Chapter Ten

The accident here referred to might often happen. Where flies and winged insects of all kinds abounded, one or more falling in might spoil the apothecary’s ointment. Solomon drew many of his illustrations from common life. And his quick discernment made a ready application of the incident to set out and enforce a moral principle.

The lesson which he draws from it is—that as the dead fly, though only a little creature, gives an ill-savour to the most costly ointment; so even a small measure of folly mars a fair reputation for wisdom and honour. He had just before mentioned the awful fact, that “one sinner destroyeth much good. The Apostle—as we have seen—makes a similar statement of the wide-spreading plague even of a small measure of evil.

“A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.” (1 Cor. 5:6.) But it is not only the shame of gross sins that injures purity. A little folly is enough to produce immense mischief. The unguarded moment—the hasty word—the irritable temper—the rudeness of manner—the occasional slip—the supposed harmless eccentricities—all tend to spoil the fragrance of the ointment. The minor morals of the Christian code require strict attention.

Take care that the Christian life is wholly Christianized in outward points. The neglect of serving the Lord in little things excites revolt. The smallest extremities of the system—no less than its more important parts—should be kept sacred for God. Let every corner of the field be cultivated for him. It is not enough that we be “sincere.

We must be “without offence—the sons of God without rebuke”—thinking of things that are “lovely and of good report”—as well as the things that “are honest, just, and true. Thus we shall “shine as lights in the world, holding forth the word of life.” (Phil. 1:10; 2:15, 16; 4:8.) The practical influence of truth is the strongest evidence of its reality. If the standard be only preached, it may be considered impracticable.

Yet where it is manifestly and substantially attained, who can doubt that it is attainable? But the illustration leads us to ask—how did the fly come into the ointment? Was there no lack of proper care in the apothecary? Had the box been carefully closed, the injury might have been avoided. And does not this speak to ourselves?

Is it not when prayer and diligence are neglected, that little inconsistencies are allowed, such as almost imperceptibly destroy the savour of holiness? How important is it to walk uprightly with God, and just in our own appointed sphere to lay ourselves out unreservedly in his service! The dead flies will trouble us to the end. But a watchful self-discipline will be a cover to us. The moral atmosphere will be more clear.

The intellectual character will be elevated and imbued with Christian taste and sobriety. Yet who does not know, that self-government is the most difficult of all governments? Often then let the prayer rise upward—“Teach me good judgment and knowledge.” (Ps. 119:66.) The man of prayer will be in the large receipt of all needful wisdom and grace.

His walk will be like “the Sun of Righteousness,” carrying such “healing in his wings” as to make his very presence the harbinger of joy. Liberty will be connected with a subdued will. There will be a rule—or at least an attempt to rule—over the ruling power of our own spirit. The heart bowing to the self-denying principles of the Bible will realize a mystery of heavenly joy.

“Blessed is he that watcheth, and keepeth his garments, lest he walk naked, and they see his shame.” (Rev. 16:15.)

This is a proverbial rather than a literal maxim. We have had it in substance before. “The wise man’s eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness.” (Ecclesiastes 2:14.) Here it contrasts the wise man’s ready prudence and circumspection with the fool’s rashness and want of thoughtfulness. The right hand is more ready for exercise than the left, and therefore illustrates the better advantage, which the wise man makes of his resources.

He has his principles, as Mr. Newton somewhere remarks—‘at his fingers’ ends. The heart evidently stands for all the faculties—‘the centre of affection—the seat of knowledge—the source of purpose and emotion—the very soul of the spiritual life. For want, however, of sound discipline, we lose the power of mastering the mind.

Frivolous minds continue frivolous to the end of the chapter; amusing themselves with listless vacuity, and creating for themselves fictions of fancy, yielding no solid advantage. Intellectual power—sometimes of a high order—is wasted in this desultory occupation, without issuing in any one practical result. There are various exercises on opposite sides, which shew the great need of the heart being in its right place.

As an excellent Christian writer remarks (and the value of his sentiments will apologize for their length), ‘There is a servility of mind, which leaves it the slave of mere authority, without forming opinions for itself by personal inquiry.

And there is a rude and reckless affectation of mental independence, or liberty of thinking, which leads a man to despise authority, to aim at striking out for himself a system, distinguished from the received opinions of those around him—led, it may be, by a love of singularity, or the vanity of appearing wiser than his neighbour, or perhaps by the condition of his moral feelings, to argue himself into the disbelief of what he wishes not to be true.

From all such distortions of the understanding a regulated mental discipline tends to preserve us. It induces us to approach every subject with a sincere and humble desire for truth; to give its due influence to authority, to give its proper weight to every kind of evidence, without partial views, or imperfect examinations; and to direct the whole powers—not to favour, establish, or overturn particular opinions, but honestly and anxiously to discover what is truth.

A thorough keeping of the heart with God is our best security; living upon truths, not upon notions; seeking—not variety for our taste, but grace for our souls; substituting the spiritual for the sensuous; connecting excited feelings with pure simple doctrines. If we have found the satisfying sweetness of our doctrine, we shall not readily give it up.

But if we do, it is a fearful peril; if our Bible is degraded to a common-place book, we shall lose the keen appetite for its contents. The dread of error will be less felt, and with it will fade away the love of truth. But to come to daily life. The right hand marks the dexterous skill of application. Scriptural examples abound.

Jacob’s careful approach to Esau (Gen. 33:13–16)—Jethro’s wise counsel to Moses (Exod. 18:17–24)—Abigail’s prudent restraint of the murderous impulse (1 Sam. 25:20–35)—Paul’s skilful diversion of the mob from their purpose (Acts, 23:6)—all shewed the heart to be at the right hand. This active energy is most important in the Christian life, when our ever-ready enemy is always on the watch to take us by surprise, and when the habit of instant prayer is our only effectual cover.

But the fool—where is he? Left-handed in his work, everything is in the wrong place. His heart is not in his work, and therefore it does not help him. Not a step does he take by the way without a painful exposure of his folly. He ‘goes about his business as awkwardly as a man whose right hand was tied behind, and he had only his left hand to help him. He needs not tell every one that he is a fool. His conduct leaves no doubt upon the matter.

Nor does this arise from the defect of natural wisdom; but from the want of perception of the value of spiritual wisdom, and the want of heart to apply for it, where it is always “liberally given.” (Jam. 1:5.) Hence he stumbles in the plainest path. He is always behind his time. He sees things too late. His whole course is blundering, and shewing ‘the ridiculous licentiousness of the tongue,’ he becomes the object of pity and contempt.

It is true, however, that this judgment upon the wise man and the fool is often formed upon most mistaken premises. The man—wise in the estimation of the world—is often proved to be the most foolish of men. For—as an old commentator remarks—‘who can be more foolish than he, who turns away from Christ the Author of our salvation—who prefers transitory to eternal things—who denies the expectation of the future life—or who hopes to obtain it in the course of folly.

Surely—whatever be his reputation among his fellow-creatures for wisdom, his heart must be that of the fool at his left hand. We hear him boasting of his freedom from his old fetters. We see him hurrying from one opinion to another. But all is conceit, rank in selfishness and pride. God’s balances are far more sure, and just; and to be “weighed, and found wanting” here—will be unutterable and eternal ruin.

‘Virtue’—we have been well reminded—‘consists in earnestly setting one’s self to the performance of every duty. Here loyalty is inculcated; and that “not only to the good and gentle, but also to the froward.” (1 Pet. 2:18.) This rule has been given before. The faithful adviser may be constrained to give unpalatable counsel; and the spirit of the ruler may rise up against him. Still let him not hastily leave his place.

Jonathan indeed under this heavy provocation left his place, probably only for a time (1 Sam. 20:34, 42); but, generally speaking, the rule of patience is wisdom. George Herbert’s words are worthy of attention—

‘Be calm in arguing; for fierceness makes Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.’—Church Porch.

This is good sense, and Christian patience rarely to be found. Surely the subject, like the soldier, should hold the place assigned to him, though it may cost him much trial. Let him not throw up his commission; but rather restrain all impatient or disloyal thoughts. Indeed ‘retiring upon displeasure’—Lord Bacon remarks—‘is of all courses the unfittest; for a man leaveth things at worst, and depriveth himself of means to make them better.

Extremities may indeed justify the retirement. But the ordinary path is quiet suffering in faith, in the full consolation of a present defending God. ‘The charm of yielding is worthy of being specially noted. The power over the spirit is a far higher glory than an earthly triumph. A victory over ourselves is more glorious than a victory over others. (Prov. 16:32.) The vehement impulse seems to shew, that we think more of ourselves than of our cause.

Yet this yielding must never arise from cowardice, from a mean-spirited fear of losing the favour of man. Where conscience is concerned, the true-hearted man must at once leave his place, whatever be the consequence. In an upright course fear not the face of man: not forgetting man. Yet where conscience is not concerned, nothing is to be gained by the display of an unbending spirit. ‘Anger irritates and inflames the wound; meekness mollifies, cleanses, and heals it.

Resentful pride adds fury to the storm. A mild demeanor changes it into a calm. By the pouring on of oil we may smooth the wave, which we should lash and rebuke in vain. Let “the elect of God” ever “put on” their garments—so adorning to their profession. (Col. 3:12–15.) What need there is of the continued power of the Divine work to maintain the full display of Christian grace! Let us take up the prayer of our godly poet—

Lord, mend, or rather make, us. One creation Will not suffice our turn; Except thou make us daily, we shall spurn Our own salvation.—Herbert.

Solomon follows up his exhortation to loyalty by noticing a common occasion of disloyalty which he had seen—misgovernment. He had often alluded to this disorder as a national evil; specially when men have been raised, or have risen, to an high elevation. “The brother of low degree may rejoice in that he is exalted.” (Jam 1:9.) It may be—as in Joseph’s case—for an enlarged sphere of usefulness.

The Great Ruler “takes the poor out of the dust, that He may set him with the princes of his people.” (Ps. 113:7, 8.) The records of all ages—particularly of our own—shew men raised from the people to the highest honour in the state. The evil here noted is the misplacing of men—folly set in great dignity—‘men by indignities coming to dignities. This is an error which proceedeth from the ruler.

The responsibility lies at his door to fix the fittest men in the paces which most need them; “doing nothing” either “by partiality” or by prejudice. And a matter of much evil and grief is the capricious advancement of despicable upstarts—power placed in unworthy hands—great interests entrusted to men of low life, who have neither will nor wisdom rightly to discharge their trust.

While these minions—the creatures of the rulers’ own will—are advanced, the rich in knowledge and large capacities—well qualified for high offices—are sitting in low places. A similar sight—servants on horses, and princes walking on the earth to do them honour (Esth. 6:8, 9) Solomon elsewhere describes, as “one of the evils which the earth cannot bear. If order is heaven’s first law, whatever infringes this law presents a distorted view of the Divine economy.

If servants rule, and masters serve—if subjects dictate, and kings bend before them, it is the power of man’s will—not of God’s ordinance. Hooker’s dying comfort was to meditate on ‘the blessed obedience and order of angels, without which peace could not be in heaven. And oh’—he added—‘that it might be so on earth! If we then rule, let it be so as to give no pretext for discontent or revolt.

If we be in a subordinate position, let it be to fulfil the responsibilities of our position, without seeking to “come up higher. The evil is greatly increased, when the high stations of the Church are bestowed upon unworthy men, passing by men of God, sound in doctrine, and upright in heart. But as Lord Bacon quotes the proverb—’A place sheweth the man; and it sheweth some to the better and some to the worse.

It is hard to say how a man will behave himself in his high responsibility, till he has been tried. None but those who are divinely—furnished can stand the trial, and glorify God in it. Such is this world—a mere pageant—a “fashion that passeth away,” with all its pomp, and glory, and cheat. Lord! let me be ever content with my appointed lot, never aspiring to any higher name or reputation. How little exaltation could I safely bear with such a corrupt and worldly heart!

What a mercy is it to be kept upon humble ground, not climbing the pinnacle, where the head so soon turns giddy, and where special watchfulness is needed; because the greater the height, the greater the fall. Never, let me seek great things for myself, “when thou hast said—Seek them not.” (Jer. 45:5.)

These four pithy illustrations obviously point to one and the same end. Evil shall fall upon the heads of its own authors. He that diggeth the pit may fall into it himself. As the breaking of an old hedge might hazard the serpent’s bite; so the attempt to root up ancient fences of government may be an undoing project. The removal of stones from a building may bring them upon our head. Even the cleaving of wood may be a work of personal danger.

‘Let there be neither a secret conspiracy against the established order of things, nor a violent inroad on its fences and landmarks: else there may be a recoil on the perpetrators themselves; just as the renders and pullers down of things material are in danger of being hurt therewith. It is far more easy to blame than to mend; to pull down the house, than to build it up again.

And yet such is the power of self-delusion, that if the mysterious finger could shew the hand-writing upon the wall—onward men will go—so natural and easy is the downward path!

Whatever be the object of the man in cleaving the wood, he cannot work effectively with blunted tools. If, therefore, he does not whet his hatchet’s edge, he must put forth more strength; yet only to belabour the tree with heavy, but ineffectual blows. Thus unskilful and indolent workmen often increase their difficulties by the want of hearty exertion. In working for God, our materials are rough. Feeble, indeed, are our efforts to cleave the knotty wood.

The stubborn will resists, and there is no apparent result. But is it not the secret of this bluntness, that we have not whetted the edge, that prayer has been let down—that faith has been in slumbering exercise—that the lust of the world has been indulged—and heavenly prospects clouded? Yet we must not cast away the enfeebled weapon. Let the edge be whetted. Substitute a religion of sustained energy for a religion of complaints.

We are fighting for a “kingdom that suffereth violence. The crown is hard to get, and harder still to keep. But “the violent”—those who have whetted their edge and put forth more strength—they “take it by force.” (Matt. 11:12.) So far as faith is in real exercise—it must and will prevail.

‘Fight, though it may cost thy life; Storm the Kingdom, but prevail; Let not Satan’s fiercest strife Make thee, warrior, faint or quail.

‘Art thou faithful? then oppose Sin and wrong with all thy might; Careless how the tempest blows, Only care to win the fight.’

But, after all, the grand cause of failure is, that we do not go straight to God for the strength of Omnipotence to be “made perfect in our weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:9.) There having gone and whetted the edge—now to your work. They that have a little strength, shall have more. “He giveth power to the faint, and to them that have no might, he increaseth strength.” (Isa. 40:29.) Ours is not a fitful work—of strong, but temporary, excitement.

The thought that it is God’s work—done for God—done on earth, as it cannot be done in heaven—this puts energy into every effort. It is not the work of the scholar or the theologian, but of the practical servant of God. It is not the work of natural power, but of Christian confidence. ‘When’—as godly Bp. Latimer declares—‘I am in a settled assurance about the state of my soul, methinks then I am as bold as a lion.

But when I am eclipsed in my comforts, I am so fearful a spirit, that I could run into a very mouse-hole. Here is the true whetting of the edge. The secret of our strength is the recollection of our standing as a child accepted. To hold on in advance only a single step is victory. We think not of the hardness of the fight, but of Him who is ever with us—ever sufficient for us.

One promise of His grace is more powerful to hold us up, than all the assaults of hell to throw us down. There will indeed be perplexities to the end. But wisdom—“the wisdom that is from above”—is profitable to direct. It puts us in the right way of working. It sets before us the best objects, and the most fitting occasions. The want of this practical wisdom has hindered much good, and induced much injury to the great end.

Children have been trained in gloom, rather than in brightness. Amiable people have been revolted from the Gospel by well-meaning but unsuited faithfulness. Imprudence—perhaps only a single instance—has excited a prejudice, very hard to melt away.

And therefore for consistency and usefulness in our sphere of duty, what so important as to take the precious promise as the polar star of our course?—“If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” (Jam. 1:5.)

Scripture elsewhere alludes to man’s power in enchanting the serpent. But without enchantment surely the serpent will bite. It is his nature. (Verse 8.) The babbler is no better. It is as much his nature to babble, and quite as dangerous, as for the serpent to bite. He is all tongue. And well indeed is this “tongue described as an unruly evil, full of deadly poison!” (Jam. 3:8.) The evil here more distinctly in view is breach of confidence.

So baneful is its influence—that it is hardly safe to “trust in a friend, or to put confidence in a guide. Nay—it may sometimes be wise to “keep the door of our mouth from her that lieth in our bosom.” (Mic. 7:5.) ‘The dismantling and rending of the robe from the privacies of human intercourse’ cannot be justified. ‘He that entrusts a secret to a friend, goes thither as to a sanctuary; and to violate the rites of that is sacrilege and profanation of friendship.

Follow in ‘its course a secret thus let loose. One tells it to another. Thus it goes from mouth to mouth—from ear to ear; depositing in many hearts what never should be known; gathering as it flies untold excess of scandal. If “itching ears” are bad (2 Tim. 4:3); itching lips are worse—more hurtful in the end.’Learn to prize the friend who can keep a secret as an inestimable jewel.

To resist the charm of telling the secret unadvisedly—is an honourable mark—“shewing all good fidelity in all things.” (Tit. 2:10.) The evil of this babbling involves all the fruits of pure selfishness—tossing about our neighbour’s name—the dearest part of him—as the veriest bauble. And how naturally do we slide into this sin—ere we are aware of it! Everywhere it goes with us—at home and abroad—in large or small society—in common intercourse of the day.

The tongue flowing without restraint, becomes “the fountain sending forth bitter waters. If it be the prerogative of man to enchant the serpent, much more is it the Omnipotence of God to “bridle the tongue. “No man”—it is emphatically stated—“can tame it.” (Jam. 3:8.) The sins of the tongue are deeply marked in the word of God, as matter for discipline, humiliation, and prayer. Oh! for that careful, tender sensibility, that makes a conscience of a word—of a look.

No sins tend more to banish the Divine Comforter from our houses and from our hearts. What proof can there be of grace in the heart, if there be not a bridle on the tongue?

Again we have the contrast drawn out between wisdom and folly—between that which cometh from God, and the flowing stream of our corrupt nature. The tongue—as Bp. Taylor describes it in his graphic colouring—‘is a fountain both of bitter waters and of pleasant. It sends forth blessing and cursing. It praises God, and rails at men. It is sometimes set on fire, and then it puts whole cities in combustion. It is unruly, and no more to be restrained than the breath of a tempest.

It is volatile and fugitive. Reason should go before it; and when it does not, repentance comes after it. It was intended for an organ of the Divine praises; but the devil often plays upon it, and then it sounds like a screech-owl, or the groans of death! Sorrow and shame, folly and repentance, are the notes and formidable accents of that discord.

How valuable then is the art of enchanting our tongues; bringing them under wholesome discipline, so that they may pacify and instruct, instead of bringing the serpent’s sting! And truly heavenly wisdom pervades the entire and new man, as folly pervades every faculty of the old man. The words therefore of the wise man’s mouth are gracious—grace in the very essence. Thus was it with our Divine Master.

The enraptured Prophet could not restrain his song—“Thou art fairer than the children of men: grace is poured into thy lips.” (Ps. 45:2.) And when this Incarnate Wisdom was manifested—can we marvel, that they wondered “at the gracious words, which proceeded out of his mouth”? (Luke 4:22.) Solomon elsewhere draws the same picture of the godly tongue—“The tongue of the just is as choice silver. The lips of the righteous feed many. The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright.

The heart of the wise teacheth his mouth, and addeth learning to his lips. And “how forcible are these right and gracious words!” (Job 6:25.) Did they not melt the iron heart of Esau? (Gen. 33:1–16.) Did they not recall the rash purpose of David to a considerate restraint? (1 Sam. 25:22–35.) Take, again, a modern example from the annals of our Church History. What did Luther owe to the gracious words of his friend Staupitz, bringing him out of bondage!

‘In order to be filled with the love of that which is good, you must first be filled with the love of God. If you wish to be really converted, do not follow these mortifications and penances. Love him who has first loved you. These words—the Historian adds—‘penetrated the heart of Luther. Guided by this new light, he consulted the Scriptures.

He looked to all the passages, which speak of repentance and conversion—words, which were no longer dreaded, but became the sweetest refreshment. Those passages of Scripture, which once alarmed him, seemed now—he says—to run to him from all sides, to smile, to spring up, and play around him. There is indeed a power in godliness beyond man’s wisdom. Grace is often mightier than intellect.

The man whose “conversation is seasoned with this grace” will be ready with his “answer” against many an acute disputant on the arena of scepticism. Considering his tongue as a talent to be used for his Master’s glory, and having his heart as a treasury filled with the things of God—his gracious words will be full of power. Few can listen, without being wiser and better. Here is wisdom in its solid influence. Now mark the contrast of folly.

The lips of the fool swallow up himself. Adonijah’s self-willed proclamation was to his own ruin. (1 Kings 1:5; 2:25.) Rehoboam’s foolishness—giving grievous instead of gracious words to his people—made “his own tongue to fall upon himself.” (1 Ki 12:1–19. Comp. Ps. 64:8.) Wisdom guides the nearest way to our own security. (Prov. 10:9.)—Folly the surest road to our own ruin.

Look at the lips of the fool filled with scorn against his Maker—his scoffing contempt alike of his mercy and his judgments—are not these the words of folly in the path of ruin? (Ps. 2:1–4.) And will not the justly merited destruction at the great day of retribution fearfully—irrevocably—swallow him up? (Jude, 14, 15.) Nor are the fool’s lips only a curse to himself. They become a pest to all around him—from beginning to end. The beginning of his words is foolishness.

But he goes from bad to worse—often as if he was worked up to a phrenzy. If his oracular voice does not command attention, he is all on fire—all is a blaze and smoke—till his anger becomes a sort of mischievous madness. Thus this combustible talker spreads mischief wherever he goes—in his family—in society, stirring round about him “envy and strife, confusion, and every evil work.

The next distinctive feature in the portrait of the fool is his torrent of words—full of words—Many words but few ideas—a Babel system of confusion—mere word-rubbish. He talks from first to last in the circle of folly—talking and talking on at random, determining to have the last word, although at the end it is the same as at the beginning—such common-place truisms that no man can tell what shall be—what shall come next; and so loose and incoherent, that what shall be after him who can tell him?

In fact, it is generally found, that those who have the most discourse have the least knowledge. Words are too often the substitute for thinking, rather than the medium of thought. In the use of them men think they know their own wisdom. But how few comparatively know their own foolishness! The fool passing from his words to his daily business—his labour wearies every one connected with him.

Impertinently busy, without any object; yet so extreme is his ignorance upon the most ordinary matters—such a total want of common sense—that it is as if he knew not the plainest track—how to go to the city, close at hand. We wonder not that man should be wearied with his intercourse, yielding as it does no profitable result.

Thus ‘men, who neglect to employ Christ for “eye-salve, that they might see” (Rev. 3:18) things of greatest concernment for his glory, and for the salvation of their own souls, are often, for their so-doing, left to miscarry in their most common affairs. Man’s wisdom becomes his foolishness, if he is content to live without dependence upon his God. We do not often see this portrait of the fool fully drawn out.

Yet we are frequently conversant with persons gifted with great volubility of speech, combined with perfect shallowness of understanding; and who, if they were strongly excited, would pour forth the overflowing foolishness here described. Indeed the fountain principle is in us all from the beginning.

“Foolishness is bound up in the heart of the child” (Prov. 22:15); and unless it give place to the Omnipotence of the gracious principle, its enfeebling and perverting influence will fully proclaim itself. The man who neglects Divine Teaching, will be a fool to the end of his days in heavenly wisdom, with all the fearful responsibility of wilful folly.

Solomon’s code of morals comes out with greater point and brightness, the more it is examined. This book of Ecclesiastes is truly a hand-book of morals, for all ranks and classes of society. And not among the least important is the place which Solomon gives to the great and noble of the earth.

Kings and rulers like himself, far from being exempted by their rank from the common laws of men, are strongly warned against sins, which might have seemed to belong only to the lowest and most degraded of their people. In point of fact—the higher the rank, the more aggravated the sin. And that of intemperance, here reproved, is not only ruinous to the prince, but brings a curse upon the nation.

Solomon had learned naturally to connect the personal character of the Monarch with the prosperity of the land. A child in years—as Josiah, and others—may be a national blessing. But when the king “was a child in understanding,” (as was his own son in the maturity of age)—then woe unto thee, O land. (Isa. 3:4.) The character and habits of the princes were generally after the example of the Sovereign. A corrupt king (like our Charles II.) brings up a corrupt court.

If he were indulging his ease and pleasure, they would probably plunge into the same gulf (Hos. 7:3–5), giving up the morning—the prime of the day—to appetite; rather than appropriating it, as they were bound to do, to the public service. In contrast with the woe of a childish monarch, is the blessing of a king—the son of nobles. And as before, it was the child, not in years, but in qualities; so he now speaks of a king—noble—not in blood, but in wisdom and godliness.

For ‘this is the true nobility, when piety, wisdom, righteousness, and the fear of God, do adorn the royal blood, and render persons truly illustrious. Nobility of blood, without nobility of virtue and holiness, addeth nothing to a governor at all. The completeness of the blessing is, when the king reigneth in righteousness, and the princes—following his example—“rule in judgment.” (Isa. 32:1.) The contrast is marked in well-disciplined exercise.

They did not eat in the morning in unrestrained indulgence—but in due season—in moderation, for strength, and not for drunkenness—“making provision for the flesh”—to satisfy the wants—not “to fulfil the lust thereof.” (Rom. 13:14.) This habit of self-control was emphatically commended to rulers with some experience of its need and value—“It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine, nor for princes strong drink; lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.” (Prov. 31:4, 5.) When this royal temperance is based upon Christian principles of government, may we not truly say—Blessed art thou, O land?

Look at our own land—our vast increasing empire—joining colony to colony—like “house to house, and field to field”—her fleets riding the acknowledged lords of every sea—mistress of half the islands in the globe—what if our rulers would grasp their weighty responsibility of ‘planting the colonies of Christ—instead of those of Mammon?’—when we should thus see her crowned with the honour of her God, should we not then take up the delighting voice—Blessed art thou, O land?

Surely we would respond to the utterance of a well-thinking mind—‘O that statesmen would consider what a glorious privilege they enjoy, when they are allowed to become the fathers of a new people! The more elevated our station—the wider our sphere—the more felt our influence will be—whether for good, or for evil.

Luxury and intemperance give ready occasion to much slothfulness. They are naturally linked together—“The drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty, and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.” (Prov. 23:21.) The ruler and princes, given up to sensual indulgence, will slumber in the affairs of the state.

The commonwealth therefore will be like the building decaying for want of proper support—the house slipping through—not weather-proof—for the idle want of exertion to keep it in repair. The house must be kept up. The damage—small at first—increases rapidly by neglect. The yawning sluggard drags out his daily excuse—‘It is but a brick is gone.

A few hours will make no great difference’—till by daily procrastination the injury is beyond repair, and the decaying tenement slippeth through. The less the pains required at first, the more inexcusable the delay. A little care at the beginning would have saved the decay. ‘To-morrow’—says the proverb—‘comes never. And the same tempter, who leads you to put off doing what is right to “a more convenient season,” will be as ready to suggest an excuse to-morrow as to-day.

Want of family discipline issues in the same result. When evils, apparently trifling, are allowed, the tendency to decay becomes more and more visible. Indeed everywhere the neglect of present effort hastens on the ruinous crisis. Public institutions and laws—however permanent they may seem to be—need continual and active review in order to their amendment.

Otherwise abuses creep in, like moss on the old building, or a gap in the wall, in the first instance scarcely discoverable, but gradually widening with threatening prospect. There is also an intellectual slothfulness much to be resisted, unless we would allow the palsy of every faculty. ‘It is only this that induces so many to take for granted the opinions of others.

As another powerful writer well remarks—‘An aversion to doubt—a dislike to have the judgment kept in suspense—combined with indolence in investigation, induces the great mass of mankind to make up their minds on a variety of points, not one of which they have been enabled thoroughly to examine. But the subject invites a closer probing. The pursuit of truth in the first place marks the whole-hearted Christian—in the second place the slothful professor.

‘Idleness’—as Dr. Barrow observes—‘is indeed the nursery of sins, which as naturally grow up therein, as weeds in a neglected field. Idleness of hands is often connected with worldliness of heart. If there be any niche left in the heart for the setting up of the idol, the whole work decays. There will be fighting without victory, complaint without prayer—“the hands hanging down. and the knees feeble. Nothing so paralyzing to Christian energy as this hopeless despondency.

While we study the awful catalogue of sins of commission, let us not forget that the sins of omission are equally guilty. We learn to do evil, by doing nothing. We satisfy ourselves in irreligious habits with the delusion, that we have done no harm. But is it really no harm to have trifled away all opportunities of doing good? the “talent laid up in the napkin” (Luke 19:20) of idleness—duties neglected—times of usefulness frittered away—and gone—never to be recalled?

‘Indeed the very nature and essence of virtue doth consist in the most difficult and painful exercises of soul; in the extirpating rooted prejudices and notions from our understanding; in bending a stiff will, and rectifying crooked inclinations; in overruling a rebellious temper; in curbing eager and importunate appetites; in taming wild passions; in withstanding violent temptations; in surmounting many difficulties, and sustaining many troubles; in struggling with various unruly lusts within, and encountering many stout enemies abroad, which assault our reason, and “war against our soul.

In such exercises its very being lieth. Its birth, its growth, its subsistence, dependeth on them; so that from any discontinuance or remission of them, it would soon decay, languish away, and perish. How painful, therefore, it is to remark this deadly slothfulness pervading every part of the system! A soft and delicate life gives force to temptation, which might easily be subdued by one effort of “hardness.

An indolent or desultory man can never be a “vessel unto honour” in the Church of God. In the experience of the inner man what danger is there of being satisfied with a certain measure of attainment—something short of the very best of Christianity! And yet if we are satisfied even with much, without prayer for more, does it not stir up the question whether we have any at all?

Truly “grey hairs are here and there upon us; yet we know it not.” (Hos. 7:9.) Never expect spiritual wealth, while indulging carnal sloth. It is an awakening thought, that the living principle of Christian diligence may be palsied in the midst of much outward exercise—that external energy and inward sloth may be found in the same person at one and the same time—much slothfulness is the high-road to apostasy—the stepping-stone to many and fearful sins.

Well is it, when God stirs up conviction by giving us an errand to the throne of grace—conscience urging to go at once. Oh! whatever insensibility, or feebleness may belong to prayer, let it never be given up. Still pray on—still cry. There can be no reason for despair. Be determined to seek the blessing, till you are really made partaker of it. Let nothing supplant it in your heart, or outweigh it in your judgment. Desire is only good, as it quickens to exertion.

Turn every opportunity to account. Perseverance is the main test of principle. We have not finished our responsibility, even when the house is built. There will be the continual care to watch against its slipping through. The first labour in God’s work is only the starting-point. Vigour must be in constant exercise, till the crown is won—till labour is exchanged for eternal rest.

In what the world calls weakness lurks The very strength of evil; Full mightily it helps the works Of our great foe the Devil. Awake, my soul, awake; Thy refuge quickly take With Him, th’ Almighty, who can save. One look from Christ thy Lord Can sever ev’ry cord, That binds thee now—a wretched slave. Lyra Germanica, 12th Sunday after Trinity.

Many are the resources of laughter and merriment. But money brings a wider range of influence. It answereth not only the pleasure, the feasting and wine, but all things, which the craving appetite of man can desire. In itself it is a blessing, contributing largely to our temporal comfort. If we despise it, we must be content to live without many of the ordinary indulgences of life. And yet this universal empire of money involves many limitations.

It cannot give health, happiness, or immortality. It cannot provide the principles of moral excellence. It cannot give peace of conscience, or furnish a ransom for the soul. Yet with all these reverses as an instrument of commerce, it answereth all things. The man who has it, wants nothing that this world can give. It supplies a thousand advantages—not only the necessaries, but the conveniences, indulgences, and embellishments of life.

It is the price and measure of all things. The worldling with his full chest fancies a sort of Deity in it—resources inexhaustible. The real sphere of the usefulness of money is the object and use of it—when we hold it as stewards—when the two great ends are combined in one—the glory of God, and the good of our fellow-creatures.

How grand is the object!—how widely extended is its sphere of usefulness—when expended in the spread of the Gospel—the schemes of Christian education, and all the methods of social improvement, which are stirring up, and exciting such general interest! The more good will be done, when we take the most delight in doing it. But how dangerous—yea—how fatal is the profession, when it is suffered to usurp God’s place in the heart!

The larger the mass, the more grace is needed to preserve from its deadly temptation. Nothing can set out its great power more strongly than our Lord’s solemn declaration—“How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God!” (Mark 10:22.) But fearful indeed is the responsibility of money, when spent only upon the feast for laughter and wine.

For of them, “whose god is their belly, and who mind earthly things”—it is emphatically declared—“whose end is destruction.” (Philip. 3:19.) Their present state is the insensibility of “death. Their future prospect is death in all its infinite and everlasting horrors. O my God, let me find my feast in thy love—in the privileged joy of thy salvation.

Let me find in thee—in the fountain of life—a portion, that shall answer all things—answer all my spiritual wants, with abundant and eternal supply. (Ps. 16:5.)

Some of Solomon’s words—as Lord Bacon observes—‘have more of the eagle than others. But taking them as instructions for life, their minuteness of practical detail shews a singular acuteness of observation of the highest practical value. He had adverted to rulers—bad and good. He now speaks to subjects. The veto here given evidently refers to the woe of misguided rule. This evil naturally excites revolt.

Yet if it be our duty to protest, we must not forget the respect due to their office, apart from their personal character. The Mosaic code forbade to curse the Ruler of the people “even by evil speaking.” (Comp. Exod. 22:28, with Acts, 23:5.) The rule here goes deeper, and chains even the thought. The allusion to the rich clearly refers to the ignoble princes of the land.

Here, again, we are forbidden to “speak evil of dignities.” (2 Pet. 2:10.) ‘God’s government is so peculiarly of God, that he will have it supported for the benefit of mankind. Treason will “be proclaimed upon the house-tops. Elisha’s case was miraculous. But God may work in the ordinary course of his Providence. (Comp. 2 Kings 6:11, 12, with Esth. 2:21–23.) Nay, rather than this secret wickedness should be undiscovered, he might make the bird of the air to carry the voice.

The matter will come to light—how—no one knows. Even the bed-chamber may be made to speak. “The stone shall cry out of the wall; and the beam out of the timber shall answer it.” (Hab. 2:11.) The advice, therefore, here given seems to be that of caution against speaking lightly of the faults of rulers. Think not that you should do it with impunity.

Kings and nobles—especially in despotic governments—supply the need of just laws by spies, who do their work too surely to admit of escape, reporting to their sovereign expressions, that may be the ground of treasonable accusation. If we thought that the eye and the ear of God were always open to our most secret thoughts, we should often be kept from speaking what, if discovered, might bring us into trouble.

A modern writer gives a graphical application of this proverb—‘It is dangerous to speak, where secrecy is required. The thought is thine own, while you keep it to yourself; but once the cage is opened, and the bird let loose, who knows how far its flight may bear it? At first you think of tying it by the foot. You tell your secret to a single friend. He tells it to another, who mentions it to a chosen few.

The cord is loosened; then it is slipped; your bird will no more roost in secrecy. Then learn to keep your secret to yourself. It is snug to know the bird is in the cage, securely fastened. And though it flutter against the bars, desiring its liberty, still keep it close. No harm it will do while there. What, mischief it might do if let loose, you know not. If you think evil of a man, what need to mention it? His faults are known to thee. But why repeat them?

Who has a right to ask it? God suffered thee to know these, that thou mightest pray for him, and not to harm him and others by spreading his dishonour. Pray for him, if you will, the more the better. Think what God’s grace may do for him. Such thoughts are safe. But if you harbour thoughts against the man, and not against the sin, most probably the thought will out, and injure you.

And then, if the thought of disloyalty against the king be forbidden, much more against the Great King. He does not want a bird of the air to carry the voice. “I know the things that come into your mind—every one of them.” (Ezek. 11:5.) All is heard and noted down with infallible clearness and certainty. Learn then the lesson to “kiss the Son” (Ps. 2:12) with reverential affection.

And say not—“We will not have this man to reign over us.” (Luke 19:14.) How powerless the curse against a fellow-creature! God may in a moment interpose and nullify it. How much more powerless the curse of our thought against him! But oh! his curse against us—the hand-writing upon the wall—the harbinger of unspeakable eternal ruin!