where delight in the being who is the object of that desire, has been disturbed. Our Father in Heaven cannot look upon us with the delight with which he looked upon the first man, when the first man came fresh and fair from the hand of the Creator: we have been marring our condition, and tainting our being. The only thing that God hates, the one thing that God abhors, is within us, it has spread itself as a leprosy over our whole spiritual being, but still there is a form of love which can reach us in this low and in this lost estate. Some resolve love into self-love. We delight in what we love, therefore, say some, we love for the delight. But this is a serious error which may be refuted by a thousand facts. Just think of the facts by which you may refute this error. And let me here make two remarks concerning love generally,- First, Its existence is universal, except as sin reigns and checks it; and, secondly, its work and its service are multiform and extensive. With very few exceptions love exists wherever there is conscious life. In a low form it is found among irrational and unaccountable creatures; as a spark or a fire it burns in every human soul; it is a passion with the angels; and it is the characteristic of God. Men love, angels love, and God is love. We feel, and observe, and mark its existence on earth; we hear of it in heaven; and we know that there is but one place tenanted by beings capable of love who do not love, and that place is hell; and we also know that there is but one class of human beings from which it has departed, viz., souls that are lost. Love! It gushes forth from the throne of God, flows round the universe, and rises again to the level of its source. Like an inverted tree, it roots in heaven, and yet drops its fruit upon this wide world, and upon beings in the lowest terrestrial estate. Nor is love, to drop our figure, inactive or useless among the children of men even in their low estate. It unites, as in conjugal life, two streams of being, and makes them one, it causes the mother to forget her anguish and to make her bosom the refuge and the strength of helpless infancy-it makes parents ministering angels, and the children bright morning stars in the household firmament-it creates all that is meant by home --it impoverishes itself to enrich others, and exposes itself to danger to protect and otherwise to serve others-it feeds the hungry; clothes the naked; shelters the homeless; takes charge of the orphan; attends at the sick bed in the face of contagion; visits the captive in prison; weeps at the grave; builds hospitals; erects almshouses, asylums, and places of worship-it instructs, warns, entreats, reproves, consoles, and in ten thousand forms ministers to the creature while it worships the Creator—it renders benefits to the sinner and serves the Saviour; it intercedes on earth and it offers praise in heaven; it weeps here, it rejoices in the world above." THE SOUL THAT BELIEVETH. THE soul that believeth shall surely be sav'd, Tho' not for believing, yet 'tis thro' believing The soul that believeth, what does he believe? That sinners are saved thro' the blood of the Lamb, The soul that believeth is built on a rock, That shall stand when this world is on fire, That arm that shall raise them up higher. The soul that believeth, is safe and secure, Who'll hedge up his foes, that they cannot break thro,' The soul that believeth, ah let him stand still, And see God's salvation for man, God draws him, he runs-God holds him, he stands, And this is Jehovah's own plan. The soul that believeth has God for his friend, Who loved him before he believed, And because he has loved, he has tokens of That Satan can never deceive. grace O may I believe that these blessings are mine, And may the bless'd Spirit but whisper to me, And sweetly say-Thou art the man. London: Printed by ROBERT BANKS, 9, Crane-court, Fleet-street, E.C. Published by G. J. Stevenson, 54, Paternoster-row, E.C; sold by most Booksellers.-Price One Halfpenny. VOL. XIV. SEPTEMBER, 1864. NO. 155. I WISH THAT YOU KNEW JESUS!" A TRUE TALE OF THE TABERNACLE. Tmind to which the faithful preacher and the honest teacher are HERE are but few who really know the trials and anxieties of subjected. Month after month, and year after year, they continue steadfastly to sow the precious seed of the bread of life; but no fruit has been visible to the preacher's or the teacher's eye. When, therefore, we can show a case which would be "cheering words" indeed to either preacher or teacher, we do so with the greatest satisfaction. The following striking instance of the Divine sovereignty of our omnipotent Jehovah, is the substance of what we heard related by a kind Christian brother who visited the case. The names alone are fictitious. Little Jane Morgan lived with her parents in one of the densely populated and over crowded localities in the south of London; the great fever nests of the metropolis. Her father was a labouring man who cared more for the ale house than his own miserable home-if home it might be called; it was one miserable room. The only furniture was a broken chair and a shattered table; and on the floor in one corner, lay a heap of rags, which served father, mother, and daughter for a bed. The father scarcely ever returned to his wretched home except in a state of the most beastly intoxication. His wife had been accustomed to spend hours at night in seeking for him, and persuading him to return home ONE HALFPENNY. But alas! alas! as is too often the case, she, too, became a lover of the bottle; and at the time when our short tale opens, both husband and wife were most inveterate drunkards, What, then, was likely to become of poor little Jane, nurtured in such a place? How often has she sat in that wretched room awaiting the return of her fallen parents, until sometimes she would fall asleep, out of which she was too often awakened by their drunken brawls. By some fortuitous circumstance, Jane was led to attend the Sabbath School, where the word taught sank deep into her young mind. She heard with delight the holy words, "They that seek me early shall find me," and there is reason to hope and believe that she not only sought, but found Jesus. One Sabbath morning, the father, scarcely recovered from the dissipation of the past night, commenced his customary tirade of oaths and curses. His little Jane, with kindness looked up and said, "I wish that you knew Jesus, father, you would not use such hard words." His already hardened heart became the more rebellious, and he determined that he would go where they talked about Jesus, to have "a fling at the minister." Accordingly, he went to the Tabernacle, and took his seat in the upper gallery, having made up his mind to insult the minister. Mr. Spurgeon was proceeding with his sermon, when Morgan rose to resist or attack the preacher, when some words which he uttered were made use of by God's Holy Spirit to arrest the sinner's hand and voice. Like an arrow, it pierced his guilty heart, convincing him of sin. Thus disarmed, he sat himself down until the close of the service. He returned home a different man. His wife scarce recognised him when he mildly said, "Oh, Mary, I wish you would go with me to hear Mr. Spurgeon to-night." She was startled, and asked how she could go with such ragged clothes? "Never mind your clothes," was the rejoinder, "we can go into the top gallery where no one will see us." They went, and it pleased the Lord to meet with the woman also, and subsequently both found peace in believing. How changed the scene! The ale house and its drinks were abandoned; the ribald song gave place to the hymn of praise; and the home became comparatively a happy one. Our friend, who related the circumstance, called in promiscuously one Saturday evening to see how they were going on. Morgan was sitting down in a clean flannel jacket, and the room looked remarkably changed. There sat little Jane, happy. Her father apologised for the absence of his wife, and bid his visitor be seated. He smelt something very savory coming from the large pot which stood over the fire, and made some remark thereon, to which Morgan replied that it was a rabbit boiling. 66 we "Very nice," said his visitor, "to have boiled rabbit for supper." Oh, no! that's not for supper," responded the man; don't have boiled rabbit for supper; that's for to-morrow's dinner." "You have it cold to-morrow, then." "Oh, no, we don't; the wife makes up the fire, puts on the pot, and the "holy" * shovel in front; then we go to chapel, and when we come home the fire is all right, and the dinner is hot." Such a remarkable instance of God's sovereignty deserves to be put on record. Father, mother, and child are now walking in the same path, expecting to meet at the same home, relying on nothing but the blood of Jesus for their everlasting salvation. "Hail, mighty Jesus, how divine One word to Is Thy victorious sword! The stoutest rebel must resign Still gird Thy sword upon Thy thigh, Go forth, sweet Prince, triumphantly, our readers. If some of them were to use the "holy" shovel as Mrs. Morgan did, perhaps we should not see so many vacant seats in some places of worship on the Sabbath morning. * Meaning the perforated sinder-sifter, in common use among families. |