office, but set apart too and separated from all human interests and affections, that we are liable to do his character, in this respect, no proper justice. We isolate him, till he almost ceases to be an example to us; till he almost ceases to be a virtuous being. He stands alone in Judea; and the words society, country, kindred, friendship, home, seem to have, to him, only a fictitious application. But these ties bound him as they do others; the gentleness and tenderness of his nature made him peculiarly susceptible to them; no more touching allusions to kindred and country can be found in human language than his, as when he said, "Oh! Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" in foresight of her coming woes-as when he said on the cross, "Behold thy mother! -behold thy son!" Doubtless he desired to be a benefactor to his country, an honour to his family; and when Peter, deprecating his dishonour and degradation, said, "Be it far from thee, Lord! this shall not be unto thee;" and he turned and said unto Peter, "Get thee behind me, Satan, thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men,"-it has been beautifully suggested, that the very energy of that repulse to his enthusiastic and admiring disciple, shows, perhaps, that he felt that there was something in his mind that was leaning that way; that the things of men were contending with the things of God in him; that he too much dreaded the coming humiliation and agony, to wish to have that feeling fostered in his heart.

But he rejected all this; he renounced himself-renounced all the dear affections and softer pleadings of his affectionate nature, that he might be true to higher interests than his own, or his country's, or his kindred's.

Now I say, that the same self-renunciation would relieve us of more than half of the difficulties, and of the diseased and painful affections of our lives. Simple obedience to rectitude, instead of self-interestsimple self-culture, instead of ever cultivating the good opinion of others, how many disturbing and irritating questions would these single-hearted aims take away from our bosom meditations! Let us not mistake the character of this self-renunciation. We are required not to renounce the nobler and better affections of our nature-not to renounce happiness-not to renounce our just dues of honour and love from men. It is remarkable that our Saviour, amidst all his meekness, and all his sacrifices, always claimed that he deserved well of mendeserved to be honoured and beloved. It is not to vilify ourselves that is required of us-not to renounce our self-respect, the just and reasonable sense of our merits and deserts-not to renounce our own righteousness, our own virtue, if we have any; such falsehood towards ourselves gains no countenance from the example of Jesus: but it is to renounce our sins, our passions, our self-flattering delusions; and it is to forego all outward advantages which can be gained only through a sacrifice of our inward integrity, or through anxious and petty contrivances and compliances. What we have to do is, to choose and keep the better part-to secure that, and let the worst take care of itself; to keep a good conscience, and let opinion come and go as it will; to keep high self-respect, and to let low self-indulgence go; to keep inward happiness, and let outward advantages hold a subordinate place. Selfrenunciation, in fine, is, not to renounce ourselves in the highest character-not to renounce our moral selves, ourselves as the creatures

and children of God; herein rather it is to cherish ourselves, to make the most of ourselves, to hold ourselves inexpressibly dear. What, then, is it precisely to renounce ourselves? It is to renounce our selfishness; to have done with this eternal self-considering, which now disturbs and vexes our lives; to cease that ever asking and what shall we have?"-to be content with the plenitude of God's abounding mercies; to feast upon that infinite love that is shed all around us and within us; and so to be happy. I see many a person in society, honoured, rich, beautiful, but wearing, still, an anxious and disturbed countenance-many a one upon whom this simple principle, this simple self-forgetting, would bring a change in their appearance, demeanour, and the whole manner of their living and being-a change that would make them tenfold more beautiful, rich, and honoured. Yes; strange as it may seem to them-what they want is, to commune deeply, in prayer and meditation, with the spirit of Jesus-to be clothed, not with outward adorning, but with the simple self-forgetting, single hearted truth and beauty of his spirit. This is the change-this is the conversion that they want, to make them lovely and happy beyond all the aspirations of their ambition, and all their dreams of happiness.

Have you never observed how happy is the mere visionary schemer, quite absorbed in his plans,-quite thoughtless of everything else? Have you never remarked how easy and felicitous is the manner in society, the eloquence in the public assembly, the whole life's action, of one who has forgotten himself? For this reason, in part, it is, that the eager pursuit of fortune is often happier than the after enjoyment of it; for now the man begins to look about for happiness, and to ask for a respect and attention which he seldom satisfactorily receives; and many such are found, to the wonder and mortification of their families, looking back from their splendid dwellings, and often referring to the humble shop in which they worked, and wishing, in their hearts, that they were there again.

It is our inordinate self-seeking, self-considering, that is ever a stumbling-block in our way. It is this which spreads questions, snares, difficulties, around us. It is this that darkens the very ways of providence to us, and makes the world a less happy world to us than it might be. There is one thought that could take us out from all these difficulties; but we cannot think it. There is one clue from the labyrinth; there is one solution of this struggling philosophy of life within us; it is found in that Gospel, that life of Jesus, with which we have, alas! but little deep heart-acquaintance. Every one must know that if he could be elevated to that self-forgetting simplicity and disinterestedness, he would be relieved from more than half of the inmost trials of his bosom. What, then, can be done for us, but that we be directed, and that, too, in a concern as solemn as our deepest wisdom and welfare, to the Gospel of Christ? "In him was life; and the life was the light of men.'

In him was the life of perfect love. This is the second all-enlightening, all-healing principle that the Gospel of Christ commends to us. It is indeed the main and positive virtue, of which self-renunciation is but the negative side.

Again, I need not insist upon the pre-eminence of this principle in the life of our Saviour. But I must again remind you that this

principle is not to be looked upon as some sublime abstraction-as merely a love that drew him from the bliss of heaven, to achieve somo stupendous and solitary work on earth. It was a vital and heartfelt love to all around him; it was affection to his kindred, tenderness to his friends, gentleness and forbearance towards his disciples, pity to the suffering, forgiveness to his enemies, prayer for his murderers; love flowing all round him as the garment of life, and investing pain and toil, and torture, and death, with a serene and holy beauty.

It is not enough to renounce ourselves, and there to stop. It is not enough to wrap ourselves in our close garment of reserve and pride, and to say, "The world cares nothing for us, and we will care nothing for the world; society does us no justice, and we will withdraw from it our thoughts, and see how patiently we can live within the confines of our own bosom, or in quiet communion, through books, with the mighty dead." No man ever found peace or light in this way. The misanthropic recluse is ever the most miserable of men, whether he lives in cave or castle. Every relation to mankind, of hate, or scorn, or neglect, is full of vexation and torment. There is nothing to do with men, but to love them; to contemplate their virtues with admiration, their faults with pity and forbearance, and their injuries with forgiveness. Task all the ingenuity of your mind to devise some other thing, but you never can find it. To all the haughtiness and wrath of men, I sayhowever they may disdain the suggestion-the spirit of Jesus is the only help for you. To hate your adversary will not help you; to kill him will not help you; nothing within the compass of the universe can help you, but to love him. Oh! how wonderfully is man shut up to wisdom-barred, as I may say, and imprisoned, and shut up to wisdom; and yet he will not learn it.

But let that love flow out upon all around you, and what could harm you? It would clothe you with an impenetrable, heaven-tempered armour. Or suppose-to do it justice-that it leaves you, all defencelessness, as it did Jesus-all vulnerableness, through delicacy, through tenderness, through sympathy, through pity; suppose that you suffer, as all must suffer; suppose that you be wounded, as gentleness only can be wounded; yet how would that love flow, with precious healing, through every wound! How many difficulties too, both within and without a man, would it relieve! How many dull minds would it rouse; how many depressed minds would it lift up! How many

troubles, in society, would it compose-how many enmities would it soften-how many questions answer! How many a kuot of mystery and misunderstanding would be untied by one word spoken in simple and confiding truth of heart! How many a rough path would be made smooth, and crooked way be made straight! How many a solitary place would be made glad, if love were there; and how many a dark dwelling would be filled with light! "In him was life, and the life was the light of men."

Once more; there was a sublime spirituality in the mind of Jesus, which must come into our life to fill up the measure of its light. It is not enough, in my view, to yield ourselves to the blessed bonds of love and self-renunciation in the immediate circles of our lives. Our minds must go out into the infinite and immortal regions, to find sufficiency and satisfaction for the present hour. There must be a breadth of

contemplation in which this world shrinks-I will not say to a point but to the narrow span that it is. There must be aims, which reign over the events of life, and make us feel that we can resign all the advantages of life, yea, and life itself; and yet be conquerors and more than conquerors through him who has loved us.

There is many a crisis in life when we need a faith like the martyr's to support us. There are hours in life, like martyrdom-as full of bitter anguish, as full of utter earthly desolation-in which more than our sinews-in which we feel as if our very heart-strings were stretched and lacerated on the rack of affliction-in which life itself loses its value, and we ask to die-in whose dread struggle and agony, life might drop from us, and not be minded. Oh! then must our cry, like that of Jesus, go up to the pitying heavens for help, and nothing but the infinite and the immortal can help us.-Calculate, then, all the gains of earth, and they are trash-all its pleasures, and they are vanity-all its hopes, and they are illusions; and, then, when the world is sinking beneath us, must we seck the everlasting arms to bear us up-to bear us up to heaven. Thus was it with our great Example, and so must it be with us. In him was life-the life of self-renunciation, the life of love, the life of spiritual and all-conquering faith-and that life is the light of men. Oh! blessed light! come to our darkness; for our soul is dark, our way is dark, for want of thee-come to our darkness, and turn it into day; and let it shine brighter and brighter, till it mingles with the light of the all-perfect and everlasting day!

ON THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE.

[PREACHED AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAK.]

1 CORINTHIANS vii. 29: "But this I say, brethren, the time is short."

THE epochs of time are among the most powerful teachers of religion. One of those epochs we are now again approaching. We are assembled in the sanctuary, my friends, on the last Sabbath evening of the year. How short is the period since we were last assembled, at a similar epoch! Truly, the time is short: the time of life is short. Well, that it has its periods, its pauses for reflection! Let the dying year then teach us. It would argue a kind of brutish insensibility to take our leave of another such period--so large a period of our livesand to ask ourselves no questions about life, its course, its great design, its solemn close. The departing year is the emblem of departing life; and these last hours have solemn thoughts to offer us, like to those which will visit us in the last hours of our stay on earth. Let us meditate upon time, then, while to meditate may profit us-before it be said, not of the departing year only, but of departing life, "it shall be no longer."

In particular, I shall, for the present, invite you to meditate on the shortness of time-that is, of the time of life; its shortness in relation to time absolutely considered; the shortness, still more, of that portion of life which can be rescued from the unavoidable demands of the body, and devoted singly, in contemplation and prayer, to the soul; and its shortness, in fine, and yet more emphatically, in comparison with the work we have to do, and the consequences that are depending on it. First; the brevity of life, compared with time absolutely considered. It is common I know to make the reflection that life is short, but I do not think it is common to feel it. Least of all is it common in the earlier periods of life. Its termination is then contemplated as afar off, amidst the shadows of age, amidst the dimness of an uncertain future; and life seems to be almost boundless. The indefinite is all that we mean by the boundless; and life possesses that indefiniteness, that it imposes upon the young mind almost the feeling that it has no end. There is another influence, tending to produce the same result; and that is worldliness. To the worldly mind, life is everything. And if life is everything, it must be something vast and immense. For we were made to grasp interests of infinite magnitude; the intellectual comprehension of an immortal mind must be of this nature. It must feel that the objects which engross it are vast and momentous.

And