mother and her only son. She is a Christian woman, and long and well has she toiled and prayed that the heart of her child might be renewed and sanctified. But the years pass on, and learning, and philosophy, and human speculations, and passionate indulgence, possess his thoughts, and every day carries him further from the path of Christian hope. Tears flow in secret, and many a heart-coined prayer goes up for his recovery, but there is no change. The widowed mother goes sadly to her pastor, and opens to him her burdens and her griefs, but in a faith built upon the assurance that he that sows in tears shall reap in joy, he bids her still hope that grace will not let the child of faith and prayer be wholly lost. A few years pass on, and you see that wayward; paganized, ambitious youth, the venerable Bishop of the ancient Church, and the admiring reverence of after centuries knows him as St. Augustine. She that went forth and wept, bearing precious seed may come again rejoicing in the abundant harvest of her prayer and toil.

There, again, is the faithful Sabbath-school teacher. Burdensome anxiety for the welfare of souls committed to his care, makes him feel the arduousness of the task he has undertaken. To gain their attention, to imbue their minds with heavenly truth, to lead them to the Lamb of God; all this is a work to try the faith, and excite apprehension. But with a tearful faith in God the seed is sown. No promise of a harvest, perhaps, appears. The pupils are scattered abroad over the wide world, and no track of them can be kept. But afar away, on shipboard, in the silent watch on deck, or in the solitudes of the great prairies, or in some strange and distant city, the memory of those Sabbaths comes back, and the wandering scholar thinks how like the prodigal he is, and

God's spirit carries the conviction home, and so, afar off in time, and place, he is brought near to God, and, at length, it may be that he meets that teacher, and gladdens his heart with the story of God's gracious dealings, till he who went forth weeping bearing precious seed feels that he can return rejoicing bringing his sheaves with him.

Take another illustration. Here is a poor, unfortunate child of want and sorrow. Pain, and grief, and affliction have been his lot. He has suffered long and much, sometimes from human coldness and harshness; sometimes from disease, or the anguish of bereavement. But, with all this, he has hope in God. Tears indeed are his meat and drink, but the fear of sinning against that great and good Being, who has left him so many mercies still -fear lest he betray complaining or ingratitude, is his greatest anxiety. There he lies, perhaps almost helpless, on his straw-bed in a garret, but gathering up from his precious Bible sweet words of counsel and of promise, and dropping them one by one into his memory, till they root there deep and strong, and nothing can tear them up.

He seems to me like the sower going forth weeping, bearing precious seed, only his own heart is the field, and God's word and God's rich grace are the precious seed; but I know that the harvest will come, ah! it has come already, in that calm submission, that cheerful faith, that heavenly hope, that make the sufferer's bed preach to the world the blessedness of a believer's portion.

Such are some of the abundant lessons which God sets before us to impress upon us the truth of his word. The world is full of them. He that would come back from life's harvest-field rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with

him, must be prepared to go forth weeping bearing precious seed. It is not by shunning self-denial and duties' hardships, that the true goal of life can be won. The path of case is not that of heavenly, any more than earthly attainment.

Look where you will over this busy earth, and you find no blessing of probation that has not cost effort or selfdenial. The richest harvests cost laborious culture. Even the prizes of fame and ambition have been won by persevering toil. The laborer's gains are moist with sweat, and the soldier's laurels drip with blood. The heroes of faith have endured hardness; have sustained the great" fight of affliction." They have passed through the furnace. Some of them have run their earthly race to a fiery goal. All that will be Christ's disciples must be cross-bearers. They must be prepared to tread in their Master's steps. They must welcome "the narrow way." They must "sow in tears."

I would not advocate a sad and tearful countenance. I would not clothe religion in black, or robe it in mourning habiliments. But I know that life and life's tasks are a serious and solemn thing. I know that sin has made the world a vale of tears, and no Eden can come out of it till sin, by stern conflict, is mastered and subdued. He that would be victor must first act the soldier's part. By prayer, and toil, and self-mastery— leaning ever on the staff of Jehovah-we must climb to the height from which we fell.

"Whoever thinks, must see that man was made
To face the storm, not languish in the shade.
Action 's his sphere, and for that sphere designed,
Eternal pleasures open on the mind."

XXX.

WALKING IN THE TRUTH.

"I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth."

"T

3 JOHN 4.

O walk in truth!" What an expressive phrase!
How full of meaning!

You

There are some men who walk in falsehood. might write their biography in a tomb-stone epitaph, that might almost make the marble blush-" a thirty, forty, fifty, seventy years' lie." It is false to God, false to conscience, false to the reality of things, false to the eternal laws of duty and righteousness. It starts with a false principle, and ends in false results.

Such is the life of the hypocrite, the man who seems what he is not; who makes his speech and manner and professions a mask to deceive; who murders truth and integrity, and yet wears the robes of the murdered. In his case, the atmosphere in which he lives and breathes is falsehood.

So there are thousands whose life is unreal. They live in their own fancies. Their life is but a dream of fashion or pleasure. As they whirl by on their way to eternity, they are gay, thoughtless, heedless. They walk in a vain show. Their joys are hollow joys. Their troubles are fanciful. Their talk is empty bubbles, the froth of vanity.

There are others again who would scorn a lie, who would brand it with infamy, who are yet false to God. He is their sovereign, yet they do not obey him. He is their master, but they do not serve him. He is their Father, but they do not honor him. To his just claims, they say, how often, like the young man in the parable, "I go, sir," and go not. They have been entrusted solemnly with talents, but they are false to their trust. They have means of influence and, perhaps, wealth, but they are false in their use.

And thus they are false to themselves. They betray their own souls. With these in their keeping, they falsely surrender them to sin and Satan. Instead of guarding them with a truthful fidelity, they leave them, with door ajar, for Satan to enter.

It is not strange then that they should be false to their convictions. They know what is good, yet do it not. They feel that they should be pious, yet they linger in their sins. They hear a voice within, with Sinai authority, calling them to repent, but they are false to its summons. They see the flag of duty waving over them, but they will not march under the banner. They are false to the flag of conscience.

In common with others, they are false to the eternal laws of righteousness. These are binding on us all. From the seraph before the throne, to the felon in his cell, there is not a moral agent in the universe of God, exempt from their obligation, and there is not one who does not at times acknowledge it. But how many break through them, are disloyal to them, put duty under bonds to pleasure, insult the awful majesty of truth, do despite to the authority which legislates for eternity and for the universe.