Chapter Nine

THE mysteries of Providence still pressed heavily upon Solomon’s mind. Proud man would bring the God of heaven and earth to his bar. His humble child is taught the infinite distance between the creature and God. He therefore bows before him, and hears the voice out of the cloud—“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Ps. 46:10.) He could not find out all the work of God. (Ecclesiastes 8:17.) But his search brought out many valuable discoveries.

The security of God’s people was a bright and precious truth. He considered in his heart to declare all this, that the righteous and the wise are in the hand of God. Where could they be safer? Here is rest indeed. What more do we desire as the ground of our confidence, than this truth sealed and witnessed on the conscience—All his saints are in thy hand? (Deut. 33:3.) We are spared no trials however severe—no conflict however painful—no furnace however heated.

But nothing touches our I foundation. We are in his hand. We are “a crown and diadem. Gladly would the great enemy secure the prize. But we are in the hand of the Lord. (Isa. 62:3.) We are in the fold—exposed to peril.

But the security is—“None shall pluck them out of my hand.” (John 10:28.) Our works also are with God—remembered for good, and to be brought out before the assembled world “in that day, when he maketh up his jewels.” (Mal. 3:16, 17.) And yet—notwithstanding this high privilege, the heart of God towards us—whether it be love or hatred—no man knoweth by all that is before them. All things come alike to all.

There is one event to the righteous—to the good—to the clean—to him that sacrificeth—to him that feareth an oath—on the one side; to the wicked—to the unclean—to him that sacrificeth not—to him that sweareth on the other side. The same Providential dispensations belong to both.

If Abraham was rich, so was Haman. (Gen. 13:2; Esth. 5:11.) If Ahab was slain in battle, so was Josiah. (1 Kings 22:34; 2 Kings 23:29.) The Lord’s outward dispensation proved therefore neither his love nor his hatred. Therefore

“Judge not the Lord by feeble sense.” Olney Hymns.

The inward work is the real demonstrative evidence. A larger portion of outward prosperity may be dealt out to the wicked. (Ps. 73:2–12.) Yet where is the child of God who would envy this lot, or who would change for it the lowest experience of his Father’s love?

Solomon is here continuing his subject. He seems to consider that in some view it is an evil, that all things come alike to all. Not that he reflects upon this appointment of God, as if it were evil in itself. But it is evil in its consequence and abuse as it were of no account whether men were righteous or wicked, since there is one event to all.

We cannot wonder at this perversion, when the heart is described to be evil—yea, full of evil—evil habitual—deliberate—unmingled—from the fountain-head. Stand before the mirror. How hard to believe one’s self so vile as is here pourtrayed! And yet, when under the deep teaching of the Spirit of God, how can one forbear the confession—“Behold! I am vile.” (Job 40:4.) ‘O Lord’—said the dying Thomas Scott—‘abhor me not, though I be most abhorrible.

There can be no exaggeration or mistake. It is our Maker—the Great Searcher of the heart—he who alone knows it—it is he that writes, and draws the picture. Nay, he gives a list of the enormities—pouring out of the heart—defiling every member of the body—every faculty of the soul. Nor is the picture confined to any particular age or nation. It is the heart of the sons of men—the history of every child of man in his natural unconverted state.

Even under the highest influence of morality—evil passions, as vile as the source from whence they come—are only waiting the unrestrained moment, ere the torrent flow out. Nor are the ignorant only in the list. Men of the most acute sagacity—the most profound wisdom—the largest grasp of mind—the most honoured talent, are shut up in the same prison—the blinded captives of sin! Can there be a more humiliating picture of man?

This fulness of evil unrestrained rushes onward to madness—be it remembered—responsible madness—the will consenting to the sin—the heart loving it—the whole course of it pursued to the end. Let the sinner think a moment. Is not every act of rebellion against God an act of madness? For “who hath hardened himself against God, and hath prospered? Or “who hath resisted his will?” (Job 9:4; Rom. 9:19.) Then look at man in his character, habits, and judgment.

His choice of worldly in preference to heavenly things surely betrays the loss of the right exercise of his understanding. It is the maniac throwing away his gold, and preferring straws to pearls. You see man in miserable delusion—the unconscious dupe of an universal imposition. Such is the dark view as Solomon saw it, and as every man—had he eyes to see—might see it in his own heart, or in the world around him.

Shall we extend the view to the spiritual apprehensions of the Gospel—man’s interest in it, and his perverted judgment of it? What is the sight before us? A world of sinners on the brink of ruin! Yet the greatest I good—the great gift of God—that which covers us from all evil, and blesses us with all good—that which fits us to lead a Divine life on earth, and to die full of immortal hopes—this good is slighted—despised!

Surely it is no libel, but plain solemn truth, to look at this sight, and cry—Madness is in their hearts! And then again, to see this mass of our fellow-sinners, trifling with infinite evil—the everlasting wrath of God; while the wheels of night and day are fast hurrying them unprepared to “fall into his hands!” (Heb. 10:31.) Can this be the sight of rational beings? What else but madness in their hearts could thus drive them onward to self-destruction?

Sad, indeed, is the consciousness that this is no mental aberration, but a spiritual world within, where all is distorted and contradictory; and where the unhappy victims of the delusion are so depraved, that they cannot understand their own depravity. Such a world of evil! Did we but know it, could we trifle with sin? It is impossible for the sinner to be more dangerously mad than he is, except by growing into greater wickedness.

What worse madness is human nature capable of?—fleeing from God—from mercy—from heaven—serving the devil—drudging in the world of vanity and sin—living under the curse of God, and on the brink of damnation. And yet more awful is the thought, that, as regards the mass—madness is in their hearts while they live. They persist in this course to the end.

Time will soon be a blank and shadow—Eternity a present reality, where the madmen will be brought to their senses in hopeless conviction. As sure as the Bible is true—this is true. After that they go to the dead.—Alas! not to the “blessed dead that die in the Lord.” (Rev. 14:13.) What meetness has there been for that home? No home, therefore, can be for them in that state of bliss. How important is it to cherish deep spiritual sensibilities!

This picture—could we behold it with the piercing eye of eternity—would be perhaps the sight every moment of our poor thoughtless fellow-sinners, pouring into the regions of dark despair, adding their miserable souls to the countless millions fixed for ever—in the world of “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” (Matt. 22:11.) Awful beyond thought or conception is the immortality of hell.

What a wondrous power of preventing mercy, and of Omnipotent grace must there be in the Gospel—that can hide a sinner from such hopeless ruin, and bring him out into light, liberty, and salvation! Whatever points to the Redeemer brings this sovereign remedy to view.

Solomon had before taken an opposite view. He “had praised the dead which were already dead, more than the living, which were yet alive. Here however he praises the high advantage of life above death. Awful indeed is it to see the state of the living—their hearts full of evil—even to madness. But while there is life—while we are joined to all the living, there is hope.

Living on the land of hope, the very possibility of escaping the dark despairing home of the impenitent dead, is an unspeakable blessing. One almost seems to realize the awful scene of these dark regions. And comparing the meanest thing with the noblest dead, we are ready to take up the Proverb—A living dog is better than a dead lion. Another ground for this preference is that the living know that they shall die.

Hence therefore the time and opportunity—perhaps also the desire—to make preparation. There is time to fix our interest in heaven—to live upon the real substantials of godliness—to look upon this world’s glare with sober dignity, as utterly beneath “the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. All of this world is passing away.

The glory and great end of life is that life, which makes it “gain to die.” (Phil. 1:21.) Its possession is but for a moment—‘only an annuity for life; not a portion for eternity. On the other hand, the dead know not anything. They have no further knowledge of anything here on earth. They have no further reward of their worldly labour. The memory of them is soon forgotten.

The love, hatred, and envy, which they bore to others, and others to them, is now perished—so far as connected with this world. Whatever might have been their portion on earth, they have it no longer. This is the world—all that it can give. This is the substance of those who have their “portion—their good things in their lifetime.” (Ps. 17:14; Luke, 16:25.) What is it to thee—child of God!—but a very bubble?

What is it as compared with thy rich reversion—“begotten as thou art to an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away?” (1 Pet. 1:3, 4.) And yet to see men of large and comprehensive minds—living as if there was no God to whom they are accountable—no heaven or hell to receive them for ever—or as if these states were painted shadows, instead of Divine realities! This surely is besotted blindness.

Can it be anything but wilful wickedness, that centres the heart in alienation from God—in darkness and in death?

Some striking pictures of vanity have been before us. Here is God’s bright remedy. Go thy way. Enjoy your mercies while you have them. The charge of melancholy is a libel upon religion. The man that is an heir to “a lively hope, anchored within the veil” (1 Pet. 1:3; Heb. 6:19)—what ground has he for melancholy?

Why—we find him “greatly rejoicing,” even in the midst of “heaviness.” (1 Pet. 1:6.) A sinner has no right—a Christian—supported by Divine strength, favour, and consolation, has no reason—to complain. His treasure includes the promise of all that he wants, in deep sense of his own unworthiness, and of his Father’s undeserved love. Eat thy bread and drink thy wine with a merry heart. Temporal blessings are doubly sweet, as coming from him.

He is exalted to bestow—we are invited to receive—them. All is our special portion. We are not only the heirs of heaven, but we are new-born to “inherit the earth.” (Ps. 37:11; Matt. 5:5.) He has the clearest confidence for the heaven above, who has that heaven now in his own soul. Thus indeed we have the largest—because the sanctified—enjoyment of earthly blessings. We have them in connexion with the grand mystery of mercy—God now accepteth our work.

Bright indeed is the sunbeam of Divine favour. The way is now opened—friendship with his fallen creatures, who had no right to expect anything but eternal banishment from his presence. The blood of the sacrifice has made the consecrated pathway. Through this medium all his thoughts are peaceful to us. The true means now to enjoy the creature is to find this acceptance with God. Doubt not his fatherly heart. Expect nothing from him but good.

Expect no good from any other quarter. Solomon’s directions are for a joyous religion. We must not indeed forget the “time to mourn” (Ecclesiastes 3:4) nor the moderation needed in our times of rejoicing (1 Cor. 7:30), nor the profit of seasons of humiliation and restraint. (Dan. 10:2, 3.) Yet we should remember our obligation to shine—to exhibit our white garments of praise, and use the fragrant ointment (John 12:3), as the customary mark of festive occasions.

Nor should this be the rule for particular times, or peculiar circumstances. Let thy garments be always white—a rule in the true spirit of the precept, which involves both our duty and our privilege—“Rejoice evermore.” (1 Thess. 5:16.) In our deepest sorrow our ground for rejoicing is the same. It is indeed too rare to find a real Christian—much more rare to find a joyful one. And yet a gloomy professor is a sad sight; neither the Church nor the Gospel has sympathy with him.

He is gloomy, not because he has too much religion, but too little. Glad indeed should we be to bring him out of his dark shadow—to bring a sunbeam upon his brooding spirit. Let him think of the glorious work of the Divine Mediator—giving to his afflicted ones “beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” (Isa. 61:3.) Do we really believe the Gospel to be “glad tidings of great joy?” (Luke 2:10.) Then surely we belie this professed belief by “hanging our heads like a bulrush” (Isa. 58:5) and shewing the marks of an inveterate melancholy!

Is there no danger, lest an unthankful spirit should wither our present blessings? It is not well to take account from day to day of the mercies—sovereign and undeserved—flowing in upon us? Ill does it become us to appear before our Father with a wrinkled brow instead of acknowledging his just claim to our affectionate, dutiful, unreserved, delighting confidence.

Solomon could not have laid down his last rule of happiness without a poignant pang, in the recollection of his own awful violation of it—Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest—a single—undivided love—so contrary to the unrestrained lust, which had been his appetite and indulgence.

Here is indeed a special freeness of delight and liberty of love—yet under the godly restraint of honour and sobriety. (Gen. 26:8; Prov. 5:19.) This rule gives no sanction to the state of celibacy, as a higher level of Christian perfection—contrary to our Maker’s express declaration—“It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18) and not less opposed to “marriage”—as declared to be not only lawful and blameless, but “honourable in all men.” (Heb. 13:4.) The difference between conjugal and adulterous love, is—that in the one a man may live joyfully—sweetly enjoying his life—the other belongs to one, whose “feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell.” (Prov. 5:5.) The godly union of souls in mumutual forbearance with each other’s infirmities, and mutual stimulating each other’s graces—this surely is ‘a fragment of true happiness that has survived the fall.

As one remarks—who had tasted this sweet cup with the most refined enjoyment—‘Conjugal happiness lives in the depths of the heart, even amid the sorrows and trials of life. Indeed it is by these only the more deeply rooted, as I know by my own experience, thank God. And well will the man acknowledge this gift which God hath given him (Prov. 19:14) under the sun—to be, if not his best—yet his temporal portion—his staff—support—earthly rest.

‘Child of God—Christ’s glory, dignity, and office is to love his bride—the Church. Thy glory is to imitate thy Lord. And yet how wisely are we reminded—twice, for our deeper impression—that these days of enjoyment are the days of the life of our vanity—“few and evil” at best. (Gen. 47:9.) As to the present vanity—most valuable is the advice—‘Cling to one another in your grief. Let neither conceal it from the other.

Do not try to calm one another down, but rather let your sorrow flow out into a common stream. It will then be changed into a quiet happiness, and will unite you more intimately than mere prosperity ever could have done. Cling to one another, I say. Community of love changes the profoundest grief into a blessing from God. As to the future, the recollection comes to us. Sooner or later—one or the other will be in desolate loneliness.

Here then we may listen to the voice of one who speaks from the mouth of God—“This I say, brethren—the time is short; it remaineth, that those that have wives be as though they had none.” (1 Cor. 7:29.) ‘All those things that now please us shall pass from us, or we from them; those things that concern the other life are permanent as the numbers of eternity.

And although at the resurrection there shall be no relation of husband and wife, and no marriage shall be celebrated but the marriage of the lamb; yet then shall be remembered how men and women passed through this state, which is a type of that; and from this Sacramental union all holy pairs shall pass to the spiritual and eternal, where love shall be their portion, and joys shall crown their heads, and they shall lie in the bosom of Jesus, and in the heart of God, to eternal ages.’

Conjugal and social affections are our warranted indulgence; but not so that we should be given up to them. We have now a rule, to stimulate the glow of vital energy. There are works to be done—difficulties to be overcome—talents to be traded with—the whole might to be engaged. And in truth—‘man’s wisdom in this dying world consists in cheerfully using present comforts, and diligently attending to present duties. Every moment brings its own responsibility.

And the rule for the discharge of this responsibility is—Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Obviously some limitation is implied. ‘What we are admonished thus to do must be in its nature lawful and right. The hand may find to do what God has forbidden. But this, instead of being done with might, must not be done at all. That which occasion calls for (Judge, 9:33, M. R.), in the path of duty and of Providence, is the thing to be done.

The active exercise of the hands as the instrument of the work, will bring a fruitful result. This direction finds its place in the Apostolical code—“Not slothful in business” (Rom. 12:11)—Do it with thy might. Sir M. Hale’s advice is full of weight—“The crumbs and fragments of time should be furnished with their suitable employments. It is precious; and therefore let none of it be lost.

Again—‘Remember to observe industry and diligence; not only as civil means to acquire a competency for yourself and your family, but also as an act of obedience to his command and ordinance; by means whereof you make it become in a manner spiritualized into an act of religion. How ready is this obedience, when the object is near the heart! What energy it gives to that effort, which is so needful for success.

For indeed ‘nothing of worth or weight, can be achieved with half a mind, with a faint heart, with a lame endeavour. Would Stephenson have accomplished his locomotive triumph, with a powerful opposition thwarting him at every step of his progress—if he had not done it with his might? Every man must have an object of pursuit to keep him in healthful exercise. The dreaming privilege of doing nothing will soon melt away into real misery.

‘Let others take the riches’—said Melanchthon—‘give me the work. But the main sphere for this important and invaluable rule is the work for eternity—the “working out of our own salvation.” (Phil. 2:12.) The purchase price binds us to the work under the most constraining obligation. (1 Cor. 6:20.) We cease to be our own, from the first moment that we are bound to him. And here—in his work—is need of our might—all our might—might flowing from the fountain of might.

There is no illusion of great things to be done at some distant future. It is the present energy—the moment’s work—the instant sacrifice—the whole-hearted service—the first of the day—the first part all the day. Who ever found Satan asleep in his work? ‘It is lawful’—the proverb reminds us—‘to be taught even by an enemy. His might is always put out to work. So let it be with me. Let my might be thrown into every prayer.

Let every effort of faith—every exercise of perseverance be at work. As a godly Puritan expresses his ‘good wish that what my hand findeth to do—I may do it with all my might: that I may be of the number of those that spend themselves with labour, and not of those who waste in rust and laziness. Lord! let me rather wear out in the work, than consume (like a garment laid by with moths) for want of use.

Ought not this verse to be our daily text—written in our inward parts—before us in our first waking hour—‘What have I to do to-day? What duty—what work of love?—what talent to be employed? What service does my Lord call me to do for him?’—“Lord! what wilt thou have me to do?” (Acts, 9:6.) The more vigorous the excercise, the more strength. Every step supplies the strength. “The way of the Lord is strength to the upright”—and how is it communicated?

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.” (Prov. 10:29; Isa. 40:29–31.) But look at our Great Exemplar—How fine the exhibition of determination for the work—“I must work the works of him that sent me while it is day. Here was doing with his might—the motive also was the same—“The night cometh, when no man can work.” (John 9:4.) There is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest. Here the highest glory of earth concludes.

Thou art travelling to the end. Every moment brings thee nearer. And when come to the grave, there is no work there. We cannot do our undone duties there. All power is withered and gone. There is no device there. All scheming is gone. No way of escape can be planned. No knowledge is there of any means of help. No wisdom—spiritual or intellectual—nothing that distinguishes man made in the image of God from “the beasts that perish.

A melancholy picture of man—arrived at “the house appointed for all living!” (Job 30:23.) And what—if he shall have trifled away his “twelve hours of the day” (John 11:9)—if his light shall have gone out—if his work shall have been found undone—if the night shall have overtaken him, while amusing himself with the fool’s word—To-morrow! If religion is no business now, what will it be in the dying hour? One day may be worth years. Wasted hours will find us out at last.

A little neglect will be an eternal loss. Oh, the dreadful gain of winning the world by the loss of heaven! There will be but one wail throughout eternity, condemning self—justifying God—“O my soul, thou hast destroyed thyself.” (Hos. 13:9.) For our great work we have only one little life, which with all its precious privileges and solemn responsibilities is passing—oh! how quickly—away!

Make haste, O man, to do Whatever must be done; Thou hast no time to lose in sloth, Thy day will soon be gone. Make haste, O man, to live!

Up, then, with speed, and work; Fling ease and self away: This is no time for thee to sleep; Up, watch, and work, and pray. Make haste, O man, to live.

Make haste, O man, to live; Thy Time is almost o’er; O sleep not, dream not, but arise; The Judge is at the door. Make haste, O man, to live. Bonar’s Hymns of Faith and Hope, p. 262.

Solomon is now returning to another view of the matter, which caused him perplexity. If he would have us “work out” our object with might, it must be “with fear and trembling.” (Philip, 2:12.) Persons of feeble and undecided habits may lose many valuable opportunities of doing good. On such let the rule be closely applied—“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Others of a more sanguine temperament never dream of any issue but success.

They need a balance on the other side—humility—self-distrust. Let them be here reminded, that the best means, and the most powerful agency, will not ensure success; and that, when they have done the work, they must commit the event to God. It is natural indeed to believe, that the race would be to the swift, and the battle to the strong; that prudent wisdom would obtain a competent provision, and courtly skill would be the way to favour. But it is not always so.

The racer may make an incautious step. ‘The fortune of war’ (so called) may take an unfavourable turn. Men of wisdom continue to be poor, and gifted with no very successful favour. Oh! Christian—do not you find it hard to possess gifts, and not to rest in them?—to have riches, and not to trust in them?—to have wisdom and skill, and not to glory in them?—to exercise simple dependence upon God, as if we had and were nothing? Far is he from discouraging the use of means.

He would only direct us in the use of them not to “sacrifice to our net.” (Hab. 1:16.) There is, indeed, an adaptation of these means to the end, and a tendency to work the proposed end. But with all men’s practised and persevering efforts, the issue is with God—Time and chance happeneth unto them all.

Not that there is anything fortuitous or unforeseen, but something that we cannot see—some opportunity of time—favourable or unfavourable—which balances against seeming probabilities—some occurrence which Providence casts in the way, which determines success with a decisive effect upon our lot in life. We see not the direction, and therefore we cannot clearly judge. But all things fall into the place infallibly ordained by God.

And if it is casual to us, it is counsel to him—a train of causes appointed to “work the counsel of his own will” (Eph. 1:11) the under-working of that hand which made the worlds. And this wise and holy hand directs the most apparently fortuitous events to the accomplishment of his own most righteous will. Shall we then claim to know the secresies of his Providence?

No—rather let us lie before him in silent unreserved submission, and leave to him the free liberty to guide and govern us in his own way. We are sure to come out clear from all our perplexity, if our eye be steadily fixed upon him. But none of this doubtfulness belongs to the ways of God. There is no uncertainty in the Christian race. (1 Cor. 9:26.) The battle is for the strong in the strength of the Lord.

“The meat that endureth” is reserved to the “labourer.” (John 6:21.) If fools go away with the world, we envy them not. The man of understanding grasps an unsearchable treasure. The favour of God is found, when heavenly skill knows where to seek it. A sure covenant dispenses spiritual blessings. Providence uncertain to us promiscuously bestows the earthly portion.

Time and chance happen to all alike, and where they are least expected. For man knoweth not his time. (Ecclesiastes 8:7.) This is true alike of success or failure, either of which depends—not upon man’s effort, but upon God’s supreme will. The illustrations limit the reference to the ungodly, and shew the ignorance of the time to be man’s ruin for eternity—as the fishes taken in an evil net, or the birds caught in a snare.

Can we wonder at the yearning of the faithful minister—following precious souls even to the very gates of perdition—if haply he might rescue here and there one from this unutterable ruin? Solemn indeed to us all is the warning of the coming day, that “as a snare shall it come on all them that dwell on the face of the whole earth.” (Luke 21:35.) Each of us has our time.

Evil will that time be, if it falls suddenly upon us; if it finds us slumbering on the brink of eternity; trifling with its infinitely momentous concern; making the world our portion—our refuge—our rest. (Luke 12:19, 20.) But will it be an evil time to those that are watching—waiting—serving their Lord in the joyous expectation of his coming, and of being with him for ever? (Luke 12:35–43.) Blessed Lord! “Hasten thy coining in thy time.”

This incident—illustrating the power of wisdom—passed under Solomon’s own eye. He saw it under the sun. And though others might have passed it by, it seemed great unto him—perhaps the more so, as being overclouded with poverty. Here was a Great King against a little city—a besieging army building great bulwarks against it, when there were but few men within it. The danger appeared to be iminent, and the destruction certain.

Yet at the moment of extremity one poor wise man by his wisdom delivered the city. We might have expected the highest rewards for this poor wise man. Yet we are told that no man remembered him. When he had wrought the deliverance, no man looked after him. He sunk into forgetfulness. His wisdom was despised, and his words were not heard. Such is the story—What is the application to ourselves, that which makes it practical truth?

Learn to estimate men by their wisdom and godliness, not by their outward show. Value wisdom as the gift of God. The more we feel our need of the gift, the more stimulating must be our earnest pleading for the continued supply—The wise man learned from this history that it was better than strength, inasmuch as one poor wise man in the city shewed himself stronger than a large army without.

And most encouraging is it to see great results from apparently feeble means, which the world know nothing of, and which, if they did know, they would only despise. Learn also to prepare for disappointment. Work for the best interests of your fellow-creatures; but not for their approbation or reward. Let not their praise be our motive. Many may obtain what they did not deserve; or what justly belonged to us, as Americus stole the laurel from Columbus.

But there is no ground to be disheartened by failure. If we miss the worldly favour, and seem to be forgotten, the time is at hand, when “the honour that cometh from God only” will be found to be the substantial and unfading reward.

We have a plain proof here of the vicissitudes of Providence just adverted to (ver. 11)—We see how that the battle was not to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the man of understanding—The man was poor with all his wisdom, and little in favour with all his skill. His words were not remembered. Well would it be for us, if this were the only instance of forgetfulness.

But the thought of the Great Deliverer flashes across one’s mind—and with the remembrance of daring and most guilty forgetfulness, the slow remembrance of ungrateful hearts. How many are living, as if there had been no deliverance wrought—or no need of deliverance! May memory be filled with the deepest sense of infinite obligation to Him, who well deserves the name of the Deliverer, “even Jesus, which delivered us from the wrath to come!” (1 Thess. 1:10.)

‘A very remarkable verse’—Dr. Chalmers observes—‘in these days of mobocracy! There seems however to be upon the surface some apparent inconsistency. The words of the wise man had just been spoken of as slighted, and not remembered. Here however considerable weight is ascribed to them. Though the case of the foregoing verse is of frequent occurrence, yet exceptions may be found.

The words of the wise, spoken in quiet and unobtrusiveness, may be little thought of at the time, and yet may command attention, when circumstances bring them out. Often will they drown the senseless clamour of him that ruleth among fools. Noisy popularity indeed has its influence for a moment. But the real and solid good are the words that are heard in quiet. Popular oratory in the pulpit may stimulate excitement.

But it needs much unction and humility to give it practical influence. We are directed to behold our Lord’s ministry, as words heard in quiet—“Behold my servant!—he shall not strive or cry; neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets.” (Matt. 12:18, 19.) Yet this implies no heartlessness, but the “doctrine” dropping as “the rain upon the mown grass”—upon hearts made ready to receive its Divine influence. (Deut. 32:2; Ps. 72:6.) The contrast drawn from the history of the wise man is vivid.

Not only is wisdom better than strength, but better than weapons of war—strength made ready, and armed for the exigency. And yet if we see that one wise man, though poor and unhonoured, can do much good; sad indeed is the conviction forced upon us from the contrary side. One sinner destroyeth much good. This is the picture on all sides—in a kingdom—the black mark upon Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin (1 Kings 22:52).

Trace the evil in the different circles of contagion—“Evil communications corrupt good manners” (1 Cor. 15:33)—a moral and spiritual pestilence! Witness the infidel poisoning the unwary by the plausibility of his evil—the Sabbath-breaker’s evil example—the enticing influence of the pleasure-loving worldling.

Look at the Church—the careless, unenlightened, or heretical, minister—the inconsistent professor—as the “little leaven, leavening the whole lump” (1 Cor. 5:6)—“the root of bitterness springing up, and troubling, and thereby many defiled.” (Heb. 12:15.) In the family, how awful the spreading corruption of parental example—the taint communicated from this source! When will its deadly influence cease to be felt? In a vast multitude of cases, alas! it flows on to eternity.

And who of us is freed from the responsibility of spreading this plague? How many have yet further communicated the contagion received from us!—how many has it confirmed in the ways of ungodliness! And too often how fruitless have been the persevering efforts to melt away the evil! Bitter, indeed, were the tears, which Mr. Cecil shed over his unavailing efforts to reclaim those, whom he had been too successful in bringing into the infidel snare.

Yet when tears are fruitless, there is blood to cleanse. And here let the contrite sinner lie, where “the fountain is opened for sin” (Zech. 13:1) and where acceptance is ready for the sinner in all its fulness of blessing.