he will not send them away wanting; he will be sure to give them mercies, sooner or later. “Though the promise tarry, wait for it,” and thou shalt find it yet, to thy soul’s salvation. Child of God! has not thy Father come to thee yet? Cry for him! cry for him! Thy Father will come: Nothing fetches the parent to the child, like the child’s cry. Cry, little one, cry! Thou who hast but little faith. “Ah! but,” thou sayest, “I am too weak to cry.” Did you never notice that the little one sometimes cries so very low, that when you are sitting in the parlour with the mother, you do not hear it? Up she gets; there is the dear child crying upstairs; and off she goes. She can hear it, though you cannot; because it is her child that cries. Cry, little one; let thy prayer go up to heaven. Though thy minister doth not hear it; though unbelief says no one can hear it, there is a God in heaven who knoweth the cry of the penitent, who “healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.” Sweet posture! to be waiting for the consolation of Israel!

This brings us to the second point-the fulfilment of this expectation. Did Simeon wait in vain? Ah! no; he waited for consolation, and he had the consolation for which he waited. Oh! I can picture Simeon’s frame! How altered it was that morning! He went probably an old man limping up to the temple, his face sad with disappointment; his eyes dark with distress, because he had not found that for which he looked. He wanted to see, and could not see; he desired to know, and he did not know; sometimes, in his unbelieving moments, he thought that, like the prophets and kings, he should wait long, and seek, but never find. Do you not think you see him, when he held the babe in his arms? Why, the old man did not then want his staff to lean on; down it went, and both his arms grasped the child. He may have trembled a little; but the mother of Jesus was not afraid to trust her child to him. How young he felt! As young as when ten years ago he walked with light foot through the streets of Jerusalem. Scarce in heaven did old Simeon feel more happy than he did at that moment when he clasped the babe in his arms! Do you not think you see him? Joy is flashing from his eyes; his lips speak sonnets, which burst out like the chorus of immortals, when he says, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”

Ask now, Was he disappointed in the object of his search? Was Jesus equal to his expectations, “the consolation of Israel”? yes, we answer. We dare any person here, or in the wide world, to deny what we now assert-there certainly is sweet and blessed consolation in Jesus, for all the people of God. I do not know whether any have ever been fools enough to say the gospel is not comforting. I do not think they have. Most of them have said, “It is a very good religion for old women and imbeciles, for sick people and death-beds.” The worst of men admit that religion is a very comfortable thing. Or if they do not admit it, they have the lesson to learn. Come, deist or sceptic, whichsoever thou art, let me point thee to believers in the time of persecution. Look thou upon that face of Stephen, already lighted up with heaven’s own glory, whilst they are stoning him. Let me bring thee down through the ages of the rack and the wheel, the times of stocks and inquisitions; let me tell thee of martyrs who clapped their hands in the flames, and while their limbs were burning at the stake, could yet sing a carol, as if it were Christmas-day in their hearts, though it was Ash-day to their bodies. How often you find those who are foremost in suffering, foremost in joy! When men laid iron chains on their arms, God put golden chains of honour on their necks. When men heaped reproaches on their names, God heaped comforts on their souls. The peace-cry, like the blood-cry, let it never be hushed. The Christian race, by our martyrs and confessors, show the wide, wide world, that there is a joy in religion that can quench the flame, snatch torture from the rack, the torment from the wheel, that can sing in the prison, that can laugh cheerfully in the stocks, and make our free and unimprisoned hearts burst through the bars of the dungeon, and fly upwards, chanting pæans to our God. Behold the consolation of Israel!

But the infidel replies, “These are excitable moments. At such times persons are stimulated beyond their wonted strength. Your examples are not fair.” Come thou here, unbeliever, and let me show thee Christians in ordinary life-not martyrs, not confessors, not men with blood-red crowns on their brows, but common men like thyself. Seest thou that husband? He has just returned from the funeral of his wife. Dost thou mark his countenance? He says, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Couldst thou do that? Seest thou that mother? Her child lies dead; and looking on it she says, “He hath done all things well. It is hard to part with it; but I will resign it to my God.” Couldst thou do that, infidel? Seest thou yonder merchant? Ruin has overtaken him in moment: he is reduced to poverty. Mark you how he lifts his hands to heaven, and cries, “Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls; yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.” Couldst thou do the like, infidel? Nay, thou couldst not; but there is consolation in Israel. I am half ashamed of some of you, my brethren, who do not bear trouble well, because you are not an honour to your religion, as you ought to be. Ye should learn, if possible, to say, like Job-“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” “Alas!” say you, “it is easy enough for you to tell us so, but not quite so easy to practice.” I grant you that; but then it is the glory of the gospel that it makes us do things that are not easy. If it be a hard thing, so much the more honour to God; so much the more virtue in the Scriptures: that by their blessed influence, and by the aid of the Holy Ghost, they enable us to bear trials under which others sink. But a little while ago I heard of an ungodly man who had a pious wife. They had but one daughter, a fair and lovely thing; she was laid on a bed of sickness: the father and mother stood beside the bed; the solemn moment came when she must die; the father leaned over, and put his arm round her, and wept hot tears upon his child’s white brow; the mother stood there too, weeping her very soul away. The moment that child was dead, the father began to tear his hair, and curse himself in his despair; misery had got hold upon him; but as he looked towards the foot of the bed, there stood his wife; she was not raving, she was not cursing; she wiped her eyes, and said, “I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me.” The unbeliever’s heart for a moment rose in anger, for he imagined that she was a stoic. But the tears flowed down her cheeks too. He saw that though she was a weak and feeble woman, she could bear sorrow better than he could, and he threw his arms round her neck, and said, “Ah! wife, I have often laughed at your religion; I will do so no more. There is much blessedness in this resignation. Would God that I had it too!” “Yea,” she might have answered, “I have the consolation of Israel.” There is-hear it, ye despisers, and wonder, and perish!-there is consolation in Israel. That dear sister, whom I mentioned at the beginning of this service, was one of the noblest pictures of resignation I have ever seen. When I went to see her, I could only describe her position like this: she was sitting on the banks of the Jordan, singing, with her feet in the water, longing to cross the river. “Ah! pastor,” she said, when I came in, “how have you fed my soul, and made my young days come over again; I did not think the Lord would give me such blessed seasons just before he took me home; but now I must bid you good-bye, for I am going up to my Jesus, and I shall be with him for ever.” I shall not forget how placidly she looked. Ah! it is sweet to see a Christian die; it is the noblest thing on earth-the dismissal of a saint from his labour to his reward, from his conflicts to his triumphs. The georgeous pageantry of princes is as nothing. The glory of the setting sun is not to be compared with the heavenly coruscations which illumine the soul as it fades from the organs of bodily sense, to be ushered into the august presence of the Lord. When dear Haliburton died, he said, “I am afraid I shall not be able to bear another testimony to my Master, but in order to show you that I am peaceful, and still resting on Christ, I will hold my hands up;” and just before he died, he held both his hands up, and clapped them together, though he could not speak. Have you ever read of the death-bed of Payson? I cannot describe it to you; it was like the flight of a seraph. John Knox, that brave old fellow, when he came to die, sat up in his bed, and said, “Now the hour of my dissolution is come; I have longed for it many a-day; but I shall be with my Lord in a few moments.” Then he fell back on his bed and died. We have many others, of whom I might tell you; such as that blessed Janeway, who said, “O that I had lips to tell you a thousandth part of that which I now feel; you will never know the worth of Jesus till you come to your death-bed, and then you will find him a blessed Christ, when you want him most.” O unbeliever, stand where death is at work; and if thou lovest not the righteous in their life, thou wilt say none the less like Balaam, “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.” Such is our holy religion-a sweet and blessed consolation.

And this brings us to the third point, which is the explanation of this fact: to show to all men, and to show to you especially, that there is consolation, and to explain how it is.

In the first place, there is consolation in the doctrines of the Bible. I like a doctrinal religion. I do not believe in the statement of some people, that they have no creed. A man says, for instance, “I am not a Calvinist, and I am not an Arminian, I am not a Baptist, I am not a Presbyterian, I am not an Independent.” He says he is liberal. But this is only the license he claims for his own habit of disagreeing with everybody. He is one of that sort of people whom we generally find to be the most bigoted themselves, and least tolerant of others. He follows himself; and so belongs to the smallest denomination in the world. I do not believe that charity consists in giving up our denominational distinctions. I think there is a “more excellent way.” Even those who despise not faith, though they almost sacrifice it to their benevolence, will sometimes say, “Well, I don’t belong to any of your sects and parties”. There was a body of men once, who came out from all branches of the Christian Church, with the hope that everybody else of true heart would follow them. The result, however, has been, that they have only made another denomination, distinct alike in doctrine and discipline. I believe in creeds, if they are based on Scripture. They may not secure unity of sentiment, but on the whole they promote it, for they serve as landmarks, and show us the points at which many turn aside. Every man must have a creed if he believes anything. The greater certainty he feels that it is true, the greater his own satisfaction. In doubts, darkness, and distrust, there can be no consolation. The vague fancies of the sceptic, as he muses over images and apprehensions too shapeless and airy to be incorporated into any creed, may please for awhile, but it is the pleasure of a dream. I believe that there is consolation for Israel in the substance of faith, and the evidence of things not seen. Ideas are too ethereal to lay hold of. The anchor we have is sure and stedfast. I thank God that the faith I have received can be moulded into a creed, and can be explained with words so simple, that the common people can understand it, and be comforted by it.

Then look at the doctrines themselves-the doctrines of the Bible. What well-springs of consolation they are! How consolatory the doctrine of election to the Israel of God! To some men it is repulsive. But show me the gracious soul that hath come to put his trust under the wings of the Lord God of Israel. “Chosen in Christ,” will be a sweet stanza in his song of praise. To think that ere the hills were formed, or the channels of the sea were scooped out, God loved me; that from everlasting to everlasting his mercy is upon his people. Is not that a consolation? Ye who do not believe in election, go ye and fish in other waters; but in this great sea there be mighty fishes. If ye could come here, ye would find rich consolation. Or come ye again to the sweet doctrine of redemption. What consolation is there, beloved, to know that you are redeemed with the precious blood of Christ. Not the mock redemption taught by some people, which pretends that the ransom is paid, but the souls that are ransomed may notwithstanding be lost. No, no; a positive redemption which is effectual for all those for whom it is made. Oh! to think that Christ has so purchased you with his blood, that you cannot be lost. Is there not consolation in that doctrine-the doctrine of redemption? Think, again, of the doctrine of atonement-that Christ Jesus has borne all your sins in his own body on the tree; that he hath put away your sins by the sacrifice of himself. There is nought like believing in full atonement; that all our sins are washed away and carried into the depths of the sea. Is there not consolation there? What sayest thou, worldling, if thou couldst know thyself elect of God the Father, if thou couldst believe thyself redeemed by his only begotten Son, if thou knewest that for thy sins there was a complete ransom paid, would not that be a consolation to you? Perhaps you answer, “No.” That is because you are a natural man, and do not discern spiritual things. The spiritual man will reply, “Consolation? ay, sweet as honey to these lips; yea, sweeter than the honeycomb to my heart are those precious doctrines of the grace of God.”

Let us pass on to consolatory promises.

Oh! how sweet to the soul in distress are the promises of Jesus! For every condition there is a promise; for every sorrow there is a cordial; for every wound there is a balm; for every disease there is a medicine. If we turn to the Bible, there are promises for all cases. Now let me appeal to you, my friends. Have you not felt how consoling the promises are to you in seasons of adversity and hours of anguish? Do you not remember some occasion, when your spirits were so broken down that you felt as if you never could have struggled through your woes and sorrows, had not some sweet and precious word of God come to your help? Minister of the gospel, dost thou not remember how often thou hast feared that thy message would be of no effect? But thou hast heard thy Master whisper, “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.” Sunday-school teacher, have not you said, “I have laboured in vain, and spent my strength for nought”? And have you not then heard Jesus say, “My Word shall not return unto me void”? Mourner, You have lost a near relation, have you not heard Jesus then say, “All things work together for good”? Softly wipe that tear away, O widow: would not thy heart have broken if it had not been for the assurance, “Thy Maker is thy husband”? Fatherless child, what would have become of you if you had not turned to the consoling promise, “Leave thy fatherless children, and let thy widows trust in me”? But why need I tell you, Christian, that there are consoling promises in the Bible? You know there are. I would not sell a leaf of the Bible for a world, nor would I change a promise of it for stars made of gold.

“Holy Bible, book divine;

Precious treasure! thou art mine.”

No such comfort can I find as that I derive from thee! Thou art heaven on earth to me, blessed Bible! Verily, if we wait for Christ, we shall find that in his gospel there is consolation for Israel.

Not only have we consolatory promises, and consolatory doctrines, but we have consolatory influences in the ministry of the Holy Spirit. There are times, my friends, when all the promises in the world are of no use to us-when all the doctrines in the world would be of no avail, unless we had a hand to apply them to us. There lies a poor man; he has been wounded in battle. In yonder hospital there is a bundle of liniment. The blood is flowing; he has lost an arm; he has lost a leg. There are plenty at the hospital who can bind up his wounds, and plenty of medicines for all that be now suffers. But what use are they? He may lie forlorn on the battle-field and die unfriended: unless there is some one to bring the ambulance to carry him to the place, he cannot reach it himself. He lifts himself up on that one remaining arm, but he falls down faint; the blood is flowing freely, and his strength is ebbing with it. Oh! then it is not the liniment he cares for; it is not the ointment; it is some one who can bring those things to him. Ay, and if the remedies were all put there by his side, it may be, he is so faint and sick that he can do nothing for his own relief. Now, in the Christian religion, there is something more than prescriptions for our comfort. There is one, even the Spirit of truth, who takes of the things of Jesus, and applies them to us. Think not that Christ hath merely put joys within our reach that we may get for ourselves, but he comes and puts the joys inside our hearts. The poor, sick, way-worn pilgrim, not only finds there is something to strengthen him to walk, but he is borne on eagles’ wings. Christ does not merely help him to walk, but carries him, and says, “I will bind up your wounds; I will come to you myself.” O poor soul, is not this joy for you? you have been often told by your minister to believe in Christ, but you say you cannot. you have often been invited to come to Jesus, but you feel you cannot come. yes; but the best of the gospel is, that when a sinner cannot come to Christ, Christ can come to him. When the poor soul feels that it cannot get near Christ, Christ will be sure to draw him. O Christian, if thou art to-night labouring under deep distresses, thy Father does not give thee promises and then leave thee. The promises he has written in the Word he will grave on your heart. He will manifest his love to you, and by his blessed Spirit, which bloweth like the wind, take away your cares and troubles. Be it known unto thee, O mourner, that it is God’s prerogative to wipe every tear from the eye of his people. I shall never forget hearing John Gough say, in his glowing manner-“Wipe away tears! That is God’s prerogative; and yet,” said he, “I have done it. When the drunkard has been reclaimed, the tears of a wife have been wiped from her cheeks.” O beloved, it is a blessed thing to wipe others’ tears away; but “Lo, these things worketh God oftentimes with men.” He not only gives you the handkerchief, but wipes your eyes for you; he not only gives you the sweet wine, but holds it to your lips and pours it into your mouth. The good Samaritan did not say, “Here is the wine, and here is the oil for you;” but what did he do? He poured in the oil and the wine. He did not say, “Now, mount the beast”-but he set him on it, and took him to the inn. Glorious gospel! that provides such things for poor lost ones-comes after us when we cannot come alter it-brings us grace when we cannot win grace-here is grace in the giving as well as the gift. Happy people, to be thus blessed of God! Simeon “waited for the consolation of Israel,” and he found it. May you find it too!

Two short addresses to two sorts of people; and then we shall have done. To you, ye followers of Jesus, let me speak. I have one thing to ask of you. “With such a Father who loveth you-with such a Saviour who hath given himself for you, and doth give himself to you-with such a good Spirit to abide with you, instruct you, and comfort you-with such a gospel-what now doth bow you down? What mean those wrinkled brows? What mean those flowing tears? What mean those aching hearts? What means that melancholy carriage? “What mean they?” say you; “Why, I have troubles.” But, brother, hast thou forgotten the exhortation of the Lord? “Cast thy burden on the Lord; he will sustain thee;” “He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.” Do, brethren, do try to be as glad as you can. Rejoice evermore. A cheerful Christian recommends religion. We usually look in the window of a tradesman’s shop to see what he sells; and persons very frequently look into our faces to ascertain what are the thoughts of our heart. Alas! that they should see any of us looking habitually sad. Some persons think that sour faces and sombre garments are fitting emblems of sanctity. They would count it wicked to laugh, or if they were to do such a thing as smile in chapel, they would think that they had committed an unpardonable sin, though I never saw any law against that yet. All that is in us should bless his holy name, from the most playful fancy to the sublimest reverie. Ye need not emulate those who, to appear righteous, disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto men to fast. Let me beg of you, Christian, when you fast, to be of a cheerful countenance, that you appear not unto men to fast. Be you never so sad, try and keep your sadness to yourself. Do not let people hear you murmur, lest they should say, “Look at that Christian, he is weak as we are.” you have heard the old fiction, that Jesus Christ never laughed or smiled. It was brought forward at a friend’s, where I was once staying. There was a litle child in the room, who when she heard it, ran up to her father, and said, “Papa, that gentleman did not tell the truth.” Of course every one looked at her, and waited for her explanation. “I know that Jesus did, papa,” she added, “for the little children loved him; and I don’t think they would have loved him if he had never smiled. Did not he say, ‘Suffer little children to come unto me,’ and he took them up in his arms and gave them his blessing?” Do you think any good Christian could take up a little child without smiling; and if he did not smile, do you think the child would go to him? Jesus Christ did smile. A cheerful face wins honour to religion; a cheerful deportment glorifies God, for he has said, “Let the saints be joyful in glory; let them sing aloud upon their beds: let the children of Zion be joyful in their King.” Be joyful, Christians! Be joyful!

“Why should the children of a King,

Go mourning all their days?”

And now, ere I close, let me appeal to those who have not this consolation Men and brethren, give heed. For Israel there is consolation But for you-what is to become of some of you who have not this consolation at all? Worldly men! whence do you draw your bliss? From the polluted ditches of a filthy world? Soon, alas! will they be emptied; and what will you do then? I see a Christian. There he is! He has been drinking all his life out of the river that makes glad the city of our God. And when he gets to heaven, he goes to the same stream. He drinks, and says, “This water is from the same fountain that I drank on earth. I drink the same bliss, but draw it nearer the fountain-head than I did before.” But methinks I see you who have been drinking out of the black dark, filthy reservoirs of earth, and when you get into eternity, you say, “Where is the stream at which I once slaked my thirst?” You look, and it is gone! Suppose you are a drunkard. Dunkenness was your happiness on earth. Will you be drunk in hell? There it would afford you no gratification. Here the theatre was your pastime: will you find a theatre in heaven? The songs of foolish lasciviousness were here your delight: will you find such songs in eternity? Will you be able to sing them amidst unutterable burnings? Can you hum those lascivious notes when you are drinking the fearful gall of eternal woe? Oh! surely, no; the things in which you once trusted, and found your peace and comfort, will have gone for ever. Oh! what is your happiness to-night, my friends? Is it a happiness that will last you? Is it a joy that will endure? Or are you holding in your hand an apple of Sodom, and saying, “It is fair, it is passing fair,” when you know that you only look on it now, but will have to eat it in eternity? See the man who has that apple in his hand; he puts it to his mouth; he has to masticate it in eternity; and it is ashes-ashes in his lips-ashes between his teeth-ashes in his jaws-ashes for ever-ashes that shall go into his blood, make each vein a road for the hot feet of pain to travel on, his heart an abode of misery, and his whole frame a den of loathsomeness!

Ah! if you have not this consolation of Israel, do you know what ye must have? You must have eternal torment. I have often remarked that the most wicked men hold the doctrine that there is no torment for the body in hell. Riding some time ago in a railway carriage with a man who seemed to have no idea of religion, he said, “I’m as cold as the devil,” and repeated he observation several times. I said to him, “He’s not at all cold, Sir.” “I suppose you are a believer in hell, then?” he replied. “Yes, I am,” I said, “because I am a believer in the Bible.” “I don’t think there is any fire for the body, I don’t; I think it is the conscience-remorse of conscience, dismay and despair, and such like; I don’t think it has anything to do with the body.” And strange enough, many other ungodly men with whom I have spoken on the subject, all seem to be partial to the hell that only deals with the conscience. The reason is this. They do not feel for their soul. They are natural men, who have a natural care about their body, but they think that so long as their body gets off, they will not care for hell at all. Hear this, then, ye ungodly men! Ye care not for the torture of the soul. Hear this-and let there be no metaphor or figure; hear it, for I speak God’s plain language. For the body, too, there is a hell. It is not merely your soul that is to be tortured. What care you for conscience? What care you for memory? What care you for imagination? Hear this, then, drunkard! hear this, man of pleasure! That body which thou pamperest shall lie in pain. It was not a figure which Christ used, when he said, “In hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried, and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.” It was a tongue, sir; it was a flame, sir. It was not a metaphorical tongue, and it was not a metaphorical flame. It was not metaphorical water that he wanted. Real, positive, actual flame tormented the body of that rich Dives in hell. Ah! wicked man, those very hands of yours that now grasp the wine cup, shall grasp the cup of your damnation. The feet that carry you to the theatre shall lie in brimstone for ever. The eyes that look on the spectacles of lust-it is no figure, sir-those selfsame eyes shall see murderous spectacles of misery. The selfsame head which has oftentimes here throbbed with headache, shall there beat with pains you have not yet felt. Your heart, for which you care so little, shall become an emporium of miseries, where demons shall empty the scalding boilers of woe. It is not fiction. Read the Bible, and make a fiction of it if you can. There is a fire which knows no abatement, a worm which never dies, a flame unquenchable. As ye go down those stairs, think there is a hell. It is no fiction. Let the old doctrine start out once more, that God hath prepared Tophet of old; the pile thereof is wood and much smoke: the breath of the Lord, like a flame of fire, doth kindle it. There is a hell! O that ye would flee from it! O that by grace ye would escape it! Sodom was no figure: that was real hail of fire from heaven. “Haste,” said the angel, “haste!” and put his hand behind the timely-warned fugitive. Man! I am come as an angel from heaven to you to-night, and I would put my hand upon your shoulder, and cry, “Haste! haste! look not behind thee; stay not in all the plain; haste to the mountain, lest thou be consumed!” If though knowest thy need of a Saviour, come thou and trust him. If thou feelest thy want of salvation, come and have it, for it is said, “Whosoever will, let him come, and take of the water of life freely.” None are excluded hence, but those who do themselves exclude. None are taken in but those whom grace takes in, through the sovereign mercy of our God.

May God receive you to his arms! May sinners be delivered from the pit! May those find, who never yet have sought the consolation of Israel! Brethren in Christ, I ask your prayers, that God may bless this sermon to the souls of men.