Chapter Seven

‘As we have proved life to be such a mass of vanity, and exposed to so many troubles—shall we then cast it away? Far from it! Rather let us order it so as—partly at least—to escape some of its many evils, and to gather all the fruit that may be obtained from it. We are now coming to a somewhat brighter atmosphere. The varied shadows may have led Solomon to bring out something lasting—precious in itself—more precious, because lasting.

A good name is a substantial good; it brightens a man’s life, and embalms his memory. (Ps. 112:6; Prov. 10:7.) ‘It both tarrieth behind him on earth, and goeth with him to heaven, and will crown him with glory at the last day. A good name is better than a great name, that flimsy—worthless vanity—of great account with the world.

But, Lord, teach us to remember—“That which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God.” (Luke 15:15.) The real treasure is ‘the true and solid name of faith and holiness’—a glorious crown, though stamped upon men, who “are made as the filth of the world,” and “of whom the world is not worthy.” (1 Cor. 4:13; Heb. 11:38.) But let there be no pluming upon outward merit or adorning.

Remember—the appearance may be cast away with revolt, and yet the idol may be secretly worshipped. ‘Let thy face, like Moses’, shine to others. But make no looking-glasses for thyself. Take no content in praise, when it is offered thee. But let thy rejoicing in God’s gift be allayed with fear, lest this good bring thee to evil. Solomon could form a just estimate of this good. He had known both its possession and its loss.

Elsewhere he compares it with “great riches,” and found it far excelling. Here he weighs it against precious ointment—a treasure highly valued. ‘The name is good’—says Bp. Sanderson—‘and the ointment good; but of the two goods, the good name is better than the good ointment. To some, indeed, it is a matter of no moment what the world say or think of them. But ought it not to be a care? The Apostle counted “it a very small thing to be judged of man’s judgment.

But how strongly did he inculcate the obligation to “be blameless and harmless, the sons of God without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom we shine as lights in the world! The value of this good name is every way manifest. It gains esteem and confidence. It gives force to counsel, authority to reproof, weight to example. The second clause must obviously be taken with its limit.

To the apostate Judas—and with him—to all the ungodly heirs of the second death—the judgment is awfully clear and decisive. “Good were it for them, if they had not been born.” (Matt. 26:24; Rev. 21:8.) But where the name is adorned with “the beauties of holiness,” it is a name in “the Lamb’s book of life”—“sealed unto the day of redemption.” (Rev. 13:8, Eph. 4:30.) The possession is assured. The prospect draws nearer every day.

Joyous therefore as was the day of one’s birth (John 16:21), the day of death will be infinitely better. Is not the day, that will deliver us from sin and sorrow, far better than the day that brought us into them? Does not the “voice from heaven” proclaim this blessedness with the attesting seal, “Yea, saith the Spirit?” (Rev. 14:13.) Does not every returning birthday rejoice the heart with the remembrance—a year nearer home? The conflict then ended for ever!

The term of exile from the Lord then finished! (2 Cor. 5:6–8.) How complete will be the consciousness—“To die is gain! To depart, and to be with Christ is far better.” (Philip. 1:21, 23.) Born an heir of trouble (Job. 5:7), crowned an heir of glory! Who can doubt but the coronation-day must be the better day—the day of unspeakable and everlasting joy!

A heap of paradoxes are rising before us, like the beatitudes which preface the Sermon on the Mount. But the paradoxes of the Bible open out valuable truths. Here is no dream of theory or imagination—no difficult point of controversy—but a page of daily history. Experience only brings us to these conclusions. These are the words of sober wisdom. Thousands of Christian mourners—all who are chastened as sons—have responded and borne testimony to their truth.

Our heavenly Father, even when using his sharpest rod, so accompanies it with the whisper of his love, that the child almost dreads the removal of the discipline—lest he should lose so rich a blessing. Yet this is not the judgment of the world.

They do not love to be brought into contact with realities, or to be reminded of the coming “days of darkness.” (Ecclesiastes 11:8.) There is an unwelcome message to their conscience—Art thou ready to meet this solemn—this hastening season? The wise man does not say that it is sweeter, but that it is better to go to the house of mourning. ‘It will do us more good to go to a funeral, than to go to a festival. Not that either of them are wrong. Our blessed Lord attended both.

‘He adorned and beautified with his presence and first miracle’ a marriage-feast. And he was found groaning and weeping at the grave of Lazarus. (John 11:23–35.) In both places we may glorify him, and follow his footsteps. May it be in his spirit! The value of the house of mourning is in the lesson it teaches. Here is the end of all men. What better lesson can there be? If anything will set the thoughtless to think, this will be it.

It is what all must expect—what all must arrive at—“going the way of all the earth.” (Josh. 23:14; Heb. 9:17.) It is the grand design of the house of feasting to destroy recollection—The house of mourning makes the last scene palpable. It is the Divine ordinance to bring the living to thoughtfulness; and far gone must they be, if they do not lay it to heart, and fasten it there. A mercy indeed it is to be brought to think! A greater mercy still to be led to pray.

When the solemn messenger knocks—when his entrance spreads a pall over the joyous house, then indeed does he speak to the heart—seal his impression there—and stir up the inquiry—‘How may I meet the crisis in peace, confidence, and acceptance? And then comes in sight the remedy—most welcome, because most fitting to the sinner’s case.

‘Sin his disorder; Christ his physician; pain his medicine; the Bible his support; the grave his bed; and death itself an angel, expressly sent to release the worn-out labourer, or crown the faithful soldier.’

‘How earnestly’—as an excellent commentator observes—‘does Solomon persevere in drawing our hearts from the vain and perilous joys of the world! Still he continues his paradoxes—Sorrow is better than laughter. So valuable, so needful is it, that we doubt whether it be safe to be without sorrow, till we are without sin. Christiana was well reminded on the outset of her pilgrimage—‘The bitter is before the sweet, and that also’—she added—‘will make the sweet the sweeter.

This is not therefore the sentiment of a sour misanthrope. It is that of one, who looks beyond the momentary ebullition of the sorrow to the after abounding and largely-compensating results. What if there be a “need be” for the present “heaviness? How bright the end—“Found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ!” (1 Pet. 1:6, 7.) Meanwhile—waiting for this glorious end—the house of mourning is the wise man’s school.

Here we are disciplined to lessons of inestimable value. We obtain the knowledge of that dark mystery—our own hearts. We learn the Christian alphabet, and spell out in the Lord’s dealings the letters of wisdom, forbearance, faithfulness, and love. We study the Christian dictionary, and often find such views of the character of God and his ways presented to us, as a whole life of ordinary study and contemplation could not have set forth.

We find the Bible to be a book of realities. We cannot but bear our witness to it. We have felt its power. “I believed, and therefore have I spoken.” (Ps. 116:10; 2 Cor. 4:13.) Often when our sky is bright, we forget that the clouds may quickly form. And here the sight of sorrow brings us to a right recollection; and we can bless our God, that he is leading us through a wilderness, and not through a paradise. We seem to be bereaved. But the main matter is untouched.

Enough is left for “a song in the house of our pilgrimage.” (Ps. 119:54.) If we look at the medicine, we take it from him as exactly fitted to our case. It is weighed out by his own hand. We see how the different ingredients “work together” (not the sweet alone without the bitter) “for good.” (Rom. 8:28.) If we complain of the cross as a fainting burden, we will carry it to him. Cannot he who appointed, support us under it, and carry us through it?

Now then let us take the balance, and see—Is not sorrow better than laughter? It is not only a school of instruction, but the house of consolation. By the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. Here is “meat to eat that” the world “know not of. “Thanks be to God, who causeth us alway”—in sorrow not less than in comfort—“to triumph in Christ.” (2 Cor. 2:14.) We hear our Father’s voice. We live upon his promise.

We assure ourselves with undoubted confidence in his power to make every promise good—to perform it even more than we had anticipated. And our answer to the question—“Is all well?” is joyfully given—“All is well.” (2 Kings 4:26.)

Bless my trials, thus to sever Me for ever From the love of self and sin. Let me through them see thee clearer, Find thee nearer, Grow more like to thee within. Tersteegen, Lyra Germanica, 2nd Series.

This sorrow is no sudden flash—vanishing, and leaving no impression behind. It is a solemn tender spirit—meek humiliation of soul. Nothing but Almighty grace can produce it. ‘Philosophy’—as our great moralist lays it down—‘may infuse stubbornness. But religion only can give patience. The one may force the confession—“Thy will be done. But it is the other only that puts stillness and submission into the words, and makes them real.

The Divine Sovereignty—reverently acknowledged and applied—at once silences and satisfies. Yet there is much exercise for the child of God. He is in a training school for heaven—the school dignified by the humbling experience of the Son of God, who, “though a Son,” condescended to “learn obedience by the things which he suffered.” (Heb. 5:8.) The lessons of the school are costly. Yet if they seem to be severe—be it remembered—it is the education of the Heir of a crown.

We are made to feel, that had we not leaned so strongly on our earthly props, they might not have broken under us. But if our Father takes away our all, does he not give his all—infinitely richer and more enduring? Still it may be a school of paradoxes. Yet to humility and faith all will be made plain in our Father’s best and most fitting time.

But no wonder, that with such lessons to be learned, and such consolations to be enjoyed, the heart of the wise should be in the house of mourning. To the house of mirth we may go. But our heart can never rest there. The world can never be our home. Its resources are too poor for our wants. Solid satisfaction—bearing us up, when all is sinking around—a balm for every sorrow, when worldly ‘joys are all packed up and gone’—these are the treasures of the house of mourning.

The refined exercise of sympathy—the sufferings of our fellow-creatures stirring up thanksgivings for our own mercies—the sunbeams of heaven darting their rays within—all this is bright. But how much brighter and more joyous is the prospect of the house without mourning—where “the days of our mourning shall be ended” (Isa. 60:20)—where “there shall be no more sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain, for the former things” shall have “passed away!” (Rev. 21:4.) In this true resting-place is the heart of the wise.

But where is the heart of the foot?—where he can try to forget himself—gratify his corrupt taste—get rid of unwelcome thoughts—put away God and eternity—all reality blotted out of his mind—‘O my soul, come not thou into his secrect.’ (Gen. 49:6.) ‘In the midst of his laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness.’ (Prov. 14:13.)

In many things we all offend. (Jam. 3:2.) None of us therefore are above the need of rebuke. But do we all value it? It is naturally unpalatable. And it is often hard to receive it from another, even “when our heart condemns us. But as many sweet things are poison, so many bitter things are medicine. Let me then bring home this probing point. Are the “faithful wounds of a friend” welcome to me?

Do I heartily admit his “open rebuke to be better than secret love” (Prov. 27:5, 6)—yea, an exercise of true and Christian love? (Ps. 141:5.) But it is the rebuke of the wise alone that carries weight (Prov. 25:12)—carefully regarding the mind, manner, measure, and temper of the individual; avoiding needless irritation in the exercise of Christian faithfulness.

David felt the value of this rebuke, and recorded it as a special mercy from his God. (1 Sam. 25:32, 33.) And who of us, who have reaped its fruit in a tender conscience (Prov. 15:32), but will come to a clear judgment—It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools? Ah! that atmosphere of poison—be it ever far from us! It is only a reckless determination to fill the mind, so as to leave no room for the thoughts of death and of eternity.

Again we insist—“Sorrow is better than laughter. ‘He that makes this mirth and he that likes it—both are fools, and their pleasantness will soon have an end. For what after all is this laughter of the fool, but the crackling of thorns under a pot—a mere blaze for the moment? (Ps. 58:9; 118:12.) ‘It has answered—and even that in appearance only—the care-killing end of the moment. But the subsequent dullness and ennui are only the deeper.

Whether it be the intoxication of the drunkard—the foolishness of the trifler, the nonsense which amuses by its wit or rather folly—it only brings out more fully the conviction—This is also vanity. Indeed what other fruit could be found in pleasure pursued, possessed, enjoyed—without God? Let the joy be admitted. But how short-lived! Nothing left to reflect on! Solemn is the warning from a voice of love. “Woe unto you that laugh now; for ye shall mourn and weep.” (Luke 6:25.)

The wise man bids us notice his special emphasis—Surely. Often is he dwelling on the evils of oppression. (Ecclesiastes 3:16; 4:1; 5:8.) ‘All of us are either subject to the power of others, and therefore in danger of oppression; or we are invested with power, and therefore tempted to oppress. Oppression may be either the active power of inflicting suffering, or the passive enduring of it.

The latter would seem to be the more natural meaning—wrong cruelly inflicted—the misery of being beaten down by tyranny. In the oppressor himself it is an ebullition of selfishness (Ps. 73:8)—a galling chain to his victims—sometimes making even a wise man mad. (Exod. 5:21.) More than once has it thrown the man of God off his sober balance, and hurried him into a state nearly allied to madness.

How tender and considerate is the dispensation—which, while it permits “the rod of the wicked” to come, forbids it to “rest upon the lot of the righteous! The reason given is as here—lest if should make the wise man mad—“lest the righteous put forth their hands into iniquity.” (Ps. 125:3.) But the evil falls back upon the oppressor himself. One selfish principle naturally begets another.

The act of oppression is often traced to the gift tendered as the price of the oppression—destroying his heart—blotting out every principle of moral integrity, rendering him callous to suffering, and deaf to the claims of justice. (Prov. 17:23.) Good reason was there for the Mosaic veto, restraining the influence of gifts. (Exod. 23:8; Deut. 16:19.) There is indeed peril on both sides. Tyranny forces to irrational conduct; bribery to lack of feeling.

The standard of the Bible is the only security. “He that ruleth over men must be just—ruling in the fear of God.” (2 Sam. 23:3.) When the Bible is reverenced as the Book of God—the sole rule of faith and practice, “a man’s wisdom will make his face to shine” (Ecclesiastes 8:1); and godliness will enrich the land with the precious fruit of “whatsoever things are honest, just, pure, lovely, and of good report.” (Philip. 4:8.)

The first clause is not indeed an universal maxim. Sometimes—and that in the most important of all matters—the ending is far worse than the beginning thereof. Yet it often holds good. Solomon had already given an example (v. 1). In the instance just adverted to (Comp. also Prov. 20:21), the oppressor may appear to have the advantage at first; but the end may bring him low. The ordinary trials of the Christian life are grievous in the beginning; but fruitful in the end.

Therefore—whatever be the trial of faith—never despond. Never look at the present dark face of things, except in connection with the will of God’s love. We say emphatically—the will of his love. Because—as Charnock finely observes—‘God does not act anything barely by an immutable will, but by an immutable wisdom, and an unchangeable rule of goodness.

Things might have been otherwise arranged; and they doubtless would have been so, had not this arrangement been the very best that could have been made. How many valuable discoveries in Christian experience has the end of the thing laid open, which at the beginning had only been imperfectly developed! The later mercies that flow out of early trials—how multiplied are they!

‘It may be’—said Bp. Taylor—‘that thou art “entered into the cloud,” which will bring a gentle shower to refresh thy sorrows. God, who in mercy and wisdom governs the world, would never have suffered so many sadnesses, and especially to the most virtuous and wisest men, but that he intends they should be the seminary of comfort, the nursery of virtue, the exercise of wisdom, the trial of patience, the venturing for a crown, and the gate of glory.

When the aged Patriarch said—“All these things are against me”—he looked only at the beginning. Yet he lived to see the sun bursting out of the dark cloud. And at the end he saw that the things which he judged to be “against him,” were not the evil that he had feared, but the “evil from which he was redeemed.

Evil turned out to be substantial good—beyond all his expectation. (Gen. 42:36, with 48:16.) Such also was the issue of the wilderness wanderings—“good” opened out “at the latter end.” (Deut. 8:16.) And when “the Lord blessed the latter end of Job more than his beginning,” our special attention is turned to it as the cheering manifestation of the end of the Lord—that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy. (Job 1: with 42:12; Jam. 5:11.) Evidently therefore things are better known by the end, than by the beginning.

‘When the whole contexture and web of providences about the Church, and every individual member thereof, shall be wrought out, and in its full length and breadth (as it were) spread forth in the midst of all the redeemed, perfected, glorified, and triumphant company of saints standing round the throne, and with admiration beholding it; there will not then be found one misplaced thread, nor any wrong-set colour in it all.

The second clause of our verse naturally contrasts patience with pride. Pride is the source of impatience, as humility is the principle of gentleness and endurance. Our patience harmonizes with the will of God, and ministers to our comfort, as pride does to our trouble. ‘Blessed grace!’ exclaimed the saintly Martyn—‘how it smooths the furrows of care, and gilds the dark paths of life!

It will make us kind, and enable us to do more for God and the Gospel than the most fervid zeal without it. Every way therefore better is the patient in spirit than the proud in spirit. The one waits for the end. The other in the impatience of self-will revolts. “Let him make speed, and hasten his work, that we may see it.” (Isa. 5:19.) There may be a determined purpose for God.

And yet uneasy questionings, such as we may find it hard to answer—may afterwards arise, whether we took time to wait, before the impulse to act. Here then patience—committing the case to God, and doing his present will—brings a peaceful issue of the matter, even though fresh perplexities should arise after the decision. Patience is the child of faith. “He that believeth shall not make haste. Surely there is an end, and thine expectation shall not be cast off.

Let the Lord take his own course, as certainly he will. But trust him for the end in his own time and way. We can only improve his dispensations, as we walk with him in them, to know his mind. Beware of fretfulness in walking through the rough and thorny path. Does not he make it the way home—the way to glory? Never forget that we are most incompetent judges of his purposes.

This only we know—and we know it from his own mouth—that the thoughts which he thinks towards us are thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give us an expected end. (Jer. 29:11.) Meanwhile we “have need of patience.” (Heb. 10:36.) And not to value its work—hastily to give up good purposes because of difficulties—would prove us to be poor novices in the Christian life. Proud self-confidence expects to carry all before us, and after repeated failures sinks down in despondency.

The patient in spirit is content—if it must be so—with feeble beginnings, poor success, and many repulses. He ‘suffers in submission, and waits in hope, bearing the evils inflicted by man, in the remembrance that men are but God’s hand; and resting in tranquil expectation, that the end will be better than the beginning. Deeply indeed do we need this daily cross—this practical homage of the will. But the end compensates for all.

“After we have done the will of God, we receive the promise.” (Heb. 10:34.) ‘It is now the school-time, the season of the lesson and the rod; then will be the eternal holiday. It is now the season of the plough and harrow; then will be the pleasant harvest home; “they that sow in tears shall reap in joy.” ’ (Ps. 126:5.)

A most important rule! So deeply affecting our happiness, and not less the beauty and consistency of our Christian profession. It is indeed possible to conceive of “being angry, and not to sin.” (Eph. 4:26.) Anger is an holy passion in the bosom of Jehovah. (Nah. 1:2.) It was displayed in the pure humanity of the Divine Saviour. (Mark 3:5.) It was the intense sensibility of sorrow in the man of God, when he witnessed the debasing idolatry of the chosen nation. (Exod. 32:19.) And yet it would be most dangerous to presume upon this rare purity, when in the infinite majority of cases, it is the ebullition of pride, selfishness, and folly.

The impulse of anger here forbidden is hastiness—‘a distemper, which seizes men on the least occasion in the world, and perpetually without any real reason at all. A quick word—the veriest trifle—what a rude extinguisher it is for the moment! a sudden gust, that puts all holy feelings to flight! And alas! where is the atmosphere—even in the Church of God—where this damper to spirituality is not sensibly felt? The sad influence of this hasty spirit is deeply to be deprecated.

We must “lift up holy hands without wrath.” (1 Tim. 2:8.) ‘Anger’—as Bp. Taylor observes—‘is a perfect alienation of mind from prayer; and therefore is contrary to that attention, which presents our prayers in a right line to God. For so’—adds he in his exquisitely beautiful picture—‘have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, and singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and rise above the clouds.

But the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconsistent,—descending more at every breath of the tempest than it could recover by the libration and frequent weighing of its wings, till the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the storm was over; and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing, as if it had learned music and motion from an angel.

Often does Solomon graphically mark this evil in his practical code. “He that is soon angry dealeth foolishly.” (Prov. 14:17.) Commonly he contrasts it with its opposite grace—“He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding; but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly. A wrathful man stirreth up strife; but be that is slow to anger appeaseth strife.

He that is slow to anger is better than he that taketh a city.” (Pr 14:29; 15:18; 16:32.) The Apostolic rule is to the same purport, and of universal application. “Let every man be slow to speak, slow to wrath.” (Jam. 1:19.) Physical temperament may sometimes call for a forbearing judgment. Yet as a general rule, let the excitement never be excused, or looked upon otherwise than as a sin hateful to God.

If there be not at least some measure of command over the tongue and the temper, it may fairly be asked—‘What is the Gospel worth? What evidence is there of its power upon the heart? A present Saviour is the display at the front of the Gospel. But you say ‘I cannot help it. You can, if you will—not of yourself—but “through Christ that strengtheneth you.” (Philip. 4:13.) Is not the power in him for you?—ready for every moment’s application—sufficient for every emergency?

Remember your God’s high claims upon you, that “your light should shine to his glory.” (Matt. 5:16.) At all events, if anger rushes in by some sudden power, or at some unwary moment, take care that it does not rest. It may pass through a wise man’s heart. But the bosom of the fool is its home. The indulgence of causeless anger is the mark of a fool. Take care that we do not open our bosom to receive what we are forbidden to foster there.

Its unrestrained power may be murderous outrage. The contemplation of the Saviour is the mysterious secret of victory. When did an “unadvised” word ever drop from “his lips? When did mockery or scorn ever ruffle his spirit? When did sudden provocation ever for a moment cloud the bright sunshine of his holiness? Look then, and be what you behold. Look, and be like him. The likeness grows on us as we look.

He is the holiest man, who looks most steadily at the mirror of glorious perfection. (2 Cor. 3:18.)

Impatience often produces a querulous spirit. ‘How much brighter were the days of our fathers! Never shall we see the like again. Yet be it remembered, we know the former days only by report. Present days are a felt reality. Under the pressure it is natural to believe, that the former days were better than these. Not indeed that the comparison in all cases is proscribed. A wordly failure implies the fact, and naturally excites the inquiry—What is the cause?

It may also be a home question in Christian experience—Is there not a cause? “Let a man examine himself, and prove his own work.” (1 Cor. 11:28; Gal. 6:4.) In the wider field some ages of the Church or the world may doubtless be better than others. The eras of civilization, and of extended religion, are better than the barbarous and unenlightened ages. This would suggest the legitimate application of the inquiry.

But the rebuke is evidently directed against that dissatisfied spirit, which puts aside our present blessings, exaggerates our evils, and reflects upon the government of God as full of inequalities, and upon his providence, in having cast us in such evil times. Do we ask—What is the cause? Let the fact first be proved. It could not apply to Solomon’s time.

No former days would compare with those best days of Israel’s prosperity. (1 Kings 10:27.) In other cases there may indeed be substantive materials for the proof. National changes may bring national declension. Increasing wealth and luxury may relax the tone of public morals. But—it may be asked—‘Is it not the ordinary habit of the old men of the generation to give undue worth and weight to the records of bygone days?

Has not each succeeding generation left a protest against the degeneracy of its predecessor? Yet in a general view ‘God has been always good, and men have been always bad,’ and “there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ch. 1:9; 3:15.) The case therefore involves ‘a doubtful problem and a foolish question. For thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this.

The picture of a golden age, and the loveliness and purity of the primitive era, are now confessedly only the day-dreams of imagination. Take then the broad features of the present day. After due allowance has been made for the fearful discoveries of ignorance and depravity—yet mark the spread of true religion—the large provision for the temporal comfort of the poor—the widely-diffused blessings of Scriptural education—the influence of civil and religious liberty—and, above all, the extended circulation and preaching of the glorious Gospel throughout the world—Would it not be hard to produce former days better than these?

“Blessed are the eyes that see the things that ye see!” (Luke 10:23, 24.) After all—‘it is folly to cry out of the badness of the times, when there is so much more reason to complain of the badness of our hearts (if men’s hearts were better, the times would be mended); and when there is such reason to be thankful that they are not worse; but that even in the worst times we enjoy many mercies, that help to make them, not only tolerable, but comfortable.

The question has been well asked—‘If the times are bad, what are we doing to mend them? Have not we helped to make them bad? And do not murmuring complaints make them worse? Could we change clouds for sunshine, would it be for our real good? Is not the arrangement of the infinitely wise and gracious Father more for our true advantage than the dictates of our poor human folly? It was not our lot to be born in former, and—as is supposed—better days.

But surely it is our duty to gather all good out of the seeming evil, and cheerfully to submit to what we cannot change. “Murmurers and complainers” belong to every age. Leave God’s work to him, and let us attend to our own work, which is—not so much to change the world, but to change ourselves—to “serve our own generation by the will of God,” and to ‘let the badness of the age in which we live make us more wise, more circumspect, more humble.

Brighter days are before us—each day brightened with the hope of a near-coming salvation. O Christian! “Salvation nearer. What a quickening glow! (Rom. 13:11.) Faith, hope, diligence, perseverance, watchfulness—all stir up the bottom springs of the heart. (1 Pet. 1:13.) The earnest is “joy unspeakable. What will the consummation be?

The reading in the text marks the profitable use of wisdom with an inheritance, directing the most valuable use of a responsible talent. And doubtless—as good Bp. Hall observes—‘if a man have a great estate, and wisdom to use it, he may do great matters, and is very happy therein. Perhaps, however, the weight of authority is on the side of the marginal reading. Wisdom is better than an inheritance, and is profitable unto mankind. The proof is manifest.

For—not only does it provide a shadow from many temporal evils, but specially it giveth life to them that have it. Money is indeed a shadow. It surrounds with friends, protects from foes (Prov. 19:4; 10:19), and secures many external blessings. Thus “the rich man’s wealth is his strong city.

The ransom of a man’s life are his riches.” (Pr 10:15; 13:8.) But they “profit not in the day of wrath.” (Pr 10:2.) Here lies the superlative value of wisdom ‘as that, which both can safe-guard the present life, and give a better to the owner of it. The smallest atom of this wisdom and knowledge is life eternal. “Whoso findeth me findeth life.” (John 17:3; Prov. 8:35.) Natural widsom—the world’s idol—leaves us blind and dead.

Here is life revealed, proposed, possessed, secured. What then is my deliberate choice—my vital knowledge? “We know that the Son of God is come, and hath given us an understanding, that we may know him that is true; and we are in him that is true—even in his Son Jesus Christ. This is the true God, and eternal life.” (1 John 5:20.) Here is the One that gives the true knowledge. Here is the treasure, that ensures every other blessing.

Life and knowledge from any other source, so far as eternity is concerned, is utter vanity. And yet how often do we see intellectual wisdom separated from this life-giving knowledge! How much laborious trifling has been expended upon the letter of the Bible by those, who have been wholly ignorant of its real spiritual meaning! In the argument of Christian evidences the infidel has been often confuted by the unbeliever. The demonstration of the truth is irresistible.

But the reality and influence is little known. The outposts are successfully defended. But the citadel is uncared for. Since the advantage of this true wisdom is so vast, let the diligence in seeking it be proportioned. If it is worth seeking at all, it is worth seeking first. And if it be not sought first, it will not be sought at all.

‘Specially let us take care, lest being destitute of faith—the only wisdom of Christians—we be found dead in sin—and this life ended—in eternal death. Although thou be poor in this world’s substance, so long as thou art wise in the Lord, thou wilt be nevertheless in good mind from the hope of eternal life in heaven. We cannot but mark how this Divine knowledge opens the deepest mysteries in the simplest forms.

Admirably does Bp. Taylor contrast the man of nature with the man of God. ‘The one understands by nature; the other by grace. The one by human learning; the other by Divine. The one reads the Scriptures without; the other within. The one understands by reason; the other by love.

And therefore he does not only understand the sermons of the Spirit, and perceives their meaning; but he pierces deeper, and knows the meaning of that meaning—that is, the secret of the Spirit—that which is spiritually discerned. Where is the Divinely-instructed scholar, who does not long for clearer light, and more energy in the Christian life?

“The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein. His work is honourable and glorious.” (Ps. 111:2, 3.) Such is the Psalmist’s commendation. Who will not respond to it? Solomon here places the work of Providence before us, and bids us consider it. And truly a most interesting and enriching study it is.

“Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, even they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord.” (Ps. 107:43.) Difficulties will start up before us. But all is in perfect harmony. He makes no mistakes; but “he giveth not account of any of his matters.” (Job 33:13.) There is indeed no want of conformity to his own Divine standard. Yet there are many things crooked in man’s eye, because they cross his own will, and thwart his own imaginary happiness.

It is needful discipline that there should be—as has been said—‘a crook in every lot. Man’s will goes one way—God’s dispensation another. In every part of his course man must expect to meet with his crook—specially perhaps in his most tender—because most needed part. And hard is it to bear, till the spirit is thoroughly tamed to bear it. ‘Yet no power of man can make it straight; only he that made can mend it.

But we must not forget, how often we are the framers of our own troubles. How hard it is to love the creature, and not over-love it! And yet if the Lord loves our souls, he will remove our idols. Children, too closely fastened to the heart, will be either continued as a thorn in the flesh, or pass away from our eyes as a shadow. Either way our sweetest comforts will become our deepest afflictions.

Most profitable therefore is it carefully to ponder the dealings of God with us. Let us command our judgment and reason to stand by, that we may with reverence, submission, and faith, consider the work of God. The vision in his own time will speak for itself. We can see light and order above, when all seems confusion below. Meanwhile let us mark his hand, rest and stay upon his will, and gather up carefully all the instruction of his discipline.

When the whole work shall be complete—every particle will be seen to have fallen just into its own proper place. And all will then appear One Great Whole every way worthy of God—the eternal manifestation of his glory.

Consider the work of God. Here—Christian—is thy refuge and thy rest. Here enjoy quiet communion—satisfied confidence. And here learn that ‘man’s wisdom consists in observing God’s unalterable appointments, and suiting himself to them. Mark the wise and gracious balancing of his dispensations.

Surely in Providence—no less than in grace—“he hath abounded toward us in all wisdom and prudence.” (Eph. 1:8.) “He giveth us richly all things to enjoy.” (1 Tim. 6:17.) He means therefore that we should enjoy them—not wantonly, or selfishly, but as opportunities of glorifying him, and doing good to our fellow-creatures. His rule therefore is—In the day of prosperity be joyful. ‘In the day of good be thou in good.

When God gives thee prosperity, do thou enjoy it with a cheerful and thankful heart. “Not to serve him with joyfulness” was under the legal dispensation charged upon Israel as a heavy indictment—as an ungrateful return for undeserved mercies.” (Deut. 28:46, 47. Comp. 16:11; 26:1–11.) How much more constraining is the obligation under the Gospel, when love infinitely greater and more free has been so gloriously displayed!

Ill does it become us to walk before our Father with a wrinkled brow, doubting, desponding. No, rather—let us give him his just right in an affectionate and delighting confidence. And yet if we be joyful, must we not rejoice with trembling? (Ps. 2:11.) Is it not a day of prosperity, a time of special temptation? How hard to maintain an honourable walk, and the enjoyment of Christian privilege, in the atmosphere of ease!

Never in times of ease is the prayer out of season—‘In all time of our wealth, Good Lord, deliver us. And yet—‘let me be rich—great—honourable’—is the cry on all sides. Ah! could the deluded votary realize the consequence of this wish—the gratification of this heart’s desire! In how many cases would it be Satan’s great—perhaps fatal—advantage! Humility—godly watchfulness—weanedness of heart—this is the safe—the consecrated path—the path to “glory, honour, immortality.

Wise indeed therefore is the appointment, that makes the day of prosperity to be not our entire lot. It is hard to hold a full cup steady. There is a valuable balance of the day of adversity, equally of Divine appointment. For “shall we receive good at the hands of the Lord? And shall we not receive evil? This day is indeed most important, not only as our school of discipline, but as the test of our improvement in this school.

For “if prosperity doth best discover vices, adversity doth best discover virtue. The diligent improvement of this day brings with it a mighty blessing. The internal malady is checked. Creature dependence is put away. In the darkest hour of the day we can look up with confidence and enjoyment. All is passing away, and withering. But “thou art my portion, O Lord.” (Ps. 119:57.) Give me faith to believe all thy love to me.

We do not however always connect the two things—being in the day, and knowing how to act in it. When the resolution is thoroughly carried out—never more to question, complain, fear, or faint; when second causes—those sharply-piercing thorns—have been wholly cast out, rich fruit has been already gathered. We have learned in the school training-lessons of incalculable value. Our joy is not crushed. It is only tempered with sober and most profitable consideration.

We are taught to mark the hand and character of God (Deut. 8:5)—the humbling cause (Job 10:2; Ps. 39:11)—the gracious end—how to obtain support (Ps. 50:15; 86:7)—how to realize more fully the enriching blessing (Ps. 94:12, 13)—how to assure ourselves of deliverance (1 Cor. 10:13)—how to anticipate complete and eternal compensation. Precious teaching! Child of God—this is thy present privilege—sustaining thy confidence—rejoicing thy heart.

Thus the brightest prosperity is found in nature’s darkest adversity. We all know how the vicissitudes of the natural seasons—set over against each other—conduce to the healthiness of the atmosphere. Hence the adoring acknowledgment—“Thou hast made summer and winter” (Ps. 74:17)—and the merciful promise—that “while the earth remaineth, they shall not cease.” (Gen. 8:22.) Not less necessary is a measure and proportion of each of these seasons to maintain the Christian temperament in healthful vigour.

Either without the other would be defective in operation. The day of prosperity would be dangerous exaltation (2 Cor. 12:7)—the day of adversity, fainting despondency. (Ps. 125:3; Isa. 57:16.) The one set against the other is therefore Divine perfection of arrangement.

The proportions of each vary according to the sovereign will and wisdom of the Great Disposer (Ps. 90:15); “and his work is perfect.” (Deut. 32:4.) And yet is it not wonderful, that, when the adjustment is made with such unerring skill, that balance should always be on our side? This is the more wonderful, when we remember that we have not deserved one moment of the prosperity vouchsafed, and that we have deserved far more than all the adversity that we have suffered.

On the one side—may we not say with the Patriarch—“We are not worthy of the least of all thy mercies” (Gen. 32:10)—on the other side—with the godly scribe (Ezra, 9:13), “Thou, O God, hast punished us less than our iniquities deserve”? Practical and experimental religion is only learned in that extremity, that brings us to contrite prayer, and casts us in unreserved trust upon our God. Is then the godly man mournful? At least he need not—save by his own fault—be miserable.

The Lord has never appointed temporal prosperity as the undoubted seal of his love. “All things come alike to all.” (Ecclesiastes 9:2.) His covenant, while it includes the rod for his child, secures him from the curse. And when the soul is at peace, temporal adversity will be—comparatively at least—little felt. It may cloud the physical enjoyment. But it will not shake the solid foundation, nor touch the blessedness of Divine acceptance.

‘Give up the doctrines of Jesus Christ’—said Mr. Cecil in his last illness—‘all is pitch darkness without it—dark as a Socinian—dark as a moralist. There is no light, but what Christ brings. All important truth is in the Bible, and I feel that no comfort enters sick curtains from any other quarter.

Surely then God has so wisely disposed these changes, and so accurately appointed their several proportions, that a man shall find nothing after him—nothing superfluous, defective, or irregular. If a man should take upon himself to review the work after him, and conceive that a greater or less degree of prosperity or adversity would have been better—or that either would have sufficed, without the balance of the other—he only stands before us in all the folly and presumption of fancying himself to be wiser than God.

What God has done, he has done best. He has indeed kept his own time, and used his own means—not ours. But he has made us to see in the end, that his time and means were better than ours. Whatever seems to oppose or to perplex—remember—it is our Father’s work; and let us learn to take a cheerful view of that lot, which he has ordained solely for our happiness, and which under his guidance will turn to the best account.

Oh! think of the many now before the throne, who are blessing God to all eternity for that wise, providential dealing, which under Divine grace prepared them for their home, and brought them to it with everlasting joy.

Solomon was a man of vast observation. His whole life indeed at best was made up of days of vanity—how much more his time of apostasy from God. Yet he had employed it in making an extensive survey of the world before him. Often has he mentioned the sight before his eyes (Ecclesiastes 4:1–4; 5:8)—so stumbling to the ignorant, and staggering to the faith even of the children of God (Ps. 123; Jer. 12:1)—the just man perishing in his righteousness.

This was the first record from the fall (Gen. 4:8). And all successive records of the Church confirmed the testimony. “He that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey.” (Matt. 23:35, with Isa. 59:15.) The Divine dealings with the wicked man show also a mysterious exercise of Sovereignty. Sometimes he is not permitted to “live out half his days.

At other times he “prolongeth his life in his wickedness.” (Job 21:7, with Ps. 55:23.) Yet after all—“Say ye to the righteous—‘It shall be well with him.’ ” (Isa. 3:10.) Where is the servant of God, that would exchange the most abject poverty for the highest prosperity of the wicked?

If the just man perisheth, “he shall enter into peace.” (Isa. 57:1, 2.) If the wicked prolongeth his days, continuing in sin, surely the very sight of him excites—not our envy—but our deepest compassion.

We can only tremble, lest this prolongation should be the righteous and merciful God “enduring him with much long-suffering as a vessel of wrath, fitted for destruction.” (Rom. 9:22.) There is therefore no reason to be stumbled either at the calamities of the just man, or at the continued prosperity of the wicked. Divine teaching expounds the dark chapter of Providence (Ps. 73:16–20), and shews them to be displays of wisdom and love.

Soon will all mysteries be eternally cleared up. “Clouds and darkness” will melt away. “Righteousness and judgment” will be fully manifested to be “the habitation of the throne” (Ps. 97:2) of the Great Sovereign of the Universe. And the everlasting song of the hosts of heaven will be—“Alleluia! for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.” (Rev. 19:6.)

The two strange things that had fallen under Solomon’s observation—the righteous perishing in his righteousness, and the wicked escaping with impunity—suggested double cautions. On the one side the externally righteous need to be guarded against a false religion; and even the upright against a false display of true religion. On the other—the wicked—escaping for a time—let them not presume upon continued security.

The first caution—Be not righteous over-much—is the sheet-anchor of the profane—the ungodly—the formalist! What havoc does the great deceiver make with Scripture—shooting God’s arrows from his own quiver!—teaching his deluded victims to “wrest the Scriptures to their own destruction!

And how strange is it to see, that, while they hate the grand truths of the Bible, and wholly repudiate it as their rule of faith and practice, they will gladly quote it—nay—they will insist upon its authority, when at any point it seems to bear upon their side! We cannot wonder, therefore, that this should be one of their favourite texts—held in high estimation.

However clear may be its true meaning, it seems to admit of so many shades of interpretation, as if it would allow any man to fix his own rule and standard. The insincere professor finds an excuse for loving the world in his heart, and meeting it half way in his practice. He may have a plea for avoiding all the offence of the cross. He may revolt from the most spiritual doctrines and exercises of the Gospel. He has one answer at hand against every warning.

‘There is an express rule from God. Its authority therefore is undoubted. We must not carry matters too far. Everything must have its place. There are certain proprieties of life—conventional usages of good society—that must be regarded. Religion must keep to its proper place, and its proper time. The direction is plain—Be not righteous over-much. Such is the rule, as expounded by the votaries of the world.

But is it really possible to transgress it, so as to have too much of the substance of religion? A sinful being, “in whom dwelleth no good thing” (Rom. 7:18)—too good! righteous over-much! Impossible to conceive a warning of God against this danger! ‘Too religious—in the proper sense of the word,’ Abp. Whately well reminds us—‘we cannot be. We cannot have the religious sentiments and principles too strong, if only they have a right object.

We cannot love God too warmly, or honour him too highly, or strive to serve him too earnestly, or trust him too implicitly; because our duty is to love him with all our heart, and all our soul, and all our mind, and all our strength. It is surely absurd to warn the carnal man against an excess of spirituality—the earthly-minded man against over-much seeking of heavenly things. The danger obviously lies in defect, not in excess; in stopping short, not in going too far.

Strip this perverted caution of its false cover; and too often at last it means—Be not righteous at all. For unquestionably its advocates have more sympathy with men of no religion, than with those whose high and heavenly character condemns their own worldly profession. To whom then, and to what, does the admonition apply? We have seen that it does not warn us against true righteousness. But it is a wholesome caution against the ‘vain affection of it.

Every right principle has its counterfeit. We have monkery and celibacy as the shadow of Christian perfection—penances and self-imposed austerities in lieu of the true mortification of the flesh—the name for the reality—the skeleton for the living man. Here ‘the name of the mean is given to the extreme. That which in sobriety is righteousness often carries its name beyond the true boundary.

It includes—what the heavenly Martyn dreaded in himself—‘talking much, and appearing to be somebody in religion. Details may be easily multiplied. Religion is made to consist mainly in externals. Self-conceited professors insist upon their own Shibboleth, without regard to the different judgments of their brethren. Christian duties are pressed beyond their due proportion, interfering with immediate obligations, and making sins, where God has not made them.

Scrupulosity in matters indifferent takes the place of the free obedience of the Gospel. In the exercise also of Christian graces there may be danger of extremes. Boldness may verge to rashness, benevolence into indiscriminate waste, candour into weakness. In all these and many other details the Scriptural line seems to be passed, and the warning is justly applied—Be not righteous over-much.

Even ‘in well-doing there may be over-doing,’ and this over-doing may inadvertently progress towards undoing. Indeed much of this is not religion, but superstition, which ‘is not the excess of godliness’ (as Abp. Whately remarks) ‘but the misdirection of it—the exhausting of it in the vanity of man’s devising. It is important that our religion should be reasonable, consistent, uniform—not a matter of opinion, but of the heart.

Great indeed is our need, and constant should be our prayer—“O let me have understanding in the way of godliness.” (Ps. 101:2.) But we are warned against another extreme. Neither make thyself over-much wise—a wholesome practical rule! Avoid all affectation or high pretensions to superior wisdom. Guard against that opinionative confidence, which seems to lay down the law, and critically finds fault with every judgment differing from our own.

The Apostle gives this warning with peculiar emphasis and solemnity—“This I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think soberly, according as God has dealt to every man the measure of faith. ‘The more humble thou art, the more wary and circumspect thou wilt be; and the more wary the more safe. A question is put to give energy to the warning—Why shouldest thou destroy thyself?

Men may be martyrs to trifles magnified unduly. They may bring needless trouble upon themselves, by making conscience of doubtful or subordinate matters. And thus, unless the exercise of wisdom is tempered with humility and reverence, it may be the “pride that goeth before destruction.” (Prov. 16:18.) To be wise up to that which is written, is diligence—a bounden obligation.

To be “wise above that which is written,” is presumption, as if affecting to be acquainted with the whole of Divine truth. To intrude into God’s province of “secret things”—is over-wisdom—passing the boundary line—“vainly puffed up by the fleshly mind.” (Deut. 29:29; Col. 2:18.) It may be provoking the judgment of our own destruction. Another caution—and a remarkable one—is added from the opposite quarter—Be not over-much wicked.

Not as if one particle of wickedness could be tolerated by Him, who is “of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.” (Hab. 1:13. Comp. Ps. 5:4.) Every degree of wickedness is over-much. We must shun the least sin as a very pestilence. But many—so far as ordinary causes are concerned—might have lived longer, but for their wickedness. Take care not to loosen the reins of sin. This were folly in its fullest extent. Flagrant sin hurries men on towards destruction of body and soul.

The murderer by his over-much wickedness dies before his natural time. The drunkard, by wasting his constitution, prepares it for premature ruin. Haman’s malice (Esth. 7:10) and Herod’s pride (Acts, 12:23) hastened their end. Sin is therefore rash presumption—the forerunner of certain destruction.

It is to “run upon the Almighty—even upon his neck—upon the thick bosses of his buckler.” (Job. 15:25, 26.) Let the sinner stop, ere his course of wickedness rise to presumption—ere the forbearance of God have an end. What if his next plunge—his next wilful indulgence—should harden his heart in foolishness, and close his day of grace forever! Perdition will come soon enough. Why should he provoke his God, that it should come before his time?

How near may he be to the depths of hell—whence there is no escape—where there is no hope! How fearful not to learn the truth, till he learns it there! We have therefore valuable cautions against all extremes.

It is wise for us to “make straight paths for our feet” (Heb. 12:13)—to preserve the mean of a sober scriptural righteousness—to cultivate ‘that gracious humility which hath ever been the crown and glory of a Christianly-disposed mind’—and to guard against a headlong and presumptuous course. It is good indeed to take hold of this—never to lose thy hand-fast—never to withdraw thine hand from it.

Lay it up in thine heart as a certain truth—that the fear of the Lord is the keeping of his children—the fear of the Lord sustaining them against the deadly influence of the fear of man. Learn to be truly righteous—wisely righteous. Never be satisfied with the standard of the world. Press onward in the path of the Bible—marking, and closely following, “the footsteps of the flock. Never shrink from the confession of principle. But do not court needless offence.

Be determinately—not fanatically—singular. A religion of impulse, novelty, fashion, or eccentricity, will never practically influence. What is wanted is the religion of reality—the stamp of God upon the heart of man. Any other religion is a cold—cheerless—wintry atmosphere—chilling the healthy glow of the Christian life. No sunbeam sheds its radiance within. It may seem scarcely possible always to preserve the golden mean in the narrow path.

But in “the fear of the Lord is strong confidence.” (Prov. 14:26.) He therefore that feareth the Lord comes forth of all these opposite temptations victorious, and untainted—in all the honour of Christian consistency—in all the glow of Christian liberty, guarded on every side from unholy licentiousness. This well-balanced religion is of essential moment.

Admitting the full weight of the caution—Be not righteous over-much, we must fully acknowledge the Scriptural standard—a religion of works, as well as words. It is fearful hypocrisy to profess the Gospel, and yet to restrain the full allegiance which our Divine Master claims at our hands; to seek a private walk, instead of the broad manifestation of godly exercise.

Soon will “the fire try every man’s work of what sort it is.” (1 Cor. 3:13.) How much profession will then be burnt up, that now makes a fair show even in the Church of God!

Solomon never seems to have wearied in his commendation of Wisdom. He had just pronounced it to be better than riches. (vv. 11, 12.) Now he prefers it to strength—as the principle of Christian courage—energizing the whole soul. This wisdom is evidently identified with the fear of the Lord, which had just been pronounced to be an effective cover from unscriptural extremes. There was therefore good reason to take hold of it.

It has more strength than mere physical courage—more than ten mighty men in defending the city. This he elsewhere proves by an instance, that had probably come under his own knowledge. (Ecclesiastes 9:16–18.) Once and again he confirms the maxim, that the “wise man is the strong one,—so ‘strong,’ that he scaleth the city of the mighty, and casteth down the strength of the confidence thereof.” (Prov. 24:5; 21:22.) And in truth—the man that is walking with God is sheltered by Omnipotence.

“The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show himself strong in the behalf of them, whose heart is perfect towards him.” (2 Chron. 16:9.) Under such a cover, what assault—whether of malice or subtlety—need we fear? Fearless composure will be the fruit of the realized vision of faith—“They that be with us are more than they that be with them.” (2 Kings 6:15–17.) Feeble we may be in natural power.

“But he that is feeble among us shall be as David,” when with a dauntless front he dared Goliath to the combat. (Zech. 12:8; 1 Sam. 17:39–47.) We have indeed good reason to cherish this upholding principle. For there is not a just man upon the earth that sinneth not, and therefore who doth not need the strength of this Divine wisdom in his spiritual conflicts and temptations.

We must not overlook this humbling testimony to the universal and total corruption of the whole race of man. This important statement lies at the foundation of all right views of truth. Till the plague is known, the need of a remedy will never be felt, and the only true remedy will be worthless in our eyes. In heaven indeed just men are made perfect. (Heb. 12:23.) On earth there are just men that do good. But there is not one that doeth good, and sinneth not—“no—not one.

Every work—even the best—has the taint of the evil nature. (Isa. 64:6.) “The lust of the flesh” defiles the purest “working of the Spirit. There is not only guilt in the many sins that we commit, but in the very best principle of our good. Yet the true exposition of this case need not give the Christian any discouragement.

‘The pain felt is not from increased sinfulness, but from increased consciousness of it; not from his conduct having become worse, but from his moral judgment being more enlightened, and his perception of what is wrong, and his abhorrence of it, being stronger than before. Solomon in his brightest days had made the same humbling confession. (1 Kings 8:46.) Scripture biography gives its sad confirming testimony.

There is always defect, if not wilfulness; defilement, if not omission. The same testimony has been given in every age by Christians of the highest maturity in Grace. ‘I cannot pray’—is the oft-quoted confession of Bp. Beveridge—‘but I sin. I cannot hear or give an alms, or receive the sacrament, but I sin. I cannot so much as confess my sins, but my very confessions are still aggravations of them.

My repentance needs to be repented of; my tears want washing; and the very washing of my tears needs still to be washed over again with the blood of my Redeemer!. Child of God! is there no response from your heart? Does not every defect in your fellow-sinner read a fresh lesson of your own helplessness?

Can you anticipate the time on earth, when, “if you say that you have no sin, you” will not “deceive yourself?” (1 John 1:8.) “If thou, Lord, shouldest mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?” (Ps. 130:3.) Only he, whose eye is upon the High Priest “bearing the iniquities of the holy things.” (Exod. 28:38. Comp. Rev. 8:3, 4.) There is no peace—no security—against deeper sin, but an instant and continued application to him.

‘Always a sinner’—is the Christian’s name to the end, and therefore with godly Nehemiah we will combine with the consciousness of sincerity the cry for sparing mercy (Ecclesiastes 13:22)—with the reverend Hooker in deep prostration we will ‘plead—not our righteousness, but the forgiveness of our unrighteousness. With holy Leighton—‘instead of all fine notions, we fly to—Lord, have mercy on me—Christ, have mercy on me.

The publican’s prayer will suit to the very last breath—nothing better—contrition for sin—confidence in the propitiation.

Also—This seems to point to an admonition suggested by the statement just given of man’s universal corruption. Even the just man in his frailty, much more the careless and ungodly, may “offend in word.” (Jam. 3:2.) The wise counsel therefore to avoid the vexation of this evil world is—not to resent. Take no heed—Give not thy heart unto all words that are spoken. Some words perhaps spoken “unadvisedly,” or in a passion.

They were not intended for us, and we have no right to hear them. Listeners, standing upon the tip-toe of suspicion, seldom hear good of themselves. Lord Bacon therefore well advises ‘the provident stay of inquiry of that, which we would be loth to find. It were far better not to work out matter for our own mortification. Saul took the prudent course against the taunts of “the children of Belial,” when he “held, his peace” (1 Sam. 10:27)—regarding them not.

David in the same wisdom “was as a deaf man, and heard not—as one, in whose mouth were no reproofs.” (Ps. 38:13, 14.) It is often a matter of prudence, not to examine things too closely—not to be too eagerly inquisitive—not curiously to search into every crevice, or to affect to hear everything. Some truth may be learned from the saying of the Great Frederick (though the morality be doubtful),—‘He knows not how to govern, who does not know how to dissemble.

‘He that will have peace’—said Bp. Hall—‘must put up with many injuries of the tongue,’ else we shall always be in contention—never in quiet. The Bible is a household book; and happy is the house that is disciplined by its wisdom. We may hear, that our names, characters, and concerns have been lightly spoken of in our household. Nay—we may hear our own servant in a moment of hasty provocation curse or rail upon us. How indignant we feel!

How ready to reprove, and to give way to angry feelings! But the Bible rule is—Take no heed to all the words. Turn in to thine heart for a motive to forbearance, and a lesson of charity. Well does it know, that thou thyself likewise hast cursed others. Few—if any—of us can plead—‘Not Guilty’ to this indictment of Evil-speaking—slandering and back-biting ‘are all associates and kindred, which are to be cast away together.

If we recall our conversation at the end of the day, how many breaches of the law of love! how seldom are our words free from that, which we should not like to have repeated! If it does not amount to cursing, yet it is something said to the disparagement of another—and said with a sort of gratification, which we do not feel in the same degree, when we are speaking in another’s praise. Why is this, but from the “root of bitterness”?

Oh! the infinite evil of an unbridled tongue—an unloving heart! After all—how valuable is the lesson of forbearance in the remembrance of our former selves! The recollection that “we ourselves were sometimes hateful and hating one another”—our hearts knowing, and bearing witness to the fact—furnishes the most constraining motive “to speak evil of no man, showing all meekness to all men.” (Tit. 3:2, 3.) We cannot condemn others, when we are so conscious of having been so guilty ourselves.

We cannot expect too much from our brethren, when we are still under the conviction of our own weakness. The rule of humility and love will be—Deal tenderly with others—severely with ourselves. Our Master’s pattern illustrates the rule, and sheds light on every step of our path.

The Preacher turns again to his own history. He had first exercised his wisdom in intellectual research. Here he soon found his bottom. Notwithstanding all his advantages of a comprehensive understanding—all his extensive and multifarious resources—when he said he would be wise, it was far from him—far off—deep, deep—exceeding deep. He was always opening some new vein in the golden mine.

Yet even his powerful mind was made to feel its limits, and to cry out—Who can find it out? “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it.” (Ps. 139:6.) Heavenly wisdom teaches the same lesson, only with a deeper and more practical impression. Our highest knowledge is but a mere atom, when compared with the unsearchable extent of our ignorance.

The more we know of God—his nature (Job 11:7)—his works (Ps. 92:5)—his dispensations (Rom. 11:33), the more we are humbled in the sense of our ignorance. What Calvin wisely calls ‘a learned ignorance’—a well-instructed contentment to be ignorant of what God has covered from us—this is at once our duty and our rest.

There is much that is far off—not only from our senses, but from our understanding—exceeding deep to men—even to angels. (1 Pet. 1:12.) Nay—the plainest surface needs Divine teaching for the practical knowledge of it. Solomon’s disappointment could not be attributed to any want of heart in his object. Nothing could exceed his indefatigable industry in its pursuit. He heaps word upon word to attempt some adequate conception of the intensity of his ardour.

‘I and my heart turned every way—left no means unattempted exactly to discover wisdom’—persevering in despite of all difficulties. He was far more stimulated by the grandeur of his object, than disheartened by the difficulty of attaining it. Nor was he content with the mere knowledge of facts. He would seek and search out principles—the reason of things, tracing effects to their causes.

But his interest was mainly fixed in knowing the wickedness of folly—specially of that sin, which bears upon it the peculiar stamp of folly (Gen. 34:7.)—yea—that well deserves the name of madness. For what is man living for his own lusts, but the picture of man having lost his understanding? (Hos. 4:11.) But in this unhallowed track he plunged himself into perilous hazard.

Far better (as our first parents found too late) to know nothing of evil, than to learn it experimentally. Far better would it have been for Solomon to have known foolishness and madness by observation, by the records of conscience, by the testimony of the word, than by the terrible personal experiment. Who has not need of the prayer—“Keep thy servant also from presumptuous sins”? (Ps. 19:13.) Practical godliness is the keeping of the soul.

“He that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and that wicked one toucheth him not.” (1 John 5:18.)

We have had many striking pictures of the vanity of the world, and its utter insufficiency for our happiness. We are now turning over to another page to see the vileness of sin—its certain tendency to our misery and ruin. Solomon had often drawn this graphical picture for the warning of others. Here he describes the apparatus of a fowler as the picture of the heart of the unprincipled woman.

Such a tissue of snares, nets, and bands!—too subtle even for himself—the wisest of the wise—to escape! It is an affecting record in the after-page of sacred history—that “among many nations there was no king like him, who was beloved of his God; nevertheless even him did outlandish women cause to err.” (Neh. 13:16, with 1 Kings, 11:1–8.) But mark the mighty power of the temptation! Such a multitude of devices!

Such consummate skill in the application of them! the spell of enchantment chaining her deluded victims with irresistible influence! What then is the escape from this extreme peril? Man’s highest moral sense—all his strength of resolution—is absolutely powerless. The Sovereign grace of God is Omnipotent. Prayer brings this secure cover, and spreads it over those who, like Joseph in similar temptation (Gen. 39:9, 10), are good before him.

‘He that displeaseth God by walking in the bye-paths of sin, God shall withhold his grace from him, and he shall be tempted, and foiled. But whoso pleaseth God by walking in his holy ways, God shall so assist him with his grace, that when he is tempted, he shall escape. But the sinner shall be taken by her (Prov. 2:19; 22:14)—described so fearfully—more bitter than death! We read of the bitterness of death (1 Sam. 15:32), and of a worse bitterness.

“The end of a strange woman is bitter as wormwood, and her steps take hold on hell.” (Prov. 5:4, 5.) ‘Death may be sweetened and sanctified, made a welcome and desirable thing to a believer. But the bitterness of hell is incurable. Death may be honourable, to die in a good cause, to go to the grave in peace, lamented, desired, with the sweet savour of a holy life, and many good works to follow one.

But for a man to putrefy alive, under the plague of impure lust—to make shipwreck of his honour—to put hell into his conscience—to bury his name, his substance, his soul and body—in the bosom of an harlot—this is a bitterness beyond that of death’—not only separating the soul from the body, but separating soul and body eternally from God.

Such is the poor deluded sinner! and on the brink of such frightful ruin—when he loses his only safe keeping—watchfulness over himself—dependence upon his God! Let us once more take this valuable lesson from one, who eminently practised it himself, and therefore was the better fitted to inculcate it upon us.

“I keep under my body”—said the great apostle—“and bring it into subjection; lest that by any means, after I have preached to others, I myself should be a cast-away.” (1 Cor. 9:27.)

Behold! a sad testimony he is about to give. Conceive him looking at the multitude of his courtiers standing before him—counting one by one to find the account how many faithful and true—his soul seeking, but not finding it clearly to his judgment. Yet the result, as he could obtain it, found one man among a thousand only—of godly women among them not even one. What a contrast to his father’s house and court!

“Mine eyes”—said the man of God—“are upon the faithful in the land, that they may dwell with me.” (Ps. 101:6.) We cannot suppose, that Solomon’s judgment of woman was an universal sweeping condemnation. He had no difficulty to find female virtue in its own legitimate sphere. And many are the testimonies which he has given of its value.

Who would scruple to adopt Luther’s judgment, that ‘there is nought on earth so lovely as a woman’s heart, with God’s grace to guide its love’? But here his view was evidently confined to the walls of his own harem. (Comp. 1 Kings 11:3.) And among the thousand “strange women” (1 Ki 11:1) dwelling in that crowded seraglio he himself living in the open breach of God’s law (1 Ki 11:10)—in the gross violation of marriage purity—and casting away all the domestic happiness of endeared affection and undivided love—how could he expect to find “the virtuous woman,” whom he so beautifully portrays—“her price far above rubies”?

Here therefore he only informs us, that, looking where he had no warrant to find the jewel—the result was unmingled disappointment. And such will always be the fruit of sin. Child of God! Be thankful for the bitterness of the draught from the “broken cistern,” as the weaning discipline, that turns your heart back to your God.

This is a most important verse. It opens up to us an hidden mystery—man’s original, and his awful apostasy from it—how God made man—how man unmade himself. Lo! Thus the Preacher calls our attention to his humbling discovery. All his other discoveries were absorbed in this one. This only have I found. All the streams of wickedness were beyond the ken of his sight. But he saw enough to trace the direful fall as the fountain-head of corruption.

Man is indeed ‘very far gone’—as far as possible—‘from original righteousness. ‘When the progenitors of our race came from the forming hand of their Creator, they were the subjects of perfect intellectual and moral rectitude. There was no distortion in the understanding, no obliquity in the will, no corruption in the affections. There was perfect truth in the mind, perfect purity in the heart, perfect practical holiness.

They were “made in the image and likeness of God” himself, which, according to the apostle, consisteth “in knowledge, righteousness, and true holiness. Otherwise than this man could not be made by a pure, holy, and benevolent Being. Such was man—made upright. Yet “being in honour, he abideth not. How is the gold become dim, and the most fine gold changed!” (Ps. 49:12; Lam. 4:1.) How different from the holy creature which came out of his Maker’s hands!

Why he decreed his fall, so that without this decree of his will it could not have been—we dare not ask. Suffice it to know, that if he so far permitted, as not to prevent it, he was in no degree the cause of it. He did not drop the poison. Nor did he withdraw from him the original gift of integrity.

On the other hand, he was not bound unchangeably to confirm him in this gift, to restrain his will, or to force upon him that Omnipotent grace, of which he felt no need, which he had no desire to seek; yet which—had he sought it—might have been his victory. ‘It was therefore as clear, that God was without fault, as that man was the maker of his own evil. We have entered upon this trackless path with fear and trembling.

‘I sought’—said the godly Augustine—‘whence evil should be, and I sought ill. Nor did I see that evil, which was in that very inquiry of mine. All we know is—“An enemy hath done this.” (Matt. 13:28.) The origin of the evil was in Satan’s heart. Man’s responsibility was his consent to it—his abuse of his own free will, not—like God’s—unchangeably holy, but mutable—even in its highest strength of uprightness.

Here therefore was a voluntary act—the free choice of his independent will; and therefore wilful apostasy from God. Thus man in the exercise of his own free will became the author of his own ruin. Nor let us suppose that we, under more favourable circumstances, might have prevented the evil. They sought out—our first parents, and their whole posterity with them. For the whole race was in their loins, as Levi was in the loins of Abraham.

All therefore were made responsible, as sharers of the corruption. The judgment was pronounced—not only on the individual offender, but upon the guilty race to the end. As punishment is the consequence of sin, how could they be punished in Adam, if in some way they had not sinned in him? We cannot dispute against facts. We see the present punishment of Adam’s sin in every child of his race—a punishment, which we trace back clearly to the moment of his fall.

As Pascal remarks—‘Without this incomprehensible mystery, we are ourselves incomprehensible to our own mind. The clue which knits together our whole fortune and condition, takes its turn, and plies in this amazing abyss; insomuch that man will appear no less inconceivable without this mystery, than this mystery appears inconceivable to man. They have sought out many inventions to fall away from God.

Man’s discontent with the happiness which God hath provided for him—this was his first invention. Hence he fancied a higher perfection than that in which he had been confirmed. Hence he yielded to follow the new way, which Satan and his deceived heart had placed before him—despising his Creator’s law—suspecting his truth—nay, even aspiring to share his Sovereignty.

This first invention was the parent of the many—all marked by the same falsehood, folly, and impiety—all flowing out of the bottomless depths of the heart alienated from God, full of windings and turnings—“turning every one to his own way.” (Isa. 53:6.) All sin is only a form of self-love, instead of the love of God. The many inventions take the throne in turn.

Former vanities soon produce the weariness of disappointment, others step into their places, so that this usurped dominion is changed only, not subdued. Man is constantly meddling with endless questions instead of the path of duty—the way of safety—the one only way to God. Never can he charge God. Let him cast all the blame upon himself, and cast himself upon the second Adam for restoration. But what is the present picture?

No ruin is to be compared with this sad sight—man’s original uprightness ‘in his great fall utterly robbed and spoiled. The whole evil is in the man, and the whole of man is in the evil. If the people, who had seen the glory of the first temple, wept when they beheld the glory of the second, only because it was inferior in external magnificence; might there not well be “a fountain of tears” drawn out by the sight of the first spiritual temple in its “perfection of beauty”—totally defiled—yea, made a temple of Satan?

Blessed be God! He has provided—not restoration only—but complete security. ‘To Adam he gave the power to live, if he would. To the faithful he has given the will, that they might live. To him he gave a happiness, from which he could fall. To us he has given a state of grace and happiness, which we cannot lose. And then—it will not always be as now.

“We, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.” (2 Pet. 3:13; Rev. 21:1–4.) Man will then be, as before, the temple of God; only in undefiled holiness, and inconceivable glory. If our first state was good, even when mutable; how much more blessed, when it shall be confirmed in unchangeable standing, and infinite enjoyment!