Chapter II: Part 2

Nine months had elapsed after that miraculous visitation and annunciation of the angel, when the details in the paragraph immediately preceding our text came to pass. Elizabeth, having received the fulfillment of the heavenly message, and a company of her neighbors and relatives having gathered for the circumcision of the child, a question of friendly contention arose over the name, the most of them being in favor of calling him after the name of his father, Zacharias. Zacharias, being consulted and asking for a slate whereupon to write his opinion, wrote the name John. By this writing he showed that he consented in the name of the child according to the angel's direction, and it says: "His mouth was immediately opened and his tongue loosed, and he spake and praised God in a song of blessing and joy." This song of Zacharias, which is called the "Benedictus," because it begins with the word "Benedictus" or Blessed, is one of the treasured songs of the Church.

Significant--as we read that song it is that his own circumstances largely are overlooked or disregarded. Two grand and miraculous events had just happened to him, the birth of a son and the recovery of speech. These, it may be supposed, would have primarily employed his mind and called forth his praise and adoration to God; but whilst he does speak a few words of exultation over his son, a great, more transporting, and august theme fills his breast; he thinks in pious rapture of the prophecies that have gone before, the promises of God by the mouth of His inspired servants, that He would send a mighty Savior to deliver His people. Now that his own son, who was to be the forerunner of the Lord and messenger, was born, he sees the incarnation of this almighty Deliverer begun; under prophetic inspiration he proclaims what first happened six months after: "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for He hath visited and redeemed His people," and none among us are less interested in this propitious event than Zacharias was. We have before us the same prophecies that Zacharias had; we have the same need of this Savior, and we desire the same blessings from Him which he did. Why, then, should it not be the rapture of our hearts, the topic of our triumphant song, as it was of his? With pious joy let us hail the glorious festival that shall be upon us in a few days, and in this may our reflection on our text aid us.

"The Dayspring from on high hath visited us." It is interesting to note how to one whose heart is wrapped up in Christ every object becomes a preacher, a memorial. That beautiful star, last in the train of night and first in the forehead of morning, sings of Him who is the bright Morning Star. That orb in the skies, shedding the benignant rays over the earth, tells of Him who is the Sun of Righteousness with healing in His wings. The bread which I eat becomes to me a symbol of Him who is the Bread of Life; the water which I drink reminds me of the living water whereof who drinks shall never thirst again. In brief, Christ is seen in everything, in every object of external nature, and so with the figure employed by Zacharias in these words: "the Dayspring," or, as we would say--the dawn of the morning. Beautiful is dawn. The ancient poets have represented it as a lovely maiden rising from the waters of the East (casting aside the gloomy veil of night), and hastening forward on the foremost rays of light, to open the gates of day, whilst her rosy fingers scatter abroad the drops of sparkling dew. Zacharias employs the same illustration only to a subject more noble. He sees Messiah near at hand, breaking on the world just like the approach of dawn. Yes, the vision of His coming is so clear that he says not, "The Dayspring shall visit us," but, "The Dayspring hath visited us." Let us spend a few moments in considering, not every, but a few features that connect with this description of our Lord as the "Dayspring from on high." And here, to begin with, we have a significant thought. "The Dayspring from on high" suggests His _origin_. The day-dawn comes from the heaven; it is not of man's ordering and making, but of God's; it bears the imprint of the Creator's hand, and for this reason the Bible styles Him "the Father of lights," and says: "Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights." So with this Dayspring, Christ,--He is from on high. His origin and His coming are divine. We sing:

True Son of the Father, He comes from the skies,
To be born of a virgin He does not despise.

This earth is not His home, as it says: "The Dayspring from on high hath visited us." He came from elsewhere and He departed again elsewhere. From eternity He lay in the bosom of the Father, and when the fullness of time was come, He descended upon this earth and tabernacled among us thirty and three years, and then returned to the glory whence He came forth. It was, indeed, a transcendent sojourn, a visit that spells everything, that connects with salvation and blessedness. Yes, it was only a visit; He was from on high. To use the words of the Nicene Creed: Christ is true God, begotten of the Father from eternity, God of God, Light of Light (note that expression as in accordance with the figure in the text), very God of very God, begotten, not made; being of one substance with the Father, who for us men and for our salvation, came down from heaven and was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, and was made man. Verily, He was the Dayspring from on high.

Again, observe _the manner of His coming_,--how like the day-dawn. What so gentle as the light of morning, rising mutely in the brightening east and pouring the light so softly that never a leaf is stirred; noiselessly, peacefully does it make its approach. So when the Savior was born, He came into the world silently and unobtrusively. All heaven was moved and followed Him down to the threshold of earth; but few on earth were aware of it. One solitary star pointed to the humble birthplace, and the hymn that sang of it was heard only at night by a few watching shepherds, and His whole life partook of the same character. For which reason we sing in one of our favorite hymns:

As His coming was in peace,
Noiseless, full of gentleness,
Let the same mind be in me
That was ever found in Thee.

He came like the dawn in its soft and silent approach. Then, also, in another manner. Not suddenly, nor all at once. The sun's rising is a gradual and progressive thing. First, there is but a faint gray twilight, softening the darkness and heralding what is to come, then a few dim purple streaks spread upon the far eastern horizon, followed shortly by the golden tips of the great luminary lifting the gates of the morning. So with our divine Dayspring. From all eternity it was determined that this Dayspring should come. Adam, going weeping from a paradise lost, and after him Seth and Enoch and Noah and Shem and Abraham beheld from afar the early dawn, the dim and vague streaks. The types and holy sacrifices offered in the temple after that, the psalms and prophecies given by God's inspired servants, gave still nearer and clearer views of what was to come. Zacharias exults as he sees the tips, as it were, beginning to appear. And we, with the whole Christian world, are hastening these days in spirit to see the sun rising over the hills of Judea in Bethlehem's town. How in its promises and preparations--its gradual development--was the coming of Christ like the day-spring, the rising dawn.

Nor can we afford to overlook one other feature in the manner of Christ's visit as the Dayspring. The sun comes every morning, shining for all and singling out none. There is a universality of kindness about it. The poorest man and the richest, all classes and all things, have the same access to its undivided radiance. How much is this like Christ's coming! "God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son." "Behold," was the angelic proclamation on Christmas night, "I bring you glad tidings of great joy which shall be to _all_ people." The Christmas story enters into the world with the broad universal look of daylight. It is as wide and open to all as is this earth. It singles out none, it excludes none, it wishes to bless a whole guilty world with the same impartiality as the sun. The Christmas message is unlimited in its invitation: "Come hither, ye faithful, O come, one and all." Silently, gradually, universally, hath and doth the Dayspring from on high visit us. And why--that is the concluding feature of our contemplation, why has it visited us? What is its object in doing so?

The sun is the dispenser of the world's light and warmth and fruitfulness. Without the day-dawn everything would be chilliness, darkness, desolation, and death. Let the sun arise, shoot forth his cheering and enlivening rays,--the dormant germs start up, the buds swell, the birds sing, and man goes forth to ply the occupation of his hands. Christ is the same to the human race. He rose above the darkness of Judaism and over the night of heathenism. He declared: "I am the Light of the world." "When once Thou visitest the heart, the truth begins to shine." New life, new energy, new understanding takes hold upon the dormant and dead soul, and the fruits of righteousness spring up. To quote the text and language of Zacharias: "To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." There is not the least exaggeration about it; wherever Christ is preached, the darkness flees as night flies before the sun, the clouds of ignorance and superstition pass away. Pardon of sin, purity of morals, comfort in affliction, triumph in death,--these are a portion of what follows. Do these things not constitute the light of life of man? What else does?

Is, to conclude, Christ such a light to you? Would you permit this season to pass without diligently inquiring whether "the Dayspring from on high" has visited your souls? Do you rejoice at His coming with holy joy? Invigorating, inspiring is the sight of a morning dawn; are you so welcoming again the Dayspring from on high about to send its healing beams, its cheering, holy splendor upon our world? Open your hearts to receive and to realize the significance and blessedness of this "Dayspring from on high, which by the tender mercy of our God hath visited us." Amen.

CHRISTMAS.

Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable Gift.--_2 Cor. 9, 15._

Joy to the world,--the Lord is come,
Let earth receive her King,
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And heaven and nature sing.

With these words of exultation would I greet you on this festival morn. Joy to the world, the Lord is come; the King, Messiah, after weeks of preparation, is making His triumphal entry into the habitation of men. Indeed, the long expected guest, with whom our thoughts, songs, and services in the past season of Advent were occupied, has at length arrived. How shall we receive Him? When He first came, nineteen hundred and ---- years ago, in Bethlehem's town, there was a stir and commotion. Wise men suspended their studies and speculations and followed the sign in the firmament which conducted them to the place where the young Child lay; an angel from heaven was sent as a herald to proclaim the glad tidings of great joy, while the multitude of the heavenly host eagerly descended to congratulate men and made the celestial heights resound with their seraphic acclamation: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." And, taking up that chant: "Our heart from very joy doth leap, our lips no more can silence keep." Dull like the ground he walks upon must be the man who, amongst the holy demonstration that is upon the social world, the cheerful merrymaking that is in earth's homes, the radiations of festivities and greetings of cordiality and good will, will not feel a pulsation of that cheer and brightness in his own heart. How this fact of our Christian faith, our Savior's birth, God's assumption of mutual flesh, the coming of the Most High to tabernacle among men, has been more than any other an occasion of universal rejoicing, the center of earth's noblest and holiest joy in family and in the sanctuary! Is it not fitting that it should be so? Merry Christmas, happy Christmas, blessed Christmas, we bid thee welcome! We rejoice that in the rounds of the calendar it has come again. And how shall we observe it? How receive its spiritual and highest blessedness unto ourselves? By lighting up a few candles on our trees? Decorating our windows and walls with some sprigs of garlands and green? By attending a few services during which we are present in body, but largely absent in spirit? The quiet contemplation, the sinking of our minds into the great mystery of godliness: God manifested in the flesh, the realization as it comes from pious meditation of what it all means to us and to all mankind, and that when the external glamor and motion shall have passed over, it shall have left us benefited and blessed in soul, beloved, is not this, after all, for us Christians, the true significance of this holiday time? And it is in harmony with this, that we would bring to our minds the words of the text. Let us devoutly, with concentrated and holy thoughts, regard God's gift, for thus reads the text: "Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable Gift."

I. _Which is this gift?_ II. _Note what is said about it._ III.
_Our conduct respecting it._

Which is it? God, my beloved hearers, is always good. His very name, God, which means good, bespeaks that. Continually is He bestowing gifts and favors upon us. "His constant mercies," declares the psalmist, "are new to us every morning." What is there which we possess that He has not given us?--clothing and shoes, meat and drink, house and home, wife and children, fields, cattle, and all my goods. But there is one gift that excels and outstrips them all.

Our children, in the course of the year, are being constantly provided with all that they need to support their bodies and lives, articles of food and dress and mind, and yet the best donations we afford them, those which cause their youthful hearts to skip as the lambs, are invariably given in the days of Christmas festivity. So with the beneficent Parent on high,--always good and gracious, yet His foremost and most excellent gift He bestows at this time. And which is it? Yonder, in Bethlehem's manger, it lies. Insignificant enough as you gaze upon it with outward eyes: how tiny, unpretentious, judged by the standard of men; what lowly quarters, what unfavorable circumstances, what socially unassuming people; that woman watching over the Child, those shepherds hastening thither from their humble toil,--certainly nothing there to impress one. And this is Heaven's foremost and precious gift, the gift of all gifts. Is that the best that God can give us? Yes.

For various reasons. In determining the value of earthly donations, different considerations weigh and prevail. For once, it is the sentiment that prompted that gift; it frequently is not so much the mercantile value of the gift as it is the considerations, the spirit, the sentiment, and affection that go along with it; and there, after all, rests its real power and beauty. Regard God's Christmas gift. The Apostle calls it "unspeakable"; he declares that it towers in its value and majesty beyond the reach of language and beyond the power of human expression. 'Tis truly so. What sentiment prompted it? "God so _loved_ the world that He gave His only-begotten Son." There we have the motive, His love. And why did He love man? Because he was so lovable? Nay, man had rebelled against Him, had raised himself up in disobedience against Him and His holy commandments and was at enmity with Him, and still God loved him, loved the child that had forsaken and sinned against Him, and so loved him that He spared not His dearest and His best, but delivered Him up for us all. Oh! the greatness of that charity, that love divine, all love excelling, love that passed all knowledge and understanding and expression too,--that supplied the Gift unspeakable, says the Apostle.

Again, when we are the recipients of gifts, we examine them, we give them careful scrutiny, we desire to know: What is that which we have received? Apply that to God's Christmas gift. What is it? He tells us: "Unto you is born this day a Savior, which is Christ, the Lord." Not a star, not a world, not any created thing, but Christ, the Lord.

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see,
Hail th' incarnate Deity.
Pleased as man with man to dwell,
Jesus, our Emmanuel.

O the mystery, the impenetrable mystery of the gift! As you sit down and meditate upon it, as you reflect and gaze upon that divine Child, reason is confounded, thought is pushed to confusion, faith stands in profound contemplation on the brink of this sea, too deep for human intelligence to fathom, too broad for man's mind to encircle, and yet, let us not stagger at the wonderful fact. We are standing to-day, my beloved, in the presence of the greatest miracle of time. We behold here no ordinary child. It's Deity in humanity, Divinity in infancy. In this little body is bound up God's immensity, in this Babe's weakness is enclosed heaven's almightiness. This child resting at His mother's breast (who can grasp it?) is the Lord of glory, the worshipful Creator of the universe, God blest forevermore.

Such is the nature of the gift--"unspeakable," as the Apostle declares.

Again, we consider the purpose of the gift. There are every variety and quality of gifts bestowed at this season: ornamental ones, serving the purpose of decoration and embellishment, beautiful for the eye to behold; useful ones, administering to the necessity and the comforts of their recipients. How about God's Christmas gift? Ah! for human lips to speak out its value. Again we lisp, "Unspeakable." What illustrations might I employ? You lift up your eyes and encounter the bright rays of the sun; what would this world be without the light and warmth that comes from its radiant face? You feel the drops of rain falling in gentle showers; what would the soil be without these rivulets and streams that fructify its acres? Yet all such illustrations are too improper to express what this world would spiritually be without Christ. Said the angel: "Unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior." In that word you have the key of Christmas and the purpose of God's Christmas gift. "A Savior"--what a chapter that opens before us! Back to the days of Paradise does it conduct us, when man was dwelling in innocence, fell and falling, carrying himself and all his posterity to universal and eternal destruction. Sin, that most terrible of all evils upon the soul, thorns and thistles upon the ground, misery and sickness and death upon the body, the whole creation groaning and travailing in pain,--this was the sorry consequence, and this is the sad, sad story as it is read in the history of every man's life and of the world at large. And whence was deliverance to come? From man? Helpless, powerless, hopeless creature, how could he cancel the curse that rested upon soul and body and ailing earth? A more powerful one held him at his mercy; and what could he do to pluck out the sting of death beneath whose dominion he had completely fallen? A more dismal condition could never exist. What man needed was a Savior, a Deliverer mightier than the forces that held him bound, and such a one God had promised man. Adam and Eve, leaving Paradise, were consoled by the prediction of the Seed of the Woman that should bruise the head of the serpent--the Savior, Abraham, Seth, Enoch, Noah, Isaac, and Jacob looked forward to that Deliverer and were sustained by the hope: Ah, that the Savior soon would come to break our bondage and lead us home! Succeeding saints and prophets took up the pleading strain, and sang and prophesied of His advent, and finally, when the fullness of time was come, He arrived; and what did He bring?

The supply of man's foremost and chief requisite--what is that? Wealth, affluence of estate? Support of body? Not so. This is not man's foremost need. Education of mind, culture of intellect? Neither that. What is it? Deliverance from sin, death, and the power of the devil, and the salvation of man's immortal soul; for what is a man profited though he should gain the whole world, and possess all treasures and mines of knowledge, and possess not and know not how to save his soul? Beloved, when you reflect what this world would be without this divine Christmas gift, then we might well ask, Would life be worth living without Him? It would, indeed, be a dark chapter, a barren and gloomy prison cell. And so, having regarded these various particulars, we almost instinctively give voice to the Apostle's declaration: "Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift." That brings us to the concluding part of our consideration.

A donation so transcendent calls for some corresponding attitude. What would we think of a child accepting its holiday gifts without showing appreciation, and speaking not a word of acknowledging thanks? Nothing is more rude than ingratitude. That spoils it all. Look at the interest the heavenly inhabitants took in that unspeakable gift. They came down with gracious messages concerning it. They were all present and sang their highest songs when the Savior was born. Their conduct was just such as we may expect from beings so pure, so intelligent, and yet it was not to them, nor for them. "Unto us a Child is born, unto us this Son is given." It is for us and for our salvation that the Lord of glory came and was made man. Here is a thought that ought to stir us to a higher pitch of emotion and gratitude. People have capacities to appreciate favors, to acknowledge good, to feel the worth of help when great and pressing need is upon them; why not over against this amazing goodness of God? Oh! that any human heart should be found weighted down by such leaden dullness that it should fail in its adoring thankfulness to God for His unspeakable gift. Far better such had never been born!

And thankfulness and rejoicing, if genuine, is never selfish. Observe our children at this time. When they have received their gifts, they do not selfishly hug them to themselves, place them in a corner, and strive to keep others from seeing them; they run about displaying what kindness has bestowed, shout and make commotion, nor feel happier than when others--their playmates and companions--come to share in their merriment. It is not different with God's Christmas gift; it is designed to be the occasion of universal joy. "I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people." "God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son."

A certain ancient writer remarks: "Were some explorer to discover the real elixir of life by which life and health and youth might be made perpetual, with what shouts of triumph and songs of joy would the discovery be heralded forth!" Friend would rush to bear the glad tidings to friend, over hill and mountain; across valley and plain would the joyful tidings roll, until there were no solitary inhabitant, be his dwelling ever so remote or concealed, but would have found it out. Beloved, here is the true elixir of life, in Bethlehem's manger; there is the fountain of perpetual health and youth. Let the glorious truth, then, receive universal proclamation; let the tawny African in his dark jungle, the Eskimo in his icy, squalid hut, the dweller in the most distant isle, and the man, woman, and child that lives with you and next to you,--let one and all hear the glad news that God's unspeakable gift has come to earth. Yes, let this blessed truth spread till every sinful and sorrowing brother may rejoice with us, and that from earth and sky may echo forth in grateful refrain: "Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable Gift," now on these present Christmas festivals, and then when these earthly celebrations will have passed over into the celebration of heaven, we shall see and adore Him who was once a babe in Bethlehem, but now sitteth upon the throne, God blessed forevermore. Amen.

LAST SUNDAY IN THE YEAR.

We all do fade as a leaf.--_Isaiah 64, 6._

There is perhaps no truth which is more generally admitted and which is more frequently referred to than that life is short and time is fleeting, that--"man born of a woman," as Job expresses it, "is of few days and full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower and is cut down." Every tolling knell that resounds its muffled voice from the church's spire, every painful sickness that casts us upon a weary and dreary couch, every change of season in nature's annual round and tearing off one leaf after the other from the calendar, until the present date, the 31st day of its last messenger, bids us discard the whole,--all these are just so many solemn and constant monitors reminding us of the brevity, the rapidity of time's flight. And yet, with all these numerous and unmistakable evidences of the transitoriness of all earthly things, how little of an abiding impression they produce! Who of us, in thoughtful reflection, does not admit the necessity of asking in this matter for divine instruction and of preparing ourselves for the time when time shall be no more, and when we shall be called upon to give account of how we have used our earthly days, and to leave this world and all its concerns? It is to this that I would invite your thoughts on this day which marks the concluding day of another chapter of life's calendar. May God's Holy Spirit teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom, as I endeavor to explain and apply the words of our text.

Human life, man's natural existence, is most aptly represented by the figure before employed, the fading of a leaf. More than two thousand years ago did the inspired penman, the Prophet Isaiah, write these lines, and yet its truth is preached to us with unfailing regularity and solemnity in every recurring autumn. As we go out into the woods towards the close of each successive summer, we observe a gradual change in the appearance of the trees. We see the leaves, first one and then another, and then by degrees all of them alike, changing their green for a brown and yellow hue, at length, till, shriveling at the edges and loosening their hold to their native boughs, the wet and the cold and the wind cause them to fall to the ground with a sound so soft that it is almost silence and there, by the action of the elements, they soon decay and mingle with the earth, out of which they were first produced. Just so, my brethren, it is with ourselves. As soon as we begin to live, we begin to die. "Our hearts like muffled drums are beating funeral marches to the grave." If we succeed in adhering to the tree of life during the spring and summer of man's allotted years, autumn and winter of old age will certainly overtake us, and we shall sink away as surely and as silently as the descending leaves in fall, our spirits returning to God, who gave them, and our bodies mingling with the dust from which they were taken. We look over the annals of the world,--where are those mighty conquerors, a Hannibal, a Cæsar, an Alexander, a Napoleon, who once made whole nations tremble and kingdoms fall? Where are those brilliant statesmen, a Bismarck, a Webster, a Calhoun, and a Clay, upon whose lips admiring senates hung with wonder and delight? Where are the poets, the historians, the warriors, the divines, who, each in his day and generation, were the theme of general conversation, and were lauded with the tribute of a nation's praise? "Like the baseless fabric of a vision,"--gone. It is related of Xerxes, the powerful King of Persia, that when about to cross from Asia over to conquer Greece, he ordered a review to be made of all his forces on the shores of the Hellespont. A magnificent throne was erected upon a lofty peak. Seated on this pinnacle of gold, he gazed upon the unnumbered millions below him on ship and shore. No sight could have been more dazzling or more august. The hillsides were white with tents, the sea with ships. Gay banners floating in the sun, glittering with gold and silver, weakened the eye by their brightness and beauty; whatever unbounded wealth and intense love of display could produce or suggest was there, and in the midst of such transcendent glory and deepest homage, where multitudinous nobles were urging to kiss the hem of his garment and worshiped him as a god, the great king, Xerxes, wept. Amazed at such an act, expressive of feelings so contrary to those in which they were indulging, they reverently inquired the cause of his tears. "Alas," said he, "of all this vast multitude not one will be left upon the earth a hundred years hence." That was said more than two thousand years ago. How many generations have followed that, over which he wept and uttered this sad truth! We occupy their places now for a few days, and then we shall lie beside them. Of the congregation that is looking up into my face this morning, twenty, thirty, fifty years, where shall it be? The church bell will be rung out, I hope, from its steeple, but it shall be rung by other hands, and for other worshipers. This pulpit will be filled by another preacher and the pews by other listeners. As you would pass in your way home from its door, in your family and social circles, how you would miss the old and once familiar forms, yea, perhaps our very homes will be occupied by strangers. As the prophet says: "We all do fade as a leaf."

Lest our subject should be rendered useless by being too general, I will proceed, without further delay, to apply our text and this by addressing the various classes of persons among you, so that all, by the baptism of the Holy Ghost, may derive some spiritual benefit. That our text refers not to one class, but to every, is evident from the word "all,"--"We all do fade as a leaf." It applies itself, then, first to the young. Not only in autumn and winter, but even in the spring and early months of the year, leaves are seen to fall. And similarly, as the inscriptions upon the many tombstones in our last resting-places will testify, so many of the human family disappear in infancy and youth. It is a mournful sight to see them thus carried off in the vigor and tenderness of opening bloom, but it's one that ought to convey solemn teaching to those of youthful years. And what teaching? Wise King Solomon has expressed it in these words: "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth." And why? Because it is the most favorable time, the most God-honoring time, the most profitable. At no other time is the soul so capable of deep and abiding impressions, are the affections more easily touched and moved, are we more accessible to the influences of emotions and truth. It is preeminently the choosing time, the valley of decision, in which at almost every step we do or leave undone something which has its effect, for good or ill, upon one's future habits and character and eternity; and you can only be prepared to determine matters that call for decision when you have made the great decision; you can choose and act safely and wisely in all the other departments of life, the social, the intellectual, the moral, only when you have taken a decisive stand upon the subject of religion. Hence, our Savior urgently entreats young people: "Seek ye first," first in point of importance and first in point of years, "the kingdom of heaven." Ah, my young members, if the sun does not dispel the mists pretty early in the morning, you may look with reasonable certainty for a foggy day, and so if the Sun of Righteousness, Christ Jesus, does not early in the day of your lives dispel the mists of unbelief and sin, the chances are that it will be more or less gloomy obstruction the rest of your lives. You will never be such Christians as you would have been; there will not be the development of character as if you had started at the right time, and there will always be a feeling of regret in your heart. Note, then, that this is the time to begin to serve God; now is the time to put the yoke of Christ upon your necks and to break yourselves in for lives of usefulness. And what is more God-honoring? Religion is always an ornament, it decorates the silvery locks and the wrinkled brow, but it looks exquisitely attractive and suitable when worn by youth. God accepts the sinner at all times, even when he comes with tottering footsteps and with stooped back; but is it right to do service to another and make Him suspend His claim as your rightful Lord to satisfy the world and the flesh, His degrading rivals, to sow wild oats in the springtime of your years and send Him forth to gather among the stubbles the gleanings of life, after the enemy has secured the harvest? Nay, to Him belong the first-born of your days, the first-fruits of your season, the price of your love and devotion,--give them. You will never regret it. Incalculable are the benefits of early piety, beneficial for body and business, for character and connections, for mind and morals, for after-life and life after death; for, as our text inculcates, your earthly existence hangs but on a slender, frail, and feeble fiber. Do you know of none in your circle of acquaintances swept low by the grim reaper whom we call death? And what assurance have you, my youthful hearers, that you may not be among his victims in the succeeding year? Glory not, then, in your health and strength. Pride yourself not on anything which is so feeble and frail, but seek those solid blessings which are to be found in Christ Jesus, and make true preparation against the time when you shall go hence and be no more. "Remember thy Creator," thy Redeemer, thy Sanctifier, "in the days of thy youth."

Again, the text addresses itself to the middle-aged. Scarcely a summer passes over our heads but some tempests, lightning, hail, rain, and thunder, rage in the sky, and these commotions of the elements drive myriads of leaves, although then firmly grown and filled with sap, from their branches to the ground, and there, like those that fall later, they fade away. It is so with man. In the midst of all his hustling industry and matured vigor, when, as Job says, his bones are moistened with marrow, he is liable to be carried off by various diseases and casualties. Absalom died before his father. The list of orphans in the Bible is not small, and among us those attired in sable garments, because of those whose sun has gone down at noon, are not few. A tender leaf, which the first strong wind, the first descending shower loosens in its hold,--that is man in the strength of his days. And what does that teach those of maturer years? That they presume not on their sturdiness, and that they forget not, amidst the distractions of all manner of connection for what life has been given, and correspondingly rightly improve it. Life has been given us for a high and noble purpose; it is not only a time of preparation and of probation for the world to come, it is a time of activity, of usefulness in the service of God and fellow-man, and "he most lives who thinks the most, feels the noblest, acts the best." There are those who live a mere animal life, whose sublimest principle and purpose is embodied in the motto: "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we shall be dead." As for God, heaven, and eternity, there is none. There are those who live a mere worldly life; gaining a livelihood and property, acquiring a social standing and a position, perhaps a ribbon or a medal,--that's their life's chief object and design. There are those who lead bad lives, diabolical lives, making society miserable and families wretched; and there are those who lead good lives, morally and socially, providing things honestly in the sight of all men. But there is one class that, according to Scripture, lives a right life, a life that will bear the sight of the Judge eternal and receive His heavenly plaudit: "Well done, thou good and faithful servant," and that is the man and the woman who lives a Christian life, a life in Christ Jesus, who, while believing in Him as their only Lord and Savior, are seeking to imitate His precepts; who live to His glory, with the furtherance of His kingdom constantly in mind; who make everything that they undertake and do conducive to the praise and honor of their God; who delight to render their time, talents, and means in such a service. Any other kind of a life but that is a life of God's grace neglected, of moments wasted in selfishness, in indolence, in sensuality often, in wickedness, and it fails of the purpose for which time has been given. Let us be careful, then, how we employ it; never live a week in vain; having something at the close of it for the reviewing eye to fix upon; something for God, for your fellow-creatures, for yourself. Live for Christ, and thus best live while you live, and be best prepared when you are called upon to die, for as you live, thus will you die, and thus will you be judged.

There remains, however, one more class to which our text refers with great propriety, and that is the aged.

If the young and middle-aged may fall, the old must; there is no remedy or human skill, or physician's antidote against the wrinkled brow, the failing memory, and the stiffening of the joints. "The days of our years," says the Psalmist, "are threescore years and ten, and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away." How soon this may take place, who can declare? What attitude, then, becomes those who have upon them declining years? I know no better answer than to gaze upon that patriarchal couple in to-day's Gospel, Simeon and Anna; what a beautiful picture of declining life as it is calmed and brightened by the comforts of religion and the hope of nearing heaven. How impressive to see them meet in the temple of God, and taking upon their arms the blessed object of their faith and prayer for all those long rolling years, speaking of Him, as it says, unto all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem, finally singing their "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation." "The hoary head is a crown of glory," says Solomon, "if it be found in the way of righteousness." Let the aged saints, then, among us use their advancing years to speak, as years' and hearts' experience alone can speak, of Him who is their Salvation and Consolation; let them, by the respect due them, cause us to more greatly respect Him whom they have learned to know, and by their lives be an example to the younger generations how to live.

Having, then, regarded our text: "We all do fade as a leaf," let us have learned, as these years pass away, how to receive the crown, incorruptible, and undefiled, and which passeth not away. Amen.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

Our Father which art in heaven.--_Matt. 6, 9._

Dr. Luther, after his inimitable fashion, once remarked: "The Lord's Prayer is the greatest martyr upon earth. It is a pity above all pity that such a prayer by such a Master should be so terribly abused in all the earth. Many pray the Lord's Prayer a thousand times a year, and though they prayed it a thousand years, yet have they not properly prayed one letter thereof."

It is a sweeping and striking assertion. The truth of his remarks, however, who would wish to contest? Take, in evidence, the words of the text. The opening words of that divine prayer taught by the Lord Himself are indeed familiar words,--no service but we recite them, no day but a Christian ought to recite them; yet, have we ever regarded the deep significance that is contained, the inspiration that is hidden, in them? A little reflection will prove how appropriate they are for this day, the beginning of a new year in civil life.

_Our Father_,--that expresses, I. _trust in God_, II. _obedience in duty_, III. _submission in affliction_. All these we need for our encouragement and spiritual profit to-day.

What sacred associations cluster around the word "father"! The thought of him, _if he was a father indeed_, was inwoven into all our youthful plans and early ambitions. We knew no worldly care when we dwelt beneath his sheltering roof; as we grew in years, we increased also in confidence in him. He was our adviser in doubt, our protector in danger, our supporter in perplexity. A true father is the best earthly friend while he is alive, and after he is gone, there gathers around his memory a halo of tender remembrance. All that is generous, manly, noble, and wise is to a loving son treasured up in the word "father." But the earthly significance, the human fatherhood, does not exhaust the meaning of this blessed name; it is but a mere pattern and shadow of that relationship which God sustains to His people. He is a "Father"; we, then, are His children by nature and adoption, by creation and redemption, and, as children, we may go to Him, and with all confidence and boldness ask Him as dear children ask their dear father. And such confidence, such trustful looking up in faith and reliance to Him as our Father, is a becoming attitude to-day. We stand upon the shores of another year, as it lifts itself, veiled in mist, from the great ocean of the future. Futurity means uncertainty, and uncertainty suggests anxiety. Say not that it is not so. As God created man, he is forecasting in his thoughts. It is as easy and natural for us to have regard to what is before us as it is for the waters of the Mississippi to flow towards the Gulf. Nor does God forbid it. Says wise King Solomon: "A wise man deviseth his way." He forms his plans, he frames his resolutions, he has his ambitions, his object in life that he wishes to attain. It is not a sign of sanity or of Christianity to walk into the future blindfolded, irresolutely, improvidently. The business man who at this time looks over his stock and ledger and strikes a balance of profit and loss, so as to make prudent arrangement for the business of the incoming year, the man of family who gazes upon the members seated about his table, and, considering demands and expenditures, weighs his income and ability to make ends meet, or whatever situation you may be in, or relation you may sustain, an intelligent, provident, weighing, considering, looking into the future is legitimate, wise, proper. But that is one thing; another thing, and not an uncommon thing, rather too prevalent, is to look into the future with fear, trembling of heart, and anxiety of mind. "Oh, how shall we ever get through; it's been none too rosy in the past, income scant, debts, some yet to pay, children growing up, health not to boast of,"--what a dreadful nightmare these considerations are to many people at the start of a new year; how it crushes out all good cheer, happiness, the very thing men are wishing each other!

'Tis foolish, 'tis needless, and godless! A man bending and staggering along the road under the weight of a heavy load met a passing wagon; he was invited to get in. He did so, but he still kept the load on his back. Foolish man! Yet that's the common attitude. God's chariot drives up to us this morning, overtaking us on life's way. "Get in, traveler, I will bear thee along," is the invitation. "Cast all your cares upon me. I will care for you." "Thank you, kind Lord, but I prefer to bear the load myself." There is a Being that has brought us into this world,--Father, we call Him. He is a resourceful Father, having all forces and agencies of sky, land, and sea, all the operations of men, angels, and beasts at His command; He is a loving Father; He has pleasure in the children after His heart. Silly child, you say, that will start to cry and make a great ado because it has conceived the notion that its wealthy father cannot feed and clothe it any longer. Is it not just as incongruous, my dear Christian, for you to perplex yourself with thoughts of anguish that God cannot provide for you any more? "He that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him freely give us all things?" He should neglect His loving providence, leave and forsake thee this year? O ye of little faith!

In one of the books handed to our children at Christmas time is the history of a familiar and beautiful German hymn. Reduced by financial straits to sell his only means of support, his violin, a poor musician took it to the pawnshop of a Jew. As he gave it up, he looked lovingly at it, and tearfully asked the Jew if he might play one more tune upon it. "You don't know," he said, "how hard it is to part with it. For ten years it has been my companion; if I had nothing else, I had it. Of all the sad hearts that have left your door, there has been none so sad as mine." Whereupon, pausing for a moment, he seized the instrument and commenced a tune so exquisitely soft that even the Jew listened, in spite of himself. Then, laying aside the instrument, he said, "As God will," and rushed from the shop, only to be stopped at the door by a stranger, who, having listened, said to him, "Could you tell me where I could obtain a copy of that song? I would willingly give a florin for it." "I will give it to you without the florin." The stranger happened to be the Swedish ambassador, and when he heard the poor man's story, his troubles ended then and there. Redeeming the instrument, he called his landlady and his friends, and sang, to his own accompaniment, his own sweet hymn, No. 350 in our hymn-book, of which this is the first stanza:

Leave God to order all thy ways,
And hope in Him, whate'er betide,
Thou'lt find Him, in the evil days,
Thine all-sufficient strength and guide.
Who trusts in God's unchanging love
Builds on a rock that naught can move.

This is the first reflection that lies in these introductory words, "Our Father." It expresses trustful looking up to Him at the beginning of the year. And, _again_, it supplies obedience in duty. It is a part of the father's relation to direct and control, as well as provide, for his children. He has a rightful authority over his household, the right to tell them what to do and how to do. None other with our heavenly Father.

The new year means new activities, new problems, new duties. With the morrow the tradesman, the mechanic, and the clerk will return to the work of his calling, the student to his books, and the housewife will be as busy as ever before. The great machinery of secular life will all clatter and hum in all its complexity and parts. And in the church, there will not, as there dare not be, a standstill. Much still remains to be done. How shall we face it? In our own strength? "With might of ours can naught be done, soon were our loss effected." After our own plans, doing things to suit our own selves? Is that the way it is in a well-regulated household? There is one whose law obtains, whose word determines, whose wish regulates it all. So ought it be with our life's duties. No matter what may be the occupation of your head and of your hands, whether you be a physician ministering to the alleviation of human ills, or a carpenter constructing the earthly home for man to dwell therein, our blessed Lord was both, physician and carpenter. Whether life's work finds you busy with the pen, like Matthew, the publican, sitting at the receipt of custom, or, like Martha, cumbered and concerned about many things, one reigning principle ought to be governing it all, as it governed the life of Him who was our example in all things, this: "My work is to do the will of Him that sent me."

Begin your work with Him, consecrate it to Him, conduct it with Him. Serve Him in it. There are two ways of doing everything--with God and without God. You may go to your work on Monday morning with God or without God; you may discharge its thousand and one different details with God or without God; your fellow-workman and companions may not know the difference, and yet, my dear hearer, it makes all the difference in the world, and a difference even for the world to come, whether you do your work with a glance of the eye upward and a spirit that says, "Our Father." Work without God is drudgery, duty cold and stern; it lacks inspiration, warmth, joyful energy. It is done because it must. It makes the worker a slave. That is not the way God would have us perform it, and it is not the work--neither in family, nor shop, nor church, that brings grand results. Whenever you feel your service becoming irksome or your duties degenerating, done with little conscientiousness and still less joy, then speak, "Our Father"; and when you saunter forth knowing that you are going to perform your Father's business, then the direst and most uninteresting things of daily life will acquire a new importance in your eyes, and will be done with a spring of elasticity and gladsomeness. Let me ask you to try this heavenly specific, and you will find that bending over your toil, with these thoughts, it will be lit up with radiance and significance hitherto inexperienced and duty will be merged into delight. This is the second consideration, when we can truly and intelligently say, "Our Father," life's work becomes transfigured with a new meaning and joy. In such a spirit go hence to this year's employments. Do them with God.